Became a Medieval Fantasy Wizard

Chapter 101

TL/Editor: raei

Proofreader: Pickhead7

Schedule: 5/week

Illustrations: None.

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"It means 'mystery'."

Ian said nonchalantly.

Clergy often used ancient languages in daily life.

Arcana simply meant 'mystery.'

It was understandable, given the nature of their profession and the fact that they were often immersed in ancient languages.

As long as it wasn’t just for show like Takarion, it was acceptable.

“Yes, mystery,” Isilla replied with a smile.

“Do you need some time to think? Why not take a short walk with me?”

Ian walked through the monastery with Isilla to clear his thoughts.

The golden sunlight illuminated the afternoon monastery, making the vibrant plants sparkle as if showing off their vitality.

“Ian, what do you think magic is?”

Isilla asked abruptly.

“Suddenly?”

Ian was slightly surprised.

He wasn’t a wizard and hadn’t expected to discuss magic with a monk he had just met.

“Magic is a communication between mystery and humanity,” Ian responded fluently, despite his surprise, a result of rigorous theoretical training under Eredith.

“What, then, is mystery?”

“It’s an existence beyond human comprehension. Trying to understand it is futile because it's incomprehensible. You just have to feel and accept it,” Ian explained.

Mystery refers to everything that moves in unknown ways beyond human cognition—from natural elements like fire, wind, earth, and water to transcendent entities like the world, universe, and fate.

And a wizard is one who communicates with these mysteries.

Ian looked at Isilla and asked,

“But why do you ask? Did you suddenly want to become a wizard in your later years?”

“A wizard... Do you see me as one?”

Isilla responded with a challenging question.

The conversation seemed to be going off track, but Ian replied,

“No, you appear to be a monk.”

“What if I manipulated fire in front of you? Would I still look like a monk?”

Ian’s expression was subtle.

A quirky old man.

Ian revised his view of Isilla. His quirks made him seem somewhat wizard-like.

“I might think you're casting a spell.”

“Yes. Fire is a destructive element that swallows everything. It carries the power of both earth's lava and sky's lightning. But the nature of fire is closer to the sky than the earth. Do you know why?”

Isilla continued.

Ian shrugged.

“Because it holds the power of purification.”

Isilla smiled contentedly.

“Exactly. Your knowledge is impressive.”

Fire represents destruction but not merely that—it's destruction for the sake of renewal and rebirth.

If Ian were to describe it using the concepts from his previous life as a science student, it would be the chaotic power between cosmos and chaos.

Fire is energy. It’s the flow of entropy.

“That’s why heaven uses lightning to punish humans. Lightning embodies the power of purification,” Isilla explained.

“It means to completely cleanse even the sins of sinners.”

“Right. It’s both punishment and reformation.”

Isilla stretched out his hand as if grasping the sun, casting shadows on his wrinkled face.

“Hell uses fire to punish humans for the same reason. The fires of hell both chastise and purify the sins through a ritual of burning.”

“Well. So they say.”

Isilla continued reaching out his hand.

Suddenly, the monk swung his fist toward the ground.

Whoosh!

“...?”

Then, something astonishing happened.

A bright flame followed Isilla’s fist, flaring briefly before disappearing!

Ian was startled.

"Blazing fruits!"

"What?"

"Firefist Isilla! Fire Punch! Fire Punch!"

"...That reaction is a bit much."

Isilla was unfazed, but Ian was truly astonished.

Just reaching towards the sun had caused flames to burst from thin air?

Isilla playfully tapped Ian's shoulder and asked again.

"So, I ask again. Am I a wizard or a monk?"

Ian took a deep breath.

Upon reflection, it wasn't that surprising.

Ian, a wizard, could summon darkness with just a gesture.

It was rare but entirely possible for a monk proficient in the mysteries of the heavens to ignite flames.

"You are a monk."

"Oh? Why do you say that?"

"Because the fire earlier was a result of communing with the sky. It would be difficult to produce the same effect again."

"Ah, you've got it right again. Wisdom is the privilege of the old, yet here you are, so astute, it almost dampens my spirits."

The feat Isilla had shown was indeed divine magic.

Having a deep understanding of the scriptures and making a heartfelt plea to the divine can result in miraculous outcomes—that's what divine magic is.

Isilla used magic without the need for Maronius.

His faith was so deep and firm that he could convey his desires to the divine without spoken words, a testament to his devoutness.

"You're right. I couldn’t replicate that myself. But you, as a wizard, could produce the same result again."

If miracles always happen, they aren't miracles but techniques.

A wizard's magic systematizes the process of communicating with the divine, ensuring consistent results.

That's the difference between miracles and magic.

"The magic of the northern barbarians is somewhere between miracles and techniques," Isilla said as he handed Ian a torn card.

"I don’t believe in the Ice God, so it's useless to me. But Ian, as a wizard, you could learn to wield the divine through conversation with the mysteries."

A new kind of magic...

Ian pondered for a moment before accepting the card.

Exploring new magic was Ian’s forte.

Who am I?

A cheat player from another world.

My status screen is invincible, and I am a god.

...Calling myself a god seems a bit much, so let's stick with wizard.

Ian is a wizard.

He couldn't miss an opportunity to encounter the divine.

"And if you bring that Takarion fellow, you would make Zoltin owe you."

"Zoltin?"

"He originally came to meet Takarion. Didn't Takarion write the Gospel of Marcus? Zoltin is a disciple of Saint Marcus."

Aha. Ian understood the situation.

Zoltin had come to the Blue Key Monastery to meet Takarion, but Takarion had left to heal Lord Devosi’s illness.

It was a mix-up due to the medieval world's slow communication network.

Even though the Church of Heaven's Faith had its own communication network, coordinating like having telephone lines was impossible.

"Since Zoltin has prayed for Takarion's safe return, if you bring him back safely, Zoltin will owe you a favor."

This wasn’t bad news for Ian.

As a wizard, Ian occasionally clashed with the religious sector.

Having a high-ranking clergyman owe him would be beneficial.

Creating a debt with Zoltin could be useful someday.

"Alright. Let's make a trip up north, why not."

Ian tucked the Arcana card into his chest as he spoke.

---

---

The night at the Blue Key Monastery was brightly lit, which was quite astonishing since having light in a medieval night without a single electric bulb was remarkable in itself.

The main source of light in the Middle Ages was naturally candles.

While candles might seem romantic and joyful, the candles Ian had experienced were truly dreadful.

Their light barely illuminated anything beyond what was right in front of them.

Outdoor activities were absolutely impossible with them, and inside, they provided just enough light to barely read a book.

It's no wonder that the light bulb, invented by the so-called inventor and patent thief Edison, was considered a revolutionary innovation for humanity.

Ian had nearly ruined his eyes more than once under the poor light of candles.

Where is the smartphone? Where is the bright flashlight mode?

He would realize once again how much modern people took the blessing of light for granted.

Instead, Ian often resorted to using dark magic in place of candles.

However, the monastery now was as bright as day.

Well, that's an exaggeration, but it was bright enough to be shocking since a candle's light is minuscule.

But light many, and the story changes.

"What's all this?"

Ian lost his words as he looked at the hundreds of candles filling the altar.

Being a medieval man, Ian knew just how expensive a single candle was.

Burning hundreds in one night?

To Ian, it looked like an immense amount of money was burning right there, making the sight even more overwhelming.

"Since you're here, why not pray before you leave?"

"Pray?"

Monks were kneeling and praying earnestly.

It was indeed a monastery through and through.

"It's a prayer for the safe return of Brother Takarion," explained Abbot Renis, who was deep in thought.

What could the monastery do for Takarion, who had made it so wealthy?

The result of that thought was prayer—a reasonably rational outcome since mercenaries were unreliable and mobilizing crusader knights took too long.

Now, the money Takarion had painstakingly earned from his writings was being burned away in hundreds of candles.

"Just a prayer."

Ian moved towards the statue of the goddess.

Belenka, who was already praying, glanced at Ian.

"Did you come to pray?"

"Uh, yeah."

Belenka made room for Ian.

"What did you come to pray for?"

"I hadn’t really thought about it. Maybe for safe travels?"

The abbot had hoped Ian would pray for Takarion’s well-being.

But what did Ian care about Takarion?

"Then, let’s first pray for the unknown man you sent to heaven," suggested Belenka.

"Ah, right."

Ian had killed someone in defense during the assassin’s attack, and Belenka had once suggested praying for forgiveness when the opportunity arose.

"How should I pray?"

"I’m the expert here. First, ask forgiveness from the family and friends of the man whose life you took."

"..."

Belenka was a knight, an expert in both killing and apologizing.

"That bastard tried to kill me first. Should I still be the one to apologize?"

"Hmm. Would the mother of the dead assassin think the same?"

"Damn it, really."

Challenged by Belenka’s cunning logic, Ian grumbled and closed his mouth.

The weight of life is fair to everyone.

Even the most insignificant creature has a mother and a father, and even the most wretched and insignificant human has parents who love them.

It went without saying. Taking a life is a sin.

"Your face looks troubled."

"There’s no reason to be happy."

As Ian’s expression darkened slightly, Belenka spoke as if to comfort him.

"As a senior in committing sins, let me give you some advice... don't dwell on it too much. The deed is already done."

"... Didn't you just tell me to ask for forgiveness from the victim's family?"

"You should seek forgiveness, of course. But don't expect to be forgiven. Forgiving an enemy is almost divine."

It's difficult to forgive a sinner, especially if that sinner has harmed one's own family.

If it were easy, then saints wouldn’t be called saints.

That's also why 'Love your enemy' is a commandment.

"It's hard to get forgiveness for sins already committed, but..."

Belenka lightly tapped Ian's shoulder and continued.

"I can pray for your sins."

"..."

"That's the knight's way. Carry your sins, but perform more good deeds so that you may receive more prayers than the sins you've accumulated."

Belenka slightly squinted her eyes and smiled.

"You are not alone, Ian. If demons from hell come seeking your sins,"

"I will fight for your innocence, staking my honor."

Her bright blue eyes sparkled in front of the candlelight.

One must bear the sins they have committed; that's karma.

However, one can still pray for a sinner.

If a sincere prayer reaches heaven, then the weight of that sin might be lightened somewhat.

Ian looked at Belenka for a while, then turned his head with a chuckle.

"Then I'll pray for you, Belenka."

"... For me?"

"For your sword, which exists for justice. If anyone denounces the blood on your blade as filthy, I'll defend you to the end, staking my knowledge and magic."

Belenka closed her eyes and clasped her hands together, her smile not fading.

"This is really... I have such a reliable master."

In front of the brilliant hundreds of candles, the knight and the wizard prayed for each other's souls.

Their prayers were so earnest that they seemed to reach the heavens.

...The stars twinkled in the night sky.

It was the kind of night where Takarion might yell from afar, "You bastards! Pray for me!!!"

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