episode_0036

[Soul and Spirit.]

[People know of the existence of the soul, but the concept of spirit is unfamiliar to them and not well understood.]

[What is the soul, and what is the spirit?]

[And why does the spirit exist?]

[To use an analogy, the soul is the body, and the spirit governs the mind.]

[Without a soul, a person dies, but without a spirit, a person becomes an empty doll.]

[Our Navigator-nim imbued such spirits with the power of the stars.]

[That is why, when handling the Three Great Powers, the importance of our minds is emphasized.]

[The spirit, which is a vessel containing the power of the stars,]

[is precisely the mind.]

『Court Mage Mikal S. Dallas, 《Aura. Magic. Divinity》. Table of Contents』

Approximately 20 years ago.

One—!

Two—!

One—!

Two—!

The family head’s office.

In the training ground visible outside, knights were sweating and engrossed in their training.

“……”

The Duke was watching them.

With his hands clasped behind his back.

He looked down from the window, his eyes barely blinking, observing each and every movement of the knights.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Come in.”

Creak—

“Excuse me, Your Grace.”

He turned his head at the familiar voice.

Agape.

It was Agape, who had only recently become a military administrator.

As soon as Agape appeared, Duke Oleg frowned and admonished him.

“Didn’t I tell you not to call me Your Grace when we’re alone?”

“If I don’t call His Grace the Duke ‘Your Grace,’ what else am I supposed to call him?”

A slightly mischievous remark.

This kind of interaction would usually be impossible between a mere military administrator and a Duke, but Muliphen, ruled by Hergil, and the Oleg family were different.

Hergil considered himself more a knight than a Duke.

As such, he didn’t much care for hearing “Duke” and the grand titles that came with it; rather, he preferred to be treated like an ordinary knight.

Hergil, who considered himself closer to a knight than a Duke, wanted to be called a comrade-in-arms, not a lord, by the knights who followed him.

“Just call me Old Man. Seriously, I hate being called ‘Your Grace the Duke’ or anything like that.”

“Understood.”

As he nodded lightly, Hergil’s gaze also returned to outside the window.

“……”

Thump.

After placing a stack of documents on the table, Agape went behind him and looked down at the scene he was watching.

The sight of knights deeply engrossed in their training.

“Why don’t you rest a bit?”

“For me, this is rest.”

His words were sincere.

“I still don’t understand you, Your Grace.”

“I told you not to call me Your Grace.”

At his words, Agape laughed as if giving up and said,

“Understood, Old Man.”

“……”

As if pleased, Hergil’s gaze returned to the knights in the training ground.

“Do you know something, Agape?”

“What is it?”

“The Oleg family, whose history is even older than the Empire’s, had always been a family of civil officials until I came along.”

“I know.”

“That’s why the family had no facilities for knights, such as training grounds or drill halls.”

His gaze swept.

“Over there, what you see before our eyes as a training ground used to be a beautiful garden.”

“……”

Just as he said, at the edge of the training ground, the slightly awkward, sectioned-off remains of a garden came into view.

“My vassals told me. They said, why build it here, even going as far as to destroy a garden that had been maintained for over a thousand years, when it could have been built elsewhere? No matter how much money we poured into it, if we built a training ground there, the aesthetic of the garden would inevitably be greatly damaged, so was there really a need to go this far?”

He gestured.

“Everyone told me that.”

Hergil’s gaze turned to Agape.

“It’s an old man’s stubbornness.”

And then he shifted his gaze back to the training ground.

“In a family of civil officials, I was practically a mutant.”

Administrative work always felt awkward, and I didn’t find it enjoyable like my brothers.

But when I swung a sword, I couldn’t help but feel incredibly joyful.

So, as I grew older and continued to wield a sword, I realized,

“Ah.”

my path was the sword.

Unlike my brothers who used the pen as their strength, unlike my brothers who sought to protect the city and its citizens with the pen,

my strength came from the sword.

“That’s how I decided to dedicate my entire life to this sword.”

Hergil said, caressing the pommel of the sword at his waist.

“And I wanted to wield this sword for my family, for the city, for the citizens living in the city, just like my brothers did.”

His brothers, who held conviction despite not being knights.

His brothers, as seen by Hergil, who carried the immense name of Oleg yet were never arrogant or complacent,

were knightly despite not being knights, and their actions, though not driven by a knight’s conviction, seemed more splendid than any knight’s conviction.

Their pure conviction to bear the family name and overcome challenges, to fully perform their responsibilities and duties, was nothing short of an idol to Hergil.

So, when his brothers died from illness and war, and Hergil became Duke Oleg,

the young knight wanted to protect his family, the city, and its citizens in his own way.

“With this very sword.”

Tap. Tap.

He tapped the pommel.

At the same time, as if realizing something, he let out a chuckle and said,

“It’s a funny thing.”

He shook his head, recalling the conviction he had held long ago.

“That Oleg, who seized power with the pen, would create a sword. That just as Oleg took up the pen, I wanted to catch up to the three martial families who represented military might with swords, spears, and shields.”

He was referring to the Distihes, Impurity, and Valium families.

“Their strength, forged continuously over a thousand years, certainly couldn’t be caught up to.”

And yet I tried to catch up to it in my generation.

It was a youthful, naive impulsiveness he no longer possessed.

But he hadn’t abandoned that dream yet.

Even if he thought it childish and foolish.

As a knight, he wanted to protect his conviction no matter what.

Because this was the only way he knew how to uphold his conviction.

Therefore, even after becoming Duke Oleg, Hergil consistently dedicated himself to training knights.

“Agape.”

The old man’s voice resonated.

“Do you think my dream still seems vain, Agape? Does my path, where I disregarded the family’s long-standing tradition and took up a sword instead of a pen – this new path the Oleg family has forged – does it seem like the wrong path?”

Hergil’s gaze remained fixed on the training ground.

In the eyes of the veteran, solidified by conviction, the starlight of his desire to achieve that dream still twinkled.

And Agape, upon seeing that,

“……”

began to understand, roughly though not entirely, why the Duke had established a training ground in a place visible from his office, and why he had been training knights there.

“I still wish to achieve my conviction.”

His gaze turned to Agape.

“To do that, I must create a weapon as mighty as those of the two martial families that remain.”

Just as the sword of the extinct Distihes family once was.

May Oleg’s sword also be made perfect.

And may knights learn the perfected Oleg’s sword he created, so they can wield a perfect sword.

Oleg looked at Agape, conveying that meaning.

And Agape,

“Oleg’s sword is already perfect.”

“There is no such thing as perfection.”

“Indeed.”

He smiled faintly.

“But, at least, that is what I think.”

“Hmm…”

Hergil smiled faintly.

That shy smile also contained a sense of satisfaction, as if he had been rewarded for all his past hardships.

“I don’t really know. I love my sword so much that I can’t view the sword I created objectively.”

“Is that so?”

“So, can you help me?”

He met Agape’s eyes.

“I don’t know if my sword is perfect, so I hope talented individuals like you will stay by my side and guide me, preventing me from straying off course, by showing me the path and direction.”

The old man, with his strongly featured face and wrinkles all over that seemed to hint at a lifetime of knighthood,

looked at his comrade-in-arms, who seemed to shine brighter than ever, and extended his hand to him.

Thump.

Agape clasped his hand.

“Understood, Old Man.”

***

No matter how much time passed, the longing for that time could not easily be forgotten.

To forget even a little of that longing, he often went to the Star’s Grave, created to honor them, and quietly expressed his condolences along with words tinged with lament.

“……”

The spirit of the old man, who once radiated vibrant energy with youthful vigor, felt only colder the more he sought warmth.

How they had died.

When they had died.

And what he himself had been doing during that time.

How the most brilliant and trustworthy knights—no, comrades-in-arms—had died 20 years ago.

Even as Muliphen had to move urgently under the attack of unknown enemies, Duke Oleg’s mind was directed towards the distant past.

Thud… Thud…

He was heading towards the meeting room, but his footsteps, unlike before, lacked vigor.

The knight, whose body as well as mind had grown too old, with not many days left to live, recalled an even earlier past and seemed unable to escape it.

Just then, a man who had been waiting for him appeared.

“I was waiting for you, Your Grace.”

The Mystic Prophet.

An elderly prophet who served as an advisor in Muliphen, he was a noble descendant of the imperial bloodline,

and a prophet with considerable foresight, provided by the Imperial Family and other prophets as a gesture of ‘mourning’ and ‘apology’.

“……”

After gazing at him with a slightly displeased expression for a moment, the Duke asked him,

“Why were you waiting for me here, not in the meeting room?”

“I came to speak with you separately.”

“……”

The Duke tightly shut his mouth and looked at the Prophet.

The Duke didn’t particularly like that face, which always held a faint smile and showed a hint of confidence.

“…Let’s talk as we go.”

As the Duke bypassed him and walked past, the Prophet followed behind him.

The Duke’s striding footsteps, devoid of consideration, overtly showed his lack of welcome for the Prophet, yet as if using a divine power, the Prophet’s steps were unhurried but faithfully kept pace with the Duke’s shadow.

“What do you think of this war?”

“Isn’t that something I, not the advisor, should be asking?”

It was a reprimand for not having predicted the coup.

Not only him but all prophets had failed to foresee this coup, so Duke Oleg looked at the Mystic Prophet with displeasure.

“On that point, we prophets have nothing to say.”

He bowed his head and offered words of apology.

“……”

Was there sincerity in it? He couldn’t tell. Those damned prophets were endlessly callous, individuals whose emotions had frozen over, buried in the future.

The Duke, who felt as though he was listening to an doll recite prepared lines, opened his mouth again as he looked at the Prophet.

“Don’t drag it out, just get to the point.”

“Ah, my apologies.”

At his words, the Mystic Prophet lightly bowed his head.

“Have you still not made a decision?”

At those words, the Duke’s footsteps stopped.

And then he asked him, imbued with killing intent,

“Why are you saying that to me now?”

“Your Grace.”

Rustle.

The Prophet’s clothes fluttered in the breeze.

“You must make a decision now.”

“……”

The Duke moved his steps again without a word.

“I don’t wish to discuss this.”

“If you just make a decision, you can protect the city and reverse your mistakes.”

“I told you I don’t wish to discuss it.”

“And Your Grace’s conviction as well…”

Shing—

“……”

“Why, did you not foresee this?”

Thud. Thud.

“With your grand foresight, did you not predict that I would point a sword at your neck?”

It was a sarcastic remark, taunting the Prophet who had still not demonstrated his foresight.

“That’s—”

“Or be silent. And prepare to apologize to the vassals and citizens you’ll soon face.”

Clench—

“Because of the expeditionary force sent under the guise of your grand foresight, instead of killing the disaster, we are now on the verge of sacrificing our own lives.”

Clink.

He put the sword back.

Thud. Thud.

“What fools.”

A gust of wind brushed the Duke’s forelock.

“Even if foresight doesn’t work,”

the Mystic Prophet said.

“it is the duty of us prophets to prepare for the worst-case scenario, and as a prophet, I have fulfilled my assigned duty by creating an arrangement that can save this city, Your Grace.”

“……”

“And that was also something Your Grace once approved.”

Whoosh—

His gaze turned towards the ‘sky’.

Not the Byzantine-style ceiling of the corridor, but the empty, gaping sky that had been ripped open.

“……”

Oleg’s gaze went to the chunk of rock outside the window.

“Do we still seem like incompetent people to you, even after this?”

“……”

“Your Grace.”

Thud. Thud.

“We presented an arrangement to consider Your Grace’s conviction, to consider everything about Your Grace. And Your Grace clearly agreed to the preparation of that arrangement.”

Standing before him, the Prophet, who met Oleg’s eyes, said,

“At the very least, please keep in mind that we are doing our utmost in any situation.”

Clench—!

Oleg strode past the Prophet.

“Consider the arrangement undone.”

“It will be difficult for you.”

“Perhaps.”

But he would never give up.

“I have forged my sword for this very moment.”

To protect his family, the city, and its citizens.

For that, he had created Oleg’s sword.

“Therefore, I will win this war without any of your arrangements.”

Just you wait.

“Even if I am an old and dying veteran, just see how sharp the sword this veteran has forged is.”

Just see how perfect Oleg’s sword is, a sword forged over a lifetime, having soaked up the blood of countless individuals.