Chapter 391
Sssshhh!

Amid the chaos, a distinct aura of deadly intent stood out. Beric instinctively shielded Ian, twisting his body just in time to face an arrow that whizzed perilously close to his nose.

But the arrow carried more than just wind—it was infused with unfamiliar magical energy. Flying straight and true, it pierced the heart of a Cliffford soldier standing just behind, then exploded violently, shredding the corpse to pieces.

Boom!

“Ahhh!”

The arrow bore the mark of the Luswena royal family. Beric’s eyes snapped open wide as he glared at Eriphony, then locked eyes with the king.

Her teal eyes, marked by the Three Hundred Eyes, furrowed in displeasure.

“Tch. Next.”

Ziiing. Ziiing.

Eldert handed an arrow to Zaira, who breathed magic into it before presenting it to the king. The rebellious spark she’d shown moments ago was gone without a trace. Eriphony muttered with satisfaction.

“You should’ve done this from the start. How pretty it is, huh?”

“…”

Eriphony tapped Zaira’s cheek lightly and smiled, then drew her bowstring again, aiming straight for Ian’s heart. Standing nearly eight feet tall with long arms to match, her posture was flawless.

Beric spotted the next attack easily and shouted, “Eriphony’s aiming for Ian! Block her!”

“Eriphony? That insolent—”

Sssshhh!

Eriphony relentlessly drew and released her bowstring, targeting Ian. Her shoulders squared, her stance unwavering. Her gaze was sharp and relentless. Even as Beric and the soldiers retreated, he never took his eyes off her.

Eriphony reached back for another arrow, but none came.

“Ah, seriously.”

How annoying. Can’t they even be quick about something this simple?

She turned around again, ready to scold whoever was responsible—until she met Zaira’s pale, sweat-drenched face.

“What’s wrong?”

“She’s still a child. Her magic isn’t as strong as an adult’s yet. Please show mercy. I’ll do it instead. Zaira, come here. It’s okay.”

Zaira bit her lip tightly and handed over the last arrow. A faint chill radiated from it. Eriphony ran her fingers over the arrowhead, then wore an unreadable expression.

“Age and magic power don’t always correlate. Take Ian Hielo, for example—he hasn’t even had his coming-of-age ceremony yet. I heard he inherited the blood of an elder and has exceptional talent.”

“…My apologies.”

“Enough. I don’t expect much. Just be obedient and serve Luswena. Send the child away and bring me another mage.”

“Yes. I will.”

One of the mages stepped forward eagerly.

Zaira retreated weakly, shoulders slumped. Someone grabbed her shoulder and whispered.

“Zaira, what did you do?”

“…What?”

The man who raised Zaira alongside the elder knelt and examined her palm. The arrowhead had torn it up so badly it was hard to look at.

He gritted his teeth and asked again, “I’m asking what you did to the king’s arrow. You didn’t just put magic into it, did you?”

“…”

The girl looked up defiantly at the sky. Just moments ago, her grandmother had been alive, but now she’d turned to ash and vanished. How could she serve the king with a joyful heart?

Zaira clutched the man’s neck tightly.

“Grandma used to say this: don’t hold onto what you receive—whether it’s anger or love. If you keep it inside, there won’t be room for breath. But you know what?”

The two embraced tightly. Zaira glared at Eriphony, who was still focused on shooting arrows.

“I’m greedy, so I have to keep it all. I’ll hold onto everything. And someday, when the other person least expects it, I’ll give it back. That’s what you gave me.”

“…Zaira, please. Okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m really fine.”

The king was right. Though young, Zaira was the most talented mage after the elder. But she couldn’t control her power yet.

Some would call it a blessing; others, a curse. The man had always believed Zaira’s power was a miraculous gift from the gods, but now, for some reason, he felt something was wrong.

Kraaaang!

Crack!

The loud noise drew their attention elsewhere.

The magic swordsmen were swiftly and precisely smashing through the black-armored soldiers. Moving almost as one, their speed was hard to follow with the naked eye.

“Magic swordsmen! A mage is being dragged away over there!”

“Clear the way!”

“Anyone who lays a hand on a mage is to be annihilated!”

Shhhhhh!

The magic swordsmen were doing their part to rescue.

The enemy, armed with Idgal shields, tried to block them, but the situation was different from before. They’d already secured the mage and were turning their backs to enter their base, while the swordsmen pursued.

With their defenses down, Burgos and Luswena troops fell helplessly.

Pew!

Screeeech.

“The barrier gate is opening!”

“Retreat! Everyone nearby, get inside! Sir Ian Hielo is going in!”

“Clear the path! Defend the entrance! More mages will be escorted through! The enemy must not step inside!”

“Move! Aaaah!”

The firmly closed barrier began to open.

If that gate opened, securing Ian would be for nothing. Eriphony cursed under her breath as she watched the struggling black-armored soldiers, then mounted her horse.

“I’m going myself.”

“No, Your Majesty! It’s chaos out there!”

“This is our chance. If I miss it, I’ll never forget this moment until I die. Those black-armored bastards—!”

Grinding her teeth, Eriphony stopped herself from cursing further. Luswena’s main force hadn’t arrived yet. Though outnumbered, if they kept pressing with sheer numbers, victory was possible.

“Order them to focus solely on holding off the magic swordsmen. Damn it. I’m going myself because they’re so frustrating.”

Wheeeeee!

“Your Majesty, wait!”

Eldert grabbed Eriphony’s reins firmly, pleading. The situation was dire. Burgos seemed ready to retreat, perhaps satisfied with having defeated the Bariel mage.

“Calm down and order a retreat first. Cliffford is doing the same, and so is Burgos. We came here to ally with King Damon and claim fertile lands, right? It’s wiser to communicate and plan ahead. Above all, it’s too dangerous for you to go personally while the magic swordsmen are rampaging.”

Despite Eldert’s desperate warnings, Eriphony threw back her hair and shouted.

At the far end, Beric was seen entering the barrier with Ian cradled like a child, surrounded by Cliffford soldiers.

“Damn it. What the hell is Damon doing? Send a message immediately! If you can’t use the synthetic monsters properly, don’t bring them! They just stink up the place!”

“We’ll prepare. We’ll set up our formation as well.”

Sigh.

“May I order a retreat?”

“…Order it. What about the mages we secured?”

“On our side…”

Eldert passed the question to his subordinates. A general bowed slightly and reported.

“We secured two, but one was retaken by the magic swordsmen, and the other is bleeding heavily and likely to die soon.”

“Make sure the magic-sealing stones are fully charged. Mages don’t die easily, even if they look like corpses. They’ll be needed urgently.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Thud!

Eriphony threw her bow to the ground and lit a cigarette.

Stepping back, she saw Eldert’s assessment was accurate. Burgos was focusing more on securing mages and retreating than fighting.

Suddenly, she felt a gaze. Eriphony realized Zaira was staring at her intently and exhaled smoke as if to show her disdain.

Zaira slowly bowed her head, honoring the king’s dignity.

---

“Ian! What’s going on here?”

“Ian, snap out of it!”

“Can’t you see Ian’s awake?”

“No, I mean, his eyes are open, but he’s not really conscious. Do you recognize me? It’s Hale.”

“Here! He’s still bleeding! Put some magic into him!”

“Captain Hale! Is it okay to leave Ian alone?”

“It’s fine. Go check on the wounded and prepare the return list. We need to see who hasn’t entered the barrier yet.”

“The magic swordsmen are still sweeping the battlefield. Look! More are coming in!”

“So how many are left? Wait, let me see.”

Inside the barrier.

Hale and the mages who had rushed over moved busily, tending to their comrades. Most wounds were caused by Idgal weapons, so magic wouldn’t have much effect.

Still, they couldn’t just stand by. Like pouring water into a leaky bucket, they held the hands of those struggling to move and poured in their magic.

“Stay awake. Don’t fall asleep.”

“Ah, this really hurts. I can’t move.”

“At least this one’s talking. Good, that’s a relief. Who’s the worst off right now?”

“Over here! Captain Hale!”

“Accorella!”

“Why are you calling me, damn it? I’m busy!”

“Don’t put magic into yourself. Try making a booster instead. Even if there are side effects, do it quickly. Request help from the palace, okay?”

“How are we supposed to make that here?!… I want to say that, but we’ll figure something out. Damn bastards. How dare they mess with a real mage, goddamn it. If I see them later, they’re all dead.”

Ian stared blankly at the ceiling, listening intently to the chaos around him. Someone was badly hurt, another hadn’t returned yet, and someone else was hovering between life and death.

All because of him.

Because of his own failings.

“Ian.”

Berrick noticed something was off in Ian’s eyes. His pupils were empty, completely hollow. The usual steady, composed gaze was nowhere to be found. Berrick kept shaking Ian’s shoulder.

“Ian, are you hurt? Say something. The medics are here. But there are a lot of bleeding cases, so they’re tending to them first. Ian, are you listening to me?”

“…Who?”

“Huh?”

Ian swallowed hard and muttered something under his breath. The mages who were treating the wounded all stopped and held their breath.

“What did you say?”

“…I asked who died because of me.”

“What… what do you mean?”

Berrick frowned, confused. How do you even answer that during a war? Can you really trace every drop of spilled blood back to its cause?

As Berrick stood there dumbfounded, Akorella, who was about to leave the room, pushed past him and dropped to her knees.

“Ian, can you hear me?”

“Akorella, Ian’s not right.”

“It’s a side effect of the Bitter River magic. It forces you to absorb all the pain you’ve felt at once, so the mental damage is severe. Ian, I don’t know what you’re going through or what you’re thinking, but it’s all just illusions.”

Akorella shouted into Ian’s ear.

“None of our people died because of you, Ian. Everyone came back alive thanks to you.”

“……”

“Consciously erase those thoughts. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s a lie. Pull yourself together and look around. Are we dying, or are we healing?”

But Ian kept repeating the same thing to himself: Who died because of me? Who got hurt because of me? Because of me…

“Ian!”

Aside from the seriously injured mages, those receiving treatment approached him in alarm.

“Look at us, Ian. This was expected from the moment we left the palace. Who among us would return unscathed? This was a decision we made together—how can you say that?”

“Yes. So please, don’t say things like that. Captain Akorella, when will the side effects of the Bitter River magic wear off?”

“It varies from person to person, so I can’t say for sure. For now, let’s get some sleeping medicine prescribed.”

Ian stared straight ahead but wasn’t really seeing anything. Tears streamed down his cheeks. Berrick pressed his forehead against Ian’s shoulder, muttering under his breath.

“God, what’s wrong with him? This is driving me crazy.”

No matter how loudly they insisted that their wounds weren’t Ian’s fault, it felt like he couldn’t hear them.

Berrick frowned, keeping his forehead pressed against Ian’s shoulder until the tears finally stopped. When Ian muttered a question, Berrick answered with the same words.

“Ian, I’m here for you.”

“…Was I?”

“Yeah. Ian, everyone here supports you.”

“…If?”

“Still. Ian, we support you.”

A doctor rushed over at that moment and injected a sedative into Ian’s arm. His eyes slowly closed, and the tears finally ceased.

Berrick and the mages exhaled in relief, burying their faces in their hands. More than any injury or death, it was the sight of Ian’s steadfast tears that shook them the most.

If only Ian knew that—but now that he was asleep, he wouldn’t hear it. They exchanged glances and ran their hands through their hair, silently sharing the weight of the moment.