7.x [The Story That Follows the Ever-Growing Genius (Part 1 Rewrite + Final Arc)]
At the corner of the Fourth Training Ground‚ Liam stood alone‚ wiping a gigantic shield polished like a mirror.
The steady sound of cloth rubbing against metal echoed through the quiet space.
Suddenly‚ his own face appeared on the shield’s surface. The eyes of a sincere boy who once admired Aria‚ who had been called a “prodigy‚” and swore to guard her back. Yet deep within those eyes‚ the “gray” memories that never faded still clung tightly.
(…That day‚ the thing that enveloped that village was a silence this cruelly cold.)
Liam’s hometown was “Krosh Village‚” located on the kingdom’s frontier—a small village long known for forging excellent bells.
People’s lives were always accompanied by the sound of bells. Morning prayers‚ midday rest‚ and the peace of night. It resembled the “rhythm (ton-ton)” passed down from Aria’s father—simple and warm‚ a pulse for living.
However‚ that peace was suddenly stolen by the encroachment of magical residue—the “disease of the world.”
The magical leyline running beneath the village suddenly went berserk‚ and highly concentrated residue overflowed to the surface. In the blink of an eye‚ the forest blackened‚ and sticky gray slime clung to the walls of the houses.
At that time‚ Soran—who was enrolled in the advanced division of the Royal Magic Academy and had already begun to stand out as the embodiment of “perfect theory”—visited the village as the head of the investigation team.
“…Measurement complete. Residue concentration exceeds the danger threshold by 300 percent.”
The young Soran‚ protected by defensive magic‚ looked at an inorganic measuring device in his gloved white hand and stated calmly. His fingertips instantly unfolded pale blue formulas into the air.
‘Purification success rate: 3.4%. Estimated mana loss: 27%. Impact on the kingdom’s magical equilibrium—Critical.’
As the villagers clung to him‚ begging for help‚ he did not move a single eyebrow and closed his own “perfect score.”
“I have calculated the magical resources required to purify this village and the survival probability afterward… The conclusion is ‘rejection (error).’ Saving this village would be nothing more than inefficient noise that disrupts the kingdom’s magical equalization.”
It was the same as the word “failed product” that Reina once used to discard Aria—an absolute death sentence delivered by a bloodless theory.
“Rejection…!? What are you saying!? Everyone is still alive! My family and my friends too!”
Liam‚ still a boy at the time‚ shouted and tried to grab Soran by the collar. But Soran glanced at him with a cold gaze and brushed his hand away quietly—yet with overwhelming force.
At that moment‚ through the small gap between the sleeve of the protective suit and the white glove‚ Soran’s left wrist was visible. There‚ the eerily writhing “gray corrosion” seeped through. It was the dreadful mark of death that appeared on the skin of those heavily infected by magical residue. While he was a cold system that made the decision to abandon‚ in truth it was the intense pain of self-sacrifice from trying to single-handedly hold back the world’s discord. At the time‚ Liam had no way of knowing why someone who should have been an elite was contaminated‚ nor the true meaning of that gray.
“It’s meaningless emotion (noise)… Liam-kun‚ you have talent as a shield user. That ‘physical mass’ should be used to protect a greater order called the Academy. You shouldn’t die together with something like this ‘trash bin.’”
After saying that‚ Soran turned on his heel and did not even spare the village another glance.
“…Beyond this point is outside the managed area. Entry is strictly prohibited.”
As Soran’s fingertips traced the air‚ geometric magical circuits unfolded in the void‚ redrawing a transparent “boundary line” around the village. It was not a wall of salvation‚ but a cruel cutting line meant to isolate a contaminated trash bin from the world.
“Please wait! There are still people inside! If we ring the bell‚ everyone will gather! So—”
Soran did not even turn around at Liam’s desperate plea.
“It’s useless‚ Liam-kun. The sound of that bell is not included in my calculations (score)… What is necessary to reconstruct the world is perfect ‘silence.’”
The final thing Soran released was an absolute-zero stillness (shiin…) that seemed to crush even magical residue.
After support was cut off‚ Krosh Village was instantly severed from the world’s pulse. No food arrived‚ no purification medicine. All that remained were the rapidly spreading gray corrosion and the trembling breaths of villagers waiting for death.
Amid despair‚ Liam ran to the “Great Bell of Prayer” that stood at the entrance of the village.
“…It has to ring. We have to deliver the sound—to everyone left inside—that we’re still here…!”
Liam gathered every ounce of strength he had and struck the bell.
Gooooooong…
A heavy sound resounded.
—Shiin…
But the moment the sound touched the transparent boundary surrounding the village‚ it vanished completely as if swallowed by something. Soran’s absolute “silence” cruelly rejected even the intrusion of sound.
“…Huh?”
Why?
The sound… disappeared?
“…Ahhhh!!”
At the moment Liam clung to it crying out‚ the vibrations of the bell’s reverberation inside lost their outlet and violently amplified‚ exceeding the limits of the metal. Caught between the tremendous pressure of the “rhythm of sound trying to resonate inward” and the “boundary of silence crushing it‚” the great bell could not endure and collapsed with a crash.
Among the shattered fragments of metal‚ only one piece rolled out—emitting a dull amber heat and a muddy echo (powan). It was the “Heart of the Bell (core)” that had governed the village’s harmony for generations. A crystal that sealed the prayers of the people and the heat of their daily lives within physical mass (ton-ton).
(…At least this‚ I won’t let them throw away. This sound—I’ll never let it die!)
Liam embraced the burning “heart” without caring that it scorched his skin. At that moment‚ within his chest‚ the villagers’ rough laughter‚ the smell of baking bread‚ and the weight of hundreds of unjustly stolen lives flowed into him as “physical mass.”
This was the true nature of Liam’s shield. It was a “counter to silence” that sealed within its core the lives of hundreds whom Soran’s theory had discarded as “garbage.”
—The burning memory of the “heart” he held that day while it scorched his skin now vividly overlapped with the cold metallic sensation in his palm.
Shu‚ shu…
The steady sound of cloth rubbing metal slowly drew Liam’s awareness back to reality.
In the silence of the Fourth Training Ground‚ Liam gently stroked his massive shield.
The “Heart of the Bell” embedded at its core returned a faint yet certain “rhythm (ton-ton)‚” as if responding to his body heat.
(…President Soran. That day‚ you declared our sound to be ‘noise that should be rejected.’ But Lady Aria was different.)
In Liam’s mind appeared the image of Aria during their daily training.
Even after being scorned as a “failed product” by Soran and losing even her magic‚ Aria never looked down. Desperately listening to the scattered dissonance of her companions and trying to weave it into a single score with her own “rhythm (ton-ton)”—that earnest profile. Compared to Soran’s perfect silence‚ it was a dangerously fragile rhythm. Yet within it certainly lived the “body heat of those trying to live‚” just like the sound that once echoed in Krosh Village.
“Lady Aria… No matter how deep an abyss you step into from here on‚ my shield will never let the rhythm you carve fall into silence.”
Liam stood up and slung the shield onto his back. Its weight was the mass of the prayers of the villagers he could not save that day‚ and the future of the companions he would protect from now on. The reason his shield could become a physical barrier that repels Soran’s “theory” was because it was not merely a lump of metal—it had been forged from the “pride of those who were cast aside.”
“The sound of my bell exists to become your metronome… Now‚ let’s go‚ Lady Aria. No matter the battlefield‚ I will be your ‘shield’!!”
There was no hesitation in Liam’s sincere eyes. Even if theory abandoned the world‚ as long as this “mud-stained mass of trust” existed‚ his ensemble would never cease to ring.
Once‚ in the training ground where evening darkness descended‚ the “Heart of the Bell” embedded within the core of the shield on his back sounded a low‚ heavy tone in response to his vow. It was a “prelude” to new hope meant to repaint the despair of the past.
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