What could he say?
He slumped into a corner and sulked by himself.
But when Ian started unpacking gear and setting up a grill to roast meat, Pandero's self-pity didn't last long. Before he knew it, he had shamelessly shuffled over again.
"You handle the roasting," Ian said, handing him the portable stove.
"Watch closely! I'm the Master of Barbecue! Do you know how many times I've eaten grilled meat in my life?" Pandero puffed out his chest, his enthusiasm reignited, and he began his self-proclaimed "master-level" operation.
Ariana couldn't help but laugh out loud. She lifted her camera and quietly pressed the shutter. Under the sunlight, the three figures cast long shadows across the ground. At some point during this time, the gloomy sky had cleared to a bright blue.
The scene resembled something out of a picnic.
The air still carried the rich aroma of roasted meat. Ariana sat elegantly in a wicker chair, holding a cup of warm honey tea in both hands and taking small, delicate sips. Sunlight filtered through the leaves and danced across her light golden hair.
Even after eating her fill, she maintained her ladylike composure, sitting with poise as she basked in the sun.
Meanwhile, Ian and Pandero sprawled out on the ground, their bellies round and full. They lay in the shape of a giant "Starfish".
Burp!
Pandero let out a loud belch and patted his stomach with deep satisfaction.
"As expected, the most unforgettable thing in the mortal world is good food."
There was a wistful tone in his voice mixed with nostalgia and faint melancholy. Perhaps for this monarch, regret was a foreign concept; gluttony was his only vice.
After all, in the Twilight Zone, souls had no right to savor food.
But Ian had changed that. He'd brought exceptions into being, just like the wine Pandero had managed to brew.
A gentle, cool, soothing breeze swept through.
Then, as if remembering something, Pandero turned his head.
"Ariana, it's almost time for your swordsmanship practice," He reminded her. For any true swordsman, daily training was nonnegotiable.
An excellent mentor always kept their apprentice disciplined, even if they themselves preferred to slack off. Ariana didn't seem to mind at all. She simply nodded and went inside to change.
Meanwhile, Ian took another sip of the fruit wine.
It was sweet, almost like juice. It wasn't harsh like spirits; it was gentler than beer. He'd drunk enough of it, though, that a slight flush had crept into his cheeks, and his voice now carried the lazy warmth of mild intoxication.
"Practicing swordsmanship... what for?" he said, hiccupping and slurring his words with amusement. "Magic! Magic is the strongest power!"
Hearing that, Pandero didn't dare argue.
After all, if Ian was that fierce sober, who knew what kind of terrifying artifact he might pull out when he was drunk?
"I can no longer touch magic, can I, Ian?"
Ariana asked softly from behind him. Her voice was gentle yet tinged with helplessness and wistful regret, that of someone who had once known magic too well.
And it was true.
For a wizard to go through life never again feeling the joy that magic brings is a kind of loss that leaves an ache no words can fill.
Especially after she'd come to understand that magic wasn't a monstrous, uncontrollable force. After letting go of her past fears, Ariana had begun to long for magic again.
But the dead could no longer cast spells.
The breeze rustled softly through the grass.
Ian's mild drunken haze cleared in an instant.
He realized he'd spoken carelessly and quickly got to his feet to make amends.
"Magic is about making the impossible possible!" he said earnestly. "Trust me, you'll have a chance to experience the joy of magic again!"
He wasn't just trying to comfort her.
The knowledge he'd gleaned from Dumbledore's ancient ancestor flashed in his mind: Ariana would one day be revived in the past. He didn't yet know the exact method, but one thing was clear: the past was also the future they were destined to walk toward.
"Really?" Ariana tilted her head slightly, her eyes full of curiosity.
"Of course it's true!" Pandero answered on Ian's behalf.
He had also drunk plenty, though he didn't seem drunk at all.
He slapped the young wizard on the back and began a flamboyant round of praise.
"You're talking to the King of the Land of the Dead! If he says it'll happen, then it will happen. Believe in the king!"
It was hard to tell if he was praising Ian or himself.
In any case, the blond man's playful tone made it clear that he wasn't going to be serious anymore. At his words, Ariana's eyes brightened. Her gaze glimmered with new hope and quiet excitement.
"Don't worry," Ian said, offering a promise that could only be described as confidently guaranteed.
"Mm-hmm."
Ariana nodded quickly but still reached for her practice sword. "I believe you, Ian. But I shouldn't neglect my swordsmanship either. I've actually come to enjoy practicing with the sword."
With that, she stepped lightly onto the open grass, took a deep breath, and swiftly flicked her wrist. The blade traced a graceful arc through the air.
The girl began her practice.
Ian watched with genuine interest.
He used to look down on swordsmanship a little, but now he'd grown wiser and understood that having more skills makes you stronger. This realization stirred something in him.
Pandero, of course, noticed immediately.
"What's this? Thinking about learning?" he teased, sauntering over with a wicked grin and a raised brow.
"Beg me. Beg me, and I'll teach you."
Clearly, he was asking for another beating.
But this time, Ian was well-fed, slightly tipsy, and too lazy for another chase. He didn't even bother to reach for his spiked mace.
"Don't make me laugh."
He gave a smirk worthy of a smug dragon king, his lips curling in mockery.
"Do you know what an alchemist never does, Arthur? Beg!"
He clapped his hands together dramatically. "Times have changed! We don't train with swords anymore; we forge the future!"
With a clattering sound, Ian began unloading a pile of materials from his storage: mithril ingots, star-forged iron, magic crystals, and even a small vial of dragon's blood.
All premium alchemical ingredients.
"Wait, what are you doing?" Pandero asked, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"Forging a new era of martial arts, of course!" Ian replied, snapping his fingers.
A vivid crimson flame flared to life before him. The materials began to melt and merge in his hands, reshaping under his control.
Ever since inheriting the teachings of Nicolas Flamel, there was no denying that his alchemy had become a work of art.
It was like watching a silent symphony unfold.
Soon, a single-handed sword took form in his grasp, its blade a pure silver white etched with intricate runes. A gemstone shimmering with starlight was set at its guard. The blade quivered softly, singing a clear, resonant tone.
"It's just a fancy sword," Pandero muttered sourly as he leaned in to inspect it.
He didn't expect Ian to suddenly grab him by the collar.
"Come forth, my Sword Spirit!"
Ian's grin turned wicked, almost devilish. A low, sinister chuckle bubbled from his throat.
Heh heh heh…
(End of chapter.)
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