Ice Partner and Peaceful Days: A Banished Summoner's Life with a Lone Knight - The Weight of Sin and the First Guest

The sky was high, and the blue stretched clear and pure into the distance. Early summer sunlight poured down over the cobblestone streets, and each time a dry wind slipped through the alleys, a faint dustiness tickled the nose from somewhere unseen. In front of Glen's staff workshop, *Iron Hammer and Engraving*, the new sign swayed gently again this morning. Over the past week or so, its lettering had settled so naturally into the scenery that it felt as though it had always been there. He sat before his workbench, running an engraving needle over Dolg's ebony staff—the one he'd been working on since the day before. Through the crystal plate at his hand, he could see the flow of magical energy, and he adjusted the delicate mana inscriptions—fine circuits designed to enhance the directional precision of wind magic—to match it. The workshop was filled with the mingled scents of wood, metal, and a faintly scorched alchemical aroma. Against the wall, the Living Knight stood motionless as always, the mana-light deep within its dark blue armor shimmering quietly. (*…Alright. Let's see how this holds up.*) Glen had just finished carving the final inscription into the staff's surface and let out a small breath when— *Knock, knock.* There came a tapping at the door. A hesitant knock, yet one that carried a certain resolve—restrained and modest. "It's open." Without lifting his head, Glen answered while wiping the staff in his hands with a soft cloth. *Creeeak…* With the groan of old hinges, a woman stepped into the workshop. Her long, richly amber hair, falling in waves, caught the sunlight streaming through the open door and gleamed like spun gold. Her eyes, the deep green of a forest, were downcast, holding a light tinged with shadow. Mireille, the earth mage—the woman who had once served as their strategist, fighting alongside them in the Crimson Fang. In her right hand, she gripped a well-worn oaken staff. It was a piece Glen had once tuned, and the mana inscriptions on its surface were unmistakably his work. The glove on her right hand, set with amber, was her trademark as well. Her cheeks looked slightly thinner, telling the story of her state of mind over these past few weeks. "…It's been a while, Glen." Mireille lifted her face and tried to offer a faint smile. But the corners of her mouth pulled awkwardly tight, never quite forming one. Her voice, unlike the resonant tone he remembered, was somehow muffled and subdued. Glen stopped his hands and rose from his chair. "Hey, Mireille. It has been a while." His voice was perfectly calm. No surprise, no reproach could be felt in his tone. It simply held a quiet acceptance of her visit—that was its temperature. Standing before the workbench, as if begging for forgiveness, Mireille held out her staff with both hands, her eyes still downcast. Her fingertips trembled faintly. "My staff has been… acting up lately. I feel like its transmission efficiency has dropped." She spoke slowly, as if choosing her words carefully, her deep green eyes wavering as they searched Glen's face for something. But it was painfully clear that the staff was not what she truly wanted to talk about. Glen took the offered staff and held it up to the light. The oak's grain had deepened to a rich amber, proof of the long years it had spent attuned to her mana. Wordlessly, he brought out the crystal plate and channeled a faint stream of mana through the staff's tip. A pale blue light traced geometric patterns across the plate, and the mana flow rate and resistance values surfaced as numbers. (*…It's not just inscription wear. The core material inside is accumulating stress, too.*) Glen assembled the diagnosis in his head, but he didn't voice it. He simply examined the staff with the detached expression of a craftsman. "A few of the inscriptions are worn down. Transmission efficiency is down, and the core material doesn't seem to be in good shape either." He laid the staff on the soft cloth atop the workbench and picked up his ledger. Dipping a quill into the inkpot, he wrote down the details of the adjustment and the estimate. "The tuning will take about three days. The cost comes to eighteen silver coins. How does that sound?" Mireille gave a small nod and began taking silver coins from the leather pouch at her waist. One, two… The dry clink of coins being placed on the wooden counter echoed unnaturally loud. After counting out eighteen, she remained still, staring at them. "Glen… I…" Mireille's voice trembled. She lifted her face and looked directly at him. In the depths of her eyes, he could clearly see guilt swirling, an unspoken apology, and above all, a profound regret. She bit her lip, but couldn't form the next words. Silence fell. Glen didn't touch the silver coins on the counter; he simply left them where they lay. He narrowed his eyes slightly and turned his calm gray gaze toward Mireille. What she wanted to say, what she couldn't say—he understood it as clearly as if she'd spoken. He remembered her face on the day he was banished from the Crimson Fang. That face, silent and biting her lip. Even so. "I'll take care of the staff. I'll do good work on it." That was all he said. Gently, yet with a note of finality—or perhaps, to tell her she didn't need to suffer any longer—briefly, and calmly. Mireille bit her lip once more and hung her head. Her amber hair cascaded down, hiding her expression. She was desperately holding back something that threatened to spill over. "…Yes. …Please." Her voice was wrung out. She turned on her heel and headed for the door as if fleeing. Her retreating back looked terribly small and painful. *Creeeak… Thud.* The door closed. Glen watched her go and let out a soft sigh. (*Mireille… you worry too much.*) But he wouldn't say it aloud. That was his kindness, and also his cruelty. He silently picked up Mireille's staff and began wrapping it carefully in a cloth. The eighteen silver coins still sat on the counter. Silence returned to the workshop. The Living Knight, utterly still, had watched it all from its place against the wall. A short while later, just as Glen began tidying up his tools— *BANG!!* This time, the workshop door was flung open with a violent crash. "Glen-saaan!! I'm here!!" Bursting in was a young fire mage girl—Alisa. Her fiery red hair was tied up in a ponytail, and her dark brown eyes sparkled brightly. In her hand, she clutched a staff that was utterly useless, split hideously from the base and charred inside. She was the workshop's first regular customer, the one he'd promised to fix a broken staff for last time. Alisa stood before the workbench, out of breath. Her thin linen robe was smudged all over, and the cuffs were black with soot. The air around her alone felt faintly warm, likely due to her strong fire mana unconsciously leaking out. "I came, just like I promised! Can you look at this!? It still won't work…!" "Hey, Alisa. Just a moment—I'll make some tea." Glen chuckled softly and offered her a chair. Alisa obediently sat down, yet still brimming with excitement, she held out the staff. He took the staff from her and first examined it thoroughly. He'd seen it before, but looking again, the severity of the damage was clear. The crack at the base was deep, and the fire magic stone powder used in the core material had overreacted, burning the wood of the staff itself from the inside out. Countless fine cracks ran across the surface, and just gripping it lightly caused flakes of charcoal to crumble off. "Aww… it's really no good, is it…?" Alisa's voice suddenly grew faint. She clasped her hands tightly on her lap and looked up at Glen anxiously. "Hmm… your mana really is quite strong, it seems. This staff is made of cheap paulownia wood. Paulownia is good for amplifying mana, but it's weak to heat. When a mage with high output like you channels fire magic through it, the inside burns up right away." He placed the broken staff on the workbench and stood, heading toward the material shelves. From among the neatly arranged branches of magical trees, he carefully pulled out one with a pale cherry-blossom-colored bark. It was cherry wood harvested upstream on the Nierre River, its surface smooth, and holding it seemed to convey a faint warmth. "This is cherry, a magical tree. It's extremely compatible with fire-attribute mana. And unlike paulownia, it excels at control and stability rather than amplification. For a mage with high output like you, I think a staff made of this will actually last much longer." He placed the cherry wood before Alisa. She reached out hesitantly and touched the bark with trepidation. "Ah… it's warm…" Alisa's eyes regained their sparkle in an instant. She held the cherry wood cradled in both hands, stroking it over and over as if to confirm its feel. "This… can you make a staff from this wood? My staff?" "Of course. Though, it will be a bit pricey." Glen gave a wry smile, took out his ledger, and ran his quill across it. "The material cost is forty-five silver coins. The crafting fee is thirty-five silver. That's a total of eighty silver coins. …Is that a little steep for you?" "E-eighty…" Alisa's face visibly paled. She clutched the leather pouch at her waist tightly and her shoulders slumped in obvious dejection. For a novice mage, eighty silver coins was an immense fortune. The average reward for a D-rank request was two to five silver coins. That meant she'd have to complete nearly twenty requests at minimum. But Glen, as if anticipating her reaction, continued in a calm tone. "Well, there's no need to panic. I can do installments. First, I'll take half the material cost—twenty-three silver coins—and the rest can wait until delivery. The thirty-five silver crafting fee can also wait until delivery. You don't have to pay it all at once; a little at a time is fine." Alisa looked up, her eyes wide as saucers, staring at Glen. "Huh… installments, but… I mean, I'm still a beginner… and I don't have any credit yet…" Her voice trembled. Not from joy, but from disbelief. What merchant would extend eighty silver coins in credit to a novice, a slip of a girl in such tattered robes? With shaking hands, she opened her leather pouch and dumped its entire contents onto the counter. Fifteen silver coins. Eight copper coins. That was all the money she had in the world right now. "This… this is all I have right now… but I'll definitely pay! I absolutely, definitely will work hard and pay it all back!" Alisa pleaded desperately, her voice close to tears. In the depths of her eyes swirled the fear of "what if he refuses" and the earnest wish of "but I want to cling to this hope." Glen gently gathered the scattered silver and copper coins on the counter with his palm. His craftsman's fingers, covered in scars, slid over the cold coins. "Then, I'll hold onto this much. The rest can wait until the staff is finished. Besides… seeing you become able to use magic properly—that's the best reward I could ask for." It was a heartfelt sentiment, free of any calculation. He certainly possessed a merchant's shrewdness. But at his core lay a technician's pure desire. Seeing mages shine using the staves he crafted—that was his true joy. Alisa stared blankly at Glen's face for a moment, and then, in the next instant, large tears began spilling from her big, dark brown eyes. "Hwa… uuu… thank you so much…!" She burst into tears, crying aloud like a child. Ever since coming to this city, no one had acknowledged her. They laughed at her cheap staff, mocked her as a beginner, and she couldn't even get proper requests. Amidst all that, here was an adult who believed in her for the first time. That joy overflowed as uncontrollable tears. Glen said nothing, simply placing a hand gently on her head. The Living Knight watched the scene quietly from against the wall. The early summer sunlight wrapped sof

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Episode 3

Name: Ice Partner and Peaceful Days: A Banished Summoner's Life with a Lone Knight
Author: Novelia

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