Ice Partner and Peaceful Days: A Banished Summoner's Life with a Lone Knight - Handwritten notes and fireballs.

The workshop was still dim with early morning. The light slanting through the window was weak, the air cool, and the scent of wood mingled quietly with the lingering fragrance of the furnace that had burned until the night before. Glen was crouched in front of the shelf against the wall. With a hemp cloth in hand, he was wiping away the dust that had accumulated deep on the shelves. Several months since opening. This workshop, which had been empty at first, was now filling up shelf after shelf with material stock and tools. Branches of magic-conducting trees, bottles of magic stone powder, chisels for engraving, bundles of leather cord. They were arranged neatly, by type, according to a system only he understood. (*This shelf is getting cramped too, soon.*) Muttering inwardly, he reached for the top shelf. His fingertips touched something hard at the back of the shelf, in the gap against the wall. "……?" It was a book. No—it was far too old to call it that. The leather cover was clouded white, cracked here and there. The letters on the spine were worn away, no longer legible. Clearly, this was not something recently brought into the workshop. Glen pulled it out with both hands. A dry sensation transmitted through his fingers touching the leather cover. Rough, and yet somehow nostalgic. For a few seconds, he tested its weight in his palms. Then he carried it to the workbench and sat down in the chair. The wood creaked. He opened the cover. The smell of old paper and leather rose up softly. On the first page, a familiar name was written. Alfred Grayson. "……Grandfather's." His hoarse voice fell into the quiet workshop. A former A-rank adventurer. A swordsman who had remained active his entire life, and though he had already retired by the time Glen was old enough to understand things, his back had always appeared straight and true in the boy's eyes. He turned the pages. The sound of old paper rubbing together traveled back through time. What was written there was a hunting record from his days as a swordsman. Dates, locations, types of prey. Rock lizards in the Niere River valley, moss wolves on the outskirts of the Ashsmoke Forest, and a large one at the southern foot of the Kazaroon Mountains—a gray bear. All of them, no doubt, requests he had undertaken in his youth. The handwriting was meticulous, without waste. There was not a single ambiguous expression; only facts were recorded dispassionately. The course of battles, the enemy's weaknesses, how to flee, and how to survive. It was a journal and, at the same time, a living textbook that one swordsman had gathered at the risk of his life. Glen remembered reading this journal over and over as a child. He would ask his grandfather about words he didn't understand, and on his grandfather's lap, he was taught how to grip a sword and how to take a stance. He would swing a wooden sword, playing at being a swordsman all day against the branches of the garden trees. (*Someday, like Grandfather.*) That had been his one and only wish as a boy. The latter half of the journal. After the hunting records ended, after pages of blank paper continued. On the final few pages, in a hand different from the hunting records, yet unmistakably written by the same Alfred, this was written: *'True strength does not exist for the sake of striking anything down. True strength shines only when protecting others.'* *'The hand that swings a sword cannot take the place of someone's shield. But the will that swings a sword can become a shield for someone's heart.'* *'As long as there is something to protect, that person's sword will not break.'* Glen traced those lines with his fingertip. The fibers of the paper caught against his finger. —Fifteen years ago. The summer he was fifteen. The day of the magic aptitude test, held in the town square. The examiner's voice still lingered in the depths of his ears. *'Swordsman aptitude: none. Summoner aptitude: high.'* And his own voice, so calm it surprised even himself. *'……I see.'* That night, Glen had clutched this journal and cried all night long. In the corner of his room, hugging his knees, stifling his voice. He couldn't become a swordsman. He couldn't become a man like his grandfather. Far from being anyone's shield, he was only permitted to support from behind with magic. The edges of pages blurred with tears. Even so, as dawn broke. Glen closed the journal. And, lifting his tear-streaked face, he made a resolution. Even if he couldn't swing a sword, he would find a way to protect someone. —. Glen quietly closed the journal. The leather cover made a soft sound as it shut. Beyond the workbench, in the corner of the workshop. Against the wall, the Living General stood. Its dark blue-black heavy armor. Though considerable time had passed since its evolution in the Klagen mines, its form still stood there in the dim dawn light, like a deep shadow. The blue light deep within its helmet pulsed quietly. Gazing at that helmet, Glen murmured softly. "I…… wanted to be a swordsman, you know." The words, meant for no one, simply dissolved into the workshop air. "When I was fifteen, they told me I had no aptitude. At that moment, I felt like the world had ended." He looked at the palm of his right hand. Countless small scars and calluses. The hand of a craftsman who had continued adjusting staffs. "But I couldn't give up. I didn't want to stop moving forward." If a sword wouldn't work, then with a staff. Taught by no one, relying only on his own body, his summoned creature, and his magic. Forming a blade of ice at the tip of his staff, stepping into the front lines like a spear, like a sword. He was laughed at. For a mage to presume such a thing. Even so, for fifteen years. Just to protect someone. Glen clenched his right hand, then opened it. "……Now, I can truly believe this path was the right one." That was when it happened. The Living General, which had not moved a muscle until then, tilted its helmet ever so slightly. As if quietly listening to Glen's words. Deep within the helmet, the blue light pulsed strongly, just once. Thump. Like a heartbeat. Glen stared at that light. (*Ah, I see.*) Something quietly settled deep in his heart. He had, in the form of staff arts, certainly chosen a path to protect someone. And he no longer denied that choice. Glen tucked the journal against his chest. Then he turned back to the workbench. "Well, anyway. Back to work, back to work." He muttered quietly and picked up the wooden mallet. Tap, tap, tap. The rhythmic sound began to echo through the workshop once more. —. Afternoon. The time when sunlight slanted in through the window. There was a modest knock at the workshop door. A hesitant sound, somehow reserved. Glen set down his carving knife and looked up. "Come in, it's open." The door opened slowly. Standing there was a petite woman. Dull flaxen hair cut evenly at the shoulders. Braids hung down on both sides. Her eyes were dark brown, and her large eyes wavered slightly, as if gauging his reaction. Her clothing was the familiar light gear for novice adventurers. Over it, she wore a thin cloak. Alisa. One of the few regular customers since the workshop first opened. "Um, Glen-san…… hello." She stepped into the workshop timidly, as if afraid. "Hey, Alisa-san. Welcome. Are you here to have your staff checked today?" When Glen asked, Alisa clasped her hands tightly in front of her chest. "Um, today, I…… I came because I have a report." Her voice was slightly pitched higher than usual. Glen indicated the chair in front of the workbench. "Why don't you sit down first? We can talk after that." Alisa nodded slightly and hesitantly sat down in the chair. Her back was straight, and her shoulders were still tense. Glen poured water from a small pitcher inside the counter into a wooden cup and placed it before her. "So, what's this report?" Alisa held the cup wrapped in both hands. Her fingers trembled faintly. "……I took my first solo extermination request. A D-rank moss wolf culling." "Ah, the pack that appeared near the Niere River valley." Moss wolves were magical beasts that often served as the first wall for E- to D-rank adventurers. They moved in packs, were fast, and in one-on-one combat, they could close the distance easily. Solo extermination was quite difficult for a beginner. "And…… um, I defeated them. Both of them." Alisa's voice trembled, but she looked straight into Glen's eyes as she spoke. "With the staff you adjusted for me, Glen-san, when I fired a fireball…… the wolf pack, um, in an instant……!" She began to describe the scene with gestures. The rocky area by the river. At dusk, two moss wolves had leaped out simultaneously from the front and from the bushes to her left. Her heart felt like it would burst, her hands shook, and her spell incantation nearly faded midway through. But when she gripped the staff Glen had adjusted, it felt as though he was pushing her forward, and she was able to pour her magic into it to the very end. And then, the fireball released from the tip of the staff blew away the first wolf with a speed and power that astonished even herself, and in the same motion, exploded at the snout of the second. "I've never had magic come out so smoothly before……! The staff didn't get hot, and the flow of magic was so incredibly smooth……!" Her cheeks were flushed, and her large eyes sparkled brightly. The tension from earlier was completely gone. Glen listened to her story in silence. Nodding occasionally. (*She's started to make a good face.*) He thought that inwardly. When Alisa first came to the workshop, she had seemed far more lacking in confidence. She had an air of being afraid of her own magic, her own staff, of everything. But now. She had taken down prey with her own power and had come to report that joy to him. That change simply made him happy. "Well done, Alisa-san." He said it with a slightly softer expression than usual. Alisa's face lit up instantly. "Yes……! Thank you so much, Glen-san……!" She pulled a small leather pouch from inside her cloak. There was a jingling sound of coins rubbing together inside. "Um, this…… is my first reward. It's still only a little, but……" She opened the mouth of the pouch and placed several silver coins on the workbench. Two silver coins and a few copper coins. A reasonable amount for a D-rank solo extermination request. Glen glanced at the coins, then looked at Alisa's face. Her fingers were still trembling faintly. It was not from fear. She was trembling from the tension and pride of handing over, for the first time by her own will, the reward she had earned with her own hands. Glen silently accepted the coins. They felt heavy in his palm. "I've received it. As payment for the staff adjustment, this is more than enough." He carefully counted the silver coins one by one, then placed them into a small wooden box behind the counter. "So, Alisa-san." "Y-yes." "When should we do the next adjustment? Heat may have accumulated in the staff's core material from today's battle. I'd like to inspect it once." Alisa blinked for a moment, then smiled happily. "Please do! Then, um…… how about the afternoon of the day after tomorrow?" "Ah, I'm free. I'll be waiting." Alisa bowed repeatedly as she left the workshop. The door closed, and her footsteps faded into the street. Glen confirmed the feel of the coins stored in the wooden box with his fingertips. As a staff craftsman, as a merchant, this weight was different from the first commission fee he had ever received. (*That girl paid for my work with the first money she ever earned.*) It brought something beyond monetary value. Trust—something without form. Glen quietly turned back to the workbench. "……Alright. I can't afford to lose either." He muttered quietly and picked up an unfinished staff. —

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Episode 9

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

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