Chapter 13

Alter Heindel, a high-ranking mage of the 8th Circle, forcibly suppressed his disappointment upon actually meeting the white-haired boy from the outlandish rumors.

The tale that reached him – a mage, barely a Fourth Circle, a former street urchin who’d never properly learned magic, surviving a fight against a Grand Archon – he initially dismissed it as the usual blather of apprentices.

To have never properly learned magic meant possessing magic, but lacking the opportunity to cultivate it.

Most high-ranking mages, before their training and apprenticeship, barely possessed the magic of a Second Circle. Some of the Archmages he knew hadn’t even been aware they held magic as children.

No matter the immense potential, magic would not grow without training and study.

And yet, a child, untutored and untrained, held the magic of a Fourth Circle?

Furthermore, the mastery of that magic was so exceptional that they survived against a Grand Archon? A mage who was *only* Fourth Circle?

The rumor was not just absurd, it was laughable.

More fanciful than any novel, Altar dismissed it. Surely, the falsehood would soon be revealed.

Then, a letter arrived from the Emperor.

The boy of rumor existed, had joined the Sword Saint’s party, and, furthermore, was seeking someone to teach him magic.

…Could this be real?

A genius had appeared, defying everything he knew.

Upon reading the letter, Altar immediately departed for the capital with his most promising disciple.

His magic tower was more than a week’s journey from the capital. But he spurred onward, stopping in villages only to replace exhausted horses and drivers, relentlessly pushing for speed.

Thus, Altar arrived in the capital just three days after the letter reached his tower.

The boy he met after such haste differed greatly from what he expected.

The boy certainly possessed magic at the Fourth Circle level.

For his age, that was indeed quite talented. Considering he had never received proper training… it was an unbelievable level of talent.

The apprentice mages he managed at his tower often failed to reach even the Second Circle at that age, let alone the Fourth.

But he hadn’t relinquished the mastership of the tower he had built, hadn’t raced here, just to witness this level of talent.

What Alter craved to see was an overwhelming talent, one that utterly negated his own knowledge and experience.

Until he boarded the carriage, he’d fully expected to witness a once-in-a-century talent that defied all norms… Alter took the greatest care to ensure no hint of his unease surfaced on his face.

“It is an honor to finally meet you, Mister Bean.”

Alter placed a hand on Bean’s shoulder as he shook hands with his own prized pupil.

How thin and insignificant his frame felt, as if the slightest pressure might break him.

‘…He truly survived with this body? A battle against a Grand Warlord?’

While not to the extent of a warrior, a certain level of physical fitness and conditioning was essential for any mage venturing onto the battlefield.

Casting proper magic amidst the screams, arrows, explosions, and spells of war required significant concentration.

Furthermore, swift feet were necessary to evade enemy attacks or secure advantageous positions, and at times, a superior mental fortitude was needed to endure the pain of injuries and complete a spell.

The battlefield was no place to trifle. The mage, who had lived over eighty years, knew this fact all too well.

And to a mind shaped by such experience, the white-haired boy seemed simply dubious.

Just look at those frail arms and legs. If he were placed on the battlefield, he looked like he’d be felled not by an arrow, but by a stray piece of rock kicked up by one.

‘It seems all this talk about him returning alive from a battle against a Grand Warlord is nothing but unfounded rumor…’

Scholars, by their very nature, were beings brimming with curiosity and skepticism.

No matter how much everyone, including the Sword Saint, raved about him being a once-in-a-century talent who would save humanity, it held no weight with him.

In his eyes, this boy was nothing more than a mage of ordinary genius, the kind that appeared once every few decades.

Even his own pupil, Lir, who was currently huddled in the corner of the reception room fiddling with her hands, had reached the 4th Circle at the age of nineteen.

‘For a genius born with an overwhelming talent capable of saving the world… he’s rather plain and unremarkable.’

Born a mage and having walked the path of a scholar his entire life, Alter Heindel was a man who couldn’t be satisfied unless he personally tested and judged everything.

“Would you be willing to demonstrate a spell for me? Even a simple ‘Bolt’ would suffice. It is in order to accurately assess your current level, Mister Bean.”

‘Bolt.’

The most fundamental of all electrical magecraft.

A simple mechanism of converting mana within the body into electricity and discharging it from the fingertips.

Alter could discern a mage’s skill level just by observing this simple spell’s execution.

How much mana leaked in the instant of conversion to electricity, how quickly the conversion occurred, and the sheer force contained within that electricity.

‘Bolt’ was the cornerstone of electrical magecraft, and the most reliable and clearest indicator of a mage’s caliber.

“I refuse.”

But the boy named Vin coldly rejected Alter’s request.

“…Why?”

Alter inquired, concealing his displeasure as much as possible.

The hope of witnessing a refined and elegant Bolt shattered, causing his eyebrows to flicker almost imperceptibly.

“I wish to conserve my mana as much as possible for tomorrow’s expedition.”

“It’s just a single Bolt, wouldn’t it be alright?”

“Even that single Bolt’s worth of mana could be the difference between victory and defeat. A mage’s mana is a vital resource for the expedition. You are well aware of that, are you not, Master Alter? If you wish to gauge my level, then accompany us on tomorrow’s expedition.”

“….”

After such a firm declaration, Alter could hardly insist on seeing a ‘Bolt’ any further.

In truth, there were many instances where expeditions were senselessly annihilated because a mage ran out of mana at a crucial moment.

A single, insignificant Bolt. A battle won or soldiers spared – all lost for lack of the mana to cast it.

“…Very well, let’s do that. It is late, I bid you pleasant dreams.”

He would find out tomorrow, anyway.

Would that boy truly prove capable of surviving the Archlord?

It would be enough to simply lie in bed comfortably tonight, and sleep with the hope that the rumors about the boy were not false.

If the rumors were false…then he would make them pay dearly for deceiving the leaders of each race, including the Emperor, and for stealing his time.

* * *

Morning broke, and the expedition was swiftly prepared, departing before even nine o’clock.

Vin wore a black robe and a large hat with a wide brim. On the boy’s skeletal finger sat a ring embedded with a jet-black sapphire, and around his slender neck hung a necklace made of mermaid pearls.

The ornate adornments clashed with the boy’s sharp, decadent appearance, but this was, after all, the battlefield they were heading for.

No fool alive would refuse equipment that increased magical power and aided spell accuracy simply because it didn’t suit their aesthetic.

Alter and Lier boarded the carriage right next to the boy’s, idly watching the changing scenery.

They had no intention of fighting, and so they hadn’t come as fully prepared as the boy.

Alter’s battle robes hung back at the lodge, and Lier, apart from his usual hat, had only brought a few rings on his fingers in preparation for any unforeseen events.

As the carriage carrying the three of them left the capital and rolled northward, the boy named Vin did nothing but stare intently at his spellbook.

“By the way, where is our destination?”

Only after the capital had faded far into the distance did Alter cautiously ask about their destination.

“The Enker Highlands.”

The destination was farther than expected.

“Why there…?”

“Because that’s where the dragon is.”

The boy answered calmly, his gaze scanning back and forth across his spellbook.

The Enker Highlands.

The land, uniquely fertile. The relentless sun, perfect for cultivation. Add to that a surrounding environment almost entirely free of weeds and pests. This was once the continent’s granary, responsible for seventy percent of its wheat production – the best in the world.

But that was before a young dragon descended upon those fields.

The circumstances that led a dragon, one that should have been perched atop some towering mountain peak, to suddenly nestle in the plains of the Enker Plateau were simple. The demonkin had seized its original territory.

With the sudden appearance of the dragon, all the farmers living in the region fled… and as a result, the value of food skyrocketed across most of the continent.

This period also saw a maddening surge in the number of vagrants, all because of it.

“…Looks like we’re short on manpower for dragon slaying. Just so you know, I won’t be fighting. I’m here to witness Vin-nim’s skill, not to waste my own energy.”

The dragon that had taken residence on the Enker Plateau was no more than a fledgling, not yet fully grown.

But even a fledgling was still a dragon.

Not an enemy that a 4th-circle mage and a squad of regular infantry could just charge in and defeat.

It would take at least a squad that included a high-ranking mage of the 7th circle or higher, or a squad that included a warrior on the level of an orc chieftain.

Or, failing that, an expedition with ten times the number of infantry they had now.

‘Could he really be that skilled?’

Alter sent a dubious look toward the boy, stroking his chin.

‘…More likely he’s just a greenhorn who doesn’t know the extent of a dragon’s power.’

Barely sixteen, seventeen years old. How often could this boy, who wasn’t even an elf, have possibly seen a dragon?

Alter’s conjecture was reasonable, but this boy was someone who had slain the young dragon of the Enker Plateau hundreds, even thousands of times.

Albeit, from beyond a monitor…

“If a Sword Saint were sent, it would be dealt with in an instant.”

“Sword Saints are busy saving people. And the other party members are busy assisting them…”

The boy answered calmly, without taking his eyes off the grimoire.

“I’m told I won’t be deployed to the battlefields where the Sword Saint’s party’s frontliners are active until I’ve received all the basic instruction from you, teacher. But that doesn’t mean I can just do nothing. I, too, am a soldier who wears clothes and eats food bought with the taxes that the people of the continent worked so hard to earn.”

The boy’s small voice filling the rattling carriage created a rather peculiar feeling.

“Surely, even a young dragon should be hunted, shouldn’t it?”

“…Well, yes, that’s true.”

Alter chuckled softly and slowly approached, settling into the seat beside the boy.

Having heard he was a former street urchin, Alter had worried he might be a brainless thug. But the boy was far more polite and thoughtful than he had anticipated.

“…You’ve been fiddling with that magic tome since a while ago. Is there something you don’t understand?”

Alter decided to gift the boy, who was clearly eager to learn, with a bit of instruction.