Chapter 67
Chapter 67
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 67
Chapter Title: Jarodin (2)
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Ronan's face hardened. Twenty years? It was more than enough time for a bunch of bald-headed thugs who'd smashed up the whole world to build houses and start families.
Ronan was about to say something when Jarodin, who had been sitting quietly catching his breath, spoke up.
"...No, it won't take that long."
"Hm?"
"There's elasticity in the mana veins. With effort, we can shorten it even more."
"Hmph, if you say so, then I suppose it is. In that case, we'll need to create a separate cultivation method. This kid's case is beyond just 'special.'"
"Yes. That part... damn it."
Thud. Jarodin, who had tried to stand, collapsed back down. It seemed his legs hadn't regained their strength yet. Ronan extended a hand and said,
"Need a hand?"
"No. I'll do it right here."
Suddenly, Jarodin sat cross-legged. He placed both hands on his knees and closed his eyes.
Ssshaaa— A strange breathing sound began to leak from his slightly parted lips. Secret's eyes sparkled with interest.
"Oho, you've already come up with it?"
"Not perfectly yet, but the basic structure should be right."
"That genius of yours is still as sharp as ever. Fitting for the top mage of the Full Moon Tower."
"Just a worthless past."
Ronan tilted his head. From the posture alone, it looked like a simple mana cultivation pose—why the admiration? Jarodin looked at him and said,
"Sit facing away from me. Same position."
Ronan did so. Jarodin placed his hands on Ronan's shoulder blades. Recalling what had happened just minutes ago, Ronan asked in a voice laced with unease,
"You're not gonna cough up blood again, are you?"
"Probably. I'm reopening the sensations, so brace yourself."
"Pardon? Wait—"
Boom! The shock hit again, surging through his veins. Ronan gritted his teeth. His toes curled up like squid tossed on a hot grill.
"Damn it...!"
For a split second, he felt an urge to neatly bisect Jarodin's body. The pain was far weaker than the previous two times, but it still made his blood boil.
Ronan turned his head. Jarodin's face came into view, eyes bloodshot and bulging. It was clear he was enduring several times Ronan's pain. Ronan forgot what he was about to say.
"Damn, you okay?"
"Huuu... Yeah. Hurts a lot?"
"Annoying as hell, but I can take it. This one's lingering longer, though."
Ronan frowned in irritation. The previous pains had come in a rush and vanished like volatiles, but this one poked at his whole body like an aftertaste.
"Good. That's normal."
Jarodin let out a relieved sigh. He wiggled his bony fingers slightly and continued,
"The maximum mana you can currently operate is about 0.01 ranstol."
"No idea what that means."
"Just know it's pathetically low. If the average sword user's mana is a cup of water, yours is like an ant's spit."
"...Didn't you say it wouldn't take twenty years?"
Ronan scowled. He dreaded what came next. He wasn't sure he could stay sane if Jarodin said something like, 'Yeah, not twenty—seventeen should do it.'
But Jarodin was far more principled and capable than Ronan thought.
"I did. It depends on your effort. It could take the full twenty years, or if you do well, you could finish in five."
"Five years... That's pretty hopeful. What do I need to do?"
"The basics: repeat the mana cultivation method I'm about to teach you every day."
At the words "mana cultivation," Ronan twisted his lips. It was the one subject at Phileon where he expected a failing grade. He was used to the instructors' pity-mixed-with-disappointment stares to the point of frustration.
"...I've never succeeded at cultivation once. That okay?"
"Incompetents taught you, that's why. Do exactly as I say, and you'll manage."
"That was kinda cool just now. No wonder you're friends with Instructor Naviroje."
"I'm about to inject mana into your body. It might hurt a bit—endure it and memorize the path it flows."
Memorize the path? Before Ronan could ask, Jarodin released mana. A minuscule amount, precisely measured to fit Ronan's spiderweb-thin mana veins, spread through his bloodstream.
"Ugh...!"
"Focus."
Ronan involuntarily hunched his shoulders. It felt like fresh water rinsing his insides.
The mana entered through his back, spread throughout his body, gathered at his heart, pulsed, then flowed back through his veins to his fingertips and earlobes.
Ronan instantly understood Jarodin's instruction. Mana didn't flow randomly—it had its own directions.
"Feel it?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now circulate it. Inhale slowly, gather the mana, then spread it out."
Jarodin explained the breathing while continuing to inject mana. Ronan adjusted his breaths as taught. Soon, a strange wind-like sound escaped his lips. Ssshaaa—
"This...!"
"Perfect. Remember that sensation. Got a feel for the flow direction?"
"Kinda... yeah."
"Try it."
Jarodin removed his hands from Ronan's back. Ronan moved the remaining mana along the path he'd felt. His breathing changed again. Jarodin muttered in disbelief,
"Memorized it in one go...? Naviroje's gonna love you."
"Feels weird. This cultivation?"
"Yes. Tailored solely for you."
Jarodin stood. His already gaunt face looked even more haggard. He staggered to Secret's desk and downed the water bottle in one go.
"Puha... Repeat that every day. Tedious now, but once you're used to it, you can cultivate while moving or talking."
"Without your help?"
"Yes. I injected my mana to help you grasp it quickly. The amount you need will seep in just from breathing. No need to actively absorb mana yet."
At that moment, Jarodin's mana circulating in Ronan's body dissipated. Ronan inhaled and exhaled as taught, controlling the mana. Ssshaaa— Feeling it flow through his veins again, Ronan's eyes widened.
"This is mana..."
It was exhilarating. Pathetically tiny like ant spit, but that didn't matter. From now on, he could handle and sense mana.
Only then did Ronan understand Secret's admiration. In that short time, Jarodin had developed a mana cultivation method optimized for him. Ronan let out a hollow laugh and said,
"Thanks, Professor. Really."
"Enough. Looks like that's it for today..."
Jarodin stared at his trembling hands. He rubbed his dry face and faced Ronan.
"Well, I've kept my promise. Now keep yours."
"Promise?"
"Your ring. Mana extraction won't take long, so hand it over..."
"Professor!"
Thud. Jarodin collapsed mid-sentence. Adeshan caught him swiftly, preventing his head from hitting the floor. Ronan jumped up and shook his shoulders.
"Damn it, wake up!"
"Ring... that ring..."
Mumbled delirium leaked from the limp Jarodin's mouth. Ronan said in bewilderment,
"Come on, what's wrong? I said I'd give it."
"Rin...g..."
"Secret, what's up with him? Curse again?"
"Exhaustion and temporary impulse disorder from the haeju aftereffects. I wondered how long it'd last—turns out like this."
"What? You knew he'd collapse and didn't stop him?"
"Yep. Wouldn't listen anyway."
Jarodin kept muttering about the ring in a mosquito-like voice. His unfocused repetition carried a hint of madness. Secret stroked his fluffy chin and spoke.
"That ring—is it something essential for his research?"
"Yes. How'd you know?"
"I see. Still hasn't given up, huh..."
"Is he sick or something? Sorry, but he seems a bit off."
"There's a story behind it. He wasn't always like this."
Secret's gaze on Jarodin brimmed with deep pity. After a moment of silence, he sighed heavily.
"...Can't just leave him like this. Take him to the infirmary. We'll continue later."
"Yeah, guess so."
Ronan hoisted Jarodin onto his back. They retraced the corridor to his office. Turning, the path to Sepharachio had vanished completely. Adeshan said,
"Nearest infirmary's in Lexion Hall. Let's go."
"Conveniently close."
Ronan nodded. The latches were still undone. As he reached for the doorknob—
Suddenly, the supposedly unconscious Jarodin shot up his right arm. Clank clank! All seven latches locked simultaneously, sealing the door. The two startled backpedaled.
"Whoa, scared me. What the hell?"
"Not yet... I... will meet you again... for sure..."
"What?"
"Long-lived race... found the clue... won't let you go... my love..."
Jarodin mumbled nonsense. Unlike his ring obsession moments ago, it was like blurting every thought in his head. Like someone thoroughly drunk.
'Another impulse disorder symptom?'
His condition seemed to be worsening. Regaining composure, Ronan cautiously undid the first latch. Jarodin raised his arm again.
Clank! The latch relocked firmly. Ronan cursed.
"Fuck, what're you doing?"
"Ring..."
"I'm gonna lose it. Senior, knock him out or something."
"K-Knock him out?"
"Gotta get him to the infirmary somehow. He's not right."
"True, but..."
Adeshan checked Jarodin's face. His pale eyes still shook without focus. Mid-nonsense, he muttered childishly,
"...Wanna go back."
"Pardon?"
Ronan sensed mana flow and turned. The empty office floor began to shift.
The stone tiles, sliding, slotting, and settling on their own, soon formed a spiral staircase leading downward. Ronan and Adeshan froze, staring at the bizarre sight.
"...What is this?"
"...No idea."
They approached the stairs. From the pitch-black depths below came an indescribable smell—books, ink, metallic tang, nameless floral scents... Jarodin, on Ronan's back, softly opened his mouth.
"Go down..."
"You awake?"
"Go down. Roses suit you better than tulips."
"Shit."
Ronan furrowed his brow. Not fully sane yet. Jarodin kept repeating "go down." Giving up, Ronan stepped onto the stairs.
"You sure...?"
"What's the worst?"
Ronan descended the stone steps. Hesitant Adeshan followed.
Walking in blinding darkness, the surroundings suddenly lit up. Seeing the candlestick in Adeshan's hand, Ronan raised a brow.
"Where'd that come from?"
"Grabbed it from the desk just now."
"Grand General preparedness."
Shadows danced on the stairs from the candle. They soon reached the bottom. A vast space unfolded, incomparable to the office above. Ronan muttered in disbelief,
"No wonder it felt cramped from outside..."
"I had no clue."
"Anyway, what's all this? Books?"
Descending, they realized the floor was buried in books. Tomes scattered like corpses, piled in mounds like graves—it resembled a cemetery of books. Adeshan stumbled on one.
"Eek!"
"Careful. Want me to hold you?"
"Uh, yeah...?"
Ronan supported Jarodin with his left arm and offered his right. Adeshan hesitated, then took it. They ventured deeper into the book graveyard. Suddenly, Ronan pointed into the darkness with his index finger.
"Flower scent from over there?"
"Come to think of it..."
Indeed. A thick floral aroma wafted from the gloom, strong enough to follow. As they traced the scent-path, the silent Jarodin murmured,
"Darling."
The area brightened. Ronan and Adeshan looked up. Light poured from a massive, transparent glass tube. Their eyes widened.
"A woman?"
"Th-this is...!"
They gripped hands tighter. Inside the tube, filled with clear liquid, stood a nude woman with eyes closed.
"Dead...?"
She was beautiful. Light brown hair swayed like aquatic plants. Her hands clasped over her chest, no breathing bubbles rose from her lips.
"What the hell is this...?"
Roses piled thickly before the tube. Mostly wilted and withered, but the top ones were fresh as if placed today.
A few steps away sat a worn bed, desk, and chair. Ronan's gaze fell on an open book on the desk.
Thick enough for a pillow, its pages yellowed to the point flipping required resolve. Ronan carefully picked it up.
The half-detached cover bore a large title-like phrase. Ronan read it slowly.
"On... Resurrection...?"