Chapter 164
Chapter 164
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: EP.39 – The Two Men See It Through to the End (6)
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Pendragon Noble Council.
One of the kingdom's central institutions, rising alongside the royal family, the guild alliance, and the merchant union.
The council where the high nobles of the capital always gathered was infamous for constant bickering, big and small. Even among fellow council nobles, factions had split off, which was probably why.
It was an institution created to handle state affairs, but watching them fight among themselves made one think that the ways of those in power were similar no matter the era.
Kwang!
"That's what I told you! We're handling the Sultan's escort!"
"Escort my foot! They said they don't need one—what right do we have to protect them?!"
"We shouldn't have accepted them in the first place. That's why this mess happened."
"You ignorant fools who don't even know the first letter of diplomacy! Is that what you say now!? Don't accept them from the start? Are you insane!? If you have a brain, use it to think and deliberate for once! It's not just for show, is it?"
"What? You think that mouth of yours makes you right?!"
"Take off your glove!? You arrogant bastard who doesn't know his place…!"
Gloves flew every minute, duels were declared left and right, and nobles swung fists amid shouts without cease.
It was impossible to tell if this was a council of intellectuals or a fighting pit.
The dispute stemmed from the previous day's terrorist attack on the Sultan, and with no viable proposals emerging, the chamber was filled only with empty chatter and raucous yelling.
"Haa, frustrating. Sir Dalton, what do you think? If you have a good idea, share your wisdom."
"...What clever scheme could I possibly have?"
"Ha, unusually humble today. Not like you. Are you unwell?"
"N-no, sir. My thoughts are just a bit jumbled, Sir Edri."
"Hmm. If something's wrong, tell me anytime. We're seniors and juniors, after all."
"...I'm always grateful."
A conversation between senior and junior council nobles that seemed warm at first glance.
It highlighted the importance of school ties, didn't it?
Yet the face of the noble called Dalton was rigidly tense, if you looked closely enough to notice.
He...
'That damn fool of a Sultan—why blow everything up alone and get caught like this!'
His sunken eyes viewed the situation with clear discomfort.
A cold sneer frozen on his lips.
Dalton—no, the cunning old mage wearing Dalton's skin—found the entire affair utterly ridiculous.
The outlaw mage Greg was a sorcerer well past eighty this year.
Unlike knights or warriors who lost their youthful vigor and vitality with age, mages grew deeper in mana as they aged.
Thanks to that, Greg spent his eighties hale and hearty without issue.
Just like now.
"Tch, picked the wrong skin? Who knew it'd be this broke and worthless..."
Greg had belatedly learned that the original owner of the skin he wore was an honorary noble—a bookish scholar type who'd spent his life buried in tomes without a coin to his name.
He'd chosen him figuring he was just some council noble, but this poor?
Not even a lowly servant, living off council stipends alone.
How could an honorary noble live so frugally—bordering on poverty?
"Sigh, a noble after all this time, and I draw a dud."
Greg grumbled in disappointment, clicking his tongue, but refrained from rash action.
One of his principles: when impersonating others, he focused on the act.
That dedication to performance had let him evade capture for decades.
'Thought I'd finally settle down.'
But even Greg couldn't live someone else's life forever.
He yearned to put down roots somewhere.
Say, for example...
"...The Sultanate will make a fine nest."
Though Sultan Salah was holed up after the assault, Greg knew he wouldn't abandon the mystery.
How could that greedy man pass up such an opportunity?
Roll.
Greg rolled the top-grade mana stone from the Sultan.
A gem radiating brilliant light, small as a pebble yet priceless beyond measure.
'Asked for it on need, but he delivered this easily.'
Impressed anew by the Sultan's power, greed surged in Greg.
-I want it!
His life...!
He was a mage who'd spent his life stealing others' lives and talents.
Truth be told, Greg coveted the mystery, but the Sultan's life even more.
If he claimed it, research funding would be secure, and with luck...
'Even the Mage Tower won't dare treat me lightly!'
Thinking of the Mage Tower, myriad emotions flashed in Greg's eyes.
Love-hate, hatred, envy, greed.
His—no, the mage's—homeland, the ivory tower he must one day return to.
He craved recognition, for them to look up to him.
His lifelong research enshrined in the tower's top floors.
A true dream!
Greg burned with desire.
'Steal the mystery, present this research to those tower fossils—they'll have to acknowledge me.'
He eagerly awaited the day they'd regret banishing him and call him back.
Clink.
Tap.
"......"
...Greg felt a sudden incongruity as he habitually rolled the mana stone.
'What is it?'
The mage of eighty years never ignored such unease.
Surviving so long meant honed survival instincts.
He...
Flash!
'It's too quiet around!'
He swiftly assessed the situation.
Not even crickets chirped; an unnaturally still silence.
Grabbing only the mana stone, he...
"-Not bad instincts for a spellcaster."
Kwajik!!
"!!"
A hand burst through the wall like sand, lunging at him.
Greg recoiled in horror.
A weaker heart might seize up, but instead of panic...
Whoosh!
Kwaaang!
"Kuhuk!"
...He erected a mana barrier to block it.
Ambush was practically his lifelong companion.
Such attacks were all too familiar...
Pajijijik!!
"!?!!!"
Insane!!
Greg cursed aloud, but his voice drowned as the barrier shredded.
The assailant's arm tore through the mana barrier effortlessly.
A barrier from an eighty-year-old sorcerer.
Even if talent-poor, he'd diligently honed telekinesis his whole life.
That barrier rivaled city walls in sturdiness—seeing it crumble was horrifying.
Greg instantly realized the assailant was no ordinary foe.
'This guy's dangerous!'
Instead of fleeing, he began chanting.
"[O clouds, gather!], [Winds of the storm, dwell in the clouds. Let lightning dance and winds sharpen their dance.], [Annihilate my foe!]"
⟨ Thundercloud Summon ⟩
A thundercloud formed in an instant from the rapid incantation.
A small but potent orb of storm cloud.
Kwarurung!
"Die, you bastard!"
Greg hurled the fearsome thundercloud while chanting another spell to escape.
Even he couldn't survive its blast unscathed.
This attack aimed not to kill, but to create distance.
No fool would fail to dodge a thundercloud.
...Or so it should have been.
"Stings a bit."
Kwaduduk!!
-The thundercloud shattered.
"You monster!"
What the hell!
Watching his full-power thundercloud spell disintegrate, Greg lost his composure.
That wasn't a spell to vanish so easily...
'N-no way!'
"A-an Aura User!? An Aura User came for me-!"
Aura User.
The terror of mages, a superhuman who could raze a nation alone.
Greg panicked at the thought, but...
"Would an Aura User waste time on trash like you?"
The assailant sneered mockingly.
As if a superhuman would bother with the likes of him.
And above all...
"If those guys moved, it'd be over already—no need for this hassle."
The assailant closed in with a low chuckle.
"[W-wind, cloak my legs!]!"
"[Wind, dwell upon my legs!]"
⟨ Wind Cloak ⟩
Greg chanted desperately, leaping into the air.
Whoosh!
Aided by telekinesis and spell, he soared like a bird; the collapsing house from the assault made escape easy.
Shooting skyward, he fled with clouds in his wake, determined to survive.
'As if that punk can chase me into the sky!'
Aerial combat was the mage's domain since time immemorial.
Sacred ground knights and warriors could never invade.
So...
'Finally, a breather.'
After constant panic, Greg nearly sighed in relief.
But as he looked up to exhale...
"-Done running?"
"...Kuhup!?"
He gulped dryly.
There stood the assailant, walking the sky as naturally as—more than—himself.
"H-how...!?"
"-Air Step."
"???"
"Yeah, no spellcaster like you would know."
The assailant calmly drew his sword.
Then...
"Haa, tricky capturing without killing."
"??"
...Uttering cryptic words, he watched the sword pierce his mana field and slash his side.
It happened in a flash, and Greg thought:
...Is this your idea of capturing without killing?
Lee Han let out a small sigh of admiration.
"Tougher than my guys?"
The old spellcaster was impressive.
Even striking full force, only ribs cracked.
The mana field was solid too—beyond average spellcasters.
Old ginger is spicy, indeed.
But...
"A spellcaster's a spellcaster."
Lee Han stopped admiring.
No matter how strong or old, spellcasters must be crushed.
Especially vermin wearing others' skins.
"Sir Lee Han. Lord Dalton is safe. Serious injuries, but the temple will heal him soon."
"Good to hear."
While he subdued the spellcaster, Galahad's knights had found the victim skinned in the mansion. Lee Han was relieved.
Typically, nine out of ten abducted by spellcasters ended up dead.
"...Thinking about it pisses me off."
Kwajik!
"Kkuuuuk!"
Lee Han crushed Greg's shoulder.
The man writhed in agony, but Lee Han ignored it, stomping his nape.
Kuduk, kuk!
"Sir Lee Han, you'll kill him."
"He won't die. How tough are spellcasters—like monsters."
"S-spellcasters aren't monsters, sir?"
"Insects then?"
"......"
"Joking."
"Mm..."
Galahad's knight was convinced it wasn't a joke.
Those eyes didn't see a man as human.
'...A scary guy.'
His prowess inspired awe, but his ruthless thoroughness toward mages was unflinching.
Eyes viewing mages not as people, but pests to eradicate.
...Eyes to haunt nightmares.
"How'd your side go?"
"...No worries. Handled without casualties."
"As expected of Galahad. Best in the kingdom."
"...Th-thank you, but the White Silver Lions might feel slighted..."
"Do they deserve to?"
"......"
...The knight felt a twinge of pity for the snubbed White Silver Lions.
"Impressive. Even in this vast capital, how'd you find the mage?"
"Through the Mage Tower's chief disciple—we detected mage intrusion in the council. Nothing special..."
"No one knew a mage hid there, but you did."
"......"
"Haha, praising that knight makes you jealous, eh?"
"Your Highness."
"Ahaha!"
Duke Blake looked pleased.
Perhaps from the rare walk with his disciple.
"Ugh..."
"K-kill me..."
"W-water, water please...!"
Figures writhed at Duke Blake and Galahad knights' feet.
50,000 troops hidden at the border foothills.
Bearing the Sultan's banners, they wailed like men burning in fire—hot and tormented.
Duke Blake, who'd neutralized 40,000 alone, laughed heartily.
"Feels good—been a while since I exercised."
"Mm..."
Lark, who'd barely managed 10,000 with the knights, swallowed hard.
The magic sword's master rivaled superhumans.
His power overwhelmed, rendering tens of thousands irrelevant.
Truly...
'The wall I aspire to is too vast and thick.'
He wondered what that cheeky rogue would say seeing this.
Probably...
-That old man's still spry. Could remarry.
...Something irreverent like that.
"Ha..."
'Getting corrupted by that rogue, am I?'
He shook his head at the idle thought.