"You do what now?" Welf reminded him that not everyone came from another world.
"I'll use a light spectrum— No, um, I— I'll cook them in their armor." He scribbled a spell, the redhead shielding him as shouting filled the dungeon.
Good, they must've fought over the crystal.
"Light, gather, orb. No, cone's better—" He felt a stare and caught the tribal girl watching.
She shuddered, glancing away, and he wondered how long until she wasn't scared of him.
"Hurry up, magical boy," Welf grunted. "Lily would've cast a thousand spells by now."
"You wanna do it?" Konrad scoffed, redrawing a rune. "She's some demonic goddess, but you're not." He joked, but the longer he knew Lily, the more he believed her chunibyo crap.
She healed, transformed, threw fireballs—meanwhile, he struggled with simple light runes.
At least they were flexible. What was the symbol for infrared? He knew 'crimson' and 'less'—
"Konrad, they're looking—"
Damn it. He paired those, activated them—but nothing to show for it. Well, wasn't that the goal?
"Feel this?" he whispered, and the redhead's eyes narrowed.
"That... Might cause them mild discomfort, if it lasts long—"
"Ugh, you're a blacksmith, not everyone deals with heat like you," Konrad groaned.
He caught that girl's eyes on him again, glinting with an impossible purple hue.
"I'll work," he decided. "I'll make it work."
"Ye better, little bastard." The thug greeted him, waving the crystal at him as if he wasn't giving it away himself. "Ye took too long."
"Those who fight get tired, too." And he fought the urge to shove his heat source up his ass.
But no, that was for the heavies. Or one of them—he gathered the light rather than summoning, which worked, but limited him to one target.
The warmth was already mild enough; splitting it would weaken it further.
Could've floated it between troops—
"Boss, we're bored," a heavy was moaning. "Let's get more gems."
From the corner of his eye, he caught him slapping captives around, bullying a child. He fell on his bum, and the brute almost stepped on him.
Welf took a step— but a grey flash pushed the kid away, followed by a purple glare.
Then a loud smack, the brute spalling her, too. Now, Konrad found his first live target, fueling his spell with pure rage. In the next minutes, that merc grabbed his waterskin twice.
"It's hotter the deeper we go," he whined, face flushing red. "Let me take this off—"
"Stop, ye buffalo," his captain kicked him, "die in it to air yer head, and I'll enslave yer family. Yer already gulping everyone's water, ye disgrace—"
"It's working?" Welf gritted, simmering with anger. "Will take too long—"
Well, the plan wasn't spectacular or fast, but at least nobody would suspect them.
If a mercenary collapsed, that was on their leader for overworking them. But that thug knew that those sardines swimming in their tin cans were his only aces.
Invincible against monsters, rebellious slaves, or Konrad—
And he could only torment one at a time. Though—he could give the rest a good workout, too.
His illusions became more lifelike with the 'animate' spell, and he could cast them in parallel.
Concentrating on each to move was rough, but—
"Ignore those," he bumped Welf, then raised his voice. "Three Griphlets got behind us."
Their shrieks and smell were missing, but the pariahs screamed enough in their stead. His fake beasts leaped right over them, going for the heavies.
With their tight visors, they almost stabbed each other, fending them off.
"It's on me, kill it," one screamed. "Like they're bewitched—"
"Stay in formation, ye morons. Yer yelling draws them in—"
The boy's world narrowed to the shapes he controlled, canceling the ones struck by a weapon. He had to keep up the immersion, giving the thugs some easy victories—but they were fake.
He even tricked them with loot illusions, disappearing before they grabbed them.
The crystal could sustain such tiny images for months—but moving one? Take his eyes away, and they'd become rigid. It strained his vision, but the results—
"You stole my gem," they accused each other. "That was mine."
"Lies, you picked it up."
"Yer drawin' in monsters, shut yer trap and hand over whatever ye've found—"
"Ignore those two as well," the boy whispered, throwing more spice into the chaos.
The footmen were too busy arguing. Their formation broken, the penal company pushed to the sides, leaving them wide open.
"Incoming," Konrad's yell left the soldiers panicked.
Whoever said light magic was weak was an idiot.
Would he win magic duels with it? No, but for everyday people? He could toy with them in any way he wanted, and with three of the most basic spells, no less.
"Aargh, another one, save me." Some footmen even injured themselves, fighting phantoms.
He couldn't blame Zoltan for taking advantage of this, but he lost himself in the illusions. Iron and ozone smell twisted his nose, his vision tunneling, but he was in control, for the first time.
And he loved it. He instilled fear; he could humiliate them—
"Back to back," the captain screamed, "don't let 'em dance 'round ye."
"They know where to attack—"
Even Welf struggled to look serious with all the thugs bumbling around. They panicked or accused each other—Konrad could've gotten used to this feeling.
But the illusion of his control had shattered when the ozone smell he had ignored got stronger.
Four Griphlets flashed past him, shrieking. They snuck up on the chaos and drowned his party in blood. The mercenaries weren't the only ones who tasted actual combat for the first time.
"Damn it," Welf rushed in too late.
Konrad missed the real monsters while concentrating, but couldn't he tell them apart?
"Back in formation," the captain kicked his men. "Fight, the spirits damn ye all."
Two Griphlets dropped a heavy, but even they couldn't claw their way through his armor.
The footmen? Two lay gutted, the rest retreating into a tight formation.
Konrad dropped his illusions to ease the chaos, but the situation looked dreadful. This was the most monsters that appeared so far.
Three fought the mercenaries, the last aiming for the tribesmen. By the time Welf caught up, it wrought havoc. His greatsword stuck in a beak's death-vice.
Konrad jumped on that winged back, bringing his sword down.
Again. And again, til the Griphlet went POOF, and he dropped to the ground.
The mercenaries finished the other three—but at a great cost.
It was a bloodbath.
A kid screamed, painted red. He couldn't see the grey-haired girl who shielded him earlier.
"You idiot," Welf grabbed his collar, gaze darting between him and a tribesman with a bloody stump for an arm. His eyes glowed with anger and desperation. "Look what you've done."
He did. The boy looked until he found her.
Grey hair caked with blood, purple eyes mirroring horror. Her hands wrapped around that tribesman's severed arm. A woman wailed, crawling toward her through gore.
Konrad retched, the iron smell of blood everywhere—
"Ye bastard, was it yer doing?!" The Rabid Crows' captain kicked Welf away, heavies pinning them both. "Ye stared at the beasts when they attacked like ye summoned them—"
How did he—? Konrad glanced at his forearm, and the thug caught his gaze.
The captain yanked his arm, tearing fabric to expose glowing runes.
"I'll cut yer head off for making those monsters attack us," he yelled, his foul breath stinging his eyes. "Use yer beast control sorcery to get us out of here alive, or ye'll be the first to die."
His— Hold on. What?