"Control Water."
With a single thought from Gauss, a column of water surged out of the courtyard barrel and gathered in midair, twisting into the shape of a writhing serpent.
"You're amazing, big brother!"
Cicero clapped excitedly from the side.
Gauss guided the water for a moment longer, then let it settle back into the barrel.
Not because he didn't want to keep going.
Even at this level, he still hadn't truly mastered this Level 4 spell.
Yes—he could already manipulate water to a preliminary degree, but that was purely because he was absurdly talented… or rather, because his affinity with water was too high.
As for the spell itself, there was still the slightest gap—just a sliver—between "can do it" and "fully mastered."
"Don't get cold. Go inside and warm up," he said, ruffling his little sister's cheeks. They were flushed red from the chill. She was bundled up in thick layers, with a fuzzy bear hat on her head, making her look adorably bulky.
Footsteps.
Tap tap.
Shadow pushed the door open and walked into the yard.
"Well?" Gauss asked, turning to her.
"Not yet," she said.
She meant the situation outside town.
"But they've built a lot of defensive installations. And troops have already entered the city and set up camp."
Gauss nodded.
Everything in Grayrock was moving at full speed.
The preparations for the festival, the mobilization of soldiers and adventurers—everything was happening in parallel. For now, only a small fraction of the town's people vaguely knew the beast tide might be coming soon.
Yet the town was still wrapped in a festive atmosphere.
Sometimes Gauss thought… maybe that was good.
Instead of living in panic, let the civilians enjoy the present.
Of course, the town's leaders likely had their own reasons—winter made evacuation difficult, fear could trigger chaos, and chaos could be deadlier than the monsters.
Gauss shook his head.
This, too, was one of the perks of being a powerful adventurer.
He received information earlier than ordinary people, and could prepare ahead—stock supplies, arrange his family, and so on.
"Food's ready," Alia called from inside.
Gauss set his thoughts aside, closed the yard gate, and went back in.
New Calendar, December 31, 1015.
The final day of the year.
The Winter Festival began amid laughter and celebration.
Just like last year, the ceremony was grand.
Citizens gathered in the central square. A massive bonfire blazed like a burning hill, its orange light driving back the winter cold and turning falling snowflakes into golden sparks.
Musicians played on a temporary stage—lutes, hand drums, and bagpipes weaving together. People—friends and strangers alike—held hands, singing and dancing in circles around the fire.
Only a very small number of faces carried a heaviness they couldn't quite hide.
Gauss's family was experiencing something like this for the first time. In their village, they'd celebrated too—but nothing this large, nothing with this much ceremony.
Gauss spotted a familiar face in the crowd.
After a brief pause, he walked over.
"Master Gron—didn't expect to see you here," Gauss greeted.
The tall man in front of him was Gron Bates, the blacksmith shop owner.
Seeing him here genuinely surprised Gauss.
In Gauss's memory, Gron almost never went out. When he left the shop at all, it was for essential acquisitions—never something as crowded as a festival.
"Gauss."
Gron didn't seem surprised at all.
Even a shut-in smith like him had heard, days ago, that Gauss had returned. Adventurers buying equipment from the forge had been raving about Gauss's strength, dreaming of becoming "the next Gauss."
"I've been in town for years," Gron said, watching the lively crowd. Something nostalgic flickered through his eyes. "And I've never once come out for the festival. If I don't come now… I might not get another chance."
Gauss glanced at him. He could guess how Gron had gotten the news.
And it made sense—Gron wasn't an ordinary man, and a blacksmith's business sat right at the center of wartime preparations. Even without gossip, the order volume alone would speak.
The two of them quietly watched the square.
…
The festival passed.
Nothing unexpected happened.
Then, after the New Year, another five days went by in a blink.
January 6, 1016. Clear skies.
For once, sunlight broke through the usual winter gloom, lifting the temperature a little.
"Control Water."
Gauss refined the water into hair-thin filaments—then fired.
Thump, thump, thump!
The threads were as tiny as needles, yet packed with powerful water mana. The accelerated water-needles struck the target stone dead-on.
Cracks spidered across it—then the water mana tore into the interior, shattering it into countless fragments.
After days of practice, he finally mastered the Level 4 spell.
And just as he'd suspected, Control Water could be applied to his water-forged armament, producing a deadly combo in real combat.
For instance: the range of a fired water-arrow became dramatically longer, and its tracking ability improved sharply. As long as the mana inside the arrow didn't run out, he could keep controlling it from afar—making it curve and turn along pre-set paths.
So Gauss could now, with ease: fire—midair turn—hit—retrieve.
That was a meaningful breakthrough.
It meant his attack range had multiplied. Even enemies outside his line of sight could be sniped precisely.
Beyond long-range strikes, Control Water was even stronger at close range.
Gauss could shape holy water into countless threads spiraling around him—an interwoven mesh.
Anything entering his immediate vicinity would be sliced apart by high-frequency vibrating water-lines like blades, turning the space into a butcher's floor in an instant.
He named it: Thousand-Thread Severing Domain.
Inside the shrouded zone, it was slaughterhouse territory.
And because the flowing threads also formed a barrier, it doubled as both offense and defense.
Of course, once he deployed it, the mental and mana drain would spike. In his plan, it couldn't remain active for long.
Its best use would be: blink into the enemy's center—open the domain for one or two seconds—erase everything—close it—move to the next dense cluster—repeat.
Mastering this Level 4 spell made Gauss feel far more at ease about the coming war.
No matter the battlefield, the most reliable things for an adventurer were always the weapon in hand and the skills they'd earned.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Gauss heard the war drums.
The city garrison was drilling again.
These days, the drums sounded often.
He walked out of the alley.
Today's streets were noticeably more chaotic than usual.
"War is coming!"
"The monsters are coming out of the forest!"
Gauss watched people passing the news, and understood: the town's leadership had finally made the announcement public.
Rumors had been circulating for days, but Grayrock had been peaceful for too long—most people didn't believe them. For the majority, "war" belonged in books. Many who never left town had lived half a lifetime without ever seeing a real monster.
But with drums pounding in the outer camps and soldiers drilling in formation, people began to hesitate.
Now the town hall notices and the broadsheets posted outside the Adventurers' Guild confirmed it.
The war really was coming.
The civilians reacted in waves.
Some were afraid—terrified the monsters would break through and butcher them.
Some were optimistic—confident the mayor and the guildmaster had prepared, that there were well-equipped troops in town, a huge number of adventurers… and the legendary Crimson Dragon Knight Gauss.
Some were excited in a strange, restless way—like they could feel something huge approaching.
But whatever they felt, the news spread through Grayrock like wildfire.
"Gauss, is it true? Are the monsters coming?"
"Yes."
"Will you protect us?"
"I will."
Gauss answered calmly, and the people around him visibly steadied.
This was the famous Crimson Dragon Knight—monster slayer, the one who made monsters fear the night. If he was here, people felt safer.
And those massive walls weren't going anywhere.
From their perspective, it was hard to imagine how anything could get through.
Back at home, his family came to confirm it too.
"Gauss… it's really war?"
"It is," Gauss nodded. "Don't worry. If anything goes wrong, I'll have Hephis fly you all out."
"And those monsters might not even make it in."
He wasn't saying that out of blind confidence.
For an "adventurer town," Grayrock's defenses were overbuilt: thick walls, layered siege defenses, an expanded town guard, and reinforcements from Iron Anvil Fort. Add the large population of wintering adventurers…
At the high-end of power, there was also Eberhard—Level 9, a top-tier guildmaster.
And there was Gauss himself: a mage who could explode far beyond his "official" level.
…
Two more days passed.
Gauss didn't idle.
He attended multiple meetings: open guild briefings for ordinary adventurers, closed war councils between the town hall and the military for elite team leaders, and public rallies in the square to raise morale.
Gauss and his team appeared—along with the red dragon Hephis.
And honestly, the dragon's presence did something special to people.
Just imagining a red dragon fighting on their side boosted confidence.
Gauss and his teammates climbed the wall.
In the distance, they could already see a black sea—a mass of monsters, countless, pushing forward.
Siege engines and catapults rolled in rows at the center of their formation, advancing toward the town.
"Gauss, sir."
A squad leader turned at the sound of footsteps. Recognizing Gauss, he immediately offered both hands in a formal, respectful greeting.
A normal adventurer wouldn't get that.
Most adventurers, even stronger ones, weren't part of the chain of command. Adventurers answered to the guildmaster, while these soldiers answered only to their commanders and to the overall commander—Sir Belrock.
But Gauss wasn't a "normal adventurer."
He was too strong.
Many believed that in pure individual combat power, Gauss might be the strongest person in the town—stronger even than Eberhard.
After all, he had a record of killing a transcendent.
And he had a red dragon as a mount. Eberhard's griffon looked like a sparrow next to it.
People respected strength. Soldiers did too.
Gauss shook the squad leader's hands.
"Hello."
"Did you come with instructions, sir?"
"No," Gauss waved it off. "I'm just here to see the situation."
He looked out at the slowly advancing monster army.
"Based on the commander's estimate, they'll reach engagement range by tonight."
"Tonight…"
Gauss nodded.
That timing wasn't an accident. The monster army was controlling its march speed on purpose.
Night was a huge advantage for monsters. Many of them could see far better in the dark than humans.
But Grayrock had its own advantages: thick walls, towers, crenelations, heavy ballistae, and defensive stores—logs and stone, boiling oil, caustic pitch—everything needed to hold a siege.
Gauss walked with his team along the wall until they reached Eberhard and Sir Belrock.
They were both watching through spyglasses.
"Enemy numbers are probably ten to twenty thousand," Eberhard said, lowering his scope.
"Sir Belrock, you brought twenty-four hundred troops: eight hundred heavy infantry, six hundred longbowmen, four hundred light infantry, three hundred cavalry, two hundred engineers, and one hundred special operations."
"The town guard and militia together are eight hundred."
"Adventurers are about one thousand."
"Total: roughly four thousand."
On paper, the numbers looked grim. In practice, it wasn't enough to crush morale.
Because this wasn't open-field warfare. They were defending a fortified town with layered defenses.
The defender's advantage was enormous.
That was why Sir Belrock, the old general with white at his temples, didn't look afraid.
"We need to watch the flyers," Eberhard said, pointing to several tiny dots far off in the sky. Each one was a large flying creature. Wall-mounted ballistae could hit them, but it wouldn't be easy—and they could fly over the walls and drop monsters inside the town to sow chaos.
"Then we'll be relying on Gauss," Belrock said, turning to him.
"Don't worry," Gauss nodded. "If they're not transcendent-tier, I can keep them here."
His voice was calm—yet it hit both men like reassurance.
Having a top-tier anti-air fighter on their side was a real comfort.
"A hero in his youth," Belrock praised, stroking his white beard.
Eberhard at least had a griffon.
Belrock, an aging warrior, still held Level 8 power—but against flying units, he truly was limited.