Ice Partner and Peaceful Days: A Banished Summoner's Life with a Lone Knight
Glenn, a 30-year-old summoner, is expelled from his B-rank party 'Crimson Fang' for only being able to summon a single Living Armor. Their leader, Zex, dismisses him coldly: 'Your summon can't hold the front line.' Glenn simply says, 'I see,' and leaves without a fight.
However, the Living Armor he poured all his magic into for fifteen years has secretly evolved into a higher being with its own will—a 'Living Knight.' Glenn himself, through relentless training, possesses three times the magic c
Ice Partner and Peaceful Days: A Banished Summoner's Life with a Lone Knight - A Shield's Apology, A Comrade's Promise
The morning workshop was filled with the scent of wood and the lingering remnants of a cold furnace.
Glen stood before his workbench, gazing at the core materials in his hands. He had laid out several branches of magic-conducting wood, running his fingertips over each one as he selected the piece that would suit today's order. White oak was hard, but its mana flow was rough. Silver linden was supple, yet somewhat weak against fire attributes. Ebony was expensive, but its compatibility with wind attributes was superb.
(*This client has a habit of over-converging wind. If I mix a thin layer of azure ice stone powder into silver linden, it should prevent any outbursts.*)
With that thought, he picked up one of the core materials.
Outside the window, the early morning light illuminated the cobblestones in pale white. This place, on the southeastern outskirts of Heldain, about a ten-minute walk from the city walls, was strangely quiet in the morning hours. In the distance, a dog barked, and the faint sound of wagon wheels grinding against stone could be heard. In the workshop "Iron Hammer and Engraving," time flowed gently today as well.
Against the wall, the Living General stood as it always did. Its dark blue-black heavy armor gleamed dully in the morning light. The azure glow deep within its helmet flickered slowly, as if breathing. Several days had passed since its evolution in the Kragen mines. By now, its presence had become part of the scenery of this workshop.
Glen set the core material down on the table and picked up a wooden mallet.
*Tap, tap, tap.*
The rhythmic sound echoed through the quiet workshop.
—And then.
Mixed in with that sound, another sound came from outside. Heavy footsteps. The intervals were strangely wide for leather boots treading on earth. Slow, hesitant, stopping and then starting again. That kind of gait.
Glen set down the mallet.
(*I know those footsteps.*)
Almost at the same moment he raised his head, a shadow fell across the workshop doorway.
Standing there was a man so large one had to look up at him.
Shaved head. Small, sharp gray eyes. A large scratch mark running from his left cheek down to his neck. Broad, imposing shoulders clad in travel-stained leather armor. On his back, he carried a greatshield nearly as tall as he was.
Gald.
Former heavy warrior of the Crimson Fang. The frontline wall who had once supported the party's defensive line alongside Glen's living armor.
He stood at the workshop entrance, unmoving.
He took one step inside. Then he removed the greatshield from his back and leaned it against the wall. A heavy metallic *clunk* resounded. At that sound, Glen narrowed his eyes slightly. He had a vague sense of why this man had come here.
Gald walked up to the counter. Then he stopped dead.
Silence.
A heavy, heavy silence.
He stared at the workshop floor. At the grain of the old, unpolished wooden planks, as if biting down on something. His large fists hung limply at his sides, trembling faintly. Minutes passed—or perhaps longer.
Glen said nothing. He simply placed a cup of ale in front of him.
"Sorry it's so early in the morning, but—well, take a moment to settle down. Can you tell me what happened?"
Gald's shoulders twitched.
Then, as if forcing the words out, he opened his mouth.
"...That time."
A low voice. As if lifting, one by one, stones that had long been sunk at the bottom of his chest.
"When it was decided you'd be banished. I opposed it to the very end. I knew better than anyone that if you left, the party's defense would crumble."
Glen listened in silence.
"Even so, I was overruled. By Zex's momentum. By the atmosphere of the others. I... I thought that if I resisted any further in that room, I'd end up being thrown out too."
Gald's fists clenched tight.
"Protecting is my job. I'm the party's wall. And yet, at the very end, I couldn't protect the one ally I should have protected most."
The last part of his voice trembled slightly.
"It was only because of your obstruction magic and shield defense that I could hold my ground on the front line. You stopped the enemy's movements. You scattered their attacks. Just knowing you were behind me let me raise my shield with confidence. Without you, I was nothing but a lumbering wall."
He drew a deep breath.
"I'm sorry."
That massive body bent as if breaking, and he bowed his head.
A giant of a man, one hundred ninety-five centimeters tall, bending at the waist to a full ninety degrees, head lowered. That figure looked so small it was hard to believe it belonged to the heavy warrior who had once faced down a grizzly bear without retreating a single step.
The workshop fell utterly silent.
Glen quietly rose from his chair.
He walked slowly over to Gald's side. Then he placed a hand on his shoulder. It was a rugged, hard shoulder.
"Raise your head, Gald."
Gald slowly lifted his face.
In those small gray eyes, a film of water had gathered. He wasn't crying. But he was holding back something that threatened to overflow at any moment, barely containing it.
"You did more than enough as a tank."
Glen spoke gently.
"My obstruction magic only worked because you held the front line. You took every enemy attack and stood your ground without retreating a single step. For those of us behind you. Because you were there, I could focus on my ice magic without worry. I think we made a good team."
Gald's throat moved as he swallowed.
He lowered his eyes once. Behind his eyelids, he was probably remembering the battles of those days. Scouting at the edge of the Ashsmoke Forest. Hunting wandering golems in the Kragen mines. No matter the situation, there had always been a shield and a wall of ice between the two of them.
"...A good team, huh."
He murmured those words.
That voice was the softest it had been all along.
Glen released Gald's shoulder and returned to his chair.
"Well, anyway. After all that heavy talk this morning, have some ale before you go. It's a bit lukewarm, but better than nothing."
The corners of his mouth relaxed just slightly.
Gald looked blank for a moment, then wordlessly grabbed the cup on the counter.
He drained it in one gulp.
"...Bitter."
"Well, it is ale."
A small laugh passed between them.
—.
After emptying the cup, Gald remained silent for a while.
Eventually, as if having made up his mind about something, he resettled himself in the chair. He straightened his back and looked Glen directly in the eye. The grim expression from earlier had receded, and in its place, the earnestness of a warrior had returned to his face.
"Glen. I didn't come here today just to apologize."
Glen quietly returned his gaze.
"It's an official request from the Mutual Aid Society. There's talk of holding joint training sessions for rookie adventurers. They're looking for an instructor who can teach the essentials of defense—reading enemy attacks and maneuvering to protect allies."
"I know. I heard about it from Dolg."
When Glen replied, Gald's eyes widened slightly.
"The branch chief recommended you."
"...Why would that man recommend someone like me?"
"Because you're the right person for it. Unlike me, a mercenary-turned-adventurer, you can explain movements with logic. Where enemy attacks will come from, how to position a shield so allies survive—you can build it all up from first principles. It takes someone like that to teach rookies."
Glen fell into thought.
Teaching others. It was a different kind of challenge from adjusting staves.
"I don't have the temperament to teach people. I know that. But... you can do it. You wouldn't be standing at the front. You'd be protecting from behind, with logic. Teach those kids the knowledge and skills to protect someone."
There was something close to pleading in his voice.
Glen was silent for a while. Outside the workshop, the morning wind rustled through the trees. A rooster crowed late from somewhere. After a long silence, Glen nodded quietly.
"Understood. I'll take it on."
Relief spread across Gald's face.
"But I'll do it my way. Faithful to the fundamentals, meticulously, almost boringly so. I won't teach flashy techniques, and I won't differentiate based on talent. If that's acceptable."
"Fine by me. Do it your way."
Gald stood up.
"Thank you for today. Truth is, I should have come much sooner."
"That's enough of that. More importantly, let me know once the training schedule is set. I'll need to prepare too."
"Yeah. The Mutual Aid Society will be in touch."
He picked up the greatshield from the wall, slung it onto his back, and headed for the door.
His back looked just a little lighter than when he had arrived.
—.
Past noon, several customers came and went from the workshop.
A rookie mage whose staff core had snapped. A middle-aged sorcerer who came to consult about a new engraving. Then a gatherer who brought in a branch of magic-conducting wood he claimed to have picked up in the Niere River valley. Glen handled each one carefully, providing estimates and performing simple adjustments.
(*Having more work is a good thing.*)
He murmured that to himself as he organized the order forms on his workbench. The air outside was already thick with the signs of autumn. The air was dry, and the breeze blowing through was pleasant.
Evening.
Another shadow fell across the workshop doorway.
Footsteps completely different from Gald's—light, yet somehow hesitant. A quiet, reserved knock.
"Come in, it's open."
The door opened slowly.
Standing there was a woman with long amber hair tied back into a single tail. Deep forest-green eyes. Her intelligent features were stiff with tension. The fingertips of her right hand trembled faintly, as if she couldn't decide whether to remove the glove with the amber embedded in it.
Mireille.
Former strategist of the Crimson Fang. One of those who had opposed Glen's banishment, yet had been swept along by Zex's momentum.
"...It's been a while."
When he spoke, Mireille's shoulders jumped slightly.
"...Yes. It has been."
She said that and slowly entered the workshop. Her gaze flickered toward the Living General against the wall for just a moment, then she tried to look directly at Glen's face, but still averted her eyes slightly.
(*She's brought bad news.*)
Glen could tell. Whenever she had that look in her eyes, it was never good news.
"Are you here for a staff adjustment today? Or is it about a request?"
"...No. It's not that I have something to ask of you. I just... I thought there was something I should tell you first."
Mireille said that, then hugged her own arms tightly.
"It's about Zex."
The air in the workshop seemed to grow just a little heavier.
"He's apparently been in contact with a dark guild in the royal capital, Cloifelt. It's not confirmed information. But while working solo and investigating various things, I heard it from a reliable source."
Glen waited silently for her words.
"He's dabbling in forbidden arts. And what's more, he's trying to form a contract that requires paying a price to make that power his own—that's the rumor. I can't say for certain yet. But knowing him, I thought it was entirely possible."
Her voice was composed and articulate. And yet, beneath it, there was a small fear. The leader she had once trusted was falling further and further into a dark place. Just accepting that fact seemed to be crushing her.
"And also... Glen. What he's after might not just be power. Your tuning staff technique. There's a possibility he's trying to get his hands on it."
At those words, the face of that suspicious man from yesterday flashed through Glen's mind.
(*A man claiming Zex's name. That was...*)
"So be careful. Even if someone comes to the workshop, don't trust them carelessly. Especially anyone who brings up Zex's name."
Having said that much, Mireille stepped back.
"That's all I came to say. If anything else happens, I'll contact you again."
She turned to leave.
She turned her back and
Novelia is an AI-powered platform to read original light novels and fan fiction, create your own in just a few taps, and chat with the characters. New, illustrated episodes arrive daily — free to start.