Chapter 5

“Sorry to trouble you unnecessarily.”

“Not at all.”

“I intend to report this matter to His Majesty directly, so I’d prefer if you didn’t think poorly of it.”

Hanum flinched, as though his private thoughts had been read.

“My apologies.”

“No, don’t be. I would have felt the same. You may go now. Ah, on your way, let the Court Chief Mage know that I wish to meet with him.”

“Yes, Tower Master.”

Once Hanum left, Kaedes spoke up.

“Master, is it really fine to leave him like that? Even with a Mana Oath, isn’t there still a chance he could speak?”

He was right. Breaking a Mana Oath stripped a mage of their mana, leaving them ordinary and unable to ever feel mana again. But it wasn’t a perfect safeguard. Especially in matters like this, which could escalate into a national issue, the oath was not a flawless barrier.

The Demon King’s Temple was no small thing. No one knew what lay inside. If it fell into the wrong hands, the entire continent could be in danger. Rumors said it contained things tied to magic itself. That meant only a select few within the Widav Kingdom could ever know of it. The fewer the whispers, the safer.

“It’s fine.”

Hazabut brushed aside his disciple’s concern.

“You said it was confirmed only this morning?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Then I must meet His Majesty at once. Send word.”

“Understood.”

Kaedes bowed and left, relaying to the messenger mage that the Tower Master requested an audience with the king.

Two days later, Hanum, the 4th-class palace mage, was found dead. His funeral was quiet, attended only by grieving family.

“After that, His Majesty entrusted me with full authority.”

Hearing the tale, Dumaine understood why secrecy was absolute. He nodded.

“Shall I swear a Knight’s Oath?”

Hazabut looked at him with surprise.

A Knight’s Oath carried no tangible effect. The only consequence of breaking it was shattering one’s own conviction. But for a knight, conviction was everything. The higher their rank, the stronger their principles. They simply did not act against their beliefs.

Yet these days, such knights were rare. Many abandoned their vows, defecting to other nations for better rewards. Loyalty to one’s kingdom had sunk to its lowest point. So when Dumaine offered a Knight’s Oath, Hazabut could only be astonished.

“It’s fine. Your conduct makes any oath unnecessary.”

Hazabut had already investigated many candidates for this mission. For that, he had even relied on the kingdom’s intelligence bureau. He narrowed down the list, searching for the core figure needed this time: a Sword Master.

Some Sword Masters were trustworthy but lacked the necessary strength. Others were strong, but their loyalty and character were unknown. Most Sword Masters lived in seclusion, focused on training rather than public activity, so information on them was scarce.

But there was one who stood out with unusual balance—Dumaine. His ability was solid, and unlike others, he was active enough in the world that ample information existed on him. Everything indicated he fit the conditions perfectly. That was why Hazabut chose him.

“Thank you for thinking highly of me.”

Hazabut shook his head.

“There’s no need to thank me. It’s simply the result of your own conduct. You’ll be rewarded well. One of those rewards is a Mana Elixir.”

At the words “Mana Elixir,” Dumaine’s eyes flickered, however slightly. Hazabut did not miss it.

Greedy man. Well, any swordsman would crave it.

The Mana Elixir was condensed mana in liquid form. To make even a tiny amount—no bigger than a thumbnail—required fifty 5th-class mages pouring mana into it every day for five years. It was so dense it took on the texture of jelly.

If even a beginner Sword Master consumed it, their mana would surge, immediately raising them to the level of an advanced expert. For swordsmen, it was a priceless treasure. While it could benefit mages too, its effect on swordsmen was far greater.

“I thought it would be something simple, but if the reward is a Mana Elixir, I suppose not.”

“Not at all. The reward is large only because the unknowns are great.”

“Just hearing the name ‘Demon King’s Temple’ tells me this won’t be easy.”

“Even so, much time has passed. There should be no great danger. Besides, many mages will be present, and I will be going myself. It will be manageable.”

“You will be going too, Lord Hazabut?”

“I’m the one responsible, am I not? Of course I must. Heheheh.”

Dumaine looked at him in surprise, but quickly schooled his expression and nodded inwardly.

‘Who knows what golden treasures might lie there? No way I’m missing this. And once I return, the Mana Elixir will be mine. Then I’ll rise to the top as the foremost Sword Master in the kingdom. Hah…’

Dumaine loved strength. That was why he never stopped training. But training had its limits, and breaking through them was another matter entirely. Limits were limits, after all, and they constantly whispered temptation to give up.

But with a Mana Elixir, he could surpass them—he could step into the realm of the upper Sword Masters.

Unconsciously, Dumaine clenched his fist.

“Are there any details I should be aware of?”

“My disciple will inform you of everything two weeks before departure.”

“Understood. Then I’ll take my leave.”

Dumaine turned and walked away. His crimson cloak fluttered behind him. The sight of a knight striding off with his cloak billowing radiated overwhelming dignity. Even Hazabut found himself distracted by it for a moment.

Feeling a flicker of intimidation at Dumaine’s back, Hazabut hastily tried to shake it off with words.

“Ah. Until departure, take good care of your body.”

Saying that to a swordsman was foolish. Especially to a Sword Master, who knew their own body better than anyone. To say it to one of their rank bordered on insult.

“Don’t worry.”

Dumaine replied without looking back.

“Arrogant…”

Hazabut muttered.

The mountain path was familiar now. There was no hardship left—only boredom.
At first, climbing the mountain brought peace of mind. But after months, then one year, then two, even that feeling faded. What remained, unshaken, was fear of the Forest of Demons. Even now, just thinking of it made chills run down my spine.

I’d heard that if you rode south-west from the Rocky Mountain for seven days without stopping, you’d reach the forest’s domain. Judging from the rumors, it was a place too dreadful to even imagine.

By coincidence, Benjamin Village—my home—was the settlement closest to the Forest of Demons. That was why so many rumors reached us. Occasionally, outsiders visited, usually adventurers bound for the Desert of Death or the forest.

The Desert of Death lay just above the forest. From the peak of the Rocky Mountain, you could see the desert to the north. The mountain and desert were close enough that when the wind blew from the desert, its heat could be felt.

My grandfather once told me the reason herbs grew so abundantly on Rocky Mountain was because of its close connection to the Desert of Death and the Forest of Demons. I didn’t know what he meant, but I simply accepted it.

With such thoughts drifting through my mind, I stopped gathering herbs and looked into my basket. Woven from thinly sliced wood, it was already half full.

“Phew, let’s rest.”

Letting out a small sigh, I leaned my back against a tree trunk.

Peace.

Birdsong and the sound of flowing water added to the cool, refreshing air.

I was living in a world I had never known when I was in the lord’s territory. Back then, there had been no peace. Now, in moments when I wasn’t working, memories of those dark days resurfaced. Still, every so often, the memories of time spent with the uncles brought me waves of emotion.