Chapter 132
Chapter 132
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: Star Fall (17)
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“Ugh, that fox of an old geezer. A religious zealot who’s swallowed three thousand eels whole! Slipped another collar on me before I could even say ‘ow’!”
Still reeling from the shocking backstory, Professor had dazedly accepted the appointment and whatnot, only to overhear whispers among the priests as he descended from the archbishop’s office and exited the temple—titles like “Church-Endorsed Heterorace Goodwill Ambassador, Hero Professor”—and he was grinding his teeth in frustration over it.
“Just say ‘Professor’s a free hero! Archbishop Gregorio deemed me unfit for active duty!’ and let me fly off, but nooo, he had to rope me into the Church! Oh, Professor Park! You’ve got a long way to go! Falling for that old-timer’s sob story and getting leashed like this!”
- Jokasss: Dobby is a free house-elf... Huh? What’s this collar?
- Nutria Pass: Ghostly indeed. Out of everyone I’ve seen, even Number One smooth-talker Professor Park gets kidnapped and collared.
- Deer Drug Please: Feels like I’ve witnessed something utterly horrifying. Like seeing 70-year-old Professor Park, worn down by sepsis, at the peak of incitement and fabrication....
- Speed Wagon: The Third World Church of Light archbishop’s past? That’s some high-grade info. Aspiring priest players can get plenty of mileage just from this.
- Holy: Uh... How does the archbishop’s backstory help with play exactly?
- Mukaba: Emotional appeals are a cheat code that even the great Professor Park falls for. Loiter around where the archbishop is, wake up at dawn to scrub the chapel spotless while limping about—think he’ll just walk by, or strike up a chat? / “Why are you cleaning the chapel at this early hour?” / “Ah, well... Embarrassing, but... I just love seeing my groggy brothers during morning greetings, hehe...” / “Sh, Shandalo priest! It can’t be! Glory to the Light!” / Can’t you picture it?
- Holy: Wow... Never thought of it that way....
- Mukaba: Just look at what Professor did. This game demands that level of brainpower to thrive.
- Jokasss: Fr. Only Thousand Stream Emperor-level psychos or politicians steeling themselves for parliament can make it to Yeouido.
- Take a Look: Speaking of, Thousand Stream Emperor’s a real weirdo too. Cleared Third World in record time with zero politics, just endless solo farming and training. He must’ve played realistically too, right? What even is that guy? Anyone know what he’s up to now?
- Speed Wagon: Dome packaged his no-farming trash clear seed like a Fourth World early-access ticket and sold it to rankers for a fortune—rumor is he’s living off that cash. Only Dome, who he’s sponsoring, knows his whereabouts, but he occasionally lists swords he made on the exchange. In this day and age, his masterwork longswords with his signature ‘千’ fetch base bids over 4 million.
- Jokasss: 4 million? Fuck, even ancient laser blades from scavenger ruin jackpots only go for 5 mil, and that’s with Dome fake-bidding like crazy to keep them from Raptors, inflating the bubble. A handmade sword at 4 mil? Guess if you’re good with blades, you’re good at making ’em too?
- Speed Wagon: Not an expert on sword quality, but there’s a vid of one of his swords slicing a monomolecular cutter and a diamond [link]. The cutter snapped in two; his blade just nicked.
- Deer Drug Please: Fuckin’ scam character. Bet he’s from the Ice Ring Circus. We’re all normies; he’s on his 999,999th playthrough of this doomed world!
‘Jealous. Wish I could skip the politics and just cleave through with pure skill!’
Reading the chat about ranker Thousand Stream Emperor’s updates, Professor shed bloody tears inwardly.
The suspicious stares when he’d entered the temple had turned to respect and envy as he left. Realization dawned: I got played.
“Spreading rumors like that means whatever I do turns into ‘Hero Professor Park saves the village in the Church’s name!’ Church rep skyrockets, but my Heroic Points? Barely half. Should’ve bolted the second that old tale started!”
Perfect timing. He’d lingered at first, hoping for rewards, no thought of leaving. Then the unignorable backstory hit, leaving him misty-eyed and fumbling, and bam—oil poured on his head. Cheat code, that. A tale no psychopath could ignore, tears from a venerable elder.
He grumbled all the way back to the inn with his party, but the water was spilled—certified by the Church of Light’s priests, human walkie-talkies extraordinaire. More hassle than solo ops, sure, but might as well milk the official envoy gig.
“What’s this? Fight breaking out?”
Crossing streets teeming with penniless nobles, he neared the inn to hear clamor from the first-floor tavern. Easing open the battered swing door—nearly off its hinges—he saw a white-bearded elder and a flame-scarred old man with dyed-or-natural red hair and beard, veins bulging in their necks as they bickered.
“You virgin-handed firebug punk talks a blue streak! Master that silver tongue, and you’d have aced water magic!”
“Hah? Ears still sharp despite the age, but maybe monster chow like you blew up a whole tower? Can’t hear ya. Oh yeah, one of those mages ended up dangling from the tower in her undies, grabbed by that red mutant, bawling for mercy! You’d have mastered fire magic—endured shame so raw it’d spontaneously combust!”
Splash!
“You scum! How dare you bring that up!”
Whoosh!
“Loafing around, dying in whores’ arms—you lot!”
“Insulting the sea’s vast embrace like that!”
“You started the insults!”
“Coveting others’ firewood, you!”
In seconds, water barriers and crimson flames swirled around the elders. The innkeeper gnawed his fingers behind the counter, helpless, while beer-sippers at tables murmured excitedly, enjoying the show.
‘Right, yeah. Inn guests are at least heroes or nobles with pull.’
Nobles camped outside with sacks of coin; innfolk outranked them. A place crawling with folks who’d shrug off magic splash. King’s Landing was downright freakish now.
“Ottoman! What’re you doing?”
At Professor’s call, the mage elder—poised to flood the tavern—beamed and turned.
“Oho! Professor! Perfect timing! Was agonizing over these shameless fire-worshippers!”
“Trouble? With them?”
A quick scan gave the read. Mental Fragility pinged info tags on them. Mostly question marks, but flame mages like the one before Ottoman screamed traits sans details.
“Lemme see... One, two, three, four... five? Ottoman, old man, you picking fights? Those guys look Third Order at least—5v1?”
“They muddied the waters first! Aldrich and Notum off training at the graveyard, me with Borca, then Church folk drag him off over some beastkin slave nonsense, and they swarm in yapping about whore’s pillar men stinking up the cramped inn, fishy stench—could you take that?”
“Fishy, sure. Whore what now?”
Creak!
“Exactly! Water takes anyone no hassle, no loyalty—like a whore! So we who wield it are her pillar men!”
“...The fuck?”
As Professor sidled to Ottoman, the flame-scarred elder’s red-robed posse surged forward eagerly.
“So... water’s a slut for anyone, and we handlers are her johns?”
“Precisely! Brain as gooey as your element, yet you get it! Useless in war, you force great fire mage ‘Rolling Flame Malkur’ to sleep in the streets—makes sense?”
Puzzle pieced together. High nobles barred, so pleb homes or streets. Ottoman spied the inn and got salty?
“Heh heh heh. What the...”
“Yield your stinking rooms at once, and we’ll forget the rudeness—”
Crack!
“Forget... uh...”
“Heh heh heh. Got it. Twisting pure, clear, refreshing water into ‘whore’ talk to swipe our party’s digs?”
Fizzle!
The chatty flame mage beside the elder gawked as Professor gripped the bar corner—wood to splinters to sawdust—stammering.
“B-Barbarian? Not a mage?”
“Of course a mage! This is great water mage, Leadflow School Second Order! Professor! Show ’em your ‘brutal’ ‘destructive’ Second Order spell! Now!”
“Naturally. Water—my lifelong lover—dissed like that? Must!”
Professor, sleeves ripped from lost limbs, pants hemmed short, flexed menacingly. The red-haired young mage, fidgeting, lit up with an idea.
“M-Magic! Right! Mages settle with spells! No crude fisticuffs from a proper mage!”
“Yes! Master, permit me to school this rude water-peddler! ‘Using only magic’ to prove true mastery!”
“Sigh, beating their own drums and gongs, the lot.”
The [Galloping Foal] innkeeper silently wailed as his prized elfwood bar corner shredded in Professor’s grip, while he pondered how to pulverize these tofu-brained mages and vent his pent-up stress.
‘Water and fire mages never got along.’
Not mere elements—deeper grudge.
Rift stemmed from training diffs.
Water mages hit First Order via ‘drowning drills’ like Professor’s intro: oxygen-starved near-hallucination to bond with water. Fetus floats nine months in amniotic fluid; near-death triggers it. Famous method, infamous risk—fail, you’re drowned. Thus, few succeed vs. other schools. But once bonded, Second, Third Orders flow easy. Water-love eases next insights.
Fire mages can’t dunk in flames—burnt crisp, no save. Newbies go on enchanted plates with lukewarm flames near civilian limit, ‘cooking’ them. Adjust, heat up. Edge toward blaze insight.
Humans innately like campfire warmth, torchlight—fire First Orders abound. But ascending? Blue, white flames, pure fire mana—endless self-roasting. Many starters, few elites. One greedy spike, brain fries—done.
Hence, water mages liken attainment to ‘communing with lover-water’; fire mages, ‘wooers inching to haughty heavenly heat.’
Water scoffs fire’s easy First; fire envies water’s safe climb. Twists to ‘water mages with slutty lovers’ vs. ‘virgin fire mages.’
Fresh from hot shower bliss—‘mother’s lost embrace regained’—Professor wouldn’t stand the insult.
Crack! Crunch!
‘Tavern packed with heroes and high nobles. Flash skills here, Heroic Points boost? Kings had high multipliers—could rake it in.’
Mental scales tipped from ‘just thrash’ to ‘duel-thrash.’ Lock ’em down first.
“Coveting our spot? Tough luck. Even if we wanted, handing to ‘unranked’ types with all these folks watching? We yield, sets precedent—more beggars swarm the heroes, chaos.”
“Grrrh! Our fire mages inferior to your raw-fish stink-eaters?”
“Not me—Lordric Kingdom decreed it. Us inn, you streets. Official.”
“Outrage beyond! Unbearable! You that old mage’s disciple? Disciples fight disciples! I, ‘Crimson Flame Malkur’s’ prized pupil, Sevram, challenge you to mage duel!”
Glove tossed by Sevram-or-whatever drew cheers from gawking patrons.
“Ooooh!”
“ Duel!”
“Kahaha! Knew flame mages crashing tavern meant trouble! 1K silver on the beefy one! Momentum’s his!”
“Nah, cold take: mage duel favors beefy less—body-training type. 1.5K on blue-flame mage.”
“Fight!”
“Water vs. fire!”
All heroes or nobles/knights; heavy oak tables shoved aside, clearing central circle.
Halfling collected bets briskly; innkeeper muttered insanely ‘mages dueling... in my tavern... spellfight...’ Two mages faced center.
“Heh heh... Know mage duel rules? Magic only! Harm via spell effects alone! True mages fight fair with—”
“Got the vibe. Whatever you want.”
“Good! Lose, you yield rooms meekly!”
‘Right, they picked fight wanting something.’
Forgot, brain full of mage-bashing. Bet duel needs stakes.
“Uhaha! Second thoughts? Scared of streets now?”
“Hold up. Deciding what to bet for lifelong trauma in your heart.”
Pondering, Professor eyed parchment of odds and fat silver pouch on halfling’s table—inspiration struck.
“Ahem, greetings! Some know, some don’t—I’m Peonil Duchy halfling ‘Gray Sole’ Peonil! I’ll ref this special event!”
“Wooo!”
“Cheap inn pulls decent show!”
“Fire mage! 5K on ya! Grill him crispy!”
“Fighters! Intros~! Red flag first! Fire Third Order! Unrivaled offense from ‘Ron Flame’ school—Sevram! Prize: water mages’ room here at Galloping Foal! And—”
Hop!
Halfling vaulted to Professor’s shoulder, whispering.
“Hey, water mage! Name, school, intro, stakes!”
“...Who’re you?”
“Bet fee 10% halved! No time—crowd waits!”
Snap fit. Stress relief plus cash? Yes.
“Second Order Leadflow Professor. No special intro. Stake...”
Whisper whisper.
“...What? For real? Church guy?”
“Yeah. That’ll do—announce quick.”
“Pious one, huh. Whatever.”
Halfling flipped back to table nonchalantly.
Thud!
“Blue flag~ Leadflow Second Order~ Seeks perfect body-spirit harmony! Professor! Stake: eh... Sevram’s fire mage crew... uh... seeks Paladin Gregorio, Church Holy Knight Captain, saying ‘Came on Hero Professor’s intro—call anytime needed!’”
“Church Holy Knight Captain...?”
“Church man? No holy aura...”
“Sweet deal for fire mages? Here for mutant war anyway—hook with a captain...”
“Solo good, but backing beats it. Hero Professor scouting talent for Church.”
“Church lacks AoE—makes sense.”
Murmurs!
Whispers!
His terms dropped; crowd, mages, posse all flustered.
“Don’t think leniency fools me! Desperate tricks ’cause you’ll lose!”
“Heh heh. Believe what you want.”
“Fighters ready~?”
Snap!
Halfling raised hand; Sevram backpedaled to circle’s edge unlike idle Professor.
“Honor~ to~ the~ duel! Begin!”
“[Fireball]!”
Fwoosh!
Hand dropped—Sevram loosed instant-cast basic fire spell at Professor.
‘Gap first, quickest spell—not clueless.’
Fire magic: expansion. Seed flame to inferno, catalyst to higher—mirrors training.
‘Hm... odd mana mix mid-core. Insight-related?’
Mage-fast, warrior-snail-slow fireball; Professor raised right hand.
“[Blood Armor]”
Splurt!
Blood gauntlet surged, cloaking arm.
‘Only spell effects for harm, right?’
Head-sized fireball neared; gauntleted palm out, blocking.
Boom!
“Uhahaha! Fool frozen funny! Fireball laced with ‘Expansion’ ‘Explosion’ insights! Worlds beyond water—gurgh!”
Smack!
Crash!
No plain fireball—hit exploded, jolting Blood Armor; Professor lunged pre-release, gauntlet-slapped cheek full-force.
Contact sparked ring, stalling gauntlet; Sevram rolled spins, rose clutching swollen cheek, jabbing finger with curses.
“F-Foul! No magic—violence! Ref! Mage duel rules—clear violation! Disqualify him—!”
“Nope. If I’d hit, your head’s past the gates by now, punk.”
Professor cut in, waggling red-gauntleted right hand.
“Blood Armor. Origin spell. Effect: burn blood to absorb shock, release back. Didn’t strike? Just placed hand by cheek as your spell popped—right before release.”
“Th-That’s ridiculous—!”
“Ridiculous spells exist. As many spells as mages, they say?”
Sevram clutched cheek, retreating; Professor wagged gauntlet.
“Tried the stew this morning—damn good. Soft, mushy. Toothless’d manage.”
“Wh-What’s that got to do with me!”
“Oh, plenty. Planning to make you that way.”
Fire mage desperately kindled fingertips; Professor scooped small white bit from floor.
“One down, thirty-one to go?”
Professor held the flame mage’s freshly lost front tooth.
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