Chapter 12 …
‘If I were just an ordinary ten-year-old, there’s no way I could have kept up.’
Dante followed behind Fran, scanning the surroundings as he thought this.
Even if it had been a proper mountain trail, he would have been tired. But the path they were on could hardly be called a road at all.
Fran, walking ahead, was cutting away some of the undergrowth with his long sickle, but even so, moving forward wasn’t easy.
“Are you all right?”
Fran glanced back as he swung his sickle through the branches.
It had been thirty minutes since they started climbing Mount Kalotes. He seemed to think that a child—especially a noble child—should have been exhausted by now.
“I’m fine. Just focus on guiding the way.”
Dante replied without even the slightest disruption to his breathing.
“A-amazing.”
Fran looked astonished.
“At this pace, how long will it take to reach the peak?”
“About another hour and a half, I’d say.”
So, two hours in total.
‘That’s certainly short.’
To climb a whole mountain in just two hours. And not even on a proper trail, but on a path barely worthy of the name.
Still, while the mountain wasn’t especially tall, it sprawled wide. That was why it was said to be impossible to explore the entire Kalotes in a single day.
“Have you ever seen anything unusual on this mountain?”
He asked in the hope of cutting down their search time, just in case.
“Something unusual…?”
“I mean exactly that. Something abnormal, out of the ordinary, strange. Any shape, any kind—it doesn’t matter. I’m asking if you’ve ever seen such a thing.”
Fran frowned, eyes flicking as if searching his memory. But after a moment, he shook his head.
“Sorry. I can’t recall anything like that.”
“I see.”
“Though… seeing the soldiers’ torches reminded me of an old tale I heard as a child.”
“…Go on.”
A faint hope crossed Dante’s face.
“They say there’s a small cave halfway up Kalotes where a beast that eats fire lives.”
“A beast that eats fire.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you ever seen it yourself?”
“Of course not. It’s just a story made up to keep children from playing in the mountains.”
Fran waved his hand at Dante’s question.
“After I grew up and started gathering herbs, I once went to that cave out of curiosity. There was no such beast there.”
“You actually went?”
“Yes. But there weren’t even rabbit tracks there, let alone a fire-eating beast. Well… I did figure out why such stories started, though.”
“The reason?”
When Dante tilted his head, Fran continued, suddenly animated.
“If you bring a flame inside the cave, it goes out—just like that. Whoosh. That must be why people made up the story of a fire-eating beast.”
“The fire goes out…?”
Dante’s eyes gleamed.
But Fran just shrugged, unconcerned.
“It’s probably gas from inside the cave. The gas cuts off the air and snuffs the flame. It’s not that rare a phenomenon.”
“Ah.”
That made sense. Much more believable than a fire-eating beast.
Dante turned to Milleon, silently asking his opinion. Milleon smiled faintly.
“Better to check it out once than wander aimlessly with no lead at all, don’t you think?”
It was exactly the answer Dante wanted.
He nodded and gave Fran an order.
“How long to that cave?”
“It’s very close. About ten minutes from here.”
“Then let’s stop there first.”
“As you wish.”
Fran raised his head, checked the terrain, then veered in another direction.
Exactly ten minutes later, Fran pointed ahead.
“There it is.”
He gestured toward a low hill, where a narrow gap at the base looked barely big enough for a person to squeeze through.
It was far smaller than Dante expected.
“You’d best not get too close. The gas could knock you out in an instant.”
So that was why the story of a fire-eating beast had come about in the first place.
At Fran’s words, they held their distance.
“Sir Milleon.”
When Dante called, Milleon silently extended his hand.
Clink.
A soldier quickly handed him a torch.
“Please step back a little, just in case.”
When Dante retreated a step, Milleon threw the torch into the cave.
And then—
Whoomph.
The torch went out instantly.
No one could mistake it for a natural sight.
“As I mentioned, the gas must be cutting off the air. This place is dangerous. Perhaps we should look elsewhere—”
“Silence.”
Dante cut Fran off with a raised hand. He had just sensed something strange when the flame went out.
‘What was that?’
Yes, the flame had probably been extinguished by gas, as Fran said. But then—
The remaining heat of the flame had seeped into the ground. As if sucked down.
“Dante.”
Milleon called softly, his expression confirming he had felt it too.
“Sir Patrick, Sir Elaine.”
Dante looked to the other knights. They also wore thoughtful expressions.
The soldiers and Fran hadn’t noticed a thing, but the knights had sensed it clearly.
“Bring me a torch.”
This time Dante himself took one and tossed it into the cave.
Whoosh!
Again the flame went out, and again that same sensation came, even stronger.
“It’s as if the fire’s energy is being absorbed into the earth,” Patrick said, frowning.
“How many torches do we have left?”
“Including the spares, forty-eight in total,” Elaine replied.
“Keep three. Throw the rest.”
At Dante’s command, the soldiers obeyed without hesitation.
Fwoom, fwoom, fwoom!
It was undeniable. Something underground was pulling in all the remnants of the fire.
Seeing this, Milleon drew his sword.
“M-my lord?”
Fran recoiled, startled.
“Stand back.”
Dante pushed Fran behind him.
Here.
He hadn’t expected to find it so soon. Whether it was truly the sacred flame or not, something definitely lay beneath this ground.
“Dante.”
Patrick’s voice came from behind. Dante turned and saw both Patrick and Elaine with swords drawn, their faces equally unsettled.
They clearly hadn’t expected to encounter anything real either.
“Best if you step back as well, my lord,” one of them suggested.
They had thought Dante’s little adventure was just childish whimsy—but now it had become something else entirely.
“Very well.”
Dante nodded and stepped back to stand beside Fran, who still looked utterly bewildered, his eyes darting nervously.
“Don’t worry. We’ve just found what we were searching for.”
“Y-yes, sir.”
Fran bobbed his head quickly, though the anxiety in his eyes didn’t ease.
“Sir Patrick,” Milleon said.
“You want me to do it?”
“Wouldn’t it be best?”
Of the three knights, Patrick was the most skilled. His career and experience put him near the very top of the order. Likely among the top three.
In a few years, Milleon might surpass him, but for now, Patrick stood above.
“All right then.”
Patrick twirled his sword lightly with a playful smile.
It was a simple gesture, yet the ease and mastery behind it were undeniable.
‘He handles his sword as if it’s part of his own body.’
Such natural grace was only possible after a lifetime of honing one’s blade.
Dante hadn’t paid Patrick much attention before, but now he realized the man was far stronger than he’d thought.
Shing.
Patrick shifted into position.
It looked casual, almost careless—but Dante’s eyes widened. This was no mere pose. Swordsmanship and mana blended seamlessly into a stance so perfect it made Dante’s chest pound.
“You two, hold the line,” Patrick told Milleon and Elaine with a grin.
Vwooom.
A heavy pressure sliced through the air. Unlike his easy movements, the power in the strike was weighty and overwhelming.
KWA-KRA-KRA-KRA-KRA-BOOM!
Patrick’s silver blade bit into the earth, unleashing a great cloud of dust. The ground, unable to withstand his mana-laden strike, began to collapse.
“Block it!”
Elaine raised her sword, signaling Milleon.
“Hrrgh!”
Both knights released their mana in force, cutting away the surging aftershock.
Shhhhhh!
The wave of dirt split apart, lost its strength, and scattered harmlessly around them.
‘So this is mana…’
Incredible.
They hadn’t used any technique—just raw mana poured into a blade. Yet it created an effect Dante could never have even imitated before.
From deep within him welled up a burning desire: to wield that power freely someday.
‘How long will it take?’
One year? Five? Ten?
He didn’t know. He had never walked this path before.
But one day, he swore, he would reach a realm no one else had ever set foot in. Just as with the sword.
As Dante’s heart raced, Patrick finally sheathed his blade.
Rumble-rumble-rumble…!
The ground gave way. Clearly, a hollow space had been beneath them.
And then—
Dante felt it.
It burned, yet gave no heat. Burned, yet gave no light. Burned, yet held no threat.
Just a faint, serene presence. A flame of blue, flickering softly.
“Wh-what is that?”
Fran’s eyes bulged as he pointed at the flame. Dante clenched his fist unconsciously and stepped forward.
Found it.
The trace of the Fire God. The remains of a dead deity.
Just a fragment of the authority once held by an ancient god long lost to time—yet the divinity emanating from it was overwhelming.
Dante knew instinctively: this precarious blue flame was the sacred relic that would later be known as the Holy Flame.
“Dante.”
A voice called his name. He turned to see Milleon’s face pale with shock.
“The book you mentioned, the one you saw… What did you say its title was?”
