Chapter 217
Chapter 217
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 217
Chapter Title: Letters to the Wind Mage (7)
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So, it was exactly that kind of quest.
You know the ones. The village wants some apples, lost a cat, needs a silver ring for a proposal~—all those miscellaneous quests you grind out endlessly to raise village reputation, then cash it in for support on the big jobs.
Put a time limit on that grindy quest, dose the entire village with drugs to turn them into lunatics, and slap on a failure condition of world destruction—
And there you have the mission dumped on our party.
“Having to beg those lunatics and accept their help... I refuse! Do you know what those bastards will demand in return? What if they ask us to create a river here or move the sea? If we can't, they'll just say, ‘You, fake?’ and threaten us—these are scoundrels! Trade is something done between civilized people who can trust each other and communicate, not with these magical barbarians!”
“The boss said he'd repay the favor... So if he wants me to be a dog again, I'll be a dog. But I can't guarantee how long my spirit will hold out. Living like this every day is more humiliating than my gladiator days.”
It had only been a few hours, but the hatred for the wind mages seemed etched into their bones, making the two tremble with rage. It wasn't just Ottoman and Borkha—even the women, who had received decent treatment, expressed uncertainty about winning their favor.
“Professor. About the scouting you mentioned—how many mages from here do you need?”
“As many as possible. The sooner, the better.”
“Then... this is going to be really tough. The mages I met were incredibly kind and sociable, but they seemed to have incredibly thick inner walls. Convincing them to do something hard will take tremendous effort.”
“I think so too, hero. I've dealt with all sorts of people traveling for business, and those types only see the world from their own perspective. Figuring out what they like and how to cater to it won't be easy. We're trying to get their help because time is short, but getting that help might take even more time.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
If it were just hard work, they'd grit their teeth and do the emotional labor, but everyone was unanimous that it was impossible.
‘If only we had the chat room right now, it'd be so much easier.’
From past experience, hardcore internet denizens like Jokasss or Deer Drug Please were masters at inciting others and swarming in. They'd squawk over nothing and turn someone into a fool in seconds. They could probably wrangle these unique wind mages too.
‘Incite... I feel like something similar happened before.’
Thinking of the chat room's terrible trio and rampaging crowds naturally brought one incident to mind.
When was it...? Year 4 of survival?
==========
[Professor: Ma! Stop inciting people! When did I ever say, ‘Letting pretty, healthy mutants run around alive is good for everyone's mental health and ultimately reduces depression suicides’? I just said I saw a Type 2 mutant that looked like a celebrity!]
[Deer Drug Please: Dunno?]
[Soy Sauce Gaybar: Huh?]
[Jokasss: What can I do if the idiots follow along like that? Did I know it'd turn out like this? Just go douse the fire, dumbass.]
[Professor: How!]
[Deer Drug Please: Hey now. Your begging posture is all wrong.]
[Professor: O great and enlightened internet friends. This barbaric, low-IQ failure of a professor humbly seeks your wisdom, you fucking bastards, save a man.]
[Jokasss: Simple is best. Throw out bigger bait.]
[Professor: Bigger bait? You want me to stir up something more insane than this? What, hold a rock festival on the tallest building in Sector 47?]
[Deer Drug Please: Oh, nice. Gimme five front-row tickets.]
[Jokasss: Not that. Do it like those old tabloids, ‘The Sun.’ Bury the controversy with something cheap and sensational. Hard to make something everyone loves, but easy to make something everyone hates. Pour fire on those giggling fools' heads.]
[Professor: Oh, that sounds legit. Specifically?]
[Jokasss: Survivor ‘Professor’ from Sector 47 officially declares strong support for World War 3—or something. You know no survivor doesn't hate nukes and war? Just mention the ‘n’ in nuke and they're shaking, grinding their teeth, flooding the community with posts to hunt you down.]
[Soy Sauce Gaybar: Dismantle Dome's latest weapons and buildings into scrap and distribute equally to all people— that'd work too. Dome puts an official bounty, and weird posts vanish quick.]
[Deer Drug Please: Shut up, Fucking Communist Gayshit!]
[Professor: Shut the fuck up, you trash.]
=========
‘Ugh... Just thinking of them brings back bad memories.’
...But something was clicking.
Incite. Incitement...
Yeah, those evil, vicious bastards like Jokasss were right on that front.
I screenshotted Soy Sauce Gaybar's [Dismantle Dome's latest weapons and buildings into scrap and distribute equally to all people] with his ID and posted it to the community—my controversy vanished instantly. He disappeared from chat for two weeks, but whatever—my issue was solved.
Point was: making everyone happy is insanely hard, but making everyone pissed off is way easier.
“Oh.”
I just had a brilliant idea. Something really bad... or, refreshingly vicious.
“You've thought of something, huh?”
“Ah, that obvious?”
“Even if we haven't been together that long, counting just the brushes with death, we're like ten-year comrades. I whined a bit, but if it must be done, I'll shovel shit a few more times. Saving the world—what's that compared to it? Haha. I could even see it as a learning experience—”
“Nah, not that. I thought of something way faster.”
“Thank heavens! Honestly, I said that watching your face—I never want to do it again! So, what's the plan?”
“It's not a bad thing. No, seeing what we're doing now, you'll probably love it.”
Wondering what I meant, the Professor gazed wistfully at Ottoman and said,
“Uh, sorry in advance, Ottoman.”
“Hm? For what?”
“That... was me.”
“???”
Ottoman couldn't understand why the Professor was apologizing. Not until he explained the plan.
And once he did and grasped the meaning...
Crash!
“Die, you twisted beast, scum festering at the bottom of a dry well! How dare you, you of all people! I held you in such high regard, Professor! How could you, you—!!!”
He went berserk, raging at a level matching those flying outside.
****
Flutter. Flutter.
One sheet. Then another.
Another letter penned by Aldrich rode the wind skyward.
The pen: a ripped-out fingernail. The ink: blood seeping from it.
“Yes. Fly well. You're still alive somewhere in the Empire, it seems. You loathsome, loathsome witch.”
Watching the curse-soaked letter lift into the air on its own, Aldrich stroked the locket around his neck. He felt Nell's soul trembling inside.
‘I've poured out curses until my whole body went limp, yet you're still unsatisfied. Nell's grudge grows thicker with each passing year. How many more years can I hold her back? Maybe I shouldn't visit the Empire next year...’
His body withered with age, but the soul in the soul jar grew stronger. Of course it did—every spell drained his life force.
Black mages really had it rough. While other mages had apprentices or tower errand boys for menial tasks, black mages handled everything alone, needed ironclad mental control to avoid possession, and had to eat well and exercise to avoid premature death from life drain.
He patched himself with alchemy potions and did his best for health.
Aldrich let out a hollow laugh, eyeing his shrinking frame. That's black magic. No wonder Notum hadn't become his last apprentice. She might've become an unprecedented 8th-circle black mage, but the cost would've been incomparable to his.
“Heh heh heh. Lucky in my old age to find a comrade who understands. I'm old too, Nell. Yes... too old.”
With a distant look, Aldrich scrawled unspeakable curses and reverse omens onto the parchment. After the final sheet, he stanched the bleeding. That should keep Nell from rampaging for a while.
Relieved, he swallowed the fingernail—and spotted the party sprinting from afar. The old man's face brightened.
Borkha and Notum, with Lucilla on Notum's shoulder.
Problem children, but never boring to watch.
“What the... what mess have they caused now...”
His ears dulled by age and the constant wind roaring through the passage made it hard to hear, but the party waved frantically, shouting desperately in all directions.
“...da! ...in ...is... ga...!!!”
“Gruk! Gruuk! Grook! Uuuk!”
“Eh, what're they saying...? They'll wake every mage in town. Forgot we agreed not to provoke them?”
Anxious, Aldrich turned to the mages flitting between the wall-high drawers. Sure enough, they'd stopped work, eyeing the party with clear displeasure.
Worried they'd really piss them off, Aldrich hurried toward the party.
“Hey! What's the commotion this time? You'll wake the whole neighborhood!”
“Huff, huff! Aldrich. One question. Can you act a bit?”
Facing the irritated Aldrich, Borkha caught his breath, then leaned in to whisper in his ear.
“Huh? Act? What're you—”
“If not, just follow along. [A red mutant appeared. Someone's been kidnapped. It's smashing everything here.]”
“...W-what?! That talking mutant?”
“Act. Or just look panicked and follow.”
Borkha straightened, baffling Aldrich with his machine-gun chatter. The werewolf glared at the incoming discontent mages, then bellowed in his booming voice.
『Assault!!! Mutant assault!!! The mage tower destroyer that razed Tobrun's Water Tower to the roots—the red mutant—has come to destroy the Wind Homeland!!!! It's wrecking Felix Home at random!!!!』
「Help! A person, a person's been taken!!! Our mage, the frail old mage, the mutant took him hostage...!」
『Groooar! Biburmi's been taken! My friend! Help! It said it'd peel his shell and eat him headfirst! Mages, help! Hurry! Guoooar!』
Borkha's roar echoed through the passage, followed by Lucilla's thin, desperate cry. Then Notum's deep, gravelly shout spread everywhere.
“Hostage? Old... Wait, Ottoman got nabbed again?”
“Shh! Mr. Aldrich! Angle your panicked face more outward—it's visible! The urgency is perfect! You're doing great!”
“No, we can't stay here—gotta go out—”
“Grk. Don't be dense, ghost geezer master. It's all staged.”
Their mouths shouted urgently, but they dawdled, even smirking.
Aldrich couldn't fathom their odd leisure. A talking mutant kidnapped someone—why so calm...?
‘Hold on. Talking mutant?’
Aldrich recalled the massive, bloodied monster from the borderlands days ago, babbling about ego. It spoke, was bright red, a mutant.
It was the Professor.
‘!!!!!!!!!!!!’
“No way... the Professor is the red—grf!”
“Watch your mouth. Mages'll hear.”
“Mmph, pfft! So the red mutant you're yelling about... is ‘that guy’?”
Nod, nod.
Aldrich wanted to slap the cheerfully nodding trio.
Even without Empire common sense, they should've known—no, even without sense, how could they risk what they cherished most...!
“Have you lost your minds! I knew that guy... was crazy, but you should've stopped him! Why such a insane plan—”
“Force majeure. Only grim, low-odds torture options left.”
“W-what now? What're you gonna do! Wind mages are few but no pushovers! Just these I see—”
“Shh. Mage incoming.”
Borkha nodded toward a pale old mage wobbling in midair.
“Ooooh, our talking dog. What's that? Red mutant... in our home?”
“Yes. Heard it clear as day—gonna smash Felix Home, right here.”
“Eeeh... no way... This is Felix Home. Our warm, safe, eternal home... No one would—”
Boom—
The old mage's trembling hand, about to stroke Borkha's snout, froze. A heavy vibration shook the whole building. The mage's eyes twitched, body quaking like a candle in wind.
Thud.
Thud, thud!
Mages plummeted everywhere. Not magic canceled—shock from the unbelievable reality caused fainting.
“Ooooh... impossible... our home, our home...”
Huff, huff, huff—
Crack!
A grinding sound like the hunched old man's teeth shattering.
Whoooosh—
The ever-gale passage fell silent, windless void. Not gone—the endless inflowing wind was sucked into the old man's staff.
“Yes... good boy... our home dog found the intruder... Intruders, burglars trying to smash the house! Rotten burglars I'll skin and dry in the driest sun for a century till they crumbleeeeee!!!!! How dare they, how DARE they touch Felix Hoooooooomeeeeee!!!!!”
Huff huff huff!
It spread everywhere. Shocked fallen mages staggered up one by one, their robes flapping wildly with surging mana.
“Grrr, my home, my, our only hoooome! Kraaaaaah!!!”
Screeeeech—!!
The hunched mage's robe tore at the seams, flapping madly. His staff emitted blinding light, shrieking sharply. Compressed wind whistled through six glowing holes.
Straightening his bent back, eyes blazing murderously at the sound's source. Poised to launch, he paused, placed a hand on Borkha's snout.
“Good boy, woof. Reward later.”
“No, wait—”
Bang! Swoooosh!
“—oh...”
No time for Borkha's protest. The bearded old mage rocketed off, trailed by a line of mages hurling eerie screams and whooshing into the passage.
“Well... that worked.”
“What worked?!”
Rubbing his snout, Borkha replied to Aldrich with evident relief.
“Now these mages will tremble at the word ‘mutant.’”
“Mutant? Nearby?”
“You missed dinner, so yeah. Nests, apparently. A few somewhere.”
“Gone soon. Wind freaks flipped. Gruk.”
“So that's it... Anger is the strongest impulse, sure. Effective... but what about ‘that guy’ causing chaos up there?”
“...”
“...”
“Gruk.”
“...Hey?”
“...Got your will ready.”
“You lunatics...!”
Aldrich turned toward the vibration's source—likely where the red-mutant-disguised Professor was.
Thud—
Thud—!
Regular impacts, pounding the building for effect. Then,
Riiiip—!
Crackle crackle!
Screeeeech—!
From outside, a colossal roar like tearing the sky apart.
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