Perhaps Sergei found the other man’s words utterly bewildering, for his eyes went round. But the
black magician in the black robe seated before him continued speaking without the slightest sign of agitation.
“My demand is only one thing. I want to select a wall guardsman named Damon as my guard.
Is that so difficult to understand?”
The black magician’s tone was decidedly provocative, and his words were direct. There was not a trace
of courtesy in his manner toward a duke who led a nation. At the man’s attitude—barging in out of nowhere
and immediately declaring that he would take someone away—Sergei was left dumbfounded.
‘Does he mean he has nothing to lose?’
Considering the other man’s current circumstances, perhaps it was only natural, but this was going far too far.
Sergei looked at him with an expression of utter incredulity.
“So… what you are saying is that you intend to choose a guard from here?”
“Precisely.”
The black-robed black magician—in other words, Doyle—looked straight at Sergei, as if he had no intention
of yielding in the slightest. At that sight, Sergei could not help but be deeply flustered. Of course, Doyle was not someone
he particularly wished to see. And yet such a man had appeared before him out of the blue, saying he would choose a guard…
Of course, taking his accomplishments into account, it was a situation in which Sergei could have handed over one or two soldiers without a word.
But for the soldier he demanded to be Damon, of all people…
Naturally, there was no way Sergei did not know who Damon was. Was he not that hideous creature from another world,
deeply etched into his mind for the crime of having behaved insolently toward him?
By coincidence, he had been just about to send someone to dispose of Damon.
On the charge of desertion, no less. If he merely signed the order, an assassin would be dispatched at once,
and the man named Damon would likely no longer be of this world before the day was out.
And yet, out of nowhere, a black magician—one whose ability was such that Sergei could never simply ignore him—
had appeared and demanded that Damon be handed over…
‘How truly absurd.’
Of course, under ordinary circumstances, there was no way he would have tolerated such insolent behavior from a black magician.
As Duke, Sergei possessed more than enough power and authority to do so… But now they were at war,
and he could not afford to lose a black magician who was performing brilliantly on the battlefield, so Sergei found himself in a difficult position.
‘Is he taking revenge in this way for having been imprisoned for so many years?’
The man named Doyle sitting before him possessed a status no one could have imagined.
He was one of the black magicians who had participated in the Dark War thirty years ago.
Of course, in that war, every black magician living in Truvenia sided with the Demon King
and betrayed humanity. Because of that, mankind suffered truly tremendous losses. The number of soldiers
who departed this world under their magical attacks was beyond counting. After the war ended in victory,
it went without saying that a sweeping purge followed against the black magicians and necromancers who had sided with the Demon King.
In truth, countless black magicians lost their lives at the execution grounds. But even among them,
there were those who managed to preserve their lives…
Generally speaking, magicians were beings useful in an astonishing number of ways.
They were not people who could be trained in a day or two. Due to the brutal fighting
during the Dark War, many magicians had died in battle, and as a result each kingdom was forced to suffer a severe shortage of magical personnel.
The situation was so bad that even magical communications between kingdoms were not functioning properly.
Because of that, several kingdoms discussed whether they ought not to kill all of the captured black magicians,
but instead make use of some of them. They were, of course, people who ought to be killed, but the abilities they possessed
were truly too valuable to waste. Because magicians were scarce, the decision was reached without great difficulty,
and among the captured black magicians, those of outstanding skill were narrowly able to avoid execution.
Doyle, who stood before him, was one such case. But it went without saying that the other black magicians
whose abilities were lacking vanished to the dew of the execution grounds without a single one remaining.
They had barely managed to preserve their lives, but the treatment imposed upon the surviving black magicians could,
in a certain sense, be called even more miserable. In exchange for their spared lives, they were forced
to labor for the rest of their days in underground prisons.
In the end, for the crime of choosing life, they found themselves endlessly crafting magical weapons, scrolls,
and the like in places where sunlight never reached. Until they grew old and died. That period continued
for no less than thirty years, and during that time countless black magicians brought their lives to an end
through suicide or various other means. Even so, a considerable number of black magicians survived,
and because of the race war that had now broken out, they finally gained an opportunity to see the sunlight.
As the state of the war grew increasingly precarious, a decision was made to utilize their magic in battle.
Of course, the assessment of black magic, which was generally powerful in terms of offensive capability, played a major role in that decision.
As a result, a considerable number of black magicians were granted pardons on the condition that they participate in the war,
and the black magician named Doyle, too, was a war mage deployed to the battlefield through that process.
At the time, Sergei had personally signed Doyle’s pardon, so he knew the matter well.
The number of black magicians pardoned by the Ikarot Empire totaled thirty-four.
With the black magicians joining them, the armies fighting on the battlefield gained a great deal of strength. That was because
most of the black magicians deployed to the battlefield were capable magicians of high circles.
In particular, the man named Doyle had been judged to be among the very best of them.
That was why this was truly a difficult problem. After pondering for a long while,
Sergei clicked his tongue inwardly.
‘Damn it, this is truly troublesome.’
Of course, since the other party was a black magician it would not matter if he killed him; he could simply close his eyes and dispose of him.
But when he thought of the military strength that would be lost on the battlefield as a result, Sergei simply could not do it.
‘He is a master of the Sixth Circle. If we consider only the power of offensive magic,
even Benitez cannot match him.’
In the present situation, he had to coax him into being sent to the battlefield by any means possible.
Because of that, Sergei finally made his decision. Though the man’s origins troubled him somewhat, he could not lose
such an important fighting force over one foreigner of no particular use. Was he not someone he had intended to execute anyway?
At last, Sergei nodded as if he had no choice.
“Very well. I will grant your request.”
“Thank you.”
Though he expressed his thanks in words, Doyle’s face bore an expression that seemed to say it was only natural.
At that sight, rage once again surged within Sergei, but he suppressed it with all his might.
“In exchange, I will strip you of one day of leave. Therefore, return to your unit tomorrow.
Do you understand?”
“I shall do so.”
Nodding as though he did not mind, Doyle rose to his feet as if he had no further business there.
Sergei glared at his retreating back with eyes that looked as though they would devour him.
Clack.
Once Doyle had left, Benitez, who had been standing behind him, quickly approached. In consideration of any situation
that might possibly arise, he had remained close by, guarding Sergei.
“What will you do? Will you grant that man’s request?”
“What else should I do? Judging by his edge, if I refused to listen to him,
he looked ready to refuse to go fight…”
At Sergei’s irritated reply, Benitez gave a bitter smile.
“If you have made your decision, I will immediately draft an order appointing Damon
as the black magician Doyle’s guard.”
“Do so.”
Watching Sergei spit out the words and leave the office, Benitez silently took out a sheet of orders.
To be honest, he was not without doubts as to why Doyle wished to take Damon as his guard,
but he decided not to think too deeply about it. Because he had personally brought Damon here with his own hands,
he already felt a deep sympathy for him. Therefore, he wanted to grant him at least that much convenience himself.
Picking up a sheet of orders that seemed appropriate, Benitez murmured softly.
“Farewell, warrior of another world. Though it is uncertain whether you will achieve your will,
it seems you have at least had your wish granted.”
Sinking into his chair, Benitez picked up his pen and began drafting the order.
Thinking that this was the final consideration he could offer Damon…
The walls of Feldrian soared as though they would pierce the sky. They were towering walls that seemed impossible
for human strength to even dare climb. Though due to the intervention of the dragons, they could no longer be called
an invincible defense, their grandeur still remained, making the knees of those who looked up at them tremble.
The gate of that castle was now slowly opening.
Creeeeak. Boom.
The massive gate reinforced with steel slowly descended, then, with a thunderous roar, came to rest
over the moat. The chains supporting the gate swayed, and dust rose thickly. Like most castles of this age,
this gate served not only as a door but also as a bridge by which to cross the moat.
Soon, several hundred horses and men appeared atop the bridge. Behind them,
several carts that seemed to be loaded with supplies followed closely.
Dudududu.
As if preparing for a possible enemy incursion, they sped across the bridge and emerged.
The moment they left the castle, the gate began to rise again. With a thunderous boom,
Feldrian Castle was soon sealed off from the outside without a single gap.
“We have no time. Hurry!”
A bearded commander who seemed to be leading the unit shouted at the top of his lungs. At his orders,
the unit slowly began to move. They were reinforcements on their way to support the front lines.
The soldiers’ complexions were somewhat pale. Most of them were men who had been evacuated after being wounded,
then had completed their treatment. Of course, there were some who had not yet fully recovered from their injuries,
but because the war situation was growing more urgent, anyone who could hold a sword was being sent to the battlefield without exception.
To a battlefield where, perhaps, the chances of returning alive a second time were slim.
Roughly fifty of them were knights on horseback. The rest were ordinary soldiers,
and in preparation for the long march, they wore light leather armor. If there was a surprise attack
or they arrived at the battlefield, they would likely change into the armor loaded on the carts and enter combat.
After gauging the marching speed, the commander’s eyes gleamed.
“If we move swiftly, we should be able to arrive by tomorrow evening.”
Under the commander’s control, the support unit began its march toward the battlefield.
The bearded commander, his helmet pulled low, was constantly urging the soldiers on when he glanced
toward the rear of the force. There, a figure who appeared to be a magician, his black robe pulled low over him,
was sitting on a cart. The commander discreetly checked the magician’s movements, then turned his gaze forward again.
In truth, the mission assigned to the bearded commander was not merely to transport the reinforcements to the battlefield.
He had also been given the role of watching that black magician, who was returning from leave,
so that he would not flee along the way. Since he had to carry out this mission even at the cost of his life,
he never removed his watchful gaze from the black magician.
“The weather is clear.”
Doyle, who had been looking up at the sky, murmured softly. Perhaps because he had not seen sunlight
for a full thirty years, whenever he had leisure he would look up at the sky like this.
It was a deep blue sky that truly never grew tiresome no matter how often he saw it.
After appreciating the surrounding scenery for a moment, Doyle quietly turned his gaze to the side.
Beside the cart, a small-framed soldier with his helmet pulled low was absorbed in walking busily.
From between Doyle’s lips came a voice imbued with warm emotion.
“Are you not afraid of going to the battlefield, Damon?”
Damon, who had been focused on walking, smiled and answered him.
“I am fine, Master. I have already fought countless battles on the battlefield.”
Of course, for soldiers participating in war for the first time, going to the battlefield would feel like going off to die.
There were countless soldiers who could not endure that pressure and deserted… But to Damon, at least, the battlefield
was by no means an unfamiliar place. On the contrary, it was a place toward which he even felt a sense of familiarity.
“When we arrive at the Eighth Legion, three or four guards will likely be supplemented.
So you are to take the role of leader among those guards.”
“Understood, Master.”
Damon’s attitude was truly respectful. There was not the slightest selfishness or hidden intent in it.
For the single reason that Doyle had taken him as a disciple and would teach him magic,
Damon was already deeply moved by him. In other words, it would be safe to say
there was no possibility of Damon betraying Doyle under any circumstances.
“You little rascal.”
Smiling faintly, Doyle fixed his gaze on the sky once more. It was because the character of the first disciple
he had ever taken was, in its own way, to his liking. In truth, Damon was Doyle’s first disciple in name and reality.
Long ago, Doyle had been so sickened by the master who had taught him magic
that he had promised he would never take on a disciple under any circumstances. But that promise had been greatly diluted
by nearly thirty years of prison life, and now that he was seeing sunlight again,
he had broken his original vow and finally taken on his first disciple. It did not matter that he was a foreigner,
not a man of Truvenia. Perhaps he felt even more attached to him because Damon treated him sincerely
and because he possessed the same hideous appearance as himself.
As Doyle looked up at the sky, he suddenly recalled his master, Brizeman.
The master who had joined him in the Dark War thirty years ago and departed this life.
A quiet monologue flowed from Doyle’s mouth.
“Master. Just as you guessed, I did end up taking on a disciple. But do not worry.
No matter what happens, I will not follow in your footsteps.”
It was when Doyle, who had been wandering the continent, met his master Brizeman that he was thirty-eight years old.