Knights and Magic Wand
Chapter 500 - 500 236 Making a Name

500: Chapter 236: Making a Name 500: Chapter 236: Making a Name The gentle breeze brushes against the cheeks.

Under the warm sunlight, the fragrance of the garden is so familiar…

…Nostalgic…

The voice of an old friend keeps rambling on about his remarkably proud creation.

It’s practically a lullaby inducing sleep.

A girl with pink braided hair pours tea into several porcelain cups.

Feeling a soft body lazily burrowing into the embrace…

…Instinctively tightened the hug in response to her attachment…

gently stroking her snow-white long hair…

A petite golden-haired and blue-eyed figure is wielding a blade disproportionate to his size in the courtyard, cutting through the air with vigor.

“Are you still listening?

Give me a few more ideas; my creativity is about to run dry again.”

The old friend halts his words, his aging voice brimming with helplessness.

“…Ah…

I’m here…

Hm?…

What did you just say again?…”

…..These intoxicating times…

…Wish they could last forever…

“Mother~!

Did you see?

I’ve learned the move you taught me!”

The young boy lowers the blade’s tip, his golden hair glowing brilliantly.

“Mmm…” Responding half-heartedly, too lazy to correct this brat’s form of address…

But the body in the embrace suddenly sits up, seemingly dissatisfied.

“…You little rascal, call me that again, and see if Nedy and I won’t beat you up next time.”

“Pfft—…

So I can’t call you teacher, and calling you mother isn’t allowed either?

Mother doesn’t seem to mind it at all!”

The golden-haired boy makes a face at the white-haired older sister.

“Really, you’re something, not only refusing to address me properly but becoming more familiar every time you call me.” Even the usually mild-tempered girl couldn’t help but puff her cheeks in frustration.

“You’ve taken me in, saved me, and even gifted me ‘Gervin’ as my name; of course, you’re my mother!

…

Right?”

…Resting the golden scepter flat, gently rapped it against the overstepping rascal’s forehead, producing a crisp sound only a sturdy head could deliver.

“—Ouch!”

“…Whatever, but I clearly named you ‘Gao Wen.'”

“Gao…

Gervin?”

The golden-haired brat awkwardly enunciates the name, finding little difference in pronunciation.

“…Forget it…

Gervin it is…”

This kid’s thick Felu mountain accent is impossible to convert into Lorelette pronunciation.

“Hehe~…

Gervin will grow up quickly, become a great hero, and live up to the name you’ve bestowed upon me while always protecting my dear mother!”

The diminutive golden-haired boy hoists the heavy sword, striking a pose with arms akimbo in a theatrical manner.

“A great hero must protect all beings; they cannot solely protect me alone.”

“But the world already has you watching over it.

You are the sun for Gervin and everyone else.

In the future, I only want to protect you, alone!”

“…Well, that truthfully would be quite a burden for you, oh great hero….”

Light laughter intertwines with the conversation…

…Timeless and hazy….

…Fading further and further away…

……

An indefinable sense of time.

Leon opens his eyes.

Before his pitch-black irises lies an unfamiliar ceiling.

Feeling faint from hunger, he barely tries to move, only for weakness and pain to rush over his body.

Past memories of the life-and-death duel immediately flood his mind.

Raising a brow, Leon remembers Count Arsen’s unstoppable and terrifying blade.

…No doubt, he couldn’t block it, nor did he ever intend to try.

But the sword hall coach from his past life once said, when a weaker swordsman stakes everything and disregards death, even the greatest fighter of the time would avoid clashing directly with them.

Knowing he couldn’t win, all Leon hoped was to gamble everything on one final strike to make the opponent pay.

If that’s the case, did he survive?

Or did he die by Arsen’s blade and wake up in another life?

Straining to turn his head, he looked around.

He saw Azeryan dozing off against the wall beside the bed.

Seeing his comrade’s figure watching over him, Leon’s heart grew at ease.

He had been saved.

“Azeryan.”

Calling out, Leon attempts to sit up, only to find he has no “left arm” to lean on.

Moving his shoulder, the empty and void sensation wasn’t a delusion.

Turning his head, he sees his left arm reduced to half its length, wrapped heavily in bandages…

Well, great, he’s turned into Yang Guo now…

Despite this, he wasn’t overly disheartened; after all, losing an arm beats losing his life.

Besides, fortunately, it wasn’t his dominant arm, so not bad.

Hearing Leon’s voice, Azeryan’s eyes snap open from his feigned sleep, turning his head to look.

“Illaril bless!

You’re awake!

How are you feeling?”

Noticing his long-unconscious companion regaining consciousness, Azeryan straightens up with excitement, finally letting the tension within him relax.

“Not too bad, help me up first.” Leon seeks assistance.

Azeryan regains his focus, hurrying to lend a hand and carefully situates Leon upright, plumping a pillow against his back for support.

Half sitting upright, Leon feels his mind clearing somewhat and promptly checks on another companion’s safety: “How’s Death Claw doing?

Is it alright?”

“The big guy suffered serious injuries but isn’t in any life-threatening condition.

However, it likely won’t be able to fly for quite a while during recovery.”

Azeryan reassures him: “Of course, don’t worry, you and it are valorous war heroes.

The king dispatched royal court veterinarians and magicians to care for it, feeding it a wounded horse every day, with nothing lacking.

Its external injuries have mostly healed, but its wing ligament injuries are slow to mend.”

Upon hearing Death Claw’s well-being, Leon felt relief.

“Got food?

My stomach’s practically glued to my back.” Leon chuckles bitterly.

“Yes, yes, I’ll have someone bring something right away.” Azeryan scurries toward the door, instructing a guard outside and requesting the royal physicians.

Leon scans his surroundings, deducing that he’s in a clean and tidy room, certainly not a wild battlefield camp.

Spotting the Garner leaning against the corner, his mind drifts to something more significant, prompting him to glance at Azeryan walking back: “Are ‘those’ things still intact?”

Azeryan, naturally understanding what he meant, replies.

“They’re all here.

Before the war ended, I went and retrieved them for you.

The only exception was your magic wand buzzing with sparks; Lokhak and I had to shovel around just to box it up…”

He hands over the pouch he kept close.

Leon takes a look inside.

Two Black Cards, “Boiling Heart” and “Canis,” both untouched.

Only the silver Nedy card, hosting Flame Sun Guard Galron’s essence, lies quietly in two halves within.

“…I %￥ you #@…”

Out of combat mode, an overwhelming rush of profanities invades Leon’s thoughts.

He has thousands of words to properly greet the unappreciative ancestors who tore his card.

Winning is one thing; why ruin the card?

Taking it away intact would’ve been better!

Such advanced Nedy cards, without an Elf soul stone, are impossible to replicate.

Suppressing the card player’s anger and heartache, Leon suddenly picks up on the information in Azeryan’s words.

“The war’s over?” he asks in shock.

“Did I sleep for a long time?”

“Quite a while.

You were unconscious for six to seven days, and now it’s September 23.

If not for your constant breathing during sleep…

Thank heavens you’re fine.

If something happened to you, we wouldn’t have the face to return to Olivia.”

“On the battlefield, blades have no eyes.

Even if I had truly perished, Olivia would never blame you,” Leon shakes his head.

“Tell me, what did I miss while I was out?”