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The gaze of the Shaman, who was supposed to bind the Beastman, swept around the surroundings.

‘Where is the household?’

The wind-type Shaman, Salim, was hiding behind debris, clutching his arm. His arm, exposed through a burnt sleeve, was grotesquely distorted and oozing with pus.

Tsk, must have been struck by magic.

“The fire-type Magician and the wind-type Shaman have a bad compatibility. Fire tends to spread with the wind.”

In a battle, both the Magician and Shaman must consider the attributes of their enemies and respond appropriately.

When wind and fire meet as allies, they boast an excellent synergy, but if they encounter each other as foes, it becomes the worst combo. If one side’s strength is merely a bit higher, they could use magic and sorcery against each other for a fatal attack.

It might actually be better to not participate in the battle, unable to bind with a Beastman.

Having completed her calculations, Fatima gazed at the enemy. Fire and earth. In terms of combination and compatibility, the advantage was clearly hers.

Furthermore…

“The power is decreasing. The casting speed of the magic is slowing down too. Early symptoms of magic depletion are showing.”

Her sharp lips curved into a smile. On the other hand, Camila pressed her dry lips tightly together.

Perhaps it was due to the intense fighting that she had inhaled sand, because her mouth felt parched. Her lips were dry, and her throat was burning.

“…….”

Taking a small deep breath, Camila stared vacantly into the air with dull eyes.

Her consciousness felt like it was floating away from reality. Time, once parallel to the space around her, began to flow slowly as if it had taken a detour.

Distant from the battlefield, Camila maintained her silence. And she thought.

‘What is it that I fear?’

To answer that question…

Episode 16 – The Six Million Dollar Man

Learning without inquiry is just blind faith, and a life without contemplation cannot think.

Though it is said that pouring energy into things that cannot be done is merely a waste, it’s better to continuously ponder and deliberate over every task, no matter how trivial or significant.

Camila pondered.

What is it that I fear?

The start of her contemplation was a question posed by the Archmage, who had lived for over a century. Alexandra Petrovna, the Duke. The one who had saved her life by slaying the demon in the north, who had taught her magic.

Personally, she was more accustomed to referring to her as a professor than a master, but Camila clearly recognized that her relationship with the Duke was not that of an ordinary professor and disciple.

People interpreted the Duke’s actions—taking on the education of a Hero—as a political decision, but at least in Camila’s view, Alexandra Petrovna harbored no personal ambitions.

To the Duke, Camila was simply a Magician, not a Hero meant to save the world.

As the sacred being bearing the cross met death, and humanity embraced a new era, the Magicians had passed down their craft for thousands of years by nurturing the next generation. Magic could be seen as a form of inheritance.

From that perspective, the Duke’s teachings were not merely meant to cultivate a young girl into a proper Magician. It was a legacy that the century-old Grand Magician was passing down to the young Magician.

Why had the Duke entrusted her with this legacy? Especially to a complete stranger?

Camila was well aware of how complex the legal procedures for inheriting a legacy could be, along with the significance of the Grand Magician’s knowledge within the magic community.

Surely the Duke was not oblivious to this. She was one of the two great living Magicians, who had led the Magic Tower during its golden age.

Yet, despite all this, the Duke sought to hand over her legacy to Camila.

Why?

Camila strived to unravel the true meaning behind the inheritance. Before departing for the Mauritania Continent, she sought to understand the significance of the question left to her.

Then suddenly, a thought flickered in her mind.

‘…….’

What if, hypothetically…

If she hadn’t suddenly fallen into this unfamiliar world, what would she have been doing?

In a world devoid of magic, divinity, or the mystical. A world where reality and the unreal coexisted, not one where magic was dismissed as mere fantasy—if she had lived an ordinary life…

Perhaps she would have graduated from university.

She might have continued her studies while gazing at Gothic-style architecture, Britain’s most resplendent heritage, on a bridge built by a great scholar who uncovered the existence of gravity.

She would attend enthusiastic lectures from professors starting early in the morning, sipping drinks with friends in a social club during breaks, and clinking glasses with seniors working at a “company” when vacation came around.

She might have followed her sister into volunteering for medical aid. Or maybe with the help of her brother, who graduated from London School of Economics, she’d have worked for a media outlet briefly. She might even have dared to apply once more for an internship at the Information Agency she had always wished to join.

Those moments of the past, which she could no longer be sure she could return to, echoed in Camila’s mind. And she pondered deeply.

Would she truly have been happy?

Graduating, tossing her cap high, entering her dream job. Living an ordinary life like everyone else, perhaps even inheriting the family business by attending LSE as her parents wished.

But she felt it would be hard to find real happiness within that life.

‘…….’

The contemplation continued. The first thought that popped into her mind was the face of her father, who had vehemently opposed her acceptance letter to Cambridge.

He had scolded his daughter for entering Conflict Studies. Why would she choose a difficult path, leaving behind a comfortable life? He had urged her to give it up, but she had resolutely stood her ground.

Why was that?

Looking back, she realized her father was not an angry man.

The only moments when the world’s kindest father had lost his temper were when she had applied for Conflict Studies against his wishes and when she followed her sister to Afghanistan for volunteering.

She hadn’t understood then, but now she could grasp it. Her father’s anger stemmed from a parent’s worry for their child’s well-being—a father’s wish for his child to live a better life.

However, the one thing that she could not comprehend was…

Her past self, who had stubbornly maintained her position with such obstinacy.

In her life, she had never opposed her parents’ decisions. To be precise, she lacked any real opinions.

The reason she went to a private school was simply because she had no desire to attend any other school, and the choices she contemplated for her career path—soldier or lawyer—were based on a lack of any substantial dreams, merely researching her parents’ jobs.

Life without worries about the future or career.

Yet why had she fervently wanted to enter the Information Agency?

Was it because she was captivated by the alluring figure of a spy reflected on the screen? Or was it because, faced with the crossroads of university, she had watched a spy film for the first time?

Perhaps, as her sister once said, wandering in a conflict zone was a decision made out of fascination with the illusions presented by the screen due to her lack of real dreams.

Maybe even her decision to apply for Conflict Studies was an impulsive one made after watching a movie.

‘…….’

Why, of all things, spy films? Why did she apply for the internship? Camila rummaged through her memories, seeking the reason.

It was during a trip abroad with friends from her department that she encountered refugees for the first time, possibly in Afghanistan or Iraq—the region ravaged by IS, likely Iraq. The area was Mosul.

Wrapped in a blanket, a newborn baby, while an elderly woman handed a tear-soaked fabric to the volunteers.

Was it her grandchild who had gotten caught in a bomb attack? Though she couldn’t understand the old woman’s words due to her ignorance of Arabic, she understood the plea. Camila rushed to the hospital with the newborn bundled in her arms, pleading with a passing doctor to save the baby.

She still recollected the doctor’s head shake. It was already too late. There was no capacity to admit patients due to a lack of beds.

As the tunnel-like narrowness of her vision suddenly expanded, the scene of the hospital finally came into view. A police officer with a torn head was being supported by his comrades into the emergency room, while people wept, clutching shrouded bodies covered in white cloth.

The scene she witnessed on her way out of the hospital was also unforgettable. 1

A young boy, not yet even five years old, was pulling a cart containing a corpse. It was the body of his father, killed by the indiscriminate gunfire of a terrorist.

That evening, Camila returned to her lodging and watched the news about the civil war in Iraq on the TV mounted on the wall. The Al Jazeera announcer reported that a commander of ISIS had been killed in an airstrike by the coalition forces.

At that moment, honesty hit her like a freight train.

Did she want to save people? Did she want to wipe out the terrorists? Or perhaps, did she want to change the world?

No.

If she really wanted to save lives, she would have become a doctor. She would have joined Doctors Without Borders, refusing a stable salary like her sister. If she had wanted to eradicate terrorist organizations, she would have become a soldier like her father, volunteering to go to Afghanistan and Iraq.

Changing the world? No different. If she had truly aspired for change, she would have followed her brother who worked in the media or her mother who worked in the courts. She would have reported the truth as a knight or defended innocent victims, shoving criminals into prison.

But she did none of that.

She turned her back on the London School of Economics and medical school to attend Cambridge, heading to conflict regions as a volunteer, and even got an internship with an information agency.

Now, she could understand a little. Why she chose to do only what others advised against.

What she wanted to change wasn’t the world.

It was herself, the one who could do nothing while a child was dying.

At that moment, everything clicked into place. The decision to head to the battlefield despite her father’s opposition, the medical service with her sister, sneaking in to apply for an internship at SIS—none of it was about changing the world, but rather, an effort to escape her past. Powerlessness, skepticism, frustration. It didn’t matter how you labeled it.

In the depths of despair and loneliness, she wanted to be someone who continuously moved toward a bright future. Like a spy in a movie. Perhaps that was why she sought to enter the information agency. Because there was hope that something would change if she did.

That was the reason she reached out to the information officer in this strange world for the first time.

Because she thought it could change. No, she thought he could change her. She wanted to break free from her lethargy and become someone new. If someone already transformed themselves, she’d gladly borrow that person’s hand to change.

That judgment was spot on. He changed her. She learned about worlds she had not known and more. Traveling through the unknown world with him was a joy.

However.

When she was asked to return to the Empire in the face of a crisis, disappointment was hard to hide. She was let down by his attitude of not trusting her, and she was doubly disappointed in herself for not being able to instill trust. Then, yet again, she faced disappointment at the reality that she could change nothing on her own.

A deep skepticism lingered. It was the same after leaving the safe house and while traveling on the road to the capital.

He suggested she go to the Embassy of the Empire, but she simply couldn’t do it. Retreating like this would ultimately mean nothing but fleeing.

Camila, holed up in the hotel she had chosen, stared blankly at the ceiling, lost in thought.

And now, facing the shaman,

Having finally become honest about her feelings, she discovered the answer to the question that had tormented her for decades and the Duke’s inquiry.

What was she afraid of?

An unchanging life.

She was terrified of her past, where she could do nothing while a child was dying, and a future where she remained powerless forever.

A life without contemplation cannot think, and nothing changes if one doesn’t act. If she wanted to change something, she had to at least give it a try.

Starting right now.

“…….”

Camila, pulling herself from her thoughts, opened her eyes. When her sand-covered eyelids lifted, a bright pair of blue eyes revealed themselves.

Before her lay a landscape of rampant death. The scene of Mosul, reduced to ruins by the fighting between ISIS and the coalition forces, overlapped with reality.

She extended her arms. With straightened limbs, she pointed at the shaman. The shaman, looming over death with a sly smirk, looked down at her.

Her fingers reached out. The well-extended index finger aimed unwaveringly at the target. The three fingers from middle to pinky bent, and the thumb was drawn back, like clutching a pistol. Camila, shifting her hand like someone gripping a firearm, spoke in a grave tone.

“…The most foolish people are those who think they’re the most righteous in the world.”

Fatima responded.

“Are you talking to me?”

The shaman mocked the magician.

“Words alone are nothing. Just look at yourself. Your magic is depleted, and your stance is faltering. Do you think chattering away is going to turn your unfavorable situation around?”

“…….”

“Yet your gaze remains alive? You were hazy just a moment ago.”

When her thumbs touched, a complex sigil was drawn in the air. The union of beastman and incantation, after a long time, finally formed the most powerful magic spell.

Once the spell was cast, no one would escape alive. Not the magician, not the war correspondent.

Fatima, poised for an attack, began to speak. A smile carried the confidence of a victor.

“Yeah. That gaze. I don’t like it.”

“…….”

“All foreign magicians have that look about them. Like they are something special. They look down on us like we’re nothing.”

That look was irritating. It always had been.

“If you die, I’ll pluck your eyes from your corpse. Magician organs are in high demand. Passing them to a broker could fetching a nice sum.”

Fatima grinned.

Surprisingly, the extremists who conducted indiscriminate shootings and bombings and the shaman, who massacred dozens and reduced the city to ruins, looked startlingly alike.

She aimed her hand, charged with magic, at the shaman.

In the grip that aimed for the target, there was no hesitation. The magic gathered like a dot smaller than a glass bead. A red aura surrounded the spell. Looking at the shaman with a more serious gaze than ever, Camila continued in a chilling voice.

“…I don’t think it’s going to work.”

Her fingers tensed, and every muscle in her body tightened.

The pure magic pushed out the air and sand filling her innards. She felt the intangible lines of magic extend throughout her body, enveloping her.

Camila shut her eyelids, concentrated her mind.

The pure magic converged into a single point. Like a bullet loaded into a chamber, a sphere bloomed at her fingertips. When Fatima crossed her fingers and touched her thumb, a foreboding hue burst forth.

It was a spell with a power unseen before. Even a mundane person who couldn’t feel the magic sensed a dreadful intent emanating from it.

Even as the spell was being unleashed, Camila did not open her eyes. She would focus until the attack reached her target.

The red energy-filled sphere began to mingle with an addition of other light.

A bluish hue.

Like merely dropping some paint and stirring it, the azure energy seeped into the crimson sphere. The orb rotated clockwise, gradually shifting from red to blue.

Just before the spell fired to kill the magician,

At the moment Fatima, with a deep smile, was certain of her victory,

Camila’s eyes opened.

– ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶!!!

At that moment, I saw myself, armed with a pistol, crawling through the debris.

The scene of a blazing fire piercing through the expansive desert.

Camila’s magic countered Fatima’s sorcery and struck its mark. A figure engulfed in flames crashed to the ground, writhing in agony.

It was a starlit night in the desert.

As sparks rained from the sky like rain,

The flames piercing through the night drove away the darkness, and,

Were doused in a blue light.

 

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