I have hardly experienced a hangover in either my previous life or this one.
In my past life, I never indulged in reckless drinking, and in this life, due to the effects of uwabami kicking in early, I never had the opportunity to do so.
Is that why the loss of balance that comes with waking up, along with a severe headache and nausea-induced fatigue, feels so much worse?
“…I feel sick.”
As I wake up and gaze blankly at the ceiling, I’m struck by a strange sense of déjà vu. This feeling, I’ve seen it somewhere before. Ah, yes… the world was incredibly red, and there was something white…
“Ah, ah…!”
My thoughts are interrupted by a tearful voice and the sound of splashing water. Even the slightest movement sends a pang of pain through my head, and a wave of nausea makes me feel as if my stomach is being wrung out finger by finger. As I struggle to turn my head, I see Lady Filene standing in the doorway.
A tray lies at her feet, containing a pitcher of water and a bucket, indicating that she had been trying to care for me.
“Well, good morning?”
“Master Erich!”
Judging by the light streaming through the window, it was still early when I offered my greeting. To my surprise, she rushed over and smashed her face into my chest with such force that it felt like an attack roll in a game.
“Copeh…”
The expelled air from my lungs made an odd sound, and I barely managed to suppress the urge to vomit.
This situation—of a beautiful girl rushing to a fallen man—is touching, yes, but if I were to vomit on her delicate head, it might ruin the moment permanently.
With all my remaining willpower, I endure the nausea and gently pat her head, despite the heaviness of my body. As my fingers glide through her soft hair, I realize, somewhat disconcertingly, the passage of time marked by the regurgitated contents of my stomach.
My stomach’s contents include solid food, so it seems I haven’t been unconscious for a long time. While I was initially concerned, given the blood streaming from my ears, it appears I’ve recovered faster than expected after the depletion of my magic, similar to emerging from the labyrinth of a magic sword.
Sniffing, I detect a familiar smell akin to tobacco. Looking up, I see an incense burner beside the bed. It appears Lady Kaya thoughtfully burned medicine to replenish my magical energy.
How grateful I am. Though I can’t yet fight, it seems I’ve recovered enough to at least sit up—something I was bracing myself for days of bedridden incapacity over. At least I won’t trouble Siegfried with cleaning up after me again.
And most importantly, I won’t have to embarrass myself by needing someone to assist with personal matters.
“Unharmed… unharmedee…”
“I apologize for worrying you, Lady Filene.”
At first, Lady Filene cried softly, but as the sound of my heartbeat reached her ears, she dissolved into full-blown tears, her nasally voice growing unbearable. Meanwhile, I notice her chest area has grown unusually cold, implying more than just tears have soaked through. Out of respect for her dignity, I refrain from pointing this out and quietly resolve to dispose of the mess with a Purification spell before she notices.
As I comfort Lady Filene while enduring my headache, I sense someone else’s presence at the doorway. A servant girl who’d likely noticed the spilled water had come to check on us, only to abruptly retreat down the hallway.
Wait, hold on—are you really leaving us be?
After about fifteen minutes, Lady Filene finally calms down enough to explain the situation.
“Sniff… You were carried in late at night… the nosebleed wouldn’t stop, and we were very worried. I feared you might leave us entirely. Given your divine favor among the War Gods, I worried you’d be invited to the Heavenly Arena…”
“Please rest assured, it seems the gods of battle are enjoying my struggles here on Earth with the Trial Gods and have no intention of calling me there yet. I’m not due for an invitation anytime soon.”
As I attempt to soothe her by patting her head and back, a thought suddenly strikes me: Is this what it’s like to be comforted by a woman?
Perhaps it’s because all the women around me tend to be strong and resilient.
My mother was a woman of remarkable courage, and she was married to a man who worked on the battlefield. Similarly, Lady Kaya is resolute on the frontlines, a radical supporter of Siegfried; the proprietress of Marsheim is a formidable woman; and Margit, her mental resilience likely surpasses mine.
Under such circumstances, the presence of more tender, “delicate” women might seem out of place.
If I only collapsed due to magical exhaustion without any major external injuries, a typical individual might have responded with just a tart remark like, “You’ve slept in again.”
I suspect Lady Filene feels something innate about me: a certainty that I’d not die in anyone else’s arms. This peculiar certainty gives me a sense of ease, allowing me a strange comfort that I myself wouldn’t perish prematurely, for some reason.
There’s something profound but unnamed about the belief in someone’s indestructibility.
And so, I wonder: Is this why it’s harder to accept women who don’t participate in battle? To accept those who guard homes rather than fight alongside me?
“Now, come, we have things to do. What time is it?”
Still, I’ll try to understand, bit by bit. When I decided to fight here, I included among those I must protect others who may be perceived as weaker. It would be arrogant to think the world is only full of strong people. Besides, I’m far from perfect myself.
Because of this imperfection, I must fulfill my responsibilities…
Dragging my unsteady body out of the host’s home, the square was bustling with activity.
“Hmm, this face isn’t familiar.”
“Is that so? Then, what about the emblem on this sword?”
“Umm… it seems familiar, but as someone who hasn’t received proper heraldic training…”
The captured prisoners kneeled in a line, and Sir Siegfried was asking the local chief to identify them. He must have thought the chief, with ties to noble society, might know something. Only someone of noble blood could possibly procure full plate armor for their entire body and over ten warhorses for a cavalry.
“Siegfried”
At the sound of my voice, the sentries murmured and rushed over, concerned for my well-being. I reassured them and sent them back to their posts, though I could still feel their worried glances as they walked away.
There’s a sense of warmth in knowing I’m cared for as their leader, but it’s also humbling to realize I caused them concern.
“Did you half die, or something? Can you already be up?”
“Fortunately, the Trial Gods seem to think I should grovel here on Earth. It’s just magical exhaustion, I won’t die. Though, the headache is worse than after any heavy drinking spree.”
“Don’t give excuses, if you recklessly collapse again, don’t count on us lifting you next time.”
“You too, Siegfried, judging by your injuries, are you okay?”
“Can’t rest, see. Though I wish I could sleep, the meds are keeping me awake. It’s easier to just start work.”
With a snort, Siegfried handed me a board with papers. Looking at them, they listed last night’s casualties, the items confiscated from prisoners, and their numbers. The handwriting was soft and neat, unmistakably Lady Kaya’s. While Siegfried has learned to write, with her help, this elegant script could only belong to her.
“… Four dead, huh.”
“Aye, honorable deaths in battle. The chief has planned a funeral tonight. The families will receive the proper rites—cremation for those who perished and a marker for their graves.”
“That’s generous.”
“It’s what they deserve. They say it’s unbearable not to return their hair to the families.”
My finger traced the names on the list: Lenbeck from Marsheim, Martan from Kirchel, Archuth and Enzo from Mottenheim. The latter two were members of the town’s militia, and I knew them all personally.
Lenbeck, an ambitious and filial son who excelled with shields, was a fine swordsman. Martan, still developing as a fighter, had the makings of a master with exceptional sword spirit.
Archuth, a regular militia member, was a mature soldier with a fine family. Enzo, whose acquaintance was only superficial, once sat beside me at a feast, shyly conversing with a childhood friend.
All of them are gone, casualties in the battle against the undead. Martan and Enzo didn’t survive until dawn.
Five others were critically wounded. One, Moise, a militia member, suffered an irremediable injury. Despite Lady Kaya’s healing potions, his arm had to be amputated due to a badly corroded weapon, which left splinters in the wound.
The others just needed rest; perhaps two months and they’d be back on their feet. Only Yanik, who suffered an open fracture after falling from his horse, might take an extra month.
“With no casualties among the prisoners, you’re trying to score a compliment, aren’t you?”
“There’s a difference between acceptable jokes and bad ones, even with you.”
“Well, some arms and legs had to be sacrificed. Muscle and bone completely destroyed—it couldn’t be helped. Besides, the medicine was too precious to waste. They’re going to be left as a display…”
“If we’re alive, that’s plenty good enough…”
“We can discuss everything later. Have you made sure they can’t escape?”
When I asked, he sighed in exasperation and exaggeratedly shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m doing it. I’ve had them strip naked and change into different clothes. I’ve checked their hair and mouths. I even had their butts pried open. Honestly, my eyes feel dirty and I feel defiled from having seen such disgusting things multiple times.”
“Good. Maybe Lady Kaya can clean you up later.”
” CircularProgress I’m gonna kill you, you bastard!”
I returned the report to him as he angrily responded to my light-hearted comment. Then I glanced around and began to shift the topic.
“Got a moment?”
“……Yeah.”
I apologized to the local chief who had accompanied us in the inspection, and Siegfried and I were led to the nearest vacant room. The meeting hall I had borrowed as a command post had been turned into a treatment area for the injured, and I heard that those who participated in last night’s battle, exhausted from it all, were still resting there, so we couldn’t use it.
Out of consideration for us, or perhaps out of kindness, we sipped the offered black tea and took a breath before I began.
“Shall we get physical?”
“……Later will do. Can’t have you venting and feeling better just yet.”
That’s sound reasoning. I didn’t think I’d be forgiven just by getting hit once either, but it’s easy to imagine that both the hitter and the hittee would tend to go easier on each other after a punch was thrown.
“Very well, where shall we start?”
“First, I gotta ask – were you holding back up till now?”
That’s a challenging question right out of the gate.
There’s the matter of defining what holding back really means, but personally, I consider it to be stopping at eight or seven when the situation demands ten.
On that premise, I don’t think I’ve held back from my own perspective. I’ve used the adequate force necessary to defeat the enemy and protect my comrades without injury.
However, if we’re talking about going all-out and using every available card, then no, I haven’t. There are those who believe that if you have the power of one hundred, you should use it even when ten would suffice.
Some might see my unnecessary use of the sword when I could have easily incapacitated opponents without drawing it as holding back. There are those who think you should always go for the full hundred regardless of what’s needed.
If I were to straightforwardly voice that mindset, he would put his hand to his forehead and let out another heavy sigh, the weight of which seems to hang in the air, ready to pile up on the floor.
“That’s fine, I fully understand your quirks… ”
“Eh? Quirks? Hold on, what do you mean by that? Vagueness makes me curious… ”
“Shut up and listen. Anyway, I accept that you weren’t holding back. You’ve been the one charging into the frontline, and so far, nobody has died under your watch. Even if your instructions sometimes bordered on recklessness, we grudgingly followed them because they were within our capabilities.”
Though there were things I took issue with, I was glad that he understood. If we had gotten hung up on these differences in values, understanding each other would have become impossible from that point forward.
I had anticipated his questioning. There were many tasks that could have been easily handled without magic, without even breaking a sweat. Everything could have been far easier and smoother.
“You idiot, if that were the case, we wouldn’t be your sidekicks—just people tagging along with you, thinking it’d be easy work. There were a few who made similar assumptions, but they couldn’t handle it and quit right away. Or were you thinking we were some group of hangers-on who came together just to feed you?”
However, this thought was immediately dismissed. His face darkened with clear annoyance, and he glared sharply at me, stating, “This ain’t just ‘work.’ ”
“Who ever said we’d stick around as the ‘Golden Haired One’s’ lackeys for an easy gig? Those who thought like that were a few, but they couldn’t handle it for long and left right away. Or… did you think we were some entourage that gathered around just to be fed by you?”
“No, I never thought that. There’s no way. At least, there were countless jobs we couldn’t have done without you all. No matter who I am, there’s only so much one person can accomplish alone.”
“I’m not concerned about that. Even though I kind of sensed you were hiding something… what I really want to know is…”
He paused, crossed his arms, and glanced at the ceiling, avoiding eye contact as he spoke.
“Would there have been no casualties if you had used your full capabilities from the start?”
His face tilted towards the ceiling, hiding his expression, his voice calm but trembling slightly. It was clear what he had been suppressing, what he had been trying to keep at bay.
Despite everything he said, we had been working together. Based on his earlier mention of holding back, I understood the trust he had placed in me. If he had any doubts, who would choose to fight alongside someone so untrustworthy? This job, filled with absurdity and unfairness, demanded giving it everything you had, or it could take your life regardless of how much you put in. No one would team up with someone they fundamentally disliked or distrusted.
Still, his concerns lingered. Could it be that the person who had earned his trust hadn’t gone all-out and caused casualties because of it?
This could lead to self-blame—feeling responsible for others’ deaths because of misplaced trust—or even blame others for not fully committing, leading to a tangled mass of feelings difficult to parse in the brain. Yet, he could not refrain from asking, even if it meant facing an answer he might not want to hear.
Siegfried is a man, after all. He couldn’t leave things vague or unresolved.
And so, I responded earnestly—
Even if it led to him reaching for his weapon in rage.
“I cannot guarantee, but I believe there were choices that could have prevented casualties.”
The sound of a chair being kicked back loudly echoed. In the next moment, the familiar clang of steel leaving its sheath rang out.
The coldness that brushed against my neck was the polished sharpness of steel. In a world where time stretched languidly thanks to the instinctual activation of <Lightning Reflection>, Siegfried’s sword draw was far more fluid and graceful than the first time we met.
The blade hung suspended, trembling not a whit, its wielder’s focused eyes glimmering with a faint but heavy killing intent.
“Nice sword, was it theirs? It appears to be a masterpiece of magic forging.”
“Listen carefully, what you say next matters.”
The low, threatening voice pressed into my ear. The faint sting of the blade grazing my skin signified his serious intent. In response, I returned his honesty with mine.
“I am also a sorcerer. Due to my mentor’s decree and my own will, I’ve concealed this until now.”
“Something like that, you could tell just by watching. If any ordinary swordsman could do that, I’d have carved mountains down with slashes by now.”
“That ‘just by watching’ is important. If someone thought you were just a regular warrior, and suddenly magic came flying out in the middle of a brawl… you understand how terrifying that might be?”
“Still, there was no need to surprise us with the same shock.”
He’s right, in fairness. Yet, words can spread from anyone, anywhere.
For sorcerers, a spell that an opponent hasn’t seen cannot be easily countered. It’s best to silence any who have seen it and limit those who know your tricks to a minimum or else weaken your own advantage considerably.
It’s akin to the way a traditional sword art treasures its secret techniques. Though my own <Battlefield Swordsmanship>, fortified by logic and direct force, possesses no such ostentatious secrets, the analogy might resonate with him in principle.
Considering he still has a blade to my throat, I’ll save certain explanations for a calmer moment.
“But I decided to use it when it was no longer appropriate to keep it hidden. To minimize the damage, I unleashed everything I had, both finishing moves and showcase moves. There is no lie in this – I swear on the honor of my sword, or if you prefer, by the names of my parents.”
To his nodding acknowledgment, I expound further on the primary forms of magic I can wield.
Simple magics to make life more convenient, an exceedingly versatile invisible hand, incendiary thermite magical formations capable of destruction, and the grease-based incendiary magical formation used as landmines, with which he seemed to have familiarity.
“Was it you who whispered advice to Kaya?”
“Maybe. It doesn’t really suit her gentle nature to be using magic designed to efficiently harm others, does it?”
“Don’t play dumb… but still, I’ll agree with you on that. And, by the way, did you use that hand-type magic while pretending to stay silent?”
Why does he think that? He then recounted several memorable anecdotes, ticking them off on his fingers.
A riding practice member who fell off spectacularly but only sustained a minor sprain. A sword that was knocked out of someone’s hand during a melee but somehow ended up stuck at a convenient location that wasn’t remembered. The impossible chance occurrence of a bowstring snapping just before an arrow would have landed an almost fatal blow, instead sharply striking and stunning its owner.
All of these seemed too perfect to be mere good fortune.
“Ah, so you caught onto it?”
“Sorry, but even though I’m whispered to as a man of luck, I’ve never believed in it. When such things kept happening around you, it wasn’t hard to suspect some intention behind it. The only reason I didn’t confront you was because I didn’t have solid proof and it wasn’t necessarily you.”
“Ah… you really have sharp eyes and mind. I should have been more careful.”
But I didn’t want to become someone who, in the name of “just in case,” would refrain from helping allies right before their eyes. That’s why I’ve quietly used magic countless times, trying not to get caught.
Still, surely he understands by now that the magic I wield is useful and could drastically turn the tide of battles in our favor.
“I understand the possibility that casualties could have been avoided… Now, let me ask. Is there a magic that could obliterate an entire line of undead with one strike?”
“No, that’s quite impossible.”
None of my magics are suited for wide-scale incineration. The only one I keep hidden, the Chrysanthemum Formation, could theoretically target large groups, but even that couldn’t encompass such a vast area.
Moreover, its effects on the undead are weak. For a vampire species that still requires organs to function, I could potentially stop them by killing them once. But the reanimated corpses that don’t need internal function would continue to move despite their innards being shredded by shockwaves or pressure changes.
Fundamentally, my area-destruction magic is tailored for dealing with living organisms. Until now, it seems almost like someone has been preventing me from using magic against humans, yet when I need it, enemies that resist its effects are paraded before me—a frustrating conundrum that, from a meta-perspective, doesn’t entirely make sense.
They’ve arrived, but since that person has area-of-effect attacks, we thought about dispersing a large number of expendable troop mobs to hinder them. Honestly, after experiencing it myself, it’s clear that they’re using a significant degree of mastery, so I wanted to tell them not to waste it on mere player meta-gaming.
If we’re talking about overcoming this, a technique capable of scorching several kilometers in radius would be necessary. Even so, considering that the Chrysanthemum technique already feels overly powerful, it begs the question—where do they plan to adventure with something like that prepared?
The fundamental issue is that the current situation, where adventurers are facing off against an army, starkly deviates from the adventurer’s role.
Leaving such absurdities aside, if humans were to form a horizontal line again, there would have been no hesitation in targeting and unleashing a powerful attack on the densest concentration of their main force, making things proceed far more smoothly. The main force would have been annihilated, and the scattered soldiers, overwhelmed by the damage, would have lost their will to wage war.
Killing dozens with a single strike is far better than allowing our allies to be killed.
However, there was no immediate way to resolve the situation.
Even with all hands and swords at full capacity or by unleashing magic at full force, it would take time to deal with that number alone. Silencing everyone within five or so minutes wasn’t feasible, and even if it had been possible, the cavalry unit that arrived at the critical moment would have been too late to save those under attack.
“Hmm…? Then, could we have remained in that position and helped those being attacked?”
“That’s impossible. Magic generally affects only within the visible range unless specific conditions are met. Engaging in defensive combat while casting spells from afar is difficult. There exist spells to enhance vision, but even if they allow us to locate the individuals under attack, it doesn’t guarantee immediate magical assistance.”
A practitioner at the level of Lady Agrippina can cast magic on distant locations they view through the “Far Sight” skill as if they were there in person. However, I can’t do that. It’s a lofty skill that borders on NPC-like capabilities, something usually exclusive to enemies in a system where power doesn’t inflate easily—truly a broken ability.
With some enchanted talismans capable of channeling mana, simple spells could be delivered, but even with “Voice Projection,” the limit is typically within the same town, rendering complex actions unattainable.
“Huh? Then, if we can’t resurrect the dead, how about healing serious injuries…?”
“Come on, that level of skill surpasses even Lady Kaya’s mastery. I haven’t trained in any healing techniques; they’re incredibly difficult and delicate.”
Even Lady Agrippina considers it “not her forte” and leaves it to professional healers. If I were to pursue it, I’d have to halve my sword skills and cut down my magical techniques even further, never mind obtaining extra resources. The outcome would merely be a slightly better version of healing wounds, essentially making me an inferior copy of Lady Kaya—a prime example of jack-of-all-trades, master of none.
Healing and regenerating physical wounds is exceedingly complex and demands a high level of magical expertise. That’s why, as an adventurer, I opted against specializing in it. If one were to focus purely on healing, one should suppress personal pride and offer devotion to the gods from the beginning.
“If I’m not mistaken, your ability doesn’t seem effective enough for choices that prevent deaths. Or was it something where, after destroying the cavalry alone, you could have managed some intervention?”
“Difficult to say. The impact of a single cavalryman isn’t enough to disrupt formations, and even with the use of an ‘Invisible Hand’ technique against the horizontal line, it wouldn’t instantly dismantle everything. We would have still needed the cavalry’s shock value. Perhaps, if we recruited the manor’s male population without replenishing the ranks…”
“Are you insane? Without permission, driving out the manor’s men as militia disregards honor. We’re paid to protect them, after all, whether by choice or obligation. How could we take responsibility if they were to die? First of all, who among them could ride and charge on warhorses?”
“We avoided pushing men who could only ride and trot for fear of overexertion. But I said ‘perhaps,’ right?”
In order to bring the losses from battle formations against the undead to zero, either I would have needed to move forward to significantly reduce enemy numbers, or join the ranks to focus on blocking attacks that reach my allies. Given the difficulty of delivering a single lethal strike, the range of optimal options continues to narrow.
At least, my mind couldn’t devise any more.
“So then, how could we have managed without any casualties? Are you suggesting we rewind time? Or like Richard, you could have some sort of splitting ability?”
Even Siegfried, looking back with hindsight, couldn’t find a solution. To decisively resolve the situation, ancient heroes had tools like hourglasses capable of reversing time itself or autonomous shadow puppets, capabilities I agree with invoking.
Still, these heroes, who would mock their abilities as “cheats,” do indeed possess extraordinary, albeit slightly unrealistic talents.
“There is a spell: ‘Spatial Transference.’ It connects places together, allowing one to instantly teleport. By identifying the enemy cavalry with ‘Far Sight,’ then teleporting in and wiping them out before returning swiftly, we could have finished the cavalry’s formation by the time we encountered the skirmishers. If we could have flanked earlier, we might have decided the battle’s outcome without casualties.”
“Huh!? Isn’t that just cheating?”
Cheating? Yes, it’s cheating. The world designed it to be prohibitively complex, so its abuse could never topple it—cheating, indeed. My attempts to use it were met with colossal investment in skill levels and resulted in merely experimental failures.
The sword, which had begun to loosen, refortified itself, pressing against the neck again in silence—a question unspoken: Why didn’t you use it?
“Actually, I’ve never used this spell on myself.”
“Huh?”
Is it clear that teleportation magic is extraordinarily challenging, that even animal trials have a dubious success rate, and that the fear of it makes it far too dangerous to use on humans? Can someone without magic knowledge understand the danger?
In the event of failure, it’s unclear where one might be transported. In experiments with rats equipped with tracking devices, none of the failed experiments returned, and their locations remain unknown. Whether they ended up in some distant unknown land, were swallowed into a different spatial phase and lost forever, or were ejected into the void of space before being obliterated remains entirely obscured by time.
“By the way, what’s the success rate from animal trials?”
“About… sixty percent or so.”
While the fear of death exists, the very possibility that I could temporarily, or even permanently, abscond from the battlefield wasn’t negligible. Regardless of whether others might call it self-congratulatory, I am conscious of being a pivotal chess piece that can maintain a fighting line.
If I were to die uselessly, it’s certain that the situation would worsen further.
“Sixty percent… and even that isn’t guaranteed for you…”
The weighty, bitter tone faded, and his sword, more falling than being lowered, slipped to the side. Siegfried completely lost his energy, dropping heavily into the chair. Brushing his bangs back, he intoned with all the emotions pent within him:
“Not using it was the right choice. Guaranteed failure.”
“Ah, yeah, well… I guess?”
“Do you know if you’ve ever made your living through gambling on fortune?”
“Uh…?”
Searching my memories only brought forth disheartening experiences.
While I don’t particularly enjoy gambling, because of my frequent presence in taverns, I often join in card games and dice rolls when called. A regular sentiment was, “You’ve surely made a fair amount through betting; why not try your hand?”
Every time, I’d lose my entry fees within seconds, eliciting pitying murmurs of “Geez…” as I was excused from the table. It’s rare for someone to voluntarily cease taking my money, despite having the funds, due to my extraordinary misfortune.
If it were a game like Hold’em that involved bluffing or strategy, I could’ve managed a bit of resistance, but in a game where winning is determined by simple combinations akin to dice, it’s understandable why my chances would be nil.
“Your death would only cause trouble. So, to confirm again, there’s no deceit in your words?”
“I said it at the start—I swear on my parents there’s no lie here. Want to call a Sending Wolf to confirm?”
Whether it’s the void sensation after his anger subsided or the relief that his leader wasn’t as reckless as feared, Siegfried slumped fully, legs sprawled, sighing deeply.
Still, true to his nature, he announced he’d beat me, and I resolved to accept his full-strength iron fist without resistance…
—
【Tips】 An adventurer’s principal enemies are usually small groups of bandits, thieves, villains, or monsters lurking in narrow caves and ruins—not armies.
I’ve unknowingly surpassed 10,000 characters this time, without finding a natural break to pause.
I might want to reflect alone about this soon, but let’s leave that for later.
You may have forgotten, but Erich is an adventurer, hence he hasn’t ventured into tactical or strategic magic, feeling no urgency for it.
Lord Drift may have dabbled in some leftover practice points romantically, but he acquired tactical spells recognizing his role as a combat mage, a strategically crucial piece.
The maximum effective range of the Chrysanthemum technique is roughly 100 meters, which is already more than enough.
And Plasma Annihilation reaches temperatures far beyond 10,000 degrees, not just comparable to thermite magic. Direct hits channel such excess heat into a different spatial phase, making it an extremely lethal technique.
Returning the Sword of Desire only resulted in it coming back, for reasons that remain unclear, so I created it more as a failed romantic experiment. It might as well be considered a high-performance enemy-killing weapon.
I can only reflect on my own inability to convey these ideas effectively in the story.
Apologies.
