Fairy • Black Dog

Of course, even with a method for deconstructing a magecraft foundation, an ordinary person could not have done it as easily as Sovell.

"Your origin is the most precious gift you possess."

Merlin had once told Sovell that.

Indeed, in Merlin's eyes, Sovell's origin-[Construction]-was his most precious gift.

It was even more valuable than the infinite magical energy and powerful body his dragon blood granted him.

His origin of Construction allowed Sovell to understand the principles and structures of things more easily than others.

Whether it was a magecraft formation, an alchemical creation, or even a physical machine with nothing supernatural about it, Sovell would always understand the unknown a step ahead of everyone else.

That was the "structure" aspect: deconstruction and conceptualization.

However, Sovell possessed more than mere "structure."

The "creation" within his origin allowed him to make full use of the former's strengths.

With "structure" alone, he could at most understand things and see them clearly.

But with "creation" to put that understanding into practice, analyzing and modifying the unknown became effortless for Sovell.

One could say that his origin of Construction truly gave Sovell the possibility he had asked Merlin about: unleashing powerful magecraft in a single step.

Even looking further back, searching among the ancients for such a possibility, perhaps only the legendary King of Magecraft, Solomon, could have achieved it.

As for looking to the future...

Better not. The gap between magecraft from the age of gods and magecraft from later eras was truly enormous. As human science advanced, the room left for the supernatural to survive would inevitably keep shrinking.

Take the "Mystic Eyes transplant ritual" Merlin had used to frighten Sovell a few years earlier. In the future, so much of the technique would have been lost that those capable of performing it could be counted on one hand worldwide.

Rune magecraft in the Norse system likewise required no incantation; once inscribed, the runes could be stored and used later.

For Sovell to compete with the greatest legendary rune mages in casting speed now would have been a pipe dream. But in another few years, or a decade or more, once his magecraft techniques had matured...

There would be no telling who would win.

The sun was already high, its light streaming through the window into the room.

The boy's eyelids fluttered as he lay in bed, caught between sleep and waking.

A flock of birds flew past the window, making the light flicker across his face. In the end, the boy woke under the sunlight's resounding slap.

Ah, yes. Sovell was in no particular hurry to reach Wales. He still had plenty of time.

Besides, he had spent eight years learning wind-attribute magecraft. If he could not even use it to get around, he might as well go back and start over.

After quite some time, Sovell finally went downstairs to the main hall and collected the bread and juice left at his seat from the night before.

He swallowed the now-dry bread in a few bites, said a word to the innkeeper, then left the inn and continued south.

According to the geography of the future, the Island of Britain more or less belonged to a temperate oceanic climate zone.

It was now the day before Christmas. Though Britain's winters could hardly be called bitterly cold, the temperature was still low enough to make ordinary people uncomfortable.

Of course, that sort of cold was nothing to Sovell.

Both the white robe Merlin had given him to mark his graduation and the silver armor he wore offered almost perfect insulation against harsh conditions.

Even without either, he still had the physical resilience of a half-dragon. He could have stripped naked on the spot and jumped into an icy lake without any trouble.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Dead leaves crumbled beneath his silver boots, making a pleasant sound.

His boots kicked up fragments of leaves, but before they could fall, a whirlwind swept them away along with the nearby leaves, leaving a circle that had become a "no-go zone" for them.

With the invasion of foreign peoples, the mystery in England's land had receded more severely than in Scotland to the north. The leaves here had already fallen.

Sovell gnawed on bear jerky as he raced through the woods, using the wind to carry juice into his mouth and wash down the meat.

He had to admit that sweetness always lifted the spirits. Sweet foods also had a higher energy density than other ordinary foods, letting him replenish his magical energy faster.

If he ran into someone with ill intentions, channeling the magical energy in his body to give it draconic strength would still take time. At least for now, Sovell could not reinforce himself instantaneously.

So the more magical energy he stored in his body, the better. There was a reason brute force could work wonders.

Grr-woof!

What the f-what's going on?!

At the same instant Sovell heard the bark, he felt a foul-smelling breeze carrying an ominous presence blow toward him from behind.

His wandering mind snapped into focus. Instinctively, he released half the magical energy stored within him, creating a storm that blew away everything around him-including the owner of that bark.

Having recovered his bearings, Sovell put away the bear jerky and gulped down the remaining juice.

He used the other half of his magical energy to reinforce his body, drew the Storm Holy Sword, and turned to face his enemy. The sheath formed from Invisible Air dispersed as well, reforming into a round shield in his left hand.

But...

"What the hell is this thing?"

One could hardly blame Sovell for being so startled. The thing that had tried to attack him was actually a "black furball" curled up beneath a tree.

Well, the "black furball" had not wanted to end up curled beneath the tree either. The storm Sovell had just unleashed had simply blown her away and slammed her into it.

Sovell casually held the Holy Sword out to one side. A gust of wind instantly formed a sword stand to support it, while he slowly approached the "black furball" with the wind shield raised in his left hand.

Suddenly, the "black furball" uncurled and pounced at Sovell.

Smack!

Clang!

Ah, no misunderstanding now. This "black furball" was not a little horned lamb or anything like that. Rather, she was a puppy that looked much like a Whippet.

Though the puppy did have two tiny horns on her forehead, barely longer than her fur, and those horns burned with flames, they could not have made such a loud noise by striking the wind shield.

The clang had come from several chains hanging from the puppy's body. But why would a black puppy wearing chains appear out here in the deserted wilderness?

"So that's it. The Black Dog Fairy people say appears in the highlands of northern England-

'Barghest'..."

According to legend, an evil fairy spirit that heralded death and misfortune existed in northern England. When someone in a town died, she would appear there.

That was the black dog fairy, Barghest.

She took the form of a demonic hound with black fur, blazing horns and eyes, and chains wrapped around her body.

If someone important died, such as the lord of a town, they would roam the streets in packs, led by a King Hound.

Out in the wilderness, however, Barghest changed from a fairy who heralded death to one who delivered it. When she encountered passing travelers or warriors out honing their skills, she would bite them to death and devour their flesh and blood.

Still...

"Trying to bite me? Aren't you a little too unlucky, girl?"