Ideology is not something grandiose.
‘A certain viewpoint on the world, society, life, and such.’
As long as people live, everyone has their own life, and life itself gives birth to thought.
For instance, the ideology of the Crimson Magic Tower, which believes without doubt that ‘power’ is the absolute value of this world.
The Pig King believes spreading his seed and perpetuating his bloodline through generations is the supreme value.
Hardline dark mages who believe petty morality is nothing but an obstacle in the pursuit of truth. The hellish mental landscapes once displayed by the commanders of the Black Flame Cult.
The ‘ideology’ that mages or knights project onto their swords or the world is precisely such a concept.
The values they hold dear. Their attitude toward this world, their perspective on life. The systematic collection of consciousness they experience and build up through living.
When this interlocks with the ultimate essence of swords and magic, it unfolds as the ‘Avatar’ and the ‘World of Ideals’.
Avatar ─ The knight imbues his sword, armor, and flesh with his thoughts through ‘aura’.
The World of Thought ─ The mage projects their thoughts onto the world itself through ‘magic power’.
The Avatar of the Grimoire is not fundamentally different in this context.
Faint flurries of sleet drift along the night’s curtain. A white and dark winter night.
There, a steel blade blocked the edge of the sacred sword Durandal.
Once the beloved blade of a warrior who slaughtered countless foes as the empire’s hound.
‘Peacemaker’.
The mediator of peace.
That sword with its ironic name was in Dale’s hand. Along with the fourth circle revolving around his heart.
The realm of the fourth circle. The wall shattered, revealing a new horizon beyond.
And in Dale’s hand lay the warrior’s sword, Peacemaker.
It was not a real sword with substance.
A projection of thought. It was nothing more than a ‘substantial mirage’ that the mage superimposed onto his own world.
Yet in the realm of thought, it was never a mere ephemeral sandcastle.
Though there might be nothing more reckless and ridiculous than a mage gripping a sword hilt and pretending to be a knight, Dale was not such a fool.
He took a step back and spun the hilt of the Peacemaker to grip it differently. The feel was incredibly familiar.
‘But I still haven’t unleashed this sword’s full potential.’
It was still lacking.
“This is my world.”
Dale murmured again, repeating the self-affirmation endlessly.
This world was not one Dale had built alone. Dale’s world was never ‘Dale’s world alone’.
Dale of a past life.
That man had many names. The mightiest monster hunter, the hero of another world, the empire’s hound.
In most cases, even dedicating one’s entire life to either the sword or magic offers no guarantee of reaching their ultimate pinnacle.
But what of one who devoted more than a lifetime?
That was Dale’s realization, and that realization opened the horizon of the Fourth Circle.
The Hero of Another World, and Dale of Saxony.
Fusing two philosophies born from two lives into one world. Paradoxically, it was by gripping the sword that he elevated the ‘realm of the mage’ to greater heights.
It felt strangely light.
Dale, who had kept his distance, stared at the Pig King gripping the back of the holy sword.
‘Can I win?’
Projecting the hero’s might onto his own blade, Dale thrust it into the ground.
The sword swung.
He didn’t even care that he was a mage unable to use aura, holding only the hilt of the ‘Peacemaker’ without even an avatar.
Clang!
The sacred sword and Dale’s blade clashed.
Clang!
They clashed, separated, and clashed again. With each clash, the power dormant within the Peacemaker awoke.
Furthermore, memories of becoming a more certain hero were revived.
Simultaneously, Dale’s black cloak fluttered, generating blades of shadow. It accelerated four circles and unleashed an endless torrent of dark blue magical energy.
“Shard Magnum.”
Instantly erecting a wall of ice and detonating it, scattering shards of ice.
“Shadow Bullet, ‘Gatling-style’.”
Instantly, shadow bullets poured forth along the hem of his cloak at his feet. Both the magical power and speed were amplified beyond comparison to before.
Sword and magic.
He covers the weakness of being unable to wield a sword and use aura simultaneously with magic, managing to hold his own against one of the continent’s strongest knights, however painfully.
His body feels light. Unbelievably light, as if the world itself has slowed to a crawl. The sensation of gripping his sword feels so familiar, he could almost forget he was a mage.
His movements are so fluid, it’s hard to believe this is truly a ‘knight who cannot wield aura’.
‘I can do this…!’
Dale’s mind was filled with nothing but certainty.
It was right then.
“Not bad, kid.”
The knight with the boar’s face grinned, baring his tusks.
“……!”
Simultaneously, the fighting spirit radiating from the holy knight’s body began to swirl like a storm.
The aura of a warrior god.
It was then that Dale, facing him, sought to test the newly acquired power in his hands.
─ The time had come.
Thud!
‘Death’ struck the ground with his skull staff. The entire scene froze.
The Holy Knight and the Imperial Army vanished like mirages, leaving only Dale behind.
A horizon filled with bitter cold and utter solitude.
There was ‘Death,’ who looked like a Victorian English gentleman, and ‘Mother of Ancient Darkness,’ who looked like a dignified lady of the same era.
Not an innocent young girl, but a jet-black lady with two black horns standing tall.
An archetype at the base of the collective unconscious.
An ancient image shared in the unconscious since before history began.
Existences that transcend time and borders, serving as motifs in various myths and legends. Primordial symbols—their very incarnations were gazing at Dale.
That is why Dale asked.
“Did you know my true identity from the very beginning?”
─ Ah, we know far too many things, my child.
‘Death’ replied. Clutching a skull-handled staff, another hand now holding a cigar.
─ The name of the most delicious leaf-wrapped cigarette in this universe and…….
Death continued, cigar now in its mouth.
─ And how you escaped from ‘my visit’.
“……!”
At those words, Dale swallowed hard. After swallowing, Dale tried to open his mouth to say something.
But.
─ Ah, don’t worry so much.
‘Death’ cut him off. As if there were nothing to worry about.
─ Death always keeps its mouth shut, after all.
Thud!
At that very moment, ‘Death’ brought his skull staff crashing down once more. Cigar clenched between his teeth.
Dale’s world vanished. Before he knew it, he was in a chamber of the Saxon Duchy.
“……”
The office of Duke Saxon, his father. After looking around, Dale looked at his father.
“It seems you passed his test safely.”
The Black Count spoke, unable to hide his satisfaction.
“That existence……”
“When I reached the realm of truth, I made a pact with ‘death’.”
The Black Mage spoke.
“My grimoire—the ‘Scale of the Heart’—has finally succeeded in drawing out a fragment of its existence.”
“So that means the immortal mage, Frederick, also…”
“Yes.”
The immortal Frederick also succeeded in reaching the ‘world of truth’. The very proof lies in the ‘Book of the Black Goat’, which he authored long ago and whose tentacles took root in Dale’s heart.
“But those beings beside us…”
The Black Mage continued.
“They are nothing more than ‘shadows’ cast upon the cave wall.”
Not the substance itself, but merely a part of the shadow cast by the substance.
“This world is one great cave.”
“…….”
“We are prisoners who believe the shadows cast on the cave wall to be the truth.”
That is why the magician pursues the world of light beyond the cave, the world of truth (Idea). The final destination of thought.
“I suppose this was a bit difficult for you to grasp.”
Having said that much, the Black Mage smiled. It was his father’s smile, impossible to hide.
“Congratulations on reaching the realm of the Fourth Circle.”
Jet-black tentacles rooted in the heart coil around Dale’s fourth circle. Four circles. A true mage, reaching beyond that realm.
Reaching the third circle by just over twenty years old is a feat that truly deserves the label “prodigy,” and it’s not uncommon for those without talent to devote their entire lives and still fail to reach the fourth circle.
He had attained that very realm at the tender age of twelve.
An achievement beyond even the word “miraculous.” That is the very fame of the ‘Black Prince’ everyone speaks of.
And with the newly acquired realm, the time to prepare for the next journey was drawing near.
“Teacher Sepia.”
Around that time, Dale, who had reached the fourth circle, reported his achievement.
“…It seems there’s nothing more I can teach you.”
The 6th Circle elf mage smiled bitterly.
“Not at all.”
Dale shook his head and laughed.
“There’s still so much I want to learn from you, Sepia.”
Even though they shared a deep connection, Sepia remained young Dale’s tutor.
Moreover, the prowess possessed by the 6th Circle elf mage was by no means something to be taken lightly.
Above all, the skill Sepia displayed that day against the Elder of the Enemy Tower, ‘Bloodthirsty Walter’.
Spell Counter.
“Is there any magic you wish to learn differently?”
At Sepia’s question, Dale nodded without a moment’s hesitation.
A genius mage of the 4th Circle. Moreover, as a dual mage pursuing the dual attributes of Water and Dark.
“I want to learn Dispel magic.”
The next day, Sir Helmut Blackbear tilted his head in puzzlement.
As usual, Dale should have been practicing with his sword under the shadow cloak, yet he had taken it upon himself to wield a ‘knight’s sword’ like theirs.
“To formally wield a sword…?”
Surprised by this unexpected turn, Sir Helmut tilted his head in puzzlement.
“I have something I wish to test.”
Dale answered as matter-of-factly as ever.
“How far can a mage who cannot wield aura match a knight?”
“Are you insisting on fighting in the same manner as a knight?”
Wizards can also strengthen their bodies in their own way. But it can never compare to the physique of a knight wielding ‘aura’. It’s absurd, reckless, and surely inefficient.
That was the belief of the continent’s Seven Swords—Sir Helmut Blackbear. Yet before him stood none other than the ‘Black Prince’ himself.
“Very well, Prince!”
Therefore, Sir Helmut harbored no doubt.
“Just because it’s a mage’s sword, you’d be wise not to underestimate it.”
Dale adjusted his grip on the sword hilt. With the awakening of his fourth circle, he recalled the beloved sword from his past life held in his hand.
After reaching the realm of the Fourth Circle, Dale’s direction became very clear.
Beginner’s mind.
Just as when he first trained at the House of Saxony.
Lord Helmut the Light Sword, the Black Count, and even the elf mage Sepia. Among the greatest masters, he unfolded and honed his talent without reservation.
And the Dale of today was no longer the greenhorn who had just grasped a sword and created a circle back then.
