Chương 54: The Questions in Her Eyes

The familiar shape of the farmhouse appeared in the distance shortly before sunset, surrounded by golden fields that swayed gently beneath the evening breeze. After days filled with military camps, burned bodies, wounded soldiers, and people trying to kill one another with supernatural fire, the quiet landscape almost looked unreal to Sieghart. The farm had not changed during their absence.

Smoke rose from the chimney, several tools rested beside the barn, and the crops continued growing without caring about wars or powerful Aura users. Sieghart had never expected an ordinary farmhouse to become the safest place in either of his lives, but seeing it again made the tension in his shoulders finally decrease. Edric guided the horse through the front gate before raising one hand and waving toward the house. He had barely completed the gesture when the front door opened violently.

Elara hurried outside with enough speed to make Sieghart wonder if she had secretly possessed a movement Aura all along. She crossed the yard before Edric could even bring the horse to a complete stop.

"You're back!"

"We're back."

"You took too long!" Edric glanced toward the sun, perhaps wondering whether arriving before the expected date could reasonably be considered taking too long. He wisely decided not to challenge that statement. Elara grabbed the reins and inspected both travelers from head to toe. Her eyes moved rapidly over Edric first, checking his face, arms, chest, and legs for visible injuries.

Once she confirmed that her husband remained mostly intact, she turned toward Sieghart and repeated the entire examination with even greater care. Sieghart raised both hands while she searched his face for burns, cuts, bruises, missing pieces, or any other evidence that he had encountered danger.

"I'm fine."

"You look tired."

"We traveled for two days."

"You look thinner."

"I don't think I lost weight."

"You definitely look thinner." Sieghart had learned long ago that arguing against a worried grandmother was considerably more dangerous than confronting a Firian leader. He surrendered without further resistance. Elara pulled him from the horse and embraced him so tightly that Protection almost activated by instinct. She held him for several seconds before finally releasing him.

Her hands remained on his shoulders while she studied his expression, apparently searching for emotional injuries now that she had failed to discover any physical ones. Sieghart forced himself to remain still. He had spent the journey preparing explanations, but none of them seemed useful beneath the intensity of her gaze.

"We came back safely, Grandma." Elara's expression softened slightly, although her eyes still carried the exhaustion of someone who had probably spent several nights imagining every possible disaster. Sieghart could easily guess what had happened during their absence. Every unusual sound would have made her wonder if someone was bringing terrible news from the battlefield. Every rider approaching the farm probably made her heart race.

Every day without a letter allowed her imagination to invent increasingly horrible conclusions. Sieghart understood the feeling more than he wanted to admit. During the battle, watching Edric approach the Firian leader had filled him with the same helpless dread. Elara turned back toward her husband, perhaps intending to welcome him properly now that she had confirmed Sieghart was alive. Then she noticed the bundle tied behind the saddle.

Several scorched pieces of clothing had been folded together and secured beneath their supplies. Edric could have discarded them, but apparently he considered throwing away damaged clothes more painful than being set on fire. Elara slowly reached toward the bundle and pulled free what remained of his shirt. Most of the back had been burned away, while the remaining fabric was blackened around the edges. Her expression froze. Sieghart could almost see a circle of interrogation marks appearing around her head.

Her gaze moved from the ruined shirt to Edric, then toward Sieghart, and finally back to the shirt. Edric cleared his throat.

"That looks worse than it is." Elara held up the enormous hole where the back of the shirt had once been.

"How could this possibly look worse than it is?"

"It was an old shirt."

"That isn't what I asked." Edric climbed down from the horse with the careful movements of a man approaching a dangerous monster. Despite facing Firians without hesitation, he seemed completely unprepared to confront his wife. Sieghart quietly moved one step away from him. He loved his grandfather, but some battles had to be fought alone.

"There was a little fire."

"A little fire?"

"The Firians use fire. We already knew that." Elara's eyes narrowed.

"Were you hit?"

"Not exactly."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I'm standing here without any injuries." That answer was technically correct and completely useless. Sieghart could not decide whether Edric was terrible at lying or simply possessed a desire to make his situation worse. Elara turned toward Sieghart, clearly expecting him to provide the missing explanation. Unfortunately, the complete truth involved enough danger to keep her awake for several months.

He would have to explain that Edric had been struck by an attack capable of burning a man alive, lost consciousness, and remained unresponsive while Sieghart desperately invented healing magic. That explanation would naturally lead to questions about why the Firian leader targeted Sieghart. Answering those questions would require describing the water spheres, mud attacks, black fireballs, destroyed wagon, and crater.

The complete story might cause Elara to lock both of them inside the farmhouse for the remainder of their natural lives.

"There was a battle." Elara continued staring at him.

"Grandpa was close to some fire, but he is fine now."

"Why was he close enough to fire for his clothes to look like this?" Sieghart glanced toward Edric, but his grandfather suddenly became extremely interested in removing the supplies from the horse.

"He was helping someone." That was also technically true. Sieghart simply omitted the inconvenient detail that the person being helped was him. Elara studied their faces while the silence grew increasingly uncomfortable. She obviously knew that they were concealing something, but seeing them alive seemed more important than forcing the truth from them immediately.

"You are both terrible liars."

"We're not lying." Sieghart's response made her sigh.

"You are also terrible at understanding what counts as a lie." She pulled Sieghart into another embrace before looking toward Edric with an expression that promised a much longer conversation after dinner. Edric accepted his fate with the quiet dignity of a defeated soldier. He carried the supplies inside while Elara continued inspecting Sieghart for injuries she might have missed. Sieghart and his grandfather silently agreed to delay the complete explanation.

They could reveal the details gradually, preferably after Elara became too relieved about their return to strangle either of them. The small celebration began less than an hour later. Elara prepared more food than three people could reasonably eat, apparently compensating for every imagined meal they might have missed. Fresh bread covered one side of the table, while roasted vegetables, soup, cheese, preserved fruit, and several pieces of seasoned meat occupied the remaining space.

Sieghart suspected that Elara had already prepared some of the dishes while waiting for them. Either that, or anxiety had granted her the ability to cook at supernatural speed.

"You didn't have to make this much."

"You said he looked thinner." Edric pointed toward Sieghart as if presenting irrefutable evidence.

"I said both of you looked thinner."

"Then I suppose we have no choice." Edric sat at the table with complete seriousness and began filling his plate. His willingness to exploit the situation was almost admirable. Sieghart joined them and ate more than he expected. The food at the military camp had been edible, but it had lacked the warmth and familiarity of his grandmother's cooking. The three of them avoided discussing the battle in detail. Elara asked about the journey, the weather, and the people who had traveled with them instead.

Edric described the younger fighters, the old soldiers, and several minor incidents along the road. He carefully removed every detail involving death, fire, or Sieghart becoming the central figure of a battlefield. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. Sieghart contributed occasionally, although he mostly concentrated on eating. Every attempt to relax made him realize how exhausted his body remained.

His mind had stayed occupied during the journey, preventing him from noticing the full weight of everything that had happened. Now that he was home, that exhaustion settled over him all at once. Even the familiar sounds of plates and quiet conversation felt strange after hearing wounded soldiers groaning through the night. He caught himself watching the windows despite knowing that no attack was coming. Elara noticed his distraction, but she did not question him.

Instead, she placed another piece of bread on his plate and continued talking about the farm. The recent harvest had gone well despite their absence. Several neighbors had helped with the heaviest work, and Elara had managed the remaining tasks using her magic. Nothing dramatic had happened. No monsters attacked, no soldiers arrived, and no mysterious lights appeared between the fields during the night. Sieghart had never imagined that a description of completely uneventful days could sound so comforting.

Ordinary boredom was an underappreciated luxury. After dinner, Elara brought out a small cake she had apparently been saving for their return. It was slightly uneven and contained more fruit than sugar, but Sieghart enjoyed every bite. For a short time, they almost resembled an ordinary family celebrating the return of two relatives from an unpleasant journey. The illusion was imperfect.

The burned clothes remained hidden among their belongings, Edric occasionally rubbed his healed back, and Sieghart could not stop calculating how he might survive the next dangerous encounter. Even so, he allowed himself to enjoy the evening. He listened while his grandparents teased one another and accepted another serving of cake without pretending that he did not want it. The celebration ended once darkness covered the fields.

Edric checked the animals while Elara cleaned the kitchen, refusing every offer of assistance until both travelers rested. Sieghart climbed the stairs and entered his room. The familiar collection of thick books, practice notes, and carefully hidden scorch marks greeted him like old friends. He changed his clothes, washed his face, and climbed into bed. His entire body felt heavy enough that falling asleep should have been immediate.

Instead, Sieghart remained awake beneath the blanket, staring at the ceiling while the battle replayed inside his mind. He remembered the Firian leader walking through the defenders as if they were obstacles instead of trained fighters. He remembered Edric being thrown across the ground and stubbornly rising again. The destroyed wagon returned next, followed by flames surrounding Sieghart while Protection desperately changed to keep him alive. Then came the smell of Edric's burned back.

Sieghart turned onto his side and closed his eyes, but the memories continued. He could still feel the frantic pressure of forcing mana into his grandfather's body while searching for a spell that might not exist. At five years old, he had defeated the leader of an attacking force. That achievement sounded impressive until he counted how many times he had nearly died while accomplishing it. The first fireball could have killed him on top of the wagon.

The second might have overwhelmed his water sphere and Protection without Edric's intervention. The Firian leader could also have crushed him at close range if Sieghart's improvised projectiles failed to stop his advance. Every successful decision concealed several ways the battle could have ended badly. Sieghart had won because he possessed infinite mana, improvised quickly, and discovered that the enemy's fire absorption could be overloaded.

He had also benefited from luck, support from the defenders, his grandfather's sacrifice, and an opponent who failed to understand Sieghart's abilities until it was too late. Luck was useful, but building his survival around it seemed unwise. Sieghart had already wasted one life by hiding from failure until a library collapsed on him. He had no intention of wasting this one because he became satisfied after defeating a single powerful opponent under favorable circumstances. I need to get stronger faster.

His Fireball had improved more than any other offensive spell because the system recognized measurable achievements such as distance, speed, accuracy, and destructive power. Flame remained stubbornly unchanged despite being used countless times. The tiny spell could ignite candles, wood, or dry grass, but repeating those tasks never produced meaningful progress. Water Creation suffered from the same problem.

Sieghart could produce enormous volumes of water, concentrate it into a narrow stream, or launch it in large spheres. The system still treated all those techniques as variations of Water Creation instead of separate spells capable of gaining levels through specialized training. Breeze had also refused to develop. Sieghart had used wind to propel himself, scatter smoke, strengthen flames, slow his falls, and interfere with enemy movement. None of those accomplishments created a properly named spell.

They were applications of basic control, and basic control apparently did not impress the system. Sand Control was even more confusing. Sieghart had blinded monsters, moved bodies, created compressed projectiles, formed rotating stone defenses, and mixed sand with water to immobilize Firians. Despite all that, the ability remained a crude extension of Earth Magic. It had no individual level and provided no clear milestones for improvement. Fireball possessed a defined shape, purpose, and activation method.

Sieghart gathered burning mana, compressed it, stabilized it, and launched the result toward a target. Giant Fireball had appeared when he deliberately expanded that concept beyond its previous limits. The system recognized the technique as a distinct spell because Sieghart had created something repeatable. That meant he needed to do the same thing with his remaining elements. Simply controlling water, wind, earth, or fire in unusual ways was not enough.

He needed to transform those experiments into complete spells with consistent structures and specific purposes. Once the system recognized them, he could level them without worrying about invisible bottlenecks. So the system wants paperwork. The comparison made more sense than Sieghart wanted to admit. Raw elemental manipulation was apparently an informal activity, while a spell became official only after meeting several unexplained requirements. He began organizing possibilities inside his mind.

Water Creation could become Water Bullet, Water Lance, Water Wall, or perhaps Pressure Cutter if he refined the concentrated stream. Water Lance appeared particularly useful. A fast projectile with enough pressure might pierce enemies who could survive Fireball explosions, giving him an option against opponents resistant to heat. Breeze could become Wind Blast, although Sieghart already used something similar without receiving a system notification. Perhaps his technique lacked a stable internal structure.

Instead of releasing mana wildly through his palms, he could compress air into a fixed pattern before expelling it. That might create a repeatable spell with greater force and efficiency. Wind Step would be more valuable for survival. His current propulsion required awkward hand movements, reduced his control over other spells, and occasionally sent him in the wrong direction.

A proper movement spell could release wind from several points around his body, allowing him to change direction without sacrificing both hands. Earth Magic offered even more possibilities. Sand Bullet was the most obvious, but his poor accuracy made it unreliable over long distances. Stone Shield could replace the orbiting projectiles destroyed by the Firian leader. Earth Armor might work alongside Protection, increasing his physical defense against Aura users who reached close range.

A binding spell based on the hardened mud spheres could also become extremely effective. The Firians had defeated themselves by heating the mud around their bodies until it hardened. That combination required two elements, but the result proved that Sieghart's weak spells could become dangerous through intelligent interaction. My spells are weak, so I need better spells. Casting more of them only works until someone survives long enough to punch me. Sieghart stared at his raised hand in the darkness.

A tiny flame appeared above his fingertip, illuminating the room with a faint orange glow. The spell had started everything. It remained unimpressive, but creating it proved that magic in this world responded to thought, emotion, and intention. Sieghart extinguished the flame before accidentally burning his blanket. Elara would survive hearing about the battlefield, but discovering that he had set his bed on fire after returning safely might finish her.

He considered opening his status screen, but the information had not changed since the journey. White Magic remained at Level One even after First Aid reached Level Four. The inconsistency annoyed him more every time he thought about it. Black Magic gained experience through kills and assists, but healing someone almost from death had provided nothing to White Magic. Perhaps the category required him to defeat enemies using support spells, although that sounded ridiculous.

Punching someone to death while maintaining Protection might technically qualify, but he doubted that was the intended solution. First Aid had gained levels normally because its healing rate improved through continuous use. White Magic apparently followed a different condition that remained hidden from him. Maybe I need to heal an enemy. That sounds exactly like the kind of annoying requirement a system would invent. Sieghart had no intention of testing that theory anytime soon.

Healing someone currently attempting to kill him seemed like an excellent method of increasing the length of a battle without improving his chances of survival. He dismissed the status screen and mentally prepared a training schedule. Water Lance would come first, followed by a proper Wind Step and some form of Earth Armor. Afterward, he would attempt to create a specialized healing spell for burns. First Aid worked on everything, but severe burns appeared to reduce its effectiveness considerably.

A spell designed to remove damaged tissue, restore the skin, and reduce heat within the body could prevent another situation where he spent nearly an entire day keeping someone alive. The plan calmed him slightly, but sleep still refused to come. Every solution revealed another weakness, and every weakness reminded him how close he had come to losing Edric. Someone suddenly knocked on his bedroom door. Sieghart sat upright, extinguishing the status screen even though nobody else appeared capable of seeing it.

The door opened slightly before Elara looked inside.

"Sieg? Are you awake?"

"Yes." Elara entered carrying a candle and closed the door behind her. She crossed the room before sitting carefully on the edge of his bed. Sieghart studied her expression. She no longer looked angry or suspicious, although lingering worry remained visible around her eyes.

"What is it?"

"I only wanted to thank you." Sieghart blinked.

"For what?"

"For bringing that old fool back in one piece." Elara looked toward the door as if making certain Edric could not overhear her. Her voice softened when she continued.

"It must have been difficult, considering how hardheaded he is." Sieghart forced a small smile. Doing anything more would become dangerous because his emotions already felt far less stable than usual. Elara clearly understood more than they had told her. Perhaps she had seen the exhaustion in Sieghart's eyes or noticed how Edric occasionally touched his supposedly uninjured back.

She might not know that Sieghart had healed him from the edge of death, but she understood enough to realize that her grandson had played some part in bringing her husband home.

"Grandpa protected me."

"I know he did."

"I only returned the favor." Elara brushed several strands of crimson hair away from his forehead, including the blond-tipped fringe that refused to remain in place.

"You shouldn't have needed to protect each other. Neither of you should have been sent there." Sieghart could not disagree. Unfortunately, the people making those decisions had considered their usefulness more important than their safety. Elara leaned down and kissed his forehead. The simple gesture carried more warmth than all the praise Sieghart might receive for winning the battle.

"You need to sleep if you want to grow tall." Sieghart smiled naturally this time.

"I'll try."

"Don't try. Sleep."

"Yes, Grandma." Elara adjusted his blanket until it covered his shoulders, apparently deciding that surviving a battlefield did not qualify him to manage that task independently. She took the candle and walked toward the door, pausing long enough to look back at him with a relieved smile.

"Good night, Sieg."

"Good night." The door closed quietly behind her, leaving Sieghart alone with the darkness and the familiar sounds of the farmhouse settling for the night. He pulled the blanket closer and finally allowed his eyes to remain closed. Becoming stronger was important, but exhaustion would not disappear merely because he disliked feeling vulnerable. Tomorrow, he would begin creating spells that the system could recognize.

He would develop better attacks, stronger defenses, faster movement, and healing capable of saving people before desperation took over. Tonight, however, he was home. His grandparents were alive, the farm was safe, and nobody expected him to fight another battle before morning. For the first time since leaving the camp, those facts felt like enough. Sieghart's thoughts gradually slowed, and sleep finally claimed him beneath the blanket.