Chapter 213
Chapter 213
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: Letters to Windmage (3)
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In the end, the party could only tear themselves away after that bizarre, ritual-like magic had finally concluded. At first, they had been overwhelmed by the sheer grandeur of the spectacle, but once they grew somewhat accustomed to it, it was Ottman's opinion that held them back: "If outsiders like us get tangled up in a magic spell of that scale and something goes wrong, we could end up drawing the mages' wrath."
The Storm Hill, which had seemingly sucked in every surrounding gust of wind along with the letter, had now fallen eerily still.
"Finally... we're about to visit that famous Felix Home."
With that curt remark from Aldrich, the Imperial native, the group began making their way toward the strange building.
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At present, the party's favorability toward the wind mages was at an impressively high level.
Even Borkaman was saying things like, "I really want to express our gratitude to them!" And the rest of the group had developed a strong fondness for these eccentric mages who faithfully upheld their ancestors' legacy by handling postal duties. The beautiful magical display they'd just witnessed had played a part in that, too.
"Captain. Do we really have to sneak in like this? Unlike the mages from other towers, these ones actually 'work' at something, so they seem like the reasonable type."
"Ssh! Shut up and follow quietly. Ottman here is the closest thing to a pinnacle mage I've ever met, and just looking at all the junk dangling from the inside of his robe should set off your alarms, right?"
"Urgh. Well, when you put it like that. A noble mage like Ottman resorting to that kind of..."
"Wh-what does that have to do with anything right now?!"
Ottman hurriedly concealed the open flap of his robe as he flew into a rage from laughing so hard, but fooling the sharp ears of a werewolf and a mutant human was no easy feat.
*Clink, slosh!*
That was the sedative Aldrich had made back in the elf village. Astonishingly, Ottman had downed one bottle every single day from the exiled elf village all the way here—without fail. All to resist the temptations of the water spirits that constantly hovered around Yggdrasil.
Even this gentlemanly, intellectual, and kindly Ottman had to rely on a black mage's potent drugs to overcome his "mage-like" tendencies.
"Hmm. I was too hasty. Just because they're good mages doesn't mean they're not mad."
"You fool! Professor! How can you spread such foolish misconceptions about mages?!"
"We call it wisdom, not misconception, when we avoid touching red-hot iron because we assume it'll burn. As the party leader, shouldn't I at least teach you all what counts as dangerous?"
"Kh-hum!"
As Ottman's awkward cough echoed uncomfortably, the party members' eyes filled with wariness toward the mages. The professor quickly pressed forward and dove behind the next boulder.
*Pat-pat-slosh!*
"Two liters... no, about one-and-a-half."
Water was hard to gather in this parched rocky terrain at the hill's lofty edge. The professor shaped the water pooled in his hand into a mirror-like surface, praying the floating, sleeping mage near the cliff wouldn't wake as he crept forward on his belly, holding his breath.
'The攻略 guide said to avoid the entrance and wake one of these mages for an escort instead, but if we can avoid getting entangled, that's safer—especially with an old mage.'
After all, that concise official攻略 paled in comparison to the authenticity radiating from *his* travelogue, born of hard-earned experience.
Yes, he'd cracked it open. That act of publicly broadcasting his live erotic readings to the whole neighborhood via [Libidinous Demon's Erotic Peregrinations - Empire Edition (Censored)], plastered with red tags.
Sure, come morning, his messages would be flooded with stuff like [Whoa—Professor Park enjoying adult lit right in front of everyone!], [Eek! Don't show that stuff! You perv!]. But after all the grief he'd endured, he couldn't afford to skip valuable intel out of embarrassment.
When he'd forced himself, with bone-chilling resolve, to open that "red book," the professor couldn't help but be a little surprised.
'Honestly... it exceeded expectations.'
Even after stripping away the explicit descriptions and sheer volume of smut to barely squeak by with a 17+ rating, the travelogue brimmed with incredibly useful, rare information—and it even offered genuine reading pleasure.
Not *that* kind of pleasure, but real literary enjoyment.
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They are free, and pure.
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Contrary to expectations of crude language, his travelogue began in a serene tone, building a fine piece of writing with smooth, archaic phrasing. At least, in the early parts.
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True freedom is readily accepted as positive among people. Yet society forms through laws and restraints born of mutual promises, so a complete freeman equates to a transcendent being unbound even by trust.
In that sense, the wind mages are true freemen. They are hedonists who cherish every incoming impulse, passionate souls who pour their all into each fleeting moment.
Thus, mingling bodies with them is easy, but winning their hearts proves arduously difficult. Their hearts, like the sky itself, are vast and shallow—easy to slip into their embrace, but to hold them in yours is truly, truly, truly... lamentably hard.
But as always, isn't a sip of water at the end of hardship like nectar, and a flower atop a cliff the most beautiful?
I realized that to truly hold them, one must enter their haven called the "mausoleum," Felix Home, and share trials and joys with them. What follows are攻略 tips for the many mages I met there.
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Up to here, it resembled any攻略 penned by a gamer with decent chops. The problem started right after, with nonstop adult-only content.
Stripping away his flashy exploits, the gist boiled down to this.
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1. All wind mages are severe manic-depressive patients. Felix Home is essentially a facility that keeps their symptoms locked in the "manic" phase, so surprisingly, as long as you don't cause a huge ruckus inside, you won't incur their enmity. Contrary to rumors, the mage realm "Felix Home" is safer than you'd think.
Of course, I aimed for deep relationships, so I had to bury five characters in that beautiful building. Always watch their expressions—they don't hide emotions, so everything shows on their faces.
2. If targeting high-ranking mages, start with their apprentices. All wind mages idolize the grand mage Felix Drixiel and yearn to wander with a single "seed" like him. Naturally, knighting a mere mage is rare, so the apprentice fills that role. The younger and surlier the expression, the better.
The younger, the less wind in their brain; a bad expression means their master causes frequent mishaps, leaving the apprentice swamped. Cleaning up messes naturally builds social ties, upping chances they're close to the top.
Of course, they might just be in a foul mood, and pissing off an irate wind mage means you die.
3. Musical talent. Lesser-known fact: all wind mages master woodwinds, brass, and other wind instruments. If you sing well or play an instrument proficiently, you might score impressive gifts.
That said, bards who sing poorly outside get tomatoes; here, poor singers get wind cutters.
4. ★Most important: The one rule they all observe in viewing the world is solely Felix Home's code. Tend to this place well. Faithfully handle postal and assigned duties. And,
'Treat Felix Home as your home.'
The grand mage left "home" open to interpretation, but for wind mages who live as wanderers their whole lives, the concept of "home" looms larger than common sense.
For example—
* To keep the home clean and beautiful, they create indoor gardens, diligently clean, and shave nearby rock formations for better views. (5th-circle Andarel Camis and 14 others over 3 years.)
* Insisting a home needs neighbors, they relocate Wind Hole villagers. (No need for friendly ones, so it was forceful. The chief convinced them by example, building and living alone; villagers freed after 3 months.)
* Claiming guests must be entertained, they raid nearby lordly castles for top-shelf tea and sweets whenever visitors arrive. (6th-circle mage of Sighing Winds, Neshy.)
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Et cetera. The clash of "home" concepts with their freewheeling imaginations will surpass your wildest thoughts, so improvise to match as best you can.
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'Urgh. Still horrifying on reread. The scale of the antics is on another level. This isn't a travelogue (travel literature)—it's a freakshow chronicle (bizarre deeds).'
Less a traveler's tale than dying messages from his five characters that crashed into Felix Home.
And this was after trimming every skippable bit; compiling all the antics from his tangles with those mages inside could spawn a full cosmic horror tale.
After reading that, who wouldn't lose the will to persuade those mages to head to Lordric North's battlefield? His plan was to slip inside unnoticed, find the postal mage handling hot-air balloon deliveries for elf trades, beg a ride, and bolt.
'No sweat. For wasteland folk, not having *some* mental issue is rarer—it's a madhouse in there. I've lived rubbing shoulders with crazies daily. Convincing one person's a cakewalk! Sneak in like a rat, sweet-talk 'em quick, and bounce!'
As a former platoon leader of the legendary 14th Special Forces—second only to Vex in fame—he had confidence in stealth ops, which fueled the plan.
*Shhh...*
"Nywho?"
"Gyaaah!"
The professor, who had cloaked himself in a thin water veil to fully mask his presence, suddenly had an elderly man with snow-white hair and beard standing beside him—arriving who-knows-when.
A shabby green conical hat and a green robe so patchwork it rivaled necromancy in textiles. Topped with a wooden staff riddled big and small holes.
'Dammit—caught!'
With the plan busted from the jump, the professor quickly composed himself and spoke.
"Uh, h-hello... sir?"
"Nywho?"
"I-I'm a hero from the Church of Luminosity. If I may be so bold, I have a request for those who wield wind mana..."
"Who're you?"
*Creak.*
The mage's eyes narrowed slightly, ignoring the answer entirely. The professor's gut plummeted further.
'Wrong answer? Not what he wanted? Toll? Bribe? Pass? What's the beef...'
*Zap!*
In that instant, the professor spotted the empty spot by the arched door far off where the old man had sat. He'd flown here silently in that split second.
"Sheesh... rude brats barging onto my property... tracking mud everywhere on private land..."
*Creak—*
The old man's wrinkles deepened. Drag this out or dodge the desired reply, and it's game over. Sure, he'd grown enough not to fold to one mage, but an pissed-off one rampaging could ripple through that asylum unpredictably.
The crisis jolted the professor's frozen brain into overdrive.
'Wind mage—aged to oblivion, long forgotten worldly norms. The only common ground between us is Felix Drixiel's rules.'
This old man's head held only love for wind, whims that struck like gales, and Felix Drixiel's code.
'Ah.'
*Nywho.* Asking who, not where from, what for, why—just who.
"Pro... Professor."
"...Huh? Proo-fess-orrr?"
The moment the professor blurted his name unthinkingly, the old man's beet-red face—so fierce it seemed ready to unleash savage winds—melted away instantly.
'Yes—bullseye!'
Simple, really. These folks ignored titles and fame, treating people purely as people.
'*Nywho?*'
He'd literally asked who you are. Who the hell are you to loiter by our house? A shady guy babbling about unknown churches and missions would annoy any elder.
With the thread grasped, he sensed how to act here.
"I-I'm here to see someone! Heard they were home."
"Eh... who?"
The professor whipped open the system window to [Libidinous Demon's Erotic Peregrinations]. The most embarrassing section, packed with diverse names.
"Silia Mist!"
"Eh... left on westerlies 4 months, 13 days ago..."
"Vanessa Gishy!"
"Nope. Who's that?"
"Then, Antonia Killia!"
"Off to make wine 1 year, 7 months, 23 days back."
"Eek, then...!"
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As expected. The mages in this travelogue were folks the Libidinous Demon met across different visits with his five characters.
Luckily, the list spanned pages, and the gatekeeper elder diligently checked each name without end.
"Ga, Gauhman Delhurst!"
The 31st. The name list was dwindling; cold sweat beaded the professor's brow.
A wrinkled finger flipping the paper from his pouch paused on one spot.
"Aaah. You're a guest here for Gauhman, eh? Urrm. A guest. Guest. Been ages, guest. Guest..."
Muttering and nodding to himself, the old man abruptly raised his staff and thwacked the professor's insteps—three times each.
*Whooo—*
"There. You're good to go. Path should be open now."
"P-path...?"
"Our house gets fierce drafts, y'see. Guests wobble and can't stand inside without this. Keeps the floor safe from heavy types like you, too."
So that's what it was—a sort of passage mark.
"Urrm... you're set. You lot cowering there!"
*Flinch!*
The old man zeroed in on the party's hiding haze and approached...
"Welcome. Water-folk friends."
"...Huh?"
"That. Water magic, right? All shimmery and wavery."
"If you mean the water mist veil... yeah. But why the sudden..."
At Ottman's reply, the old man's prying scowl vanished, replaced by a beaming smile as he hugged Ottman and the party.
"I love rain and wind. Lotsa water-folk friends waiting at home. You're late, friend. Who's you?"
"Uh, uh... th-thanks. Ottman. Ottman Baudelaire..."
Still dazed, Ottman walked beside the arm-linked elder.
*Guest.* *Friend.*
The stark temperature difference in those words left the professor utterly deflated.
'Just showing water mage creds would've done it?'
"Um... gatekeeper sir?"
"Yeah, guest Professor?"
"I... I can do that stuff too."
*Plop!*
The professor floated a water orb above his hand. The gatekeeper watched intently, face cycling from relaxed to frowning, then whipped his head away.
"Never seen that one before."
"Huh?"
"Anyway, don't like it. Clear it off and follow. I'll guide ya."
"Wha—how is this..."
The professor was starting to get how this place ticked.
Permitted by the rules? *Guest.*
To their liking? *Friend.*
Friends could drop by anytime, so higher privileges than guests.
Ultimately, conform to each mage's unique, rigid "home" image to become a guest.
Too tough? Just charm them into friends.
Felix Home demanded walking a tightrope over their turbulent mental worlds—ice-thin.
A community ringed by vast, lax borders.
From the entrance, the professor's head already throbbed.
'The gatekeeper's an oddball, per the notes... hope the folks inside are different.'
At least they'd passed, and he'd found a behavioral compass. Taking solace in that, the professor trailed the jovial Ottman crew and the gatekeeper.
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