Chương 39: The Price of Becoming a Target

Perhaps it was Sieghart's assistance, or perhaps the Firians had simply lost too much momentum during the opening exchange. Whatever the cause, the attacking formation began to move backward. The change wasn't immediate enough to resemble a retreat. The Firians continued fighting, but each attempt to advance ended with more water crashing into their ranks and more enchanted attacks striking their weakened bodies. Every enormous sphere Sieghart launched soaked another section of the battlefield.

The Firians could evaporate the water, but doing so consumed the heat stored beneath their skin. Their earlier confidence gradually disappeared. The strongest warriors continued pushing forward, yet the weaker ones began hesitating whenever another shadow passed over them. Instead of preparing their fire punches, they watched the sky and waited to see where the next sphere would land. That hesitation gave the defenders time.

Ice archers selected targets carefully, prioritizing the Firians whose clothing remained wet. Wind Aura users redirected the steam away from the defensive line while spearmen attacked anyone who slipped in the spreading mud. The soldiers had adapted to Sieghart's intervention far more quickly than the enemy. They might not understand who he was or how he possessed enough mana to continue, but they understood the advantage he provided. Whenever water struck, the defenders followed.

The ice swordsman with the silver armor moved through the soaked enemies like a blade passing across exposed throats. He no longer needed to spend as much Aura freezing his targets because the water amplified every attack. His frost-covered sword cut through one Firian's chest before spinning into the leg of another. Ice spread across both wounds, preventing the heat inside their bodies from closing them. The spearman followed close behind him.

Green Aura flared around the man's feet as he crossed the muddy ground without slipping. His weapon became a blur, piercing exposed joints and forcing the Firians away from the gaps in the barricades. Even ordinary soldiers fought more aggressively. During the previous evening, they had braced themselves for the Firians' fire attacks and surrendered control of the battlefield. This time, they stepped beyond the defensive line whenever the enemy became drenched. The defenders were attacking first.

Sieghart felt satisfaction spread through him as another Firian formation lost ground. The battle remained dangerous, but it no longer looked like a slow execution of the camp's exhausted soldiers. His intervention mattered. The discomfort caused by gaining experience from the deaths of others didn't disappear completely. However, it became easier to bear when Sieghart saw what those deaths prevented. A Firian who fell beneath an enchanted arrow wouldn't reach the barricade.

He wouldn't burn another soldier, attack the medical tents, or continue advancing toward the nearby town. Sieghart wasn't helping an invading army slaughter people for territory. He was helping defenders survive against enemies who had chosen to attack them. The distinction didn't make killing pleasant. It made it necessary. I suppose feeling conflicted is better than enjoying it. If this ever becomes fun, I should probably start worrying about myself. Sieghart extended his hand and created another sphere.

His movements had become more efficient with repetition, reducing the time required to gather the water. The first sphere had taken several seconds to reach its full size. Now, water swirled above the wagon almost immediately, expanding into an enormous rotating mass. Sieghart launched it toward a group attempting to support the central advance. The Firians saw the sphere and scattered, but their reaction forced them away from the formation they were supposed to reinforce. The water struck mostly empty ground.

At first, Sieghart considered the attack a failure. Then the ice swordsman used the opening to cut down two isolated enemies who had lost support from their companions. A notification appeared. [Black Magic gained 10 Experience Points.] Sieghart blinked. He hadn't even struck the Firians directly. His sphere had forced their allies away, creating the opening that allowed the swordsman to kill them. Apparently, the system possessed a broad interpretation of assistance.

Another enemy fell when the golden archer released a volley into the separated group. A second message followed immediately. [Black Magic gained 10 Experience Points.] [Black Magic has reached Level 2.] Sieghart felt a brief pulse pass through his body. It started somewhere behind his chest, spread along his arms, and disappeared before he could understand what had changed. The sensation wasn't painful, but it made his mana stir in response. He waited for another message. Nothing appeared.

Sieghart checked the water gathering above him. It didn't seem larger, denser, or easier to control than the previous sphere. His concentration hadn't recovered. The pressure behind his eyes remained exactly where it had been, and his Magic parameter didn't appear to have increased. Sieghart opened the skill tree while continuing to maintain the sphere. Black Magic now displayed Level Two, but no new branches or spells appeared beneath it. Fire, water, wind, and earth remained the same.

There wasn't a bonus point waiting for him. No hidden ability had unlocked, and the system hadn't provided an explanation of what advancing the magic type actually accomplished. Sieghart frowned.

"That was anticlimactic." A soldier beside the wagon looked toward him, apparently thinking that the complaint referred to the battle. Sieghart ignored the confused expression and examined the system again. Black Magic had required combat experience to advance. Reaching Level Two should have done something, even if the result wasn't immediately visible. Perhaps the level increased his affinity with every spell beneath the Black Magic tree. The improvement might be too small to notice without careful testing.

It was also possible that Black Magic granted bonuses only at specific milestones. Level Five or Level Ten might unlock a new branch, while the levels between them served as steps toward that reward. Sieghart disliked systems that concealed their rules. He could accept difficult requirements, expensive skills, and complicated progression. What irritated him was being forced to discover basic mechanics through accidents during a battle. Would a short tutorial have killed whoever created this thing?

Preferably one involving less fire and fewer actual corpses? He launched the sphere. Water crashed across another section of the enemy formation, interrupting several Firians before they could release their fire punches. The defenders answered with arrows and waves of frost. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. Sieghart dismissed the skill tree and opened his main status.

The familiar information appeared before him, remaining visible despite the chaos across the battlefield. His name was unchanged. His parameters reflected every improvement gained through training, and his mana still displayed the same impossible symbol. Protection, Mana Transfusion, and his elemental spells all remained beneath their respective branches. However, the top of the status displayed something Sieghart had mostly ignored. [Level: 1] [Experience: 0] Sieghart stared.

He had killed the pig-like monsters near the farm. He had assisted in killing several Firians, and Black Magic had gained experience from each contribution. His personal level hadn't received anything. Not even a single point. Sieghart had assumed that progressing his magic types was the same as progressing himself, but the status treated them as entirely separate systems. Black Magic advanced through combat.

Individual spells advanced by reaching performance milestones, while parameters increased through training and discoveries. His main level followed a different rule.

"What do I have to do to gain experience?" The system didn't answer. Sieghart waited for several seconds, hoping that speaking the question aloud might trigger some explanation. The status remained completely indifferent to his confusion. He tried focusing upon the word Experience. Nothing changed. He focused upon Level. Still nothing. Wonderful. I have three separate progression systems, and the most important one apparently expects me to guess the password.

Perhaps personal experience required him to deliver the killing blow. The pig-like monsters argued against that theory because Sieghart had killed them directly without gaining any visible progress. Maybe he needed to fight enemies with levels of their own. The Firians seemed to possess Aura rather than a system, so their deaths might improve Black Magic without affecting his main level. Another possibility was that he needed to accomplish something unrelated to combat.

His reincarnation, unusual magic, or lack of Aura could have given him entirely different requirements. Sieghart had too many theories and no method of testing most of them. The battlefield wasn't the place to become distracted by progression mechanics. He dismissed the status and focused upon the people trying to kill his grandfather.

"I can worry about that later." Water gathered above him again. The repetition became almost mechanical. Sieghart formed a sphere, selected a group preparing to attack, and launched it before immediately beginning another spell. The mental strain increased steadily, but his improved Mentality allowed him to continue far beyond anything he could have managed a year earlier. He didn't attempt to make the spheres more powerful than necessary.

Their purpose wasn't to crush the Firians directly but to remove heat, disrupt formations, and create opportunities. Efficiency mattered even with infinite mana. Every unnecessary adjustment consumed concentration, and concentration remained the only resource Sieghart couldn't replace instantly. He needed to preserve enough focus to react if something reached the camp. The Firians tried several methods to counter him. Some released fireballs upward, attempting to evaporate the spheres before they descended.

Others spread out so widely that a single impact couldn't drench more than one or two warriors. Those responses weakened their offensive pressure. Every fireball directed into the sky wasn't launched against the defenders. Every group that spread apart became easier for the Aura users to isolate. Sieghart's water didn't need to strike perfectly. The possibility of another sphere already influenced the enemy's behavior. More notifications appeared as defenders killed the Firians affected by his attacks.

Sieghart dismissed them rapidly, refusing to let the messages obscure his vision during combat. [Black Magic gained 10 Experience Points.] [Black Magic gained 10 Experience Points.] [Black Magic gained 10 Experience Points.] The numbers accumulated faster than Sieghart expected. His wide attacks contributed to several engagements simultaneously, granting experience whenever an affected enemy died. Black Magic reached its next requirement before the battle had lasted half as long as the previous evening.

[Black Magic has reached Level 3.] Another pulse moved through Sieghart. This time, he paid close attention to the sensation. Something inside his mana became slightly easier to organize, as though the elemental paths responded more quickly to his intentions. The improvement remained subtle, but it existed. Creating the next sphere required less effort.

The difference wasn't enormous enough to solve his limitations, yet every reduction in mental strain allowed Sieghart to cast more spells before becoming exhausted. Black Magic levels appeared to improve his general control over the elemental branches beneath it. Individual spell levels strengthened specific effects, while the parent magic type enhanced the foundation supporting them. At least, that was his current theory.

Testing it properly would require a controlled environment, several notebooks, and a battlefield containing fewer people attempting to set him on fire. Sieghart looked toward the defenders. They had pushed beyond the first barricade. The Firians were no longer advancing. Their leading groups retreated beneath concentrated attacks, while those behind them struggled to provide support without entering the range of Sieghart's water. The difference from the previous battle was undeniable.

Only a handful of defenders had fallen, and most injuries appeared less severe. The Firians' weakened flames burned clothing and skin but lacked the overwhelming heat that had melted armor the evening before. Their healing had slowed as well. Wounded enemies remained wounded because they were forced to spend their reserves evaporating water. Several retreated while holding bleeding arms or dragging injured legs. Sieghart felt his shoulders relax slightly. The defenders were going to finish the battle soon.

The Firians would probably retreat once their losses became unacceptable. If the pattern continued, they might abandon their daily attacks or change tactics entirely. Either outcome gave the camp time to recover. Maybe this will actually work. The thought had barely formed when the eastern horizon brightened. Sieghart initially assumed that the remaining sunlight had reflected against the smoke. Then the glow expanded, turning the distant hills red. A sphere of fire rose beyond them.

It was larger than every Firian fireball Sieghart had seen combined. The burning mass climbed into the sky like a second sunset, illuminating the retreating warriors from behind. Flames rotated across its surface, folding inward and becoming denser with every passing second. Sieghart's satisfaction vanished. The ordinary Firians had gathered heat throughout the day, but one person had apparently gathered far more than the others. Perhaps the enemy possessed its own equivalent of an elite Aura user.

The massive fireball paused above the distant hill. Sieghart followed its position and estimated the angle. It wasn't aimed at the defensive line. It wasn't aimed at the officers, the ice swordsman, or the archers who had killed dozens of Firians. It was aimed at the wagon.

"Oh." The fireball moved. Despite its enormous size, it crossed the battlefield with terrifying speed. The air screamed around it, and the dry grass below ignited before the flames even touched the ground. Soldiers shouted around the wagon. Some ran away, while others raised enchanted shields despite standing too far from the projectile's center to protect Sieghart. The nearby supplies caught fire from the approaching heat. At the front line, Edric heard the screams and turned.

He saw the enormous fireball crossing above the defenders. His eyes followed its path. The weapon led directly toward the wagon where his grandson stood, surrounded by water and glowing mana. For a heartbeat, Edric stopped moving. The enchanted bow slipped slightly within his hands. His face lost every trace of color, and the calm expression he had maintained throughout both battles shattered.

"No." He abandoned the defensive line. Edric ran toward the camp, pushing past archers and wounded soldiers. The distance between him and the wagon was far too great, but he continued as though desperation might somehow make him faster. Sieghart saw his grandfather running. He saw the horror across the old man's face and understood that Edric believed he was about to watch his grandson die. Protection already covered Sieghart's body. It wouldn't be enough. The fireball filled his vision.

"SIEG!" Edric's scream disappeared beneath the explosion. The massive fireball struck the wagon. Wood, metal, water, and flames erupted into the sky as the entire supply area vanished inside a pillar of fire.