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 - The Sin of the Rain's Sound
The rain had been falling steadily since morning.
The sound of knocking on the wooden door of the workshop "Iron Hammer and Engraving" came at regular intervals, yet somehow seemed faint. Glen had both hands on his workbench, pressing a fine file against the surface of a staff. The faint sound of metal scraping against wood mingled with the rain and faded away. The Living General against the wall stood in the same place as always, not a single drop of water on its dark blue armor. Only the blue light deep within its helmet breathed slowly in the dim room.
*(No customers today, I suppose.)*
Glen glanced out the window. Rain lashed diagonally against the cobblestones. The sky beyond the castle walls was thickly covered with leaden clouds. Ever since he'd heard the earth rumble in the Klagen mineshaft five days ago, the area around the workshop had been strangely quiet. He'd left the new recruit training to Gald. After that incident, the Mutual Aid Society had issued a notice about investigating the mineshaft, but no formal dispatch request had come yet.
*(Well, no matter.)*
Glen muttered that under his breath.
—That was when it happened.
Outside the wooden door, he heard the rustle of clothing.
A presence. And already quite close. There had been no footsteps. The sound of rain had masked them. Just as Glen looked up, the wooden door was knocked on from outside, three times, hesitantly.
"Come in, it's open."
There was no reply.
A few seconds passed. Only the sound of rain poured into the workshop, unnaturally loud. Glen set down the file and walked over to the counter.
The wooden door slowly opened.
She entered with the rain.
The smell of wet earth and grass. And then, faintly, the iron scent of blood. Rainwater dripped from the hem of a travel-worn cloak, forming small puddles on the floor.
Her hood was pulled down low. Her face was barely visible. Only her pale fingertips gripped the front of her cloak. Those hands were trembling, ever so slightly.
Glen knew at a glance.
*(Mireille.)*
She stood in the doorway, unmoving.
As if asking whether she even had the right to enter this place. Her rain-soaked shoulders were slumped, and the lips visible beneath her hood tried to form words, but nothing came out.
"Terrible rain. Come in and sit by the fire."
At those words, Mireille finally took a step forward.
With each step, rain stains spread across the floor. She came up to the counter and removed her hood.
Her wavy amber hair clung wetly to her face. Her deep forest-green eyes looked far darker and more sunken than before. Her cheeks were hollow, and there were faint shadows beneath her eyes. And yet, the amber glove for earth magic fitted on the back of her right hand was meticulously cared for—a strange contrast.
"……It's been a while."
Mireille's voice was hoarse. Glen could tell it wasn't just from the rain.
"Yeah, it has."
Standing behind the counter, Glen offered a gentle smile.
She bit her lip for a moment, hesitating over something. Then she placed the long, slender bundle she'd been carrying onto the counter. It was wrapped in several layers of cloth, but the outline made it clear: it was a staff.
With trembling hands, Mireille slowly unwrapped the cloth. What emerged was a carefully polished staff. Set into its tip was a deep amber stone, apparently meant to amplify earth magic. Glen recognized the staff. It was one he had adjusted for Mireille back when he was with the Crimson Fang.
"I have a request. This staff… it's not working right."
She spoke as if exhaling.
"Lately, the flow of magic through it has been poor. The rhythm between my incantations and hand signs won't sync up, and forming earth walls takes longer now. On a solo request the other day, when I was surrounded by a pack of rock lizards… the spell almost fizzled out midway."
"……You went up against a pack of rock lizards alone? You're reckless."
Glen picked up the staff. It was heavy. The material was ebony. The core was made from the root of a magic tree from the Ashsmoke Forest. Years of use had turned only the grip a deep amber color.
"I'm not being reckless. A solo D-rank request—back when I was with the Crimson Fang, I never would have imagined it. But now, I have to take any work I can fight in."
Mireille's fingertips grazed the edge of the counter. Those fingers used to be fuller. Now the bones stood out sharply.
*(She's pushing herself far too hard.)*
Glen thought that, but didn't say it aloud.
"Let me take a look."
He placed the staff on the workbench and took a magic measuring device from the shelf. It was an old machine combining a brass base with fine needles and several glass tubes. He fixed the staff to the base and held his hand over the crystal. Blue light ran through it, and the needle wavered.
"How is it…?"
A pleading note crept into her voice.
"Magic transmission efficiency: seventy-eight percent. It's dropped considerably. The magic stone powder in the core has deteriorated. The third engraving from the top at the joint is worn down too. The staff itself is nearing the end of its life."
Glen stated it matter-of-factly.
Mireille lowered her head.
"……I see. So that's how it is, after all."
She drew a deep breath. Then, as if forcing the words out:
"Glen. There's something I want to talk about. If I were only here to ask for a staff adjustment, I shouldn't have come on a rainy day like this… I thought that myself. But I wanted someone to listen."
Glen said nothing, pouring magic into the staff fixed to the base. The needle moved slowly.
"Zex is gone."
The sound of rain grew louder.
"Two weeks ago, he checked out of his inn. After that, all contact with the Mutual Aid Society completely stopped. Neither I nor Gald knew. The last place he was confirmed was the outskirts of the royal capital, Cloifelt. That district in the capital—the one with all the old cheap lodgings for mages."
Glen silently watched the needle's movement.
"Then… last week, a man came to the Crimson Fang's base. He said he was a messenger from a dark guild. A black cloak hid his face, and his voice was hard to make out—an eerie man. He told us: Zex had gotten involved with forbidden arts in the underground of Cloifelt. That in exchange for a price, he'd gained the power to summon a Flame Serpent."
"……Flame Serpent summoning."
Glen's fingers stopped for a moment.
Flame Serpent. Contracting a high-ranking fire-attribute monster as one's own summoned creature. Through proper procedures, it was a technique absolutely impossible without advanced training as a summoner and numerous safety measures. She'd said the price of forbidden arts. Most likely, he'd offered up his life, or his sanity, or something of that nature.
"That man never had much affinity with the fire attribute to begin with. But if you use forbidden arts to forcibly graft a different type of magic into your own magic veins… then yes, theoretically, summoning might be possible. He watched your Living General, Glen, and all along he wanted to become stronger too. I couldn't stop him."
Mireille's voice trembled.
"Everyone noticed the leader changing. After he banished you, he started going wrong. Even the way he chose requests became violent. If only I'd spoken up more strongly… if only I'd opposed his decision with everything I had back then. Then maybe, right now, he wouldn't have been driven this far."
Her hands were clenched tightly on her lap.
"I can't forgive myself. Even now, I still worry about Zex. Somewhere in my heart, I still think he might be able to recover. Even though the worst form of the mistake we made—losing you, Glen—is right in front of me now. Even so, the feeling that I can't abandon my former comrade won't go away."
She hung her head.
Only the sound of rain filled the workshop.
Glen traced the engravings on the staff. The worn third engraving. He pressed a fine chisel to it, recarving the pattern line by line. His hands never stopped working.
"Mireille, you should just do what you need to do."
His voice was quiet.
Mireille looked up. Her forest-colored eyes turned toward Glen.
"Worrying about someone isn't a bad thing. I understand that you can't pretend otherwise. That's just who you are. You're the one who watched Zex's rampage from the farthest away, yet also the closest, aren't you?"
Mireille's mouth twisted. It was the face of someone holding back tears.
"……You think I'm selfish, don't you. After all the trouble I caused."
"Well, that's fine. I'm just as selfish myself."
Glen set down the chisel. He picked up the staff and ran it through the magic measuring device once more. The needle rose rapidly. Eighty, eighty-five, ninety… Finally, the needle stopped just short of ninety-four.
"There. Transmission efficiency is back up to ninety-four percent. That's beyond its original performance. With this, even if you're surrounded by rock lizards, you should be able to raise an earth wall immediately."
Mireille accepted the staff. Her hands were still trembling faintly. But this time, it was a slightly different kind of trembling than before.
"The adjustment fee…"
"Thirty silver coins will do. No need for material costs. It was urgent work, so it finished quickly."
She took silver coins from her leather pouch. The coins clinked onto the counter with a wet sound.
Mireille pulled her hood back up.
"I'll be going now. Before the rain gets worse."
She walked toward the wooden door, her back to Glen.
And then, in front of the door, she stopped.
She turned around.
"……I'm sorry."
It was a small voice, as if dissolving into the sound of the rain.
Words of apology. For what, to whom, for which part of the past—Glen heard many meanings in it. But he didn't ask. Pressing her for answers would only corner her further.
"If you ever need another adjustment, come by anytime. I'll take care of your staff."
Glen's voice was quiet and warm.
Mireille nodded once, deeply.
The wooden door opened. Cold wind and rain blew into the workshop. She vanished into it.
—.
The wooden door closed.
The sound of rain filled the room once more.
Glen leaned his elbows on the counter.
On the wet floor, Mireille's footprints lingered faintly. Only the spot where she'd sat was slightly damp.
Glen stared at those stains for a while.
Then he turned his gaze to the Living General standing in the corner.
The dark blue heavy armor didn't stir. The blue light deep within its helmet pulsed at a steady rhythm.
"Everyone's dealing with their own things."
Glen murmured quietly.
The murmur vanished easily into the sound of the rain.
The Living General tilted its helmet once, slowly. Then the blue light within its helmet pulsed briefly, strongly. Just for an instant.
It was its way of answering.
—That night.
The rain was still falling.
Glen, thinking it was about time to put out the workshop lights, walked over to the window. Beyond the thick rain clouds, not even a sliver of moonlight was visible. The city lights had long since gone out. It was a deep, deep darkness.
He placed his hand on the windowsill.
—That was when it happened.
Far to the west, the sky flashed red.
It cut through.
Then it flashed again.
Twice, three times—an eerie red light clearly streaked beneath the clouds. It was as if an invisible blade was tearing open the belly of the night.
Glen's hand stopped.
*(……That's the direction of Cloifelt.)*
The royal capital, Cloifelt. One hundred thirty kilometers northwest of Heldain. That red light was unmistakably coming from there.
His heart pulsed once, hard.
Behind him, he heard the creak of metal.
He turned. The Living General had stepped forward, toward the window. The blue light within its helmet was flickering violently. Each time the red light streaked, that blue flared like a warning.
*(Zex…)*
Mireille's words resurfaced in Glen's mind.
*"In exchange for a price, he'd gained the power to summon a Flame Serpent."*
What was that red light? Not lightning. No
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