There exists a field of magic known as Psychic Magic or Empathy Magic.
In the Threefold Empire, where youthful mischief is somewhat tolerated in the pursuit of academic inquiry and technological advancement, this magic is one of the few “taboos.” A technique that intrudes upon the inherently inviolable realm of the psyche and alters the evidence that guarantees one’s sense of self—memories—is regarded as something even the people of the Threefold Empire refrain from touching.
Still, in the imperial tongue, the term “taboo” often carries a nuance of “forbidden to the immature” or “not to be exercised outside of necessary occasions when judged appropriate by a person of proper ethical standing,” rather than the stricter category of things that must not even be spoken of.
This magic is prohibited purely because it inspires unease; if it were ignored out of fear, we would be unprepared should we encounter the ominous ‘Something’ we’ve exiled. Furthermore, were its prohibition too thorough, humanity’s forgetful nature would inevitably cause us to lose sight of the reasons behind the taboo, leading us to inadvertently touch it again with reckless abandon. Thus, the knowledge must be preserved.
Besides, once knowledge is gained, not putting it to use would be wasteful—might as well use the good parts if you can.
If all goes well and the best aspects are usable, there’s no question but to take advantage—this was a clear demonstration of the Empire’s open, albeit sometimes brash, national character.
Therefore, writings on Psychic Magic are extremely rare. As for myself, all I possessed was a cursory knowledge of it being the most delicate and intricate type of sorcery that pertains to the core of humanity…
I never imagined I’d delve so deeply into it through a mere act of roleplay.
At this moment, I share a single field of vision. As a formless spirit, I’m being shown someone else’s memories.
The “someone” whose eyes I borrow now faces a scene of sheer despair.
Surveying the desolate plain from atop a lone, alien-like boulder, what lies stretched across the horizon is densely packed with something black.
They are Rat Goblins. If Ratmen with their rat-like traits are considered a sub-human race closer to rats, these are magical species akin to rats. They are smaller than goblins, deemed lowly and crude—upright rats that are a fragile race compared to Humans. Besides breeding, they have no outstanding traits, and when considering the weakest species among humans purely by individual specifications, they come remarkably close.
They lack a country, form groups but not tribes, and are nowhere welcomed among the nobility. In central continents, they’re regarded as an insignificant existence.
Yet, when gathered in such numbers, the story changes. Ah, this is the rumored great emergence of monsters.
I’ve heard that some magical species exceptionally skilled in breeding do not lose their breeding drive even when they transform into monsters.
Moreover, driven by desire, they continue to multiply endlessly, bearing children who are, from the moment of their birth, crazed monsters. Worst of all, they inherit the monstrous characteristic of neither starving nor dying.
Rarely, such ill-natured creatures increase without being culled because, by some chance, the entrance to their location has been sealed.
And one day, when the seal breaks—either due to its limits or opened by someone—these creatures, oppressed by overwhelming growth and pent-up desires, begin to surge forth.
To satiate their unbearable hunger and to thrive in wider grounds.
It seems this scene captures just such a moment.
An incalculable amount of rats—number upon number—fills the horizon. From the opposite edge of the landscape, some object is hurtling through the air.
Trailing a steam-like tail, it speeds at a high altitude. At first, I thought it was a fighter jet, but this is a fantasy world without airplanes and certainly not steampunk. Nonetheless, that shadow was undeniably flying.
From the black dot, something smaller emerges. What I first thought was being left behind by something trailing quickly hurtles toward the ground at immense speed.
As it falls, accelerating with the pull of gravity, its shape becomes clearer. It is unmistakably a person.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!?”
The falling man lets loose an extended scream as his limbs flail, evidently attempting to invoke some kind of spell, gradually—though helplessly and insignificantly—slowing down before plunging into the vast horde of Rat Goblins.
Ordinarily, this would be his end. After dragging down a few rats, there would only be disappointment, a new character sheet, and the roll of dice as consolation.
“Ahn, you shitty amateur! Are you really gonna do this!? What a joke!!”
Contrary to expectation, the man survives, mass-producing the mangled corpses of rats at his landing site. He shouts towards the luxurious armor-clad silhouette retreating into the sky, forcefully removing the organs stuck to his armor, then forcefully swings his right hand downwards.
Lo and behold, a long sword appears in the empty palm. Simple yet wrapped in tremendous magical power, the sword’s surroundings chill the air, creaking as if in a dying scream.
“I will definitely cry my ass off when I get back!”
Raising his voice again to an earth-shattering degree, the man plunges headlong into the ocean of black monsters.
He fights fiercely. Though he repeats the basic three moves of cutting, dodging, and deflecting, his enemies dwindle at an accelerating pace. Miraculously, a perfect gunblade formation is occasionally established—not likely from coordination in his frantic charge—and whenever a peculiar individual skilled in magic emerges, he disperses them all with a petty spell.
One instance involves intense luminescence. With the simple flick of a finger, a directional burst of light from a ring on his left middle finger sears enemy eyes, disrupting their formation and giving him the window to make his cuts.
The second is a simple barrier. Pure brute power of contained magic deflects spells without any gimmick or complexity, creating the brief space needed to sever the opponent’s head with a single strike, killing them instantly.
The third appears to be an emergency evasion method. With a shout accompanied by a shockwave that violently pierces the air in a semi-circle, he disrupts the formation to reset his stance.
His actions are monotonously simple—swing his sword, use magic, kill enemies. Through the “perfect” continuation of these basic actions and spell activations, his foes perish.
He’s using it flawlessly. He’s optimized himself, his magic, and the act of battle.
The human capacity for simultaneously initiating magic is fundamentally limited. Whether one knows a thousand kinds of magic, is proficient in ten thousand spell formations, or reaches the depths of countless mysteries, one can truly activate only one spell at a time.
Hence, to repeatedly and efficiently deliver the most appropriate magic for each instant and eliminate enemies without wasting any effort is fundamentally what it means to “fight as a mage.”
For how long had he fought? The corpses he’ve slaughtered are spread out like a carpet, entrails churn like a sea, and the gaps are flooded with seas of blood. In this brutal scene, the arc-sword wielding mage stood up, using an activation spell to keep his withering body going.
Across from him, the enemies are countless, continuing to block his path as if they know no end. Adhering to the deranged instincts of monsters, they don’t retreat even after losing countless comrades.
The blood-drenched mage, almost indistinguishable from a gravely injured person from the blood splatter alone, spat out the blood accumulated in his mouth disgustedly, hoisted his sword, which began to glow faintly white and trembled as if screaming—a clear sign of preparation for an explosive skill intended to wipe out swarms.
At that moment, three plumes of smoke rose in the distance.
A high-pitched whistling sound tore through the air simultaneously, signifying the arrival of an army. The arrows that soared to great heights contained magic that emitted smoke, creating three evenly spaced red plumes before descending.
With the sound of hooves accompanying them, from the edge of the horizon, a pitifully small army of cavalry appeared in comparison to the horde of monsters. However, their brilliant armors and mounted horses adorned them as knights and their riders. Everyone was armed without a shred of gap, and their high morale was evident.
“Why do they bother showing up now and make unnecessary risks…?”
The man grimaced sarcastically at the arrival of the cavalry. Ah, he was a remarkably handsome man. Even me, a man, could gaze in awe. He appeared to be around fifteen or sixteen years old. However, due to a uniquely intense gaze within his youthful face, it was difficult to pinpoint his impression.
He looked innocently childish while also having an air of sharp maturity…
Feeling around his waist, he pulled out a folded piece of cloth. Picking up a nearby spear, he forcefully tied the fabric to its tip and unfurled it, only to reveal…
“Uh?”
In the intense battle that left him covered in blood, the contents of his pouch couldn’t have stayed intact. The cloth, once ornately embroidered, was now blackened by the dried blood, with no trace of its original design.
“Ah… this thing can’t even be recognized. Well, never mind… this’ll be my flag from now on.”
He laughed good-naturedly after looking perplexed at the blood-soaked banner before thrusting it towards the sky.
“Anyway, it’s gonna be covered in blood again soon. It’s not economical to remake it multiple times… the blackened blood banner suits me best.”
As the thunderous sword increased its glow, nearly blotting out my vision, it was about to converged back into the blade when… my consciousness was abruptly yanked back to reality as if pulled by the scruff of the neck…
【TIPS】 The Great Rampage: The worst calamity that arises when multiple adverse conditions align. A horde of monsters swarms the land, swallowing towns and estates, becoming the direct or indirect cause for the fall of a nation.
The lecture was exceptionally enlightening and, in a sense, provided nearly a complete answer.
The magnificent man’s fighting style represents a perfect form. In extreme terms, as long as he succeeds in all actions, he can’t be defeated. And once bored, he just needs to unleash a technique powerful enough to wipe out the swarms, leaving only a final one-on-one fight with the boss, should one exist—a textbook example of a finished manly build.
It is remarkably efficient. Limiting skills means all resources can be poured into augmenting primary traits, allowing for a setup that, as long as one doesn’t roll hilariously low on dice (what dice?), is perfect for me who struggles with chance.
Reflecting on this, what I lack is a barrier and swarm-clearing spells. Once I obtain them, I can consider my current build complete. Then I should use my experience points wisely to reach a refined and effective configuration.
After that, I received a strict “no questions” directive concerning the source of the memory but was then taught simple yet practical magic. A barrier powered by mana (with mana efficiency needing improvement) and a magic causing intense light with a single action fit my current abilities well.
On my way home, suppressing my excitement and planning to refine my ideas in bed, a faint perception triggered by <Presence Detection> caught my attention. Like a curiosity-arousing white butterfly, a paper one fluttered before me.
Without guiding specifically, it simply danced before my eyes. As I reached out, the butterfly-like motion turned into a reversion, like a flower opening under the moonlight.
The piece of ordinary paper featured a few spell formations, written with my client’s handwriting. It was messy with the basics of theory, spell structure, and key principles borrowed or twisted from the world’s laws—efficient forms designed to deceive them.
This was an extremely tangled-up memo, written in such a way that one would need real thought, even with prior knowledge, to decode it. Unquestionably, this is a magic recipe or formula. But it feels like being handed a model kit without an instruction manual.
It’s unclear what it creates or how it assembles without further thought.
Hmm… ah, this theory axis is this? What’s written as the main subject seems to be the side track, and yet, without understanding the side track, you can’t reach the main content, but obsessing over it will prevent you from ever finding the correct answer. What a twisted mind.
Oh? So, this means…
Two seconds later, unable to control myself, I shouted “What the hell is this thing you’ve sent me?!” on the street, my face turning crimson as I realized I’d drawn attention and quickly fled the scene…
【TIPS】 If you are told not to do something unless there’s a very good reason, it means exactly that—don’t do it because “it seemed fun” or “because a cute girl liked it.” Such judgments reflect someone who can’t be considered a truly seasoned adult.
It seems like things have grown more complicated as I keep feeling inspired to write.
Though I’d like to proceed more simply and elegantly, the plot keeps challenging me.
I’m thinking of tweaking it and adjusting some of the already written portions. While the piece was created alone, the insightful feedback I’ve received has made me consider revisions in certain areas.
The already written parts will remain untouched—rest assured.
The next installment is scheduled for 7 PM on February 22, 2019.
