Chapter 503 – From the Past (4)
The research process of the ancient Mage in the ice, which Verden had uncovered and Dahit had carried out, was summarized into five points.
First, it was suggested that the ancient man without mana circuits might have been a Mage who lived in the era before the first magic tower was built.
Second, compared to a corpse that possessed mana circuits, the frozen body of the man retained externally infused magic power for a far longer time.
Third, Dahit Wethroel suspected whether mana circuits were truly natural. He guessed that, somewhere in the distant, ancient human history spanning centuries, there had been some unknown cause.
Fourth, at last, after repeatedly investigating the ancient Mage in the ice, Dahit realized its true value and drew his conclusion.
Fifth, based on that conclusion, he was attempting to commit something against the world of magic.
"..."
Verden brushed his hair, which had turned ashen ever since Defying the Heavens.
As he calmed his taut mind and took a deep breath, he felt the heat rise. His forehead, as his hand brushed it, was fairly hot.
'Utterly unfathomable.'
For another Mage it might be different, but when the Transcendent of Black Hour asserted such things, it was evident that there must indeed be something.
The problem was that he had no idea what it was.
Even just recently, there was a weeping Demon, a Giant trapped in ice, an ancient Mage frozen solid… everything was full of mysteries with unknown causes.
With past events he had never even seen swirling through his head, he felt like he had become a historian.
'…I should stop here for now.'
Contrary to his will, the lack of substantial core information meant he could not progress. Thinking further was nothing but a waste of time.
Verden, clearing from his mind the matters he could not solve immediately—such as the [Hourglass of Perpetuity]—stepped outside.
Through the wide-open window, a cool breeze blew in.
Perhaps because he left the room he had been staying in for several days, he felt rather refreshed.
"Oh, you're out? Good timing. I had something to deliver anyway."
Just then, Keirel, who was passing through the corridor, spotted Verden and approached him.
Until only a few months ago, she had lived in the back alleys of Arein, playing the role of vigilante. Now, belonging to the North, she had grown thoroughly accustomed to handling all sorts of confidential matters.
That had been possible thanks to her background as a beastkin born in the Ownerless Land.
Along with her experience, her uniquely animalistic senses, developed purely for survival, had made her adaptability very high.
Of course, the teachings she had received from Adrian's master had also played a big part.
Currently, unless there was something special, Keirel usually handled information via communication devices or acted as the hub of the contact network.
That was thanks to the experience she had gained while preparing for the recent Competition.
She did not show any sign of being overwhelmed. On the contrary, she seemed livelier than before, as if the role truly suited her.
'At this timing, the news must be…'
Verden asked.
"About the Dwarves?"
"That's right."
Inside the massive complex mine, construction was in full swing by the Dwarves who had been brought from the volcanic regions of the Western Continent.
All necessary supplies were overseen directly by Keirel, transported by the airships sponsored by the Kingdom of Estiria.
Along with the Magi of the Society, security was maintained thoroughly.
Since Verden was often absent and could not always converse with the Dwarves directly, Keirel filled in that gap.
"They say that as of today, in four days, the foundation of the fortress and the facilities will be completed. After that, they'll rest a bit and then choose one of the two to finish sequentially. I heard they don't have enough manpower to carry out both main constructions at the same time."
If there were a lack of people, one could simply hire more, but with Dwarves it was impossible.
Leaving aside security, there was simply no way ordinary humans could match the handiwork that was the racial trait of the Dwarves.
Unless one brought a true master craftsman, humans would only get in the way.
"The fortress, or the facilities… has it been decided which will be built first?"
"It hasn't been finalized yet, but opinions lean toward the fortress. After all, resolving the residential areas completely first is important. We're not in urgent need of weapons, so the facilities can be put off, right?"
"And Gharun feels the same way?"
"Well, I did ask, but that centuries-old Dwarf only snapped that I should bring better materials. Tch, small body with outrageously high standards."
When it came to creation and craftsmanship, the eyes of a Dwarf were on an entirely different level.
And of course, the legendary, orthodox Dwarf, Hammer of Integrity, Gharun, who was renowned in the Red Volcano, was even more so.
───Damn it, there's a defect here, isn't there? Hey, beastkin! Come and look at this log. Yeah, right there. See that crack at the end? This is useless, throw it out, and bring me a clean one.
───This small piece…? Then just cut off the end and use the rest. It's not like you're using it whole.
───What? Cut the end? You blind? Look carefully, the fine fissure extends deep from the end!
───No, I don't see any…
───Nine out of ten, it'll shatter when processed. Even if the one left somehow endures, it won't last long. And with this, you want me to build a Dwarven fortress that should endure centuries? Might as well build with toothpicks! Bring another!
───Crash!
───Kyaah! You crazy Dwarf!
After experiencing, for the first time, the tantrums of a true orthodox Dwarf, Keirel remembered how much she had struggled, thoroughly inspecting the quality of every material.
She bared her fangs and clenched her fist tight.
"I should have cut off that beard of his…"
Clearly, beastkin with their wild nature and Dwarves with their selfishness did not have compatible temperaments.
Not as bad as humans and Elves, but still.
Well, in any case.
'This is troublesome.'
He had intended to consult again about the dragon materials around the time construction was nearly complete… but if the facilities were delayed until after the fortress, weapons wouldn't be crafted until well into next year.
'Considering the current situation, that's far too late.'
So he had no choice but to intervene.
But that wasn't Verden's role.
Because the ones in need of weapons were not him.
***
Verden called Adrian and Isabella through the communication device. While having a meal together, he relayed to them what Keirel had told him.
Isabella propped her chin.
"So, what the lord means is, we should negotiate with the Dwarves to prioritize the facilities over the fortress?"
"More precisely, only Gharun needs to be persuaded."
Verden sipped a mouthful of wine.
"If it were another matter, just a request would be enough for the Dwarves to agree, but weapon-crafting is different. The only Dwarf here capable of handling dragon materials is Gharun. And when it comes to that, Gharun has his own standards."
Gharun did not make weapons just because a request was made.
If he judged that the client was unworthy of wielding what he forged, he would not raise his hammer even if a blade were at his throat.
Even a Transcendent was no exception.
But if one proved themselves, Gharun would give it his all.
Just as he had once forged [Interis] for Verden.
"Since it's you two who need weapons from dragon materials, even if I step forward to ask him to prioritize the facilities, Gharun won't budge. Of course, the same goes for making the weapons."
"So, persuading him is entirely up to us."
"There's nothing to feel burdened about. That proof is something you'll have to face sooner or later anyway. It's only a matter of timing. From what I see, you two should have no problem."
Verden set down his empty wine glass.
"Two days from now, Keirel will be transporting the materials the Dwarves requested by airship. Since there's a reuse cooldown, making a round trip with my
A weapon forged from a dragon's ribs.
Suddenly, feeling the empty weight at his waist, Adrian bowed deeply.
"We shall take it upon ourselves, my lord."
***
The world moves at once.
As time flows in the Ownerless Land, so too does time flow elsewhere.
Melard's letters were finding their way to their intended recipients.
***
The grand city, Gargant's Academy District.
On its streets, filled with young blood, an elderly professor of alchemy walked, clutching an envelope in one hand.
The sun was setting.
He silently passed countless people and approached one of the tightly lined buildings. He unlocked the door with his key and stepped inside.
Thump.
Collapsing into the soft chair in the middle of the living room, he pressed at his weary eyes. Inside the envelope was a simple red wine.
'No classes tomorrow, so…'
He intended to spend today in comfort.
Knock, knock.
Then, a knock came.
He already knew who the visitor was without looking.
Without asking who it was, he went to the entrance and opened the door.
There stood an old man with a thick beard and kindly features, clad in an ordinary robe.
The headmaster of the Academy.
"Liquor may be called the hundred medicines, but without a side dish it becomes poison. I brought some ham so your stomach won't be ruined. And what did you buy today?"
"A cost-effective red wine."
"Ch, well, at least it'll wash down the taste. Better than nothing."
Clicking his tongue, the headmaster stepped inside, confidently taking a seat. Though it could have been displeasing, the professor did not mind.
This situation was daily routine for them both.
They sat diagonally across from each other.
The professor asked.
"Do you mind if I sit comfortably?"
"You are the homeowner, aren't you. I must have told you many times already, there is absolutely no need to ask my opinion on such a matter… truly, you never change."
"Let's just call it habit."
The professor placed a hand over his face and swept down from top to bottom. The effect of the magic item faded, and his concealed appearance was revealed.
A reddish burn scar covered half his face… the pain it must have caused was unimaginable.
The headmaster, unfazed, personally poured wine into two glasses.
The taste followed the price, but with salty ham it was satisfying enough.
"How is teaching life these days?"
"The same as usual. Only, it's a bit disappointing that among the freshmen admitted earlier this year, none showed any notable talent for alchemy."
"Isn't talent the sort of thing that appears suddenly after being absent? As always, someone will pop up out of nowhere. That is what an Academy is."
"Well, even so, in my memory, there have been very few who truly stood out in alchemy."
The professor was the type who gave little attention to anything outside his field. His single-mindedness was very Mage-like.
"Still, thanks to you, the students' alchemy standards continue to rise. That's something other professors wouldn't dare attempt. So don't you dare suddenly retire. It would be a great loss to the magical world."
"I told you, I have no thoughts of retiring. The more you bring it up, the more it feels like you're urging me to."
"Ha ha, surely not!"
The headmaster laughed it off, yet the concern hidden in his words was genuine.
Their friendship had lasted quite long.
They first met at one of the academic conferences held within the magical world, and by sharing deep discussions on magic they became drinking companions.
At the time, while the headmaster's background was well-known, the true identity of the current alchemy professor remained unknown.
He never asked.
There was no need to investigate when conversation alone showed that he was clearly a Mage worthy of respect.
That was why—
When one day the man showed up a complete wreck, the headmaster had still taken his hand.
'What on earth happened to him…'
Even now, the headmaster of the Academy did not know the professor's true identity.
He did not know where such grave injuries had been inflicted, nor why the professor refused to go to the Church for healing.
He believed that, when ready, the professor would speak first.
Of course, even if he never told, it was fine.
What mattered was that the man who had once lived like a broken shell was now living properly as a professor of the Academy.
'Only…'
From time to time, the emptiness and shadowy emotions in the professor's eyes bothered him. Unlike his stable reality, those emotions were unstable.
At that moment.
Knock, knock.
Someone knocked at the door.
At this hour, visitors were rare.
Both Mages turned their gazes toward the entrance.
"I'll step out for a moment."
The professor disguised his face once more and moved silently forward.
He gripped the doorknob with sharpened senses and pulled it open… but no one was there. Looking around, the presence was already gone.
Thud.
Something struck his foot.
Lowering his eyes, he saw a sealed letter.
No danger.
Certain of its safety, the professor cautiously picked it up, glanced outside again, and returned inside.
"Was someone there?"
"No one, just a letter. There's no indication of where it came from."
"Secretive, and therefore suspicious."
The professor thought the same, and immediately tore the envelope to check the contents.
Inside was something like an invitation.
On the front, a location was briefly written, and on the back—
"Oh…"
There was a hand-drawn black hourglass.
Familiar.
Beneath the small, symbol-like sketch, a single line reflected in his eyes.
───To my dearest comrade.
…Thud.
Suddenly, his hand lost strength, and the envelope slipped from his fingers.
Regardless, the professor stared intently at the nameless letter. His pupils shook greatly, but his gaze remained firm.
"You…?"
"I am sorry. I must go."
It was abrupt, yet the headmaster understood at once. He widened his eyes slightly, then let out a breath.
'So partings are sudden, after all.'
Though he wanted to hold onto his long-time drinking companion and capable professor, he could not.
Look at his eyes.
With such a bright light shining within them, how could one stop him? Surely, his precious and cherished past was calling him.
So he must be sent off with a smile.
"I won't process your resignation, so come back anytime."
The headmaster of the Academy, guardian of an institution where the talents of the entire continent gathered, and thus targeted by countless factions.
He was a Magus who pursued romance.
***
And in the magical city of Virente on the Western Continent, a nameless letter was delivered to an old Mage mercenary who lived in the shadows.
"..."
The mercenary, staring at the letter for a long while, set down the glass brimming with liquor. The cigarette at his lips quietly burned away.
Across from him, a young bartender, who always worked at his usual tavern, tilted his head.
"Huh, not drinking more today? That's odd. You usually come every day and chug whole bottles like you'll die without it."
"When my deathbed came, I thought it would be a good end if I were drunk. I even hoped for it, but it never happened, much to my regret…"
The mercenary laughed low.
"Seems there was a reason I wasn't allowed to die."
Crash!
With the glass, he struck his own forehead.
Together with the strong, expensive liquor, shards of glass scattered in every direction. Red blood flowed from his brow.
Amid startled stares, the mercenary tossed a crumpled bill and twisted his lips.
"Tonight, I need no drink."
The old mercenary left.
Even his eccentric behavior proved terrifying, befitting his reputation as a fearsome Mage in this underworld.
So when it looked like the liquor soaking his head was mixed with tears, it must have been nothing more than the bartender's illusion.
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