At the words “manual therapy,” Gariel’s mouth fell open.
Manual therapy? Wasn’t that just something like a massage people got when they weren’t feeling well?
‘No, wait—why does a mage even know about manual therapy? And besides, cleansing poison isn’t manual therapy at all.’
Relaxing muscles or joints and flushing toxins and waste from the body were two entirely different things.
Even those who didn’t know the full situation could tell just how absurd Phyron’s answer was.
“Why is everyone looking at me like that? For someone at my level, this kind of magic is basic. That’s how I reached Lexuror level.”
Was that so?
Cravat and Gariel turned doubtful eyes toward Roteron.
After all, wasn’t there another 6th-Circle mage present who could confirm or deny it?
“......Why are you looking at me like that? Obviously, he’s the weird one.”
At Roteron’s remark, everyone nodded in relief as if that confirmed it.
Of course. It made no sense that even a 6th-Circle mage would learn something like that as a matter of course.
Phyron, looking somewhat wronged, protested.
“Come on, you’ve learned even stranger magic than I have. It’s unfair that I’m the only one getting flak here.”
“What I learned is a special-type magic.”
“Then mine’s a special-type too! Special-type Muscle Magic! Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
Phyron began to explain the simple principle behind his magic.
“It’s called manual therapy, but really, it just came to me while checking up on my school members’ bodies. The name’s just for show.”
“You check on your disciples’ bodies, and that leads to a spell like this?”
Cravat asked, utterly unable to comprehend it.
What kind of school master personally “checked on” the bodies of his students?
“Well, my members work out with iron every single day.”
“That’s.......”
The magical school Phyron led was so eccentric that even among mages it was treated like heresy.
Mages who trained their bodies more brutally than knights ever did.
Because of that, it was easy to tell which school someone belonged to even without an identification tag—just by the muscles bulging through their clothes.
“Still, if you overtrain, muscles can tear and joints can get damaged. Our school’s goal isn’t just to bulk up; the key is how well you can use your body.”
So their hulking muscles weren’t built merely for appearance.
Flexibility, muscle coordination, and cardiovascular endurance were all equally important.
“When you eat mostly protein, people often end up with gout or other issues. Whenever that happens, I help them personally—and one day I thought, ‘Wouldn’t it be great if I could just cleanse it all away with mana?’”
That was how he came up with the spell he’d just used on Gariel—the so-called manual therapy magic.
“It’s called manual therapy, but it relaxes the muscles, removes lactic acid, prevents gout, and flushes toxins and waste right out.”
“......Why is it actually so practical?”
For all its silly name, its effectiveness was outstanding.
It was strange enough that a muscle-head mage knew such a spell, but since it served as preparation for even more intense training, that somehow made sense too.
“But why ask about it? Was that really what you were wondering while dying?”
“That spell—you described it simply, but in practice, its structure must be extremely complex, right?”
“Well, yes. Everyone’s constitution is different, so I have to adjust the mana amount precisely to match. Took me ages to develop. Why?”
“In that case... couldn’t it maybe help Rine’s condition?”
At Gariel’s words, Ludger was the first to react.
“I see. I understand what you mean.”
Cleansing someone’s body of malignant energy and impurities essentially meant purifying them.
At present, Rine’s body was a battlefield of spatial mana and divine power clashing and entangling.
Even if the divine power were removed, the rampaging spatial mana would still threaten her life.
But if they used Phyron’s magic, it could calm that mana and stabilize her body.
The potential was enormous.
“Hmm. I’ll have to see the girl’s condition first, but it shouldn’t be impossible.”
When Phyron stroked his beard, the coarse hair rustled audibly.
“I should check it myself.”
He decided to go see her immediately.
Rine was lying quietly asleep in her room.
A specialized automaton was changing the wet towel on her forehead.
When the automaton noticed the people entering, it stepped aside silently.
Roteron and Phyron both felt curiosity toward the human-like automaton, but that wasn’t the priority now.
“So this is the child.”
Roteron stared intently at Rine through the iron mask.
Mana gathered in his eyes as he calmly examined her condition.
“Her soul is unstable.”
“Her soul?”
Gariel asked in surprise.
“The rampant energy in her body is one thing, but this pure yet violent power isn’t natural. It’s a curse branded deep in her bloodline. We call that the soul, and this girl’s soul is bound.”
Roteron had once been a warrior of the beastkin tribes.
Beastkin traditionally wielded the power of the Spirits that harmonized with nature, and Roteron could do the same.
His special-type [Origin Magic] had been born from that spiritual power.
“Well, I don’t understand any of that soul talk, but when it comes to the body, I’m confident in my field.”
Phyron too examined Rine carefully.
“Hold on a moment.”
After asking permission, he extended a hand the size of a pot lid toward Rine.
His palm stopped about ten centimeters above her solar plexus, and mana gathered there.
Like ink spreading through water, the mana diffused and scanned her whole body.
When the inspection was done, Phyron withdrew the mana and spoke.
“Her condition’s terrible. Her whole body feels like it’s being torn apart by pain. It’s a miracle she’s even alive.”
“Is it that bad?”
“This kind of unique constitution is new even to me. But if I look a bit deeper, I might be able to find a way.”
Still, he couldn’t do it alone.
Both Roteron and Phyron turned their heads toward Ludger at once.
“Is it possible?”
“For a teacher like you, right?”
They didn’t know why, but somehow it felt like—
If it was Ludger, he could carve open that path called possibility.
“If everyone helps, it’s possible.”
Ludger looked at Roteron and Phyron, his voice filled with sincere resolve.
“So please, lend me your help.”
* * *
Neither Roteron nor Phyron refused Ludger’s request.
Roteron was already entangled in the New Mage Tower’s political struggles, so he had no choice but to ally with Ludger.
Phyron, on the other hand, volunteered out of a sense of justice.
To ignore a dying girl without doing what he could—that would violate his principles.
“I’ll first check the New Mage Tower’s movements. If I can get support from my faction, it won’t hurt.”
“Then I’ll keep examining the girl’s condition in more detail.”
Leaving those words, Roteron departed the hideout, and Phyron began a closer inspection of Rine.
The sight of the massive Phyron delicately examining her looked oddly incongruous.
But Phyron hadn’t reached the 6th-Circle through brute strength alone.
To reach that level, one needed a firm grasp of magical theory as well.
For all his rugged exterior, Phyron was quite intelligent.
“Two 6th-Circle mages lending their strength... that’s more reassuring than I expected.”
Their once-uneasy team now had two Lexuror-class mages added.
And both perfectly complemented the weaknesses Ludger, Cravat, and Gariel lacked.
‘If this goes well—no, with this, we can definitely save Rine.’
That hope was only natural.
Gariel recalled the moment earlier when Ludger had pleaded for help.
‘That guy. He begged those two sincerely.’
It was unlike Ludger.
The Ludger Gariel knew would have stiffened his neck and ordered them to help—or tried to strike a deal.
‘No. Was that really who he was? Or was it just the image I wanted to believe in?’
Gariel thought of Ludger’s face.
Behind that cold exterior, the man possessed altruism and compassion for others.
That must be why he could go so far for someone like Rine.
‘And me? What about me?’
In this mission, Gariel’s role had been simple—
To step into a stopped world and retrieve a few designated items.
But how had that turned out?
They’d been ambushed out of nowhere and nearly died.
No, dying might have been better. If Phyron hadn’t saved him, he would’ve been dragged to the New Mage Tower’s secret lab and dissected alive.
‘I’m so weak I can’t even be of help.’
When the poison spread through his body and his breathing faltered, what he’d felt wasn’t fear of death—it was self-loathing.
To be so useless, paralyzed by poison, fleeing and trembling...
Even though he wielded magic that could control time itself, all he could do was steal and run away.
He felt utterly pathetic.
‘What the hell am I doing?’
Gariel grabbed his hair with both hands and shook his head roughly.
Just then, Cravat entered the room, saw him, and handed him a cup.
“What are you brooding about alone? Here, drink this.”
“What is it?”
“Detox juice. You were poisoned by paralysis venom, right? Even if the emergency purge worked, there might still be residual toxins. Drink it—you’ll feel better.”
“......Thank you.”
Gariel accepted the cup respectfully with both hands and drank it down.
Cravat watched him silently.
From the look in Gariel’s sunken eyes, it was obvious he was wrestling with something inside.
It wasn’t really Cravat’s problem.
He could have left it at that—but Gariel’s earlier story lingered in his mind.
Something about his past with Ludger Cherish.
‘Damn it. If I hadn’t heard that, I could ignore this. But now...’
Scratching his head, Cravat sighed, resigned to playing the unwanted role of counselor.
“So, what’s eating you this time?”
Gariel’s hand trembled as he set the empty cup down.
“......I just feel so powerless.”
Yet unlike before, he didn’t try to hide it.
Maybe he’d actually been waiting for someone like Cravat to ask.
“What’s powerless?”
“I was the only one who got caught. Poisoned, running away, too weak to fight back. I don’t even know if I’m any use to Rine.”
“Well, that magic of yours isn’t much for combat, sure. But that’s no reason to wallow in self-pity. Time magic has endless possibilities if you think about it differently.”
“Maybe. But I’m afraid of my magic.”
“Afraid?”
“Do you know what it feels like to be the only one aging while ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ the whole world stands still?”
Gariel’s long-suppressed thoughts spilled out.
“Every time I use it, I move further ahead of everyone else. One minute, one second—accumulated again and again until days, months, maybe years pass.”
“That’s time magic for you.”
“And that’s what terrifies me. That someday I’ll go too far ahead, until I’m nothing. That my end will be like my master’s.”
Gariel still remembered his teacher’s death.
A man in his forties trapped in the body of an eighty-year-old, his brain rotting with dementia, dying in misery.
An idealist who had always said, ‘Time magic is wonderful—use it for justice.’
His end had been wretched.
Gariel had watched it all, from the process to the result.
“He deceived a naïve boy into learning this magic, praised it as the greatest power of all, and then died pathetically. How do you think that felt to watch?”
There was no respect left—only the primal thought, I never want to end up like that.
That was why Gariel never used his time magic to help anyone.
He used it for his own gain, for gambling or petty theft.
That was his way of defiling the magic—a form of rebellion.
“But what’s worse is that with this magic, I couldn’t protect the woman I loved.”
Gariel stared at his palms.
“I could only watch her die, frozen in stopped time.”
He remembered that day clearly.
The day Ludger killed Rine’s mother.