Chapter 92 - Mana Tank

'What in the...?'

Gilberton gaped at the sight before him. He had known Galahad was an exceptional Mage, but surely there were limits.

“Your skills are all so poor and modest. This won't even whet my appetite.”

Galahad clicked his tongue openly, a trace of irritation in his voice. The Mages flinched.

Galahad narrowed his eyes and beckoned.

“All of you, step forward.”

Even for Galahad, taking them all on at once? The Mages' faces twisted.

“Still don't know your place?”

Incensed by his taunt, the Mages stepped forward. Galahad looked rather impressive facing dozens of Mages alone.

The Mages chanted their spells in unison. Countless spells filled the sky, a truly menacing sight.

Their actual target, however, merely squinted. It was the same expression Galahad wore when Gilberton offered him undercooked meat.

He broke the incoming spells one by one, critiquing them with considerable venom.

“You there. Instead of casting Frost's Touch, you might as well pack some snow and throw it. That would be faster and more accurate. And it wouldn't waste mana.”

“Hmm. How can Burning Hands be so pleasantly warm? You'd make a fine career in massage.”

“Bouncing Lightning? Oh, you should join that fellow in the massage business. The nobles would love it.”

Galahad continued dismantling spells and passing judgment. Even to Gilberton, his assessments were brutally frank, so the Mages' reactions went without saying.

The outraged Mages pressed harder, yet Galahad never moved a single step.

'Overwhelming.'

Galahad was in an entirely different league from the other Mages.

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

“He's no ordinary Mage! He's a Mage who earned the Grand Duke's recognition!”

Rough exclamations of admiration kept erupting around them. Gilberton felt an odd swell of pride.

Galahad had defeated some thirty Mages in front of northern men who loved exaggerating. Gilberton could scarcely imagine what rumors would spread.

Soon, nearly thirty Mages were on their knees, profound despair etched into their faces.

Galahad, by contrast, looked strangely refreshed. A slight hint of fatigue was all he showed.

“Hmm. Truly abysmal.”

His assessment was tinged with irritation.

“What do you think magic is?”

Galahad asked as he put a cigarette between his lips. None of the Mages answered. They merely opened and closed their mouths.

“It is the power to create miracles. Miracles such as conjuring fire from thin air or calling down lightning.”

His voice was utterly matter-of-fact. The Mages nodded.

“Then why is your magic so pathetic? Mine is so magnificent.”

It was an outrageously arrogant remark, but no one denied it. They had already witnessed the overwhelming gulf between them.

“Your magic has no purpose. Like animals in heat, all you do is puff yourselves up, bigger and flashier.”

Galahad snapped his fingers. Sparks leaped between them, moving freely as though alive and swelling in size until they formed an enormous flower of lightning. It was so intricate that even Gilberton, who knew nothing about magic, marveled.

The lightning blossom grew still larger, filling the space before them. Even all the spells the Mages had unleashed combined could not compare to its splendor.

The Mages gasped in admiration.

“If this were a contest for big, flashy magic, your approach would be correct. Though you still wouldn't place, of course.”

The words were scathing, but the Mages kept their mouths firmly shut.

“The larger a spell grows, the less cohesive it inevitably becomes. If I were your target, for instance, a Burning Arrow would be more threatening than Billowing Flame. Especially aimed at my throat or heart.”

Galahad snapped his fingers. An Ice Arrow shot out and scattered the enormous lightning blossom. It was quite a spectacle.

His explanation sounded like something from a knight's lesson. Eliminate broad movements and aim for vital points. It was obvious advice.

Just then, one Mage staggered to his feet. He was the first fellow who had attacked.

“You're right. But spells with a smaller area of effect are inherently difficult to land. They're also easier for an opponent to dodge.”

He spoke through gritted teeth. The other Mages nodded.

“Yes, it's difficult. And?”

The Mage's expression froze at Galahad's question.

“If it's hard to hit them, keep firing until you do. If it's easy to dodge, throw it faster. Simple, isn't it?”

Gilberton nodded at the answer. Wasn't that obvious? If something was difficult, you kept at it until you could do it. That was basic.

The Mages reacted violently. Groans rose here and there. The Mage who had asked the question contorted his face and shouted bitterly.

“Isn't that only possible because you're a genius?!”

Silence fell for a moment. The Mages nodded.

“Correct. I am a genius.”

Galahad admitted it readily, so casually that the Mage who had challenged him was left embarrassed instead.

Even if he was a genius, to say it himself so shamelessly... Gilberton shook his head slightly in wonder.

“Even a genius like me suffered mana exhaustion every day from the time I began learning magic until I graduated from the Academy.”

A great stir swept through the Mages. The words “mana exhaustion” seemed to shock them considerably.

“Lies... That's a lie! How could you endure something so horrific...?”

“Doesn't everyone experience mana exhaustion at least once while using magic?”

The Mages worked their mouths soundlessly at his question. Horror filled their faces. Unlike before, they now looked as though they were staring at a madman.

“If even a genius like me works this hard, what gives dullards like you the confidence to dig in your heels?”

The blunt rebuke silenced them. Defeat returned to their faces.

“Still, don't worry. You have an exceptional teacher in me. I'll hold a lesson for each grade once a month. The higher your grade, the more substantial the lesson.”

Galahad spoke with a broad smile. The Mages nodded vigorously, excitement rising among them.

“Really?! You, Galahad, who even refused the Academy's invitation to lecture?!”

Someone shouted, their ringing voice carrying clearly to every ear.

“I do not lie.”

“Damn it! A lecture from Galahad, whom even the Academy lined up for!”

That indignant outburst subtly shifted the mood. The Mages' eyes filled with longing.

“Those assigned Grade Two must bring fifty mana stones and one new Mage. Grade Three requires one hundred mana stones and three new Mages.”

“Only a hundred?! Such priceless instruction for mere mana stones?! Damn it! I'll go in right now!”

What an impressive shill. He had even planted someone to work the crowd. Gilberton marveled at Galahad's thoroughness.

“Now, one final word.”

Galahad adjusted his collar and straightened.

“I am the youngest person ever to enter and graduate from the Academy, the son-in-law of the Grand Duke of the North, and the man who earned the Grand Duke's recognition. I am also the master of the North's only Mage Tower. I need not explain what that is worth.”

He swept his hair back. Firm confidence shone above his broad smile.

“Work hard at your digging, everyone.”

His voice was dry. The Mages shuddered faintly.

Galahad turned away lightly. For no particular reason, Gilberton flared his nostrils.

“Sir Gilberton, why are you making that face?”

“... What face am I making?”

“An exceedingly hideous one.”

Gilberton coughed loudly and schooled his expression.

[“I am the knight Gilberton, deputy commander of the Special Operations Unit. Furthermore—”]

He could never admit that he had been imagining himself delivering those lines after bringing dozens of knights to their knees.

* * *

“Gwen, did you get a good look? Oh, functioning normally, I see.”

Galahad checked on Gwen. A profusion of spells blossomed behind her. Judging by her dreamy eyes, she seemed utterly absorbed in the magic.

Gwen was a major reason he had offered to teach the Mages. Showing her plenty of spells, even useless ones, was effective.

“Something is wrong with Lady Gwen.”

“Gwen is always strange, so this is normal.”

Galahad examined her face. Her cheeks trembled, and mana rippled ceaselessly around her.

Gwen was a type of Mage Galahad had never encountered. Magic influenced by emotions... Could she even be called a Mage?

Magic was fundamentally the domain of calculation and intellect. Emotions generally interfered with it.

Yet Gwen used emotion as the impetus for her magic. She even wielded authority.

'A Mage who casts through emotion.'

She was the polar opposite of his understanding of magic, which made her all the more fascinating. She was an aberration who overturned every established concept. What she had demonstrated was too remarkable to dismiss.

And it was not limited to magic. Gwen had reproduced a Demon's authority after seeing it just once. If anything, she seemed particularly suited to authority.

He need look no further than the spells hovering behind her for proof. Even the master of the Twilight Mage Tower, whom Galahad considered a candidate for the Archmage, lacked such talent.

Now he had one question.

'Can she use Hellfire too?'

He wanted to know whether she could use primitive magic such as Hellfire or spatial magic. That was why he had summoned her: to expose her to countless spells and make her mind more receptive.

'She should be able to.'

Hellfire was more beautiful than any magic Galahad had ever seen. There was a good chance Gwen would become captivated and cast it.

'A little sore.'

He clicked his tongue and sipped from his canteen. Demon blood spread through him, setting his mana circulating again.

He slowly prepared the spell. Hellfire could not be cast at a convenient size. It demanded his entire concentration. Compressing the mana made his heart ache.

The Egg of agony began beating incessantly. Highly concentrated mana extracted from Demon blood coursed through him.

Was it because he had seen spatial magic? Casting Hellfire was actually more difficult than before.

At last, he spoke.

“Hellfire.”

A tiny flame appeared above his finger, its very presence melting even the surrounding air.

A groan escaped his lips from the excessive strain on his mana. Forcing it down, Galahad pushed Hellfire toward Gwen.

Gwen's eyes came into focus. Her mouth fell open. Then she exclaimed, very loudly:

“Wow.”

This was unlike her previous reactions. Galahad narrowed his eyes.

“Not 'wow.' Try copying it.”

“This?”

“Yes. Hellfire.”

“How?”

Gwen sounded completely sincere. It was the sort of reaction one might get from asking someone to fly.

“You copy impressive magic when you see it, don't you? Copy this too.”

“What? This?! I absolutely can't! How could I do that? No, how did you do it?!”

Her reaction was vehement. Galahad squinted. Was it because this was primitive magic?

“Look closer. You can do it.”

“Hmm.”

After studying it briefly, Gwen gaped.

“You're truly amazing! How can you cast a spell like this? Wow...”

“I said try it, not admire it.”

“What? I really don't think I can! That's the feeling I get!”

At Gwen's vehement refusal, Galahad shook his hand. Hellfire melted away and dispersed.

'She can reproduce authority, but not primitive magic.'

He had not expected this. His questions only multiplied.

“Why can't you?”

“How could I?”

Gwen asked as though he were talking nonsense. Galahad narrowed his eyes.

“And this one's telling you to stop overworking yourself!”

She pointed at his chest as she shouted. Admittedly, he was in poor condition. He had faced the Mages immediately after Fox Mask, then cast Hellfire on top of that.

Still...

“Calling this little bit overwork? You've had a sheltered upbringing.”

To Galahad, it was only a little.

'Gwen can copy both authority and magic, yet cannot reproduce primitive magic.'

That had to mean something. Galahad stared quietly at her.

“Um... Shall I give you some?”

“Some what?”

“This!”

Gwen pointed to herself. More precisely, to her mana tank.

“Give me some?”

He had used Gwen in place of a mana stone before, but giving him mana meant something else.

“I think I can! With that full-axle thing!”

“... Do you mean Proxel?”

“That's right! Proxy!”

“Hmm, Prox— Never mind. Try it.”

Gwen abruptly rammed her head into his chest, hard enough to make him sway slightly. Something flowed into him through her forehead.

It was...

'... Mana?'

Unmistakable mana. Its concentration was ordinary, but the sheer volume was another matter. It poured into him in quantities even Galahad struggled to handle.

Galahad slowly circulated the mana. His weakness rapidly faded, and his strength returned.

Soon, he said, “That's enough.”

Not a trace remained of the weakness he had felt moments ago. His mana was completely replenished.

“How do you feel?”

Gwen asked, her face full of concern.

“You are useful.”

“... Excuse me?!”

Just then, Damian approached. He held a staff rather than a sword, and his expression was oddly earnest.

“... Damian, holding a staff doesn't make you a Mage.”

Damian hastily looked back. Gilberton stood there with a sly grin, apparently indulging in some strange fantasy.

Damian hurriedly pulled on a robe.

“A robe won't do it either.”

His shoulders slumped.

* * *

Marhan of the Sixth Battalion let out a long yawn. Late-night guard duty was the assignment soldiers dreaded most.

The flesh-stinging cold was a problem, but the greater problem was how utterly boring it was.

Demon-beasts appeared occasionally, but they very rarely reached the guard post. That was especially true for the Sixth Battalion.

Normally, the men passed the time sipping liquor or playing simple dice games, but things had tightened up after the recent incident in Hellob.

“The commander wasn't bad, you know.”

Marhan nodded at his fellow soldier Karl's muttering. The Sixth Battalion's commander had rarely interfered with them, which suited the soldiers well enough.

“They say His Highness the Grand Duke tore his head off. Horrifying.”

Marhan shook his head in wonder. The commander had undoubtedly been powerful. To tear the head off a man like that...

“His Highness really is extraordinary.”

“I should strengthen my grip too. So I can tear Ted's head off.”

“Wear gloves so it doesn't slip.”

“Anyway, an upper-echelon Demon? If I got my hands on one, it'd be finished.”

Karl twirled his heavy sword as he spoke. He soon lost interest and started talking about women instead. After that came battalion gossip.

“Wonder who our next commander will be.”

The Grand Duke had promoted the deputy commander, but it was only temporary. The deputy was capable, but a commander was in an entirely different class. The Grand Duke would surely make a formal appointment later.

“I'd like Galahad to come.”

“He's a Mage, isn't he? You want me serving under a Mage?”

“What does it matter that he's a Mage if His Highness recognizes him?”

“No amount of recognition changes the fact that he's a Mage.”

“And what can you do about it?”

An argument quickly broke out. It was a common response to Galahad's name. Knowing it would end with “We abide by His Highness's judgment,” Marhan discreetly turned his gaze away.

Northern nights were brutally dark. Without the torches, he would scarcely have been able to see in front of his nose.

There was nothing but drifts of snow and skeletal trees. He yawned at the utterly tedious view.

Then something caught his eye. Something was on the path between the trees. It was too small to be a demon-beast. Marhan narrowed his eyes.

Was that...

'... A child?'

A child in a cloak, wearing a crown without any jewels. An utterly ridiculous-looking child.

The child walked barefoot through the heavy snowfall. A long line stretched behind them, every face expressionless. They walked as though they were a single body. There was only one set of footprints.

'An upper-echelon Demon—'

Marhan hurried to ring the bell.

CLANG!

Marhan's body froze solid. Even his eyes would not move.

Crunching footsteps drew steadily closer through the snow. Countless footfalls sounded all at once.

“Too high.”

A flat voice spoke. Before Marhan knew it, he was bowing low, as though in the presence of his master.

A commotion arose inside. Soldiers appeared atop the wall.

“Who goes there?! An upper-echelon Demon—”

The child opened their mouth.

“Too high.”

The voice was as flat as ever.

THUD! THUD!

Heavy impacts sounded one after another. The soldiers on the wall fell to the ground. Neither fear nor pain showed on their faces, their necks broken.

The gate swung smoothly open.

“How dare you take what is mine...”

The ruler's voice brimmed with fury.