SML Ch 79

Chapter 79

As soon as the mysterious being landed with Reynald still cradled in its arms, a deafening crash thundered from behind them. The skeletal horse collapsed—all ten meters of its towering structure crumbling into useless fragments in a heartbeat.

The countless skeletal wolves clawing their way from the ground went still, losing all power, and fell to pieces like simple bones scattered on the earth. The black clouds, which had smothered the sky and blocked out the sun, dissipated in moments. Sunlight flooded the land once again. The oppressive crisis had—undeniably—passed.

Though one new problem has appeared.

Reynald eyed the strange savior. Whoever—or whatever—this being was, at least it was not immediately hostile. Still cautious, Reynald stepped back as the figure set him down and withdrew a pace as well.

It was humanoid in form, cloaked head-to-toe in a black robe. Reynald suspected “humanoid” was the more accurate word rather than “human.”

The figure appeared female, tall but narrow of shoulder, with fragile limbs thin as reeds, posture slightly hunched. The lively, piercing voice from before clashed with her frail appearance.

And most telling—Reynald saw it: she wasn’t fully solid. Her body was translucent, the background faintly visible through her shape.

“…Thank you for saving me. But who are you? Are you truly even here?”

The question might’ve sounded vague, but it was crucial.

The figure chuckled slightly.

[Sharp eyes. No, I’m not actually here.]

“A projection, then… To cast one this vivid… no ordinary mage could manage that.”

Indeed, such vividly tangible projections—capable of being seen, heard, even touched—were at the limits of only master-class sorcerers.

“So, you won’t name yourself?”

[You can see me plainly. Just a mage—one who’s lived rather long. Call me a friend of those ones over there.]

She gestured toward the Swines. They waved back at her cheerfully, betraying familiarity. Evidently they and this mage shared close ties—and they may even have provided the medium needed for such a projection.

Curiously, among the Swines stood Prince Serna, looking sheepishly at Reynald. Clearly, Reynald thought, that story would need discussing later.

A mage, friend to Swines? The idea felt ridiculous. Yet as he thought it through, the puzzle pieces fit.

“…So you were the one tending the Swines’ village. No wonder the crystal wind-up birds never approached their woods.”

[Ah, that? Those pests interfered with the children’s farming, so I… redirected them.]

“…I thought as much. And you… could it be you live in the mines? I remember seeing Swines go inside, as if to consult someone.”

[Didn’t hide. I’ve always lived in those mines. Unlike you lot, I don’t like going outside.]

She thumbed back part of her hood. Though not a full reveal, enough of her face showed—the skin gleamed, metallic, shining faintly like silver.

“…A Silver Elf. Rare among even the long-lived races.”

They were elves with lifespans stretching past centuries, yet burdened by extreme hypersensitivity—scarcely able to endure sunlight, sound, or touch. Fireworks of stimulation could debilitate them instantly. So most avoided the outside world, sending familiars or projections in their place.

Reynald knew these traits well. They were rarely hostile; temperament depended on individual.

“…So you came to save these Swine. To protect them?”

[Yes, of course. I sent the children to fetch bone-meal fertilizer… then suddenly I lost contact. I panicked. Many of them, it was their first time outside the forest.]

“…First time? Outside?”

[Yup. They may look big, but they’re babies. Over half of them? Just past three years old. You think I wouldn’t worry, sending three-year-olds out?]

Reynald sighed inwardly at the dramatics. Three years was adulthood for Swines. By human terms, they’d be older than Volant or Alex already. Still, it explained why they had ogled human food and bartered fruit so carelessly. The outside world was novelty to them.

“So then… you came only for them, nothing else. I thought perhaps you were tied to that Dullahan, but it seems I misjudged.”

The mage smirked. [No—you misjudge still.]

And suddenly, she rose. Her form, once level with Reynald, now floated softly into the air, looking down on him.

[The truth? That Dullahan awoke because of you. Stop shifting the blame.]

“…What? What are you saying—how could that be my fault?”

[Why else? A knight, soaked in the blood of monsters, one who walks always on the verge of death. Perfectly qualified to be bound as such a rider.]

Reynald clenched his jaw.

[And besides… you bear the mark of selection. That little wind-up toy chose you. Of course such a corpse-beast would notice. Were it not for you loitering through graves, it would’ve slept eternally.]

Her rose-colored eyes burned bright beneath the hood, fierce as fire. ReynaId’s breath caught—the stare was so sharp it felt as if the gaze itself might cut.

[So tell me—why did you come to this land? Cast out? Yet you are not weak. Abandoned? Yet two royal sons cling to you, vying to bring you back.]

Reynald stiffened.

[Answer me, slayer of monsters, adored by all while your sword stays sharp. What do you truly desire in this land?]

Her words flared—so sharp and hot it was as though fire seared from her body onto his own. Reynald’s skin prickled, blistered, body aflame in imagined pain.

“My lord!”

“Stop it! What have you done to him?!”

The cries of his companions grew distant under the roar of burning. His heart pounded. He knew—if he did not speak, if he did not answer, he would be consumed.

Perhaps he should kill her here—draw steel, silence her. The mage’s fire might fade to nothing under true steel. She was weaker than half the monsters he’d slain.

But Reynald did not move. Instead, he drew breath. Slow, deliberate.

“Was it eight seconds in, hold for five, and out for seven…?”

[…What?]

“…Breathing method. A mage-friend of mine taught it. Numbers don’t matter, just slow inhale, pause, slow exhale.”

[Are you—seriously?]

“Repeated exposure dulls mental attack, you know. Silver Elves, with all their sensitivity, don’t build resistance so fast. But me… light’s already searing your eyes now, isn’t it? Playing with me, you might blind yourself.”

Reynald spoke half-jest, calm even as heat licked his body. Inside, he knew—he had been close. Without the prior Dullahan assault, without the dulled effect of repeated attack, he might indeed have been driven mad by these phantom flames.

Her eyes blazed. But killing intent was absent. It was not murder, but provocation. She wanted reaction—fear, rage, despair.

So there was only one correct reply: deny her the reaction.

“My will here is simple. What I want of this land is peace. Nothing more. Nothing complicated. Just life without needless trouble. That is my answer.”

The fire eased. He shut his eyes, breathed. A sharp click of tongue answered him.

[Hmph. So you are worth something. Just cost me my sight for nothing.]

The blaze receded. He opened his eyes—and the mage sat cross-legged now, pouting as if sulking, her projection no longer flaring.