“Your Grace.”
Lina’s voice came with a knock. Blair closed the book she had been reading.
“Come in.”
No sooner had Blair given her permission than Lina entered the study. Approaching with a solemn expression, as if burdened by a monumental task, she handed a letter to Blair.
“It’s a letter from the Guild.”
It was the news she had been waiting for.
Blair returned the book to its place on the shelf and unfolded the parchment.
To account for the possibility of interception, the letter omitted both recipient and sender, containing only the message to be delivered.
[We have identified the origin of the crest you asked us to look into. That crest is…]
As Blair read, her eyes began to tremble uncontrollably.
***
“It’s coming!”
A knight’s shout echoed through the silent winter forest. In the distance, the ground cracked with a dull, crunching sound as something massive tore through the earth toward them.
Headrin stood firmly in the path of its charge.
He watched the oncoming disturbance with cold eyes before plunging his sword into the frozen soil.
A blue magic circle flared, centered on his blade. He shifted the focus of his freezing magic from the surface to the earth beneath his feet.
Sharp pillars of ice erupted through the soil, striking the creature as it tunneled forward. The giant, worm-like magical beast burst onto the surface with a violent thrash.
“Now!”
At their commander’s order, the knights emerged from hiding and fired their crossbows in unison.
Dozens of bolts, trailing lines of thin, hardened steel, bit deep into the beast’s flesh.
The creature writhed, thrashing its massive frame to shake them off and retreat back into the earth. It threw several knights aside, but it could not dislodge the dozens of anchors pinning it down.
The knights gritted their teeth, bracing against the beast’s raw, subterranean strength.
“Agh!”
One knight, unable to withstand the strain, was tossed aside. The beast’s maw split open, ready to swallow him whole.
At the very moment terror gripped the man—
Headrin vanished from his spot and snatched the knight away, throwing him toward the safety of the trees.
He then rapidly manifested a secondary magic circle, using it as a kinetic platform to lunge. In an instant, he reached the beast’s head and severed it. Not a single movement was wasted.
The magical beast thrashed, its head already beginning to sprout a new body while the torso struggled to regenerate a head.
Suddenly, a sword of light materialized in the air, raining down upon the beast’s body like a lethal downpour.
The knights watched with familiar awe.
Magic requires intense concentration, making it nearly impossible to cast while moving, let alone casting multiple spells in rapid succession.
Yet, Headrin moved with relentless fluidity, weaving spell after spell.
Anyone witnessing this had to admit it: his strength truly transcended that of a mortal man.
Headrin landed lightly and drove his sword into the severed head on the ground. When the creature’s core, embedded in the center, shattered, the writhing finally ceased.
The knights let out a collective sigh of relief. The battle was over.
Headrin sheathed his sword and looked down at his palm. He could feel the mana within his veins still surging.
*There haven’t been any irregularities since the New Year’s Festival.*
He had monitored his condition periodically since the incident, but there had been no further issues. Even after scouring the archives, he found no case where mana simply evaporated and returned on its own.
He could not reveal his instability to anyone. His weakness would become the weakness of the Del Marc Duchy; he had no choice but to track the tremors himself.
*There are too many things bothering me lately.*
The erratic mana, the visions he saw while wide awake.
“Your Grace.”
An attendant approached, handing him a towel.
Headrin wiped the beast’s viscous fluids from his skin. Nearby, the attendants began to haul away the carcass.
Slaying magical beasts was perilous work, but because the corpses held high monetary value, arrogant hunters often intruded on their territory for profit. And today, as usual, their interference had nearly drawn the beasts into the nearby villages.
“That beast was nearly caught by us. We did the brunt of the work; it ended at this level because of our intervention.”
Headrin glanced with disdain at the local hunters, who were now skulking forward to demand a share of the spoils despite having begged for their lives moments earlier.
*They should take responsibility and become the beast’s prey instead.*
However, he did not need to intervene personally. His commander, well-versed in handling Northern poachers, would settle the matter.
Returning the towel, Headrin stared blankly at the beast’s remains.
Taking a life always left a bitter residue—whether it was an enemy or a monster.
He had spent a decade slaughtering, thinking he had grown numb to it. Why, then, did he feel such a lingering sense of unease?
As he dwelled on the feeling, he suddenly thought of Blair.
The woman he held in his arms was warm. Her skin, where they touched, was soft, and the heart beating beneath her chest was small but vigorous.
Being alive was a marvelous thing.
He had known that, of course, but the thought struck him anew. Perhaps that was why the death he had just wrought felt so hollow.
He wanted to return as quickly as possible. To the mansion where the woman with that marvelous life was waiting.
Headrin turned back toward his horse, but spotted Ruth approaching—followed by some unwelcome guests.
The Imperial Knights.
At their center was the vice-commander.
“Oh my, while we stopped by the temple to collect a priestess, you’ve already finished off that big one? As expected of the Del Marc Knights, the natural enemies of magical beasts!”
He feigned an exaggerated, flattering surprise.
Headrin regarded him with an indifferent gaze. He knew the Imperial Knights had arrived late on purpose. It was always like this.
Had it not been for the civilians, he would have ignored their presence entirely.
“Indeed, it would have been a disaster if you had arrived any later. I nearly saw the Imperial crest on your uniforms coming out of the other end of that worm.”
At Headrin’s sharp mockery, the atmosphere turned icy.
The vice-commander stiffened, then forced a boisterous, brittle laugh.
“Haha, our knights are not that incompetent. We are the Imperial Knights, after all.”
“Ah, I am well aware of your competence. You always seem to bring the priests at such impeccable timing, don’t you?”
“…….”
“Hurry up and transport the wounded to the village. Isn’t that what you’re good at?”
It was a clear dismissal, treating the Imperial Knights like servants tasked with the cleanup.
Unable to hide his resentment, the vice-commander turned away and began barking orders.
Ruth, standing next to Headrin, clicked his tongue as he watched them retreat.
“Honestly, those guys are a waste of tax money.”
Headrin held out his hand to Ruth.
“How are our wounded?”
Instantly catching the intent, Ruth cut a cigar, handed it to Headrin, and lit it.
“Five in total, but they are minor. No need for Your Grace to worry.”
“What is the schedule for today?”
“Nothing urgent, though you remember Sir Caligo and his party are arriving today, don’t you?”
Caligo was a capable and loyal knight who had fought at Headrin’s side for years. He had been stationed at the Del Marc main castle, but was currently en route to the Capital.
“I know.”
In truth, he had just been reminded, but there was no need to admit that.
As Headrin inhaled the cigar smoke, he felt a presence behind him.
“Um….”
Headrin and Ruth turned in unison.
“Ah, as expected, it really was Your Grace! We met at the temple a while ago. Do you happen to remember me?”
The silver-haired woman beamed at him.
As Headrin looked at her, his expression listless behind the veil of smoke, Blair’s voice echoed in his mind.
*‘That priestess from earlier, she’s the woman you will fall in love with.’*
The voice had been so calm, as if she were speaking of a stranger. Her eyes had been just as cold.
Remembering that, Headrin’s gaze sank.
He did not know her name, but he remembered the face. It was a face he could not forget, no matter how much he wished to.
“I remember. Priestess.”
In truth, her attire made her identity obvious regardless of his memory.
Miella seemed overjoyed just to be acknowledged, her smile widening. She was a woman whose emotions were transparently written on her face.
“I’m strangely glad to see you again. Do you happen to have any injuries?”
“None.”
At his concise, clipped answer, Miella faltered, but she managed to continue.
“How is the spot where you were treated that time? May I ask how it is doing?”
“It’s perfectly fine. Your healing magic was more than sufficient.”
Despite the praise, Headrin’s eyes were filled with ennui. It was his way of signalling that she should take her leave, but Miella seemed unable to grasp the hint and flushed.
“That’s a relief. It was an internal injury, and I was so nervous at the time… I was worried it might not have been treated properly.”
“…….”
“Ah. How is the Duchess? She seemed very startled that day, too.”
At the mention of the title from Miella’s lips, Headrin’s bored expression shifted into something sharper.