Chapter 51

  The Ice Mountain was even fuller than the night before. Boisterous voices mixed with the clinking of mugs, laughter echoed between the inn’s wooden pillars, and a warm haze of fire smoke, beer, and fresh bread hung in the air. The people were breathing again—after an hour of fear and tension. The threat had passed, and Reyn had carved himself deeper into the alleys of Thulegard with the blood of the barbarians.

  We sat at the bar—Vin, Maira, Reyn, and I. Our backs to the room, faces half-hidden in the flickering candlelight. The counter was made of dark oak, worn by time but polished from constant use. Without a word, Arik set down four frothing mugs after Reyn raised just a finger. Apparently, that simple gesture was enough to be understood.

  “To us,” Reyn said, lifting his mug slightly. His voice was calm but resonant—like the first rumble of a summer storm.

  I toasted him, took a deep swig, and felt the warmth of the beer spread through my chest. Maira only sipped, cautiously, but her eyes clung to Reyn—alert, almost curious. Vin, on the other hand, had already struck up a casual conversation with the Ashblood, who seemed interested in her in a way I couldn’t quite place...

  Meanwhile, my gaze drifted through the room. Friendly faces, relaxed shoulders, laughter bouncing from table to table. And yet I knew my eagle emblem had been seen—when I had drawn my blade in the fight, it had briefly glowed, wrapped in Gravor’s dark veil. Surely half the city now suspected who—or what—I might be. And it was only a matter of time before someone asked.

  But not now. Not in this atmosphere. Not yet.

  I cleared my throat. “So… maybe this question’s a bit personal, but…”

  I looked directly at Reyn. “Are you human?”

  He laughed. Not mockingly, not arrogantly. It was an honest, almost relieved laugh—as if he’d been waiting for that question. The black cloak that had once been a white tunic lifted slightly, as if a breeze passed through it—though no draft could be felt.

  “Yes,” he said, setting down his mug. “I’m a human of flesh and blood. Just… powerful.”

  He smiled—not like someone boasting, but like someone who had long since made peace with that fact. Then he looked me straight in the eye—and I knew: He meant it. No trick. No games. Just a truth too large for some to handle.

  “About that entrance with the descent,” he began, his voice a little more casual again, “that was really just a combo of three spells. No big deal.”

  I blinked. No big deal? I didn’t show it, but my thoughts were racing.

  “The first spell was flight, of course,” he explained. “There are two ways to do that: either manifest wings—with magical structure, obviously—or control your mana precisely enough to lift yourself. I go with the latter. Wings are too cheesy for me.”

  I couldn’t help but snort. He meant that completely seriously.

  “Second spell: the storm. And ripping through the clouds.”

  He paused, took a long sip, and set the mug down before continuing.

  “That part actually cost me quite a bit of energy. Pretty exhausting—timing had to be perfect, and I didn’t want to hurl lightning into the city. But…”—he shrugged, his grin returning—“you’ve gotta make an impression, right?”

  He said it like he’d just come from a job interview. I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “A protector who shows up with style,” I said dryly.

  “Exactly,” Reyn confirmed, raising his mug toward me. “Protection matters. But how you deliver it… that’s what people remember.”

  I stared into my beer. And for the first time, I seriously wondered:

  What kind of person thinks in those terms?

  Someone who was already more. Or someone who knew they were about to become much, much more.

  Suddenly, he continued—without transition, almost casually—tearing me from my thoughts that still circled around the idea of his triple spell combination.

  “Third: the sun,” he began, taking another sip of beer as if he were about to say something trivial. “How can the sun suddenly shine like on a hot summer’s day—right here, in the coldest city in all of Tirros?”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  I looked at him. Yes, I had actually wondered that. That sudden brightness, the warmth burning into people’s faces like newfound hope—it had felt real. Too real.

  Reyn grinned. Then he spoke the next word slowly, almost theatrically:

  “Illusion.”

  I stared at him. My jaw dropped slightly, and for a moment, I forgot to blink. Not because of his dramatic tone—that was typical Reyn—but because of what he implied.

  “That... was an illusion?” My voice cracked. “How... how did you do that?”

  An illusion spell spanning the entire sky, stretching for kilometers, with light, with warmth, with shadows—that was more than deception. That was reality rewritten. And I knew from my own studies: something like that was practically impossible. The amount of mana required would break even a well-trained archmage.

  Reyn looked at me like he had been waiting for this exact reaction. His expression calm, yet in his eyes shimmered something like childlike pride.

  “Cosmic mana,” he said at last.

  Of course. I should’ve guessed. I’d heard of that kind of mana—like one hears of ghost towns or lost kingdoms. A myth among scholars. Not something practical, more the kind of thing found in forgotten books in dusty libraries.

  “The mysterious fourth type,” Reyn explained offhandedly, “that’s barely spoken about or taught. Most beings on Tirros only know three: Pure, Celestial, and Tainted. Standard knowledge, second year, every academy.”

  I nodded slowly. “Though tainted also refers to its users,” I added, more to myself than to him—and instantly felt the sting of a cold, dagger-sharp gaze.

  Maira. She sat next to me and had caught every word. Her eyes were like twin blades, full of unspoken accusation. The mug in her hand trembled ever so slightly—not from anger, but from a kind of veiled disappointment. Maybe even pain.

  I was just about to say something, when I felt a familiar, dark voice stir in my head.

  “Says the guy who harbors a demonic being and uses it daily. Even now, if I may remind you.”

  Gravor chuckled softly—not maliciously, more amused. As if I’d said something especially foolish, and now he was curious how I’d wiggle out of it.

  I lowered my gaze slightly and looked at my right hand. The symbol on the blade wasn’t visible, but I could feel it. Gravor’s veil was still there—a barely perceptible presence brushing against my flesh like cold smoke. He was right. I was soaked in tainted mana. Ever since he had bonded with me. And I’d twisted the truth until it fit me.

  “Did I ever claim not to be tainted?” I replied silently. Though my face didn’t change, I felt his approving hum deep in my chest. As if he had just nodded in satisfaction.

  “Sorry,” I then said to Maira—half-hearted, but not sarcastic. Just honest. “That was careless.”

  She said nothing, but her gaze lingered a few seconds longer before she finally turned away.

  The topic was over. For now.

  Reyn, meanwhile, had observed it all without intervening. He seemed to know exactly what had passed between us—or at least enough to respect it. Then he lifted his mug and said dryly,

  “You know, Luken... You can hide a lot of things in this world. Intentions. Origins. Emotions. But not how mana flows through you. Not from someone who’s learned how to see it.”

  I stayed silent.

  The mug in my hand was still half full, but I held it like a shield. The warmth of the tavern, the laughter in the background, the flickering firelight dancing across the walls—none of it mattered anymore once Reyn asked that one question.

  Far too casually. Far too offhand. And far too close to something that should never be spoken aloud.

  "Tell me, paladin... what's inside you?"

  I froze.

  Not outwardly—I even managed a faint smile, knowing full well how dangerous it would be to show too much right now. But inside… every alarm went off at once.

  It felt like someone had pulled back the veil of my mind and glimpsed the crack beneath. I felt my shoulders tense ever so slightly, my heart skip a beat.

  That question… it wasn’t a joke. Not a test. Not idle talk. He knew something. Or at least he suspected.

  And deep within me, beneath Gravor’s silent presence, a thin layer of cold fear began to form—not fear of Reyn, but of what his question might mean.

  The only ones who knew about Gravor were Maira and Vin. And even they had only caught fragments of the truth. No names. No voice. No form. Only... hints.

  I barely knew what Gravor really was myself. A demon? An ancient consciousness? A fragment of a forgotten god? Or something in between?

  And now here sat a man who, between two sips of beer, asked like it was small talk: What’s inside you?

  I gave him a long, studying look.

  Reyn was completely calm. His posture relaxed. His eyes—friendly, open, and yet… something in them was too clear. Too piercing.

  He had noticed my reaction. Of course he had. But he didn’t press. He gave me space.

  My trust in him didn’t break. Not exactly. But a crack had formed. Thin, almost invisible—like the first hairline fracture in a glass bottle before it shatters. A crack that could only grow with too much curiosity. Too much digging.

  I took a deep breath, forced myself to be still, then answered. Cold. Controlled.

  "I'm sorry... but that’s something I’d rather keep to myself."

  My voice was calm, but there was a hint of frost in it. A line drawn in the sand.

  Reyn listened carefully, as always. Then he nodded.

  "I understand."

  No challenge. No further questions. No attempt to justify himself.

  Just a simple, understanding nod. And that somehow made it worse. Because he truly did understand.

  He had seen something. And yet he let it go.

  The air between us cooled for a moment—not hostile, not threatening, but tense. Like a taut string that might snap if touched the wrong way.

  I slowly lowered my gaze, let my fingers trace the cold rim of my mug, and forced myself to calm down.

  My thoughts raced. Gravor said nothing. No snide remarks this time. No mocking jabs. Just a dull, steady silence inside me. Almost... watchful. As if even he was waiting to see what came next.

  I slowly raised the mug and took a long sip. Then another. When I set it down again, I could feel something shift in the atmosphere.

  The voices around us grew louder once more. The heat from the fire began to touch my skin again.

  And Reyn... Reyn looked away from me, leaned back a little, his lips curved into a slight smile.

  He had accepted it. For now. As long as he didn’t ask again, everything would be fine. As long as he didn’t dig deeper.

  As long as that crack… didn’t grow.

  Right?

  Right...?