The morning chill pierced his skin. Behind the stone cottage on the outskirts of Kazami Village, Raid brought his axe down. The firewood split with a dull crack. Again. And again. A monotonous rhythm. There was a time when he could shatter ten logs at once with a flash of magic, but now he had only his own strength to rely on. "Tch..." A sharp pain shot through his lower back. Raid planted the axe in the ground and straightened his spine. His deep amber eyes gazed up at the sky. The autumn sky was high and cloudless. White breath spread thinly and quickly faded. Forty-two years old. The morning of the once-renowned greatest mage of the empire began with firewood splitting and back pain. Black short hair was streaked with white in places, and his lean frame was more toned than his age suggested, but a faint blue scar ran along his left arm—the mark of magical fusion. Evidence of the day he'd tried to test his own limits and failed. Even now, it ached from time to time. "That old guy was supposedly the strongest mage in the empire back in the day." A young voice came from behind. Raid stopped, still holding the axe. His hearing, at least, hadn't dulled. Two young villagers must have been passing by the cottage. "Yeah, now he's just a retired guy with back pain." "Shh, he can hear you." The footsteps faded into the distance. Raid exhaled quietly. (I can hear it all, you know.) He wasn't angry. It was the truth. The imperial ranking of mages—the title given to the very top was "Imperial Senior Mage." Only one person among over three hundred registered mages was granted this position based on ability and achievement. Raid had once held that seat. He'd spent glorious days as an imperial mage, and had made his name on the front lines during the Third Border Campaign. And now he was splitting firewood in Kazami Village. Such was the rise and fall of fortune. Raid looked at the pile of firewood. (Should I try splitting it with magic?) He raised his right hand toward the wood. He concentrated his consciousness on the magical circuits within his body. The manipulation of magical essence that had once been as natural as breathing. Drawing in the magical essence drifting through the air, compressing it, releasing it— A faint spark scattered from his fingertips. That was all. The firewood didn't budge. Raid silently lowered his hand and gripped the axe again. "...Right then." Holding his lower back, he brought the axe down on the next log. A dull thud. The wood split. This way was far more reliable. The wind blew. Wind from the east. The wind that always blew from the east, which was the origin of the village's name. Raid looked up, gazing at the eastern ridge line. The Aobufeng Mountain Range carved its blue outline against the sky. Something was about to change. He had that premonition. * * * At dusk, Raid made his way to the Red Tile Pavilion in the center of the village. A two-story wooden building with a tavern and dining hall on the first floor and an inn on the second. It was Kazami Village's only eating establishment. The red tile roof was distinctive and recognizable from a distance. When he opened the door, the smell of lamb stew hit his nose. "Welcome." Toba's voice echoed from behind the counter. The proprietor of the establishment, a fifty-five-year-old widow. Her gray hair was tied back in a single knot, and she stood in the kitchen in her apron. Her sharp gaze and slightly husky voice were striking. Raid took a seat at the counter. "The usual," Raid said. "Coming right up," Toba replied. Toba deftly ladled lamb stew onto a plate and set it before Raid. Steam rose from it. Bread was placed alongside. "Thanks," Raid said. He picked up a spoon and took a sip. It was warm. It seeped into his body. There were a few villagers in the shop. At a table in the corner, middle-aged men were talking about something. "...Apparently demons are coming from beyond the mountains." "No way." "The imperial army's mobilizing, they say." "Would they really come all the way out here?" Gossip. Raid sipped his stew while pretending not to listen, but his ears were open. Demons. A different race from humans, living in the group territories beyond the Aobufeng Mountain Range to the east of the empire. Their appearance was almost identical to humans, but their internal magical essence density was three to four times that of humans, and they excelled at physical enhancement and healing. Their average lifespan was about 1.5 times that of humans. The relationship between the empire and the demons had been tense for many years. Sporadic skirmishes continued, and eighteen years ago there had been the Third Border Campaign, a large-scale war. Raid had participated in that campaign and fought many demons. And many humans had died. "If it comes to that, I'll repel them with my back pain," Raid said lightly. The villagers turned with wry smiles. "Raid, that's a harsh joke." "Back pain isn't a weapon, is it?" Laughter. Raid laughed too. He waved his hand lightly and returned his gaze to the stew. But Toba didn't laugh. She was staring at Raid across the counter. Noticing her gaze, he looked up. "...You're thinking about something again, aren't you?" Toba said, her voice low and quiet. Raid's expression showed a moment of surprise. Then he quickly formed his usual gentle smile. "I'm not thinking about anything. Just a retired guy with back pain," Raid said. "Liar," Toba replied immediately. "Your eyes are the same as they used to be. The eyes of someone seeing something," Toba said. Raid said nothing. Toba sighed softly. "...Don't push yourself," Toba said. "Yeah," Raid replied. A silence fell between them. Raid continued eating his stew, and Toba returned to the kitchen. The noise in the shop seemed strangely distant. * * * At midnight. Raid stood on the village's watchtower. A simple wooden structure, built on the edge of a plateau at an elevation of 420 meters. From here, looking east, the ridge line of the Aobufeng Mountain Range floated against the night sky. The wind was cold. Raid wore a black jacket over a white shirt, but the cold still seeped through. An old leather belt around his waist swayed in the wind. He looked at the eastern sky. Stars twinkled. It was a quiet night. But— Raid's eyes stopped on a single point. The eastern ridge. Beyond the Aobufeng Mountain Range. A red streak of light was running across the sky. Thin, long, tearing through the sky. Raid's expression changed. (An abnormal outburst of gray essence—) A phenomenon that occurred when atmospheric magical essence flowed violently, caused by magical circuit overload or large-scale spell deployment. The red light was a visual characteristic of magical essence being compressed to abnormal density and released into the atmosphere. Raid had seen this light more than he cared to remember. The Third Border Campaign. Eighteen years ago on the battlefield, the same light had covered the sky when a group of demons deployed large-scale magic. Beneath it, many soldiers fell. Many villages burned. Fragmented memories surfaced in Raid's mind. The smell of blood. The smell of charred flesh. Screams. And— (Grave Halcion.) The name of his comrade from the front lines surfaced unbidden. A friend from his youth. An excellent mage. A bright man with a strong sense of justice. But one day, that man's eyes changed. Cold eyes that reflected nothing. What had happened? Raid didn't know. After that, they grew distant. When the campaign ended, they each went their own way. Where was he now? What was he doing? Raid shook his head. (That's not important right now.) The red light still lingered in the eastern sky. Raid understood what it meant. The demon invasion was beginning. And Kazami Village lay in its path. Raid gazed at the eastern sky for a long time. The cold night wind caressed his cheek. He said nothing. He simply watched. * * * Back at the cottage, Raid pried up a floorboard. There was a hidden compartment. Inside were only a few old books. Raid took one out. The cover bore marks of scorching. Evidence of when he'd tried to burn it himself. But in the end, he couldn't. He couldn't throw it away either. He'd simply hidden it beneath the floor and tried to forget. Raid placed the book on the desk and slowly opened it. The pages were yellowed, the ink smudged in places. But the text was still readable. "Magical Fusion—Forbidden Technique Article Forty-Four" Magical fusion was a technique that forcibly expanded one's internal magical circuits and directly synchronized them with atmospheric magical essence, allowing magical output several times greater than normal. Due to its danger, it was explicitly prohibited in the Imperial Law Code—the accumulated regulations of magical restrictions from centuries of imperial history—as a technique that caused irreversible damage to the human body in Article Forty-Four. But the price was the caster's own body. The magical circuits deteriorated with each use, becoming something close to "charred." Blood vessels and nerve tissue were also used as conduits, so it came with intense pain and irreversible damage. Raid turned the next page. "Three successful cases in history. No records of failures exist—because those who failed were not in a state to leave records." Beside that sentence, in the handwriting of his younger self, a note was written. "In theory, complete fusion would provide ten to twenty times normal output. But the caster's survival rate is—" From there, the ink was smudged and unreadable. Raid stared at the note for a long time. What had his twenty-four-year-old self been thinking when he wrote this? He couldn't remember anymore. He only knew that his younger self, filled with ambition and curiosity, had been fascinated by this forbidden technique. And now. The forty-two-year-old Raid was opening this book again. The reason was different. Not ambition. Not curiosity. Only— (I have to protect them.) That conviction alone resided in his chest. There was no need to put it into words. Raid stood up and moved to the center of the room. He looked at the spell diagram in the open book. A complex magical circle. A diagram of his internal magical circuits. Activation sequence. Procedure. All of it lay dormant in the depths of his memory. Raid took a deep breath. And— He activated the spell. * * * For a moment, nothing happened. The next instant. Searing heat raced through his entire body. "Tch—!" Raid gasped, a suppressed sound escaping his lips. Beneath his skin. Deep in his blood vessels. His magical circuits were being forcibly expanded. A sensation like being burned from the inside. Blood vessels boiling. Nerves tearing. Excruciating pain. His shirt clung to him with sweat. His breathing became ragged. Haah, haah—his breath echoed off the stone walls. Silver lines of light appeared on Raid's arms and chest. His magical circuits were becoming visible. They flickered irregularly, as if screaming. Corroded magical circuits. Circuits weakened by forty-two years of time and three years of disuse. Forced expansion of those circuits. Naturally, they screamed. Raid's knees buckled. He fell to his knees with a thud. Both hands pressed against the floor, supporting his body. The cold stone floor. It felt strangely pleasant. His body temperature was rising rapidly. His head felt hazy. His vision wavered. (No good...) Raid's consciousness was fading. If he lost consciousness now, he might never wake again. And yet— A thin smile appeared on Raid's lips. (...Not bad, actually.) His consciousness cut out. * * * Dawn. Raid's eyes opened. He was lying on the floor. His entire body ached. Muscle soreness. Joint pain. And the lethargy that came from magical exhaustion. "...Ugh," Raid groaned quietly. He pushed himself up. Sunlight streamed thro