"Guh...." Count Falgau’s consciousness returned amidst the searing pain in his chest. But what use was clarity when the battle was all but lost? The once-proud army of 50,000 was being annihilated at an alarming pace. It was hard to believe that such a massive force could be brought to its knees by an enemy that was half its size. The unknown Spirit Master had proven devastating. Too many of their mages had been tied up for too long, unable to turn the tide. Even accounting for that disadvantage, their forces should have at least matched the enemy. Yet, they were crushed utterly, caught off guard by a devastating ambush. "The Fenris Count... the northern army...." Falgau muttered weakly, the realization dawning on him. The Ducal Houses and the Salvation Church had underestimated their foe. This was no opponent to face in fragmented, isolated skirmishes. The forces should have been consolidated and brought to bear as one. "Even if I lose here, it’s not over yet...." Unaware of the truth behind the grander schemes, Falgau clung to hope. The Fenris Count, he believed, could not have anticipated the entirety of their plans. Before he could finish his thought, Ghislain was upon him. Like lightning, the Fenris Count closed the distance and, with a swift strike, severed Falgau’s head. Thud! The body of the once-proud Count collapsed to the blood-soaked earth, lifeless. Ghislain stood over the fallen enemy, his breathing heavy. "That was close," he muttered, exhaling deeply. Had he delayed even slightly, the fortress might have been lost. The sight of Gillian alive through Dark’s reports had been the only reassurance he needed to press forward. Their enemy had not been fools—they had adapted their strategies to the unfolding situation. Yet, it wasn’t enough. Ghislain turned to his knights. "It’s over. Secure the battlefield." With the death of Count Falgau, the battle was effectively finished. The Delphine soldiers were scattering in all directions, none daring to fight further. "Surrender!" "Drop your weapons and lie down!" "We’ll spare you if you yield!" Fenris soldiers shouted across the battlefield, and gradually, more Delphine soldiers chose surrender over flight. By the time the Fenris cavalry had completed their charge, Ereneth had already dismissed her spirits. The intense assault had broken the enemy’s will, and the surrender proceeded swiftly. Of the original 50,000 Delphine soldiers, fewer than 10,000 remained alive. These survivors would be absorbed into the kingdom’s forces, adding to their growing strength. Leaving his men to secure the battlefield, Ghislain headed into the fortress. "Gillian." "Lord..." The bloodied Gillian approached, supported by Arell. Despite receiving some healing from Ereneth’s water spirits and gulping down potions, his condition remained dire. His mana was completely drained, and the lingering corruption in his wounds hindered his recovery. But he was alive. A few days of rest would suffice to restore him. Ghislain smiled warmly at Gillian. "You’ve finally crossed the wall. I knew you would if given the chance." "Thanks to you... and Lady Ereneth," Gillian replied weakly. Everything Gillian had achieved thus far was because of Ghislain. But this time, it was Ereneth who had provided the opportunity for his breakthrough. She had recognized his potential and had allowed him to gamble his life for the chance to ascend. Ghislain turned to Ereneth with a curious look. "Is that so? Did you offer him some sage advice?" "Not quite," Ereneth replied with a faint smirk. "I simply thought he needed one more push. So I told him to fight the transcendent." Ghislain raised an eyebrow. "What if he hadn’t awakened? Gillian is a vital part of my forces." Gillian chuckled softly at Ghislain’s playful rebuke. The Count’s lighthearted demeanor never failed to lift his spirits. Ereneth shrugged. "He might have died. That’s why I was watching closely, ready to intervene if necessary." Her nonchalant tone belied the dangerous gamble she had taken. Even if the transcendent enemy had been a "half-measure," a transcendent was still a transcendent. One misstep, one miscalculation, and Gillian could have perished. But Ereneth’s calm demeanor revealed none of the tension she must have felt. Perhaps it was her long life that made her unshakable—or perhaps it was her unrelenting belief in her own decisions. Dark flapped down, perching on Ghislain’s shoulder. "Hey, Gillian, you know I saved you, right? If it weren’t for me, you’d be dead by now." "...I know." Gillian offered a faint smile. He owed Dark his life. The raven’s timely interference had allowed him to avoid a fatal blow. If not for Dark, Gillian would have died in the instant before his awakening. Suddenly, cheers erupted from the fortress walls. Ghislain turned to see his cavalry celebrating their overwhelming victory. Despite the fatigue from their rapid advance, the exhilaration of crushing the Delphine Army outweighed their exhaustion. The fortress garrison, hearing the news of Gillian’s ascension, had joined in the cheers. A transcendent changed the course of war. And the Fenris forces now boasted an increasing number of such individuals. With this, no single faction on the continent could hope to challenge them. Even the Duke’s forces would need to consolidate their transcendents to pose a threat. Ghislain smiled as he watched Gillian being carried away for treatment. "Well done, Gillian. Crossing the wall so soon..." The enemy still had formidable warriors. Count Kyanne Balzac, the Kingdom’s Greatest Swordsman. Iloise, the 7th Circle Mage. And Aiden, once among the continent’s Seven Strongest, not to mention the Salvation Church’s high priests. But with Gillian’s breakthrough, Ghislain was one step closer to securing victory. "I wonder if I should take that axe back from Elena." The thought made Ghislain chuckle. The axe, a weapon worthy of a transcendent, would suit Gillian perfectly. Though skilled with all weapons, Gillian preferred the axe above all. "Still, asking for it back might be tricky. What if she’s grown too attached to it?" Instead of considering her joy at Gillian’s success, Ghislain found himself worrying that Elena might feel slighted by the request. *** Clop, clop. Rattle, rattle, rattle. A long caravan was making its way toward the Lutania Kingdom, its wagons stretching in a seemingly endless line. It was a merchant group traveling between cities to trade goods. Though war and the fissures had plunged the continent into chaos, not everyone was preoccupied with fighting. Some still tilled the land, others crafted wares, and others yet were compelled to sell them. People needed to eat and survive, after all. The only difference in these turbulent times was the alarming proliferation of bandits, taking advantage of the chaos. To counter the threat, the caravan leader had hired mercenaries. These were none other than members of the now continent-wide Fenris Mercenary Corps. Hiring them was relatively simple. The corps had branches in nearly every city. Currently, about fifty mercenaries were guarding the caravan, led by a seasoned veteran captain. The mercenary captain addressed the caravan leader. "Once we get past this area, the risk of an ambush should decrease." "Hmm... That makes this stretch the most dangerous, then?" "Yes, this area is notorious for bandit activity," the captain confirmed, scanning the surroundings with a tense expression. The mercenaries, sensing his unease, tightened their grips on their weapons. The bandits these days were nothing like the ragtag groups of the past. They often operated in large, organized groups, with many being deserters from regular armies. War and unrest had left countless people desperate, their resentment pushing them into a life of crime. Even unscrupulous lords had contributed to the problem, exacerbating the cycle of violence and hate that now plagued the lands. The caravan leader, hoping to lighten the tense mood, chuckled nervously. "At least we have a magician with us this time. That should be reassuring, shouldn’t it?" "Ah... the magician," the captain muttered skeptically, glancing toward one of the wagons. There, a young man lay sprawled on a bed of straw, humming a tune as he gazed lazily at the sky, his legs swinging nonchalantly. The captain clicked his tongue. His doubts were evident. "I’m not even sure he’s really a magician...." The young man wore a black robe embroidered with gold thread—a striking garment, though its dark color could easily cause him to be mistaken for a Salvation Church priest. Had it not been for the luxurious embroidery, he might have been arrested on sight. His appearance hardly screamed "magician." Despite his youthful age, his tousled hair and perpetual grin gave him an air of mischief rather than dignity. His slight, wiry frame didn’t help; he looked more like a studious scholar than a powerful sorcerer. The captain shook his head in frustration. "Even if he is a magician, he’s probably a low-circle one." Though the man claimed to be a magician, the captain saw no reason to verify it. If he truly had powers, there was no sense in provoking him. If he didn’t, there was little point in pressing the matter. As they continued on their way, the captain’s prediction came true: a horde of bandits appeared, blocking the road. "Bandits ahead! Prepare for battle!" the captain shouted. The mercenaries quickly readied their weapons. Gone were the days when bandits might spare a caravan in exchange for bribes or negotiations. With lords too preoccupied to send out punitive forces, bandits preferred to kill and loot indiscriminately. A hulking bandit leader stepped forward, shouting with a cruel grin. "Well, look what we have here! Hand over everything, and maybe we’ll let you live!" Confident in their numbers, the bandits—more than a hundred strong—howled with laughter. The mercenaries, meanwhile, exchanged uneasy glances. Their own forces were outnumbered nearly two-to-one. The Fenris Mercenary Corps’ reputation was formidable, especially in Lutania, thanks to Ghislain’s fame. Yet, not all branches maintained the same standards. In this region, there were no knight-class members among them—just ordinary mercenaries riding on the corps’ reputation. The captain turned toward the wagon where the young man lounged. "Magician, we might need your help." The young man sat up, scratching his head with an exaggerated sigh. "Ah, I don’t usually use magic on regular people...." "What do you mean by that?" the captain asked, his irritation growing. "Well, I’m not a fan of killing humans," the young man replied nonchalantly. The captain’s eye twitched as he clenched his fists. The pretense of civility was wearing thin. "Those aren’t regular people; they’re bandits. Help us, or we’ll all die—and remember, you’re riding for free because you claimed to be a magician." The young man chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. "Ah, I guess you’re right... but there are so many of them. What should I use? Hmm..." "Anything that’ll help!" the captain barked. "If I use anything, it might be too powerful, you know." "This lunatic..." the captain growled under his breath, but before he could retort, the bandit leader bellowed. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢 "Enough talk! Kill them all!" The bandits charged, roaring as they rushed toward the caravan. The mercenaries formed a defensive line around the merchants, gripping their weapons tightly. Steel clashed against steel as the two sides collided. Though the mercenaries held their ground initially, the numerical disadvantage soon became apparent. The caravan leader grabbed the young man’s arm, tears in his eyes. "Please, magician! Do something, or we’re all going to die!" The young man, startled by the plea, hesitated for a moment before nodding. "You’re right... I can’t just sit here. Let’s see...." He picked up a stone from the ground. Whack! The stone struck a bandit square on the forehead, sending him crumpling to the ground. "Oh," the young man said, his eyes lighting up. He grabbed another stone, and another. Whack! Whack! Whack! One by one, the bandits fell as stones pelted them with unerring accuracy. The bandit leader’s jaw dropped as his men toppled like dominoes. "W-what the hell is this?!" In no time, the remaining bandits broke ranks, and their leader fled. "Retreat! I’ll bring reinforcements! Just you wait!" he yelled, sprinting into the distance. The captain turned to the young man, pointing at the fleeing leader. "Magician! Use your magic to stop him!" The young man nodded, grabbing another stone. Whoosh! Boom! The stone flew like a cannonball, striking the bandit leader in the back of the head. He collapsed immediately, unconscious but alive. The mercenaries dragged the bandit leader back, securing him for the bounty. The battle was over, but the mercenaries stared at the young man in disbelief. The captain, his voice trembling, asked, "Was... was that magic? Are you really a magician?" The young man ran a hand through his tousled hair, flashing a smug grin. "Of course. That was ‘Magic Missile.’" The captain’s jaw tightened. Magic Missile was a basic spell involving bursts of magical energy, not stone-throwing. But no one dared challenge him. His accuracy was too uncanny to be ordinary. The captain sighed, waving his hand. "Fine. Let’s move out." As the caravan resumed its journey, the young man lay back on the wagon, humming cheerfully. "The Fenris Count, huh? I’d like to meet him someday." The young man smiled slyly, his curiosity piqued by Ghislain’s growing legend across the continent. "Sounds like fun," he mused, grinning in anticipation.