Genius Mage in a Cultivation World

"I still can't believe you just accepted him as he is," Sitra muttered under her nose, sending a hostile glance to Layn. "What if he is some kind of spy?" she asked, turning her head back to the leader of the group. 

"A spy? Are you out of your mind?" Castor replied, shaking his head in defeat. "I know that our enemies can be pretty determined, but do you really think they would send spies in such state to us?" he asked, without a hint of hostility in his voice. 

'It's as if he was too used and too tired to bother with the blabbing of this girl,' Layn thought, slightly changing his position on the stretcher. 

Even when the entire group was camping, Layn still remained in his portable bed. His magic continued to slowly mend his inner wounds, but there was a hard limit of how much he could recuperate in a short amount of time. 

"But..." Sitra started only to purse her lips and turn her head around, sulking. 

"Eh." Castor released a heavy sigh before standing up and moving from the fireplace to Layn's bed. He came carrying a strange cup, appearing to be a mix of a primitive and extremely advanced society. "Here, drink this. While it won't help against pain, it will force your body to regenerate faster," he informed before passing the cup to Layn's weak hands. 

'Is it a cast?' Layn took the item in his hands, careful not to spill even a drop of the precious content inside. He took a sip, only to be instantly overwhelmed by the rich aroma of herbs inside. Then, a wave of heat hit his throat before spreading across his entire chest and then the rest of the body.

"What is this drink?" Layn asked with his weak voice while his eyes opened wide. The content of the cup was insane, but the archmage's attention was focused on the details of the item itself. 

Because as simple as casting a shape with metal was, this cup was too detailed to be made with the basic technology of casting. Its entire side was intricately covered in detailed pictures, outlining some kind of story. 

"See? He isn't a spy," Castor suddenly announced, turning his head to Sitra. 

"... as far as sharing his own cup," she mumbled under her nose when her leader's voice reached her ears. "Huh? How can you tell?" she asked, more curious about Castor's reasoning than angry at him ignoring her opinion.

"And that's exactly why you are a simple soldier rather than an officer," Castor sighed heavily before shaking his head and then turning his eyes to Layn. "Now, then, would you mind telling me where did you come from, stranger?" he asked while keeping a relaxed smile on his face. 

"First thing first, let me tell you one thing," Layn said through his dry throat before taking another sip of the beverage. Then, he infused his mind into his translation spell before changing its structure for a bit. 

"I do not come from the people of this language," he said in the ancient, hoping to get some reaction from the two people of the group he was interacting with. 

"I KNEW IT!" Sitra shouted, jumping up and grabbing the handle of her saber. 

"SIT!" Castor said in a low, slightly trembling voice. But as gentle as it appeared to be, this single order instantly forced the girl to sit down and remain motionless. 

For a moment, the kind face of a middle-aged uncle that Castor wore turned ugly, as if a myriad of demons settled in his soul and decided to now make their appearance. 

But in just the next moment, everything returned to the usual. 

"See? You don't even know what he said. You heard their language and instantly assumed he is with them, didn't you?" Castor explained the situation in a tired voice before turning his face back to Layn. "If you are not with them, then who are you? Where did you come from?" 

"It's not a simple story," Layn explained after changing his translation spell back to normal. "But in general, I came from the desert. The thing is," the archmage shook his head for as much as his wounds allowed, "I was blasted away by quite a powerful attack. I don't know how far it threw me, so I don't even know if you know what desert I have in mind," Layn explained, hoping the other party would understand. 

'Still, if they are really Slavians, this legendary and lost tribe, then how come they are on the wrong side of the barrier?' he asked himself. Sadly, Layn's attempts at figuring out the timeline were doomed to fail, given how he had no means of learning which ancient age his gran arcana threw him into!

"Blasted away? What, are you maybe going to tell me you fought with one of those overlords of Origin?" Castor laughed at his own joke. It took him a long time to calm down; that's how funny he found this idea to be. 

"I don't even know what that Overlord of Origin is," Layn replied in his weak voice. While the name this man uttered was quite fitting for the insane monster that Layn fought with, it wouldn't be a smart move to admit that he was capable of standing toe to toe with it. 

Not when he was all in tatters and deprived of nearly the entirety of his power. Not when he didn't know what those people would think about such a situation nor how they would react. 

"You came here," Castor spelled out his words slowly. "From beyond the grand desert," he continued his manner of speech. "And you don't know what overlord of origin is?" Castor finally came to ask the question he wanted. 

"Didn't I tell it already?" Layn sighed only for some fluid to enter his throat, forcing him to start desperately coughing. Despite his fragile state, convulsions started to shake his entire body. 

"Hey, are you okay?" Castor asked with worry, instantly dropping the question he posed earlier. 

"Cough, cough, I'm ocough!" Layn attempted to calm them down, only to start coughing even harder. 

'Fuck, what the hell is this...' Layn thought, redirecting all his magic from healing his wounds to actually clearing his throat. 

But it didn't help at all. Not because Layn's magic was incapable of doing something so simple. Because he didn't have enough magic to actually do something like that.

"Hey, come on!" Castor shouted, but Layn could barely hear him at that point. He could only continue to cough, slowly losing all the air he had in his lungs and unable to take a fresh breath. 

"Fuck, at this rate, he will just kick the bucket here, Sitra!" Castor shouted, jumping to a straight position. 

"I'm on it!" By the time her leader shouted at her, the girl was already running towards Layn's place. Even though there were only a few meters between the two of them initially, this distance turned into an entire marathon in Layn's blanking-out vision. 

"Stay with me, brother!" Castor shouted even before Sitra could get close. He rushed forward before catching Layn by his shoulder and bringing his upper body up.

"Cought, couhhh, kreee..." Layn could no longer even cough properly. With no more moisture to keep his throat wet, he was simply tearing its inner side out in his spasms. 

"Calm down, Sitra, you can do it," the girl muttered to herself as she placed her hands on Layn's throat. 

Just as if she wanted to strangle him.

'Are they going to kill me?' Despite his aggrevious state, Layn's mind cleared up. 'No, that's not it. If they wanted me dead, they could just leave me be for a few more moments.' The moment of clarity quickly passed when Layn's body could no longer support the processes of his brain. 

And then, it happened. 

It wasn't magic that Layn knew off. Even in his dying moments, he could tell that Sitra didn't use any magic. Or rather, any magic that Layn ever heard about. 

But in just the next moment, some kind of power suddenly filled Layn. 

In a mere instant, his wounds closed. All the pain that they were the source of was gone as well. 

But that didn't allow Layn to regain his breath, although it made his ordeal slightly less torturous. 

"Don't focus on his wounds! He is suffocating!" Castor shouted before hitting the girl in the back of her head. 

In an instant, the strange force filling Layn disappeared. For a moment, he was hanging in the state between healthy and dying from his injuries, as if his body couldn't decide whether it should keep healing itself with that strange power or use it to decompose him back into pure particles of magic his flesh was originally made from. 

"You are not helping!" Sitra shouted as she forced herself to regain her focus. A few seconds later, the same force that Layn felt a moment earlier returned, this time, filling his throat.

And then, his ordeal came to an end, as if it never took place, to begin with.

"What was that..." Layn asked as soon as he managed to stabilize his breath. For an archmage like him, the feeling of this strange power was more important than his very own life. 

'I spent my entire life pursuing the secrets of magic, but I never felt something like this,' he thought, staring with his eyes wide-open at the Slavian duo. 

"This, my friend," Castor put a wry smile on his face before averting his eyes. "Is the true form of magic. Not some shamanism that all those people whose language you used before call magic on their own."