POV Verdia Solarion
The hot wind swept through the devastated field, carrying the scent of scorched earth and dry leaves from what was once a vibrant, energetic clearing. Now, everything around her was a desolate landscape, reduced to a circle of destruction. The battle, which had raged on for over half a day, had taken its toll. The Hurricane spell, a Saint-level incantation, had been enough to scatter most of the remaining invaders—smugglers and mercenaries who dared attack the elven village. However, it came at the cost of nearly all of Verdia's remaining mana.
Leaning heavily on her staff, her arms trembled, and her breaths came in shallow gasps. The fatigue pulsed through her body, a stark reminder of her limitations. Despite her vast experience and power as a King-ranked mage, she was not invincible. Her body still had the vitality and resilience of her youthful elven years, but mana exhaustion was not something that willpower alone could overcome.
"That was impressive," a voice broke through the heavy silence—calm, yet laced with menace.
Verdia lifted her gaze. About twenty meters away, an old man who looked to be in his seventies or eighties walked toward her with slow, deliberate steps. To the untrained eye, he appeared unremarkable: white hair, a deeply wrinkled face, a neatly trimmed beard, and plain clothes devoid of ornamentation. Only the short sword at his side hinted at the danger he posed.
"It's over," the man declared, stopping at the edge of the ruined area. His gaze weighed on her like a blade. "At this distance, killing you is as easy as slaughtering a rabbit. It doesn't matter if you're a Saint-level, King-level, or even Emperor-level mage. All you mages are the same—fragile."
Verdia tried to gather the strength to raise her staff, but she knew it would be futile. This man was no mere mercenary. From what little she could sense, he was at least at Saint rank—more than capable of dispatching a mage before they could even begin a chant.
Drawing on her experience, she quickly pieced together the truth: this man wasn't here by chance. "Who sent you after me?" she asked, her voice hoarse but steady. She needed time—time to think, time to understand. At the very least, she wanted to die knowing why.
The old man smiled, a thin, cold expression. "An important noble from Milis," he said. "Fifty years ago, you and your band of adventurers killed his parents. Do you remember? Oh, of course you don't. You long-lived races always forget the people you crush along the way. But he remembers. He was just a child when you left him alive—a mistake that, in the end, became your undoing."
Verdia felt a pang of recognition. During her adventuring days half a century ago, she had fought countless battles—humans, monsters, other adventurers. The world was cruel, and mercy often came at a cost. She and her party had made decisions they believed were just at the time, but they had never considered the long-term consequences.
"Fifty years..." she murmured, more to herself than to him.
"And here I am, the instrument of vengeance," he continued, drawing his sword with deliberate slowness. The metallic ring of the blade echoed ominously. "Let me introduce myself. I am Kalinóski Jirk, Saint of the North. You've lived for centuries, haven't you? You've probably gathered countless tales, achieved countless feats. But all of that ends here, at the hands of a man who wasn't even born when you were out conquering the world."
Verdia closed her eyes for a moment, acknowledging the cruel irony. She had lived so long, seen so much, yet her journey would end here—at the hands of a human who, compared to the challenges she had faced, should have been insignificant.
Her mind began to wander, revisiting the centuries of her life. She had been so young when she first ventured into the world, a talented but impulsive mage. Her adventuring companions—people who had become her family—were long gone now, claimed by time, violence, or both.
After losing so many loved ones, she had closed herself off from the world. She became a distant observer, devoting herself to studying and preserving knowledge rather than forming new bonds. Why bother, when everyone she cared for would eventually die?
But then, there was that boy.
Little Rygar. At first, she had only intended to ensure he was healthy and then leave. But something about the child had captivated her. His insatiable curiosity about the world, his unyielding desire to learn, and his startling talent were all remarkable. But those were secondary. What truly drew her to him was his perspective—his questions.
When she and his mother told him stories, he asked things no one else would.
"Why does magic work? Where did it come from?"
"If so many races are enslaved, why hasn't anyone tried to abolish slavery?"
"If Divine level warriors are so strong, why don't they overthrow the Asuran nobility if they're so corrupt?"
"Has anyone ever tried to tame monsters?"
It wasn't just curiosity. Rygar's questions were challenges, seeds of rebellion against the world's status quo. He didn't just seek answers—he sought change.
Through the years spent with him, Verdia realized Rygar was a force of nature, a storm in the making. But more than that, he had accomplished something she had thought impossible: he had made her care again.
She remembered the sparkle in his eyes whenever he learned something new. The way he turned stories into bold ideas for the future. He wasn't content to listen—he wanted to create something of his own.
"This boy will be the start of something extraordinary..."
But now, with Kalinóski closing in, Verdia doubted she would live to see Rygar reach his potential. Regret washed over her as she thought about how much more she could have taught and guided him.
Kalinóski advanced, sword raised for the final blow. Verdia had no strength left to resist, no mana to defend herself. All she could do was close her eyes and wait for the inevitable.
But the strike never came.
A roar of fire split the air, a torrent of flames forcing Kalinóski to leap aside with remarkable speed. The heat of the flames scorched the air around Verdia, but she didn't care.
"Master, are you all right?"
Rygar's voice was deep but carried a genuine note of concern. Verdia opened her eyes to see the young boy standing between her and the Saint of the North, his figure outlined by the glowing embers of the flames he had conjured.
"Little Rygar..." she murmured, emotions welling up inside her with such intensity that she couldn't even name them.
"Be careful, Master. I'll need your support," he said firmly.
---
MC's POV
Rygar sprinted at full speed, healing his wounds as his mana regenerated. His strength and stamina returned, even during his frantic dash. Upon arrival, he saw a few elves firing arrows at fleeing mercenaries. He quickly dispatched the attackers and demanded to know where Verdia Solarion was. After getting a direction, he dashed off without a second thought.
He silently thanked himself for his haste. His master was on the brink of death when he arrived. Without hesitation, he unleashed an advanced fire spell, Flame Lance, forcing the old man to retreat. It seemed to work.
"Master, are you alright?"
She looked exhausted, but her eyes lit up upon seeing him—likely a mix of relief and gratitude for being spared from certain death. However, the situation was grim. Rygar had never defeated Fendrel, and if this Saint was as strong as him, he would need help to kill him. For now, he just needed to catch the enemy off guard. He would make him underestimate his abilities.
"Little Rygar..." Verdia murmured softly.
(Still calling me little?) Rygar thought but chose not to say it aloud.
"Be careful, Master. I'll need your support."
The tower they were in was spacious, but fighting here was still dangerous for his master. Rygar quickly scanned his surroundings, analyzing the terrain.
Kalinoski maintained a relaxed posture, but the gleam in his eyes betrayed his sharp focus. He was evaluating every movement Rygar made.
"You seem strong, kid," Kalinoski said, casually twirling his short sword with fluid skill. "It'll be a shame to kill such raw talent."
Rygar gripped his sword tightly—the blade he had taken from Darian—and activated his magic eye. The world around him seemed to slow for an instant, and he caught Kalinoski's faint movement before the man even executed it. The flow of battle aura around him was eerily similar to Fendrel's. Rygar couldn't afford to lose focus now.
Kalinoski lunged with an explosion of speed, closing the distance in the blink of an eye. His sword sliced horizontally, aiming for Rygar's torso.
Rygar reacted instinctively, parrying the blow with his sword and twisting his body to the right, using his strength to push Kalinoski back. The old man was shockingly agile, but he lacked Rygar's brute force.
(He's fast, but if I can trap him in a bad position, I can overpower him.)
The sound of rustling leaves drew Kalinoski's attention. Too late, he noticed Verdia's arrow flying toward him. He spun around, deflecting it with his sword, but the impact distracted him for a crucial moment.
Rygar charged in, attempting to disarm Kalinoski with a vertical strike.
But Kalinoski smirked.
"Do you know who you're fighting, boy?"
Suddenly, his sword vanished—not in a flash of magic, but in a blur of speed so precise that the blade seemed invisible. Rygar felt the air slice near his face and instinctively leaped back. He barely avoided the strike, but the edge still left a clean cut across his forehead, sending blood spraying.
"What was that?!" Rygar gasped, quickly healing the wound.
"No one becomes a Saint without skill, brat."
Before Rygar could fully process his opponent's technique, Kalinoski was on him again. His sword, now seemingly invisible, slashed in unpredictable directions. Only Rygar's magic eye, which vaguely perceived the flow of mana, saved him from fatal blows. Even so, small cuts began to accumulate on his arms and legs as he narrowly evaded.
"Damn it…" Rygar muttered. He needed to catch Kalinoski off guard with magic. Looking at the nearby trees, an idea struck him.
"Master! Keep up the pressure with arrows!" he called out.
"Be careful, Rygar! Northern God Style users always have a hidden trick!" Verdia warned.
She unleashed a flurry of arrows. Kalinoski dodged them with ease, leaping to avoid a strike from Rygar. His jump took him to a tree branch overlooking the clearing. Surprise flickered across his face when a well-placed arrow shattered the branch beneath him.
Rygar capitalized on his fall, swinging a lateral strike that would have cleaved Kalinoski in two. But the Saint twisted midair, using the force of the blow to propel himself into a safer position, barely escaping.
Even so, Rygar's strike cratered the ground, sending debris flying in all directions, some of which grazed Kalinoski.
"What absurd strength…" Kalinoski muttered, slightly impressed.
Rygar didn't let the opening slip away. He retreated toward the trees, forcing Kalinoski to follow.
"This is getting fun, boy. What other tricks do you have?" the old man taunted.
The dense forest restricted Kalinoski's movements, making it harder for him to use his invisible sword technique effectively.
The Saint attacked again. The two clashed as they moved through the dense vegetation, roots and vines slowing them down. Rygar deliberately used the terrain to his advantage, a strategy that didn't go unnoticed by his opponent.
"You're clever, boy. But still too green."
Kalinoski suddenly hurled his sword at Rygar, who barely dodged it. In the same instant, the Saint drew two short blades and lunged low, aiming for Rygar's ankles. Rygar evaded, but a stray root caused him to stumble, leaving him vulnerable. A deep cut slashed his left leg.
"Aghh!"
"Got you!" Kalinoski shouted, going in for the kill.
Before the blade could reach him, a single arrow whizzed past, grazing Kalinoski's head. It was just enough to disrupt his attack, sparing Rygar from a fatal throat wound.
"Master!" Rygar called out, grateful.
Verdia, hidden behind a tree, nocked another arrow with precision. Despite her exhaustion, her aim was steady.
Rygar seized the moment to counterattack, extended his hand, whispering a spell: Sonic Burst.
A sudden gale hurled Kalinoski backward, slamming him into a tree. His surprise was evident as he collided, momentarily losing his orientation.
Rygar didn't waste the chance. He invoked Earth Spikes, summoning jagged stone pillars beneath the Saint. Kalinoski reacted with monkey-like agility, leaping away. But the spikes tore through his torso and left leg.
The old man laughed through the pain. "Hahaha… chantless magic?!"
Rygar gave him no time to rest. The two clashed fiercely among the trees, each aiming for vital points throughout the battle. Rygar used his strength and magic to press the North Saint into a corner, while Kalinoski relied on his technique and experience to try to maintain control, though his bleeding leg and torso hindered his movements significantly.
The battle was starting to shift in Rygar's favor. He could tell Kalinoski was slowing down, and his magic eye was beginning to predict the old man's movements.
"Just one decisive strike..." Rygar thought, panting but resolute.
He kept his breathing steady, even as sweat dripped down his face. His body was covered in cuts and scratches, and he was starting to feel dizzy. His strikes grew more erratic, and his senses blurred. It didn't take long for him to identify his condition.
"Damn it... poison?!"
Kalinoski, on the other hand, was also showing signs of exhaustion. His technique was still impeccable, but his movements had lost their fluidity.
Verdia, hiding among the trees, carefully adjusted her bowstring. Even with her evident fatigue, she knew she couldn't stop. Each arrow she fired served to keep the North Saint under pressure and provide Rygar with much-needed openings.
"Aren't you immune to poison, kid? You should've been on the ground by now!" Kalinoski shouted, his voice laced with mockery as he backed away slightly.
"You two are more persistent than I expected," he said, his tone heavy with frustration. "But this little game ends now."
With a swift motion, Kalinoski stomped his enchanted boot against the ground, activating a series of magical runes beneath him. A blast of wind erupted, sending dust and leaves flying as he propelled himself high into the air.
"M-Master! Watch out!" Rygar shouted, using a gust of wind magic to propel himself forward in a desperate attempt to intercept.
When the dust settled, Kalinoski was perched on a tree branch near Verdia. In one fluid motion, he leapt down with both short swords aimed at her. The air rippled dangerously as he closed the distance.
"The boy's tough, but if I complete my mission, this will be worth it!"
Rygar screamed in desperation, bounding between the trees with all his might. He knew he wouldn't make it in time.
"What kind of boots are those? A magical item?" he wondered briefly before realizing he had no other choice.
If he couldn't close the gap physically, he'd have to gamble everything on one move. Even if it didn't work, it might be enough to save his master. He lacked the time to cast a spell, so he theorized that he could channel the magic directly into his sword. A technique like Flame Slice would be perfect.
With a quick motion, Rygar poured his mana into his blade. Intense flames erupted around it, forming a blazing arc that illuminated the devastated clearing.
Kalinoski caught sight of the flames in the corner of his vision and calculated quickly. He believed he could still kill Verdia and dodge the incoming attack. He didn't slow down.
Verdia threw herself backward, trying to avoid Kalinoski's blade, as Rygar timed his strike for the last possible second.
"Flame Slice!"
Rygar swung his blade in a fluid arc, releasing a fiery crescent that surged forward like a blazing bolt of lightning. The heat was so intense it made the air ripple visibly.
Kalinoski tried to evade at the last moment, but it was too late. The fiery blade struck his side, sending him flying backward with an explosive impact. He crashed into a massive tree, splitting its thick trunk nearly in half. A cauterized wound ran deep across his torso.
Rygar held his stance for a moment, panting heavily as the flames around his sword gradually subsided.
The North Saint was still alive but barely. Blood dripped from his mouth as he leaned against the cracked tree, a faint smile on his face.
"Heh... killed by a kid... Hey, brat, make sure you tell people I was the first Saint-level opponent you defeated. That'll give me some fame in the afterlife," Kalinoski coughed, blood splattering with his words.
"I didn't expect to find such a gem at the end of my life. If we'd been on the same side... I'd have loved to teach you the way of the sword..." His voice grew weaker until his eyes finally lost their light.
Rygar turned to his master. "Are you hurt, Master?" he asked urgently.
Verdia, still catching her breath, gave him a faint smile as she glanced at his battered and bloodied body.
"Not a scratch," she replied, her tone light despite the exhaustion in her voice.
---
With the North Saint defeated, Rygar and Verdia hurried back to the elven village. When they arrived, the sight was sobering. Though there hadn't been many casualties thanks to their efforts, each loss was deeply felt. The surviving elves were already working together to rebuild what they had lost.
The village leader approached them with reverence, bowing deeply.
"We couldn't have survived without you," he said, gratitude filling his voice.
Rygar, however, seemed distracted. He glanced at Verdia, who was clearly exhausted but still standing.
"Master... are you okay?"
"Yes, little Rygar," Verdia replied with a soft smile, though her face betrayed her fatigue. "What about your tribe? How are they?"
Rygar hesitated, his expression growing somber. Memories of his last actions before leaving flashed through his mind, and he felt a pang of guilt.
"Master, can I stay here in the elven village for a while?" he asked anxiously.
Verdia seemed surprised but nodded. "Of course, Rygar. Stay as long as you need, but send a letter home, all right?"
Rygar nodded. He had much to think about and even more to do.