The Usual Sorts of Trouble in Trade
Lutisat, who had come with Lucy after receiving word from Daiyen, clicked his tongue at the sight of Teramit bound in the jail cell.
Teramit had been recommended by the Ifrit's Hearth for research assistance after Lucy left to travel with Suhyun, but he had never sat well with Lutisat. Even as an assistant, Lutisat had no intention of withholding instruction entirely. Lucy might have mastered all his magic, but her essence and temperament weren't suited for combat, so she rarely used it—and he needed someone to pass on the spells he employed in battle. With that in mind, he'd requested someone with an aggressive disposition from the tower, and that's how Teramit had arrived.
But seeing those young mages—Lucy and Suhyun—just before Teramit's arrival had been his misfortune. Old folks like him often romanticized their youth, leading them to judge young mages harshly based on their own early days. Yet Lucy and Suhyun were mages who deserved high marks even under the strictest scrutiny.
Lucy had independently embraced the mystery of fire to become a flame mage; she simply disliked combat, but she wasn't weak-willed. Her talent for handling mana and research had thoroughly satisfied Lutisat. And Suhyun? His gifts surpassed even Lutisat's own, by his reckoning—paired with a humble, respectful demeanor toward elders, free of any prickliness. A fine young man.
After witnessing those two, Teramit struck Lutisat as utterly inadequate. His talent was less than half of Lucy's, yet his pride was sky-high, he was lazy, dim-witted, and useless at his tasks. Neither in skill nor spirit did he measure up, leaving Lutisat thoroughly disappointed. He'd scolded him repeatedly, but Teramit never truly listened, letting it all slide past one ear and out the other. Lutisat was on the verge of giving up entirely.
Watching him snap back with fiery temper under scolding, Lutisat sighed inwardly. 'Don't they teach meditation at the tower these days?'
It wasn't a flaw for a flame mage to grow akin to the fiery mystery they wielded, but to be ruled by it was shameful. Mages had to meditate constantly, striving not to be swayed. This fool hadn't even tried.
Lutisat had already written a letter demanding Teramit's recall and a replacement, but before a reply arrived, the idiot had caused this mess. It only confirmed his judgment.
"Tch! This one's full of rot."
"Not at all."
Daiyen smiled and replied as Lutisat tsked in clear distaste. Seeing this capable merchant before him—who harbored no excessive greed—only deepened his disdain for Teramit, who dragged down the average of today's youth. Lutisat eyed Heukgu, standing rigidly at attention beside her.
"Did you take him down?"
"Yes, sir. I apologize for attacking a mage of Teramit’s standing."
"Apologize for what? A would-be battle mage loses fair and square in a straight fight, comes out unscathed—what's to be sorry for?"
If someone was lacking, they ought to recognize it, stay cautious, or work to improve. Instead of drowning in drink like Teramit, Heukgu's earnest apology—even after beating him—made him a thousand times superior.
"Thank you for your leniency."
Lutisat couldn't help comparing him to Teramit of similar age. The contrast only chilled his gaze toward the prisoner further.
"So, what exactly did this fool do?"
Lutisat had rushed over hearing only that the slacker—who skipped training and research for booze—had caused trouble.
"Your legs must ache first—please, come inside."
"Much obliged."
His arm's loss and lingering pains made movement a trial; Lutisat followed Daiyen's polite offer with a kindly smile.
Marveling anew at Nautilus's immense scale—impossible to believe it was magic-made—he toured the interior. Daiyen slowed deliberately, sensing his curiosity, which only dug Teramit's hole deeper in Lutisat's mind.
She led him to the reception room, lavishly appointed for nobles and VIPs at considerable expense. Staff brought tea and refreshments. Seeing the new facilities and attendants—absent during his first visit to Chromore—Lutisat felt Nautilus's growth firsthand.
'Chromore needs rebuilding too.'
Rather than envy, his thoughts turned to Chromore's woes—a sign of his advancing years, he reflected.
Daiyen waited until he'd sipped his tea and sampled the treats, then spoke carefully as he set down his cup.
"Regarding your disciple..."
"Ach! That one's no disciple of mine."
"Your assistant, then..."
"He ain't fit to assist anyone."
"Then... what should I call him?"
"Just 'student'—he hasn't outgrown that level."
"Very well. We've obtained testimony that student Teramit committed murder in Chromore."
"What? Who'd he kill?"
"Fortunately, just back-alley thugs. The problem is he did it on their request—and enjoyed the process."
"Hah, what a loathsome brat."
A student mage incinerating thugs wasn't a huge scandal. Everyone despised such scum; it might wrinkle humanitarian noses, but it wasn't criminal or grounds for black mage designation. The issue was taking a commission from thugs—that could paint him as one of them, tarnishing Ifrit's Hearth's reputation.
To Lutisat, settled in Chromore as his home, the hearth was like family. The thought of besmirching it flushed his face with rage.
He'd burned people on commission in his youth too—but on a lord's orders in wartime, torching soldiers. Not this thug-on-thug nonsense.
"Rotten karma from my reckless youth catching up now, eh?"
Seniors had cleaned up his messes back then; now it was his turn for Teramit. Lutisat felt sorry toward those elders.
"I wasn't that bad, but this punk..."
Skipping research for drunken brawls? Fine. But teaming with thugs for booze, burning rivals—and enjoying it, with everyone knowing? Lutisat wanted to incinerate him on the spot.
"If I may offer advice?"
"I'd be grateful. I just burn problems away—but that won't fly here."
Daiyen smiled softly at his self-deprecating jest.
"The gang he tangled with isn't ordinary back-alley trash. They're more like scouts from the neighboring territory."
"What?"
The room heated instantly. Lutisat's lifelong bond with fire made his temper explosive, far from mild. Sensing his mana boiling at sabotage in a struggling territory—dragging in one of his hearth's own—Daiyen calmly soothed him.
"Please, calm down. We've already discussed with the lord and prepared countermeasures."
"Can you tell me?"
"Yes—the lord planned to inform you anyway."
"Then I'll hear it from him. What's your advice?"
"We'll say the lord and you anticipated the neighbors' schemes and infiltrated ahead."
"Hm."
Lutisat grasped it instantly. Not booze-fueled thuggery, but undercover work to expose them. Accepting commissions became necessary cover; killing thugs, clearing vermin in the line of duty; enjoyment, mere acting.
"But can that idiot pull off the act?"
Clever, but Teramit was the flaw.
"What if we enroll him in the rehabilitation unit?"
"Rehabilitation unit?"
"The man who captured student Teramit is a member."
"Hm. If Mage Suhyun raised him with care, can I borrow him freely?"
"Of course. Heukgu was a back-alley punk Suhyun reformed into this."
"Hah! Should I scorn Teramit for losing to a street rat, or praise Suhyun for reforming one so well?"
"Suhyun would be thrilled to hear your praise. If you're concerned, have Teramit join the unit—you could even observe training."
"Hm, can't impose that much. Tell Mage Suhyun I've incurred a debt."
"Yes—he'll be pleased to have helped you."
As Lutisat rose and headed out of Nautilus, fidgety Heukgu approached—like a dog guilty of mischief in its master's absence.
Daiyen addressed him.
"It's fine. Thanks to you, we gained plausibility and extra benefits."
"Phew, glad to hear it."
"Won't tell Suhyun since it worked out—but report first next time."
"Understood."
Gazing at the fallen Teramit—or rather, the mana-wielding slave—Daiyen smiled in satisfaction.
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"Damn it all!"
Sisin, clan leader of the Wolf's Bastard Clan, had brimmed with confidence en route here. But Chromore's reality shattered expectations.
Refugees had painted a picture of skyrocketing food and necessities prices, but folks weren't starving—prices held steady. His hastily gathered supplies sold near cost, derailing plans.
So, like substituting chicken for pheasant, he bribed to seize the alleys, expanding influence gradually while watching for chances. He'd lured Teramit, the lord's mage's disciple, into the fold—but his intel was mostly hot air.
Then his father's steward snuck in.
"Young master, I bring information."
"Out with it."
The steward irked him with his swaggering insolence, but orders were orders.
"Chromore's lord is scrambling everywhere for timber. Most buildings' wood is rotted—could collapse anytime."
"Oh?"
Intrigued at first, Sisin soured quickly.
"Doesn't help us source any."
Building timber needed years of drying—three minimum, up to eight. Useless intel.
"A caravan hauling timber nearby has appeared."
A cruel grin twisted Sisin's face.
"Caravans get hit all the time."
"I've brought a mercenary band of retired guards, just in case."
"Good. Succeed, and I'll remember you."
His arrogance warranted a scowl, but the steward bowed with a faint smile. A dog wagging for master's scraps, barking at him? Beneath notice...