The Watchman of the Herb Fields (4)
The dawn air was cold enough to pierce straight through to the lungs.
"Hah... hah..."
Oscar ran through the herb fields without rest.
Bang! Bang!
Every time Jack's gun bellowed fire, the ground shuddered and the air tore apart.
Now!
Throwing himself aside, Oscar escaped the savage hail of bullets by the narrowest of margins and rolled across the dirt.
"...Ptui!"
He spat out the soil that had forced its way into his mouth and pressed himself flat against the herb field, catching his breath for a moment.
Wheeze... wheeze... so much for the dignity of a former Tower Master.
Fighting a genuine gunslinger was proving far harder than he'd anticipated.
The most troublesome part was that the man's bullets were faster than his own magic.
It's not as though I can't attack from range... but in a head-on fight, the odds are against me.
Destructive power and speed. In both, his opponent held the advantage.
If there's one opening... it would be the reload time.
By the nature of the weapon, a gun required reloading after every shot, and that gun held two rounds per chamber. In other words, after every two attacks, his assault was guaranteed to stop.
Average reload time: 1.24 seconds.
Only in that fleeting instant did the initiative pass into his hands. Whether or not he could seize that opportunity would decide the outcome of this fight.
I've gathered all the information I need... so it's time to move.
The constant feints had already sapped a considerable amount of his stamina, and barely half his mana remained. If he didn't turn the tide of this battle now, by nightfall he would be the one serving as fertilizer for the herb fields.
"Hngh!"
Kicking off the ground, Oscar began running straight toward the back of the gunslinger searching for him.
"There you are!"
Jack whirled around and burst out laughing before he could help himself.
"Keh, kehaha! You scurry around like a cornered rat, and the best you can come up with is close combat?"
Closing the distance to bait out a wild shot was, admittedly, standard practice against a gunslinger. The pity was that he himself was a veteran who had crossed blades with countless strong opponents over the years.
The movements of a green pup like you are transparent.
First of all, he was slow. The gunslinger was confident he could hit the boy even if his speed doubled.
With a smooth, unhurried motion, the barrel—having calculated both his opponent's direction and velocity—leveled at the young mage's brow.
"It was a spirited charge, I'll grant you that much..."
The elation of victory in battle wrapped itself around his whole body, drowning out even the grief of losing two of his men. This rush, this flood of dopamine—it was the single greatest reason he could never stop killing.
Jack's mouth split into a wide grin, and without a flicker of hesitation, he pulled the trigger.
"Time to die, boy!"
BANG!
The bullet screamed out with a vicious crack of splitting air—
"...!?"
—and grazed past the running mage's dark hair.
In the same instant, a crack ran through Jack's laughter-filled face.
I missed? Impossible.
It wasn't a hollow excuse, nor stubborn denial born of wounded pride. Just as Oscar had absolute faith in his own magic, the gunslinger had absolute faith in his own marksmanship.
If there's nothing wrong with me... then what's changed is that boy.
Having reached that conclusion, Jack was certain: his opponent had cast Acceleration magic in that instant.
...Astonishingly impressive.
Even as enemies, the boy's nerve sent a chill down his spine. Casting acceleration while a bullet was flying straight for his skull—
But that's as far as you go.
Unfortunate for the pup, but he had faced monsters far faster than that before.
Still, there's always the one-in-a-thousand chance. I'll aim for the torso instead of the head to maximize my accuracy.
That would shut down every possible variable. There was no reason to shoulder needless risk while holding a winning hand.
"My apologies—it loads two rounds at a time."
One more bullet still sat in the chamber. The distance between them: thirty meters.
Savoring that strange sensation of time slowing to a crawl, he drew the trigger back, slow and deliberate.
"Young mage! Your gall alone, I shall remember for all eternity!"
BANG!
A single gunshot pierced the darkened herb field, and at that very moment—
SHRAKK!
—blood erupted like a fountain.
Forcing Acceleration onto an unfinished body invited its side effects at once.
"Kgh..."
His breath climbed all the way up his throat, and his heart pounded as though it might burst at any second.
Yet even in that moment, his reason stayed as cold as if doused in ice water.
Thirty meters remain.
His opponent had already finished preparing to pull the trigger. The muzzle had dipped slightly lower than before—which meant he was aiming not at the head, but at the abdomen, or perhaps the heart.
Taking the sure victory over a reckless gamble, is it?
The man knew how to win decisively rather than flexing pointless pride. To be honest, Oscar had no confidence in dodging a bullet fired from this range.
If I stack Acceleration three times, I could manage it—but...
The problem was that his body wasn't yet built to withstand that level of strain. If he applied three layers of acceleration now, every muscle in his body would tear to shreds on the spot.
Every condition screamed that this was hopeless, that he could not win—but Oscar did not stop running.
Twenty meters.
The man was suspicious to the point of profanity. He hadn't pulled the trigger, waiting until Oscar was practically within arm's reach.
But that suspicion is exactly what I need right now.
The man was surely thinking that as long as he made no absurd blunder, his victory was guaranteed—that the only variable capable of overturning this situation was Acceleration magic.
Fifteen meters.
Close enough that, without exaggeration, they could hear each other breathing. Every nerve in Oscar's body converged into his two eyes.
Read him.
The man's finger resting on the trigger. The minute shift of the tendon that would inevitably precede its movement. Even the tiny habit of the crease forming at the corner of his left eye in the instant before he fired.
Having read it all, Oscar was certain.
Now.
Creeeak. The instant the man's finger began to squeeze the trigger, in a fraction of time so brief it deserved to be called simultaneous, Oscar's magic unfolded.
And it was not Acceleration—the very spell his opponent had guarded against so vigilantly.
Durability Reinforcement.
Friction Reduction.
Magic that reinforced the durability of its target while reducing its friction. And the object imbued with those two spells was—
"...A shield?"
The very moment Jack's pupils blew wide, the bullet shot out like a beam of light, scraped along the tilted shield, and flew off toward a star it would never touch.
D-dammit! Reload. Hurry, reload—!
Jack's hands flew into frantic motion as he stumbled backward. But his average reload time was 1.24 seconds.
Whereas the time it takes me to reach you is—
Based on layering Acceleration twice—a mere 1.08 seconds.
"Kgh!"
Bearing through the tearing agony in his leg muscles, Oscar closed the distance in a heartbeat, then extended two fingers and leveled them at Jack's jaw.
"N-no...!"
As terror swelled Jack's eyes wide as lanterns, mana gathered at Oscar's fingertips.
Wind Bullet.
THWOOM! SHRAKK!
A fountain of blood followed, painting arcs across the empty air.
"Ghk... ghhk."
Jack staggered backward like a newborn fawn, then collapsed without strength.
"...Whew."
Oscar, staring down at the corpse, was in no great shape himself.
I won't be using Acceleration for a while.
The side effects of forcing two layers of acceleration onto an unfinished body were fairly severe. The blood vessels in his lower half had shredded thread by thread—he would need to devote at least a fortnight to nothing but recovery.
For the time being, forget running—I'll be lucky to manage a slow walk.
But he could not afford to lose consciousness and collapse here. The battle was not yet over.
The presences I detected at the start numbered exactly four.
Yet only three enemies had come to this cabin, and he could sense no others nearby. There was only one meaning to that.
"...Please, hold on."
The last one was hunting Franc and Ivan.
"Hah... hah!"
Rough breaths spilled from Franc's lips as he climbed the wooded hillside. Even so, he kept checking on Ivan, who ran alongside him.
"Don't, hah, don't worry too much, sir. I'll protect you."
"..."
Ivan answered with a thoroughly sour expression.
"I'm fine. Stamina is the one thing I take pride in... It's you I'm worried about, lad."
"Hah, hah. Truth be told, my stamina isn't, exactly... my strong suit..."
In the middle of desperately craving a cold glass of water, Franc abruptly came to a halt. Ivan stopped behind him and asked, "Shall we rest a moment, then?"
"...No. That's not why I stopped."
Drawing in one heavy breath, Franc spoke with a grave face.
"Sir. From this moment, run at full sprint down the side path on the right. And whatever you do, do not look back."
"What in the world are you—"
"Wow, you've got better instincts than you look."
From behind a large tree ahead, a gaunt man ambled into view. He looked Franc up and down and smirked.
"Honestly, a surprise. You looked like such a weakling I figured I wouldn't even feel you coming."
"..."
Staring silently at the man, Franc glanced sideways at Ivan, who was reluctant to leave.
"Go. Now."
"But... then what about you?"
"I'm quite strong. And more than anything—if you're here, sir, I can't fight with my heart in it."
At those cold words—that his own presence would only be a hindrance—Ivan nodded heavily.
"If that's your reason... very well. Don't you die on me."
Ivan vanished swiftly down the side path, but the man made no move to chase him, simply standing there. At that unnervingly composed posture, Franc narrowed his eyes.
"You came here for me, didn't you?"
"Huh? What a funny fellow you are. You? Kill you?"
The man snorted, then shot a glance in the direction Ivan had fled.
"That old man is my target, sure. But I've never gotten the chance to kill a mage belonging to one of the Four Great Magic Towers."
His curiosity-glittering eyes fixed on the target called Franc.
"I've always wondered—what exactly makes you all so special that everyone fears a mage of the Four Great Towers?"
"..."
"So I figure I'll kill you first, then chase down that old man at my leisure and finish the job."
Having laid out his plan, the man grinned and wet his lips with his tongue.
"That should be about... enough of an explanation, don't you think?"
With those words, the man's body stretched out long and thin, like taffy pulled taut.
Watching his opponent close the distance without the slightest warning, Franc calmly cast his spell.
Wind Cutter.
Two blades of compressed air surged forward.
CLANG! KRAKANG!
The swordsman deflected the attacks mid-charge and closed the gap to Franc in the blink of an eye. Savoring the way his opponent's face warped in dismay, he drove his sword toward that unguarded heart.
The blade, flashing like lightning, plunged straight through Franc's chest—
...What?
—and the swordsman's face froze solid. He had killed dozens of people before; he could say this with certainty. The sensation of a blade biting into a human heart was never, ever this hollow.
This is like...
A ghost. Yes—it felt as empty as stabbing one of those spectral monsters.
Something's wrong.
The instant instinct told him the situation had gone sideways, the swordsman tried to recoil backward—but
FWOOSH!
—Franc reached out with one hand, seized the back of the man's skull, yanked him in, and drew a Wind Cutter clean across his throat.
"Ghk! Ghhk...!"
The swordsman's eyes bulged wide, reddening as the blood vessels burst. Within that gaze there was nothing but why? how?
"My apologies."
Franc said it flatly. There was no mockery in it whatsoever—it was a sincere apology, nothing more.
"Why...?"
The swordsman, about to ask why on earth the man was apologizing to him, suddenly clenched his mouth shut. The moment he staggered back a few steps, he understood.
This man's... body?
In the center of the opponent's chest—a gaping hole, as if bored clean through—only the wind drifted, circling forlornly. Needless to say, this was no hole his sword had carved.
"Keh... khek."
The swordsman began to laugh like a man who had lost his mind. He had just realized both why he'd lost this fight, and why his opponent was apologizing.
This bastard... a damn Special Attribute mage.
And not just any—a terrifying gift that could turn parts of his own body into wind. The instant the sword had pierced his heart, the man must have converted that very spot into air.
"..."
It wasn't that his talent had fallen short. It wasn't that he hadn't worked hard. It was simply luck. The reason he was dying tonight amounted to nothing more than this: he had crossed paths with a Special Attribute mage.
Damn the Four Great Towers...
Then, unbidden, a piece of advice he'd once half-heard in a tavern drifted through his mind.
"If you want to survive long in this line of work, never, ever get tangled up with those Four Great Tower mages."
A place where every conceivable talent and inexplicable being gathered as if drawn by fate. That was the Four Great Magic Towers—a den of monsters, through and through.
As a deep, surging emptiness washed over him, the light faded from the swordsman's eyes.
"...Well, I didn't see that coming."
From behind a tree on the shadowed hillside, a gun that had been discreetly trained on the swordsman slowly lowered. Oscar's eyes had turned strange.
To think Franc of all people was a Special Attribute mage.
Every special-attribute magic in the world stood far removed from the ordinary. But among them all, that boy's magic was exceptional even by those standards.
To think I'd see that magic with my own eyes.
It was a spell that even he—a former Tower Master—had encountered only in ancient tomes. One of those magics whose very existence in this world he had doubted time and again.
Aside from himself, there was likely no one alive who knew the truth of it.
"...Pungbaek."
The fact that this was the signature magic of the 7th Tower Master, who bore the special-attribute mana lineage of the Wind Lord.