Chapter 32

Chapter 32
## Chapter 32

Surrounded by a group of guards, the large carriage of Count Belmiard of the Borderlands set off.

Even from a distance, the carriage radiated an aura of nobility, although for the Count, the escort was modest in size.

The guards at the Ebelstain gate bowed their heads and swallowed hard upon seeing the Belmiard family crest engraved on the carriage, letting it pass without even checking the servants’ identification. The Count’s presence made any verification unnecessary.

As the large carriage glided through the well-maintained streets of the commercial district, no one in the city dared to stand in its way. Although many eyes were drawn toward it, given the Count’s status, the journey proceeded with surprising tranquility.

‘It seems Beltus or Duplain haven’t arrived yet.’

Sitting in the carriage with his chin resting on his hand, Count Belmiard of Belmiard meditated in silence, observing the streets.

There were many reasons why someone as important as the Count would travel to Ebelstain. Officially, it was for the upcoming customs agreement, but in reality, it was to meet with the Archmage Drest WolfTail.

Additionally, after arriving in Ebelstain, he wanted to check on the condition of his beloved daughter, Ellen.

Although custom dictated announcing a visit by letter, Count Belmiard chose not to do so. He wanted to surprise his dear daughter and personally see how she was managing in the dangerous social environment of Ebelstain.

How was she surviving in such a cold society? Filled with concern, upon visiting Ellen’s noble residence, he found her completely dejected and emotionally exhausted.

“Ah, Father.”

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Ellen, pale and sipping tea in the garden, looked up with wide, startled eyes.

Her surprise matched that of Count Belmiard.

***

“Ellen, if social life is too exhausting for you, you can return to the palace. Expanding your contacts thanks to your status is fine, but do not sacrifice your feelings,” he said.

Count Belmiard, always stern and arrogant with others, was exceptionally kind to Ellen.

He could perceive her state just by looking at her skin. Her pallor and the lack of luster in her eyes clearly indicated she had suffered recently.

How could he, as a father, remain indifferent? Ellen was the jewel of House Belmiard, the Count’s most precious treasure.

Even if a noblewoman’s social position was as important as life itself, he saw no reason for her to depend on Ebelstain if it meant breaking her spirit.

“Ah, no, Father. I was simply reproaching myself for my recent failures, fearing I was falling into complacency.”

“Complacent! Ellen! You are the pride of our House Belmiard! You have achieved so much at your age, and with such wisdom… Who would dare say such nonsense?”

“…You don’t have to say so much. And well… I recently lost a magic duel and have been thinking about how to improve my magical skills.”

“You lost a magic duel? Ellen, you have a magical talent that surpasses any noble I have ever met. How could that happen?”

“It was… against the young lady of House Duplain…”

Upon hearing that, Count Belmiard fell silent. He took a deep breath, massaged his temples, and then thought about how to console Ellen.

If it was Aiselin of House Duplain, even Count Belmiard recognized that name.

He should have intuited it when Ellen mentioned her defeat. In the social circles of Ebelstain, few noblewomen could match Ellen’s magical abilities, and Aiselin was one of them.

“Ellen. You may feel a bit helpless now, but if you persevere, the sun will shine on you again.”

“Thank you for your comfort, Father. Even so, since I hired a magic instructor, my magical progress has been considerable. You would be surprised by my skills.”

“A magic instructor…? Are you referring to Felmier? I heard you’ve been spending time at the Belmiard estate lately…”

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“No. I hired a mercenary from the taverns for a while to prepare for the duel with Lady Aiselin. At first, I called him just to practice magic, but he knew more than I expected and was a great help.”

As Ellen shared the news, she cast a cautious glance at Count Belmiard, unsure of how he would react to knowing a street mercenary was her instructor.

No matter how open and impartial Count Belmiard was, a noble was still a noble.

The idea of a mercenary of dubious reputation clinging to his only daughter as a tutor was, undoubtedly, unsettling.

Just as Ellen had foreseen, Count Belmiard’s eyes reflected unease.

After reflecting for a moment, he asked again.

“So, what kind of help did you specifically receive?”

“Simply… I learned magical theories that cannot be taught with noble decorum alone… and he showed me a methodology to overcome my limits if I truly wanted to win.”

“But you lost to Aiselin. Anyone can teach mindset.”

His tone was sharp. It was rare for Count Belmiard, who adored his daughter, to speak with such frankness.

Ellen felt it. Count Belmiard was using this conversation to probe and evaluate something.

Without thinking too much, Ellen responded with sincerity.

“Being able to convey that effectively is also a skill. At least for me… I feel my perspective has broadened.”

“…”

Count Belmiard paused, rested his chin on his hand, and then narrowed his eyes after observing Ellen’s expression.

After reading all the letters Ellen had sent, Count Belmiard could sense what her social life had been like.

Whether it was the time spent learning estate management at the Belmiard manor or studying society in Ebelstain… Ellen’s eyes often sparkled with a mysterious and indescribable confidence.

However, upon knowing the world around her and encountering people more capable than herself, that confidence often faded.

In its negative aspect, it generated discouragement; in its positive aspect, it provided perspective. What one harbored in moments like those determined the temperament they would maintain throughout their life.

No one always moves forward, so how to react when confidence is affected? Reflecting on this, Duke Belmiard retracted his previous words.

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“Perhaps, Ellen, it would be better if you did not return to House Belmiard.”

“Really? To be honest… I was thinking of staying in Ebelstain.”

“Keep learning more about society. Lady Aiselin of House Duplain is not an easy rival, but I am sure our daughter will triumph one day.”

Withdrawing everything and returning to House Belmiard would mean that all of Ellen’s travels in Ebelstain had been a failure.

He could not allow that. Although he was somewhat worried, there comes a time when one must let their child face the world. An arm that only bends inward cannot raise a great person.

It was paternal psychology: those instincts that drove the desire to help as much as possible in the areas where one could.

“If that mercenary is as good at teaching magic as you say, perhaps it would be better to hire him exclusively for House Belmiard.”

“I heard he is affiliated with the Beldern Mercenary Group… but it’s possible high-level members would oppose it.”

“Does that matter? What matters is whether or not he helps my daughter’s magical development.”

Count Belmiard patted Ellen on the shoulder and laughed loudly.

“Trust this father. After all, he is a commoner, and if we bribe him with enough gold, he will yield. First, I need to call a messenger.”

***

Bang! Bang!

“Ahhh! Dereck! I’m going to get hit too…!”

A blast of wind swept the area, and a bloodthirsty wind howled through the damp, moldy underground labyrinth.

Outside Ebelstain. It was the lowest level of the labyrinth, but a labyrinth was still a labyrinth. Dereck’s eyes suddenly widened as he methodically slaughtered the demons one by one.

This was the spell he had perfected by repeatedly killing demons. But today, the sensation of the magical power itself felt strange to him.

The 2-star Fireball spell, which he used to eliminate numerous enemies at once, seemed to have increased in power.

It was a spell he had used hundreds of times, so the unfamiliar sensation was unpleasant to him.

However, an increase in attack power implied greater adaptability to magical force.

It was a positive change, not a negative one. Did the effort he had perfected over years of repetition finally make sense?

In the blood-stained labyrinth, Dereck extended his hands and observed them in silence.

“Dereck? What are you doing? More are coming from inside! Ow! They overwhelm me when they get too close!”

Pheline quickly drew the longsword strapped to her waist. For her, who usually kept her distance and supported combat with her bow, a horde of goblins surrounding her were not ideal opponents. They were not suitable adversaries for someone who preferred ranged combat.

Dereck opened and closed his hands, his eyes wide. Just now, the sensation of magical power emanating from his body was much more intense than usual.

Then, closing his eyes, he savored the sensation in his mind.

The shadow of the 3-star combat spell Wall of Fire, which he had studied and practiced repeatedly from the spellbook given to him by the Duplain family, took shape in his mind.

It was not a simple ball that exploded to attack enemies, but a precise wall that pressured many enemies at once and then created a favorable battlefield.

It was a spell that required a much more precise and refined use of magical power, so much so that one could not even attempt it without sufficient mastery, and even with extreme training of magical senses, it was a rushed effort at his current level.

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However, from within him, an inexplicable confidence flowed. As if the history of his tireless efforts whispered to him. And now?

Now that his magical senses burned intensely, would it be possible?

In the midst of that vague confidence, Dereck’s eyes, filled with magical energy, flashed momentarily.

– Burst!

But what followed was simply a series of simple explosions.

It wouldn’t have been a problem, but in an instant, more than half of Dereck’s stored magic evaporated into the air.

– Screeching! Screeching!

– Clang!

Gasping, Dereck grit his teeth and grabbed his sword.

On the battlefield, exhaustion meant death. Facing the demons’ attack, Dereck wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and tightly gripped the hilt of his sword.

His vision blurred, but he used all his willpower to stay conscious.

***

“You almost died? You, Dereck? In such a low-level labyrinth?”

While Pheline busied herself at his side, Captain Jayden looked skeptical.

Undoubtedly, Dereck was lying face down on the bar table, completely exhausted.

Jayden, who had brought him something to drink to help him recover, tilted his head and checked Dereck’s condition. It seemed Dereck was exaggerating the near-death experience.

Dereck, known for his meticulous preparation even for the smallest tasks, tended to make prudent decisions if the slightest obstacle or unforeseen event arose.

He seemed annoyed at having had more difficulty than expected with a task he considered as easy as eating cold porridge.

“Ugh… My magic almost ran out halfway. So I postponed collecting the requested items until tomorrow and focused on close combat without magic.”

“Shouldn’t you be able to face those creatures in close combat?”

“Well, yes… but I was tired, and if I had been careless, who knows what could have happened. Pheline had a hard time too.”

Knowing that Dereck rarely lowered his guard, Jayden could only tilt his head in confusion.

It was strange that Dereck, who had matured in the use of magic, failed to control it.

“What happened?”

“Halfway through… I felt a strange discordance in my use of magic and instinctively pushed myself.”

Saying this, Dereck extended his palm and observed it attentively.

He felt as if he had crossed a barrier, leaving a sensation that was exciting but confusing at the same time.

“…”

The fact that such a trivial task had become chaotic deeply wounded his pride as a mercenary.

However, beyond that, the idea that he might have approached a new magical realm overwhelmed him.

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So much magic had evaporated in a single spell. It was like when Lady Aiselin, who had just learned the 2-star spell, quickly ran out of energy after casting a Fireball.

Using high-level spells before mastering them could cause a drastic decrease in magical efficiency. It was a phenomenon mages usually experienced before leveling up.

Although the manifestation of the spell had failed, Dereck couldn’t help but wonder if he was approaching the point of using 3-star magic.

With that in mind, a strange thunder began to rumble in Dereck’s chest.

Now, at seventeen years old and with about a year left until reaching adulthood, was there any mage who had reached the threshold of 3-star magic at a time like this?

Even if one searched the entire continent, there might be a few, but among commoners, there would be none.

His talent was more than enough and his effort tireless. Not a single day passed without magical training. It was not strange that results were beginning to show.

However, he felt something was still missing.

Having come this far as a mage, he felt he was just one step away from mastering 3-star magic.

Although he felt a frustrating uncertainty about exactly what was missing, he also experienced genuine excitement seeing his efforts finally bear fruit. A mage’s ambition was different from a commoner’s.

– Creak

It was then that Dereck silently observed the palm of his hand.

Late at night, when the tavern was quiet.

Someone entered the tavern, where only Dereck and Pheline remained.

Welcome. Unfortunately, we are closing soon. But it is no problem if you wish to have one last drink.

“No problem. Give me your most popular drink, preferably with liquor.”

“Ha, it seems our last customer of the day knows about liquors.”

Closer to dawn than to dusk.

Late at night, when the streets were deserted, occasionally one or two customers would stop by to quench their thirst.

The hooded customer who entered had an indistinct face, but his voice sounded unmistakably elderly.

Although there were many empty seats, he deliberately chose to sit at the bar table where Dereck was sitting.

While Pheline recounted the day’s exploits while drinking mead, Dereck, quietly studying his hand, glanced sideways at the newcomer.

The man was weak. The arms visible under his cloak were not only thin but also fragile. It was a miracle he could even stand.

The wrinkles on his hands suggested he had lived at least half a century. People lived their lives in many different ways, so it was not strange for an old man like him to appear in a tavern so late for a drink.

Dereck, looking away, closed his eyes again to feel the magical energy still remaining in his body.

“There is no need for anxiety or for forcing things when one is blocked. The essence of magic in the Savage Academy lies in following the natural flow.”

The man spoke with sincerity, without anyone asking him. Dereck looked at him again, and Pheline turned with a confused expression. However, the man simply lowered his head and wrapped himself further in his cloak, remaining silent.

“Eh?”

Dereck asked. The intention behind his question was: who are you and why are you saying this?

But the old man did not respond; instead, he silently removed his hood.

In that instant, a slight chill ran down Dereck’s spine. Leaving Pheline bewildered, he had to forcibly resume the thread of thought that had almost consolidated.

“Of course, I know perfectly well how useless it is to tell mages to abandon ambition,” he said.

…

Deeply wrinkled forehead. Short hair. Dull, lusterless eyes. Tight lips. Dry, cracked mouth. More a walking corpse than a living person.

It seemed he had lived not just half a century, but more than a century. Dereck knew he had little time left.

– Clink

Jayden, who had brought a drink from the kitchen, placed it in front of the old man.

With a gesture of disdain, the old man took a sip and said:

“Toblerone Mountain, right? Its acidity is weaker than I expected.”

“Ah, sir, you have a very refined palate. But it is difficult to apply such high standards to the stock at this time of night.”

“It’s very good. If I were a bit younger, I would drink until I lost consciousness.”

The old man then turned his gaze directly to Dereck and said:

You have talent for combat and disruption, but you seem to lack skills for summoning and exploration. Your magical capacity is excellent, but its flow is not complete. Your efficiency decreases when magic flows toward your extremities.

…

“For your age, that is quite impressive. But you seem to overthink your spells, boy.”

Pheline’s eyes widened in surprise. Dereck also listened in silence to the old man’s words.

It wasn’t that no one had evaluated Dereck’s level at a glance. The Duke of Duplain had roughly estimated his mastery of magic in their first meeting.

A four-star explorer mage could generally evaluate someone’s level with just a glance. Of course, such mages were rare, even among the most famous noble families.

However, the old man’s insight surpassed even that.

“A cautious temperament is useful for exploring labyrinths, but it is different for magic. When applying the free-spirited magic of the Savage Academy, it is better to be bolder.”

“…May I ask your name?”

Why ask something you already know?

The old man knew that Dereck had already guessed his identity.

Combat, transformation, disruption, summoning, exploration. Excluding the forbidden arts, these were the five main schools of magic.

Humans had a habit of categorizing everything, regardless of what it was.

When the best mages in each category debated who was the best in the world, high-ranking nobles discussed the subject endlessly.

There might be highly recognized figures, but there was rarely unanimous agreement. There was always someone who offered a third opinion.

But when it came to the greatest explorer mage, no one dared to dispute it.

His unconventional origin made it difficult for anyone not belonging to the high nobility to recognize his true value, but those who knew him never argued otherwise.

“WolfTail.”

That was the name of the fragile old man drinking beer in front of him. He could go wherever he wanted, and if he chose not to be found, he would never be found. That is why, in high society, they called him the Wandering Spirit.

Indeed, his wise gaze seemed almost ghostly.