121. Cleanup (1)
Amid enthusiastic cheers, we arrived at the High Tower’s inner castle, where Arad warmly welcomed us, as if he had been waiting for this moment. Alongside him were Arina, Isabelle, Sun, and Balzac.
“Welcome back, brave warriors! Renslet! Rune Renslet!”
Arad greeted us with an exaggerated flourish before producing four prepared bottles. They contained a potion resembling milk in color.
“I heard that the venom of the white serpent, Jormungandr, is fearsome. Just in case, I prepared an antidote.”
Arina, who had been gazing at the antidote Arad made, was the first to reach out for it.
“Do I just drink it?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. I’ll drink it well.”
Without a hint of suspicion or hesitation, she downed the antidote in one go. Following her example, Isabelle, Sun, and Balzac also drank theirs.“…?”
As they drank the antidote, Arina felt a peculiar gaze upon her. Arad was looking at her strangely—specifically, at the sword on her waist.
‘Oh no!’
Realizing belatedly why Arad was staring at her, Arina’s heart sank.
Her current attire was different from when she had been disguised as Mary. She had removed the transformation necklace and placed it in her subspace bag, whose case was also set aside. However, she had overlooked hiding the magical armor and Cry of the Snowfield, which he had given her as Mary, since she had been fighting until the very end.
“Th-this was lent to me by Mary!”
Arina blurted out an excuse to Arad, tightly shutting her eyes.
‘I’m in for a lecture.’
Even to her, the excuse sounded implausible.
‘I should’ve asked the old woman to prepare an illusion of Mary!’
Cold sweat dripped down her back.
“I see.”
“Huh?”
However, Arad accepted her words far too easily. He didn’t even ask where Mary was.
“Mary was exhausted from the battle, so she’s resting. You wouldn’t have spotted her with a telescope. She provided excellent support from behind… Ahem! Once her rest is over, I’ll send her straight to the palace.” Ṟα𐌽𝙤𐌱Ęs̈
Feeling guilty, Arina volunteered an explanation about Mary on her own.
“I understand.”
“Uh…?”
Once again, Arad nodded without hesitation. Normally, he would’ve chastised her for overworking his subordinate, but today he was acting strangely.
‘Wh-what’s going on? Why is he like this all of a sudden?’
Arina found Arad’s unfamiliar demeanor confusing.
“By the way, Your Highness.”
“Hm? Hm! Sp-speak.”
“Are you feeling well?”
“My body?”
“Yes, did you sustain any injuries while fighting the white serpent?”
“I’m fine. The only issue was the poison, but thanks to the antidote you gave me, it’s all gone. I truly appreciate it. I’ll ensure you’re rewarded once this matter is settled.”
“Hmm…”
For the first time, Arad showed a doubtful expression.
“….”
Meeting his gaze, Arina felt a sudden pang of guilt, as if she had committed some crime. Cold sweat trickled down her temples.
“May I check your pulse to make sure there are no internal injuries? It’s been a while since I examined Your Highness’s magic core and circles.”
“!!”
‘Emergency! Emergency!’
Arina quickly turned her head, seeking help from Isabelle.
“I already checked Her Highness’s pulse before we arrived, Sir Arad. There’s no need to worry,” Isabelle interjected with a small sigh, sensing Arina’s silent plea.
“Hm… Very well.”
“??”
Arad backed down surprisingly easily at Isabelle’s words.
“Sir Arad,” Balzac, who had remained silent until now, called out to him, his expression earnest.
“That sword Her Highness says she borrowed from Lady Mary… Did you make it yourself?”
“Hm? Ah, yes.”
Of course, Balzac was already aware of Cry of the Snowfield. He had simply feigned ignorance all this time because the reason Arad hadn’t forged a sword in so long was tied to Arina.
“It’s truly an incredible masterpiece.”
“You flatter me.”
But that was no longer the case. Now, Cry of the Snowfield has revealed its elegant form to the world from Arina’s hand. Countless soldiers and knights had witnessed it.
Its unparalleled beauty, the way it sliced through the white serpent’s body as if it were pudding, its durability that endured a Grandmaster’s mana without strain, and its automatic repair function were nothing short of awe-inspiring.
“Could you… possibly make me a sword as well?”
For knights, swords were both a companion and a weapon. Balzac, who relied on a sword more than Sun did, couldn’t help but covet Arad’s creation.
“Once this matter is resolved, I’ll get to work.”
Arad readily agreed to Balzac’s request.
“And… for Her Highness’s sword as well.”
He added, glancing at Arina.
‘Oh!’
Elated at the prospect of acquiring another sword like Cry of the Snowfield, Arina rejoiced inwardly.
“By the way, may I make a request before I start forging the swords?”
“What do you need? Just say the word.”
“Yes! Anything!”
Excited at the thought of new swords, Arina and Balzac’s eagerness was palpable.
“The remains of Jormungandr. May I examine them first?”
“Oh, the white serpent?”
At Arad’s request, Balzac hesitated briefly, glancing at Arina for permission.
“Hmm…”
Feeling his gaze, Arina shifted her eyes to Isabelle, seeking her input.
Nod.
Isabelle gave a small smile and nodded her approval.
“Of course. Go ahead and examine them. Take whatever you need as your top priority.”
With Isabelle’s agreement, Arina smiled brightly.
“But the area is still heavily contaminated by the serpent’s venomous blood, which is highly acidic.”
“No need to worry. I am the one who made the antidote you just consumed.”
“Ah… I see. I was worrying for no reason.”
“Then, I’ll be on my way. If you feel any discomfort or unusual symptoms, please call for me immediately. I mean it!”
“…Of course.”
With that, Arad left to inspect Jormungandr’s remains.
“Phew~!”
“Huff…”
“He’s gone.”
“Yes, he’s gone.”
“I’ve always wondered—what exactly is Arad’s true identity?” Balzac asked.
“A mysterious adventurer who traveled across the continent, hiding many secrets?” Sun offered.
“No one believes that anymore. It was disproven ages ago by the Frost Knights’ truth-detection methods,” Balzac countered.
As soon as Arad left, the group began a casual conversation that was almost like gossip about his mysterious background.
“Well, does his past even matter at this point?” Sun shrugged. “We’ll find out someday, I suppose.”
Arad’s past and true identity remained unresolved, but none of them saw this as a pressing concern.
“Why are you all talking nonsense? Arad’s true identity is an ancient being from the Golden Age who was sealed away in time!” Arina interjected, tilting her head in confusion.
“Of course! I haven’t directly asked him, but I’m almost certain,” she declared confidently.
“….”
“….”
Balzac and Sun exchanged a glance at their naïve liege before averting their eyes, unable to hide their incredulous expressions.
“Why are you looking at me like that? If you don’t believe me, I’ll just go and ask him myself!” Arina puffed up her cheeks in indignation.
“Arad Jin’s identity… it might actually be as you suspect, my lady,” Isabelle chimed in, surprising everyone by siding with Arina.
“??”
“!!”
Balzac and Sun’s expressions shifted; they now looked at Isabelle with newfound respect.
“At first, I assumed Arad was just an adventurer who had stumbled upon ruins from the Golden Age. But the Frost Knights were unable to find a single scrap of information about him. That includes the ‘Jin’ family he mentioned, supposedly from the East,” Isabelle began, presenting her reasoning.
Her tone was calm, but her words carried weight, and everyone hung on her every word.
“Because of this, I revised my theory. The reason we can’t uncover anything about his past might be because… he’s not from this era—or even this world.”
She cast a wary glance around the room. Thanks to the strict etiquette of the palace, not a single maid was present, and she had even maintained the soundproof barrier Arad had set earlier.
“Based on what Arad has done on this land so far, there are two possibilities.”
“Two?” Balzac echoed.
“One: as Her Highness suspects, he’s an ancient being from the Golden Age who was trapped in a labyrinth of time.”
“And the other?” Sun asked.
“A dragon.”
Before anyone could react, Isabelle quickly continued.
“A time-sealing barrier that lasts thousands of years is practically impossible to create or sustain. Even if such technology existed during the Golden Age, it’s strange that we haven’t seen other ancient beings like Arad appear. That’s why, at first, I leaned toward the possibility that he’s a dragon. They’re the only beings capable of withstanding such long periods.”
Her words cast a momentary tension over the group. If true, it meant they had been unknowingly entertaining a dragon’s whims.
“But at some point, I began to think that Arad’s identity was closer to that of an ancient being.”
“Why?” Arina asked.
“Because of Arad’s mana. Even if he were a legendary dragon with unparalleled polymorphing abilities, there’s no way his mana would be so… weak.”
Isabelle’s shift in reasoning from dragon to ancient being relieved some of the tension in the room.
“Perhaps the labyrinth of time, thought to be impossible, was actually feasible during the Golden Age. Considering the magical artifacts Arad has created, it seems plausible. But I suspect it was something achievable by only a select few.”
“Then why is an ancient being like Arad so devoted to helping us Renslets?” Balzac questioned, his tone heavy with curiosity.
“It might have something to do with the distant roots of the North,” Isabelle replied.
“Wait, are you saying… Arad’s status during the Golden Age was—?!” Balzac exclaimed, his eyes widening as he grasped her implication.
“Yes. He may be a direct ancestor of the Renslet family. One from before the Druids… going even further back.”
“The Nephilim School of the Golden Age?”
“Think even further back,” Isabelle prompted.
“…The Tactical School of the Golden Age?”
“Exactly. Arad is likely one of the first ancient beings to settle in this land,” Isabelle confirmed.
“If it’s the Tactical School, that makes sense. We Druids split off from their teachings, following their spirit,” Balzac muttered, his brow furrowed in thought.
“So he’s practically a founding ancestor,” Sun murmured, blinking rapidly as if processing the weight of this revelation.
“….”
“….”
“….”
The four of them fell silent, each crafting their own mental narrative of Arad’s mysterious past.
‘At the end of the Golden Age, the ancient settlers of the North split into three factions: the Nephilim School, the Tactical School, and the mages imprisoned in the Magic Realm.’
The Magic Realm was believed to be a prison created to contain criminal mages.
‘Of these, the main factions were the Nephilim and Tactical Schools.’
‘The Nephilim specialized in nature magic, resistance to magic, and beast transformations, while the Tactical School focused on magical engineering.’
‘The two schools clashed like water and oil, and eventually, they went to war. The Nephilim emerged victorious, absorbing the Tactical School. They renamed themselves the School of Nature, ensuring their legacy endured.’
Each of them recalled snippets of Northern history and Golden Age records they had learned.
‘The victorious Nephilim destroyed all of the Tactical School’s knowledge except for ironworking and architecture.’
‘The reason they spared those fields was obvious. Even naturalists needed some semblance of civilization during their early settlement period.’
‘Does that mean Arad was a contingency plan prepared by the Tactical School to preserve magical technology?’
‘His mana, his magical expertise, his reasons for helping us… It all fits with this hypothesis.’
One question naturally arose among all of them.
‘How should we treat Arad now?’
After a brief moment of silence, Balzac spoke.
“Our ancestors… no, Sir Arad…”
“Well, wouldn’t it be best to treat him the same as we always have?”
“That seems right.”
The shared question was met with a shared conclusion.
“Still, why doesn’t Arad say anything about this?” Sun asked, lingering on his doubt.
“Think about it. Sure, we trust him now, but imagine if Count Jin had said this when we first met. What would’ve happened?” Balzac replied.
“We’d have accused him of blaspheming our ancestors and cut off his head,” Sun admitted.
“Exactly.”
“Ah… I see.”
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