Episode 85
An ideology isn’t something grandiose.
“A set view on the world, society, or life.”
As long as people live, each has their own life, and life inevitably gives birth to ideology.
Take, for instance, the Red Tower’s belief that “power” is the ultimate value in this world.
Or the “King of Pigs,” who believes that spreading one’s seed and ensuring the lineage is the highest value.
Then there are the radical black magicians who see trivial morals as mere obstacles in their pursuit of truth, reminiscent of the hellish visions once shown by the captains of the Black-Red Order.
For wizards and knights, the “ideology” they project onto their swords or the world is precisely this concept.
The values they hold dear, their attitude towards the world, their perspective on life—these are the systematic collections of consciousness they build through their experiences.
This intertwining of the ultimate in swordsmanship and magic is what creates the “Avatar” and the “World of Ideology.”
The Avatar—a knight overlays their ideology onto their sword, armor, and body through “aura.”
The World of Ideology—a wizard overlays their ideology onto the world itself through “magic.”
The embodiment of a grimoire, the Avatar, is not much different in this context.
Snowflakes danced in the night, a white and dark winter evening.
There, a steel sword clashed against the holy sword Durandal.
Once the Empire’s hound, the sword of a warrior who had slain countless foes.
“Peacemaker.”
An ironic name for a sword now held by Dale, with the fourth circle revolving around his heart.
The realm of the 4th Circle. The wall shattered, revealing a new horizon beyond.
And in Dale’s hand, the warrior’s sword, Peacemaker.
It’s not a real sword with substance.
A projection of ideology, merely a “tangible mirage” a wizard overlays onto their world.
Yet, in the world of ideology, it was far from a mere castle in the sand.
Though it might seem reckless and absurd for a wizard to wield a sword like a knight, Dale was different.
He adjusted his grip on Peacemaker’s hilt, the feel of it so familiar.
“Yet, I still can’t unleash this sword’s full potential.”
Still lacking.
“This is my world.”
Dale murmured again, repeating the mantra endlessly.
This world wasn’t built by Dale alone. Dale’s world was never just “Dale’s world.”
In his past life, Dale had many names. The greatest monster hunter, the hero from another world, the Empire’s hound.
For most, dedicating a lifetime to either sword or magic offers no guarantee of reaching the ultimate.
But what of those who dedicate more than a lifetime?
That was Dale’s realization, and it opened the horizon of the 4th Circle.
The hero from another world, and Dale of Saxon.
Fusing the ideologies from two lives into one world. Paradoxically, by wielding a sword, he elevated his “wizard’s realm” even further.
He felt strangely light-hearted.
Dale widened the distance, looking at the “King of Pigs” wielding the holy sword Durandal.
“Can I win?”
Projecting the warrior’s prowess onto his sword, Dale launched himself forward.
The sword swung.
Unconcerned with the fact that he couldn’t use aura as a wizard, he simply gripped Peacemaker’s hilt without an Avatar.
Clang!
The holy sword and Dale’s sword clashed.
Clang!
They clashed, parted, and clashed again. With each clash, the dormant power within Peacemaker awakened.
More vivid memories of the warrior resurfaced.
Simultaneously, Dale’s black surcoat fluttered, generating shadow blades. Accelerating the four circles, he unleashed an endless torrent of dark blue magic.
“Shard Magnum.”
He conjured an ice wall and shattered it, scattering ice shards.
“Shadow Bullet, ‘Gatling Style.’”
Shadow bullets poured from the hem of his cloak. The power and speed of the magic were amplified beyond comparison to before.
Sword and magic.
Covering the blind spot of not being able to use aura with magic, he maintained a hard-fought balance against one of the continent’s strongest knights.
His body felt light. Incredibly light, as if the world had slowed down. The sensation of holding a sword was so familiar, he almost forgot he was a wizard.
Could this really be the movement of a “knight who can’t use aura”?
“I can do it…!”
Dale’s mind was filled with certainty.
It was then.
“Impressive, youngster.”
The holy knight with the face of a boar grinned, baring his tusks.
”…!”
At that moment, the aura emanating from the holy knight’s body began to swirl like a storm.
The energy of a battle god.
As Dale prepared to test his newfound power against it.
─ The time has come.
Thud!
“Death” struck the ground with a skeletal staff. The entire scene froze.
The holy knight and the Empire’s soldiers vanished like a mirage, leaving only Dale.
A horizon filled with chilling cold and solitude.
There stood “Death,” resembling a Victorian-era English gentleman, and the “Mother of Ancient Darkness,” akin to a noble lady of the same era.
No longer a naive young girl, but a lady of pitch-black with two towering black horns.
Archetypes at the base of the collective unconscious.
Images shared unconsciously by people since ancient times, before history began.
Entities that transcend time and borders, serving as motifs for various myths and legends. These primordial symbols—their avatars—were watching Dale.
Thus, Dale asked.
“Did you know my true identity from the start?”
─ Ah, we know far too many things, child.
“Death” replied, holding a skeletal staff, with a cigar now in the other hand.
─ The name of the finest cigar in this universe…
With the cigar in his mouth, “Death” continued.
─ And how you escaped ‘my visit.’
”…!”
At those words, Dale swallowed hard. He was about to speak.
But.
─ Ah, don’t worry too much.
“Death” interrupted him, as if there was nothing to worry about.
─ Death always keeps its secrets.
Thud!
At that moment, “Death” struck the ground again with the skeletal staff, cigar in mouth.
Dale’s world vanished. Suddenly, he found himself in a room of the Saxon ducal castle.
”…”
The Duke of Saxon’s study. After surveying his surroundings, Dale looked at his father.
“It seems you’ve passed his test safely.”
The Black Duke spoke, unable to hide his satisfaction.
“That entity…”
“When I reached the world of truth, I made a pact with ‘Death.’”
The Black Duke explained.
“My grimoire—‘The Scales of the Heart’—finally succeeded in drawing out a part of that entity.”
“Does that mean the Immortal Duke Frederick also…”
“Indeed.”
The Immortal Duke Frederick also succeeded in reaching the “world of truth.” The “Book of the Black Goat,” which he once wrote and whose tendrils took root in Dale’s heart, is proof of that.
“However, the entities beside us.”
The Black Duke continued.
“Are merely ‘shadows’ cast on the cave wall.”
Not the real thing, but merely parts of the shadows cast by the real thing.
“This world is one large cave.”
”…”
“And we are prisoners who believe the shadows on the cave wall to be the truth.”
Thus, wizards pursue the world of light beyond the cave, the world of truth (Idea). The final destination of ideology.
“It seems this is a bit difficult for you to grasp.”
Having said that, the Black Duke smiled. It was an unmistakable father’s smile.
“Congratulations on reaching the realm of the 4th Circle.”
The black tendrils rooted in Dale’s heart coiled around his 4th Circle. Four circles. A full-fledged wizard, beyond that realm.
Reaching the 3rd Circle in one’s twenties is considered a prodigious feat, and many without talent never reach the 4th Circle, even after a lifetime of effort.
Yet Dale had achieved that realm at the tender age of twelve.
An achievement beyond words, the very reason for the “Black Prince’s” renown.
And with this newly acquired realm, the time to prepare for the next journey was approaching.
“Master Sepia.”
Around that time, Dale, having reached the realm of the 4th Circle, reported his achievement.
”…It seems there’s nothing more I can teach you.”
The 6th Circle elf wizard smiled wryly.
“That’s not true.”
Dale shook his head, smiling.
“There are still so many things I want to learn from you, Master Sepia.”
Even though they had shared a bond, Sepia remained the young Dale’s tutor.
Moreover, the realm of a 6th Circle elf wizard was nothing to scoff at.
Especially the skills Sepia had displayed that day against the Red Tower elder, “Walter the Bloodflame.”
Spell Counter.
“Is there a particular spell you’d like to learn?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Dale nodded in response to Sepia’s question.
A prodigy of the fourth circle, and a dual mage pursuing both water and shadow elements.
“I want to learn dispel magic.”
The next day, Sir Helmut Blackbear tilted his head in puzzlement.
Dale, who usually trained with a shadow cloak, had chosen to wield a knight’s sword, just like them.
“A proper sword…?”
Surprised by this unexpected sight, Sir Helmut tilted his head again.
“I want to test something.”
Dale replied in his usual calm manner.
“To see how a mage without aura can stand on equal footing with a knight.”
“Are you insisting on fighting like a knight?”
Mages can enhance their bodies to some extent, but it’s nothing compared to the physical prowess of a knight using aura. It seemed absurd, reckless, and inefficient.
That was the opinion of Helmut Blackbear, one of the continent’s seven swordmasters, but standing before him was the “Black Prince” himself.
“Very well, my lord!”
Thus, Sir Helmut had no doubts.
“Don’t underestimate a mage’s sword.”
Dale adjusted his grip on the sword’s hilt, recalling the beloved sword from his past life, now in his hand, as he reached the fourth circle.
After reaching the fourth circle, Dale’s path became clear.
Back to basics.
Just like when he first trained at the Saxon Duchy.
Among the best mentors—Swordmaster Helmut, the Black Prince, and the elf mage Sepia—he honed his talents without reservation.
And now, Dale was no longer the novice who had just grasped a sword and formed his first circle.