Chapter 207
Chapter 207
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: The Mages' Mage (27)
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Finding the temple wasn’t all that difficult.
In fact, aside from the personnel purifying those eroded by the infection factor, everyone else had been mobilized into Haram’s vision via that “holy ultra-long-range message spell.”
The place where pillars of light flashed up from the ruined city was the temple.
This one was just as utterly demolished as the other destroyed districts of the city—little more than a heap of white marble rubble—but the bishop and priests must have defended it desperately, because the massive statue of Haram was intact aside from a few cracks.
That was probably why it could still serve as a relay point amplifying holy power even after being smashed to hell.
Amid the collapsed debris and the praying priests stood some welcome faces.
“It’s the boss.”
“It’s the Professor.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions. The real one’s a sly bastard, so there’s a high chance he’s up to tricks even after being possessed.”
“Grraaah. Big red human.”
“They say human changes can’t be tracked by elven eyes... It’s well-deserved.”
The group greeted me with a strange wariness. I was thrilled to see them all alive and unscathed, but their reactions were... ambiguous.
‘Oh right. I tried to kill all of them.’
[Otman. I just remembered something I’d never do in my right mind.]
A vivid memory stabbed into my brain like a sharp shard of glass, and shame exploded forth.
Whoosh!
My face burned with embarrassment. Good lord. No black history like this. At twenty-four, my middle-school syndrome flared up, and I went around spewing it at everyone!
I wanted to rush over, bang my head on the ground, and apologize...
“The temple’s in rough shape.”
“No, Saint! If you hadn’t blocked those minions of the evil god charging at us like mad, we couldn’t have held it together like this! Where there’s light and the holy image, and people praying, that’s a temple. Ha ha ha ha!”
But this old priest, sticking to me like glue under the pretense of serving a bishop, made it impossible to drop the act.
“I heard you all went through hell while I was out.”
“Professor? Is that really you? You haven’t lost your mind in some new way...?”
“To reunite like this, all healthy and whole. Truly, the light has watched over us.”
Luckily, our group had some experience dealing with Professor’s antics while following me around.
Unlike Idrasil, who had no idea what was going on from behind, Otman nudged Aldrich with his elbow and subtly formed hand seals.
Splash!
[Ah, can you hear me? It’s Otman.]
[Water message spell... Quite different from soul magic. This is Aldrich. That really you, Professor?]
[Yes! Loud and clear! Uh... you know, right? Back then I was a bit...]
Amid the jumbled message spell, Aldrich grumbled while outwardly praying benevolently opposite me.
[Back then you were a bit what? Out of your mind? Insane?]
[Well, uh... As you know, my body’s a little special? It was always filled to the brim with erosion right up to my throat. But lately, my condition worsened, and I lost control...]
[Yeah, yeah. Life happens. Sometimes you lose control, do things you can’t explain. Right? Like teaching your magic to someone, crossing the line between life and death with them multiple times, calling your mentor and comrade—who you once aimed that horrific blood-clump murder spell at—‘hey, Otman.’ Stuff like that. Right? Happens to the best of us!]
[Eek, eek! I’m sorry!]
[That’s right, you punk! The first thing you should’ve said when you met Otman again, no matter the situation, wasn’t that damn saint play—it was an apology! If not for Idrasil, Otman would’ve greeted you as a headless corpse! You think this is something you can just apologize for and move on...!]
[Enough. I’m fine.]
[It’s not you—it’s me who’s not fine! You think this is something to just—]
[Stop! It was just an illness. I looked into it myself, as your master and initiator! That murky flow back then wasn’t your own will! You’re like a kid who tripped and dropped bread, and you’re trying to chop off their hand calling them a thief!]
[Th-those... soft-hearted water blobs!]
Splash!
Aldrich shook the water droplet from his ear like he had nothing more to say and strode to a corner of the temple.
As Lucilla panicked watching Aldrich huff off, Otman’s calm voice slipped into my ear.
[Apologize on my behalf. You wouldn’t know, Professor, but... Aldrich actually tried the hardest to bring you back. Just see it as an old man’s grumbling who can’t express himself well.]
[...That’s too much. It was my overconfidence in my own power that caused it. I can’t apologize enough. Aldrich is right. I’m sorry, Master Otman.]
[Well, hanging around someone like you means these things happen.]
What a refreshingly straightforward old mage.
[Yeah... Seeing your inside not match your outside, it seems like you this time. But saint all of a sudden? What scheme are you up to now? Fooling people again, no doubt? We know you, so we let it slide, but... saint? Isn’t that pushing it? If they catch on, the church will come after us hard?]
[Uh... well...]
Well, now. Sure, when we first stormed the lord’s castle, I did pretend to be a devout church warrior.
Click-click-click—
Clack, clack!
Even now, church priests were collecting my blood from around the city, labeling it [Holy Blood] in huge letters, stacking it up. Priests out of holy power were slathering it on infected locals’ wounds or even feeding it to them. For some reason, it worked wonders. Calling me a saint in this situation...
[Uh... it might actually be saint-level?]
[Come on! That’s as impossible as the sea drying up. Don’t even think it. A saint, you? There’s limits to shamelessness.]
[Tch.]
Otman’s answer was firm.
[Holy power, mana, and aura don’t mix—like water and oil. Swordsmen who imprint themselves on the world via their convictions can’t use magic or holy power. Their fixed worldview rejects change, so no magic. They believe in themselves more than anyone, so they can’t believe in gods. Same for mages or clerics. I peeked inside you—your flow’s much stronger and clearer now. But saint? Impossible.]
[Then what’s... that?]
The Professor nodded toward the [Holy Blood] storage. Alchemists carrying huge box-like containers had swarmed in, demanding the blood back. Church priests blocked them, saying they couldn’t let heretics experiment with holy blood. Lucilla had jumped up, yelling that the blood’s owner was me, so don’t claim it for the church.
[I don’t know either. Your mana flow looks near rank 4... Did you awaken some deep ‘purification’?]
[No.]
[Nothing rings a bell?]
Something did.
Crunch!
Just focusing let me reshape my body freely. Long ago, Hyde had used this body to form a massive spear from flesh and bone. Now I could do the same.
‘Means I can control the infection factors that fully occupy my body at will.’
Definitely good. No more crushing erosion pain, no more factors ripping me apart like today, and in battle, I was leagues stronger.
‘Antigen-antibody reaction? Doesn’t seem like this world’s medicine works that way...’
For now, any blood I spilled—whether from wounds after absorbing or from blood armor’s emission—suppressed infection factors.
[Maybe tied to your imagery. You’re less water mage now, more blood mage—only blood-related spells.]
[Is that so? Worth researching.]
After that, Otman and I chatted “mage talk” in our heads for a good while.
The topic? Naturally, my body, blood, and blood magic.
****
Splash!
“What were you two whispering about for so long!”
At sunset, after two hours of head-chatter with Otman on magic, Lucilla—who’d been yelling below—rushed up and yanked my arm.
“Blood’ll stain you.”
“Red dress, it’s fine!”
Sigh. What legendary lady, Tel Drat whatever.
[Anyway, we’ll finish later when there’s time.]
[Yes. Thanks again for saving my life.]
[Say that to Aldrich later.]
Splash!
Wrapping up with Otman, I turned to Lucilla straining to pull my heavier-than-her arm. I’d confirmed no priests or eavesdroppers nearby.
“What? Problem?”
“Yes! Those priests... they’re insisting your blood is theirs, even if it kills them! Per the treaty on trading异種 or special constitution humans’ bodies, if the original owner can be identified for body parts lost in accidents or non-malicious incidents, ownership reverts! Stop sitting here—convince them quick! You’re high up in the church, right?”
Jeez. Merchant spirit again. Consistent even now.
“Just give it up. No good pissing off the church.”
“No way! Renting that ship ate almost all our spare funds! Every penny counts, and handing over that big money...!”
“...Ship? Big money?”
I’d planned to brush it off, but two words I couldn’t ignore popped up.
“Sudden ship talk? We’re in the east—ocean’s far.”
“Ugh! You asked me to help with some church mission! Overland to Storm Hill: checkpoints, nobles, bandits, monsters—two months minimum. But from Sigfillund City, sail down the Ryan River— one week flat!”
“One week?”
“Big river?”
I was shocked at the slashed timeline; Otman perked up at “river.”
“Yes! With buffer—one week. Good winds, under four days!”
Aaaah. What’d I say earlier? Legendary lady?
Correction: This girl could rebuild a fallen house from the roots up.
Left her alone after recruiting, and she halved our schedule.
“Then... big money? Sure, my blood works on infection and has saint merit—some price. But it’s basically holy oil. Not big money...”
“No way. I wouldn’t say that without those guys.”
Lucilla’s slim finger pointed to people carrying boxes with tons of drawers.
“Alchemists! Alchemists! Digging weeds, ores, dirt to make new stuff! A ‘never-before-seen material’ drops in front of them! Eyes rolled back—they’ve hoarded plenty but came begging for more! Sigfillund had two; rumor spread, two more rushed in. Professor, guess the value?”
“Uh... roughly?”
Sure. I’d seen one play alchemist to make drugs, always hunting rare stuff outside.
Listening, it had potential. Sole producer: me. Verified effects. Fresh new material—maybe more uses.
“How much? They look like beggars.”
Lucilla laughed in disbelief at my question.
“Price? They shit gold sitting down.”
Whoosh!
That instant, church fame and fat money pouch tipped the scale.
After seeing what happened ten seconds ago when I gave Lucilla cash, no hesitating this chance.
‘But slapping [Blood-Selling Saint] on my hard-earned saint image is a waste.’
Past the rubble piles in the temple, I spotted five vials of my blood collected from around the city, and alchemists sprawled out in front.
“This won’t work! What’s this in the holy light’s hall!”
“That’s not church-made—claiming sudden sky-fallen stuff, what law? No clue! Two vials! Or I ain’t leaving!”
“Do this, your name goes in church records! No treatment or blessings at any temple...”
“Ha! My potions work better. Live digging roadside shrooms, moss, caves—no need for light! Two vials! No? I stay! Stomach hurts anyway, right here...”
“Oh.”
“Huh? What, hero?”
“No, good idea hit me.”
Pictured scholars for alchemists, but their beggar-highway-robber look sparked something.
Play it right, snag fame and profit both.
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