The Brightest Star
The Sage of the Stars was observing the heavens at his leisure.
He's stayed this long—so the two of them must get along well.
Ado Bale was a soul that carried wounds. A man's wounds are like thorns; left alone, they inevitably prick whoever draws near. And yet the boy had endured them all without faltering, and it was plain to see that the old sorcerer had taken quite a liking to Oscar.
Well, of course he would. How could he not?
A junior of the same tower—no, someone who, just as he himself once had, knew exactly what it meant to suffer as a tower master. And above all, that genius of his was extraordinary. The boy couldn't help but be endearing. For all the Sage knew, by now the old man was lamenting that six months had been far too short a time.
Then, sensing a visitor, the Sage of the Stars spoke.
"You've come."
"It's been a while, sir."
"...Hm."
For the Sage himself, only thirty minutes had passed. Yet the man standing before him, who had lived through a full half year, bore himself like an entirely different person. The spirit gathered in his eyes had deepened like a mountain lake, brimming over with presence.
"You've reached the intermediate realm. My congratulations."
"Thank you."
"Did he depart well?"
"Yes. He left with a smile on his face."
"I'm glad to hear it..."
The Sage of the Stars gave a faint smile.
"Of all the stars recorded in this library, he is among the very oldest. He was so stubborn that I had wondered whether anyone would ever inherit his will. To see a rightful successor to his star found at last—it gladdens me as well."
"Thank you. Without you, I would never have been able to spend such meaningful time."
"I appreciate your saying so."
Raising his head, the Sage counted the stars across the ceiling before speaking again.
"...You must be careful. Not the Great Emperor, but a new danger now threatens the continent."
"The demons?"
"I cannot say—not with any certainty. But it is nothing to dismiss lightly, even measured against the Great Emperor himself. That is why I have grown anxious of late, waiting for a star capable of standing against it to appear."
But now there was one. A star that had already turned back a calamity far greater had risen once more.
Though in this life, that star has not yet fully ripened.
The Sage of the Stars spoke.
"Meeting one person twice is a first, even for me. Thank you for granting me such a rare experience."
"If there is a next time, I will come to see you again."
"Hahaha. I doubt there will be. Unless you reincarnate once more and live out a third life."
Chuckling heartily, the old mage offered a kindness.
"If you wish it, I will carry you down to the foot of the mountain. I imagine you're in a hurry."
"You can do that?"
"This entire mountain is my world, after all."
"Then I'd be a fool to refuse. Ah—but... might I ask one more favor?"
At the earnest look on Oscar's face, the Sage nodded.
"Nothing too outrageous, I trust. What is it?"
The moment he heard it, the Sage's eyes went wide. He stared at the young man with a gaze that was partly astonished—and, at long last, relieved.
"You... you were the same then as you are now."
"Heh. Doesn't sound much like a compliment. I've decided to become a perfectly selfish man, you know."
"Tsk tsk. Selfishness is for those who can manage it. You can't. It doesn't suit you."
The Sage of the Stars nodded.
"I will grant that favor. Go well—and keep a careful eye on things."
"Thank you. And may you know peace as well, Sage."
Having flung Oscar off to the place he wished to go, the Sage of the Stars turned his eye to a telescope he had not looked through for some time.
"Tsk tsk."
The star of Oscar burning there was brighter than any star he had watched over in his long, long life.
...Slowly raising his eyelids, the man gazed at the figure standing in the snowfield.
He could say with certainty that in more than ten years guarding this place, nothing like this had ever happened before.
"Is this a dream?"
"No."
Oscar answered in an even voice.
"I asked the Sage of the Stars for a favor. I told him I wished to meet you one more time."
"..."
At those words, the ice mage curled his lip into a sneer.
"Why? Did beating you so handily last time leave a bad taste in your mouth?"
"That's not entirely without reason..."
Oscar's clear, unclouded eyes turned toward him.
"But mostly, I think I can manage it now. I've come to make your dream come true."
"..."
The man studied Oscar slowly, carefully, from head to toe.
"Indeed."
Aside from the face, the man before him might as well have been a different being altogether from the one he had met before.
"How much time has passed?"
"About an hour in the real world. Half a year, by my experience."
"...Half a year."
The man let out a bitter laugh. So this was what geniuses were.
"Standing before me again means you have confidence. Am I right?"
"Yes, reasonably so."
"You know my dream, I assume. To live as a mage and die as one. I will die at the hands of a mage whose name is written into history."
"I remember."
Many mages must have felled this man over the years. Any 6th-level mage could have won against him with ease, no more and no less.
But he could never be certain.
Certain that the one who defeated him would become a mage whose name history would remember. That was why the man had gone on waiting—for more than ten years—for a mage of talent so overwhelming that he could accept his own end.
"I see. Then no more words are needed."
The man drew his mana up. A wilder, heavier presence than before settled over the snowfield.
"Prove it. Prove that you are a mage... capable of granting me death!"
Crack-crack-crack!
Thousands of ice spikes came sliding across the snow, surging at Oscar like living things.
"..."
Oscar stared at them for a moment, then quietly closed his eyes. And pulled a single string.
"Twist."
Mana raced down four circuits and drained away like an ebbing tide. Space twisted, and the ice spikes split three ways and dissolved into nothing.
"...!"
Oscar began to charge at the man, whose eyes had shrunk to the size of lamp flames.
"You won't reach me so easily."
Frowning, the man clapped his hands. At once the snow blanketing the field leapt up and hardened into a storm of ice arrows.
"..."
Every nerve in Oscar's body converged into his two eyes. At the same moment, his sixth sense screamed warnings about every attack aimed his way.
The ground first.
A trap lay buried in the snowfield floor, waiting to freeze his legs the instant his feet touched down. He realized it immediately and kicked off into the air.
"Ha! What a fool. You think you'll reach me with a leap like that?"
"No."
Dropping under gravity, Oscar stamped down hard—and rose into the air once more. Through all of it, he never once touched the ground.
"I don't plan on touching the ground again."
He compressed the air into a foothold, then burst it the instant he stepped off, wringing thrust from the blast. Gathering speed in a single breath, Oscar closed the distance with terrifying momentum.
"Kgh!"
It was the ice mage whose composure cracked first. He slammed both palms into the ground.
"Floor Overturn!"
Crack!
The frozen ground heaved upward in an instant. A wall of ice, vast as a fortress, began to tilt slowly toward the onrushing Oscar.
No room to dodge—
None at all. He was moving far too fast to change direction now.
"It's over."
Crack-crack!
Certain the boy would crash into the wall, the man sheathed its surface in spikes of razor ice. The moment they collided, his whole body would freeze and be skewered through—a blow as good as guaranteed death.
So he wasn't the one I've been waiting for either...
A flicker of disappointment crossed the man's eyes—and in that very instant, whoosh! Oscar seized a new string and murmured,
"Blink."
His figure vanished without a trace, like a bulb flickering out. Then he reappeared—behind the wall of ice.
"...!"
The instant the stunned man thrust his hand forward, never having imagined such a move—
Wind Blade
The air of the snowfield was cold enough to bite. From it, Oscar drew a single blade of wind, gripped it, and swung.
"..."
"..."
Oscar walked several steps past the man. Then, letting the blade in his hand return to the wind, he asked,
"Was that a death you could be satisfied with?"
"..."
The man quietly raised a hand and touched his own neck. A blade had certainly cut him—yet there was no wound. Not yet.
Knowing exactly what that meant, the man burst out laughing.
"Are you really a mage? You're not some world-class swordsman or knight in disguise?"
"The complete mage I strive to be has no weaknesses. I do everything, and I do it all well."
"Perfect recipe for becoming a jack of all trades and master of none."
The man chuckled, then closed his eyes.
"...Or else into an absurd monster."
The kind of monster whose deeds are written into history, that is. Which of the two the boy would become was not hard to guess.
"Allen Winterheart. That is my name."
"I will remember it."
"Behind my hometown of Winterer there's a frozen cave in the back mountains. There's an elixir inside that I set aside to drink myself. If you ever pass through, it's yours."
"You never thought of drinking it to repair your body?"
"If there'd been even a sliver of a chance it would work, I'd have drained it long ago. There wasn't, so I kept it."
An elixir he had saved in case he met the Sage of the Stars here and had his body made whole. Recalling that treasure, Allen spoke.
"Your name?"
"Oscar. Oscar Crucian."
"...A good name."
The same name as the mage he had once wished to become. With a face full of contentment, the mage scattered into particles that glittered like snowflakes and was gone.
"...Rest well now."
Allen's doll would never again be found on this snowy mountain.
Clop, clop.
"We've arrived, sir!"
Stepping down from the carriage, Oscar looked up at the white tower. His true home—utterly unlike the half-formed tower he had seen within Ado Bale's space.
He paid the driver and stepped inside, then blinked.
Something's...
The mages passing by wore oddly bright, animated faces.
Has the tower been making good money lately? Better side dishes at the cafeteria?
Brushing the idle thought aside, he headed straight for the Deputy Tower Master's office.
"..."
Hamel Grimwiz stared at Oscar as if he were seeing a ghost, momentarily unable to say a word. No—not unable so much as incapable. He couldn't even grasp where to begin.
"You've become 4th level."
"Yes."
"Whew. You truly returned as an intermediate mage in a single month."
"Yes."
"...Then the winner of our wager is you, Oscar."
The Deputy Tower Master wore a look that was both admiring and bittersweet.
"A promise is a promise. I grant you permission to head to the battlefield to meet the Red Tower Master's disciple."
"Thank you. But rest assured—nothing you fear will come to pass."
"...Yes. I can see that with my own eyes, and it puts my mind at ease."
What had reassured him was the look in Oscar's eyes. Though the young man was merely 4th level, those eyes were deep beyond easy measure.
"When do you plan to depart?"
"I'll rest for a couple of days, clear the backlog of work, and leave straight away."
"Hmm. That's a bit of a problem. Could you delay by a day or so?"
"...That's fine, but is something the matter?"
Oscar tilted his head. Had something gone wrong with the delivery or potion departments?
"Nothing is wrong. It's simply that there is someone who wants to see you, Oscar."
"Someone who wants to see me... who?"
"I take it you haven't heard the news on your way in?"
"No, I came straight here after arriving. Though the mages did seem oddly excited..."
"Of course they would."
The Deputy Tower Master broke into a gentle smile and said something utterly unexpected.
"The Tower Master has returned."