137 - A Certain Mage’s Soliloquy

How long has it been since “Kids these days…” started slipping out of my mouth like a habit?

Come to think of it, ever since my talent for the arcane was discovered, I had spent my days doing nothing but honing myself.

For a time, I took pride in my gifts and carried myself with arrogance… but after I met someone truly worthy of being called a genius—and had my nose thoroughly broken—I felt like I did nothing but train and train.

Back then, I believed in my own talent. I mistakenly thought that if I worked hard, I would surely reach the top.

In the end, I became nothing at all, and as if to avert my eyes from that fact, I threw myself into a single thing.

Supportive magic that nobody cared about—something that wasn’t even considered “proper sorcery.” Specialists in it had long since vanished, and it was the perfect refuge for someone like me.

But then an unexpected truth came to light.

Tragically, I realized how small my talent for true sorcery really was—and at the same time, I became aware that I had an aptitude for combat.

“I chose the wrong path.”

That was the only way to describe it.

By the time I had passed fifty and my efforts finally took shape, it was already too late.

In Seizeria, what earned esteem was sorcery, not magic.

Our nation valued sorcery, whose results varied greatly depending on the wielder, over magic, which produced almost the same effect no matter who used it.

From the standpoint of statecraft, that judgment was correct.

Because we had always been threatened not only by a powerful neighbor, but also by monsters, what the country needed was not a multitude of spellcasters, but a single elite sorcerer.

A single overwhelming individual could scatter even an army; that threat became deterrence and tilted diplomacy in our favor.

And when war did come, history proved time and again that such power, displayed in full, could lead one’s side to victory.

Even knowing that, I sought an escape in “magic” because I wanted to believe I still had talent.

But reality was cruel.

So I kept forging myself, kept showing results—thinking I could make them regret their scorn.

The outcome goes without saying.

The masses, and even those involved with sorcery—nay, even nobles and researchers—came to prefer flashy things, neglecting the plain but highly useful arts of magic.

“Isn’t it something you just pick up as a bonus?”

The moment I realized my specialty—my skills and knowledge—would never be spoken of as anything more than that… and understood that my efforts would change nothing…

After that, things moved quickly.

Before I knew it, I had left the country.

Conveniently, a neighboring nation was recruiting skilled sorcerers.

If I went somewhere untouched by Seizeria’s assumptions and values, would I receive proper recognition?

That thought drew me in.

What awaited me there was a crowd of sorcerers.

Given that the recruiter was a marquis’s house in the Kingdom of Canaan, that was only natural.

Still, the sight was rare by Seizerian standards. I was shocked—and I sneered at colleagues swarming for money and status—then remembered I was one of them and sneered at myself.

Even so, it was a good chance to learn the caliber of other nations’ sorcerers.

If you were not greedy for knowledge and experience, you had no right to call yourself a sorcerer.

The problem was that the quality of those who gathered was far worse than I had expected.

“…Surely you aren’t going to tell me it’s already over?”

I spat the words at the dozen-odd sorcerers who couldn’t even manage to stand at the center with me.

One-on-one, they were no match.

So I increased the numbers… and this was the result.

I was tired, yes, but even when I faced them all at once at the end, they were quite literally “no match.”

I couldn’t help letting out a sigh at how low Canaan’s sorcerous standards were, but the marquis seemed extremely satisfied, and even proposed doubling my initial pay.

Recognition, in any form, was something I had been starving for—so I was deeply pleased.

After that, I took on various errands and jobs, and one day I was introduced to a young man.

“My name is Alberto. I look forward to working with you.”

At first glance he was just a handsome youth, but listening to him, I learned he was a prodigy of the sword.

Genius—there was much I could say about that word, but he wasn’t warped in personality; he seemed like an earnest, decent young man who trained seriously.

He appeared to worry that he looked younger than he was, but to me he was still nothing but a youngster.

And it seemed they intended to pit this boy against a dragon that had appeared in the north.

So that’s why they needed a sorcerer—I grasped the marquis’s aim.

But that meant they had foreseen the dragon’s attack.

(Or they have a way to call it in…)

Naturally, I am not such a fool as to stick my nose into something so dangerous.

A hero manufactured by human design.

Even a sorcery-addled man like me understood what that meant.

But having already left my homeland, I had no intention of stopping it, either.

How it would all turn out was not something someone like me should be thinking about.

Before I knew it, preparations were complete, and the party drove north in their carriage.

In the end, one could say the plan was a great success.

They paid a heavy price, but they managed to drive the dragon away—and the boy’s skill in snatching the final blow was the real thing.

And even after taking that glory, he bowed his head and said, “It was only possible because of your assistance,” which did not feel unpleasant at all.

How many people could say that sincerely?

I had been impressed—thinking him a youngster with promise—but it seemed his true goal was instruction in sorcery.

Despite being discovered young by a marquis, he understood how to navigate the world.

But alas, no matter how fervently he begged for teaching, what mattered was talent.

And by “talent,” I meant a prerequisite—meaning that no matter how much he trained, he would never be able to wield sorcery.

Many people thought, “Maybe…” but I did not know whether anyone had ever made that hope real.

It wasn’t something I cared to find out, so I made him give up early.

Still, his attitude—“Knowledge will be useful for something”—was worthy of praise.

“From now on I’m a dragonslayer. Someday they’ll call me a hero. It’d be embarrassing if I don’t know things, right?”

It was the first time I had met someone who learned arcane knowledge based on whether it looked cool.

(He may become a true big shot, surprisingly.)

That day, I laughed until I hurt.

It had been a very long time since I laughed like that… but either way, it felt good.

In the gaps between work, I taught the boy what I knew.

He struggled to get used to the new sword he had obtained, but my teaching was not gentle enough to let him slack off because of that.

And then—this happened.

The weapon the boy had newly acquired was a holy sword.

“Teacher, want to secretly research this together?”

I did not allow him to call me “master,” but in private, when no one else was present, I allowed that form of address—and he showed me the holy sword as he whispered.

I praised him: in these few months, he had learned what a sorcerer truly was.

Because the Church guarded it with strict secrecy, I could glimpse a forbidden realm no one else could know.

Has my life ever offered a temptation so irresistible?

In the end, I could not resist.

No matter how I struggled, I was a sorcerer to the core.

In exchange, I agreed to hear a single “request” of his… but if it was his request, I supposed I could break a bit of a sweat.

Or so I thought—yet the research results on the holy sword were disappointing.

No—let me correct that.

I learned nothing.

Which meant only one thing: I couldn’t even tell whether the sword caused its phenomena through magical power at all.

(Is it truly this unfathomable!? With my knowledge, I cannot even begin to measure it!)

What unknown depths—what fortune.

I trembled at the fact that I alone was peering into a realm no one could reach.

No, in the past, surely other seekers had witnessed this sight.

Even so, in the modern age, the only seeker standing before this abyss—this crystallization of human history’s technology—was me, and only me.

Now I could understand why the Church treated the holy sword as a sacred relic, a supernatural weapon born of the divine.

It was not sorcery.

Nor was it an artifact of the Empire said to have once flourished.

My days with something forged from a system of technology completely unknown to those of us alive now were fulfilling—despite producing not a single concrete result.

But that daily life collapsed sooner than I expected.

“Monster extermination, you say?”

At the marquis’s request, the boy—wielder of the holy sword—was being sent out to hunt a monster.

I felt irritated that my research would be interrupted by such a trifle, but listening closer, it seemed to be a request to subjugate a “new species” that had recently become the subject of rumor.

And the boy had strongly recommended that I be added to the party.

A new species of monster—unknown material.

(An agonizing dilemma. Truly agonizing.)

I never dreamed that at this age I would be blessed with so many opportunities.

Luck I would never have met had I stayed in one place, spending my days polishing and researching.

“Hmm… if I ever have a chance to return home, perhaps I’ll write a book explaining the usefulness of going out into the world?”

I wanted to attach all sorts of conditions to this expedition, but I lacked the standing to do so.

This time, I was an add-on.

So I needed to behave like one, lest I cause needless trouble.

After some coordination with the boy, we ended up saddled with unnecessary baggage and extra front-liners.

He said it couldn’t be helped because he carried the holy sword, but I had no need for dead weight.

I petitioned the marquis to do something about it… and, as expected, nothing changed.

Fortunately—if that’s the right word—the former mercenary with the collar wasn’t bad.

And the man hired on-site was said to have the longest experience operating in the Fullretos Great Forest, so I believed this subjugation would end easily.

But when I finally confirmed the information from the collared ex-mercenary—someone who had actually fought the new species—I heard something unbelievable.

He said: “Normal weapons don’t work at all, it resists magic, its size is ogre-class but its power and speed are on a completely different level.”

On top of that, it had an excellent sense of smell and high detection ability.

And most notably, its intelligence was terrifyingly high.

(From what I hear, it’s troublesome, yes—but only that. Still, what species could mutate into this? It worries me that nothing comes to mind…)

With that impression, I urged the ex-mercenary to continue.

After hearing everything, the conclusion was simple.

“It’s the kind of monster that enjoys fighting.”

An exceedingly rare, abnormal type—one of those cases fit this perfectly.

What they shared in common was “high intelligence” and “extremely high combat power.”

Realizing again that this job was more troublesome than I’d expected, I thought:

If possible, I’d like to call in a specialist hunter (adventurer, now, was it?)—but unfortunately, this was Canaan.

Even if our hand was lacking, we at least had the holy sword.

Part of me felt that would be enough, but in my experience, when you have something reassuring like that, that’s exactly when some unforeseen event trips you up.

I only wish my worry had been needless—but why is it that long years of intuition only hit when you least want them to?

The first encounter was strange enough, but I never expected it to react to that ambush.

“Stronger than anticipated,” I analyzed while remaining hidden.

Even if we couldn’t take its head, I believed it would be a fatal blow—yet when we did it, we only severed its right hand.

And then that hand immediately settled back into place.

(It will need time before it can move perfectly… but that healing is monstrous. Ordinary sorcerers would be useless against this.)

More shocking still: despite that massive body, it avoided close combat and started throwing rubble.

It likely became cautious after losing the hand, but its adaptability could not be ignored.

A powerful monster that learns would become unmanageable.

Before it reaches that point, we must finish it here.

As the new species—Argos—was about to flee, I planted a tracking spell in it.

Losing the guide was painful, but we could not retreat here.

The boy agreed, it seemed, and we chased it by following the magical trail… or so it should have gone.

When the new species appeared again, it held a sword and shield fitting its bulk, clenched firmly—meaning it no longer cared about the earlier injury.

And it recognized magical power.

“The tracking spell backfired,” I clicked my tongue, revealing myself.

Perhaps I had made the wrong call.

But leaving it alive was also impossible.

Since I was joining the second engagement, I meant to settle it there.

Yet when the battle began, it was clear the boy was not at his best, unable to use the holy sword’s power properly.

And though he seemed aware something was wrong, he didn’t understand why; he fought with confusion written all over him.

I wanted to shout, “What are you doing!”—but no one would understand his condition better than he did.

We only needed to buy time and break through with the holy sword… but as the battle turned against us and Alberto began to be pushed back, even that hope wore thin.

In the end, we used the trump card the marquis had given us to retreat.

A crushing defeat, one might say.

But I was not so young as to flee in silence.

I would have my schemes.

The question was how to shake its pursuit… but on that point, the ex-mercenary stated it flatly:

“Impossible. If it wants to, it’ll catch us for sure before we reach town.”

With two young women whose stamina lagged behind, I thought perhaps that was why—but it seemed the thing moved faster than I imagined.

We walked in silence for a while.

At this rate, escaping was all but impossible… so what then?

“Instructor, there’s no time. You will grant my ‘request.’”

The boy said it suddenly.

I understood what he meant whether I wanted to or not.

(It is a role only I can fulfill. No—he believes I can do it. I understand… and perhaps there is no other choice.)

I simply nodded.

That thing was not something we could afford to ignore.

If we did not act now, I could not even imagine what price humanity would pay.

For that, the holy sword—and its wielder—had to make it back, no matter what.

Still, using his “request” here—how merciless.

When I joked, “Show a little more respect for the elderly,” he shot back, “You’ve lived long enough already, right?”

I laughed out loud.

Even if he was a mere youngster, being properly valued made me happy.

Proof that I had lived—surely that man would leave it behind.

Then there was only one thing left: to stake my life and do what must be done.

“Sixty-eight years since birth… more than fifty devoted to the arcane. So this is my grave.”

But I had no intention of dying cheaply.

The honing of my entire life—I may not be able to display it, but you will speak of it, and pass it on.

I left the group behind and walked into the forest.

The killing ground was just ahead.