Chapter 125 - A Half-Baked Magus (4)

The duke stared blankly ahead.

What he saw was an ashen world. Beyond it lay parched earth where not even a blade of grass grew.

Nothing remained.

A land from which everything had vanished.

As familiar faces began to appear upon that land before the duke—before ■■■—he realized something.

This was a memory of the past. A faded past he could now scarcely recall, one that the impartial passage of time had finally left accessible only in dreams.

It was the reason ■■■ had survived all this time, and the yoke within his memories that tormented him.

The duke could not look away.

There stood the familiar backs of the Magi. Among their ranks, he could make out many faces: Magi who had been there before he became his master's disciple, those who became Magi around that same time, and even those who had become disciples of other Magi after him, only to become Magi before he did.

All of them were crossing the barren land, walking into the abyss.

Next came his master's smiling face.

Her smile was as benevolent as ever.

["There is nothing we can do, ■■■. Once the world's souls filled to the brim, there was nothing more we could do."]

Had it not been for her tears, even he might briefly have mistaken it for her usual smile.

["■■■, I'm glad you never became a Magus."]

No.

That was wrong.

He should have become a Magus.

He should have been of help, too.

That was what he had thought, so he seemed to recall saying something in the memory.

What had he said?

He could not remember. His vague guess was that he had probably pleaded to go with them.

Yet unlike his own forgotten words, the image of his master remained.

["If you aren't a Magus, your death would only be in vain. So instead, I'll leave what comes after to you."]

Her face wore a look of helpless resignation.

["You must survive. And protect this world. The world we—"]

The world the Magi had preserved.

Her final words, spoken as she stroked his head, though he had now grown taller than her.

With that, his master and the Magi left him behind and walked into the abyss.

To stop the sins crawling up from the roots.

To protect this world.

Humanity.

A half-baked Magus.

They went on without him.

And the last thing he saw was—

"Gah—!"

The memories, faded to ash-gray, twisted dizzily as the duke coughed up blood.

He looked around with weary eyes.

What he saw was an ashen world. And barren earth.

"..."

Even so, he realized he was not inside a hazy memory of the past. It resembled that time, but there was a clear difference.

"..."

Duke Comalon—■■■—stared blankly ahead.

A man stood where the Magi had stood in his faded memories. A half-baked Magus silently looking down at him with an expression devoid of emotion.

Marquis Pallatio stood there, gazing down at the duke.

The marquis did not look well.

He had not seen it clearly earlier, but the hands and neck left exposed by the black coat had turned blue. His mana poisoning was so severe that anyone would have found it strange that his mana had not begun to harden.

And that was not all.

Most of the wounds visible around his blue skin were minor, but his right arm was gravely injured.

Yet none of that left much of an impression on Duke Comalon.

"... Cough."

After all, the marquis could still stand, whereas Comalon himself had collapsed to the ground.

He lowered his gaze.

There was an enormous hole.

A hole gaped in the middle of his abdomen, so large that he could no longer sustain his human life—even with the Abyssal Core he had used.

"Ha—"

The duke laughed despite himself.

He did not know why he was laughing. Had his mind gone wrong? Or was it the relief of finally being freed from his heavy burden?

What was it?

What was the reason?

...

...

...

In truth, Duke Comalon knew. He knew very well why that hollow smile had formed on his lips.

More precisely—

["You must survive. And protect this world. The world we—"]

After hundreds of years, those fragments had ceased to function as memories and become nothing more than a blind purpose. Now that they had surfaced vividly in his mind, he could finally understand again.

["—the Magi preserved."]

His master's face in the resurfacing memory looked wistful.

Other emotions lay within that wistfulness: sorrow and pity.

■■■ knew why she wore that expression.

She had never expected anything of him in the first place. She had never thought he could protect the world.

He was far too powerless for her to place such hopes in him.

Even ■■■ had understood that his master had only said those words to soothe his unreasonable pleading. He might have lacked talent, but he was not oblivious.

Yet even if his master expected nothing of him, even if no one did, he had made a solitary vow as he watched the Magi enter the abyss.

He would protect the world they had preserved.

He would not let their sacrifice come to nothing.

But, absurdly enough, that vow had begun less out of a great cause than a desire for self-satisfaction.

It was a vow made by a half-baked Magus who had never once been acknowledged, so that he could be recognized as a Magus. So that he could proudly think and say that he was one of them.

Even if no one else acknowledged him, he wanted at least to believe it himself.

In other words, the smile on his lips now was one of self-mockery.

"So I'm half-baked to the end—"

Blood running from his mouth, ■■■ let out an involuntary, bitter laugh.

In the end, he had accomplished nothing.

Just as his master had expected.

... Just as the Magi had expected.

He let out a dry sigh and realized his vision was slowly blurring.

Death, which he had postponed for countless years in pursuit of a single purpose, was now before him.

"Duke."

He turned his head at the voice.

Marquis Pallatio was looking down at him with the same emotionless expression as before. Then he spoke.

"You are a Magus."

A single, quiet statement.

He could not understand why the marquis had said it, or what he intended.

But regardless of his intent—

"... Ha."

■■■ could not help a faint smile.

Whatever the marquis meant, those words were sweet to the duke.

... They were words he had longed to hear, even if they were a lie.

And so, smiling, the duke offered his own form of thanks before closing his eyes.

"... The far east. Go south of the 'border.' Since you've received sentences, you might find help there. You might see—the truth, too."

As the abyss descended, his mind slowly began to sink beneath the surface of sleep.

And at the very end, what came to him, absurdly enough, was one last memory.

His master's final words, which he had failed to recall until the very last moment.

["You must survive. And protect this world. The world we—the Magi preserved—"]

["—You are a true Magus."]

That was the final memory ■■■ recovered as his mind sank completely beneath the surface.

'I see. You did... believe in me...'

At last, the half-baked Magus fell into eternal rest.

A small smile lingered on his lips.

And—

The 'eye' the half-baked Magus had never seen quietly watched his death.

####

Exactly three days had passed since Duke Comalon's death and the end of the artificial Outer God crisis that had threatened to destroy the entire Kingdom of Ashtalon.

Ultimately, peace had returned to Ashtalon.

Though the mass death of nobles at the ball Comalon had attended and the obliteration of several territories had left it in turmoil, the immediate crisis was over.

The other countries where artificial Outer Gods had appeared had likewise defeated them around the time of the duke's death and regained peace.

And amid that peace—

"... I'm dying."

Alon, Marquis Pallatio, had spent three days groaning from the terrible pain throughout his body.

It was only natural.

He had downed no fewer than thirteen mana potions during his battle with the duke.

His inadequate mana reservoir had certainly grown, his spell efficiency had improved enormously, and he had not used Manifestation of One's True Nature much.

But his battle with Duke Comalon had forced him to cast far more magic than his limits allowed.

"Whew—"

The pain remained unchanged.

When Alon groaned, Evan, who was tending to him at his side, spoke.

"Still, it could have been much worse. The priest said you could have dropped dead on the spot. This is a relief. Until yesterday, all you could do was groan, but now you can actually talk."

"... That's true."

Alon recalled the priest who had cautiously asked, looking appalled, ["Could you perhaps... not be human?"]

According to the priest, his mana poisoning was so severe that it was a wonder he was still alive.

"Still, I think you ought to be more careful about these things from now on, my lord."

"... I'd like to be."

"You throw yourself into far too many dangerous situations."

"Are you worried?"

"Of course."

"... Not because you have to come along with me?"

"Ahem—Honestly, that's a tiiiny part of it, too."

As Alon smiled inwardly at Evan's joke, the door burst open and Seollang came in.

"Mentor!"

"Are you all right?!"

The moment she spotted Alon, she rushed breathlessly to his side.

"I'm... all right, but..."

Alon nodded, then looked at her collarbone. A large wound he had not seen before lay there, apparently not fully healed even by the priest's treatment.

"That wound—"

"Oh—this? I didn't dodge an attack properly last time! But it's fine, Mentor! It doesn't even hurt!"

Watching Seollang laugh it off as nothing more than an injury from a mistake, Alon felt troubled behind his impassive face.

Whatever she thought of it, she had suffered that wound while helping him.

"... I'm sorry."

"Huh? Why are you sorry, Mentor? I just made a mistake."

Her expression was genuinely puzzled.

Yet Alon could not easily take his eyes off the wound.

"You were hurt trying to help me. And a wound can leave an ugly mark. I'm ashamed."

At his words, Seollang's smile briefly vanished, and she looked down at her collarbone.

After staring at the wound stretching from her right collarbone to the tip of her shoulder, she looked back at Alon and spoke.

"Say, Mentor."

"Yes?"

"How does it look to you?"

"... To me?"

"Yes. To you. Does this wound—make me look ugly?"

Alon was silent for a moment before shaking his head.

"No, but..."

"Then it's fine!"

"... Is, it?"

His face remained unchanged, but inwardly he was bewildered.

But—

"Yes! As long as I don't look strange to you, Mentor, I don't care at all!"

As Seollang declared it brightly, her smile back on her lips, Alon once again felt an involuntary ache in his heart.

And—

"Huh?"

Evan stared at Alon's face in astonishment.

No wonder. It was extremely faint, but unmistakable.

'... He's smiling?'

Alon was indeed smiling—ever so slightly.

Evan had served him for nearly ten years, yet had never seen anything beyond the smallest shifts in expression. For a moment, the unfamiliar sight left him dazed.

After seeing Seollang off as she left for treatment, Alon received an unexpected visitor next.

Karsem the Troublemaker.

He had come to visit him.

Apart from traveling together because of Seollang, they had practically no connection.

Why was he showing up here...?

"Are you feeling all right, Big Brother...?!"

"???"

Watching the royal of Coloni suddenly prostrate himself, brimming with goodwill and gazing at him with reverence, Alon could only be bewildered all over again.