Ch.173EP.40 – Spring of the Knights (8)

…on the surface, he looked completely ordinary.

The brown-haired boy, who appeared too young to have even gone through puberty, smiled with refreshing brightness. Had he been born in the world of my previous life, I thought he might have become a popular idol or actor based on his face alone. However, the two men had no time to examine the boy’s features in detail.

Though he didn’t exude any extraordinary aura like a great mage would—seeming utterly ordinary—the two knights knew this was because the mage had “complete mastery” over his energy, preventing any leakage.

And though unintentional, Ihan had seen about two people who had complete mastery over their energy.

One was an old man who played at being a butler, and the other was a middle-aged man who roamed around the knights’ order like a delinquent. Both appeared completely ordinary on the surface, but Ihan knew better.

What monsters those two old men truly were.

In martial arts terms, this would be called “returning to simplicity” or “pure refinement in the furnace”—a realm where one conceals all their energy. They were humans who resembled mythical creatures. No, not “resembled”—they had truly become mythical creatures.

And now, this boy was the same.

It was terrifying precisely because no energy could be sensed from him, making it impossible to even consider fighting back.

Superhuman.

A transcendent being who surpassed human cognition, appearing perhaps once in thousands or even millions of people.

A being who had broken through some boundary while merely retaining human form.

Fight against that?

That was already an impossible proposition.

That’s why Ihan and Lac…

Whoosh!

Without hesitation, they turned and ran at full speed.

In an instant, the knights—who could boast maximum speeds of 200km/h—disappeared from their spots as they fled at full throttle.

As they ran, their speed increased even further, and at full velocity, they quickly distanced themselves from the magic tower until it appeared as nothing more than a tiny dot in the distance.

This was clear evidence of just how fast they were and how desperately they ran, however…

“Hey, that won’t do.”

[Slash!]

“…”

“…”

…The two knights who had fled dozens of kilometers from the magic tower suddenly found themselves “back at the tower’s location” again.

As if their escape had never happened.

“…Space teleportation?”

“And spatial cutting too.”

But instead of panicking, the knights contemplated what had happened to them and quickly regained their composure.

Then:

“How far did we get?”

“About 9 miles radius.”

“Damn those miles!”

“…Why are you angry?”

Despite the minor trouble, they assessed the approximate distance as they faced the boy—no, the 400-year-old “ancient monster”—who had summoned them back.

“How far would we need to run to escape the influence of that spatial magic?”

“Hmm, you’re asking me that?”

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t answer.”

“…Haha!”

Tyr de Sagan laughed cheerfully out of nowhere.

“No! I’ll tell you! My spatial magic reaches about 100km in any direction. So there’s no way to escape, is there? Unless you can move at the speed of light.”

“…I see.”

Ihan nodded in acknowledgment.

As if accepting there wasn’t a shred of lie in those words.

Though Ihan normally harbored extreme hatred for spellcasters and refused to believe anything they said, this time he believed.

Because this one wasn’t an ordinary spellcaster, but a “superhuman.”

Having encountered his fair share of superhumans, Ihan understood their psychology and mental state well, and knew they rarely lied.

Why was he so certain?

Simple.

‘Because they have no need to lie. Why would someone who can do anything they want bother with lies?’

Those who possessed neither political power nor wealth, but pure “strength.”

Yet that overwhelming strength was the very proof of their power and wealth.

Why would someone who could dominate the world need to utter falsehoods?

The same applied now.

The man who could do anything:

“Hey, let’s have a chat. I’m really curious about you two!”

“……”

“Come on, that sounds good, right?”

It was a one-sided “notification” with no room for choice.

Extremely unpleasant…

* * *

[Wait, Tower Master! Those intruders must be punished immediately—what nonsense is this talk of conversation?!]

[Have you finally gone senile, Tower Master?!]

[This cannot be allowed!]

[Grrrk!]

The great mages voiced their discontent.

Of the five great mages who originally resided in the tower, one was dead, another clutched his wounded chest in agony, and another raged over losing an arm.

And that wasn’t all.

[Look at our dead comrades! Look at what’s become of our tower!]

Many mages had died.

All of this happened because those intruders destroyed the tower and attacked them.

Of course, many mages still survived, and rebuilding the tower would be entirely possible.

As long as the Tower Master remained.

But that was beside the point—damage was damage.

Those intruders deserved punishment, and that would be the exemplary stance for the leader of the magic tower to take.

…That would certainly be the sensible approach, but…

“Are you giving me orders right now?”

[……]

“You’ve grown quite bold, haven’t you? Showing discontent toward me, hmm.”

[I-I’m sorry.]

“No, it’s understandable.”

[……]

“Haha.”

…The mages didn’t find the boy’s mischievous, fresh laughter the least bit heartwarming.

Instead, their faces turned pale as they bowed their heads deeply.

Having not seen his face for a while, they had forgotten.

Who he truly was…

The Tower Master was…

“…Why show discontent if you’re just going to apologize? It makes me feel bad—”

Crack!

The Tower Master was the greatest madman of the tower, acting entirely on his own whims.

[Urgh!]

[T-Tower Master! W-we spoke falsely! P-please spare us!]

[S-sorry, we’re sorry…]

[Aaaagh!]

What enveloped them wasn’t magical power.

It was intent (疑念).

His mere displeasure manifested as an attack that pressed down on them with his will.

If he thought about killing, he could kill; if he wanted to destroy, he could destroy.

Therefore, they must never cross him.

Even if they were called great mages, they absolutely could not.

Like prey before a natural predator, the mages lowered their eyes.

Too afraid to meet his gaze…

“How pathetic, really.”

Ha!

The boy laughed cheerfully, as if he had never been angry.

Once again, with that refreshing smile.

And then:

“That’s why you two are so fascinating!”

His eyes sparkled as he looked at the knights.

Toward the two knights who remained unaffected despite being exposed to his intent.

However, the two knights who became the object of his interest merely:

“What’s this bastard saying?”

“I don’t know. His brain must have malfunctioned from living too long.”

“Ah, is that so?”

They openly gave him disrespectful looks that said, ‘What a crazy bastard.’

“Puhahahahaha!”

The boy laughed heartily.

As if his stomach might burst.

The boy, who floated and rolled through the air naturally, wasn’t particularly offended by their insulting remarks.

…He truly seemed to have a screw loose somewhere, or as the spear-wielding knight said, something was clearly broken.

But the boy, Tyr de Sagan, would say this:

He wasn’t crazy, just excessively curious.

That’s why he was so focused on the fresh experiences like now.

“You know what?”

He suddenly stopped laughing and began talking at them one-sidedly.

“Your power, you see, isn’t much different from those old kids over there. Actually, if we’re just looking at the total amount of energy, those old kids probably have more.”

“Old kids…” referred to the great mages, and Tyr de Sagan was clearly evaluating the levels of the knights and great mages.

“I’ve seen strong warriors like you before. They’re commonly called [Heroes] or [Mains]. Sometimes there are decent ones among them. They’re as strong as you or even stronger.”

Yes, they occasionally appear.

Those with “energy” comparable to great mages.

He wasn’t talking about magical power.

The [Aura] invisible to ordinary people.

Or the power called life force.

Knights might call it fighting spirit or whatever, but he preferred the term aura.

In that sense, the aura of these two knights was slightly inferior compared to the great mages.

Of course, how could these young men compare to those who had lived at least a hundred years?

One should compare what’s comparable.

…However, although their total aura was inferior, they possessed a certain “specialness” that even the great mages lacked.

A specialness occasionally possessed by heroes or mains who leave their names in “history.”

Namely,

“But you know… ‘heroes who have trained their souls’ like you are rare.”

…The “strength of the soul.”

“People who survive life-or-death battles, training, or enormous trials multiple times. Such individuals show considerable gaps in victory even when facing heroes or mains of the same level. Just like how you overwhelmed those old kids and the tower.”

To be clear, the magic tower wasn’t weak.

Rather, as he said, there were quite a few people with a total energy amount similar to the knights.

He wasn’t just referring to the twelve bronze giants and five great mages.

There were “six more” besides them.

However…

“Even if those hidden six came out, they couldn’t defeat you. Your strength isn’t simply determined by energy. You know ‘how to overcome’ and ‘how to win.’ So it’s inevitable that our people can’t beat you.”

The boy readily admitted it.

That the tower couldn’t defeat them.

But he didn’t seem particularly upset about it.

He didn’t care about the mages who had died.

He didn’t seem displeased that the tower was destroyed.

To him, all of that seemed like “trivial matters, natural processes.”

But there was one thing the boy couldn’t tolerate.

This had been an incurable disease the boy had for a long time, but it was because of this disease that he was able to reach such great heights.

So the boy, exercising his curiosity, asked the two knights with strong souls that piqued his interest:

“Hey… I want to dissect your bodies and souls. Will you allow it?”

“The disease of being unable to suppress desire”—that was the name of Tyr de Sagan’s incurable condition.

“Oh, it’s fine if you don’t allow it. I’m ‘going to do it anyway’ even without permission, so I’ll apologize in advance.”

“……”

“Ahaha!”

The boy laughed cheerfully.

As if nothing could make him happier than finding interesting [rare materials]—

“Are you done talking?”

“…Huh?”

“I asked if you’re done talking, you bastard.”

“……”

“You sure talk to yourself a lot.”

Crack, crack!

Ihan stretched his body.

Thanks to that guy’s monologue, his body was showing signs of recovery, and the same was true for the spear-wielder—no, for Lac as well.

Whoosh!

Ihan immediately took out two potions and injected them directly into his veins like syringes.

Potion doping.

He was repeating the crazy method he had tried in yesterday’s battle with the Demon King.

There would be side effects, but even so.

“Don’t you have anything?”

“…A classical approach.”

“Oh.”

What wouldn’t one do to win a life-or-death battle?

Gulp!

Lac took out something like pills and swallowed them.

Five of them at once.

“…That’s dangerous.”

“Like you’re one to talk.”

From the looks of it, even one pill seemed dangerous, but seeing him consume five at once suggested he was also someone who hated losing.

But Ihan approved.

‘Right, this isn’t a sport.’

In sports, doping is illegal.

It goes against sportsmanship.

But what they were about to do wasn’t a sport with rules and implicit regulations.

It was merely a battle where only the living and the dead would remain.

So there was no such thing as cowardice or fouls.

And so…

“Let’s see who gets dissected, you damn spellcaster.”

The two knights joined forces in this moment.

As human history has proven, the standard approach to facing a stronger opponent is “ganging up”—historically proven.

Failure means death, success means survival.

And in the knights’ minds, failure wasn’t even an option to begin with.