Chapter 59 - Damn Reincarnation

Desert

No matter how he looked at it, a shaggy fur cloak would stand out in the sweltering desert.

The solution was simple. Among the spells built into the Cloak of Darkness was a basic transformation spell. All it could do was remove the fur and thin the fabric, but that was enough. In Nahara, where sandstorms blew and nighttime temperatures dropped below freezing, plenty of travelers wore cloaks like this.

["It won't look quite as imposing, though."]

That wasn't Eugene's assessment. Melkith El-Hayah, the cloak's original owner, had added that remark while explaining the transformation spell.

Naturally, Eugene had no interest whatsoever in whether his cloak looked less imposing.

"Aroth and Kiel really are developed countries."

Eugene grumbled as he brushed away the sand that had already collected in his hair.

Aroth was called the magical kingdom not only because of its five magic towers and abundance of mages, but because the nation itself embraced magic.

It used magic for all sorts of things. Floating stations hung in the sky, along with flying carriages. Even the lights illuminating the streets were magical streetlamps. Apart from Helmuth, no other nation was so closely integrated with magic.

Other countries weren't as closely integrated with magic as Aroth. Nowhere was that more evident than in their warp gates. Gates that connected unimaginably distant locations were difficult to build and even harder to maintain.

With so many outstanding mages, Aroth could maintain hundreds of warp gates. Other countries couldn't.

Strictly speaking, even those that could chose not to. Warp gates were certainly convenient, but they carried various risks. Even in the present day, dozens of people each year died, went missing, or ended up crippled in failed warps.

Here in the desert nation of Nahama, for instance, there weren't many warp gates. The few that existed were reserved for the high nobility, and foreigners couldn't use them.

Of course, the Lionheart name would probably secure permission. But after receiving advice from both his teacher, Lovellian, and the Blue Tower Master, Eugene had no intention of advertising his family name.

"Ptooey."

Spitting away the sand clinging to his lips, Eugene reached inside his cloak. From among the assortment of belongings stored there, he took out two sheets of paper.

One was a map marking restaurants that specialized in Cactus Scorpions. Hera had hurriedly put it together after hearing that Eugene was going to Nahama to eat them.

He appreciated the thought, but he probably wouldn't use it. He hadn't come to this sweltering, windswept desert merely to eat some scorpions. Still, he was grateful for her kindness and couldn't bring himself to throw it away.

The other sheet was a map of Nahama that Lovellian had given him. It wasn't an ordinary map. This magical map linked to the coordinates of the space Eugene occupied, allowing him to pinpoint his location anywhere in the world.

He was currently at Nahama's western edge. Traveling far enough north from here would bring him to Turas.

Originally, he had intended to visit his hometown on the Turas frontier in search of a possible tomb. But there was no longer any need.

Three hundred years was a long time.

Nahama's desert was steadily expanding. Once every few decades, terrible sandstorms sprang up without warning and advanced unnaturally, swallowing the land beyond the desert. After three hundred years of that, the village on the Turas frontier where Hamel had grown up had become part of the desert.

Turas was a small country. It had no choice but to relinquish the territories ravaged by those catastrophic sandstorms and turned to desert. The expanding desert then became new territory for Nahama.

'So this is another way to invade.'

There was no need to wage a war. Anyone who wasn't an idiot would realize that the desertification caused by those sandstorms was man-made. Nahama's sandcasters. They hadn't been quite as notorious as black mages, but they had already had an evil reputation three hundred years ago.

It had been an age when Demon Kings rose, demonic beasts marched, and monsters went berserk. Some countries had gathered armies to fight the Demon Kings; others had gathered armies to exploit the chaos for their own gain.

Nahama had belonged to the latter group. Those bastards had taken advantage of the turmoil to station troops along the Kiel Empire's frontier.

Had Vermouth not come to Kiel, Nahama would have invaded it as planned and joined the ranks of the empires.

He hadn't liked the country in his previous life, and three hundred years later, his opinion hadn't changed. It wasn't because it had taken his hometown. If anything, he felt a little grateful to Nahama for that.

Thanks to it, he wouldn't have to cross the border twice.

* * *

A few things were getting on his nerves.

One was the desert. The heat wasn't much of a problem, but the relentless sandy wind was fucking awful.

At least Eugene had it relatively easy. Wynnyd, the Storm Sword. The wind spirit he summoned could brush the sand off him without his having to wash.

But the sandy wind wasn't the desert's only problem. It was vast and empty. Wherever he looked, there was nothing but sand. Since passing through the warp gate at the western border, he hadn't seen so much as a village, let alone a city.

It didn't really matter. He already had a map that would keep him from getting lost even in this enormous desert, and he had stocked ample food and water inside his cloak.

Sleeping outdoors? Well, that might be an ordeal for a pampered young master of the prestigious Lionheart family, but Hamel, who had spent his life roughing it, was used to it. Even the desert's goddamn nighttime cold became enjoyable when he lay wrapped in the Cloak of Darkness, reminiscing about the old days.

'At least the stars are easy to see.'

Wrapped in his cloak, Eugene gazed up at the night sky. The night skies of Kiel and Aroth were quite a sight, too, but they couldn't compare to the desert sky, with not a single light around.

If not for the bastards hovering in the distance, he could have enjoyed the stars in a much better mood.

'How many days has it been?'

Four days since he had passed through the western checkpoint.

Normally, people never crossed the desert alone. At the border checkpoints every foreigner had to pass through, plenty of foreigners sought companions for the crossing.

They could rely on one another, join a caravan for a while, or hire a guide familiar with the desert and an escort. There were plenty of options, but Eugene had chosen none of them.

He had simply decided to cross the desert alone and done just that. He hadn't even ridden a camel, instead making the crossing on foot. He had judged that walking himself would be faster than riding one.

'Bandits?'

That had been his first thought. But their behavior was odd for bandits. They had started trailing him two days ago, yet instead of attacking and trying to rob him, they kept their distance and followed him around.

'ID cards are convenient, but at times like this, they're a fucking pain.'

Three hundred years ago, passing oneself off with a false identity tag had been common. Present a tag picked up somewhere along with a little money, and most checkpoints would let you through. But these days, identity cards registered to the bearer's blood were standard, making it difficult to falsify an identity.

Not only was it difficult, getting caught would make things an enormous hassle.

'Who are they?'

He had presented his identity card at the checkpoint. He had also slipped a fair amount of money to the official who had made such a fuss. Eugene thought he had tactfully conveyed his wish for the man to shut up and let him through, but apparently the damned bastard had simply pocketed the money and reported him to his superiors.

Was that why he had picked up a tail? Belonging to a prestigious family wasn't always convenient. Clicking his tongue, Eugene took out his map.

He had maintained a good pace over the past four days. This body didn't tire easily, and he had plenty of mana. Thanks to that, he could travel faster than he could on a camel. If he kept up this pace, he would reach his former hometown in three days at the latest.

He had no intention of returning home with an annoying tail attached.

He had left them alone for two days to see what they wanted, but since they kept their mouths shut, he would have to force them to talk.

* * *

"It amazes me every time. Isn't that brat cold?"

Raman lowered his telescope in astonishment. After following him at a distance for two days, he found the Lionheart boy so unpretentious and uncouth that it was hard to imagine him as a young master from a prestigious family.

The boy didn't travel with guards. Well, Lionheart was a renowned martial family, and even among its members, this boy was considered exceptional. Born into a collateral branch, adopted by the main family, the Bloodline Succession Ceremony...

Things like that. Raman wasn't particularly interested. However impressive Lionheart might be, his target was only a nineteen-year-old kid. Rumors were usually exaggerated, and Raman feared his master's orders more than some young master from a distant foreign country.

"I suspect it's some sort of ritual."

"A ritual?"

"You said he'll be an adult next year, didn't you? Our tribe sends boys away from the tribe when they're about to come of age."

"Why say that as though it's something special? Our tribe's coming-of-age ceremony is the same. Most tribes living in this desert have ceremonies like that."

Raman snorted as he answered.

"So you're saying that boy is challenging the desert to prove he's an adult?"

"Why else would he behave like that? He doesn't build a fire or pitch a tent. He crosses the desert from morning until night... hunts the monsters he encounters... I've watched him several times, and his behavior seems no different from a desert tribe's coming-of-age ceremony."

"Why would a Lionheart from Kiel come all the way to this desert for a coming-of-age ceremony?"

"I don't know why. But didn't our master tell us to keep that boy from entering the Kazani Desert?"

That was the entirety of their master's command. Raman didn't know the reason, and he had no intention of interpreting his master's orders however he pleased.

"We should get some sleep, too. That industrious boy will start moving first thing in the morning."

"Lionheart really must be impressive. He shouldn't be used to the desert, yet he's so fast on his feet. Anyone watching would think he'd been born in the des—"

The talkative lieutenant couldn't finish. His mouth hung open as he stared behind Raman. Unable to understand his lieutenant's expression, Raman turned his head.

A moment later, his mouth fell open as well.

Eugene Lionheart. Following him for two days had taught them, to their utter exhaustion, that the boy was unbelievably fast. He wasn't riding a camel, nor did he have equipment for a desert crossing.

Just a single cloak. Even his shoes were ordinary ones that could be worn anywhere. Yet the boy ran across sand that swallowed their feet as though it were solid, level ground.

He was doing it now, too. No, was that even running? For a moment, Raman doubted what he was seeing. They hadn't wanted him to notice their pursuit, so they had kept ample distance—far enough that they couldn't make him out without a telescope. They hadn't neglected camouflage, either. Even now, Raman and his men were pressed close against the ridge of a dune.

And yet.

He could clearly see pure white flames cutting through the darkness. It was his first time seeing them in person, but Raman knew those famous mana flames well. Lionheart's White Flame Formula. A lion's dazzling white mane.

"B-back!"

Raman shouted. Fighting the boy hadn't been part of his master's orders. How—no, when had he noticed? He was coming straight toward them. He was far too fast. Their ample distance was shrinking until it was nowhere near enough. Raman drew the kukri at his waist.

'As I thought. They're not assassins.'

There were two particularly troublesome and famous groups in Nahama: sandcasters and assassins. Judging by their concealment skills and clothing, these men didn't seem to be assassins. Their clothes looked no different from those of travelers crossing the desert. Probably a disguise.

"Stop!"

It was too late to retreat. The boy was approaching far faster than Raman had imagined. His face hardened as he shouted.

Stop? Was that directed at him?

Why?

Eugene didn't respond to Raman's shout. He wanted to know who these men were. He also wanted to know what they were plotting as they followed him. Perhaps exchanging friendly greetings and chatting would get him those answers, but that approach had never even entered his mind.

If they wanted that, they shouldn't have followed him in secret.

Raman gritted his teeth. He had made his intentions clear, but the boy wasn't listening. Did he mistake them for bandits? Since he was charging at them, it was too late to clear up the misunderstanding through conversation. Their master had told them to follow him secretly. To carry out that order properly, it would be better to let him misunderstand than to explain.

'Let him think we're bandits.'

They would subdue him, take a reasonable amount of his valuables, and leave. It wasn't a clean solution. Perhaps being robbed would make the boy retrace his steps.

That wouldn't be a bad thing for Raman. If the boy had continued in the same direction tomorrow, Raman would have had to intervene one way or another.

Raman's mana coiled around his kukri. Gray sword force. Eugene's eyes gleamed at the sight. Someone capable of going beyond sword aura and forming sword force was a reasonably skilled opponent.

'It's been quite a while.'

Over the past two years, he had smelled ink more often than steel. He had held books and pens more often than swords or other weapons. He had used his mind more than his body. Though he had trained in his research chamber every day, he had devoted overwhelmingly more time to magic and his paper.

Moreover, his training in the research chamber had always been solitary. At the Lionheart main estate, he had often sparred with Cyan, Gilead, Gion, or the other knights.

It had been two years since he had last faced someone else like this.

That fresh realization delighted Eugene. Learning magic was certainly fun, but...

In both his past life and his present one, he found using his body more enjoyable.

Raman displayed his sword force without swinging it. He had produced it only as a threat, to make Eugene stop.

Soon, he realized that his intentions hadn't gotten through in the slightest.

This nineteen-year-old Lionheart boy was charging at ten people in the middle of a desert with no one to help him. Even faced with sword force that proclaimed its presence in the pitch-black night, he showed not the slightest fear.

Instead, something seemed to delight him so much that his lips twisted into a grin.

That smile. Raman could no longer think of his opponent as a boy who hadn't even undergone his coming-of-age ceremony. This was a fully grown male lion, old enough to strike out on his own and establish a pride.

The Cloak of Darkness fluttered. Eugene's arms were hidden beneath it and difficult to see. Raman dragged his foot backward and raised his kukri a little higher.

FWUMP!

The cloak billowed, and white light cut through the darkness. Alarmed, Raman swung his kukri. It wasn't an empty swing meant merely to threaten. He had judged that he couldn't afford that.

And he was right.

CLANG!

A silver-blue blade shot out from beneath the cloak and collided with the kukri. Collided—that was how Raman perceived it. He was wrong. It wasn't a collision; his weapon had simply been struck aside. His kukri flew upward, and a jolt ran through his wrist and arm.

"Gasp...!"

Raman sucked in a breath and hastily pulled back. At that momentary clash, his men moved. The lieutenant standing a little behind him already had his kukri in hand. He hurriedly lunged at Eugene to cover Raman's retreat.

Or started to, then briefly stopped. Eugene held a loaded crossbow in his left hand. When had that happened? That hand had been empty a moment ago.

SHHH!

Landing on the slope of the dune, Eugene kept his crossbow aimed. The lieutenant watched the bolt pointing directly at his chest. It was only a bolt; he wasn't afraid. He was skilled enough to catch one in flight.

But he couldn't react immediately when the sand beneath his feet suddenly gave way.

'Magic!'

There had been no incantation. The spell had simply manifested without warning. The lieutenant hurried to escape the spot, but Eugene's magic didn't stop at collapsing the ground. Drawn by mana, the sand formed dozens of tendrils that wound around his legs.

"You bastard!"

The other men charged. Only then did Eugene fire the crossbow.

THUD!

The lieutenant couldn't dodge the bolt. Fortunately, it struck his shoulder rather than his chest, but a bolt hurt wherever it hit.

And bolts weren't all Eugene fired. Dozens of Magic Missiles pierced the darkness.

"Who are you people?"

Only then did Eugene speak.

Raman couldn't answer immediately.

The only people still standing unharmed were Eugene and Raman.