Chapter 215
Chapter 215
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: Letters to the Wind Mage (5)
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****
‘Well, well. Look at this guy?’
The Professor took a liking to the young mage standing before him.
Was it because he was the first normal person he’d met in Felix Home, a place full of lunatics?
Who knows. Maybe he was just crazy in a refined way.
Was it because he had precisely pinpointed the location of the wind mage enclave?
That was certainly part of it. The explanation time had shrunk by a full hour.
Was it because he was handsome?
Of course that too. There was a chance he was a budding Hero Unit.
But what impressed the Professor most was the wind blade hovering above the boy’s hand right now.
Shk!—Sh-shk—Siiit!
A spell that hissed like a snake, poised to strike at him any moment. The Professor, now at a level where he could pass for a proper mage anywhere, could tell at a glance that this wasn’t just for show. The density of the mana and the flow of magical power made it clear: this was genuine killing magic, brimming with intent to sever an arm or a leg if things went south.
‘That alone is impressive for his age. He doesn’t even know who I am, but since his lie and intrusion have been exposed, he’s ready to beat me down first and sort it out later.’
In truth, mages were dreamers lost in their own imaginations, often tripping over moral quandaries. By that measure, this young mage named Astraad was shaping up to be an excellent combat mage prospect.
But the boy mage didn’t seem content with mere prospect status.
Fla-p, whirr—
The Professor’s senses caught a faint whisper of wind slipping through the gaps between the flying letters.
‘Rear six o’clock and eleven o’clock—one each. Another between the right bookshelf. Hmm... ankle, shoulder, carotid?’
The Professor’s smile deepened as he glared at the mage.
In other words, use the flashy spell above his hand to draw attention, then strike with the small, silent wind blades planted in secret.
To a mage, magic was an expression of their inner world. Nothing revealed a mage’s true nature like their spells.
This kid? He was the sneaky type from the start.
‘Murder, or at least assault on that level... He’s got some chilling instincts. Looks like he’s been in the thick of it... Shall I dig a little?’
Originally, he’d planned to persuade him before the dementia mage woke up from the commotion. Mages were frightening precisely because their minds weren’t all there—or weren’t there at all.
But this sharp-eyed kid seemed to have a richly layered history.
‘Experience wielding a blade? Murderer? Accident? Intentional? Whatever it is, he’s no ordinary mage...’
Chaotic times birthed heroes, and in this era on the brink of world’s end, heroes were as plentiful as stars in the sky—literally. Most just withered away, guarding remote mountain villages as vigilante captains without ever blooming, or dying before their talents could shine.
With no System aid available now, he had to probe anyone with potential. The location was perfect: an imperial key facility maintained by an archmage’s permanent spell, crawling with rare wind mages.
Even if it wasn’t this kid, there had to be at least one sleeping Hero Unit here. He’d been paying close attention.
Since they’d crossed paths anyway, a quick check couldn’t hurt.
‘Let’s see... Third tier, probably akin to third circle? He’s pieced together the Mute crisis to some degree in this back room and inferred my identity from it, so he’s got good situational awareness. Solid grasp of combat psychology too. Prepping attack spells right off the bat is forgivable for a wind mage. Hmm... Come to think of it, I recently spilled my guts in a terrifying pressure interview. How did I handle that? I remember the feel—strip away the facts to break their spirit, then flood them with killing intent...’
As the Professor reminisced inwardly about his harrowing encounter with the elf matriarch, the oblivious mage’s disciple growled lowly at his outwardly subdued foe.
“....If you’re thinking of spouting the same nonsense you did in front of my master, you’ll regret it. Not every mage in Felix Home lacks discernment.”
Astraad intended to handle this quietly for his master’s sake. Subdue the suspicious man first, then uncover the truth slowly.
“Gauman the Mage arrived here eight years ago, so you were about eight or nine. Even if you entered the Home right after becoming his disciple, you were still a non-mage before turning ten. Where’d a kid that age learn this? Hmm? What’d you do before becoming a mage?”
“....Don’t answer a question with a question. We’re not known for our patience—”
“Precise and clean. Two non-lethal takedowns. One kill shot. Ah—very efficient and professional. Most mages I’ve met obsess over spell effects, power, range. True, right? Magic only manifests within the mage’s comprehension. Normal mages think, ‘Blast this powerful spell at that guy!’ Not, ‘Cut the muscle here, sever the artery there.’ Why? They’ve never done it.”
“You...”
The response from the man’s mouth was something Astraad had never imagined.
....Gulp.
A past memory known only to his master and himself.
Sweat beaded on the young mage’s forehead. The wind blade above his hand trembled fiercer, and the hidden wind shards swelled with greater menace.
“That’s why they say a combat mage’s foundation is killing experience. Not sweeping foes with area spells by accident, but magic born from a vivid inner image deep in the chest: ‘I’ll kill that bastard! Slice here, burst there!’ True killing magic requires that experience. Combat spells grow deadlier with every life a mage has taken. Just like those little wind scraps lurking behind me, waiting for their chance.”
“Tch!”
In an instant, the Professor saw the boy’s eyes—whose impression had been deepening—gleam coldly. Clear killing intent. The moment he realized he’d been read, his body reacted flawlessly.
Whiiing—!
As the boy swung his staff, it sounded like a taut bowstring snapping free.
Front and rear. Three wind blades targeting chest, shoulder, ankle.
And simultaneously, a dash forward with a mage-unlike grip on a sharp pen from the desk, reversed in his hand.
“Heh heh heh. What a riot this kid is.”
Exposed a little and immediately escalating to force? Add prepped spells and a physical rush?
Even accounting for wind mages’ impulsiveness, this was rash. No matter that the intruder hiding his identity and impersonating his master had casually revealed the boy’s unsaid past...
‘No, at that point, attacking makes sense? Yeah, he’d look scary suspicious.’
Anyway, launching attack spells on sight wasn’t normal. Watching the incoming magic and the low-stanced mage charging with pen tip and staff swinging, the Professor recalled seeing this type before.
Different situation, same desperate edge. Shoving weapons in faces to intimidate and pressure, attacking without hesitation the moment they sensed superiority.
The Professor knew such people well.
“You’re from the back alleys, aren’t you.”
“.....!”
****
Astraad stared at the man standing dumbfounded without reacting, utterly convinced his magic would sever the man’s ankle and shoulder. A fleeting thought that it might be too much crossed his mind, but he shook it off.
‘No. He called himself a hero. If he drops that pathetically to this, it proves everything’s a lie. Cripple him, subdue, interrogate identity and purpose, then beg a healing mage to fix him!’
Impulsive but right, he thought, moving to cancel his final failsafe spell—just in case.
Kwaak!
“Guhk!”
In a blink, the man’s massive hand clamped his throat.
‘Impossible.... I saw the spells right up close...’
Amid the sensation of a rock shackle crushing his neck, Astraad desperately rolled his eyes. Clear cuts marred the thin priestly robe. But oddly, only the cloth was sliced; the strangely ruddy skin beneath was unscratched.
‘....Knight! Aura-reinforced body level!’
Recalling the ‘knights’ his old gang had drilled into him as ultimate threats, Astraad desperately swung his staff.
Whish—whish.
‘Why? Why no wind?’
No matter how he swung, the staff gave no tone. In his reddening eyes, he spotted clumps of water clogging the staff’s vital wind holes.
Water magic. A hidden aura user, plus another undetected water mage who’d infiltrated. Unaware of the Professor’s identity, Astraad mistook it for attacks from both a knight and a mage. Thus, he was certain: whoever this was, a knight who could tank spells barehanded and a mage wielding water magic stealthily in a wind-mana-saturated Home meant a major scheme!
‘Ah, I have to warn them. Master will worry... If this goes on...’
In his fading consciousness, Astraad barely pried his mouth open.
“Cough, ri-right... now... let go, or you, you’ll...”
“Let go or what? Send that last one flying too?”
Grinning, the Professor pointed to the rear drawer. Water gathered in midair tangled with the hidden wind blade, splashing droplets. The neck-targeting spell he’d spared, not wanting to kill.
Thud!
The end, he thought—then suddenly air rushed in as his body hit the floor.
“Cough, cough!”
“Good call. If you’d launched that neck-aimed one, you’d have crossed the line where I could forgive. Intent to kill versus injure are worlds apart. You figured a local mage could heal the wounds after subduing the suspicious guy.”
The man shrugged, then grimaced at his torn clothes. Astraad panted, biding for an opening. The guy moved hands invisibly fast. Whistling rashly might really get him killed.
Watching Astraad crab-walk backward with wary eyes, the man took a deep breath, then grinned.
“Hey, mage’s disciple. We got off on the wrong foot.... Calm down and start from zero? Introductions first.”
‘Liar! Introduced as a mage, then tanked spells barehanded! Outsiders are all untrustworthy. Imperial dogs, parents who abandoned me. Back-alley thugs. All... spew garbage the moment they open their mouths.’
Backed to the corner, Astraad cautiously raised index and thumb to his lips. The man ignored it, dragging a corner chair to lounge sideways. Strangely, breathing felt tight.
The boy’s anxious eyes took in the man’s relaxed form, as if he were beneath notice.
Just blow hard now. The whistle would echo beyond the walls, mages swarming to subdue this villain.
But before the man’s impassive gaze, Astraad couldn’t blow.
The man grinned at Astraad, fingers in mouth, gasping.
“What’s that, some signal?”
“....”
“Gauman didn’t look all there at first glance. Seemed to dote on you, though. He’d come running first if a danger signal blared. Sure, a mage horde would kill me... but could Gauman, with his shaky mind, properly control spells under combat stress? Hmm, mana surges are no joke. Especially for an old, frail mage.”
Astraad eyed the man balancing precariously in the tilted chair.
Terrifying.
That constant grin. Annoying at first, now frightening. The smile, the narrowed eyes, the impossibly thick, sticky mana for a water mage.
Red mist thick enough to drown in on inhalation. Unable to call for his master or resist this demonic presence, Astraad trembled as the man’s hands approached...
“Hey! Snap out of it! Disciple! Astraad!”
“Wak! Ugh, uwaaak! Ack!”
He hooked under the arms, hoisted him up, and shook vigorously.
“Hahk! Hahk! Heuk!”
“Whew, sorry. Wasn’t planning to go full tilt. First time, didn’t expect this. Wipe your drool, kid.”
“Wh-what.... What was that just...”
The choking red mist vanished; the room held only the man, Astraad, and letters riding stray winds.
“Hm? Oh, the deluxe version of what you tried on me first. I like beating new folks senseless before chatting. Deepens the talk. Learned from a 300-year-old elf.”
Astraad shook his head, trying to dispel the lingering red mist phantom. He heard the man say something like ‘That hit hard,’ but processing words was tough.
“Alright then. Seems you’re finally ready for a ‘proper’ chat. Oh edgy, vicious wind mage. Shall we try talking?”
A bright voice sweeping away the heavy, horrific air.
Astraad gripped his staff tight at the mocking grin. What even was this guy? Priest robes, magic, knight’s physique—this freakish thing.
“A... monster?”
“Huh?”
Astraad startled at his own slip, doubly so at the man’s lack of denial, then paled gripping his staff at the explanation.
“Th-then the rumored... the monster that dyed Border Baek Territory in blood is you...”
“What rumor is circul—wait, disciple! Calm down! No need to flee, I said!”
The boy mage, face pale yet resolute, backpedaled wildly, blocking the door to his master’s room with his body.
The Professor spent ages soothing the kid, who’d gone beyond fear to grim resolve.
‘....Yeah. Something fundamentally changed after that Border Baek incident.’
He didn’t know what, but he felt whatever had been unevenly grinding had settled firm.
If his knowledge held, the technique the Carnean matriarch used—and he’d just used on the boy—was Fear, known only for boss mobs.
No way he’d classify as Human once the System returned.
****
“What? You can’t use the hot air balloons?”
Soothing the shocked young mage took patience and effort, but once calmed, it wasn’t hard.
Astraad was a mage who’d reached the impressive third tier young. Mages, who comprehended the world itself, were used to bizarre phenomena.
Sure, grokking a half-Mute body as a human supremacist cult’s hero and saint—yet a saint powerless in divinity, wielding magic instead—stretched ‘bizarre’ far beyond limits, but still.
With ‘Mana Oath’ exchanged to prove sincerity and innocence, the Professor heard Felix Home’s dire straits from Astraad. Very, extremely, horrifically bad.
“Yes. Trade with the elves has been halted for months already.”
Holy shit, for real.
By now, it felt like sharp malice. Just as things seemed on track, ‘Heh heh, nope!’—the System’s massive malice erecting event walls.
He’d come to sever the elf forest high pass, but it was suspended.
“Why! You’ve got no other proper income! Dead Felix Drixiel isn’t paying salaries!”
“Huuuugh.... True....”
The young mage sighed in agreement.
“That’s....”
Astraad spilled Felix Home’s woes to the freakish being. Whatever his identity, if truly a hero, saint, and mage on such a mission, he might be the breakthrough. Normal fixes impossible; time for an abnormal one.
.
.
.
.
“What the fu *&$^#*^ bullshiiiiit!!!! Uwaaaak! I quit! Don’t wanna! Fuck you, Gedroits! Just send me home nice and quiet!!! Uwaaaaa!!!”
“....Well.”
Sadly, his reaction suggested otherwise.
****