Chapter 3
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Сold wind was raging in the northern land.

Almark was riding on the grassland.

He held his beloved long sword in his hand and wore armor made of tanned leather, dyed black and thick.

 Dozens of his companions, running alongside him, were dressed the same way.

And ahead of them, running with the tremendous speed of a wolf, was a group of enemies.

Riding huge horses and clad in heavy iron armor, the group, however, showed no response to Almark and his companions' charge.

The enemy was rapidly closing in upon them, and Almark let out a yell of rage that filled his body. His companions shouted at once.

 It was at that moment.

Suddenly, the grass under their feet moved as if it had a will of its own and tangled around their legs.

The enemy general reacted for the first time when they were unable to move their legs.

The terrible eyes behind the helmet that glanced at Almark. Almark knew him. Marismog, the "Iron Knight" of the Zaire Interceptor Mercenaries. A man who takes on everything and never falls.

"Reap what you sow!"

 Marismorg shouted. Immediately, a group of riders surged toward Almark and his companions. Almark desperately tried to move his legs, but the grass kept getting twisted and tangled. Marismog, who was leading the group, was already right in front of them. A huge spear is swung at him.


 Almark woke up at the sound of his own voice.

 The morning sun was shining through the window.

He jumped up on reflex, groped for his beloved long sword, rolled off the bed, and finally remembered his current situation.

'Yes,...... this is the Nork Magic Academy .........'

He stood up and scratched his head, then picked up the long sword.

 I remember the scenery I saw in my dream.

It was an experience that Almark had experienced in real life.

In reality, the distance between him and Marismog was not as close as in the dream, and as soon as he was unable to move, the riders under his father's command jumped in from the side, so he was not seriously injured.

Later,he heard from companions that it was magic. The Zaire Interceptor Mercenaries had hired a magician at that time.

 Come to think of it, that was the first time he actually saw magic, Almark thought.

His father, who was not much of a fan of superstitions and jinxes, was terribly displeased that the first magic Almark had ever seen had been an intentional attempt to take his life.

He had repeatedly instructed his men that if any of the enemy had a staff or wore a robe, they should be the first to cut down.

 After that, Almark does not remember much about how the battle went.

 Almark slowly drew his sword. Looking at the dull glow of the used blade with countless spills, his mind gradually calmed down.

 Fiddling with his fingers on the small protrusion at the end of the scabbard, he heard a light click and a small red pendant came out.

 It was a memento of Shetina ...... Almark's mother.

When his father first gave it to him, he wore it around his neck, but fearing that he would lose it in the course of his frequent dangers, he worked on the sheath himself and made a place to put it.

 He thought that when he lost his long sword, it would be the time of his death.

In the midst of passing through the danger of death many times, there were certainly times when Almark felt protected by this pendant.

 Unbelievable luck.

 Without it, he would never have made it this far.

 His father's long sword and his mother's pendant. Almark had always been protected by these two things.

He said, "I've made it. Father ...... and mother."

There was a noise.

 He opened the door and Ziad came in.

"Good morning, did you sleep well? ...... Wow, you've got some serious shit here."

"Oh, good morning, Mr. Zied."

 As he said this, Almark quickly tossed the pendant into his stash of sheaths and tucked the sword away.