Baglos, the one who creeps in at night.
Even the highest-ranking assassins bow their heads in respect, calling him the strongest of their kind.
When he was surrounded by the Demon King’s army and on the verge of death, he was saved by us—no, to be exact, by Lowell.
From that moment on, he pledged eternal loyalty to Lowell and became our comrade.
However, he remained silent most of the time.
Even after fighting together for years, we could count the number of conversations we’d had with him on one hand—and even those moments were brief.
The reason I remember that particular story so clearly is because it was one of the rare few he ever told us.
“What? Then who’s trying to kill you now?”
She asked.
She seemed… surprised?
No, not exactly surprised.
She looked angry, somehow.
“Probably someone.”
I replied.
“But why? You saved the world with the Hero! No one’s coming after us, so who would want revenge on you of all people?”
She seemed oddly more upset than necessary.
“I can’t say for sure that there’s no one. I’m not Lowell, after all.”
A few incidents did come to mind.
“Or maybe it’s just one hell of a coincidence. Either way, I’ll know when I get there.”
I stepped over to one wall.
We still hadn’t fully figured out how many magical artifacts were hidden in this subspace—or what they all did.
But the ones we’d already examined were gathered in one spot. And for now, those were enough.
“The Talisman of Janus. The Hollow Spirit’s Statue. The Bracelet of Basamum. The Necklace of the Heavens. The High Priest’s Ring. The Key of Tindalos. That should be enough.”
The Talisman of Janus projected a personal defense barrier.
The Hollow Spirit’s Statue blocked curses and spells.
The Bracelet of Basamum made poisons ineffective.
The Necklace of the Heavens amplified magic power.
The High Priest’s Ring accelerated mana recovery.
And the Key of Tindalos—an artifact that created a temporary subspace around the user, nullifying binding spells or magic traps.
All of them were ancient magical relics created by legendary mages and priests.
They had long vanished from the world, known only through written records—who would have guessed they’d turn up among Denatel’s collection?
“Surprising. That’s all you’re taking?”
She said.
“Yeah. If I take any more, I might attract attention.”
Of course, just equipping magical artifacts wasn’t enough.
They were impressive, yes, but they were only supplemental.
They couldn’t guarantee absolute safety.
At my gesture, strange runes and flickering lights appeared in the air.
“That again?”
She muttered.
She knew what it was.
She must have seen it countless times during our travels—enough to be sick of it by now.
The runes and lights followed my movements, engraved themselves onto my body, and then vanished.
I had repeated this process over and over, countless times, across many long years.
“…Don’t you think that’s enough? Who puts up seven layers of protection barriers?”
She had watched me silently for a while before finally raising her voice.
“At that level, even a demon general wouldn’t be able to kill you in one blow!”
She was right.
She hadn’t seen it herself—she had been trapped here before the final battle—but during that last fight, I had thrown myself in front of Lord Medluf to intercept a blow from Demon King Thanatos.
And I survived.
Granted, it wasn’t a full-powered attack.
It was more of a sneak strike aimed during a moment of weakness.
Still, he was the Demon King.
All ten layers of my barrier were shattered by a single blow.
“Why are you so obsessed with those inefficient, clunky, attached-type barriers?”
She demanded.
She had a point.
There are three general types of magical barriers: installation-type, autonomous-type, and the attached-type that I use.
And out of the three, the attached-type is the least efficient and least effective.
These kinds of barriers were originally developed as a desperate measure for those who couldn’t use magic—an extension of scroll magic, really. Instead of parchment, the spell is inscribed directly onto the person.
It’s more like enhanced scroll magic than formal spellcasting.
The first issue is performance.
Like with scrolls, inscribing a powerful spell onto an object—or a person—is extremely difficult, since the vessel often can’t withstand it.
So naturally, the magic ends up weaker than a properly cast spell.
And over time, the power gradually fades.
Even after activation, the drawbacks continue.
Unlike autonomous barriers, the user can’t control their strength or duration.
And worse, the structure of an attached barrier blocks the use of certain types of magic from within.
Any offensive magic cast inside can’t break through the barrier itself.
If you cast a Fireball inside one, you’d just roast yourself alive.
That’s why neither Lord Medluf nor any proper mage uses these.
Even if they offer brief protection, they just trap the caster inside during battle.
But despite all that, I continue to layer attached-type barriers—because I’m not a mage.
People often mistake summoners for mages.
True, we use mana, and some of us—like me—can use basic magic.
But summoners are far rarer, and strictly speaking, we’re closer to priests or shamans than to mages.
We communicate with beings from other realms.
We become friends, trade with them—or dominate them.
Our powers are fundamentally different from those of mages.
They don’t come from theories or techniques.
Our power is a kind of talent—a color imprinted on the soul itself.
In other words, even inside these attached-type barriers, I can still use my powers freely.
And no matter how inefficient they are, when stacked like this, they’re far more durable than the autonomous barriers I can barely cast with my limited magic.
“The reason I’ve managed to survive this long despite my lack of skill is all thanks to this method. And besides, even Medluf praised me, saying that when it comes to managing mounted barriers, no one can surpass me.”
It might sound like I’m bragging, but layering this many mounted barriers onto the body without putting a strain on it is an incredibly difficult task.
It’s definitely not something you can achieve just by casting the same spell over and over.
If that were the case, you’d be overwhelmed by fatigue and side effects after just three layers.
When stacking these mounted barriers, they must not only avoid interfering with each other but also produce synergistic effects between them.
That way, you get the maximum effect with minimal spells and reduce the burden on the body as well.
With every additional barrier, the calculations get more complex, and the order and method of construction grow increasingly intricate.
“Yeah. Must be real nice getting praised by that old man. But do you even realize you’ve been here for over four hours already?”
I hadn’t noticed.
I expected it to take longer since it had been a while, but not this long.
But didn’t I say just this morning that my sense of time had dulled from being here too long?
“I see. If I don’t head back soon, I won’t even get any sleep.”
Seven layers was decent, but compared to my record of ten, it was clear I’d gotten a little rusty.
“Then I’ll be off.”
“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”
There was something different in her farewell, something not quite the same as usual—but by then, I was already standing in front of my bed.
“I wonder what time we’re setting off.”
I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes.
I needed sleep.
Even if I fell asleep now, I’d only get a few hours before sunrise.
The knights knocked on the door later than expected.
It wasn’t out of consideration for me—they didn’t seem in any particular hurry either.
We only left the temple after finishing a late breakfast and thanking Priest Philip and Austin.
Now, with the sun dipping toward the horizon, we were just crossing the Ropha Plains and heading into the Huinto region.
If there’s one good thing about this strange journey, it’s how nostalgic it feels.
This route we’re walking—it’s exactly the same as when I first started traveling with Lowell.
We crossed the Ropha Plains, passed through the vast wilderness of Huinto, and arrived in Kashin Village.
That’s where our real adventure began.
Kashin was a small village.
Far from the frontlines, free from demon attacks.
But even so, in the face of annihilation, the people were filled with fear and confusion, and certain types used that chaos for their own gain.
They were bandits.
Hiding in secret on the village outskirts, they threatened the weakened town and demanded goods.
In the end, Lowell and I dealt with them—but back then, we were still inexperienced.
More than that, we were alone.
“Come to think of it, that was the first time Lowell hit me.”
The memory made me rub my jaw.
It had really hurt—both physically and emotionally.
“We’ll camp over there today.”
The captain of the knights pointed to a hill in the distance.
It was a good choice.
It might have been possible to push forward and exit the Ropha Plains by midnight if we hustled, but the barren land of Huinto was full of rocks, sand, and burrowing monsters.
Spending the night here in the plains was definitely wiser.
“At least we won’t have to worry about bugs tonight.”
Henry—was that his name?
He kept throwing little jabs like that.
Guess he just couldn’t help himself.
Then again, this was nothing new.
Even back at the academy, I was always treated like this.
My grades, both academic and practical, were decent, but I was still often looked down on.
“I see.”
Of course, things were different when Lowell was around.
Even at the academy, Lowell was kind and friendly to everyone.
But no matter what anyone said, I was the one he was closest to.
Maybe because of that, I became a thorn in some people’s eyes.
Still, most wouldn’t dare treat me poorly in front of Lowell, afraid of falling out of favor with him.
Some girls, despite not even considering me human deep down, tried to get close to me—hoping it might bring them closer to Lowell.
It’s a good thing I already knew my place back then.
If I’d been just another naive boy, I probably would’ve gotten hurt by false hope.
I wonder what happened to those who used to ignore me back at the academy.
Did they survive the last war?
Even if they were from noble families, most of the academy’s talented graduates were drafted.
“I’ll probably run into news of them eventually.”
Still, I doubt they’d see me differently just because I became one of the hero’s companions.
They’d just regret not being the ones by Lowell’s side—thinking that if they had been, they would’ve been the ones to save the world instead of someone like me.
“The closer you are to radiant light, the uglier the shadows become—not that they’d ever realize that.”
No, they probably wouldn’t even understand that they are the shadows.
Drunk on the beauty right in front of them, they never even thought to reflect on themselves.
I looked up at the sky.
The moon was especially bright tonight.
So bright, in fact, that I could barely lift my gaze.