Chapter 5. The unsung saga of mage - Klimt's mem

I had given up all hope. My shield slipped from my weakened fingers as I whispered a final prayer, imagining my late wife and daughter. However…

"[Incantation] Grand Storm Diabolum!!" a gentle but bold voice roared. A powerful storm erupted, capable of leveling buildings like straw. Was it to scatter the mist? Or… to buy time for people to escape?

Looking above, I saw a young woman with a mage staff on the rooftop of a mansion. More than wondering how she got up there, I was struck by her calm resolve - her will to buy time for others despite the danger.

Her youthful appearance was made even more dignified by her mage attire and the count's official seal on her coat, which indicated that she was the official mage of the count. A grand mage? So young, so beautiful, and yet so bold... Even in my panic, I felt awe - and a deep, bitter shame in myself.

I, a veteran soldier long past his prime, stood shattered to the core, while a young, tender girl risked everything, not for her own safety or fame, but for the others.

Her bravery seemed to rekindle my spirits, and I bent down and picked up the shield, though my hands were still trembling slightly. After a moment's thought, I strapped it to my armor - to free my hands and ensure I wouldn't lose it. Looking back, I noticed that despite her spell causing some damage to a few buildings, it didn't disturb the mist.

But that didn't stop her from trying to give time for others to escape, even at the cost of putting herself at risk. She had a firm and determined expression, and she held her staff so tightly as she continued casting spells.

"[Incantation] Grand Wind Hammer!!" "[Incantation] Grand Storm Torrent!" She used grand spells one by one, not to flaunt her powers or to scatter the mist, but to give even a few more seconds for the others to find safety - to declare that she wasn't willing to go down without a try.

But after casting just a few spells, her breathing became laboured, and blood started coming from her nostrils. Her hands began trembling - the obvious signs of over-depletion of magic energy. Finally, she collapsed while trying to cast another spell. Luckily, she didn't fall to the ground, which would have meant certain death, but collapsed onto the roof instead.

I gulped slightly, trying not to tear up. She had ignored her own safety, tried to let as many people escape the mist as possible, and finally succumbed to the very same unnatural mist -just another victim of an unknown apocalypse.

However, a little after her collapse, a few people burst open the doors of their houses, screaming and trembling in fear, yelling that the mist had somehow appeared inside the enclosed buildings, as if no physical barriers were immune to the mist. If even the well-built houses of the merchants couldn't protect people from the mist, what about those outside the city walls? Out of nowhere, my mind had an intrusive thought, and a wave of coldness enveloped me.

The people outside the city! Perhaps… perhaps because I spent my childhood beyond the city walls, I felt an urge to save the unfortunate lot living there. I ran towards the gate of the outer wall. A cranking noise reminded me that it was closing. Guided by some instinct, I ran through the gate—towards the outside. Just mist, and even more collapsed people.

I… I'm so late. I could feel my heart beating so fast, from panic, exhaustion, and fear. I couldn't do anything. The young mage couldn't do anything.

I started feeling that my body was getting tired. My eyes blurred, my skin felt numb, and my ears were stuffy. But even though my senses were weakening, I noticed that the collapsed people had begun twitching, and a terrible sense of dread settled over me—as if my instincts were telling me that those people weren't returning to life. Something worse than death, something dark and evil, was rising through them.

I realized one more thing. If I succumbed to the mist, the same fate awaited me. I didn't want to end up as something inhuman and unnatural. After a brief thought, to retain my consciousness, I decided to take out my sword.

I don't want to lose my consciousness... I don't want to end up like them. And I don't want to die. So I thought about making a cut on my left hand. But now I feel like my left hand—like most of my body—is alien and unresponsive, as if it's not a part of me anymore. I don't have much time.

I cut through my wrist, eyes shut tightly, expecting a blinding pain. A sick noise… but with an unusual note to it… and no pain… I opened my eyes and screamed in terror.

Black goo… Instead of blood, my severed left hand gushed a black, gooey substance… and the sword started rusting right in front of my eyes as specks of black and brown began spreading all over the blade from the portion stained with the black fluid.

Now I could feel my knees getting weak, and the last coherent thought in my mind… I lost my sword. Cadelia… my eldest daughter… and the sword I named after her… both gone. I tried to yell her name. But I could no longer feel anything—my eyes, my throat, my senses, nothing. As if nothing in my body was mine anymore.

And then it's all blank.