Chapter 91 - Teaching

'Hmm...'

Galahad murmured thoughtfully as he tapped the ash from his cigarette.

Magic meant using one's own mana to move the mana in the atmosphere, adding an element, and working a miracle.

Spatial magic, however, operated on a different principle. It did not use atmospheric mana.

'So rather than moving that space, it pushes space in with mana.'

Mana flowed from areas of low concentration to high concentration. Spatial magic worked by moving highly concentrated mana to wherever the caster looked.

That was why Galahad's Ice Spike had been stopped so effortlessly. Fox Mask wore spatial magic around their body.

It resembled aiming a spell, much like choosing where the lightning would strike when casting Heaven's Judgment.

'No, this must be where aiming originated.'

“Oh,” Galahad breathed in admiration. It was fascinating beyond words.

The problem, however, brought him right back to square one.

'Highly concentrated mana is essential.'

He thought he understood why Fox Mask had been so certain he could not use it.

This was not magic for Mages.

It was magic for Demons.

'Ridiculous.'

Hadn't magic originated with Demons in the first place? And now there was magic meant for those very Demons...

“What are you doing here?”

Gilberton's voice broke his train of thought.

“Wait, where's your earlobe gone now? And what's this hole?”

“My tuition fee.”

“What? Put some of this on first.”

“What is it?”

“Bone-Crumb demon-beast dung. It's good for healing wounds.”

Gilberton held out a viscous white liquid.

“It reeks. Get it away from me.”

“Stop fussing and put it on.”

“No need.”

Galahad took a bottle from his inner pocket. It was the potion the Imperial Princess had left him.

“What's that?”

“It's called a potion.”

“Oh, so that's the stuff? The incredibly expensive—”

“Very expensive. More expensive than melted gold.”

“Isn't it a waste to use such an expensive medicine on just an earlobe?”

“Just an earlobe, you say...”

Clicking his tongue, Galahad dabbed some potion onto his hand. He applied it to his earlobe first, then poured the remainder into the hole in his shoulder.

Potions were the Church's reason for existing. Their effectiveness justified their price.

There was, however, one drawback.

They hurt like hell. It felt like having salt rubbed into a wound and then being seared with fire.

“Ngh...”

His body trembled slightly with pain. Clenching his teeth, Galahad circulated his mana, further encouraging the healing.

The pain, which lasted an instant yet felt like an eternity, slowly subsided. He let out a long breath and straightened. Brushing his disheveled fringe back with one hand, he adjusted his collar.

Fresh flesh had grown over his wounds.

“Wow. How is that even possible?”

“There's a reason it's expensive. And I heal faster because I'm a Mage.”

“Mages heal faster?”

“Because we use mana.”

“Aha. Mana.”

“You needn't pretend to understand, Sir Gilberton.”

Gilberton's lips twitched. Galahad checked his condition.

Overusing his mana had left his insides in a mess. Still, it was not the worst they had ever been. That was enough.

'Ten days.'

Fox Mask had given him ten days. It was a long time in one sense, and a short one in another.

'I'd better keep busy.'

Galahad quickened his pace, with Gilberton attending him from behind.

“Oh, go fetch Gwen for me.”

Gilberton wondered why he was suddenly asking for Gwen, but nodded without asking.

* * *

“I am a Mage! I will not submit to violence!”

“Damn it! A trap! You shameless bastards!”

At the Seventh Battalion company commanders' orders, the Mages rolled about in ridiculous fashion.

'This isn't going to work.'

Number Eight narrowed their eyes.

Mages had strong egos. They were not the sort to submit easily to physical pain.

Putting them through physical punishment was only a short-term solution.

“Quite a few of them.”

A relaxed voice sounded then. It was a dry observation, as though the speaker were inspecting fish caught in a trap.

Number Eight hastily adjusted their crow mask and bowed.

Galahad strolled past.

“The man who earned the Grand Duke's recognition!”

The company commanders saluted vigorously. The Mages rolling about turned their eyes toward Galahad.

“A pleasure to meet you. I am Galahad, commander of the Special Operations Unit.”

He offered the greeting with easy composure.

“Galahad?”

“That Galahad?”

The Mages spoke in defiant tones. They all seemed to know him.

Naturally. Galahad was the hottest name in the North, and particularly famous among Mages.

“Yes, I am the Galahad you've heard of. Now, all of you, get up.”

At his command, the Mages rose as if entranced.

Their gazes held a host of emotions: admiration, defiance, jealousy...

“My name is Galahad. The youngest person ever to enter the Imperial Academy, and its youngest graduate. In short, I am an exceptionally remarkable Mage.”

His unabashed introduction caused a small stir. He continued without concern.

“I am currently the Grand Duke of the North's son-in-law. I have earned his recognition and also serve as commander of the Special Operations Unit.”

This time, cries burst out that they could not contain.

These were Mages who had struggled in the North themselves. Knowing how poorly Mages were treated here, they seemed deeply struck by the Grand Duke's recognition.

“How you must have suffered in this North that knows nothing of magic's greatness. I know your hardships. All you did was pursue magic, yet how much persecution and contempt have you endured?”

Galahad spoke without hesitation. The Mages were visibly shaken.

“The North is a land of opportunity. No, I shall make it one.”

There was power in his voice. His confident bearing, upright posture, and the name Galahad lent his words weight.

'He's right.'

The North was a wasteland for magic. Galahad was the only Mage here with a connection to the Grand Duke.

In other words, he was the strongest, most reliable connection these people could have.

Only now grasping the situation, the Mages' expressions grew complicated.

Galahad quietly tapped the ash from his cigarette, utterly at ease.

Silence lingered for a moment.

The explanation should have been enough, but Mages were a contrary lot. Some even pushed back.

“No one heard anything of you after you graduated from the Academy! Didn't the Grand Duke recognize you for political reasons?!”

It was a fairly valid point. The other Mages nodded.

In truth, he had served as an Intelligence Bureau agent, but publicly, he had done nothing.

The plausible objection emboldened the other Mages to join in.

“A fair point. Doubt is a Mage's virtue. There is no need for lengthy speeches between Mages. Go on, cast a spell.”

Galahad singled out the man as he spoke. The man's face crumpled.

“You trap us and then tell us to cast magic! Are you mocking us?!”

“A trap? Surely you can perform mana compression?”

The man faltered at Galahad's blatant click of the tongue.

“No amount of compression could let anyone cast at this concentration!”

It was a reasonable statement. Without the magic circles bestowed by the first human Mage, casting magic in the dense mana of the Demon Realm was impossible.

“Really? What is this, then?”

Galahad's answer was simple. He snapped his fingers. A thick spear materialized before him. It was Ice Spike.

A heavy silence fell at the unmistakable evidence.

“Oh, is it too far away to see? Take a closer look.”

Speaking casually, Galahad waved his hand. At the light gesture, the Ice Spike shot toward the Mage.

“Aaah! You lunatic!”

The Mage, who had been putting on airs, fell backward in terror at the Ice Spike's sudden approach. Those nearby screamed and retreated as well.

The Ice Spike stopped directly in front of the Mage's face. With barely a finger joint's distance between him and its tip, the Mage gaped soundlessly.

Being able to cast here already demonstrated an overwhelming difference. And he possessed the skill to stop a spell right in front of someone's face...

No Mage objected further.

Instead, yearning filled their eyes. Mages would sell even their souls for magic. Burning gazes converged on Galahad.

The faint glow of his cigarette illuminated his face.

“Allow me to introduce myself once more. I am that Galahad.”

A heavy silence lingered.

He casually tapped the ash from his cigarette and continued.

“Oh, and...”

His lips curled into a broad smile.

“I am the master of the Mage Tower to be built in the North.”

A Mage Tower in the North... It was a shocking revelation. In contrast to its momentous implications, his voice was flat, as though it were nothing at all.

“A Mage Tower in the North? How—”

“Is that what earning the Grand Duke's recognition meant?!”

An uproar erupted. A Mage Tower was no trivial matter.

Given the North's disposition, it would surely be the only one.

The sole Mage Tower in a North brimming with high-quality mana stones...

No one here failed to appreciate its value.

“Will you seize the opportunity?”

His dry question silenced them all.

The Mages' eyes, which had remained unyielding through the brutal training, grew docile.

It was only natural. Galahad had not threatened them.

This was...

A perfect enticement they could not refuse.

A heavy silence settled. It almost felt as though one could hear the Mages' minds working.

The one to break that strange standoff was...

“I... I'll take it! It's me, Corton! We went to the Academy together!”

Corton, with a pickaxe in each hand.

At his desperate dash forward, the other Mages scrambled into motion.

* * *

“Unlike the rotten Mage Towers of the central regions, mine will be run transparently. Your grade will depend on the number of mana stones you bring in. I shall judge you by the weight of your sweat. Furthermore, if you recruit Mages from outside...”

The discussion proceeded smoothly. There was no need to explain what an excellent opportunity this was.

Most of these Mages had failed to get into a Mage Tower. Galahad targeted that fact precisely.

A chance to join a Mage Tower established by the Academy's youngest graduate himself... For those who had struggled in the North, it was an opportunity they desperately needed.

There was, however, one problem.

“Doesn't a Mage Tower require His Majesty the Emperor's permission?”

Establishing a Mage Tower required imperial approval. Otherwise, towers would have sprung up everywhere.

“Oh, don't worry about that. It's as good as approved.”

It was an odd answer, but his voice brimmed with certainty. Everyone nodded.

“Could you perhaps give us some instruction?”

One Mage suddenly raised his voice. The surrounding Mages clicked their tongues openly.

Most Mages treasured their knowledge and kept it hidden. That was why Mages who had not attended the Academy resented it. Its people did not share their knowledge.

“He said it was a Mage Tower! Surely I can ask for instruction!”

Everyone clicked their tongues at the brazen remark, but Galahad himself nodded.

“Oh, that sounds interesting. A hundred people mean a hundred different flavors of magic, after all.”

His agreement sent another wave of excitement through the Mages.

That Galahad would teach them himself... It was priceless.

“Come, then. Let's go outside. Would you open the gate?”

“Yes, the man who earned the Grand Duke's recognition!”

At Galahad's order, the soldiers noisily opened the gate.

Galahad strode through the gate on his long legs. The Mages hurried after him, their eyes shining.

Upon reaching a suitable clearing, he turned.

Unaware of what awaited them, the Mages jostled to receive instruction first.

“I asked first, you bastards!”

“Whoever gets to the front gets it!”

Mages were always hungry to learn. These particular Mages had been driven out of the central regions, making them all the more desperate.

And now that Galahad was offering instruction... Of course they were beside themselves.

“Calm down, everyone. I'll assess all of you.”

All of them... The Mages were genuinely moved. Number Eight took a step back.

A bald Mage stepped forward first.

“I am Hamur, disciple of Belze.”

“Galahad. Show me the spell you're most confident in.”

“Against you? I specialize in fire magic. It's quite powerful.”

“Oh, that's fine. Do your best.”

Galahad nodded lightly. Hamur's brow furrowed, his pride apparently wounded.

However low its tier, magic was still magic. It was bound to be powerful.

That was why instruction usually involved setting up a target and discussing the results.

Yet he was telling Hamur to cast at him... It was excessive arrogance.

Biting his lip, Hamur adjusted his grip on his staff. His loose robes fluttered.

“Fire risen from hell, fire that burns all—”

“Wait. Surely that isn't your incantation?”

“... It is?”

“An incantation should use words that are easy to visualize. What spell were you planning to cast?”

“Billowing Flame.”

“You recite such a grandiose incantation for a mere Tier 4 spell?”

Hamur's expression grew strained at the scathing criticism.

“Surely I'm free to choose my own incantation.”

Hamur answered, biting his lip hard. His pride seemed badly hurt.

“What you just demonstrated was not freedom, but sloppiness. Still, go ahead.”

His face red, Hamur recited the incantation again.

“Fire risen from hell, fire that burns all...”

His voice was quieter than before.

“Billowing Flame!”

A huge flame blazed in Hamur's hand. The heat radiating from it was considerable. Even Number Eight thought it a decent spell.

The watching Mages murmured in admiration. Hamur's shoulders rose slightly. Galahad, however, clicked his tongue.

“That looks warm. Perfect for an inside pocket.”

At Galahad's bizarre assessment, Hamur swung his hand.

The enormous flame rode the wind toward him at speed. It was a spectacular spell, like a forest fire. Swelling as it came, the fire looked ready to swallow Galahad whole.

“No, I was mistaken. This wouldn't even work as a hand warmer.”

Galahad clicked his tongue and snapped his fingers. The onrushing flame stopped dead, gently pushed back by a wind blowing from him.

The fire returned to Hamur.

“Wh-what is...!”

Hamur toppled backward in shock. The fire passed narrowly over him, its scorching heat warming the surroundings.

“Cold as the North may be, must you cast such cozy magic? You must be terribly sensitive to the cold.”

Hamur's face turned ashen at the cutting words. Grinding his teeth, he gripped his staff.

“From hell—”

“You certainly love hell.”

“... A stone forged in hell.”

Hamur's face grew redder by the moment.

“Explosive Fireball...”

Explosive Fireball! Blocking it with a barrier caused an explosion that inflicted secondary damage, making it a particularly troublesome spell.

The Mages murmured in admiration.

Galahad's response, however, was scathing.

“Explosive Fireball at this distance? Are you asking to play catch?”

Clicking his tongue, he snapped his fingers. An Ice Arrow shot forth.

Ice Arrow was a lower-tier spell than Explosive Fireball. But when it struck the fireball precisely, that changed everything.

The Explosive Fireball burst in front of Hamur. Taking the blast head-on, he tumbled backward.

“With that pretentious incantation, it's no wonder your cohesion is abysmal. That's exploding garbage.”

Slow as Explosive Fireball might be, hitting an incoming spell with another spell was a feat approaching the miraculous.

Yet Galahad, who had performed it, looked dissatisfied.

“You've acquired some very bad, very strange habits, but fortunately, your instructor is competent. You are Grade Three. Bring me a hundred mana stones and three new members... No, three new Mages, and you should become serviceable.”

At Galahad's bizarre pronouncement, Hamur's soot-blackened head drooped deeply.

“Now, next.”

No one stepped forward. Naturally. After witnessing that scathing display, how could they?

Galahad, however, was not asking for consent.

“My, what a shy lot. Then let's start from the left.”

“On second thought, I'm all right...”

“Oh, planning to demonstrate defensive magic?”

“No, I said I'm fine... Aaah!”

“Here, a little Ice Spike.”

“How is Ice Spike little—Aaaagh!”

“Hmm. You are Grade Three as well. Bring me a hundred mana stones and three new Mages.”

The Mage nodded dazedly.