The Logic of the Fragile, the Shadow of the Threshold

I casually wiped away the faint smear of blood that had leaked past the corner of my lips. Dracurach offered a light shake of his massive head, then raised his flattened palm once more to gently lower me back to the earth. Even though this was a sequence I navigated on a regular basis, it never failed to leave me entirely drained of physical energy.

“W-What… What on earth was that?!”

Hearing Lucalis’s sudden, panicked exclamation, a delayed wave of realization hit me. Ah, right.

The Parasitic Ragora possessed a psychological defense mechanism that forced any nearby living organism to experience a vivid hallucination of whatever scenario would cause them the absolute maximum amount of emotional distress. I had absolutely no mathematical inkling what terrifying imagery Lucalis had just been subjected to, but his face was completely flushed, and he was hyperventilating in sheer panic. He was clearly struggling to break free from the residual aftershocks of the illusion.

“Luca. Breathe. Calm down. I don’t know what you saw, but it was nothing more than a hallucinatory trick.”

“An illusion?”

He froze, his frantic breathing stabilizing with remarkable velocity. Watching his expression instantly turn ice-cold as he wore a look that practically screamed ‘Of course it was,’ it was highly probable that he had just witnessed something extraordinarily bizarre.

“I’m sorry. I should have warned you beforehand. I completely failed to take your presence into account.”

And to make matters worse, it had happened because I was single-mindedly blinded by the prospect of securing a health supplement. I wouldn’t have a leg to stand on even if I possessed ten mouths to argue my case. The moment I reached out to offer a comforting pat on his back, Lucalis savagely slapped my hand away. His flushed face huffed with ragged breaths as he fiercely glared at me.

The fragile bridge of rapport we had finally managed to construct over the recent weeks had just collapsed right back to square one. A bitter taste settled in my mouth.

“If you dislike it that much, I won’t touch you. I usually extract those things without a second thought, so it’s become a bit of a mechanical habit… Are you feeling terribly unwell?”

“I’m perfectly fine. It’s absolutely nothing.”

Though his posture broadcasted the exact opposite of fine, the suffocating atmosphere made it clear that probing any deeper would be an absolute mistake.

After settling the trade with Dracurach and transferring his compensation, we returned to the safety of the house. The precise moment the drake’s colossal silhouette dissolved into the thick foliage of the forest, Luca began to mutter incoherently under his breath. Once lunch concluded and I grabbed the broom to begin cleaning, he officially initiated a relentless pattern of loitering around my immediate vicinity.

He seemed to believe he was being exceptionally subtle about it, but the mere fact that he was tracing tight circles around my coordinates—instead of lounging in the hammock he had practically transformed into a permanent nesting ground recently—was painfully awkward. Every single time I swept the broom, Lucalis’s boots or the fluttering hem of his tunic would materialize within my field of vision. How on earth was I supposed to look past that?

Should I try to throw him a lifeline?

“Luca. Is there perhaps something you wish to communicate to me?”

“…It appears a tracker has breached the perimeter.”

Ah.

“So you crossed paths with a hunter during your morning stroll.”

The moment I casually designated his life-or-death flight as a ‘stroll,’ Lucalis’s features contorted into a deeply complex expression. Compared to our initial meeting, his internal thoughts were becoming significantly easier to decipher. It was a behavioral trait entirely unbefitting of an imperial royal.

‘Is it a byproduct of his environment?’

Just as felines native to the extreme north develop an infinitely fluffier coat of fur to survive the climate, his subconscious mind had clearly evaluated this domain as a safe haven where he could cleanly shed his armor-like psychological feathers.

‘That actually sounds highly scientifically plausible.’

I silently marveled at the sheer brilliance of my own deductive reasoning.

“Did you ingest something poisonous? Why on earth are you suddenly wearing such a smug, self-satisfied face?”

“…Forget it. Regardless, you don’t possess any logical reason to stress over a simple hunter. That being said, it would be highly advisable to restrict the radius of your strolls for the time being.”

“I don’t need to stress over them?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Aren’t you supposedly on friendly terms with the monsters infesting this place?”

“That is an undeniable fact, but hunters are simply trying to secure a livelihood to feed themselves as well, so I can’t exactly go around interfering with their trade based entirely on my own personal whims.”

“…….”

“It was a harmless joke, so could you please refrain from staring at me as though I am a piece of literal garbage?”

“Cut the nonsense. Deliver a proper, logical explanation.”

“It simply implies that those hunters don’t possess the baseline combat capability required to capture the specific monsters I am acquainted with, so there is absolutely nothing to worry about.”

Deep within the geographic epicenter of the Monster Forest, a truly anomalous tree rooted itself into the earth.

Its physical height easily surpassed the metric equivalent of five one-eyed giants stacked cleanly on top of one another, and the vast, sweeping canopy of its branches and leaves spanned an surface area large enough to rival a small human city. However, the true reason this botanical wonder was deemed a supernatural anomaly lay elsewhere.

While ancient historical codices officially categorized it as the Tree of Demonic Beasts… I personally referred to it as ‘Mon-Catnip.’ Which was short for ‘Monster Catnip.’

Serving as the absolute structural anchor during the primordial genesis of this forest, Mon-Catnip continuously exuded a powerful pheromone that drove wild beasts into an absolute frenzy, successfully consolidating virtually every single monster in existence into a singular territory. While the general populace viewed this phenomenon with absolute terror and abject horror, from my perspective, humanity owed this tree an infinite debt of gratitude.

Thanks to the miraculous properties of the Tree of Demonic Beasts, monster incursions within civilized human settlements were an incredibly rare historical anomaly; even when a beast did manage to spill over into the outer realms, it was invariably a low-tier casualty that had been ruthlessly weeded out by the forest’s internal hierarchy—such as a giant shrew or a venomous stag. I had even caught wind of rumors stating that certain aristocrats and high-ranking clerics born and raised within the core of the capital lived out their entire natural lifespans and passed away without ever laying eyes on a single magical beast.

‘Though the fact that a single Red-Clawed Bear manifesting near a provincial town is enough to trigger a kingdom-wide state of maximum emergency implies our baseline military infrastructure has decayed a bit too far.’

Regardless, because the absolute cream of the crop among the apex predators gathered exclusively around the perimeter of Mon-Catnip, the monsters naturally organized themselves across a strict gradient of physical capability, spanning from the dense interior out to the shallow edges of the forest.

“For your situational awareness, this wooden house is situated precisely at the longitudinal midpoint between the civilized outer world and the Tree of Demonic Beasts. This implies that you would need to journey just as far into the interior as you traveled to get here from the edge to catch a single glimpse of that tree.”

As the full weight of the explanation settled in his brain, Lucalis’s face drained of color, a look of profound disgust warping his features.

“Does that imply… that entities infinitely more cataclysmic than the beasts prowling this immediate area are currently swarming the deeper recesses of the forest?”

“Do you recall those specific days during your initial stay when your chosen escape trajectory veered into the wrong direction? Did you ever stop to wonder why my physical arrival to intercept you occurred significantly faster on those occasions?”

“…….”

Reaching a sudden, disturbing realization regarding the sheer depth of adult deception, Lucalis clicked his tongue in pure irritation. He let out a low, venomous mutter under his breath: ‘Damn it… so I’ve been dancing on the palm of his hand this entire time.’

Allowing the wounded sunfish a brief moment to swallow his metaphorical tears, I smoothly continued my lecture.

“Furthermore, within the biological framework of magical beasts, their cognitive intellect, baseline destructive capability, and natural lifespan exist in a direct, linear proportion. The entities I actively maintain a dialogue with are strictly the local residents of this intermediate zone—meaning creatures capable of engaging in a structured, natural conversation.”

“Even if every single syllable of your argument corresponds to reality, my baseline assessment remains entirely unaltered. You would be wise to refrain from underestimating a dedicated monster hunter.”

‘Oh?’

Lucalis offered his warning with a profound layer of solemn gravity.

“The mere fact that an individual actively hunts magical beasts for a living implies they have crossed a specific threshold of martial capability. Entities of that caliber are infinitely more lethal than a standard mercenary captain. In fact, the moment an international conflict erupts, they routinely abandon their primary trade to gleefully hunt human targets for gold… Why on earth are you wearing that idiotic, grinning face?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I was simply struck by the realization that our little Lucalis is incredibly intelligent.”

His tactical assessment was absolutely flawless. The general populace typically looked down upon ordinary woodsmen and trackers with a patronizing gaze, but the moment you attached the prefix ‘Monster’ to their title, the entire mathematical equation fundamentally shifted.

While Lucalis had utilized a mercenary captain as his baseline metric, it was an undeniable reality that individuals capable of manifesting dense aura—knights-tier combatants—were far from rare within the elite echelons of the hunting trade. Consequently, seamlessly pivoting between serving as a wartime mercenary and an active monster hunter was an incredibly organic career path.

Whenever a major geopolitical event like an all-out war manifested—where raw martial violence was instantly converted into massive financial capital—they would march directly onto the front lines to harvest piles of gold. The exact millisecond the conflict concluded, they would cleanly lay down their military steel, pack up their heavy crossbows and calcified iron netting, and return to the wild.

They were undeniably a demographic possessing an immense, highly volatile amount of raw destructive power.

“However, I find myself wondering why everyone continuously fails to retain a single, fundamental piece of information.”

“What information?”

“The simple reality that I am a Grand Mage.”

“…….”

How many entities in this entire world could truly maintain an unyielding, upright posture when standing directly before eight blooms of Melampodium? Perhaps a verified Sword Master or an ancient, fully matured Dragon?

Lucalis froze, his features twisting into an incredibly complex, surreal grimace. I understood the underlying psychology of his internal conflict with absolute clarity. To accept the reality that a pathetic individual—who routinely collapsed flat onto the wooden floor midway through a simple damp mopping session, waiting for his physical stamina bar to slowly tick back up before resuming his chores—was a legendary Grand Mage? If I hadn’t witnessed the reality with my own two eyes, I wouldn’t have believed a single word of it either.

Offering a soft chuckle, I casually flicked my wand through the empty air. The brilliant azure mana saturated the space, instantaneously manifesting into dozens of glowing, translucent parrotbill birds. The wooden windows swung wide open under the sudden pressure, and the tiny avian constructs—each clutching a precise, localized warning regarding the hunter’s presence within their beaks—scattered in every direction, rocketing deep into the far reaches of the forest canopy.

“This will suffice perfectly. Every territory will coordinate their own defensive measures accordingly, and not a single creature will venture near the outer perimeter of the forest for the foreseeable future.”

“What about the house?”

“Hmm?”

“Is this wooden house structurally secure?”

“But of course. After all, you have me.”

“…….”

“What is the meaning behind that look of absolute, unadulterated skepticism?”

“I look skeptical because you are inherently untrustworthy.”

“In that case, look past my fragile physical frame and place your faith in the sheer majesty of arcane science. I shall weave a defensive barrier matrix around the perimeter so absolute that no half-witted tracker could ever hope to fracture it.”

If I had simply concluded my thoughts right there, everything would have remained perfectly stable. Yet, overflowing with an unnecessary surge of protective motivation, I allowed a completely superfluous sentence to slip past my teeth.

“And furthermore… even if I happen to perish, I will ensure that you are absolute shielded.”

It wasn’t a statement I had weighted with any profound, existential gravity. I had merely intended to communicate a reassuring sentiment—to let him know that I valued his survival so fiercely that he could thoroughly rest his heart in absolute safety. However, Lucalis’s psychological reaction was catastrophically violent.

“Don’t you dare speak those words!”

He unleashed the command like a raw, agonizing shriek. His small physical frame began to shudder violently, rippling with microscopic tremors. My centuries of experience immediately diagnosed the situation. I had carelessly stepped directly onto a catastrophic psychological tripwire buried deep within his trauma.

Flipped into an immediate panic, I instinctively stepped forward and pulled his trembling frame tight against my chest. Hurriedly whispering a ceaseless, desperate loop of reassurances, I exerted every ounce of my focus to anchor the child back to reality.

Despite being trapped in a state of maximum neurological agitation, Lucalis made absolutely no effort to push me away or wrench himself free from my embrace. The moment his breathing finally stabilized to a manageable rhythm, he let out a low, venomous snarl saturated with pure, concentrated fury.

“Never toss around the concept of death so carelessly. And under no circumstances… are you ever permitted to claim you will sacrifice your own life to protect mine. Absolute never.”

I had previously mocked Lucalis for possessing a remarkably short memory, but I was entirely wrong. When it came down to the absolute core—the fundamental truths that should never, under any mathematical circumstance, be forgotten—the absolute half-wit who had carelessly let it slip out of his mind was none other than myself.

“I am so sorry. I acted with absolute indiscretion.”

I sank into a deep quagmire of self-reproach. The sheer weight of my own embarrassment made it physically impossible to raise my head.

“Forget it.”

To make matters infinitely worse, Lucalis cleanly regained his emotional equilibrium in a fraction of a second, smoothly pivoting to offer me a comforting hand instead. The gesture left me drowning in an even deeper pool of shame. Two thousand years of surviving as a fragile sunfish, and I still managed to navigate this life with such utter incompetence.

“You truly possess zero logical reason to worry about those hunters. In truth, a group of trackers crossed the line in a rather catastrophic manner a while back, so I personally delivered an exceptionally brutal lesson to their entire demographic. The event took place relatively recently, so they won’t dare to cause a significant scene within the boundaries of this forest.”

“What do you mean by crossing the line?”

“They systematically slaughtered fully matured adult specimens, harvesting the juvenile offspring to smuggle them across the border as exotic pets for civilized society.”

The entire atrocity had been fueled by a sudden, grotesque trend that had gripped the high aristocracy of the capital. Even now, the mere memory of that period was enough to instantly plunge a cold, numbing chill straight into the deepest recesses of my chest.

The cages the hunters had brought along were remarkably compact in their structural dimensions, yet they were forged from an alloy so incredibly dense that no ordinary physical impact could leave a single scratch upon their surface.

‘I recall thinking that it was a truly rare specimen of absolute filth and depravity.’

I had initiated an absolute, systematic slaughter against those trackers. The vast majority of their forces perished in excruciating agony, and I intentionally left a solitary, one-eyed survivor—severely maimed by the loss of a single arm—to serve as a living warning.

Language, when wielded correctly, possesses a destructive velocity far greater than any physical blade. That hunter, clinging to the very precipice of mortality as he crawled back to civilization, would have undoubtedly relayed the details of his encounter to his peers using the most terrifying vocabulary imaginable. As the tale naturally gathered mass through continuous retelling, it would have cleanly transformed my identity into that of a merciless, omnipotent anomaly haunting the depths of the Monster Forest.

It was highly probable that rumors were currently circulating asserting that an ancient Dragon occupied this territory.

If the genuine, living Dragon currently roosting within the peaks of the Eternal Flame Mountain ever caught wind of such a claim, he would have undoubtedly unleashed a torrent of apocalyptic breath in sheer, unadulterated fury—but that was entirely outside my scope of concern.

‘Ah, wait… has he actually matured enough to manifest a proper breath weapon yet?’

Regardless, throughout the entirety of my explanation, Lucalis remained entirely submerged in a profound, unsettling silence. Whatever calculations were currently racing behind his deep, lake-like black irises, they had completely transformed his eyes into a pair of bottomless abysses. My heart skipped a violent beat. The residual echoes of my past fury instantly evaporated into nothingness, replaced by a single, desperate imperative: I needed to pull him back to the surface immediately.

“Luca.”

Watching him slowly, deliberately raise his chin to meet my gaze, I desperately threw out the first random thought that entered my brain.

“The specific hunter you crossed paths with this morning… how did he behave?”

Lucalis tilted his head, falling into deep calculation for a quiet interval before offering a slow nod.

“It was rather peculiar. The exact millisecond his eyes locked onto my form, his entire body froze completely solid, and he immediately initiated a rapid, backward retreat until he vanished from sight.”

“It is undoubtedly a direct byproduct of the rumors circulating through their network. They have almost certainly been conditioned to believe that a vicious, cold-blooded, and thoroughly evil Grand Mage possessing the physical silhouette of a young child haunts these woods. That is precisely the narrative they’ve been fed.”

“Why did you fail to lead with that piece of information?”

His tone implied that if I had simply led with the detail that I had already broken the back of the entire hunting demographic, he wouldn’t have wasted a single drop of nervous energy worrying about my safety.

“Well, if I openly broadcasted the reality that a vicious, cold-blooded, and thoroughly evil Grand Mage resides here, what on earth would I do if you became utterly terrified and attempted to run away from me?”

Uttering those words with a dramatic sigh, my physical stamina bar cleanly hit absolute zero midway through my sweeping motion, and I collapsed face-first onto the plush cushions of the sofa.

“Are you f*cking kidding me? Truly.”

“Luca. Watch your syntax.”

“Then you are truly performing an absolute comedy routine. Seriously.”

I found myself momentarily trapped in a mathematical paradox, thoroughly confused as to whether his response fell within the boundaries of a safe clearance or a direct penalty—but it felt close enough to a safe margin. What an exceptionally sharp, clever little bastard.

“Surrender the broom. I shall handle the rest of the cleaning.”

“I explicitly stated that I do not authorize the utilization of child labor within this establishment—”

“Who was the structural engineer who repaired that door?”

“…….”

“And who was the technician who systematically replaced every single broken window hinge?”

“…….”

“Hand it over.”

The fragile sunfish was thoroughly, effortlessly stripped of his broom without an ounce of resistance.