The core of the advice Ludger had given was just one thing: to never forget the fact of “I.”
People change.
They encounter many events, and the greater the scale or shock of those events, the more they are forced to change.
Because if they don’t change, they can’t survive.
No one simply glides through all conflict.
Conflict is a collision that knocks the trajectory of life off its path.
One can face that collision head-on and shatter through it, but even that has limits.
Perhaps ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) one or two times, one can manage—but if such collisions continue endlessly, something inside inevitably begins to break.
The durability of one’s humanity wears down.
That is why most people eventually yield to these collisions, or try to let the pain flow through with minimal resistance, or simply ignore it.
But Clinton’s case was a little different.
The collisions he was facing were unavoidable acts of nature.
His skill had grown higher, the place where he stood had changed, and he had become exposed to massive, unknown possibilities he had never imagined.
It was larger than all the conflicts and hardships he had experienced in his entire life combined.
In a massive current, even a great mage was still just an individual.
Clinton must have been afraid.
Ludger understood that fear well—because all humans feel fear.
“Wherever you go, whatever scenery you see—so long as you don’t forget that you are you, everything will be fine.”
Clinton fell silent at those words, as if something within him clicked.
He lifted his gaze to the empty air, then lowered it to the campfire,
capturing different scenes in his eyes—sometimes silent, sometimes sighing, sometimes letting out a faint laugh.
At last he closed his eyes briefly and then opened them again.
The eyes that had been flickering endlessly now held a firm, unwavering light.
“You seem to have realized something.”
“Thank you. Thanks to you, my mind feels perfectly clear.”
It wasn’t a formal remark.
His voice sounded like someone who had finally solved a difficult riddle.
“Yes. I had forgotten something so obvious. When I first began learning magic—what it was that I wanted to become.”
Young Clinton had been lucky enough to be noticed by a mage and receive instruction.
He had talent, and he quickly rose to higher realms far faster than others.
As he continued climbing, people began to see him differently.
The mage of the century.
A genius who might appear once in a hundred years.
Perhaps Clinton would be the one to advance human magic to the next stage.
That expectation was burdensome—yet joyful.
So he worked even harder, polishing his skill without rest.
At some point, without noticing, he had become the greatest mage of the Empire.
He had reached the pinnacle acknowledged by all.
He should have felt proud, yet strangely, a part of him felt empty.
At the time he didn’t know why.
He assumed he was simply older, and therefore calmer.
But that wasn’t it.
“I had forgotten. As a child, what I wanted to become, and why I learned magic at all.”
Yes—what felt empty was the loss of his very first dream.
The precious wish young Clinton had carried.
Throughout the years, trying to meet everyone’s expectations, he had slowly worn it away.
That was why he felt hollow.
That was why he felt vain.
But even worse—he hadn’t even realized what he had forgotten.
It was like waking from a happy dream and finding that the memory of it had vanished completely.
“I just... wanted to make my family happy with magic.”
Yes.
The dream of his childhood had not been grand.
He simply wanted to learn magic, use magic, and make his family smile.
And the reason had been trivial.
“When I was very young—so troublesome back then that I can hardly imagine it now—there was a festival in the city, and I ran there with my friends.”
As he recalled, the once-blurry memories grew clear.
How had he even forgotten something like this?
“There was a circus. They performed all sorts of tricks, but even as a child, I thought they weren’t very impressive. Just mildly interesting.”
He had turned away, disappointed, and then something caught his eye.
A middle-aged man in shabby clothes sitting quietly in the corner.
“He was a mage. A wandering mage without affiliation. He said he’d joined the circus only because he didn’t have money for a meal.”
To earn his meal, the mage performed magic.
He drew out mana, converted it into elements, and shaped it into small animals.
He wasn’t gifted.
Even at that age, he had so little mana that after using magic once, he gasped for breath.
Compared to the destructive, dazzling magic people imagined, making little birds of ice, cats of water, or squirrels running on wind seemed meaningless.
Yet for that mage, those conjured creatures were everything he could give.
People found it interesting because it was magic, but when they realized it wasn’t the spectacle they wanted, they drifted away.
But Clinton had been different.
The young boy had stood there, entranced, unable to take his eyes off the magic.
When everyone else had left, only Clinton and the exhausted mage remained.
Out of breath, the mage removed his hat and bowed to his last and only audience.
“The magic everyone dismissed as nothing special... for some reason, I couldn’t forget it.”
Yes.
Clinton had fallen in love with that magic.
Stories said magic split the earth and made mountains tremble, but the young Clinton had thought the little bird made of ice, the cat shaped from water, and the squirrel gliding on wind were the coolest things he had ever seen.
He wanted to become a mage because of that.
It was a humble motivation—but it was the first dream he had ever held.
“I simply... liked magic.”
Clinton let out a small laugh.
“And to realize that only now, at the edge of the 7th Circle... How foolish I am.”
“You aren’t foolish. If that were foolish, what would that make me?”
Ludger consoled him with a self-deprecating tone.
If others thought that reason childish, then Ludger was no better.
“Ah. That’s right. You also had the opportunity.”
Clinton spoke cautiously, referring to something only someone like him could understand.
“You could have surpassed humanity and reached the world beyond... In other words, you could have claimed divinity.”
Yes.
Ludger had been closer to becoming a god than anyone.
If he wished, he could have ascended to godhood.
Lumensis had fallen, many gods were sealed, there could have been no better moment.
Yet Ludger refused.
He willingly gave up godhood to remain human.
He could have escaped all suffering and seized the knowledge of past, present, and future.
The mere fragments of that transcendent knowledge had been addictive, like a drug one could never escape.
And yet Ludger had walked away.
“Why did you do that? If it were me... I don’t think I could have.”
“That position is too much for me.”
Ludger said this, then shook his head.
“No... more truthfully, I simply didn’t want it.”
“You didn’t want it? To be a god?”
“That, yes—but the greater reason is this.”
He spoke the thought he had held at the time.
“I simply prefer living as a human.”
Human life is painful.
Most of it is suffering.
There are moments of joy and happiness, but they are fleeting sparks.
There is no eternal happiness.
As a god, one would transcend all that.
But Ludger thought such a life was even more agonizing.
“If there is such a thing as perfection in this world, I believe it is the most terrible punishment.”
Perfect existence, needing no correction, meant stagnation.
No sorrow, no pain, no joy, no anger, nothing at all.
The purest emptiness.
How could that be perfection?
“I want to live as a human who struggles endlessly while moving forward.”
“Hahahaha... Yes. I see now. So that’s how it is.”
Clinton laughed heartily.
Now he could understand Ludger’s words.
He, too, had lived through countless trials and errors.
Even if he was called a genius, he had never been without failure.
Whenever he hit a wall, he would imagine—
Wouldn’t it be great if I had transcendent talent that never encountered such walls?
But now he understood that was wrong.
Because struggling against a wall, feeling despair, challenging it, and eventually overcoming it, that was what created achievement and joy.
If the walls were nothing but small stones underfoot, if nothing could block his path, where would the joy of life be?
A life that was bumpy for all others would be unbearably flat for him.
A vast, empty plain, nothing to see, nothing to feel, only walking endlessly.
What value would that life have?
“I was afraid of all the wrong things.”
“Overcoming them is also part of the joy of being human.”
“Yes. Today, I’ve received a lesson.”
Clinton chuckled softly.
At some point, the snowfall had stopped.
The clouds parted, revealing the clear night sky of the northern continent.
Stars glittered overhead, draped across the sky like strands of silk.
The Milky Way shone brilliantly, and above them, an aurora blossomed.
A sight unique to the frigid Yuta Kingdom, and even then, extremely rare.
Others in the kingdom were surely seeing the same sky.
Considering that today was the memorial day for the victims of the civil war, it was a beautiful coincidence.
“As expected,” Ludger murmured as he looked up.
“Sometimes... looking up like this truly is beautiful.”
If he became a god and looked down on this scenery, it would never be this magnificent.
That was why living as a human was joyful.
Crackle... crackle...
The campfire continued burning through the night.
* * *
The next morning.
Having parted with Clinton, Ludger planned to leave the Yuta Kingdom.
Where should he go now?
Normally, it would make sense to visit the nearest kingdom, but this time, Ludger chose differently.
“This time... I’ll go somewhere on the complete opposite side of the continent.”
He knew the coordinates, so distance didn’t matter.
It would take a bit more mana, but far less than in the past.
Ludger summoned Aeter Nocturnus and wrapped it around himself.
Compressed into a black point, he slipped through shadow and crossed space to arrive at a destination.
Whoooosh!
From the freezing cold he had been in moments ago, a blast of scorching heat struck him.
He had removed his hat, scarf, and gloves in preparation, but the sudden wave of heat was still intense.
“This is quite a sight in its own way.”
A vast wilderness stretched without end.
He had come to the southernmost region of the continent, the exact opposite of the northern lands.
This hot, sprawling desert was home to the beastkin.
Vroooooom!
Suddenly, the roar of an engine echoed from afar.
Ludger turned toward the sound and saw a group of people approaching.
They were all riding motorcycles, clouds of sand blooming behind them.
Here and there, glimpses of animal ears told him immediately that they were not humans, but beastkin.
“...Motorcycles?”