Swords and Magic, and the Flame Burning in the Heart ~The Fateful Path of the Hero and the Mage~ - The Ice Mage and the Night of the Campfire

The night Aruto returned from the Miasma Valley, his entire body ached. The impact of Zarg's greatsword shattering the ground. The sensation of his body slamming against the grass after being sent flying. Those sensations still lingered deep in his bones. His legs felt heavy. His right arm was acting strange too. But he was alive. In the forest encampment, a single campfire flickered. The trees blocked the view of any outside threats, and only the small flame's light illuminated his companions. They were utterly exhausted, and had wrapped themselves in blankets and lay down early, skipping most of their meal. It was a quiet night. No one had fully processed today's battle yet. Aruto sat in front of the campfire, staring into the flames. Bandages wrapped his entire body. White cloth was visible on his face, his arms—scattered across various wounds. The old scar on his left cheek had overlapped with a fresh new wound from today. (I couldn't reach him.) No matter how many times he'd struck Zarg's armor with light-attribute slashes, they just bounced off. He'd never experienced an attack so ineffective before. Light's power couldn't penetrate armor imbued with dark-attribute magic. He understood that. But the frustration of being unable to do anything about it smoldered quietly in his chest. The flame wavered. Red light illuminated the base of the trees, and with each gust of wind, it grew smaller and larger in turn. Then. He heard footsteps. Slow. Calm. Unhurried. Approaching quietly, but with certainty. Aruto turned around, and from the darkness beyond the campfire's reach, a single figure emerged. The hood was down. The face that had been covered until moments ago was now exposed in the firelight. Long jet-black hair was loosely tied behind the shoulders, with bangs slightly disheveled across the forehead. The facial features were almost too perfect—doll-like, Aruto thought. A quiet face that revealed no emotion. But what caught his eye most were the eyes themselves. Clear and transparent, a pale silver color. Like moonlight. The figure was slightly taller than Aruto, with a slender build, but beneath the armor, a trained body was visible. On the arms, faint violet patterns floated. Complex-shaped marks—like magical inscriptions. Aruto couldn't yet tell what they were from the glimpses between the sleeves. Rushian. That mage who had kept the hood on the entire time Aruto remained conscious. The one who had conjured an ice wall in the Miasma Valley and deflected Zarg's greatsword—now showing his face properly for the first time. One of the companions narrowed their eyes. They'd been half-asleep but had woken at the presence. "…You're late. Do you have any idea how long we've been waiting?" Rushian glanced at the companion and spoke curtly. "I had business." That was all. No explanation. No apology. That single statement said everything about what kind of person he was. The companion's mouth twisted into a frown, and they wrapped themselves back in the blanket. Aruto watched this and laughed softly. "Thank you for helping me, Rushian." It was straightforward gratitude. Nothing else mixed in. Rushian's gaze turned toward Aruto. There was a beat of silence. "Don't thank me. If you died, the party would stop functioning. It's a rational decision." (So that's how he talks.) Aruto was taken aback for a moment. But strangely, he wasn't angry. He simply thought—that's just the kind of person he is. "But I was still happy." Rushian's eyes flickered away for just an instant. His gaze shifted slightly toward the campfire. It lasted less than a second. Then it returned, and his expression became blank again. That minute movement went unnoticed by the others. Only Aruto witnessed Rushian's small reaction. --- The night deepened. His companions' breathing synchronized in sleep, and only the sound of the campfire continued softly. Aruto had been assigned to tend the fire. Taking turns on watch was the party's rule, and even with his wounds, tonight couldn't be helped. He sat with his knees drawn up, adding wood to the flames. Suddenly, a presence appeared beside him. Looking over, Rushian was sitting there silently. Aruto wondered when he'd arrived, but this person made almost no sound when moving. "Show me your wounds." It was abrupt. "Huh? Now? But I'm fine—" "Don't lie. Your right arm's movement was off." He'd been watching. His observational skills were sharp as expected. Aruto gave a wry smile and loosened the bandage on his arm slightly. The next moment, Rushian's hand silently took hold of Aruto's arm. The fingers were slender but possessed real strength. The way he unwrapped the bandage looked rough, but was actually careful. He adjusted the angle so the cloth's edge wouldn't touch the wound. He was doing this probably without even thinking about it. His fingertips touched the wound. It was cold. Despite being in front of a campfire on a summer night, a cold like pressing ice directly against skin spread through Aruto, and he nearly jumped. "Cold!! What was that!?" "Don't move, idiot." Rushian, his brow furrowed, held him down. "I'm freezing the wound's pain with ice magic. Compared to standard healing magic, it's a rough method, but it's fast." "Rough doesn't even begin to cover it!!" "Be quiet. You'll wake the others." Aruto swallowed his protest. He was right—if he shouted, he'd wake everyone. The cold seeped into the wound. After the initial shocking chill faded, a gradual numbness came, and the pain that had been throbbing slowly receded into the distance. It really was working. Rough, but definitely working. (So it's... his own unique treatment method.) Rushian rewrapped the bandage. True to form, his hands were gentle despite his words. Aruto watched intently. "…Thank you, Rushian." "I already said that." "This is the second time. But I wanted to say it." Rushian didn't answer. He simply tied off the bandage's end and withdrew his hand. A quiet moment flowed between them. The campfire crackled softly. Insects chirped in the distance. The wind was slightly cold. --- Aruto found himself speaking as he gazed absently at the flames. "It's about my father." Rushian said nothing. But his gaze turned toward Aruto. It was a sign that he was listening. "You know the Luminous Plain? It spreads east from the Luminalis capital. Wheat fields stretch on and on, and when the wind blows, they ripple like waves. I grew up in a village there." The flame wavered. Aruto continued. "One night when I was ten, the Demon King's army came. There was no reason. They just burned the village. I was trapped under rubble, couldn't move because of the smoke—my father pulled me out." A beat of silence. "The last thing he said was to become a hero who could save people. Just that. Then he stopped moving." He spoke matter-of-factly, but his eyes never left the flames. This wasn't a story he'd told many times. But tonight, for some reason, he wanted to tell it here. He couldn't quite explain why. "So I want to be a hero who can protect people. That's all." Rushian stared at the flames in silence for a while. A spark rose into the night sky and vanished. "…That's foolish." His voice was small. But there was no mockery in it. He wasn't mocking him. Aruto understood that. Rather, the opposite—something like pain seemed to seep through those two words. A quiet, quiet envy toward someone who could live for others as naturally as breathing. (Maybe this person wasn't like that.) Aruto didn't ask further. He didn't know if it was a story he should hear. He simply sat beside the campfire with Rushian, watching the flames burn together. Strangely, it wasn't uncomfortable. --- Just before dawn, one of the companions jolted awake. "Pursuit unit!! Coming from the east!!" Everyone's eyes snapped open in an instant. Blankets were kicked aside, swords were grabbed. Aruto stood up too. His wounds ached, but that didn't matter now. "Evacuate! Minimal supplies, run!" The party moved. They kicked out the campfire and ran deeper into the forest. The trees before dawn were dark, and the ground was hard to see. Branches struck their faces. Roots threatened to trip them. They ran anyway. But things were waiting for them in the forest. Shadow Stalkers—shadowy creatures that appeared in places where dark miasma was thick, hated light, and possessed the power to interfere with the mind—three of them. And more than ten goblins. The Demon King's pursuit unit had set an ambush in the forest ahead. "We're surrounded!" In the dark forest, everyone's movement stopped. Then Rushian stepped forward. He stood in front of his companions and spread both arms wide. The faint violet patterns on his sleeves glowed. A magic circle deployed on the ground—white and black lines intricately intertwined in a pattern none of them had seen before. Cold spread. This cold was incomparable to the healing from earlier. Tree leaves began to freeze, frost ran across the ground. Their breath turned white. From Rushian's fingertips, ice was released. But the color of this ice was different from what Aruto knew. Not transparent white, but something with black mist mixed in. Neither light-attribute white nor simple physical ice—something else entirely. One Shadow Stalker froze. The next instant, it shattered. Silently. Like glass breaking, it crumbled to dust and vanished. Another ice spell was cast at the next one. It froze. It shattered. Goblins tried to flee, but the frost lines running across the ground cut them off, freezing their feet in place. Unable to move, the companions quickly finished them off. It took less than a minute total. One of the companions whispered something too quiet for others to hear. "That magic of his… it's not light-attribute, right? Didn't it look kind of dark?" Another answered. "…You must be seeing things." The conversation ended there. But there was a slight pause before that word—"seeing things." In Lunaria Continent, light-attribute magic was considered righteous, and dark-attribute magic was considered dangerous. That history from 500 years ago, when the Great Archmage ravaged the continent with dark power, was still embedded in people's consciousness. The Holy Light Church had spread that binary worldview, and society had moved to view those who wielded dark-attribute power as dangerous. So—when the companions noticed the black color mixed into Rushian's magic, that moment of silence held meaning that Aruto understood. And at the same time, that understanding left an unpleasant weight in his chest. Rushian hadn't turned around, though he must have heard the whisper. He was pretending not to have heard. Or perhaps he was used to it. --- One large Shadow Stalker remained. A larger individual than normal—bigger than standard specimens, with stronger mental interference abilities. A creature like solidified shadow, with vague contours, slid out from between the trees. Rushian began his incantation. He wove the words of magic in a low voice. This spell seemed more complex than before, taking longer to complete. A magic circle deployed, but the incantation wasn't finished yet. During this time, Rushian was defenseless. The shadow moved. The Shadow Stalker lunged at the chanting Rushian, raising its claws from his blind spot, from the side. A sharp strike came. Aruto's body moved before his mind could think. He jumped in front of Rushian and met the claws with his sword. But he couldn't block it completely. The claws deflected his blade and tore across his shoulder. It was deep. He felt it hit bone, and then a dull pain spread. Hot. Gradually hot. Aruto gritted his teeth and held his ground. A beat later, Rushian's incantation completed. Ice mixed with black mist erupted, engulfing the Shadow Stalker. Even the large individual froze instantly and shattered. The battle was over. Aruto t

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Episode 2

Name: Swords and Magic, and the Flame Burning in the Heart ~The Fateful Path of the Hero and the Mage~
Author: Novelia

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