Chapter 193
Chapter 193
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 193
Chapter Title: Chapter 11. The Mage of the Mages (13)
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CRACK!
“Hmm. You’ve improved quite a bit. Shall we wrap up the training and get to the main topic?”
“G-Gyaha... y-yes...”
Crunch, crunch.
My shattered teeth were stabbing into my tongue, mangling my pronunciation.
When I lifted my head from where it was embedded in the thick wooden floor, I saw pulverized teeth spilling out from my torn cheek. A shower of broken teeth clattering down, along with the dull ache rising from their roots.
“Ugh. Not like I’m a shark or anything.”
It looked gruesome even to me, experiencing it firsthand—god knows how it must’ve looked to someone watching.
I rubbed my eyes for a good while as my mangled eyeball regenerated. By the time my vision cleared, the Grand Matron was right in front of me, scanning my tattered body with her one good eye.
“I heard the explanation, but... even for someone my age, who’s lived a good long life, this is a rare sight.”
“Y-Yeah. Pretty gross, right? Not like I’m a shark or anything.”
“That’s not what I meant. Limbs I snapped myself, flesh I crushed myself. Nothing to get all dainty about.”
*Brag all you want, lady.*
“What I’m getting at is your fighting style. Fast and aggressive fist strikes like those of the Ro Haram monks, paired with a body that can afford some damage. An interesting combo. Even had my spine tingling a bit.”
“Ah, y-yeah...”
“Hm? You don’t seem pleased? Seventy years ago, hardly anyone got praise from me for their body techniques.”
*Well, it’s kinda complicated. ‘Cause I don’t even know what’s going on with me.*
It’d been like this since morning, and again after dragging me out post-meal.
After exhausting every ounce of strength in my body, it finally hit me.
My movements were following some memory I didn’t even know I had.
*That skill book the Archbishop gave me... Radiant Fist, was it? Swordsmanship and martial arts stuff usually just ended at system-assisted guidance...*
Normally, sword or fist skill books worked like a magnet pulling your body along the proper path with various buffs.
But now, recalling it, the whole thing was unpacked in my head. Not like ‘Oh, so that’s how it goes here!’—more like dragging and dropping a compressed file. No learning process, yet it was firmly lodged in my subconscious. Deep enough that when I desperately reached out, my hands naturally followed the forms.
*Probably ties into that ‘half-NPC state’ thing. Living like the natives of this world means I live their way too.*
Figuring out why wasn’t hard.
Assuming all the lifelike NPCs in GG’s world were built from past player data,
*‘Data from Mr. A, who lived as a salaryman his whole life and died working a Dome production line post-apocalypse’*
Gets reshaped into
*‘A finicky, prickly innkeeper who’s secretly a retired swordmaster—warm at heart’*
Via the same tech that injected this skill memory straight into my brain. Human memories digitized, stored wholesale—editing them’s a breeze.
*Hmm, kneading someone’s memories like dough when all they’ve got left is memories... pretty terrifying. But honestly? Kinda thrilling?*
No wonder my body kept up with a world-top-tier hero unit. Even if the Grand Matron held back, without this upgrade, high-class combat like that would’ve been impossible. Even as I moved, I was thinking, *Me? Doing this?*
But if these implanted memories stuck around after I got out?
Me, who’d only dabbled in gunplay with assassination or grappling as hobbies my whole life—suddenly packing close-quarters combat skills to hang with a 300-year-old elf monster?
Whoosh, whoosh!
Flat on the wooden floor, I swung a fist experimentally. The description about ‘light-speed’ wasn’t BS—it snapped out fast.
*Don’t know about the Radiant whatever. Feels like half Krav Maga, half Muay Thai...*
Imagine taking this outside. Body might lag a bit, so say I hop back into my near-third-form rig like a mech pilot.
A hulking lab-filling monster, whose dying throes alone scream its lifetime power—now moving with precise technique instead of flailing.
Weaving tank shells, low-kicking tracks to shreds, uppercutting turrets clean off...
“Ooh, badass.”
Insane. My rom-com boiling over. If I get out, living a few months in that monster body from the vids? Like those robot cartoons from childhood.
Honestly, Vex looked cool slinking in with just a sword, emerging bloodied quick, flashing a [Clear] signal. I wanna do that too.
*I wanna get out. Test it for real!*
Of course, pipe dream right now. Gotta clear this third world somehow first.
Crack, creak! Grind!
“Urgh... Ow, my back.”
“You too, huh. Even I’m sitting pretty at my age, and you’re whining, kid?”
“Anyone’s back bends like a bow from a kick like that, age irrelevant. Ah, wait—no? Normal folk just die.”
Confirming my severed spine knitting back into place, the Professor rose and addressed the Grand Matron.
“Ugh... Recovered enough to talk, so let’s hear this ‘main topic.’ You didn’t drag me out just to beat on me for real, right.”
Vibes say heading down with the Grand Matron’s a bust.
Rested up, party recovered most stamina getting here—time to work. They’re holding off suicide-rushing mutants in Lordric right now too.
At my words, the Grand Matron smiled ambiguously, plopping down casually beside my sprawled form.
“Indeed. Can’t play forever. Before I explain, one question. Two ways to reach the elves’ forest come to mind: the easy way, or the hard way?”
*Hmm. Grand Matron with a ‘bad idea alert!’ impish grin. What now?*
“Well... easy way’s obviously better, right? Faster reinforcements to drop into Lordric?”
She grinned like she’d been waiting.
“The easy way, huh. Sure that’s enough? Might regret it later.”
“Been regretting coming here since you quartered my ribs this morning. Just spill. Why the suspense?”
“Well...”
.
.
.
.
.
Gulp.
Her words that followed made me want to time-travel and punch past-me for jumping into this mess.
She was right again. Better off not knowing that ‘solution.’
****
“Taking longer than expected?”
“Hmm. That Grand Matron elf and the boss are both heavy hitters. Plenty to discuss, verbally or otherwise. Wood chips raining like a summer shower—probably the latter.”
Post-breakfast.
While the Professor got dragged off for a blood-spattering lecture from the Grand Matron on ‘the difference between friendliness and respect for elders,’ the rest of us chilled below, mingling with local elves or sorting elf wares bought in the village.
Soon after, like day one, the floor slid down the trunk on vines. Out came the Professor with a shit-eating expression, Grand Matron in tow.
A non-smiling Professor? Ottman sensed bad omens. The man wore his mood on his face unless hiding it.
Washing blood from his face in a nearby branch-stream, the Professor strode to us.
“We’re back—”
“Ugh. Looks rough. So, what’d she say? Guiding us to the elves’ forest? Assigning a guide?”
“Got complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
Frowning hard at Ottman’s follow-up, the Professor answered.
“She doesn’t know.”
“...Huh?”
“Grand Matron can’t pinpoint their spot in the forest either. Lost the right to enter past the barrier the moment she left their communal consciousness.”
“Th-That’s bad! Days wasted getting here, and even these elves don’t know? Gotta pivot to the western desert now?”
“Grooo. Hot place bad. Forest good.”
“Fully agree with Notum. Desert folk all got weird soul crap—unsettling every time. Remnants of old junk that should’ve vanished ages ago. Ugh. No thanks to deserts.”
Murmurs from the party at Ottman’s words.
Yeah, Lordric falls? Blue Line eastern nations turn battlefield. Detouring to desert now? Time sink, plus untold hassle. Crises tighten borders, wreck security—grabs travelers by the ankles.
“Not that. Told you—‘complicated.’ If she just said ‘dunno, can’t help~’ after promising, I’d call it busted. There’s a way, but... it’s... uh...”
“A bit?”
“Fucking awful. Both.”
Haaaa.
Professor peeled his lips like swallowing a whole boiled sweet potato.
Aldrich couldn’t stand it, prodding.
“Options beat none, right? Quit stalling. Which is less shitty?”
“Go beg the Empire’s Emperor for help. Not allies, but borders touch elves’ forest—centuries of contacts big and small. Emperor’d know how to talk to ‘em.”
“Wh-What, the Emperor? Face-to-face with Agdan VII, who treats him like a bug?”
“Might not need direct meet. Old ties—she’ll write a recommendation. Use that to finagle something.”
That rec letter’s key item, like the Archbishop’s handwritten note. Elf great hero El-Parna, who fixed the Empire’s fractures under Agdan II’s high nobles, saved humanity from undead hordes seventy years back.
El-Parna’s name plus Radiant Church Archbishop’s clout? Not impossible to get audience from afar.
But...
“That psycho emperor—what he’ll demand for Empire-elf hotline access is the issue.”
Bet walking up with two letters gets ‘Got ‘em. Scram, delivery boy. Help? I don’t chat with Empire-useless vermin.’ Empire’s young emperor’s that type. Even if he listens, demands absurd shit. Hero manpower? ‘Do Hercules’ twelve labors, then maybe.’
Probably infiltrate via noble lines slow, build backing, then audience. Ugh, headache already. Pitch Loharam Church’s Blue Line eastern might to doddering Empire nobles for gains, haggle with emperor-audience brokers, deal with anti-regime nobles begging ‘strong foreign armed outsider with audience shot’ to off the emperor with sweet talk...
Eugh, nightmare. GG quests split combat/non—extreme non-combat. For estate-noble players packing [Noble Rhetoric], [Schemes], [Eloquence], [Cutting Wit].
I’m decent at it, could pull off...
But fuck, hate it. Not a masochist—why dip into Empire’s viper pit of ancient nobles?
“Hmm. Emperor audience... Elves won’t mind beefing with him if it works—solid forest barrier cross. Time’s the issue?”
“Time, yeah.”
Hate it aside, biggest problem. Empire nobles ain’t ‘snap fingers, meet.’ No fame? Grind rep, chain quests for five-minute maybe. Hero cred pushes meetings, but explaining/convincing? Eons. Lordric crumbles to mutant buffet meanwhile.
TL;DR: impossible, difficulty irrelevant.
“I’ve got some Academy of Flow leads in Empire as mage... but fast? Nah. So what’s that worse second option?”
“...”
Phaaaaa...
At Ottman’s question, Professor sighed earth-shatteringly.
“Fuck me. Boss, why the drama?”
“...Goddamn. Hate saying it.”
*Hope it’s a joke,* I’d thought.
“Go find the only ones trading with elves now. Borrow their help. Elves show for trades—meet then, talk, enter.”
“...Hm?”
Party faces eased at my words.
“Not... bad idea?”
Ottman’s wolfman face puzzled why I freaked.
Sure, normally. Emperor vs. elf-trading merchants. Scales tip obvious—persuasion easy-mode.
Problem: not normal case.
As hope bloomed, pale-faced Lucilla quavered. Merchant smarts—she knew who imported elf goods.
“Tr-Trading with forest elves... you mean ‘those’ guys?”
“Yeah. ‘Those’ bastards.”
“N-No way. I’m out. That risk? Hell no...”
“Hm? Who’s got you so worked? Scalp-peeling nomad savages?”
“Ugh, that’s leagues below. Horseback barbarians vs. those psychos.”
“Argh, can’t take it. Who? The elf traders!”
...Gulp.
Name too toxic to spit—circled it forever. Hated it, but most viable option.
“Mages.”
“...Huh?”
“Mages. Wind mages trade goods with elves. Like smuggling over Blue Line—hire wind mages to float cargo over mountains via airships. Same deal here. Meet ‘em, sneak into trade airship, meet elves.”
Faces perking at ‘mages’ drooped dead.
Party side-eyeing Aldrich, me, Ottman.
“Ahem, more mages here...”
“Average mage’s monthly antics times this crowd, add more mages...”
“Yeah, yeah. Your fears? Spot on.”
What happens? Fuck knows. That’s the terror—anything possible with those lunatics.
Wind mages. Wind Realm mages—infamous for unpredictable whims.
Water mage vanishes? *In some pond.* Fire? *Arson somewhere.* Predictable.
Wind mages? Nah. One sec: ‘Tomato soup craving. Stomach’s off.’ Next gale: ‘Lamb steak, whole wheat, two Pol de Nevers!’
Wind-mana mages—peak ‘mage-y’ fickle. Most mages wander, merging with mana type—never stay put.
Towerless mages. Scarcest of four elements: wind mages core to Grand Matron’s ‘easy’ way.
“Persuade the Emperor.”
“Emperor sounds good, boss.”
“Gruk?”
“All I need—safe caravan home. Please...”
Time impossible earlier—now unanimous Emperor push.
“...Sorry.”
“Aaah! Curse you, mana guides! Fate’s currents!”
“Grrrr! Shouldn’t descended human world! Without those slavers, no tragedy!”
“Sniff, hngh... All that saved coin, unspent... gone...”
“...Gruk?”
Telling no-choice crushed them. Only Notum, clueless on mage spiciness, tilted head amid wails.
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