Chapter 65
Chapter 65
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 65
Chapter Title: Shyster Zarodin
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Naviroje stared at Ronan with an expression as if the world had played a cruel joke on her. She let out a groan before continuing in a displeased tone.
"...I'll tell you about one person. Go find him. He's usually a complete good-for-nothing, but he knows a thing or two about handling mana."
"A useless guy? Who is it?"
"A spellcaster I've known since before Phileon. I didn't want to get tangled up with him if possible, but no choice..."
Naviroje closed her eyes as if nursing a headache. Sensing that things might escalate, Ronan whispered,
"Instructor, this seems related to a curse. Can't I just head straight there?"
"Head there? Where?"
"Dawn Magic Tower. I managed to get a lead somehow."
"Tough luck. The Dawn Magic Tower is currently off-limits to outsiders."
"What?"
"It was quite the famous incident. You haven't heard? It involved Nebula Klazie."
"Fuck, what'd you say?"
Ronan furrowed his brow. Naviroje explained that, like the Grancia family, a massive purge had taken place across all five magic towers.
Three operatives from Nebula Klazie had been apprehended at the Dawn Magic Tower. Having failed to escape, they triggered an explosion using mana backlash and self-destructed.
"I heard it was a massive blast. Apparently, it blew away about a third of the garden."
"Lots of deaths?"
"No. Excluding the Nebula Klazie operatives who blew themselves up, there were no fatalities. They caught it early enough to minimize the damage. But cleanup will take quite a while, from what I hear."
"Fucking useless bastards..."
Ronan pressed his forehead and stepped back. It was fortunate the explosion happened in the garden, but it was still a huge problem.
Even if Sarante's ring allowed entry as identification, the chaos would make investigations difficult. Naviroje said,
"Looks like things have gone sideways. For now, go meet the guy I'm recommending. Who knows, he might help."
"Guess I have no choice..."
"Adeshan, do you remember the place she took the students with mana blockages three months ago?"
"Ah, yes! Zarodin's office, right?"
Naviroje's brow furrowed again at the name Zarodin. It was the kind of face one might make in front of a mountain of paperwork.
"Right... Zarodin. He's probably exhausted now, so rest up and then go see him. Adeshan will show you the way."
"Got it. Thanks for the info."
"Good luck."
Ronan and Adeshan left Arena 1. Watching their retreating figures side by side, Naviroje muttered irritably,
"The guy's taller, which looks better..."
The late afternoon sun shone down on the campus. Unlike the ragged pair, neatly dressed students bustled along the streets. Adeshan gazed at the gradually darkening sky and spoke.
"Feels like I had a long dream. The sun's still up."
"Yeah."
"Thanks for everything today. For saving me, for listening to my boring story, and..."
"Enough. Anyway, it worked out well."
"Huh? What did?"
"This Zarodin guy's a mana expert, right? He might know something about the shadow mana you're harboring. I had no clue, so it's a relief."
Adeshan's eyes widened. With so many shocking events that day, she'd momentarily forgotten. Only now did she recall the conversation atop that nameless island hill.
"Right, tell me about that. Shadow mana?"
"I really don't know much."
It was true. Ronan only knew she possessed such talent and its terrifying power. Adeshan pouted like a sulky child.
"That's not fair."
"What can I do if I don't know? But are you prepared?"
"Prepared for what...?"
"To become Grand General, obviously. Now that I've said I'd help, you have to become one. No choice."
"Well..."
"Not some lower officer or palace guard. Grand General only. The pinnacle of the Imperial Army. Nothing else matters."
Ronan's face was dead serious as he spoke. His sunset-hued eyes gleamed sharply. Adeshan took a deep breath and nodded heavily.
"...I've never thought of anything else."
"Good."
Ronan smiled faintly. Things were about to get busier. They parted at the fork leading to the dorms. Adeshan turned back three times before disappearing around the corner. Ronan, pipe in mouth, stared at where she'd vanished and muttered,
"Sorry."
It was an apology to his former superior. Her dying wish hadn't come true. Adeshan's life, now tied to his, would be stormy ahead.
Ronan stood there for a long while. Only when the clouds turned red did he finally turn away.
Before heading to the dorm, he planned to stop by the club building. Ophelia, who left to research blood magic, suddenly came to mind.
'Come to think of it, no word from her in ages.'
The last letter was right before departing for the Vaidian Mountains. Ronan groaned. A bad feeling welled up.
'Did that mosquito-like girl scam me and run off?'
He'd need to investigate, but something had clearly happened. Just as he entered the club building, he spotted a boy studying a map with hands behind his back. Ronan's eyes widened.
"You're late, Ronan."
"...No words left."
Schlieffen had already changed into a crisp uniform. Ronan clicked his tongue enviously at the neatly combed hair. It contrasted perfectly with his own rags that barely qualified as clothes.
"This place is still filthy. Do you and your clubmates not know the concept of cleaning?"
"Seeing you have time to whine means you're all healed up?"
"My treatment finished exactly five minutes after you woke. The healers here aren't half bad."
"Impressive. So, what's up? Not here to critique hygiene."
"Take this."
Schlieffen approached and handed over an envelope. Luxurious, sealed with the Grancia crest, it looked like an imperial ball invitation.
"What's this?"
Ronan tore it open carelessly. Contrary to expectations, it held only a single ordinary sheet. His eyes bulged as he unfolded it.
"You..."
"You remember the condition about adjustable participation, right?"
The club application bore Schlieffen's details in elegant script. Ronan's lips twitched.
The continent's top talent had joined his club. Far sooner than anticipated.
"Of course. Welcome aboard."
Composing himself, Ronan extended a hand. Schlieffen continued without shaking it.
"One more condition."
"What?"
"Spar with me every day. Unrelated to club activities."
"I'd do that anyway."
Ronan snorted. Only then did Schlieffen grasp his hand. Ronan's eyes widened.
'This guy...'
It felt like touching a callus-shrouded heel. The unripe palm was layered with rock-hard calluses—a geological record of immeasurable effort.
'Can't catch up slacking off.'
Ronan chuckled. Finishing the handshake, Schlieffen suddenly activated a silent scroll. A grave voice, laced with mission, emerged.
"Then, about Iril's relocation plan. As a member now, I qualify."
"Can't you at least change first?"
Schlieffen shook his head. Ronan had to endure the madman's plans until the moon rose.
Dawn broke. Cloudy, but no rain in sight. Cool gray clouds blanketed the sky evenly.
Ronan and Adeshan headed straight for Zarodin's office in Tower 41 on Phileon's outskirts. Still sleepy, Adeshan stretched and yawned.
"Ugh... Been a while since seeing Professor Zarodin..."
"You mentioned meeting him before. What's he do exactly?"
"He teaches mana manipulation in the Magic Department. Friends with Instructor Naviroje."
"Our instructor has friends?"
"She denies it, but... the way she talks sometimes, it seems true. They act like they despise each other but subtly acknowledge one another."
Adeshan continued. In class, students occasionally suffered mana tangles or core solidification leading to paralysis.
Naviroje could handle most, but for the rest, they turned to Zarodin.
Last time Adeshan visited, it was such a case. Despite Naviroje's efforts, Zarodin untangled the mana with a flick.
"Must be quite skilled."
"Yeah. Teaching mana op in Magic Department, not even Martial Arts."
They soon reached Tower 41. Unlike Baren's grand Tower 13, it was modest—shabby, if unkind. Gloomy and ominous, blackish tower topped by circling ravens cawing. Ronan grimaced.
"...We got the right place?"
"Yeah... It was like this before, but worse now..."
It wouldn't surprise if the tower collapsed, spilling human bones. Climbing the spiral stairs, they stopped before a door plaque reading "Zarodin."
The worn door didn't inspire confidence. As Adeshan raised her hand to knock, it creaked open with a chilling screech.
"What is it."
"Kyaa!"
A gaunt man, eyes and cheeks sunken like a skull, appeared. Startled, Adeshan recoiled.
"P-Professor Zarodin!"
"Ah, you're familiar. Still assisting that monster?"
The man spoke from behind chain locks. Hearing "professor," Ronan frowned.
'Professor? That?'
He'd assumed an escaped test subject. Zarodin's skin was Naviroje's tan shade, but sickly, bloodless—like a dying pony's.
"Y-Yes..."
"Impressive loyalty. I'd have stolen that ridiculously long sword and bolted."
"Haha... She's strict but good."
"Still saying that means you haven't suffered much. Anyway, what does that lunatic Naviroje want now?"
His raspy, cracked voice was hard to parse. Adeshan swallowed and continued.
"A student struggling with sword aura manifestation. She suggested seeing you..."
"Sending someone to me for non-emergency? Must be promising. You?"
Zarodin finally looked at Ronan. Ronan strained to meet his eyes, pupils shoved deep in sockets, faintly blue.
"Yes. Ronan."
"Pleased, Ronan. Sword aura not manifesting?"
"Yes. Slightly different issue, but yeah."
"Common for swordsmen entering sword expert. Come in?"
They'd been talking at the threshold. Ronan nodded. Suddenly, Zarodin extended a palm through the gap.
"1 gold."
"Pardon?"
"Per hour, by the way. I'm busy."
Ronan thought he'd misheard. Adeshan's face hardened. As Ronan stood stunned, Zarodin sighed impatiently.
"Why the face? Phileon students have money. Paying for off-duty services is common sense."
"...Per person?"
"Sharp analysis for a promising one."
Ronan glanced at Adeshan. Panicking, she muttered, counting on fingers—checking her pockets.
'Damn, of all times...'
Ronan groaned. His fortune, rotten with excess, was spent on the house days ago. He had emergency funds, but trekking back to the dorm was the issue.
"No money now... Any way around?"
"Sure. Turn and leave. Or get 10 gold from Naviroje—generous estimate."
Ronan closed his eyes. He understood why Naviroje disliked him. He wanted to slice the cheap locks with Ramancha, storm in, and stomp the corpse—but he needed help.
As Ronan rubbed his chin groaning, Zarodin eyed him up and down and asked, perplexed,
"Hold on... What's in your pocket?"
"Pocket?"
"Right pants pocket."
Ronan rummaged. He pulled out Sarante's ring.
Zarodin’s eyes nearly popped. Slam! The door shut, chains rattling inside.
'How many locks?'
At least six, by sound. Slam! It reopened. Zarodin said excitedly,
"Come in. Do me a favor, and it's free."