Chapter 11
Temple of the Fallen Throne (1)
Kaspar tilted his head.
“Fallen Throne?”
What did that mean? It was a strange term.
“It refers to a transcendent being that has declined and fallen from grace.”
Kaspar looked surprised.
The basic knowledge he had learned at the monastery was being shaken.
According to that knowledge, the Thrones were transcendent, eternal, and immortal beings whose positions could never be shaken.
Yet Jerpet spoke as though they, too, existed within the same cycle of rise and decline as humans.
“It must sound strange—the idea that such powerful, immense beings, worshipped by mortals, could fall. But there have unquestionably been such cases.”
“You speak as though there is more than one such being.”
Jerpet nodded at Kaspar’s cautious observation.
“You don’t seem like someone who would help another out of sympathy, Mr. Jerpet. I assumed you intended to demand something from the Fallen Throne in exchange for your help.”
“Of course, they are rare. But what matters isn’t how many there are. What matters is what we do with them.”
“What we do with them…?”
“Fallen Thrones may be rare, but once a Throne falls, it will do anything to restore its former status.”
Kaspar rested a hand on the table beside him. He felt powder beneath his palm.
“It is simple. Power.”
“Power?”
“Yes, power. The power to repay that damned Metal Magic Tower and my fellow disciples for what they did to me—no, to repay them a hundredfold, a thousandfold…!”
Jerpet took out a cigar and placed it between his lips.
Kaspar considered his words. Before long, a question occurred to him.
“What will you demand?”
“Demand?”
Faint anger began seeping into Jerpet’s voice—the distinctive resentment of someone who had been betrayed.
“How do you intend to help the deposed Throne?”
“…You have no need to know that yet. Now it is your turn, Kaspar. Help me resurrect the Fallen Throne.”
Kaspar lifted the fingers that had been brushing across the table.
“To resonate and make contact with the lingering thoughts within the Fallen Throne’s remains, I need a powerful protective formation. Its consciousness may devour my identity.”
“Activating and maintaining that formation requires another mage besides me.”
Why is he telling me that?
Kaspar thought for a moment before answering.
“Are you asking me to activate and maintain the protective formation?”
“Yes. I will teach you the basic principles. All you need to do is follow my instructions. With your mana, you should be more than capable.”
Jerpet snapped his fingers, and a necklace appeared in midair.
“Of course, I need a precaution in case you attempt anything foolish. Put on that necklace.”
Jerpet was no fool.
Simply because he needed Kaspar’s assistance did not mean he intended to expose his back to the boy without protection.
The Necklace of Fidelity was his safeguard.
It was an enchanted item that would immediately alert Jerpet if its wearer intended to attack him while simultaneously inflicting pain upon the wearer.
Meanwhile, Kaspar silently continued running his hand across the table.
A clump of powder, made sticky by the children’s blood and tears, clung to his fingers.
“That is all. If we succeed, I promise you ample compensation.”
“…”
“Kaspar, I am offering you an opportunity. An opportunity is only worthwhile if you seize it when it appears—just as I did.”
Memories of the past surfaced in Jerpet’s mind.
He had fled the attacks of his fellow disciples and eventually drifted into this filthy, stinking refugee camp.
At first, he thought it was merely a place filled with impoverished, vulgar people.
But something lay dormant beneath its surface—something capable of transforming his situation in an instant.
The remains of a Fallen Throne longing to be restored.
A lingering consciousness worshipped by the residents as a guardian spirit bound to this land.
According to what had been written in the scripture, the name she would reclaim upon ascending once more as a Throne was—
“…I refuse.”
Kaspar shrugged.
“I don’t particularly want to help restore a Fallen Throne whose identity is unclear. More importantly…”
“More importantly?”
“I believe I stand to gain more by rejecting your offer.”
“What are you talking about?”
Jerpet had been so absorbed in his memories that he missed the beginning of Kaspar’s answer.
“What did you just say?”
“I said I refuse.”
“…You refuse?”
“Yes.”
Jerpet stared at Kaspar in disbelief, then slowly shook his head.
“What a fool. You reject the cup of wine I offer, only to drink the cup of punishment?”
Kaspar could not understand the unfamiliar expression.
Jerpet frowned.
“How unpleasant. You arrogant child. You seem to believe that your paltry talent gives you the right to stand so proudly. Do you think talent like yours is truly that special—especially here in the North?”
On the surface, Wintersteel appeared to be a vibrant and resilient city.
But more than that, it was a place where countless organizations and factions repeatedly gathered and split apart in pursuit of their own objectives.
Amid such currents, individual talent—no matter how exceptional—could rarely exert much influence.
Jerpet had seen countless rookies who strutted around believing in their meager talent, only to be discovered later as cold corpses.
Even Jerpet himself was forced to live in hiding here because of the Metal Magic Tower.
And now, someone exactly like his former self stood before him.
That vermin maintained an unnaturally upright and arrogant demeanor.
If so, only one path remained.
“It seems our negotiations have failed.”
Jerpet crushed the remains of his cigar beneath his foot and rose.
I thought he would make a useful mana battery.
It was regrettable to waste the boy’s talent, but his arrogant disposition was no different from a ticking bomb.
Jerpet could not keep him.
The moment he decided to kill Kaspar, murderous intent flashed in his eyes.
Kaspar felt the surrounding air ripple and stepped back to create some distance.
Finally.
Kaspar’s expression brightened.
What he felt at the prospect of imminent battle was not fear but heart-pounding excitement.
This was a long-awaited opportunity.
How deeply had he regretted losing his chances with the monastery mage and the Rathead on the snowy mountain?
This time, he swore he would not let the opportunity slip away so easily.
“Arrogant child, even talent has its ranks.”
Jerpet’s lips moved as he began chanting an incantation.
A massive concentration of energy appeared before him, swirling violently.
It shone with a cold, metallic luster.
“Now, experience the difference between us… Ferrous Stream!”
Crack! Crack-crack-crack!
Fractures began spreading across the surface of the metallic mass of energy.
Like an enormous net unfolding, the cracks instantly spread throughout the entire mass.
“Ah… Aaaah!”
“Eeeek! Everyone, run!”
The children and overseers attempted to flee in terror.
Even though they knew nothing about magic, they could tell that Jerpet’s spell was anything but ordinary.
A literally terrifying force was sweeping through the entire room.
Fwoosh!
It was a raging torrent of steel.
“Shield.”
Kaspar responded to the terrifying torrent, which looked capable of shredding a person into thousands of pieces, by deploying his shield.
Whooom!
A transparent, rippling sphere erupted outward from within Kaspar’s body.
When the ferocious Ferrous Stream collided with the shield, a deafening explosion tore through the workshop.
The mass of energy exploded into hundreds of razor-sharp metallic fragments and scattered in every direction.
Each fragment was a deadly weapon in its own right.
They gathered into a single stream and poured toward Kaspar.
KABOOM!
Kaspar staggered.
“…Ugh.”
The power of Ferrous Stream was terrifying.
Kaspar had created the shield while accounting for the spell that had left it in tatters outside, yet it had still nearly shattered.
That was close.
On the other side of the transparent barrier, however, Jerpet stared at its size and density in admiration.
“Amazing… Truly amazing.”
“You certainly don’t hold back.”
Kaspar spoke while looking at Jerpet with a somewhat colder gaze.
If Kaspar had underestimated the attack or possessed even slightly less power, everyone here would have been pulverized by the torrent of steel.
“Huh? What are you talking about? Dust Eruption.”
Looking genuinely confused, Jerpet immediately cast his next spell.
It was the same powerful attack that had torn apart Kaspar’s shield outside.
His confusion was understandable.
Kaspar had expanded his shield far enough to protect even the children inside the workshop.
“Thank you, mister…”
“Thank you, big brother.”
The children bowed their heads while crying.
Crack-crack-crack-crack!
Jerpet must have poured considerably more mana into it this time, because an impact far stronger than before battered the shield like a torrential downpour.
But Kaspar was not someone who would fall victim to the same attack twice.
He had thoroughly refined the shield’s density before deploying it, allowing him to repel the attack.
CRASH!
The powerful attack and the even stronger defense collided incessantly, unleashing violent shock waves.
Furniture and manufacturing equipment were hurled in every direction, shattering and splintering.
“Wasn’t that equipment expensive?”
Jerpet did not appear to care.
“Liquid Metal Thorns Form.”
Another incantation followed without hesitation.
Liquid metal writhed out of the floor, transformed into sinister thorns, and attacked Kaspar’s ankles.
It was an excellent move that exploited the fact that Kaspar had not extended the shield beneath his feet.
“Magmalite.”
While Kaspar’s attention was divided downward, masses of burning metal formed above Jerpet’s shoulders.
They were chunks of metal wrapped in molten lava.
Drops of lava fell like water, sizzling as they scorched the floor.
“Shard Form!”
The magma transformed into sharp fragments and struck the shield.
Sizzle.
“Hm?”
It’s hot?
Kaspar sensed something unusual in the heat.
Then he heard something burning and stepped back to create some distance.
It was his clothing.
Dark-red embers were devouring the clothes Kaspar wore.
“So the shield can’t block heat. I’ve learned something new.”
Kaspar calmly brushed the embers from his clothing with his hand.
Jerpet stared at him in disbelief.
“…You fool. Of course it cannot. A shield merely constructs a powerful defensive barrier. Heat and cold are naturally transmitted through the barrier itself. Who taught you? How can you not know even such basic principles?”
Jerpet’s pointed reprimand stung.
He apparently assumed that Kaspar must have a master.
Kaspar wondered for a moment how he should answer, but ultimately decided to be honest.
“I’ve had many teachers, but none of them liked me very much.”
The mage from the monastery, for instance.
Or the Rathead.
“Hah? What kind of nonsense is— Never mind. I’ve had enough of your riddles.”
Jerpet shuddered in irritation and prepared to cast another spell, only to sense something strange.
“…Do you intend to do nothing but defend?”
It was true.
Both earlier and just now, Kaspar had possessed plenty of opportunities to attack Jerpet.
Yet far from attacking, he had done nothing but defend.
“Is your ability so lacking that defending is all you can manage? No… No.”
Jerpet’s reason rejected such a careless conclusion.
The shield encompassing every child and overseer remained far too sturdy for that to be true.
Kaspar clearly had power to spare.
If he had truly resolved to do so, he could have watched for an opening and attacked at any moment.
Then why?
At that moment, a powerful air current gathered around Kaspar’s hand, forming a ferocious vortex.
It was Kaspar’s response after deciding that Jerpet’s observation was reasonable.
…Come to think of it.
Kaspar had not taken any action while Jerpet was chanting his spells.
He had not even pretended to interfere.
Instead…
Instead…
His eyes had been shining.
I was being too passive. If I want him to produce more attacks, I need to threaten him appropriately.
Just as a pouch of water would spray more forcefully when squeezed, pressure was necessary to draw out more from his opponent.
Having gained this precious insight, Kaspar watched as green energy bloomed within the swirling air current and quietly intoned,
“Claw of the Wild.”
The quiet incantation etched itself clearly into the ears of everyone in the workshop.
Like a child filled with curiosity… No, like a child staring at something delicious.
A chill ran down Jerpet’s spine.
This lunatic!
Green energy surged from Kaspar’s arm, flickering violently like a fiery haze.
At the end of that fierce turbulence, a sinister claw slowly blossomed like a flower bud, unfurling in a profoundly threatening manner.
Jerpet’s eyes twisted in shock.
“My God.”
Claw of the Wild? That spell is—
Whooom!
Kaspar swung his arm.
The razor-sharp claw curved through the air like a whip and lashed toward Jerpet.