Chapter 238

Chapter 238: Where the Rain Cleared

Early ‍​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​​​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​​​​‌​​​​‌​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌‌‌​‌‍dawn.

The ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‍outer walls of Pentan Viscounty were packed with soldiers.

The ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‍noble alliance forces had arrayed themselves in formation facing the castle, yet there was no urgency in their movements. The armies sent by six houses were spread wide, each family's banner rippling in orderly fashion in the wind.

They ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‍were waiting for the order to advance.

Then, ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‍a cold wind blew. The horses lifted their heads, and several knights unconsciously looked up at the sky. The faint starlight had vanished completely. Clouds had filled the heavens overhead.

"Rain's ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‍coming."

"All the better. Let's finish this before it stops."

Someone murmured. It was a strange thing to say given the season. Rain at the threshold of winter was uncommon. More than that—the sky had been clear just moments ago.

And then, the first raindrop fell.

One.

Then two.

The rain was not heavy. It softly dampened the earth and pinged off armor with a clear, ringing sound. Only—the sound of rain was unusually distinct.

Those atop the castle walls felt the change as well.

One soldier adjusted his helmet and tilted his head.

"Is it because battle's coming…… Something feels strange."

No answer came. Everyone felt the same sensation. It couldn't be explained, but it was as if the strength were draining from their bodies.

"……Is it just my imagination?"

It was not imagination.

Rumble!

Thunder cracked not far away. It was a thunderclap that burst directly above the battlefield. Only then did everyone realize. This was not a natural shift in the weather.

Something was approaching.

At that moment, the raindrops suddenly grew thick. As if the sky had split open, the rain became a downpour and soaked the earth. Mud formed beneath the hooves of horses. Banners drooped, and armor pressed down with renewed weight.

And at the center of it all, a man in a lowered hood made his appearance.

***

Calix stood atop the castle wall.

The rain was already soaking him through. His robe's hem grew heavy, and the wet cloth clung to his legs. Below the castle, thousands of troops were arrayed. Banners, spearheads, rainwater running off helmets—all of it looked toward the same direction.

Himself.

Volga called his name from behind. But there was no time to answer or explain. Calix took one step forward.

And just like that—he crossed over the castle wall.

The fall was brief. The sensation of cutting through air grazed the back of his neck. Just before hitting the ground, he bent his knees. A puddle burst upward, and the impact dispersed outward across the earth.

A soft landing.

And so, an uninvited guest appeared in the middle of a rain-drenched battlefield.

The gazes of both sides locked on him simultaneously. Knights swallowed their breath; soldiers let out short, incredulous laughs. But Calix did not register their reactions.

The moment a decision was made, deliberation lost its meaning.

Calix slowly drew in a breath. Cold air seeped deep into his lungs. His heart beat in quiet cadence. As his thoughts settled, the will that had lain beneath them revealed itself in sharp, clear form.

His will touched his mana.

It was the first time.

To consciously handle mana of this scale.

Calix did not force it to come. He did not command it, nor twist it into artificial flow. He simply existed. He quietly made known that he stood here, in this place. At that moment, the flow of mana around him heaved violently. Like a river that had lost its direction, currents of mana erupted from every point.

The entire space shook.

Everyone felt it simultaneously—that something had gone terribly wrong.

Calix walked forward and thought.

‘What is it that defines me.’

He had been called the Mountain Rabbit, been praised as a hero, and at times been pointed at by those who stood on the opposing side. Yet Calix's beginning came from an entirely different place.

The mana stone mine.

A pit where mud rose to the top of his head. A place where even breathing was a struggle. It was there that he first stood up. He learned from the wretched, and at the end of adapting to the pain of the body—he overcame it.

The fact that he was a noble's illegitimate child did not matter. Even if he were to ascend to the throne, nothing of substance would change.

Nobility was not something granted at birth.

It came from action.

That was, perhaps, the most accurate description of who he was now.

Calix scattered that will across the battlefield.

That was the moment.

Strange phenomena erupted across the battlefield. The mana stones embedded in warhorses' barding flickered and then went completely dark. The bodies of knights swayed. For one instant they felt as though the weight of their armor had increased.

"What is this, why……."

"My Neural Accelerator……!"

Mana ceased its movement.

It was not one person's experience. Not two. Above this battlefield, countless Neural Accelerators fell silent simultaneously.

The soldiers did not understand what had happened to them. And so fear came first. The magical tools that had allowed them to surpass the ordinary had stopped functioning. Their bodies slowed, and in contrast their breathing grew ragged. The strength they had taken for granted was gone.

Everyone had returned to a state of pure physicality.

Then Calix cut through that fear and advanced. His steps were slow, but there was no hesitation in them. He walked through the downpour with nothing but an iron rod in his grip.

Those slow steps—on the contrary—overwhelmed the battlefield.

"You there, stop!"

The first to react were the knights. From the center of the noble alliance forces' battle line, seven heavily armored knights broke forward. The mana was gone, but they were still elite soldiers equipped with warhorses and armor.

"Using foul tricks."

"There's no need to honor him. Kill him!"

With the cry, blades moved. At the distance they covered, under normal circumstances the swords would have already found their mark. Yet their trajectories were different from before.

The hooves that struck the earth carried no force behind them. There was not the faintest sign of fire igniting along the blades. As though they had been cooled cold by the rain.

Even so, the lead knight charged in stubbornly. Aiming for the enemy's chest, he swung his sword along an exact trajectory.

But Calix stepped lightly aside by half a step. Simultaneously, the iron rod rose from below upward.

Thud.

A dull sound rang out.

The knight tumbled off his horse without a chance to scream. The moment his armor drove into the mud, a small twitch—and his movement stopped. The second knight who followed was no different. His horse's joint was struck and he fell from the saddle in the same manner.

The second knight managed to land on his feet, but his eyes immediately shook with great turmoil.

Coming down to the ground—

"……!"

His body was heavy.

That his armor placed this much constraint upon his movement—he was realizing it for the first time. In the place where the assistance of the Neural Accelerator had vanished, the limits of the human body seeped through in full.

Calix seized that opening and did not let go.

The iron rod moved in a circle. It was too simple to be called an art, and too precise to be called mere violence. Knees, collarbones, joints. All of them were points that would render the enemy unable to fight.

The knights fell in an instant.

The boldest of the noble alliance forces crumbled.

The soldiers watching from atop the castle walls swallowed their breath. Volga cried out from before the gates, as though expelling fury.

"I said open the gate! Right now!"

But before the Mountain Rabbits could come rushing out, the fight was already drawing to a close. Volga moved to head outside belatedly, then stiffened and stopped.

Calix's iron rod hung at his side. He could press forward, but his opponents had already lost the will to fight. There was no one left to face.

A strange silence settled over the battlefield. There were thousands of soldiers, yet no one moved. Before a strange phenomenon they had only ever heard of in stories, both feet were rooted firm to the ground as if nailed there.

Cleaving through that stillness, a single knight walked out from the enemy lines. The removal of his helmet showed there was no intention to fight.

His whitened hair suggested he was of considerable age, and a scar across the bridge of his nose spoke to the years he had weathered. They were the eyes of a commander.

The man stood in the rain and looked straight at Calix.

"……Who are you?"

"……."

"I've never heard of a powerhouse like you serving under Marquis Ashapel. More than anything—this is not something a mere knight could accomplish. Stopping the flow of mana. Not even a Master can perform such a miracle. This is closer to—"

He started to speak, then pressed his mouth shut.

It unmistakably resembled magic.

"I'll ask again. Why does a powerhouse like you assist Marquis Ashapel? Who on earth are you?"

Calix regarded him in silence for a moment, then answered briefly.

"Calix."

At that instant, the other man's pupils trembled almost imperceptibly.

"……Calix?"

The old knight did not immediately grasp what meaning that name carried. But the battlefield already knew.

One man had brought thousands of footsteps to a halt.

And soon, the old knight recognized the identity of the one before him and his pupils flew wide open.

"No, that can't be. That's impossible…… How can you be here?"

That astonishment alone was the only response this battlefield permitted.

***

The battlefield remained frozen for a long time.

Even after Calix set down his iron rod, the rain did not let up. Knights collapsed in the mud, soldiers stiffened with their spears raised, and those watching from the castle walls above—unable to even breathe properly. No one dared move carelessly.

Calix stood in place for a moment.

Even as he felt thousands of gazes directed at him, he attached no particular significance to that fact. But one thing was certain.

‘I must leave.’

If he remained here, he would soon become a symbol. And a symbol, before long, became a new standard. Calix knew this.

For the enemy forces it would serve as a message of threat—but the same applied to Marquis Ashapel. Order flows from above downward. The moment that flow was altered, rivers of blood would follow.

Above all—Calix himself had no intention of standing in that place. Another war must not break out. For that reason, he turned his back without a word.

He neither returned to Pentan Viscounty nor crossed through the enemy lines.

His own new path.

As the rain slowly cleared, the battlefield of that day closed in that manner.

‘Mother, please be well.’

There was no farewell.

***

Several weeks later, a strange rumor began circulating across the empire. The story was that just before Pentan Viscounty was about to fall, the noble alliance forces withdrew for no apparent reason. The claim that thousands of troops had been stopped by a single man came as a bonus.

At first it was nothing more than a drifting rumor.

"They say a mage appeared at Pentan Viscounty."

"All the Neural Accelerators went out at once?"

"Nonsense. Something like that is impossible."

People laughed it off.

The age of heroes had ended. Those who returned victorious from the war against the beasts were dying from the conflicts of nobles. The more frequently wars broke out, the more stories tended toward exaggeration.

It could have been an excuse to justify defeat, or bravado to mask fear. Yet the story did not easily die down.

The noble alliance forces had withdrawn without clear justification or tangible gain. Not only in Pentan Viscounty—every prediction of Marquis Ashapel's defeat had gone wrong. And those who had been on the battlefield that day—every last one of them held their words close.

That silence, on the contrary, stirred people's hearts.

Some expressed belief; others denied it to the end.

"A mage, of all things. They all disappeared hundreds of years ago."

"Who knows. This may be exactly the time when myths are needed."

But there was one thing that was certain. The noble alliance forces' elite had been completely broken. Now, no one would be able to stand in the way of Marquis Ashapel's ambitions.

Because the only one who could have done so had departed.

Calix vanished, accompanied only by his attendant Gajit and the Mountain Rabbits who had come chasing after him. However, some months after that—

Around the time word spread that Marquis Ashapel was the leading candidate for the next Emperor of Niboria, an entirely different story began flowing from a completely different place.

The northeast. The Elvra Holy Empire.

It was a rumor that in a land where winter had descended deep, a dead man's name was being called. Passing through forests and ruins turned white, a man carrying an iron rod had walked in.

There, Calix came face to face once more with bonds from the past.

Marik and Ella.

This time, it was not a battlefield.