A Returner’s Magic Should Be Special - Chapter 83

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 83. He Makes His Resolution (5)

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[A mage from Hebrion Academy takes up the sword for a rival.]

[September 13th. As the Yellow Ocean Tournament proceeds alongside the Western Kingdom Alliance’s grand conference in Deltahheim, the capital of the Frilechia Kingdom, Outer launches a terror attack.
From the scope and precision of their movements, it is surmised that this attack was meticulously planned over an extended period.
Though casualties were severe, the moment the Avalon Corps deployed, the defensive forces gained the upper hand, and the terror seemed to conclude.
Yet Outer did not relent. Through an Artifact obtained from a Third-Class Shadow World they had secretly conquered, they summoned an ancient demon and attempted to annihilate every human in Deltahheim.
Historian Jane Austen, who was present at the scene, testified that it was a mythological entity known from antiquity as Dadenyupra.
In that moment, with everyone in Deltahheim facing certain death, despair was absolute. But the catastrophe everyone feared did not come to pass.
A boy halted the demon.
The boy, Dezir Armang, is currently a first-year Single Ranker enrolled at Hebrion Academy……]

Romantica folded the newspaper at that point and set it aside.
Beside it lay a towering stack of other papers, each front page bearing identical headlines.

[Dezir Armang’s Party: Aiding the Refugees.]
[Dezir Armang: Who Is He?]
[Mage from Hebrion Academy—Another Seventh-Circle Mage?]

[Magic Tower Technical Advisor, the Heart of Hebrion’s Future.]

Romantica exhaled a long, weary sigh.
Since Dezir had felled Dadenyupra, so much had transpired.
First and foremost, Dezir had become a hero overnight.
It was perhaps inevitable. Here was Dezir, born of the Hebrion Empire—a rival to the Western Kingdom Alliance itself—who had saved everyone by sacrificing his own body.
The absence of public attention would have been the strange thing.
But the problem extended beyond him; his party members—Azest, Fram, and Romantica herself—had all drawn the eye of the masses.
Journalists swarmed them relentlessly; she could not count the harassment. Some reporters had even chased them to the hospital.
The memory made Romantica’s body tremble slightly.
‘…….’
Of course, becoming famous was a gratifying thing.
Ordinarily, Romantica would have reveled in the attention, basking in the glow of renown.
That is, if circumstances were ordinary.
She turned her gaze to the side, her eyes sunk in troubled contemplation.
There lay the protagonist that every media outlet was invoking.
Dezir Armang.
He had not awakened for two weeks.
“Truly, you never change……”
After felling Dadenyupra, Dezir had collapsed where he stood. The Western Kingdom Alliance, treating him as a Distinguished Guest, had him transferred to one of the continent’s most renowned hospitals.
A beacon of medical advancement on the continent—the Adenia Kingdom.
Adenia produced superior physicians each year, and they consistently gained renown across the land.
Moreover, it was scarcely an exaggeration to say that most of the continent’s hospitals had been established with the support of such doctors.
Among these, the Adenia Royal Hospital, deemed the finest, had accepted him for treatment—a measure of how highly Dezir was regarded.
Yet his condition at the time had been truly catastrophic.
Most of his vital organs were completely ruptured and no longer functional; his Mana Circle was unstable. He was, in every sense, barely clinging to life.
Fortunately, thanks to the Western Kingdom Alliance’s intervention, they were able to move swiftly through a Spatial Transfer Gate, which only nobles could access. And with the premier medical team standing ready at the Adenia Royal Hospital, he narrowly escaped the crisis.
The Saint, Priscilla, despite her own body being in terrible condition, restored Dezir’s health each time her strength recovered, however slightly.
Yet despite such efforts, Dezir’s consciousness had not returned. His condition was stable, they said, but none could understand why. All that could be surmised was that it was a side effect of the Magic he had deployed.
Romantica clutched at her aching chest and made a resolution.
“When you wake up, I won’t let you off easy.”
Romantica and Dezir’s meeting had begun as an ill-fated encounter.
At the time, Romantica was a Second-Circle mage; Dezir was First-Circle.
She had judged him entirely by the numbers before her and looked down on him, knowing nothing of his true nature. Though, truthfully, anyone would have done the same.
But Dezir had defeated her purely through his own skill. He could have gloated—any man who’d overcome someone who’d scorned him might—yet he showed no trace of it.
‘He’d threatened her instead.’
Of course, that wasn’t because Dezir looked down on Romantica.
After the entrance exam, Romantica had been coerced into joining the party he’d formed—threatened into it by Dezir himself.
Back then, there was nothing about him she could approve of. His casual demeanor, the unnerving way he seemed to understand her, the sharpness of his tongue—she couldn’t win against any of it.
Yet even with all that dissatisfaction, Romantica never left the party. The occasional flickers of concern and consideration she felt from him troubled her far too much to abandon it.
‘It’s incomprehensible.’
It always would be.
But there was one thing Romantica was certain of: he was sincere.
Dezir had done his absolute best for her. Looking back, it had been that way from the entrance exam itself. Even in a competitive test, he’d maintained a teaching attitude, as if to show and instruct her.
“Foolish.”
She’d refused the Blue Moon Party’s offer and stayed with Dezir’s party instead.
She’d done her utmost and climbed the ranks to become a Single Ranker.
She’d learned so much, experienced so much.
And she’d come to understand: Dezir had been indulging her complaints all along.
She realized he was always pouring his effort into her devotedly.
She’d come to recognize that she was depending on him.
Romantica felt special feelings gradually blooming in her heart.
Somewhere along the way, merely thinking of him made her catch herself, desperately trying to think of something—anything—else.
And.
…….
Her gaze turned back to Dezir.
Soft, steady breathing.
The sound of his even breath. Still no sign of him waking.
“I don’t understand you,” she said, watching him.
Romantica spoke these words.
It was a lie.
She understood perfectly.
He’d sacrificed his own body to save people—his companions, her—all of them.
To be precise—
She couldn’t accept it.
“Why did it have to be that way?”
Her voice cracked and fractured. She covered her face with her hands.
She hated showing tears in front of him. It felt too pitiful.
“Why don’t you think about the feelings of those you’d leave behind? About my feelings……?”
Silence.
There could be no answer.
Romantica remembered the promise she’d made to Dezir beneath that golden sea.
If he told her to run, she would run.
And she had kept that promise.
She’d kept it because she understood his heart. Because she grasped his desire that she survive.
“Did you think I’d be happy that you did this? That’s wrong. You think of me as much as I think of you. I don’t want you to die……!”
Her voice rose. As her anguish poured out, her emotions spiraled beyond her control.
Anger. But not at Dezir—at herself.
Romantica knew that Dezir had taken this action because she hadn’t been strong enough to support him.
She despised herself for being unable to be his strength.
“I’ll train harder.”
Romantica spoke.
“I won’t complain. I’ll do whatever you ask. I’d even die if you told me to.”
She bowed her head low, nearly collapsing under the weight of her words.
“I’ll work with all my strength to become a comrade you won’t be ashamed of. I’ll be your support. So please, please…….”
Tears fell in drops, soaking into the bedsheet.
“Don’t ever do this again.”
Romantica’s sobs filled the quiet hospital room.
Soft touch.
Feeling warmth brush against her hair, Romantica lifted her head. Through blurred vision, she saw Dezir’s gaze fixed upon her.
“I promise, Romantica.”
Dezir gently swept her hair back. He continued this motion steadily until her tears ceased.
September 27th.
It was when the clock hands pointed to noon.

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Less than a minute after Romantica sent word via pad to Fram and Azest that Dezir had awakened, a tremendous commotion erupted down the corridor and the door burst open.
“I’m so relieved you’re all right!”
Fram rushed to the bed and threw his arms around Dezir in a tight embrace.
He buried his face against Dezir’s chest and showed no sign of letting go—like a puppy that had finally found its wounded master. He’d been deeply worried.
Dezir gently stroked Fram’s back in comfort.
The door opened again, and a measured voice drifted in.
“You’ve certainly managed to pull off something dramatic, haven’t you, Dezir?”
It was Azest.
At once, both Fram and Romantica shot her a glare—for she seemed to be condoning what Dezir had done.
So Dezir found himself desperately insisting that Azest was innocent, that she had merely done him a favor upon his request.
The debate dragged on for some time, but in the end, they recognized it as something Dezir had done for his party members. Understanding his heart, they nodded and relented.
“Are you all all right?”
“We’re fine. Though I’d say Fram there is another matter—exhausted himself staying up all night looking after you.”
“Ugh, really! I told you not to bring that up!”
The room was lively and cheerful.
In this way, they shared joyful conversation—savoring this moment of relief now that Dezir had regained consciousness.
“I hate to interrupt such a pleasant mood.”
It was Jord. He was dressed formally.
“I have something to discuss with Dezir. Would you all mind stepping out for a moment?”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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