Chương 70: The Beast That Didn’t Flinch

Sieghart stared at Ronan's extended hand, then toward the unfinished summoning experiment scattered across the training chamber as fading particles of blue mana. He had no interest in abandoning another day of practice to follow Ronan on an unexplained assignment. The tracker had a habit of describing dangerous inconveniences as simple jobs.

"I'm busy."

"You have been busy for a year."

"That's why I'm making progress." Ronan glanced toward the place where the incomplete Mana Sword had disappeared. His expression carried enough amusement to become immediately irritating.

"You created half a sword."

"I would have created more if you hadn't interrupted me."

"Perhaps you need someone who understands the subject." Sieghart studied him more carefully.

"You know Summoning Magic?"

"A few tricks." Ronan reached behind his waist and drew both curved knives. He tossed them into the air before Sieghart could ask another question. The weapons rotated above his head, their polished edges reflecting the blue light of the basement's mana lamps. Instead of catching them, Ronan extended both hands. Several threads of nearly invisible mana emerged from his fingers. The threads attached themselves to the handles, guards, and flat sides of the knives.

Ronan moved his fingers slightly, and both weapons changed direction in midair. One knife began orbiting his right shoulder while the other passed behind his back. They crossed before his chest, separated again, and accelerated. Ronan did not touch either weapon. The knives spun around him with enough speed to produce a quiet whistle. They moved through complicated patterns without colliding or approaching his body dangerously. Ronan flicked one finger.

The first knife shot toward a wooden target and stopped a finger's width from its center. It remained suspended there until Ronan pulled his hand backward. The weapon returned immediately. He changed the mana threads again, making one knife spin vertically while the second revolved horizontally. The patterns intersected several times with almost no space between the blades. Sieghart watched the threads rather than the weapons.

Ronan had hardened thin lines of mana and maintained them beyond his body without using any visible Mana Runes. The technique shared the same foundation as material summoning. Ronan transferred mana into empty space, prevented it from dispersing, and gave it a stable physical property. Instead of creating an entire weapon from mana, he created only the connections needed to control real ones. Ronan closed his hands. The threads pulled both knives toward him.

He caught them by their handles and returned them behind his waist with practiced ease.

"I can teach you how to do that." Sieghart opened the wardrobe and reached for his travel cloak. Ronan smiled.

"I thought you were busy."

"I changed my schedule." Sieghart collected several pieces of equipment while Ronan waited near the door. He carried no recognizable magical weapon, since most of his original belongings had been destroyed with the farmhouse. He concealed several small stones inside his pockets for Earth Bullet and placed an ordinary knife beneath his cloak. The knife was mainly useful as a target for Elemental Imbuement. Sieghart also used Phantom Image.

His crimson hair faded into an ordinary dark brown, including the blond tips that made his appearance particularly memorable. The illusion changed his green eyes to gray and slightly softened the shape of his face. Maintaining the disguise had once required constant concentration. After one year of training, Sieghart could preserve it almost automatically unless something disrupted his focus. Ronan examined the result.

"You still look angry."

"That isn't part of the disguise."

"You should work on it."

"I'm not spending mana to look cheerful."

"I meant your personality." Sieghart pulled the hood over his false brown hair and followed Ronan into the basement corridor. Their argument continued until they reached the rear exit. Lunar Arc used the concealed entrance to move protected witnesses, sensitive cargo, and occasionally guild members avoiding creditors. Ronan appeared suspiciously familiar with the third purpose. The passage ended inside an unremarkable warehouse near the western side of Seraphina.

Workers wearing Lunar Arc emblems barely looked at them as they crossed between stacked crates. Sieghart stepped outside and saw the sky for the first time in an entire year. He stopped. Sunlight struck his face despite the protection of his hood. The brightness forced him to narrow his eyes while an open breeze moved across his clothes. The sky seemed impossibly large. After twelve months beneath stone ceilings, the absence of anything overhead felt almost wrong.

Sieghart's instincts searched for walls, supports, and magical barriers that did not exist. Clouds moved slowly above the city. None resembled smoke, but Sieghart's body tensed before his mind recognized the difference. Ronan noticed him stopping.

"Problem?"

"No." Sieghart resumed walking. He refused to admit that ordinary sunlight had surprised him. Ronan already possessed enough material for annoying comments. The streets of Seraphina looked much as Sieghart remembered them. Magical vehicles moved along guided stone lanes, rechargeable lamps stood beside the roads, and enchanted channels carried river water between districts. People filled the markets, workshops, and bridges.

None paid particular attention to a dark-haired child traveling beside a lightly armored man. Phantom Image worked. Sieghart still kept his hood raised. Trusting one spell completely after a year of isolation seemed needlessly careless. They passed through the southern gate without difficulty. The guards inspected Ronan's guild token and waved them forward without requesting Sieghart's identity. Beyond the walls, a wide road followed one branch of the river before separating toward several farming communities.

Ronan selected the quieter southern path. Sieghart waited until the city walls became distant before asking the important question.

"When are you going to teach me?"

"When you prove useful." Sieghart clicked his tongue.

"You said you needed my help."

"I do."

"Then teaching me first would make me more helpful."

"It would also remove your reason to come." Sieghart could not deny that. He might have remained in the basement if Ronan taught him before explaining the job. The manipulation annoyed him, but not enough to turn back.

"What is the assignment?"

"Helping some farmers." Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"That sounds vague."

"Most jobs sound better before someone explains the annoying parts." Ronan walked with both hands resting behind his head. He seemed far more relaxed than during their journey to Seraphina one year earlier. Sieghart maintained a careful distance and observed their surroundings. The habit returned naturally despite spending a year within reinforced walls. Wagons passed occasionally, carrying vegetables, grain, livestock feed, and enchanted agricultural tools. Most drivers greeted Ronan and ignored Sieghart.

The false appearance allowed him to blend among ordinary travelers. Nobody whispered about crimson hair or compared his face to the Crimson Sword King. For the first time since the eastern war, Sieghart traveled without feeling every passing stare settle upon him. The experience was strangely peaceful. He refused to relax completely. Wanted posters bearing his younger face had begun appearing throughout the eastern lands, even though Mira had not shown him one yet. Sieghart knew something was being concealed.

Ronan and Mira became more cautious whenever they discussed activity beyond the city, and several investigation reports arrived late. He did not confront them without evidence. If they concealed something important, he would eventually discover it. For now, Ronan's destination offered a chance to leave the basement, test Phantom Image, and learn a technique useful for Summoning Magic. That constituted sufficient payment for a short job. Sieghart examined Ronan's hands while they walked.

"The threads weren't a complete summoning."

"No."

"You used condensed mana to create a physical connection."

"Mostly correct."

"How did you keep it stable?"

"Practice." Sieghart considered freezing the road beneath him. Ronan had become more cautious after his first encounter with Frozen Floor, but he could probably still be caught while talking. He rejected the idea. Learning required cooperation, and damaging his temporary instructor before the lesson would be inefficient. Sieghart also disliked complaining about receiving nothing for free. His grandparents purchased his early books and taught him farming magic without demanding payment.

He could never repay them now. Lunar Arc provided shelter, knowledge, and protection, but Sieghart worked for everything he received. That arrangement felt more comfortable than accumulating debts he could not measure. Ronan had also saved his life when the farmhouse exploded. He carried Sieghart away from several blasts and remained nearby while he buried his grandparents. As irritating as Ronan was, Sieghart owed him at least one or two favors. Helping some farmers hardly seemed excessive.

They traveled for nearly two hours before leaving the main road. A narrow path passed between fields filled with tall golden crops and broad-leafed vegetables. A farmhouse stood on a low hill near several barns and fenced pastures. The buildings looked old but well maintained. Sieghart slowed when he saw the house. Its shape differed from the home he lost, but several details felt painfully familiar. Tools rested beside the entrance, laundry moved in the breeze, and smoke rose gently from the chimney.

For a moment, he expected Elara to step outside and complain that he had trained past dinner again. Nobody appeared. Sieghart forced the memory away and continued behind Ronan. An elderly man repaired part of the nearest fence. His white hair had thinned considerably, but his arms remained strong enough to drive wooden posts into the ground. The man noticed them approaching and lowered his hammer.

"You took your time."

"I had to collect a specialist." The farmer looked toward Sieghart.

"That is your specialist?"

"He works cheaply."

"I didn't agree to that," Sieghart said. The old man raised his eyebrows. Ronan pretended not to hear him. A large enclosed pasture extended behind the barn. Several animals rested within it, although they resembled cows only in their general size and temperament. The creatures possessed thick gray hides, broad shoulders, and two short horns curving downward beside their heads. Long hair covered the ends of their tails and the lower portions of their legs. Most grazed peacefully.

Three remained separated near a water trough while an elderly woman attempted to clean their wounds. One animal had several long cuts across its back. Another possessed a deep wound near its hind leg, while the third had torn flesh along one side. The injuries looked several days old. Dirt had entered some of them, and the surrounding skin had become inflamed. The woman poured water over the largest creature's back before carefully removing dried blood.

Her wrinkled hands moved gently despite the animal's nervous shifting. Sieghart studied the broken section of fence. Dark hair remained caught upon the splintered wood, and several marks crossed the ground beyond it. Ronan stood and brushed dirt from his hands.

"One problem at a time." He pointed toward the injured animals.

"I heard you can heal wounds. Help those creatures before the injuries become infected." Sieghart nodded. Healing animals was not very different from healing humans in theory. Blood carried nutrients, tissue repaired itself, and mana accelerated the natural process. The difference involved structure. Sieghart understood human anatomy well enough to guide First Aid, but he had never examined a grayhorn before. He approached the largest animal carefully.

The elderly woman looked from Sieghart to Ronan with obvious confusion. A disguised seven-year-old did not resemble an experienced healer.

"He knows what he is doing?" she asked.

"Usually." Sieghart looked over his shoulder.

"Usually?"

"You froze a hallway and attacked me with Earth Bullets."

"Those worked exactly as intended."

"That doesn't reassure anyone." The old woman placed one hand against the grayhorn's neck and spoke to it quietly. The animal watched Sieghart approach with large dark eyes. Sieghart stopped beside its injured flank. Up close, the creature stood considerably taller than him. One frightened movement could send him across the pasture. He allowed the grayhorn to smell his hand before attempting to touch it. The animal breathed against his fingers and remained still. Sieghart placed his palm near the longest wound.

First Aid activated almost instantly. White mana traveled from his internal channels, passed through his hand, and entered the grayhorn's body. The unfamiliar anatomy resisted his control at first. Sieghart meditated while standing and followed the creature's natural mana flow. He identified the heartbeat, blood vessels, damaged muscles, and inflamed tissue. The paths differed from those of a human, but the spell translated enough information for him to understand what required attention.

Sieghart removed dirt with Water Creation before guiding First Aid into the deepest part of the injury. The wound began closing visibly. Torn muscle fibers reconnected beneath the skin. Redness faded, swelling decreased, and new tissue spread across the remaining opening. The old woman stopped holding her cleaning cloth. The grayhorn shifted once but showed no pain or fear. It continued smelling Sieghart's hair while the final line of damaged skin disappeared. Sieghart removed his hand and examined the result.

A pale mark remained where the deepest cut had been, but the injury no longer threatened the animal.

"That should disappear after a few days." The woman touched the restored skin.

"How did you do that?"

"Magic."

"I understood that part." Sieghart moved toward the second animal before she asked more questions. Explaining White Magic and First Aid would only reveal information he preferred to keep hidden. The grayhorn with the wounded leg reacted nervously when he approached. Sieghart sat on the grass and waited until it stopped pulling away. He produced a small sphere of water and allowed it to float above his palm. The animal watched the moving liquid curiously.

Sieghart guided the water toward a shallow bowl and let the grayhorn drink. Once it relaxed, he placed one hand near the injury. First Aid entered more smoothly this time. Understanding the first animal's internal structure allowed Sieghart to find the damaged areas immediately. The wound closed within minutes. The third grayhorn approached him without encouragement. It lowered its head and pushed its nose against Sieghart's shoulder while waiting. Sieghart nearly fell sideways.

Ronan watched from beside the broken fence. The tracker's lighthearted expression gradually became thoughtful. He paid less attention to the healing than to the behavior of the animals. Grayhorns possessed strong instincts. They avoided predators, corrupted creatures, and people whose mana carried overwhelming hostility. Powerful Aura users often made them restless. Mages with enormous reserves could frighten them even without casting anything. Sieghart possessed more mana than Ronan could understand.

He also carried enough anger to surround himself with hundreds of black Fireballs after burying his grandparents. If vengeance had poisoned everything inside him, the grayhorns should have sensed it. Instead, the first animal remained calm while he healed it. The second accepted water from his hand, and the third approached voluntarily. That was a good sign. Sieghart's anger had not become malevolence.

Whatever darkness remained inside him, harmless creatures did not recognize him as something that wanted to hurt them. Ronan had not brought Sieghart merely because the animals required healing. Lunar Arc possessed other healers capable of handling livestock. Mira worried about the boy's fixation on training and revenge. Ronan wanted to see what remained beneath that focus when Sieghart encountered something vulnerable. The answer appeared before him.

Sieghart cleaned the third grayhorn's wound and activated First Aid. The creature lowered itself onto the grass, allowing him to reach its back comfortably. The wound closed, and another notification appeared. First Aid reached Level 5. Resistance +1 Sieghart nodded in satisfaction. The grayhorn turned its head and licked the side of his face. His Phantom Image flickered from the wet contact, briefly revealing one patch of crimson hair beneath the illusion. Sieghart wiped his cheek with one sleeve.

"That was unnecessary. You should brush your teeth more." The old woman laughed. The sound reached him before he could prepare for it. For one painful second, it reminded him of Elara. Sieghart became still. The grayhorn pushed its head against his chest again. Sieghart placed one hand against its forehead and slowly released the tension from his shoulders. He did not smile. However, when the creature closed its eyes beneath his hand, Sieghart did not move away.

Ronan watched quietly and decided not to ruin the moment with another joke. The kid had spent one year sharpening his fangs. At least he had not forgotten how to use his hands for something gentler.