Perhaps it was arrogance. Perhaps it was overrecognition.
But Lucius von Frodaid had, at some point, begun to think this way.
—That he had become too strong.
Well, there was probably a matter of compatibility involved.
The Kingdom of Yustia was a magic nation. In such a country, he had — for reasons he didn't understand — mastered the extraordinary ability to "cut magic" through rigorous training, making him a natural enemy of every powerhouse in the land.
……But even setting that aside.
Perhaps because of this ability, Lucius — who intuitively understood the essence of magic — had also come to think the same thing.
The magic of this country, all of it, every last bit — even Bloodline Magic —
——
is
so
boring.
He mused.
No matter what magic he cut, the sensation never changed. It was always the same... horribly rigid, suffocating, with nothing but raw strength — a flat, lifeless thing devoid of growth or evolution.
That was his perception of this country's Bloodline Magic. ……Even his own magic was no exception.
Perhaps that, too, was one of the reasons he had devoted himself to the sword.
And once he had set foot on the path of mastering the sword, seeking out battles with the strong became
second nature.
Or something like it.
For someone like him... the mages regarded as powerful in this country all used nothing but tedious magic. The fact that they were the sort of beings he could cut down without effort was a source of profound boredom.
Believing that somewhere out there, there had to be mages who offered more than that... he had once left his hometown to meet the renowned Bloodline Magic users of the Royal Capital.
Yet, contrary to his expectations—or rather, the mages of the Royal Capital exhibited that tendency even more strongly.
The crowning blow came when he was fortunate enough to secure an audience with His Highness Aster, the Second Prince, hailed as the next-generation sovereign and the strongest Bloodline Magic user of his generation. Aster looked upon his sword and declared:
"Hmph, what is that? To be wielding a sword in this day and age is the height of archaism.
Something like this—
,
there's not even a need to fight with it!
!"
At the same time, upon seeing his magic, Lucius thought:
(Ah...
Probably
,
I could win.
)
Naturally.
Lucius's assessment was the correct one. Aster's words were nothing more than his usual form of distortion—having unconsciously sensed something extraordinary emanating from Lucius's sword, a premonition of his own defeat, he had simply produced words meant to conveniently gloss over that along with the perceptions of everyone around him.
In that moment, Lucius understood. Even the strongest of the generation—was nothing more than this.
It was here that he definitively grasped the upper limit of Bloodline Magic users in the current kingdom.
And so, even after earning Aster's displeasure and being banned from ever approaching the Royal Capital again... he harbored no particular sentiment—only a lingering sense of regret—as he departed.
……Even if he, who was not a "mage," had defeated Aster, it would only create chaos and nothing would change. He had come to understand that as well.
──Naturally, he would not indulge in bitterness or throw himself into self-destruction over it.
He understood the duties befitting one born into nobility, and he took pride and fulfillment in using the power he had honed to protect the people and his territory.
Fortunately, unlike certain nobles who looked down on the sword, his parents in House Frodit praised his abilities and cherished him as family. There were surely various ulterior motives at play, but they also took in his adorable little sister—partly out of pity for how isolated he had become.
One could say without question that his life in the north had been truly fulfilling.
……And yet. Even so.
Somewhere deep in his heart, a thirst and a wish that only grew larger with time. A fierce longing so intense that it had become the very chasm in his soul that permitted the archbishop's brainwashing—despite possessing ironclad mental fortitude.
Someday. Someday, surely.
This dull country. These dull forms of magic. This hopeless custom that even he himself could not shatter.
Someone who would shatter it all with exhilarating force, who would change it all. Something so vivid, so piercing.
Above all—a truly powerful mage. He had continued to wish, somewhere in the depths of his heart, that one would appear──
And that incarnation stood now.
Right before his eyes.
(……Haha.)
When was the last time he had taken a direct hit from magic? The power was staggering. He had desperately channeled his magic power into defense, but it was utterly meaningless—his entire body creaked under the searing pain.
──It was magnificent.
"──I have been waiting for a mage like you."
And so he declared, pouring every ounce of feeling into those words.
There was no doubt. He had sensed it from the very first meeting, even while under brainwashing, and now—in this very instant—he was certain.
He understood. Only Lucius, who had trained to the point of grasping the correct answer through pure intuition, could truly understand.
He was, Ermes was.
The very form of a mage of this country that he had yearned for more than anything — the "correct answer."
"………Yes, it's an honor."
Ermes probably didn't know about Lucius's past, yet she answered him all the same.
Rejoicing, yet thinking at the same time.
(…We're done here, right?)
Every single soldier in the Northern Alliance knew of Lucius's strength.
He had wounded them this badly, pushed them to the very brink. That fact, combined with the sheer spectacle of his magic, meant everyone present had surely already acknowledged his strength. ……That losing to an opponent who commanded a mage like this was something they could accept.
In other words, the greatest objective of this battle — displaying overwhelming strength to encourage acceptance and suppress any backlash afterward — had already been achieved.
……Yes, then. If that was the case — Lucius —
Following his unwavering desire, and above all his own deepest longing, he kicked off the ground and declared.
"From here on —"
"I'm going to go win,"
"alright?"
"Huh."
Before the slightly stunned Ermes, Lucius cycled even more magic into himself — and accelerated.
With an acceleration so tremendous it seemed he had vanished entirely, he closed the distance to Ermes in a single burst and swung his sword.
"!"
A hair's breadth.
Ermes deployed a general-purpose barrier magic, barely managing to slow the blade's flash in the nick of time and slip away through the opening. With an immediate decision, she scattered magic about her and began pulling away to create distance.
"Naive."
However, Lucius cleaved through it all once more and continued his charge. His movements were even faster than when they first met — and faster still than just moments ago.
……He hadn't been holding back until now.
It was simply the weight of his position as commander of the Northern Alliance Knights. The schemes behind this battle. And the guilt of having selfishly dragged others into it.
Now that his objective had been achieved — for just an instant, he cast all of that aside.
As a result, the direction of his heart and his movements fell into perfect alignment. On top of that, the exhilaration of having his wish granted drove his body forward even more.
To put it simply… he had entered "peak condition."
The Northern monster at full, unrestrained power — something no one had ever witnessed before. It bore down on Ermes without mercy.
"—"
But.
Ermes responded to it immediately.
In an instant, she revised her own perception, ruthlessly destroying every image she had held of Lucius until now. She rebuilt her understanding from scratch and began re-analyzing.
Before long… the battle that had seemed to be tilting in Lucius's favor returned to a stalemate.
(…Ha.)
Seeing this, Lucius himself was shaken.
He realized the true nature of the extraordinary power wielded by the boy before him — one so different from his own.
(I see. Incredible.
This boy — his adaptability is abnormally high!)
It was most likely an ability acquired through an innate composure and the relentless pursuit of analysis.
With that, he had been able to wield an impossibly diverse range of magic — magic that should never have existed in this country — and overcome every obstacle in this Northern rebellion to reach this point.
Lucius had no way of knowing what Ermes had specifically been doing.
But… of that one thing, at least, he was certain — and undeniably so, he felt genuine respect as well.
So this country had a mage like this.
How had he appeared? Why hadn't he shown up until now? Where had he honed those abilities?
The questions were endless, but… right now, none of it mattered.
Yes — right now, all that existed was this.
(I want to defeat this boy.)
He held only that pure, unwavering resolve.
Pushing his magic power to the limit, sharpening his movements even further — Lucius kicked off the ground to drive his blade home, while Ermes met him head-on with even deeper thought, intellect, and magic.
Before they knew it.
Everyone around them — friend and foe alike — had forgotten the battle and stood transfixed by the spectacle.
A clash of sword and magic. A young man who cut through magic with his blade, and a boy who wielded countless Bloodline Magic at will — their struggle had become an incredibly dynamic stalemate.
Every element in that scene was an irregularity within this country — it was vivid, it was fierce, and above all, it was beautiful.
All of them, spellbound, simultaneously felt a premonition.
Through this rebellion, through the change and evolution it had wrought, through this very clash that represented the culmination of it all —
The impossible, the absurd, was becoming the norm — an unmistakable premonition of transformation.
And so every one of them held their breath, purely and simply, watching to see which way victory would tip.
And then, at last.
That moment arrived.
(It's coming!)
Lucius senses it coming.
Wave after wave of diverse magical barrages—pushed by them, Lucius's response lagged just a fraction behind, and Ermes exploited that opening. He could clearly tell, from both sight and magic power, that Ermes had begun his Chant.
And, just as he'd sensed—
Ermes, having finished his Chant, unveils the spell that will settle everything.
"Formula Replay—'
Fire Heaven Judgment
'"
What was selected was '
Fire Heaven Judgment
'.
The Second Prince Aster's Bloodline Magic—but bearing down on Lucius with a far greater power than the one he had once witnessed from Aster.
At the same time, a stirring of magic power overhead. The '
Meteor Throne
' that Ermes had been
holding in reserve
was released, and it too rained down with overwhelming power.
The impacts would land at the exact same moment. Dodging was impossible—the only counter was to cut through. The timing had been carefully orchestrated to force exactly this.
One of the two would inevitably land. The anti-Lucius countermeasure Ermes had devised was perfect—there was no path for Lucius other than to take one of the two spells—
(—
If they're perfectly simultaneous
—no way!")
But, naturally.
Lucius would never foolishly let the same attack hit him twice.
To begin with, synchronizing two spells to fire at the exact same moment was an absurdly delicate feat of precision. That Ermes could execute it with such accuracy was, as expected, abnormal—but if that was the only thing holding the trick together, then there was a way to break through.
And so, Lucius used every remaining fraction of a second before impact to make his move.
First, he reached into his robes with his free hand—the one not holding his sword.
What he pulled out was a fist-sized chunk of metal. Lucius applied General-purpose Magic to it, and in an instant it transformed into a simple sword.
The sword that Níína normally used. Lucius's backup weapon.
Gripping it in his opposite hand, now temporarily wielding twin blades, Lucius poured every last drop of his magic power into the simple sword—then—
"Hah!"
He threw it
.
...For the record, the blade had not been imbued with his unique ability to "slash magic." That was something even Lucius could only deploy after proper magic analysis, intense concentration, and precise control of his magic power.
Therefore, no matter how skilled Lucius was, there was no replicating the same feat remotely with twin blades or a thrown sword. The simple blade he had just launched could never hope to counter the—
Fire Heaven Judgment.
—heading his way.
But.
Even so, it had been launched with a tremendous amount of magic power augmented by Lucius's extraordinary physical strength, generating a considerable amount of energy.
That energy, however slightly, pushed back against the opposing spell—delaying its arrival by the briefest of instants.
The result——'
Perfect simultaneous impact
'
—the conditions become misaligned
.
(—one instant is all I need.)
The time gained was vanishingly brief, but within that sliver, Lucius drew his other sword—his beloved blade.
He directed every shred of awareness into his own body and the two spells bearing down on him, focusing the effect of his Bloodline Magic into his upper body.
And then, timing his strike to the absolute limit—
"—!"
A flash.
The trajectory of the greatsword traced a massive arc, powered by the extraordinary body that housed tremendous energy.
First, the Meteor Throne above his head.
Then, in one continuous motion, he cleaved through the Fire Heaven Judgment that arrived a heartbeat later.
A true ultimate technique.
The aberrant monster who had accomplished this feat with tangible impact—
now fixed his gaze forward, ready to settle things.
There, Ermes—who had unleashed his full-power spell and been left exposed, unable to cast another—
—was not there.
In that instant, a blow struck his solar plexus.
Looking down in shock, he saw—
"...It was a magnificent sword."
Seizing the gap in Lucius, whose every shred of awareness had been consumed by countering magic.
Ermes, poised from having driven a full-body elbow strike at a perfect angle.
(……I see.)
Fully aware that the flawless blow was rapidly sapping every ounce of strength from his body.
In an instant, Lucius understood. —So this is the real attack.
Ermes, having understood and trusted Lucius's capabilities — knowing he would not fall for the same trick twice and would counter the double magic this time —
His true strike, the third blade. In the end, not with magic but with his fist — from the very start, he had been aiming for the fatal opening on this side, beyond Lucius's awareness, where he was too consumed with countering to notice.
Delayed Chant.
The very technique he must have desperately developed to stand against Lucius.
The very last
moment —
without hesitation,
as bait,
he used it.
That's what he did.
Even knowing it would work — how many people could carry it through with this level of resolve?
No — more than that.
"...You're a mage, aren't you? No one mentioned you could move like that in close combat."
"Because I never said so."
I see — it wasn't just us hiding our trump cards.
And across all eras and lands, the rule of thumb is always the same: whoever plays such a hand first ends up losing. This was our mistake for misjudging what they had up their sleeve... no, it wasn't just that.
On the verge of collapse.
Clinging to the last dregs of his strength, Lucius felt the dissonance in Ermes's impossibly flawless footwork. It was beyond his calculations—the ultimate cause of his defeat—and he couldn't help but ask what had been nagging at him.
"...I was wondering. You—haven't you gotten too accustomed to fighting swordsmen? Even accounting for your learning ability, it's abnormally so. How exactly..."
"Ah, that?"
Ermes received the question with a smile. "It's quite simple, really—"
"—my sister trained me. Back at the academy, it was practically every day."
"...I see."
That made perfect, absolute sense.
If he had been accustomed to fighting swordsmen—or rather, to fighting his sister, whom he had taught the sword to in some capacity—then being met with such thorough, precise counterplay was only natural.
(...Ah. Well. That can't be helped, I suppose.)
Even as a strange sense of satisfaction welled up at what a magnificent reason for defeat it was.
Yielding his consciousness to the pleasant haze of intoxication, Lucius collapsed where he stood.
—This was a signal of change.
From this moment on, the country would surely transform even further.
With that intuition—no, that unwavering certainty—the strongest man in the north let go of his consciousness.
The final battle had drawn its curtain.
Resolution. I hope you enjoyed the head-on magical battle at the end!
Next time, the Northern Rebellion arc reaches its conclusion! Stay tuned!
If you found this interesting, want to know what happens next, or feel like cheering me on, please consider giving a rating using the "☆☆☆☆☆" stars at the bottom of the page, or bookmarking!
Ratings really make a huge difference. If you could take just one click to help out, I'd be incredibly grateful…!!