Chapter Eight: The Sorcerer

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“What a strange boy you are. Surely, you don’t think such tricks can stop me?” Lancer’s assault was as futile as a stone sinking into a lake, leaving no mark, while his opponent calmly stepped out of the woods, offering a remark as though to an old friend.

“Damn it!” Realizing the crossbow was useless, Lancer swiftly stowed it away, drew a dagger from his inner thigh, and charged forward.

“Clang!” The dagger struck with a sound like metal on metal, halting half a meter from his foe’s neck. Using the momentum, Lancer leapt back to create distance once more.

“What is this?” In Lancer’s mind, a mage’s shield should be a swirl of magical energy coiling around the user, but the old man before him shattered that notion.

“It’s the spirits of the air,” the man replied, making no move to attack, instead explaining to Lancer.

“Spirits of the air? Tch, what a nuisance.” Though his own world had no mages, in Celtic mythology, spirits were akin to gods—a concept he understood. The legendary Avalon, the paradise of spirits, was the very land his king called home. Spirits existed, that much was clear. Yet he doubted he could break through such a spirit’s protection with his current strength.

“Old man, let me ask you: do you hold the title of ‘king,’ ‘emperor,’ or ‘lord’? Are you a ruler?” Lancer suddenly inquired. To his mind, a man of such power must hold high status. Chih-tang could kill in one strike if its target was a ‘king’ or ruler; this was the hope he clung to for victory. Even if he only needed to hold out for three minutes, he disliked relying on vague hopes and preferred to fight for his chance.

“A king? I am a royal mage, a mere noble—not a king. Yet within my own lands, I am indeed the highest authority.” Merlin, finding the boy not unpleasant, answered him without concern.

“A ruler? Ha! I’ve found my hope of defeating you!” A light shone along Chih-tang’s blade, visible only to him. At that moment, a voice seemed to urge him to kill the man before him at any cost; he understood this was the purpose of the sword—the blade forged to slay kings.

Without another word, Lancer surged forward again. This time, his attack was no longer halted by the spirit’s shield, and he struck directly at the old man, who was taken aback—unable to fathom how his adversary had breached the spirits’ defense. Still, Merlin quickly swept his staff, conjuring an earthen wall in Lancer’s path. But hastily formed, the wall could not stop Lancer, who shattered its defense in moments—only to find his opponent had vanished from where he stood.

“Not good!” The sixth sense honed by countless brushes with death screamed in warning. The dagger, gripped for a thrust, was instantly reversed and raised in defense at his side.

“Clang!” Metal rang against metal once more.

“So, it’s not you who can pass through the spirits’ defense, but that peculiar weapon of yours,” Merlin observed. He had known the truth would be revealed eventually, but not so swiftly. He swung his staff again; spikes of earth erupted from the ground, forcing Lancer to leap back, dodging the attack.

“And your weapon seems only to instantly shatter intangible defenses. Otherwise, you would have broken through my last attack as you did before, wouldn’t you?” Though posed as a question, it felt like a statement.

The two entered a tense standoff once more. Lancer, watching the passage of time, knew he could not defeat this opponent, but he resolved to try once again.

“Comet strikes the moon, white rainbow cuts the sun, the eagle assaults the hall—Chih-tang Sword!” The first three lines, drawn from the chronicles of assassins, were words of death. He cried out, and the unremarkable blade of the Chih-tang Sword radiated a fearsome aura, Lancer himself exuding an indomitable spirit.

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“What’s happening?” Lancer’s mere dash left Merlin feeling as though he were frozen in place. “This strike cannot be avoided!” was his only thought. He just managed to summon a wall of earth before him.

A grinding sound—the Chih-tang Sword pierced straight through the wall, but only tore Merlin’s robe, failing to kill him.

“You are not a king,” Lancer uttered, then collapsed. Merlin stood stunned; the ordeal had been so harrowing that he had nearly lost his life. He gazed at Lancer’s fallen form, his expression a complex mix of emotions, but he had no intention of killing him. It was clear the boy had fought only to protect his disciple.

“Toria, take him back to the Mage’s Tower.” With that, Merlin turned and walked away.

———The Line of Awakening———

“Where am I?” Lancer sat up, clutching his head. Why did I write ‘again’? But the events soon returned to him.

“Damn!” He checked his mission log in alarm, and seeing “Mission Complete,” he finally relaxed. Only then did he take in his surroundings.

Towering bookshelves lined the space—nothing else. It felt like a library. Just then, the wooden door creaked open. Lancer tensed, gripping the Chih-tang Sword.

“Oh, you’re awake? That’s wonderful.” A youth hurried in, balancing a bowl of porridge, and set it on the small table by Lancer’s side, reaching out to help him.

“No need. But where am I? Why am I here?” Lancer preferred to clarify his situation first.

“This? This is my master’s Mage Tower. My master had me carry you back,” Toria explained.

“Your master? Looks like that old man I so grievously wounded must have been dealt with. Hmph, that’s what you get for hurting me.” The last line was full of resentment.

“Who said this old man was dealt with?” As Lancer’s threatening aura rose, a hoary voice sounded from beyond the door.

“You’re alive?!” “Master!” Lancer and Toria cried out together. In that instant, Lancer realized his mistake.

“Oh, heavens!” Completely speechless, Lancer slumped back in defeat.

“All right, boy, it’s time you told us who you really are. Don’t tell me you’re just a wandering traveler—I can’t believe that someone who nearly brought me down could be so ordinary.” Merlin’s tone was weary. True, he’d been careless, but the boy clearly had more cards to play. Whether it was the pill that fell from his mouth when he fainted, that strange sword hilt, the waist pouch that refused to open, or the short sword no one could remove—these things all marked Lancer as anything but ordinary.

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“Me? Lancer—a lost traveler from the East, nothing more than a fool.” He said this to give himself an excuse for future actions, since situations like this seemed inevitable.

“A fool? That’s about right. You attacked me before figuring things out—certainly foolish,” Merlin said.

“Tch. Old man, you should have said something. Serves you right. Give it a few years and you’ll be the one lying here instead.” Lancer knew he couldn’t defeat Merlin now, but he was confident in his own growth.

Reluctant as he was to admit it, Merlin believed Lancer. The youth before him couldn’t be more than twenty, yet already possessed such skill. Surpassing Merlin was merely a matter of time. Each time Lancer crossed worlds, he grew younger, a hidden boon to reach peak physical potential.

“Well, I’ve told you my identity. Now it’s your turn.” Though he said ‘you,’ Lancer’s gaze never left Merlin.

“My identity? Merlin—the royal mage of England. As for him, he’s my disciple.” Lancer was taken aback when he heard their names. He hadn’t expected the “beautiful” youth to be the King himself; his mind was thrown into chaos once more.

But Renhua had no intention of letting him remain dazed. The task-specific voice sounded in his mind:

“Main Quest—You have met the young King Arthur. Moved by her knightly vow, you decide to aid her as a free knight.

Quest Objective—Unite all Britain, repel the Roman invasion, and finally help King Arthur ascend the Roman throne.

Quest Reward—3000 experience, ‘Knight of the Lake—A knight does not die empty-handed.’”

Such generous—almost outrageous—rewards signaled a daunting quest. Yet he had no right to refuse. Since he had come to this era, he had already resolved to join these legendary battles. To fight alongside the fabled Knights of the Round Table—how could he not be thrilled?

“You will become a splendid king,” Lancer said to Toria, the words escaping him as if by fate.

Both Merlin and Toria were stunned. Toria hadn’t expected Lancer to predict she would be king, and Merlin was shocked that a secret known only to himself and King Uther was revealed by a youth from the distant East.