Book 7 Chapter 20

**Episode 169**

*The Spirit News*, regarded as the leading newspaper among the intellectual class of the Empire, reported on its front page about the incident in the Red Mountains as follows:

Someone who impersonated the legendary shaman Toureina revived one of the three wheels of time by borrowing the body of Archmage Rin, but Paequarrier Millone Alter Gaumris and the shaman Yuliana of the Star Cluster suppressed it.

The Rivendell School, whose dean Dadan Carain was killed, suffered devastating damage to its executive staff, but this heroic struggle further elevated its status as the Empire's best battle-mage school.

The witches involved in this incident will all be taken to the 'Children of Gold' as soon as they regain consciousness…

"Will it really be alright to do it this way?"

Yuliana, a shaman wearing a pure white conical hat, asked, grimly puffing on her pipe.

This place, where the Belakior Temple — once called the Mythic Peak and said to contain the breath of a fire dragon — had proudly stood, was now reduced to ruins. The ground had rotted and melted, lowering its elevation, and in the ruins of that temple stood a young man.

"This is enough. It's more than enough. It's best if my identity and whereabouts remain unknown."

The young man, whose eyes were hidden by an old straw hat once worn by Archmage Rin and the great shaman Toureina, was named Rain Ludwig. In his right hand, a red-eyed pipe was held, with a golden dragon artistically embossed upon it. It was originally the property of Friede, the fire dragon's shaman, and later became the property of Toureina, the shaman of ashes.

"Toureina's body will be cremated and immediately enshrined here, in the basement of the new temple."

"So that's how it is."

"The Papal State also agreed to conceal the information… as I said before, Toureina's influence is immense."

In other words, the story will be that the temple collapsed due to a fake Toureina, but Toureina's remains were enshrined in the basement of that very temple.

"Perhaps this could be an opportunity to revive the Northern Republic."

"I hope so. So, can I really take this?"

"If I keep it, sooner or later the 'Children of Gold' will find some excuse, like it being a heretical object, and take it away. It's right for you to take it. Isn't it?"

As Yuliana chuckled and glanced sideways, Millone, who was leaning against the Heavenly Sword Gaumris plunged into the ground, replied.

"Yes, I know. I'll pretend I didn't see such a memento. Cardinal Yoshihar had also requested that your will be respected as much as possible, to begin with."

"Aren't you curious why?"

He could freely use Cremation Bloodletting, an advanced version of Brain Bloodletting, and he got along so well with the sun parrot named Pipi, so he might wonder if I am Rin's reincarnation. I had thought that, but it seems I was, in vulgar terms, overly self-conscious.

Millone merely shrugged with her characteristic brusque attitude.

"Everything a dragon does is right. So a soldier just needs to faithfully carry out their assigned duties, and that's it. Deep thinking doesn't suit me. Though Toureina seems to have forgotten that."

In an era where the 'Three Lives' are denied, who would believe in reincarnation to begin with? Even I, who had absorbed most of the knowledge of that era when I was Rin, didn't believe in it, let alone fantasize about it.

Still, Millone, who had been staring intently this way with her chin slightly raised, as if something was bothering her, asked:

"Are you Toureina's disciple? Like Yuliana?"

"Yes."

"You've really raised a lot of disciples. This point is quite admirable. Teaching someone is such a hassle."

I didn't lie. I just didn't say that I was the master.

"Still, it seems she saw Rin awaken in the end. Seeing her die with a smile. Though it seems she didn't know her body was taken by Nariaduke."

"I… ended it before that."

"You gave her the gift of peace before she knew the truth."

Just because Millone only played a supporting role this time doesn't mean she is weaker than me. It was merely a bad matchup. The compatibility between a mage and a swordsman has always been like that. If Nariaduke hadn't been able to fly… most importantly, Millone had to fight while protecting others. To be precise, her skill is still several steps below Lista's. If it had been Lista, she would have certainly suppressed the space with her sword energy, whether Nariaduke flew or not.

"Out of an old woman's concern, let me give you one warning before we part ways. The Yeouiju mixed in your soul belongs to the Red True Dragon, doesn't it?"

"That's right."

"Paequarriers generally receive Yeouijus divided among about ten wyvern priests. In short, we merely have a large quantity of Yeouijus, but the quality of its grade is much higher on your side."

"What's the core of what you're trying to say?"

"I was just about to say. As long as the body is human, there are bound to be limitations."

Millone pointed to her hair, cut as short as a man's. Hair that was said to turn stark white as a repercussion when a Yeouiju was imbued.

"It seems there's no backlash on your body yet because the Yeouiju's grade is high, but if your hair ever starts to turn stark white, be careful. It would mean you're using your lifespan as the price for the power."

That could happen. Indeed, that would be normal. I didn't even undergo the primary human body modification process through drugs, so it's a miracle that my hair didn't turn stark white when I combined with a dragon's soul.

"I will engrave your advice in my mind."

"Then, may the blessings of the gods be upon your path."

Millone exchanged a conventional farewell and a formal handshake curtly, then hoisted Gaumris onto her shoulder and left.

"Don't be surprised. Even that was surprisingly kind and polite for her."

Yuliana, who smirked, turned her head downwards when Millone's heavy footsteps could no longer be heard.

The young man also looked down in that direction. Towards the coffin, befitting the status and dignity of a shaman, where Toureina lay in eternal sleep. The young man thought that even this was an excessive honor.

The shaman, who had even set down the pipe she always held, knelt respectfully by the head of the coffin, her voice quivering quietly.

"You always carried the sorrow of the world on your face, but in the end, you left with a smile, Master."

Yuliana sorrowfully smiled, caressing her master's revered face, her master's cold cheek which had given value to her once empty self, with a mournful gesture.

"When you taught me spells, the way you smoked looked so beautiful that I, too, can't quit this wretched habit…"

Was that, holding her cold hand tightly and not letting go for a long time, her final farewell to her master?

The young man once again felt a pain that gripped his heart tightly and let out a bitter laugh. I too had to part ways like that 300 years ago. On that day, 300 years ago, when all battles were to end…

"That letter… burn it with the body. If you want to take it, you can."

"Aren't you cremating with her?"

"Public and private matters must be clearly distinguished. The Northern Republic lost most of its Red Witches in this incident. There's a mountain of work to do even after sorting this out."

"It seems you have no idea how to handle it."

"No, paradoxically, I know exactly what to do. I just have to continue what Toureina used to do."

Yuliana pointed to Toureina's face with her chin and gave a weak laugh.

"I'll take many disciples and teach them spells freely. The children who will protect the new era."

"……"

"Ah, I almost forgot the most important thing."

Yuliana took something out from her long sleeve and handed it to the young man. It was an intricately woven object made of strands of red leather, with a beautiful garnet shimmering and catching the sunlight right in the center.

As the young man received it with a puzzled look, the shaman explained.

"It's a spell imbued with the power to conceal a dragon's soul. I've cast a 5-star illusion spell on it."

"Conceal a soul?"

"If you wear that, witches won't be able to read a dragon's soul from the true dragon's body. Or rather, it'll appear clouded."

"Ah."

"It's become an era where even witches are hard to trust, you see. It's a small token of gratitude for this incident."

She added that the leather cord was also a magical tool that would stretch as the wearer grew. The young man gave a weak smile.

"Thank you, I'll gladly accept it. It's so pretty, Aki will like it too."

Unlike the shaman, the young man showed no particular sadness, and the shaman didn't find this strange. It was probably just that his connection was shorter than hers.

"Yes, and finally… thank you so much for allowing a master unworthy of this to depart in peace."

The shaman, pulling down the brim of her conical hat to cover her eyes, gripped the young man's shoulder once with force, then descended to the main gate of the temple.

The temple's corridor grounds buzzed with the voices of witches and mages, collecting the body and clearing the ruins, since dawn.

"It's just us now, Pipi."

The sun parrot, which had been sitting idly on the young man's shoulder, flew down onto Toureina's hand.

"Cold, cold, cold."

"Of course, it's cold."

"Toureina, cold. Warm, Toureina, Pipi's friend, warm. Cold, cold, warm."

Pipi scurried sadly and busily over the corpse, trying to warm the body that had already become uncontrollably cold.

The young man, who had been staring down at the scene of the sad farewell with an expressionless face, took out a small scroll from his pocket. It was a letter that his former disciple had written to him 27 years ago. He thought he had already pulled himself together, yet it felt as if a full hour had passed before he unfolded the scroll and began to read its words.

[Dear Master Rin,

I am writing to you today as well, Master. When I wondered why you wrote letters to the magic tower every day, Master Friede explained it to me like this:

A letter is an expression in writing of a certain feeling that can only be contained at a specific moment, at a particular time.

But it is utterly perplexing.

Because no matter what I did on any given day, what I went through, whether it was spring, summer, autumn, or winter, the feelings I hold for you, Master, and what I want to say are always the same.

As I walk the path of life, memories with you, Master, surface everywhere. Even though my memories are gradually fading due to the erosion of the abyss.

Isn't it strange?

Now, the faces and voices of Lady Lista, Sir Kiez, and Pipi are completely erased; nothing comes to mind apart from their names, yet the memories I shared with you, Master, always vividly revive.

Every single day, always.

You came as light to me, who was dying amidst the sorrow of losing my family. You taught me how to live and showed me how beautiful the world is.

That's why I write to you every day, day after day. Fearing that this emotion, this feeling, might suddenly be forgotten one day.

But there's nothing I can do for you. You've been trapped in that ice for almost 300 years…

I lived my life, but you, who saved the world, couldn't, and that's just an inexpressible pity.

If you were to awaken again, you would be angry with me. You would be greatly disappointed.

I should have protected the world that you, Master, and my teacher had built with your lifelong dedication, but instead of protecting it, I ruined everything. Even though I knew all along that this would happen if I fell into the abyss…

But I couldn't stop. Because to me, you are more precious than this world.

I will not ask for forgiveness.

At that time, I will accept certain condemnation.

I do have the desire to rebuild the world I ruined with you again on that day, but that will be impossible. My life is also coming to an end.

If there is one wish I can make to the heavens, the sun, the moon, and the stars, it is to meet you just once, before this body and soul perish.

May the day come when this letter reaches you, and may the day come when my wish is fulfilled…]

The young man held the pipe diagonally in his mouth and lit it. The pungent smoke of the tobacco leaves, borrowed from the shaman of the Star Cluster, began to rise. He tried to inhale the smoke deeply into his lungs, but what didn't work in his previous life didn't work in this one either. He coughed painfully and tapped the burning tobacco leaves onto the letter.

The fire on the letter swallowed the words, written not with ink but with tears, one by one, then soon dropped, one by one, onto the corpse of the old shaman…

The flames that had been burning the letter paper next began to ignite the oil-soaked logs inside the coffin. Into those faintly flickering embers, the young man breathed a dragon's flame. So that the sacred fire could bring peace to that body, to that soul.

"Toureina, Toureina, Toureina."

The sun parrot pecked at the shaman's forehead, bidding its final farewell. Until its voice reached its limit and was completely hoarse.

Then, a summer breeze, brushing past the flames burning the old girl and flying in, whisked off the young man's straw hat and fiercely shook his red hair.

In that final gust of wind, countless dewdrops sparkled.

At the end of that last gust of wind, one star vanished forever from the constellation in the soul of the boy who had become a young man.