I Was Mistaken as a Great War Commander

The next morning.

Snowfield highlands near the Republic's border.

“Is this the place? Where that weirdo’s supposed to live?”

At his subordinate’s comment, Bilov—an intelligence agent for the Republic—wiped the sweat from his brow.

Whether it was the climbing or the heavy mountaineering gear, he didn’t know. But even surrounded by snow, heat ruled his body.

“Yes. But don’t call him a weirdo. He doesn’t like that. He prefers to be called a ‘Great Mage,’ so keep that in mind.”

“...Great Mage?”

A Great Mage? In an era where magic had all but lost its effectiveness, save for a few rare abilities?

Even the title of “mage” had faded into history—calling someone a Great Mage now was almost laughable.

“It’s surprising that someone still clings to magic in this day and age. What’s even more surprising is that the government’s classed him as a high-risk individual.”

“That just shows you don’t know anything. He might be eccentric, but his abilities are real.”

“Seriously?”