**Episode 7**
—
A few months later.
Alongside his training in water magic, Dale’s necromancy was improving by leaps and bounds each day.
The news that the Lord of the Black Tower himself had formally accepted his own son as a disciple spread far and wide—swift and uncontrollable, like a rumor with wings.
Some things simply cannot be hidden. And especially not a talent as dazzling as Dale’s.
Magic and swordsmanship, etiquette and horsemanship, and all the other studies befitting the eldest son of a ducal house who would one day lead it—by the time Dale turned nine, people were already calling him the prodigy of House Saxen without the slightest hesitation.
The son of that *Duke Saxen*.
The heir to the will of the continent’s greatest necromancer and black magician—the Black Duke himself.
The breaking of the father’s vow—that he would never teach the magic of darkness to his own child—sent ripples throughout the entire Empire.
In other words, the whole Empire had begun to keep a close eye on the young Dale Saxen.
—
—
Golden sunlight scattered over the pure white plain, glinting on the snow. Two sets of footprints marked its surface, leading to two figures facing one another.
The first—a snow elf with sapphire-blue eyes, Sephia.
The second—the prodigy of House Saxen, Dale.
“Do not hesitate. Come at me with your full strength.”
The sixth-circle elf mage, Sephia, spoke with a rare gravity in her voice.
The simplest and most direct way for a master to gauge a disciple’s progress—
A magical duel.
It meant receiving and experiencing, firsthand, the full power of the disciple’s unleashed spell.
Yet the look in Sephia’s eyes as she faced the boy—barely nine years old and a first-circle master—was one of careful vigilance, not unlike that of a battle mage standing in the heart of a battlefield.
Silence descended. And in the instant that silence settled like feathers upon the white expanse—
“Arise, O wall of *combined* ice.”
Dale finally spoke the words of his incantation.
A mage’s spell is the “verbalization of imagery”—a process of self-suggestion that solidifies the mental image within. Dale, however, had added the modifier “combined” to the usual Ice Wall spell, deliberately steering its conceptual bias.
The power of a *spoken formula* often far surpasses that of an unconscious one.
*Kwoong!*
A colossal wall of ice surged upward between Dale and Sephia.
Ice Wall.
Elemental magic is deeply influenced by its surroundings. Even a novice’s frost spell can be vastly amplified in the biting cold of a frozen wasteland like this. Sephia, of course, knew this well.
Five meters tall, five meters wide, one meter thick—a typical Ice Wall, unremarkable in size compared to what a skilled mage could produce under such conditions.
*Even so…*
As a mage who had reached the sixth circle in water magic, Sephia easily perceived the hidden principle within Dale’s spell.
*The ice density… it’s abnormally high.*
Molecular bonding.
By inserting an equation that reinforced the intermolecular forces between ice crystals, Dale had created a wall several times denser than normal. Without that formula, the result would have been an unimaginably large structure.
*But why build such a wall in the first place…?*
As Sephia’s vigilance tightened—
Crack, crack—
*…!*
“*Grenade.*”
Along the icy surface, cracks spread like the shell of a turtle—and Dale spoke another word of power.
For mages, a spell is the verbal expression of imagery—self-suggestion to shape the mind’s vision into reality.
And when such an image draws upon something universal—archetypes shared across peoples, cultures, and eras—it gains extraordinary force.
In Dale’s original world, that word—*grenade*—carried an image so vivid, so precise, that it could never be mistaken.
*KAANG!*
The front of the ice wall shattered, exploding outward like a fragmentation bomb. Shards of ice, sharpened to deadly edges, fanned out in every direction.
Each shard shimmered with a blue-white gleam—
A frost grenade.
Only then did Sephia understand why Dale had heightened the wall’s density, and her breath caught in disbelief.
*Bonding… and fragmentation.*
If one were to explosively shatter a block of ice compressed to the utmost density, each fragment would become a blade as deadly as a master assassin’s dagger.
Such a technique was only possible for someone like Dale—who held within him the mental image of modern weaponry, the grenade.
No one in this world could have conceived of such imagery. The concept simply did not *exist* here.
But Dale had seen it. In his mind dwelled the weapons of another world—visions of scientific death that no inhabitant of this realm could imagine.
The modern weapons born from the struggle between hunter and monster—their function, their destruction—had been refined to perfection. And as the Supreme Commander of Humanity’s Coalition Forces in his past life, Dale’s understanding of military science far surpassed that of any ordinary man.
He didn’t need to be a scientist. Magic, after all, is the realization of imagination—the power to make the unreal real.
And Dale’s imagination conjured a world that no one here could even begin to conceive—
Guns and missiles, explosives and fire, weapons of searing heat unleashing endless bombardment upon a hellish battlefield. A landscape of slaughter unknown to this world.
Dale’s spell drew upon fragments of that infernal war.
The shards rained toward Sephia like the blades of countless assassins—too small, too fast, too many to parry. It was, in the truest sense, a grenade explosion.
*This is not the thought of a child…*
The destructive power far surpassed that of his previous unchanted frost explosion. Sephia’s face twisted in shock as the storm of shards engulfed her.
The icy blades tore through her body, slicing it apart—shattering her form until not even a recognizable corpse remained—
“Teacher!”
Dale gasped, his heart plummeting. But Sephia’s body, struck by the frost grenade, spilled no blood or viscera.
Only the shattered fragments of what looked like a perfectly sculpted ice statue remained.
That was when Dale realized—
*An illusion!*
He turned swiftly.
“Dale.”
Sephia stood behind him, watching with calm intensity. Dale froze.
A single red line traced her pale cheek—a thin cut, from which a drop of blood slid down.
“That wound…”
“Were you afraid I might have died?”
Her question carried a weight that was anything but light.
“I… I never meant to kill you, Teacher.”
Dale hesitated, nodding slightly. It was no lie, no polite pretense—just the truth.
Yet the spell he had cast was a technique of pure slaughter, designed to obliterate his opponent completely. Dale knew that well.
“You handled the water element most skillfully. And yet, why do you cower?”
Sephia let out a bitter, self-mocking smile.
“As your master, I’m proud to see you fight with such sincerity.”
Her words caught Dale off guard.
“You did not hide your true self. You fought with everything you had.”
“Teacher…”
“And that, to me, is proof that you trust me.”
She said softly, “You trust me,” and then drew the young boy into her arms.
“You are a most remarkable pupil, Dale.”
“…Really?”
“To have such an exceptional student—I am indeed a fortunate teacher.”
“It’s all thanks to your guidance, Teacher Sephia.”
Sephia smiled and nodded. And at last, Dale smiled too—a pure, boyish smile befitting his age.
Bright and wide.
Sephia returned that smile in kind.
A mage who wielded both Water and Darkness, standing at the threshold of the Second Circle. To master even one element was difficult enough—but to command two was not merely double the effort, but exponential.
Yet Sephia understood that Dale’s true terror did not lie in his speed of growth.
For magic was the manifestation of one’s inner world—the act of layering imagination upon reality.
So what would the complete form of *his* imagination one day look like? What kind of world would *Dale Saxen’s reality* become, when it overlapped with this one?
She could not know. She could only bless his growth—
While suppressing the chill of foreboding creeping up her spine.
—
—
That night, in Duke Saxen’s study—
As usual, Sephia came to report on Dale’s progress. But the Black Duke froze at the sight before him.
“ Sephia, that wound on your cheek… what happened?”
A thin line cut across the elf mage’s face. The mages of the Blue Tower—those of the water attribute—specialized in defensive and evasive magic. For such a mage to bear even a minor wound was no trivial matter.
Even the smallest cut spoke volumes.
“Could it be… the Hashishin of the Mountains?”
At the Duke’s cautious suggestion, Sephia quietly shook her head.
“It happened during a magic duel with Young Master Dale. A result of my own carelessness.”
“…!”
Sephia’s smile was faint, wry.
At the mention of his son’s name, an involuntary flicker crossed the Duke’s expression.
“I’ve already sent word to the Blue Tower that my stay in the duchy will be longer than planned.”
“I am deeply indebted to you, Lady Sephia.”
“Indebted? Nonsense. Teaching a gifted pupil is a joy for any master.”
Sephia smiled softly, recalling how Dale’s progress seemed to grow by the day.
“I’m grateful nonetheless,” said the Duke evenly. “Which is why… I have a rather audacious request to make of you.”
“A request?”
“Not long ago, we received intelligence that an orc horde from the Demon King’s lands has begun crossing the White Mountains.”
Sephia drew in a quiet breath.
“The threat itself is not serious—likely manageable with a few squadrons of cavalry.”
“Then what is it that you’re implying?”
“I wish for Dale to take part in the battle.”
“But, Your Grace, he is still—!”
“I do not intend to have him play a decisive role.”
The Duke’s calm voice cut across hers.
“Protecting the duchy and subduing the monsters that plague our lands is the duty of House Saxen. As my heir, Dale must learn to understand that duty.”
*How harsh…*
Yet Sephia could not say the words aloud. She knew that even this man—stern as he was—held his son dear.
But this was the fate of all who bore the blood of the ducal house.
“So, what exactly would you have me do?”
“While I prepare for the expedition, I wish to entrust Dale with one of my artifacts—as a precaution.”
The Duke’s artifact. Sephia inhaled sharply, understanding what that meant.
“An artifact of darkness…”
“I ask that you guide him—teach him to master its power.”
At the Black Duke’s solemn request, Sephia did not hesitate.
She bowed her head in agreement.
