Chapter 62 : Mage and mage

The biggest difference that sets novels apart from other media is probably the fact that it’s hard to know what the characters look like in

detail.

Unlike movies or games, most of the time their appearances are not even described properly, let alone illustrated.

Of course, that’s considered part of the charm of novels, but still…

“Block it! Don’t let it get close!”

“The claws—aim for the claws first!”

“Mary, help the injured first!”

I didn’t know all the ones who had been corrupted by Magi.

They were merely expressed through fleeting letters and numbers.

Ordinary readers don’t remember such tiny details when reading.

Later, when this incident is mentioned again, they’ll probably just think, ‘Ah, right. That happened.’

Whether a few extras die or not, it honestly doesn’t affect the core plot.

Even the person standing in front of me right now was someone I had never heard of in the original story.

Unfortunately.

“Miss.”

That voice was different from usual—hoarse and rough.

The old man who called to me had a body that looked grotesque, as if stricken with plague.

His enlarged frame and sharp claws resembled a monster.

The neat white hair was all gone, revealing only dark skin.

A few students facing him didn’t let their guard down, weapons aimed.

“…Are you alright?”

The appearance of a heretic is originally like that of a monster.

Like a creature from a tale that eats children—far from what could be called human.

Still, I cautiously stepped forward, slightly bowing.

A few students had already collapsed around us, and traces of blood clung to his claws.

Had there already been a battle?

One student, holding a longsword, blocked my path.

“Hey, be careful! Something pitch black just came out of nowhere and—”

“Are you asking if I’m okay? I’ve never felt better!”

Unlike his usual calm demeanor, the Magi-infused version of him looked like a madman.

The change was so drastic, I couldn’t believe he was the same person I once knew.

The old man—the heretic—stomped the ground violently, as if to show off his strength.

The ground quaked like an ogre rampaging, and dirt scattered.

His eyes were cloudy, chattering excitedly.

When someone is corrupted by Magi, rational thought becomes difficult.

They become best suited to follow their desires, while turning violent.

The old man’s body was that of a monster designed to kill.

“This power coursing through me! Now I can finally get revenge!

On those who killed Ayla!”

Ayla.

He once mentioned her in passing.

He said if his granddaughter were alive, she’d be around my age.

I didn’t know how she died, but considering the word “revenge,” it likely wasn’t a peaceful end.

But unfortunately, his dream seemed unlikely to come true.

His aging skin, corrupted by Magi, couldn’t withstand the toxicity and was slowly melting.

Even if we left him alone, it would only lead to more innocent victims—his revenge wouldn’t succeed.

Just more loss.

Once you’re addicted to Magi and become a heretic, there’s almost no way to return.

Even if a way exists, it can’t be used now.

The old man is destined to die today.

It must’ve been the same in the original story too.

I don’t know who killed him then, but today, that role seems to fall to me.

Honestly, I could have cut his throat right away and moved on.

The freshly transformed heretic body is relatively weak, and I have enough power to handle it.

Even so, my body wouldn’t move quickly.

After a long pause, I lowered my head and tapped the shoulder of the person who looked like the team leader among the students.

“…I’ll handle this alone. Please take the injured and evacuate.”

Of course, he didn’t understand immediately.

He frowned and responded as if he’d heard something absurd.

“What? Even with all of us here, we’re just barely holding him off, and you think you can—”

Slice.

With a light movement of my hand, the heretic’s body was cut cleanly in half.

The huge body fell to the ground with a loud thud.

No fancy technique, no horrific scream.

My sharp magic sliced through the heretic like cutting fruit.

“Please… just go. I’m asking you.”

The situation resolved in an instant.

It was anticlimactic, but anyone who saw my face silently stepped aside.

I wonder what kind of expression I have now.

I don’t even know.

“Then… come join us soon, okay?”

“Senior, be quiet.”

People left one by one.

Finally, I was alone.

The old man’s body had been cleanly severed—as if it hadn’t been cut at all.

That was the greatest kindness someone as powerless as me could offer.

“I’m sorry.”

A heretic’s vitality far exceeds that of an ordinary person.

Even with his body in two, he wouldn’t die right away—only a few minutes would pass.

Like solidifying molten steel, his body slowly melted away.

A faint voice barely hanging on echoed above the remains.

“Miss.”

I had been staring at the ground, but I slowly looked up when I heard him.

His dying eyes, paradoxically, were clearer and more intelligent than before.

From his mouth came unexpected words.

“Are you crying?”

“No. I’m not someone who cries over something like this. That sort of thing…”

Crying? No, not at all.

I’m not the kind of weak person who cries after killing a monster.

Heretics are monsters—not people.

I didn’t waver. Look—my vision is crystal clear.

Yet the old man looked at me with a gentle smile, like a grandfather looking at his grandchild.

“Maybe… it only looks that way to these old eyes. But aren’t you crying endlessly?”

His words weren’t true, but I didn’t bother correcting them.

It was his final moment—what would it matter?

Instead of refuting him, I closed my eyes tightly and muttered.

My lips hurt—maybe from clenching them too hard.

“If only… I had been a little stronger, none of this would have happened…”

I had enough power to protect myself.

But it was far from enough to save everyone.

I told myself I worked hard, but truthfully, I had been complacent. Lazy.

I hate myself for that.

—There’s a way to save everyone!

The words of Trea from the original story came to mind.

A way to save everyone and ascend.

If only I had a little more talent.

If I had dedicated myself more instead of wasting time…

Days like today could’ve been avoided.

“Miss, you mustn’t think like that.”

“…Sorry?”

As I blamed myself, he stopped me, shaking his head with difficulty.

“If you’re someone walking the path of a mage, you can’t keep acting this way.”

As his final act, he chose to give advice—wisdom accumulated over a lifetime.

The dying old mage’s lips moved slowly.

“A mage… must be more stubborn and arrogant than anyone.

They must believe in their choices—and never regret them.”

It’s something all mages know—yet all tend to forget.

It’s written in the very first page of the basic textbook.

But it’s abstract—not theory—so it gets forgotten.

Like how a blacksmith naturally grips a hammer,

It’s so obvious it gets overlooked.

“Many people can use magic.

Mercenaries, veteran knights—even snot-nosed kids from the village.

If they learn, they can use it.

But no one calls them a mage.”

In this world, magic is surprisingly common.

If you know how to use mana, you can use magic.

But as he said—not all such people are called mages.

They don’t pursue truth,

Nor do they lock themselves away to conduct research.

But the difference he described was slightly different.

“Even if the whole world says you’re wrong—

A true mage keeps going, stubborn and proud in their belief.

That’s the kind of person we finally call a mage.”

The old man wasn’t famous.

I had never heard his name, nor did I know him well.

He probably hadn’t achieved anything great.

Might even have had a dark past.

But his will struck me more deeply than any wisdom found in old books.

With his final breath, he left me one last sentence.

“Live as a mage, Miss.”

Arrogance. And dignity.

Trea Ludvek.

“…I’ll remember. Forever.”

My naïve thought of leaving everything related to the original story to Tepheiri ends now.

I’ll change the future—so nothing like this happens again.

Even if I have to crush someone like a villainous noble girl,

I will do it—arrogantly, and with dignity.

I will not regret it again.

…And I will not cry.

Did he hear my answer?

His eyes closed, never to open again.