~Chapter 15~
. The Spelder Family
“Since yesterday, the way people look at Esrik… the commander of the magic unit has changed.”
At Gardner’s words, Siruela nodded.
“That’s to be expected. Even you call him differently now, don’t you?”
“…I couldn’t help it.”
Gardner hadn’t been on the wall, so he didn’t see with his own eyes the snow worm consumed by fire.
But he did see the blazing whirlwinds of flame that soared high above the log walls.
“I’ve never seen magic like that before.”
“You… that’s right.”
Siruela let out a bitter smile.
“In the old days, all magicians used to cast like that.”
“The old days… are you talking about hundreds of years ago?”
“…About 300 years, I’d say.”
Back then, no one engraved marks into their bodies.
“In any case… thanks to the commander of the magic unit, the morale of the troops is way up. The training grounds are packed with volunteers for self-training—for the first time ever.”
“That’s good news.”
—Willpower. Yes.
Siruela wiped away the bitterness from his smile.
Right now, in Icerock, there was no such thing as hope.
None of the troops had come here by choice.
Most were criminals.
If not Icerock, their only option had been death.
Survival was their sole goal—dragging themselves through each day.
Without goals, there could be no will.
Siruela had a clear goal of his own.
But that was his goal alone.
He couldn’t force that upon the troops.
Nor was he a persuasive enough man to make them follow it.
So he decided to wait.
For someone who carried will.
And when wills gathered one by one, someday his goal could be achieved.
And, as though in answer to his faith—
The descendant of an old comrade appeared.
As if that comrade had been reborn.
The flames of his magic had burned away more than just a snow worm.
They set fire to the extinguished wills of the men.
Siruela was certain.
The long-awaited time had finally come.
There was only one thing—
That remained uncertain.
Esrik’s goal.
It didn’t look like he simply wanted to escape Icerock.
If that was all, he wouldn’t still be here.
With his magic, slipping past the guards and escaping would be child’s play.
Yet he chose to remain, and to fight alongside them…
“What is his goal, I wonder…”
“Sir?”
“Just talking to myself. So then, what is our great commander of the magic unit doing right now?”
“Ah, well, according to one of the troops in the unit…”
Gardner scratched the back of his neck before continuing.
“He’s in the library… reading.”
The library stood awkwardly among the fort’s buildings.
From the outside and in its surroundings, it seemed maintained—but inside, it was covered in dust.
“How long has this place been abandoned…?”
Calling it a library was generous—it was little more than a storage room for piled-up books.
Not only were the shelves filled to the brim, but hundreds more volumes were stacked on the floor.
Altogether, it looked to be over a thousand books.
“Well, I’ve got plenty of time anyway.”
He picked up the closest book.
The dust was so thick he couldn’t even read the title on the cover.
Opening it revealed page after page of mana theory—he shut it at once.
“Surely there’s at least one book here worth reading…”
Even though I had possessed Esrik Spelder’s body, my original self—that is, Magic—had a clear mission.
To spread magic far and wide through my contractors.
I had crossed countless worlds and made many into magicians.
And through them, magic had spread throughout those worlds.
So my task as Esrik was clear.
To become a magician, and to set right this world’s corrupted form of magic.
For that, I needed to know where it had gone wrong.
But locked away in Icerock, the only place I could get such knowledge was…
“This decrepit old library.”
The pitiful state of things drew a sigh.
Had I known, I wouldn’t have killed Barnard so rashly.
He was at least a triple-chain, with three engravings—surely he knew something.
But that was over and done.
Now my only choice was to dig through the dusty books.
“How did my fate come to this… Hm?”
In the corner stood a desk.
On it lay a single book.
Strange. Why just one, when the floor was buried in books?
I picked it up out of curiosity and opened it.
Flipping through, I realized…
“…A journal?”
Each entry marked with dates and records.
“Iar, year 118… When even is that?”
Puzzled by the unfamiliar calendar, I quickly skimmed ahead.
Icerock… the mountain monsters… the expedition journal…
The latter pages were blank.
When I closed it, I noticed on the back cover a name inscribed.
“Elrios…”
The very name Siruela had spoken of—a comrade.
“…Spelder.”
A forefather of the Spelder family.
[Iar 118, March 12]
Today, I made an important decision.
I will join the expedition to Icerock, to eliminate the calamity of the snowy mountains.
Of course, the elders of my family opposed it.
Of course, I ignored them.
As long as the calamity exists, monsters will never cease.
If not now, then when should magic be used?
What better way to make a better world through magic?
Honoring the will of our great forebears, and by my own conviction—
I will join Icerock.
[Iar 118, December 9]
At last, all members of Icerock have assembled.
Knights and magicians from many kingdoms.
Just their soldiers numbered in the hundreds.
With reinforcements from the kingdoms, we were over a thousand strong.
The most peculiar was an elf from the Great Western Forest.
Strictly speaking, a half-elf.
His name was Siruela.
The elves had said they couldn’t spare forces, being occupied with their own calamity in the forest—yet they sent Siruela alone.
No one believed that excuse.
Yet no one challenged his words either.
Because all could sense it.
That he was the strongest knight here.
Even I, a magician, could tell. How could the other knights not?
If they couldn’t, perhaps they shouldn’t be here at all.
Fighting a calamity is no simple task.
[Iar 119, January 4]
The scouting party returned.
Of thirty men, only four survived.
But thanks to them, we now had some idea of the mountain monsters’ kinds and numbers.
May their sacrifice not be in vain.
[Iar 119, July 21]
I never expected we could end the calamity in one stroke.
But even after three full campaigns, to not even grasp its form…
Our numbers, once a thousand, are halved.
Perhaps worse.
Yet we do not give up.
Fewer we may be, but our will is stronger than ever.
[Iar 119, November 30]
We saw the calamity’s face.
At the cost of hundreds of lives.
Findor, Razveta, Lung, Azban, Heidebel…
From young and gifted mages to wise old archmages.
No more debates between old Heidebel and others on whether chantless magic was right or wrong…
Strangely, that is what saddens me most.
The knights fared no better.
Those who came seeking glory left only their names behind.
Crows keep coming from my family.
Letters saying I’ve done enough, to come back at once.
I reply only to Father and Mother. The rest I burn for fuel.
I can never return.
For the sake of vengeance, and with my surviving comrades—
We will slay the calamity.
That accursed dragon.
[Iar 120, January 15]
I reached the Sixth Circle.
The domain of time itself, at forty years old.
If I’m not mistaken, that makes me the youngest Sixth Circle mage on the continent.
An achievement my family elders, the kingdom, and the Academy would all celebrate.
And yet… I feel no joy.
Even as a Sixth Circle, I doubt I can defeat that beast.
Now only two hundred of us remain in Icerock.
If not for the Ice-Maker family’s support, even fewer would live.
I know full well they aid us to secure northern lands. But we couldn’t refuse.
And even this won’t last long.
Time is running out.
[Iar 120, June 21]
The day of reckoning.
The longest, hottest day of the year.
When that wretched reptile is at its weakest.
We have done all we can.
I rehearsed every spell I know, dozens, hundreds of times.
But my casting requires long preparation: circles, chants, rituals.
Siruela told me not to worry.
To trust him and the knights.
And I do.
The only one I cannot trust… is myself.
Can a mere human mage of the Sixth Circle slay a dragon called a calamity?
No. Not alone.
But this is not mine alone.
It is ours.
Ours.
That was the final entry, dated Iar 120, June 21.
I stared at the empty next page.
A contractor is always chosen for a reason.
Their past, their passion, their talent… the reasons vary.
So I had never thought too deeply about why Esrik Spelder was chosen.
But after reading this journal, I had an idea.
The Spelders… they clung to incantations.
Even in these pages, Elrios agonized over chants and chantless magic.
And in his last entry, he seemed to have clung to proper magic until the very end.
So perhaps that is why, in this world, Esrik bore no engravings.
Because he followed the teachings of his ancestors.
And thinking back, he even knew the demon summoning spell.
Of course, that cost him his life…
…All the same, I will avenge him.
Xerath Grim.
I will kill him without fail.
But first, there’s something I must confirm…
“Siruela…”
“You called?”
“Wh—?!”
A voice from behind startled me. I spun around.
There stood Siruela, who had slipped in without a sound.
“You scared me!”
“You’ve been reading, I see.”
He was looking at Elrios’s journal in my hands.
“Yes. So… the calamity we must slay—it’s a dragon, isn’t it?”
“That’s right.”
This half-elf—speaking of killing a dragon as if it were some lizard.
“But also… not quite.”
“If it’s yes, then it’s yes. If no, then no. What do you mean both?”
“Before that, let me ask you something.”
“…?”
“What is your purpose?”
“My… what?”
“You could escape anytime you wished. Why then choose to face the calamity?”
…How was I supposed to explain?
That I was here to spread magic through this world?
That to do so, I meant to become a renowned magician?
That I was, in truth, Magic itself?
And that I had possessed this body? Would he believe that?
I wrestled with it, but no good answer came.
“…Just because.”
That was what I said.
Siruela studied me for a moment, then chuckled and nodded.
“I see.”
Still chuckling, he left the library without stopping.
Only after he was gone did I realize—
“Ah.”
I hadn’t gotten an answer to my own question.
“Well… I guess it doesn’t matter.”
Dragon or not—
“…Either way, I’ll kill it.”
