The Burden of a Master

“The enemy’s second wave of assault is imminent, and my protective barrier will not hold for much longer,” Eric stated then. “Proceed to the front lines for defense; I shall remain here.”

“Should you find yourself unable to endure, do not persist.”

“Heh heh, it hasn’t quite come to that. When it does, I’ll retreat. But tell me, after I’ve passed, will you lay me to rest here?”

“That would be rather difficult, as the final disposition for bodies in this area is cremation.”

“Cremation, you say… Hmm, well, there’s no real issue with cremation, dust to dust and all. However, I’d prefer to be interred in the fields bordering the village. Old Jack knows the precise location; simply tell him. I’ve fancied that spot for ages; if it manages to endure this calamity, it will surely prove to be a site of excellent geomancy (TL Note: Feng shui, referring to a location believed to bring good fortune).”

“Yet, with such a relentless tide of corpses, is there not a significant risk of that very place being utterly ravaged?”

“What conceivable problem could there be with that?” Eric retorted with a grin. “Once I’m interred there, after several decades or even centuries, it will once again become a beautiful expanse of land. What’s the matter? Is that truly so difficult to comprehend?”

“…Hmph.” Tikka uttered, turning to depart. “Should I fall here… please ensure my resting place is also there.”

“Heh heh. Cough, cough…” Eric watched Tikka recede into the distance, his gaze fixed on the young man’s departing back. The old man was suddenly seized by a violent fit of coughing, yet he made certain Tikka would not witness the sight concealed beneath his robes, a truth he had diligently kept hidden:

“Young man, you shan’t perish before me… for I am shielding you all with my very life.” Eric declared, his arm emerging from the folds of his robe. His once slender right arm had, by now, transformed into a completely carbonized, blackened limb, resembling burnt wood. Crimson magical circuits continued to pulsate across its surface, yet he could no longer perceive the arm’s presence.

“One arm utterly ruined, yet I finally managed to harness this accursed stone… Turning pages and recording notes will prove arduous from now on; I’ll likely need to employ a scribe… Why am I even dwelling on such trivialities?” The old man muttered incessantly, utterly spent. The forceful manipulation of the magic stone, coupled with the relentless tearing of uncontrolled magic throughout his body, had left his insides feeling as though they were on the verge of detonation. This was a torment no elder should be forced to bear, yet he had willingly shouldered its burden.

Despite his resolve, his limits were inevitably approaching. Eric mused, feeling an profound weakness permeate his being; though he hadn’t advanced to the front lines, he was, in truth, grievously wounded. As the flow of magic ceased, the protective barrier, once steadfast, finally began to fracture. Eric observed its demise, murmuring:

“Ultimately, this is the extent of what I could achieve.”

“Thud.” As his magic staff clattered to the ground, the old man’s body likewise gave way. He had wished to maintain his balance, to convey to others that he had met his end standing, yet reality proved him lacking such fortitude. In that moment, a cascade of past memories flooded his mind: his initial arrival in this world, the anger he once harbored, his youthful exuberance, his self-assured arrogance, the fervent passion and thrill… A constant stream of flashbacks assailed him, yet always, they would pause on a single, indelible figure…

‘His words… he should be far from here by now, shouldn’t he? My apologies, Anto, it seems this is truly all I could accomplish.’ He mused, his eyes drifting shut. He held no faith in the existence of either heaven or hell; he simply desired to journey to whatever destination awaited him after death, however bleak it might be.

Suddenly, a profound warmth enveloped him. It felt as though, from some unseen realm, someone was gently lifting him. His body, never particularly heavy, now seemed to possess an ethereal lightness, as if only the fabled twenty-one grams of his soul remained. He pondered this sensation, murmuring aloud:

“Damn it, is there truly a heaven? And is *that* a place I’d be allowed to enter?” He uttered with a touch of wry amusement. His consciousness was hazy, his vision filled with an all-encompassing, warm light. Yet, as his eyes slowly sharpened their focus, he discerned a golden-haired angel… But at that very moment, the angel responded:

“That is likely neither a place for you nor for me. Did you not yourself question its very existence? Furthermore, are you intent on turning yourself into a mere kindling stick? Do you perhaps harbor such deep regret over not perishing at the stake during your days as a hunted wizard that you now seek to fully experience such a fiery demise?”

“…Would it kill you to remain silent?” Upon hearing that familiar voice, he instantly knew he had not ascended to any verdant paradise. His eyes sharpened their focus once more, revealing before him a youth, as fair and ethereal as an angel, steadily pulling him along while continuously emanating Holy Light.

“…You bloody well came back?”

“Should I not return, and simply await your transformation into grotesque, shambling corpses before me?” Anto demanded at that moment. “…Linders’s priest has fallen; he perished within the city’s sewers. With the barrier shattered, the dark forces have been relentlessly spreading, and I, teacher, I cannot escape them. Though I understood your intentions perfectly, after much deliberation, I realized I had no choice but to return.”

“…I see.”

“Is that truly the extent of your reaction?” Anto pressed, a hint of surprise in his voice. “You didn’t even utter a single reprimand?”

“Heh heh, I’d need the energy to scold you, you stubborn boy. Look at the state I’m in now, still clinging to this Holy Light… It’s futile; I am intimately aware of my condition. Essentially, my body’s magical pathways have been incinerated, and my internal organs are a chaotic mess. At best, I face complete paralysis; at worst, a cascade of internal ailments will surely manifest simultaneously. Just let me go; make it easier for me.”

“…No.” Anto declared vehemently. “I cannot allow you to depart like this, teacher. You are among the few closest to me… You instructed me to live for myself, and I am capable of doing many things for my own sake, yet I cannot permit you to simply leave. If I could abandon even you, turning away without a second thought after a mere word, then what else in this world would remain truly worthy of my protection?”

“Have you truly considered this?” Eric pressed. “There are representatives from the Council, the Holy See, and the Kingdom present here… To act thus in this very place would be to reveal your existence to them all. Do you genuinely believe you can bear the repercussions of such exposure?”

“…I can.” Anto affirmed, to which Eric responded:

“You can, my foot.”

“Heh heh.” Anto then added, “When that time comes, I’ll simply have to trouble Master once more.” As he spoke, Eric and Anto’s gazes locked, and finally, Eric let out a strained, toothy laugh.

“…You truly are a handful, aren’t you?”

“I am, after all, your final, closed-door disciple.”

“A closed-door disciple who failed to inherit even a sliver of my magical prowess. Never mind. Move aside.” Eric declared, struggling to sit upright before turning his gaze to Anto. “Even if you lack magical aptitude, I implore you to attempt using Holy Light. The underlying principles of magical defense barriers should be quite similar. I can no longer sustain this; the burden now falls to you. Phew, I shall rest for a spell.”

“No problem.” The golden-haired youth rose, concentrating the formidable power within him, and then spoke:

“Rest now, teacher.”