Chapter 815

Chapter 815
Once Ghislain officially took Lucian under his wing, the introductory lessons began immediately.
“Shout it out! Physical power is!”
“Physical power is…?”
“Mana!”
“Mana…!”
“I can’t hear you!”
“Physical power is! Mana!”
Lucian continued his push-ups, his expression blank and bewildered.
‘How did I end up here? Where did this go sideways?’
He was certain his goal was to master the arcane arts. He was also well aware that Astion was a wizard of great renown. Yet, he found himself face-down on the dirt, screaming nonsense about muscle being magic.
Ghislain was a mentor who believed in absolute thoroughness. While Astion would eventually take over the magical curriculum, Ghislain was determined to build the bedrock first. To him, that bedrock was made of iron and grit.
“A frail sorcerer is just a corpse on a battlefield!”
Driven by this philosophy, Lucian was pushed into a grueling hell. To accelerate the process, Ghislain employed rather unorthodox shortcuts.
“Hurry, mend him.”
The capital was home to numerous high-tier clerics. At Ghislain’s command, they would magically knit Lucian’s exhausted frame back together. When Deneb visited, the recovery speed was even more staggering.
Muscle fibers would tear and fuse in the blink of an eye, causing Lucian to bulk up with unnatural speed. His previously thin frame filled out with functional muscle almost instantly. As soon as he was healed, he was forced back into the dirt.
‘Is the word “rest” not in Master’s vocabulary?’
He doubted even death-row labor squads were pushed this relentlessly. However, he didn’t have the luxury of deep thought.
“Physical power is!”
“Ma… na!”
Keeping pace with Ghislain’s demands took every ounce of his focus. Within days, Lucian’s body—while still lithe—had become hard as stone.
“Excellent! You’re making progress! Soon you’ll be ready for the precipice.”
“…Sir? Why a precipice?”
“Magic requires absolute mental fortitude and focus. You understand this, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Scaling a vertical cliff will force your concentration to peak.”
“How… exactly does climbing enhance my focus?”
“Simple. Those who lost focus fell and perished.”
“…”
“Get moving. Start climbing.”
From that point on, Lucian spent his days scaling the rocky heights on the capital’s outskirts.
Duke Stauffen occasionally observed these sessions. Though he found the methods peculiar, he couldn’t find fault in Ghislain’s reasoning.
“To be a truly peerless mage, one must master their vessel. Only then can you ensure your own survival.”
As a man who had reached the pinnacle of human capability, Duke Stauffen found the logic sound. A mage without protection was a liability. Furthermore, he was secretly thrilled.
‘The boy looks robust. He used to be a shut-in who lived in his library. Yes, this must be the true path of magic—it makes perfect sense.’
Lucian had been a delicate, sickly youth. Despite being the son of a legendary powerhouse, his frailty had always been a point of concern for his father. Seeing his son develop such a healthy physique was a joy; the actual magic lessons were secondary in his mind.
However, the training wasn’t limited to cardio and climbing.
Lucian stood with a heavy steel staff, facing his sparring partner with a grimace.
Kyle unsheathed his blade and gave a nod.
“Give me everything you’ve got. I’m going to break down these forms for you.”
“…Sir Kyle.”
“What is it?”
“I feel there’s been a massive lapse in communication. I am here for sorcery.”
“I’m aware.”
“…Then why are we doing weapon drills?”
“…I don’t have an answer for that either.”
“…”
“Just… stop overthinking it. Don’t ask why. Just follow the orders.”
Kyle flashed a grin.
“Keep this up, and you’ll definitely become a powerhouse.”
There was, of course, no mention of whether that power would involve casting spells.
Thus, Lucian was immersed in every facet of martial combat. He learned various blade styles from Julien and Kyle; Lionel taught him the art of the shield; Marika instructed him in the way of the hidden blade and stealth. He even sparred against the spirits summoned by Ereneth to learn how to handle supernatural threats.
Supported by the combined resources of the Julien Mercenary Corps, the Stauffen estate, and the high priesthood, Lucian’s growth was astronomical. Every day felt like a year’s worth of progress. He was learning every skill imaginable—except for actual magic.
He could feel his own strength burgeoning. He was physically transformed and, thanks to high-grade runestones provided by Ghislain, he was successfully cultivating a massive pool of mana.
At this rate, Lucian feared he would become the Empire’s most dangerous physical combatant instead of a scholar. Finally, his curiosity broke through his discipline.
“Master…”
“Speak.”
“When… do the actual spells begin?”
“…Your foundation is still settling.”
It was difficult for Ghislain to admit he currently lacked the capacity to teach magic, but he couldn’t keep stalling forever. He decided to demonstrate a “simple” spell in a few days. Since he couldn’t cast it himself, he enlisted Julien’s help.
With a solemn air, Ghislain addressed his student.
“You haven’t quite reached the threshold… but since you are so eager, I will show you a basic incantation.”
Excited, Lucian followed him to a clearing near the Grand Sanctuary where a massive, ancient tree stood.
“Observe closely. Julien will perform the demonstration on my behalf.”
Though confused by the arrangement, Lucian watched intently.
Julien, acting on Ghislain’s quiet instructions, gave a hesitant nod. He looked slightly embarrassed as he gripped a heavy steel rod. He wound up and hurled the projectile with immense force.
“Magic Missile!”
*CRASH!*
The rod embedded itself deep into the ancient wood. Julien had held back considerably, yet the impact was violent.
As Lucian stood there in shock, Ghislain spoke.
“That is the fundamental spell, Magic Missile. It is a common spell, but our specific tower utilizes this unique, high-velocity method.”
“…I see, sir.”
“Master this, and we shall move on to the next tier.”
By the time Lucian could replicate that, Ghislain hoped Astion would be back to take over.
Lucian wasn’t naive; he knew that wasn’t how the spell was supposed to function. But before he could voice his protest, a furious priest stormed into the clearing.
“What is the meaning of this! This tree has stood for three centuries! How dare you desecrate the Grand Sanctuary! You are associates of the Saintess—show some respect! And Young Lord Lucian, have you lost your mind?”
Ghislain, Julien, and Lucian immediately turned tail and ran. The opportunity to argue was lost.
As they fled, Ghislain yelled back,
“Don’t stop your physical drills until you can throw… I mean, cast it like that!”
“…Understood, sir!”
And so, Lucian’s life remained a cycle of combat training and physical conditioning.

During this period of instruction, the search for a new Pope concluded much faster than anticipated. The Church hierarchy was terrified of the Julien Mercenary Corps and wanted no trouble. The Papacy had lost its luster of absolute power. Consequently, they voted overwhelmingly for Porisco, the only candidate who had some semblance of a relationship with the mercenaries.
Porisco’s coronation was brief, as all eyes were on the far more significant event: the Anointing Rite.
This was the ceremony where the Church would formally recognize and present the Saintess to the world. Unlike previous ceremonial gestures, this was the first time in history a genuine Saintess would be crowned.
The moment the election was settled, the rite commenced.
*Thrum!*
The massive doors of the Cathedral swung open, letting in floods of golden light and the booming voices of the choir. Deneb, draped in pristine white robes, walked the central aisle flanked by the highest-ranking clergy. Every movement she made was ethereal, commanding the silence of thousands.
The mercenaries watched from the sidelines, stunned.
“Wow… she actually looks like a goddess.”
“It’s like she’s a totally different person.”
“Do you think she’ll kill us if we call her ‘sis’ now?”
“It’s almost hard to look at her.”
They whispered in awe at her newfound grace. Deneb had spent days mastering the rituals and etiquette, and the transformation was complete.
Their whispering did not go unnoticed by the aristocrats and priests.
‘How uncouth.’
‘Why does the Saintess keep such rabble in her inner circle?’
‘Best to ignore them for now.’
The elite still harbored deep resentment for the Julien Mercenary Corps, but they kept their tongues in check. The “mercenaries” now held more practical influence than most dukes.
At the altar, Porisco spread his arms.
“Today, by the grace of the Heavens, a Saintess is revealed. She shall be the beacon that shatters the darkness and brings unity to our lands.”
The Holy Grail, a legendary relic, sat upon the altar. The air was thick with incense and the sound of fervent prayer. Porisco took the consecrated oil and marked Deneb’s forehead with the cross.
“I ordain you. May the divine light guide your path and illuminate this continent through your hand.”
Suddenly, every candle in the hall flared with brilliant intensity. The assembled masses fell to their knees. As the choir reached a crescendo, Deneb raised the Holy Grail high.
“I vow to follow the divine will and sacrifice all for the peace of this world and its people.”
Porisco then led her to the highest seat.
“From this day forth, Saintess Deneb is the shield of the Church and the hope of the Empire.”
Bells rang out across the city. Trumpets blared, and the knights drew their swords in a rhythmic salute. The hall was a sea of emotion—cheers mixed with tears of joy.
When Deneb and Porisco stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the plaza, the roar of the crowd was deafening.
“Long live the Saintess!”
“Our Savior has come!”
Thousands wept and threw themselves to the ground, convinced that the long war against the demons would finally reach a conclusion. To them, Deneb was the living embodiment of victory.
She raised her hands to the sky.
Beams of pure, radiant light shot forth, bathing the entire plaza. The light touched everyone, instantly dissolving their weariness, healing their minor aches, and replacing their fear with courage.
“The grace of the Goddess is with you all.”
Her voice carried like a thunderclap, vibrating in the chests of every person present.
The crowd erupted again, and a cloud of white doves filled the sky like falling snow. The sheer volume of the cheers shook the very foundations of the city. No one could doubt it now: Deneb was the center of both faith and power.
Ghislain watched from the shadows, a look of profound pride on his face. This was the moment he had sacrificed everything for. Seeing it come to fruition moved him deeply.
He looked at the Holy Grail. It was identical to the one he knew from his own time. Seeing it confirmed that the Saintess’s artifacts were the real deal. But for him, the relic was more than an artifact; it was a link to his past—or rather, his future. It was a memory of the friends he had left behind.

—

Following the successful rite, the Empire began mobilizing its forces under Duke Stauffen’s command. The new coalition would be centered around Deneb’s influence.
Ghislain, despite his duties with Lucian, was working feverishly on a different project. Every night, he wrote. He recorded every strategy, every enemy weakness, and every tactical maneuver from the future wars he had lived through. This knowledge would be the ultimate weapon for the Julien Mercenary Corps.
*Cough! Cough!*
But his physical state was deteriorating. His body was starting to reject his soul. He was frequently coughing up blood, his skin growing pale and waxy.
“…Is my time up?”
Perhaps if Astion had reached the 9th Circle, the vessel could have held him longer. But that was an impossible standard. Astion was already a marvel for reaching the 8th Circle so young. Even then, no mortal frame could fully house the sheer weight of Ghislain’s expanded consciousness.
“What if I were to return to my true form?”
He still possessed a small amount of Dragon Heart powder. With his current mental strength, he might be able to survive the transition, though even that was a gamble.
His friends visited daily, their faces etched with concern.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Why isn’t the medicine working?”
“Tell us the truth, Ghislain.”
Even Deneb would steal time from her duties to flood him with healing light. He would always dismiss their worries with a weak wave of his hand, leaving them in a state of constant anxiety.
Only Ereneth refused to leave his side. She was relentless, summoning spirits to monitor his vitals and trying every healing art she knew.
Ghislain gave her a tired smile.
“It’s alright. You can stop now.”
“Be quiet. I’m not finished.”
“Nothing you do will fix this. The body isn’t broken; it’s just full.”
“I’ll be the judge of that!”
Ereneth was stubborn. She felt a cold, sinking dread that she couldn’t explain. While the others expected a recovery, she felt something final in the air.
‘Something is wrong… why does it feel like he’s slipping away?’
The sensation that Ghislain was preparing for a journey grew stronger by the hour.
Ghislain saw the look in her eyes and felt a pang of sadness.
‘You’ve always been perceptive.’
During his fight with the Adversary, he had felt the tug of destiny—a force only someone from a millennium in the future could recognize. And here was Ereneth, another soul who belonged to that distant time.
‘I’ve changed the past so much.’
The future had reshaped the past, and now the past was demanding its toll.
*Cough!*
Another spray of blood hit his sleeve. He was at his limit. To stay any longer would be to destroy this body entirely.
‘It’s a shame.’
If he left now, he would lose the friends he had grown to love in this era. He never expected to feel such genuine connection when he first arrived. But he had no regrets. He had fought the tide of fate and won. He had given them a chance. Now, he had to trust them to carry the torch.
With a heart full of memories, Ghislain reached out and took Ereneth’s hand, his smile soft and serene.
Ereneth’s heart hammered against her ribs.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
With the calm of a man who had finished his work, Ghislain spoke.
“It’s time… for me to say goodbye.”