Chapter 498: Rematch (1)
"That's a bit unexpected."
Under the overcast sky filled with clouds, Merlin spoke, as thick snowflakes imbued with a blue magical glow accumulated on his shoulder.
"Who would have thought that you'd be the one to suggest a sparring match?"
"I'm not suggesting a fight, I'm requesting a spar, sir."
Oliver, who had come to the Land of Ice at the World's End with Merlin, corrected him. The idea of a "fight" seemed... rather impolite, didn’t it?
"To be honest, it’s essentially the same thing. How many disciples throughout history do you think would suddenly ask to spar with their master after meeting them again for the first time in ages?"
Oliver pondered the question seriously. Was there really no disciple who would ask for a spar after meeting their master again? Hmm...
"...Well, since you’re a temporary master, wouldn’t it be alright?"
"Haha, you crazy kid."
Merlin laughed as he spoke. It was impossible to discern whether he was sincere or not, as his emotions were hidden behind the much thicker magical barrier than in the past, but at least he didn’t seem displeased.
"Well, it's not too bad. It brings back some memories."
As Merlin looked around, so did Oliver, surveying the wide, open land of ice. Interestingly, when they first visited this place, it had also been for a sparring session.
"The difference is, back then, I was the one who requested it. Now, you’re the one asking... It seems that time is on the side of the young. You’ve grown rapidly, aiming to overtake the old."
"Sir, that wasn’t my intention when I made the request."
"I know. I’m speaking sincerely. And I don’t think it’s a bad thing. Young people should strive to surpass the old. Isn’t that what progress is all about?"
Oliver tilted his head. Now that he thought about it, Merlin's words weren’t wrong. While respecting one's elders was important, there was also a need to surpass them. As Merlin said, that was the essence of progress. Without that, it would be regression.
The new must always surpass the old.
"However, I’m still curious about the reason. Why do you suddenly want to spar? Are you trying to assess my worth?"
Oliver recalled a conversation he had once had with Merlin.
Back in Martel, when Merlin had saved Oliver, Rosburn, and the other children, he had declared that a person's worth was in their strength and had encouraged them to fight.
"No, sir. How could I possibly assess your worth? Besides, I still don’t fully agree with the notion that strength is everything."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, I just realized how weak I am and wanted to see exactly how weak."
"Depending on how you phrase it, that could sound a bit arrogant."
"Now that you mention it, it does sound that way. I apologize. I’m not very good with words."
After saying this, Oliver regretted it. Expressing a desire to know how weak he was... But it was the truth.
"Why has that suddenly become a concern? Frankly, you’re not someone who is particularly focused on strength, are you?"
Oliver nodded. As Merlin had said, strength itself wasn’t something Oliver cared much about.
He had studied and learned many forms of powerful knowledge, such as black magic, magic, blood magic, corpse puppets, druidic rituals, close-quarters combat techniques, and even spatial magic spells. But strength itself wasn’t his goal.
To be precise, learning was his goal, and the fact that he had grown stronger was merely a byproduct of that. Of course, he had calculated that, depending on how he used it, his combat capabilities could increase significantly, but that was just to make his work as a fixer more manageable.
The evidence lay in the fact that Oliver never overestimated or boasted about his strength. If a problem could be solved through conversation, he would do so, and if a fight was unavoidable, he would fight.
And even then, he had managed to resolve most of the issues. In retrospect, he considered himself quite fortunate.
"Weren’t you lucky in the New World?"
"There were times I was unlucky and times I was fortunate. I encountered a demon, after all."
Merlin fell silent.
"You don’t seem particularly surprised."
"I heard rumors of an omen appearing in the New World."
Now it was Oliver’s turn to fall silent. It made sense, now that he thought about it. If they knew about the burn on his right arm, they could hardly have missed the omen.
Oliver recalled the memory of checking his canteen.
Inside the abandoned mine, the water had turned red, and a frog had emerged from it. Yet when he checked it again at the hospital, it had returned to being ordinary water.
"There were reports of wild beasts in the city, the water turning red, and swarms of frogs infesting the area. Those are all signs that a demon is about to descend. Given the situation, it wouldn’t be hard to guess who was trying to summon the demon."
"I see."
Oliver observed Merlin closely as he answered. It was strange. The descent of a demon was, at the very least, a disaster—at worst, an absolute catastrophe.
Having encountered a demon himself, Oliver knew this all too well. Yet, Merlin’s reaction was... how to put it... different from what one would expect.
It was difficult to describe precisely since his emotions couldn’t be read, but his demeanor was calm and objective, not indifferent.
‘I don’t know how to express it... Calm and objective, yet not detached.’
It was a response that didn’t align with the way most people would empathize.
"Did you fight the demon?"
"Yes... sort of. Though I’m not sure if you could call it a fight."
Oliver spoke of everything that had happened from the moment the Burnt One had descended in the Land of Ice at the World's End until he lost consciousness, temporarily forgetting his agreement with the Pater Church.
It wasn’t difficult to recount, as each event was so shocking that it was etched into his memory.
The sight of the demon emerging from between a girl’s legs, incinerating Pinkman with a single breath, and causing people to burst and turn into lumps of salt with just a glance and a word were unforgettable, even if he wished they were.
"To be honest, I don’t think I actually fought the Burnt One. The Burnt One took care not to kill me, even though it could have done so easily."
Oliver, who had inserted his hand into the demon’s body to unleash a massive White Fire, explained. It was an achievement that most people couldn’t even imagine, yet Oliver didn’t take any pride in it. That White Fire had only been possible because the demon had allowed it.
"Then why did you try to stop it?"
"Pardon?"
"I asked why you tried to stop the Burnt One. You knew you couldn’t win and had already learned about the city’s dark secrets, hadn’t you?"
The unexpected question left Oliver scratching his cheek as he pondered.
"Uh... Now that you mention it, I’m not really sure. It just... happened? The Burnt One was trying to kill Ms. Joanna, and I wanted to stop it. So I smoked the Filgaret, fought, and kept fighting."
"Wasn’t there a moment when you could have stopped?"
Oliver considered it again. There probably was.
"Still... It felt like I had to."
"And why was that?"
"Well... at the time, my job was to assist the holy knights."
"And?"
"And... doesn’t it seem wrong?"
"...?"
"To burn down the whole city. Men, women, the elderly, children, even the Red-skinned people in the slums... Burning them all seems wrong, doesn’t it?"
Oliver shrugged as if finding it hard to explain any further. Merlin gazed at him intently in response to his seemingly normal, yet abnormal reaction.
"Are you preparing for the next time a demon descends?"
"Preparing might be a bit much, but I feel like I should do something. Seeing a demon summoned made the idea of the clock ticking more real to me."
Oliver answered, recalling Puppet, who had first told him about the doomsday clock. Now that the summoning of demons, once thought to belong to the realm of myth, had succeeded, there was no other way to explain it.
"...Well, doing something is better than doing nothing. But in that sense, you shouldn’t have followed me."
"What do you mean by that?"
"First rule of combat: Don’t let your opponent choose the battlefield."
Snap!
Merlin snapped his fingers, condensing his magic.
Using this signal, the pure and vast magical energy at Merlin's fingertips rapidly spread out in a thin barrier, connecting with the natural magic in the icy land and placing it under his control.
In an instant, he dominated the area. Once he took control, he manipulated the magic to lower the temperature even further and caused more snow to fall, making it noticeably colder.
He mixed his enormous magic power with the natural magic around him, manipulating the weather and temperature. While theoretically possible, seeing it done with one person’s power was astonishing.
"This is what can happen. So—"
—[Hate Bullet]
Before Merlin could finish his sentence, Oliver formed his fingers into the shape of a gun and fired a Hateful Bullet. A sudden attack could sometimes yield surprising results.
"Good attack. Lacking in manners, though."
But his opponent was Merlin. He responded by conjuring a book from thin air, tearing a page from it, and countering the attack immediately.
The paper, infused with immense magical energy, sliced through the Hateful Bullet like a fine blade and flew toward Oliver.
Swish... Boom! Boom!
The enchanted paper, having cut through the Hateful Bullet, was deflected by the emotional robe Oliver had swiftly draped over himself. It veered off course and struck the ground, raising a cloud of snow.
A sense of déjà vu washed over him.
Using the magic he had spread, Merlin controlled the swirling snow to obscure Oliver's vision.
Simultaneously, a sharp, heavy sound echoed as the snow split horizontally.
Clang!
"Same attack method as last time, I see."
Oliver managed to block the strike by raising his quarterstaff just in time.
"It's the best way to see how much you’ve improved."
Merlin, who had somehow moved behind Oliver, replied. He was holding a sheet of paper, just like during their first battle, but unlike before, he hadn’t managed to cut Oliver.
It was a good sign. Back then, Oliver hadn’t even been able to react, but now he had blocked the attack. It was a significant improvement.
"You’ve gotten better, indeed."
"Thank you for the compliment... You’re impressive as well, sir."
"In what way?"
"The way you compressed a specific space to move. As I thought, it wasn’t just simple high-speed movement."
"...Ho."
Merlin reacted subtly but noticeably. It made sense; very few had managed to perceive Merlin’s method of high-speed movement.
Most had died without realizing what had hit them, and even those who survived didn’t understand what had happened. They typically assumed it was merely a technique of enhancing the body with magic, but it wasn’t.
While such a powerful movement would normally disrupt the surrounding environment, Merlin’s technique was almost eerily silent.
Like death itself—quiet yet overwhelming.
"It’s a simple spatial manipulation technique, folding space like a piece of paper to connect specific points. How did you figure it out?"
"I saw a demon perform something similar in the New World. Although it didn’t seem exactly like magic..."
"Because I’m an Archive."
With those words, Merlin tossed another piece of paper at Oliver.