Chapter 219
Chapter 219
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 219
Chapter Title: Chapter 12. Letters to Windmage (12)
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****
“Ottman. Ottman?”
“Hm? Oh, it’s you? I’ve been looking everywhere since you vanished at the crack of dawn. Where were you?”
“Oh, just killing time since my body was stiff.... Anyway, Ottman, do you happen to know how to undo an old spell?”
“Undo? Did you get cursed or something?”
“No, it’s about messing with the spell on this place—”
Crash!
“Eek—!”
“W-Watch your mouth! If those kids hear you talking like that, they’ll sound the alarm.... Can’t we please limit our crazy stunts to once a month? No, once a week! I can handle that much, right?”
The dining hall.
It was a bit of a stretch to call it a floor, but the dining hall on the second level ledge of Felix Home—which resembled a hemispherical ant colony—was already bustling with people. I’d been frantically scribbling old letters until my frustration eased, and now I was finally joining my companions at their table.
“Please, just a little! I want to die of old age! I know you’ve got this incurable mania for me, but we’ve met our quota this time! So....”
“Fine, fine, I get it! I wasn’t planning to actually do it—I was just venting. Let go already! I won’t! I said I won’t!”
Out of desperation, I’d asked if there was any way around it, and now I was getting chewed out royally.
“Ugh, treating me like I’ve got the plague. Where’d everyone else go? Why are you here alone?”
Instead of answering with his mouth full of food, Ottman pointed his fork toward one corner of the dining hall.
“....The three-pronged gust valley is....”
“According to the hound who’s already faced them, there’s at least a small house-sized structure....”
“Then we’ll rule out the high bird triangle wind basin and Whistle Hill, since they lack the usual branches....”
The mages were shoving food prepared by their disciples into their mouths while engaged in heated discussion. It looked like the ones who’d returned first were compiling info gathered by those still out searching. Every time a mage voiced what they’d confirmed, a disciple-level mage would levitate stones and dust to form a makeshift search map.
“Looks like they’ve made solid progress in just one day.”
“Solid? We’ve covered the whole area nearby. Some groups ran into minor skirmishes, from what I hear. Wind mages get the job done when they have to. They’ve spent their lives causing trouble and getting chased around, so their combat skills are above average, at least.”
“Let’s see.... That white bowl represents the hollow, and those three pointy stones hovering represent the three triangular peaks visible out that window.... Whew, they’re fast.”
True to their reputation. Even roughly calculating based on reference points, they’d searched nearly a 40km radius in a single day. Like deploying dozens of military helicopters with detection gear.
And wind mages didn’t just scan from the air—they directly sensed the winds in an area with their own faculties. Even if something blocked their line of sight or hid invisibly, just being there would disrupt the local winds, giving it away instantly.
Fast, wide-ranging, and 100% thorough—physically and magically—once they passed over an area. They were undeniably capable.
“What’s Borca been up to in the meantime?”
“He found some structural deformation on the ground, so he’s heading out with them soon. They want to borrow a werewolf’s nose in case they’ve burrowed underground.”
“While I was slacking, everyone else was hard at work, huh.”
“Ah, Borca’s the only one moving with them. They’re drawing a strict line between guests and Home residents. They already feel guilty for letting guests get hurt; if they put us to work too, they’d have no face left with Felix later. Lucilla and Idrasil went sightseeing nearby, and Notum’s learning herbs and alchemy from Aldrich. He’s giving her pricey materials without holding back.”
At least that was a relief. They didn’t seem keen on letting us join the search easily, but at least one of us was embedded. I’d drop by after eating and feel things out. Search was one thing, but if they found a nest, they had to let us in on it.
Borca caught me staring and gave a knowing nod. I’d grill him for details later.
“So.... I’ve got nothing to do right now?”
“Even if you did, they’d block you. I offered to check for disrupted ley lines, and they chased me off to eat.”
“Tch. Can’t be helped, then. We’ll talk when they find a nest. What’re you having? Must’ve been tough finding something to your taste in this parched rock valley.”
“I thought so too, but these wind mages take guest hospitality seriously. Cloud giant shrimp and drowned corpse grass stew. Who’d expect a feast like this in a rocky canyon?”
“Ooh, looks decent.”
“It’s superb. Cloud giant shrimp live in the sea until breeding season, when they inflate air sacs under their shells and ride the winds. At this time, they swarm the humid clouds around here—you can’t avoid bumping into them. Drowned corpse grass is a freshwater aquatic plant from the aquifer that pokes its head up when it rains. Both are within a mage like me’s tolerance.”
Familiar description. They were right at the top of the ‘Imperial Specialties List’ Dana sent.
Shrimp with massive air sacs on both sides, and an aquatic plant also called ‘rain caller.’
“Got any more of that?”
“I’ll ask for seconds. Hey! One more serving here, please! Same as mine!”
The Professor set aside his tangled thoughts and filled his growling stomach first.
‘They say a string too taut will snap. Gotta manage my mentality consciously too.’
Dana said it, Hyde said it—no need to rush.
No tasks? Then rest.
“Mmm, yum! This is good. Melts in your mouth? Can I stock up a bunch before we leave?”
“Do as you like. By the way, why’d you ask about that earlier? Not satisfied with smashing a couple outer rings?”
“No, it’s.... I heard from Astraad that Felix Home might vanish. Some magical error? Design flaw?”
“Hm? Tell me more. This mighty magical structure disappearing?”
“Well....”
The Professor ate the food disciple mages had brought while recounting this morning’s events to Ottman.
The fluffy shrimp and melting grass were tongue-meltingly delicious, and tales of ancient magic and artifacts were plenty to pique two mages’ interest.
****
3 PM.
“Why not just burn it down?”
We’d eaten our fill, sipped tea leisurely while admiring the lightning-melted outer canyon, grumbled about getting dissed by a fifteen-year-old mage, and gotten chewed out even more by Ottman.
After fully enjoying the rare downtime, we returned to the guest room to find Lucilla and Idrasil back from their stroll.
Notum and Aldrich were there too, with a huge iron cauldron bubbling over the fireplace—somewhere-sourced. Everyone except Borca out searching was gathered.
I told Lucilla about the morning—excitedly chattering about the melted canyon—and she responded like it was no big deal.
“Isn’t it obvious? Sure, I get the dead archmage obsessed with cherishing every letter, but he’s dead, right? With the magic’s core wobbling, shouldn’t we have some leeway to improvise?”
“That’s why it’s harder since he’s dead. The mana on each letter is minuscule, but they’re under an [Archmage’s Spell]. Try destroying the spell another way, and the building—the spell’s core—will react.”
“Even at that inn before here, when I tried snatching an incoming letter, they swarmed like bees, saying they’d demolish the place. Blocking the archmage’s magic any way sends backlash straight to Felix Home.”
I’d run into Astraad helping his master back from the dining hall and asked; the mages here had tried everything, but dismantling spells to discard letters only accelerated the Home’s demise. When they discovered that, about twenty mages left in shock to wander, and two old mages died of heartbreak. They’d exhausted every option.
“....Forget it. I was just grumbling out of regret. We can’t stick around forever.”
“Who wouldn’t regret it? Hm.... We’ve got time, so let’s revisit next time.”
“Next time?”
“Yeah. After we wipe those horrific Mutes from the world and peace returns. Felix Home’s time left isn’t that urgent.”
“....Let’s do that. Once everything’s over. When the world’s peaceful. We’ll retrace our steps. See the spots we missed. Eat what we didn’t. Slowly resolve the regrets, taking our time.”
No clue when that’d be. After sorting things here. After sorting real life. When we could purely enjoy this world as players who love it....
“Count me out. Appreciate the sentiment, but I don’t wanna come back.”
“Hm.... Now that I think, sticking with that Professor kid more....”
Pfft.
“You guys hurt my feelings.”
The Professor erased the vague future in his head and leaned back on the bed, closing his eyes.
Crackling firewood and bubbling pot sounds lulled him like a lullaby.
****
8 PM.
Boom!
“Cleric! Any clerics among the guests?!”
Midway enjoying rare leisure and drowsiness, a mage flew in silently to our guest room.
“Mm.... Dozed off, huh. Cleric....”
“We’ve got.... Oh,”
“Ah, there is one.”
I raised a sleepy hand, and the fidgeting mage zipped over, grabbing it.
“You need to come quick! Some of the masters out searching are badly hurt—”
Whoosh!
The Professor bolted upright at the mage’s words.
Hurt. No way powerful flying wind mages got done in by regular monsters. If it was bad enough to rush here....
“Did you find it?”
“Yes. Borca confirmed too. As expected, hiding underground. He insisted on waiting for full prep after alerting everyone, but some masters couldn’t hold their rage and charged in....”
Grab!
The Professor cut off the flustered mage and lunged at him.
“And? What about the nest?”
“W-We blasted wide-area spells to kill as many swarming monsters as possible before retreating. Prioritizing safe return for the wounded....”
“Not monsters! Was I unclear? Not the small fry—the nest! What about the Chamber Maid?!”
“Uh.... It was buried underground, so probably.... Up to there....”
“....You fucking idiots!”
Ruined. Fine, we missed the chance to snipe the Chamber Maid in a raid due to complacency. But if we hooked them, we should’ve wiped nearby Mutes to hide we’d found them—no matter what. Hell, even if it cost lives, we should’ve beheaded the Chamber Maid.
Now the raided nest would ramp up defender production, and some would alert nearby nests to prepare.
‘And.... The Mutes have ‘that guy.’ Word of wind mages scouting nests might’ve spread to all nearby Mutes already.’
That’s why I’d warned them after lunch, and reiterated to Borca just in case.
From the report, Borca tried, and wind mages held them back, but some idiots wouldn’t listen.
‘Unpredictable high-firepower spec ops. Worst case.’
Some couldn’t resist avenging a mage’s name, turning easy into hard.
“....Let’s go. Gotta check the wounded first.”
“Y-Yes! T-This way!”
The brief rest ended. The Professor hurried after the leading mage.
****
Clack clack clack!
For a moment, only footsteps and heavy breaths filled the dim-lit halls.
Then groans and sharp shouts echoed from afar.
“Gevrik, Gevrik! Don’t lose consciousness!”
“P-Pull it out, pull this damn thing out!!!”
“May the blessing of the zephyr grace your body! Felix Dricsiel’s [Wind of Regeneration!]”
Boom!
“How many. Times. Did I say it? Don’t recklessly poke the nests.”
“....If you knew so well, shouldn’t you have warned us sooner! Who’d expect a creature spewing thorns like that....”
“Grrrr! I told you dozens of times, screaming till my throat bled! ‘Unimaginable variables and dangers abound!’ Who ignored it? Gevrik’s on death’s door because of you!”
“I-I just....!”
‘What a mess.’
Chaos all too familiar—like right behind the front lines in battle.
Wounded screams from the rear, rescuers striving to save them. Shouts pinning blame, defiant retorts.
Infuriatingly familiar at first sight, but it snapped him alert.
“W-We brought him! There’s a cleric among the gue—Guh!”
He shoved aside the panicking mage and approached the groaning one.
“Urk, graaaah!”
A mage bound to the bed by green wind tendrils. Minimal bleeding, but in agony—screaming till blood flecked his throat.
‘Young for a Home mage. Mid-30s to early 40s. Main wound: yellowish-brown thorn in abdomen. Wound ~7-8mm diameter—not huge, but bad spot. Maybe hit liver or kidney.’
Combat veteran, he knew how to handle wounded. Normal injury? No need for him—they were layering healing wind spells already.
“....You’re doing the right thing. Firing off wildly after that archmage spell yesterday, mana unrestored, then fighting....”
“....No excuses. Late intro—I’m Gale Rud, second-deepest wind of Tempest Hill. You’re.... the cleric?”
“Professor. Similar.”
The self-proclaimed leader was a familiar old mage.
The terrifying geezer from the rooftop yesterday, wielding a six-hole staff, eyes blazing to kill him—now fidgeting, begging help.
“This in the abdomen.... Left for bleeding?”
“No, we’d have handled that. The thorn burrowed in.”
“....Burrowed?”
“Can’t pull it. Rooted across every contact surface. Yanking it’d rip out a fistful of abdomen—guts too.”
The Professor eyed the thorn in the mage’s gut. Smooth despite crusted fluids. Not just physical—overpowers via tiny wounds.
‘....Attack evolved lethally. Lessons from assaulting Lordric’s final line these past months.’
Close inspection: yellowish-brown rootlets piercing skin and capillaries. Inflammation spreading around.
‘Infection. So, projectile based on Mute blood.’
Lucky. No divine power needed—specialized anti-Mute injury he could fix.
Chomp!
He bit his fingertip lightly, dripping blood on the thorn. It soon bubbled, melting. Touching it absorbed like regular Mute blood, granting minor vitality.
“Gweeeeh.... Uuugh....”
The patient’s groans eased as blood poured from the now-clear hole in his gut.
“This, what....”
“Healing magic’ll work now. Removed what came from them.”
“We’ve.... incurred debts to you guests again and again. Thanks.... cleric.”
“Professor. Saint of the Radiant Church, Professor.”
Emphasizing his title and name, the Professor scanned mages trickling back outside.
‘Can’t leave it like this. These mages loose could cause real disaster.’
Chamber Maid nested underground, invisible from outside. Mutes evolved splashing blood into burrowing projectiles.
Adaptive, growing foes. More blind rushes, and they’d prepare further.
But these guys ignored even their top mage—not magic barbarians, worse.
Uncontrollable, but firepower-solid allies. How to use them.
.
.
.
.
.
‘How? Use them well.’
Nostalgic day.
Back in spec ops days, all allies save 14th Spec Ops were nominal—provisional threats.
Sighing at his life’s familiarity with this, the Professor spoke.
“....How many mages fit for combat now?”
“Myself included, about half could fight.... You’re not saying counterattack now?”
“Yes. Sooner the better. As a cleric, I know evil god pawns well—nests flee under threat.”
“Flee....”
Twitch.
The old mage’s eyes chilled at his words.
“Gevrik.... sweet fool. Handled chores everyone hated, so considerate, family-loving.... Loved so much he stepped up when that idiot nearly got beehived....”
Twitch. Twitch twitch.
Eyes fixed on the blood-and-sweat-soaked mage.
“Such a pure soul.... Home family.... Left like that, and flee? Before Tempest Hill? Without paying....? Ridiculous. Can’t happen. Doesn’t exist. Never, never! Never....!!”
Grrrr—
Crunch! Grind grind!
Furrowed brow twisting. Robe flapping anew.
Even Borca nearby turned, startled, at the eerie teeth-grinding.
The mage wasn’t fidgeting from worry.
Wanted to fly and smash now, but couldn’t risk the dying mage.
Seeing the berserker return from one offhand remark, the Professor smiled quietly.
‘Uncontrollable allies? Don’t control. Treat as battlefield element, environment.’
Chamber Maid nest as target? They’re the locomotive barreling over it. Unsteerable, impulse-driven runaway train. View as neutral third force—not ally, not enemy—clarifies his role.
‘Create environment for third force to pulverize enemy.’
Direct combat support tough. Monster form? Instant terrorist reveal.
Lucky, anti-Mute combat: many ways to influence sans fighting.
Pulling his group from igniting mages, the Professor whispered.
“We slip out first. Lucilla, you stay. Got separate work.”
“M-Me, here?”
“Yeah. Rest, depart now. Mages aren’t total idiots—wait for scouts to gather before moving. We beat them to the nest. Borca, location memorized?”
“Of course. Crystal clear.”
“Good. Move. No engaging, period. Mages finish. We set up for their finish. Confirm?”
“....Confirmed.”
“Go. Idrasil and Borca first. Ottman and Aldrich, piggyback as usual.”
Crack!
Whoooosh—
Chilling winds from enraged mages wailed over Tempest Hill. Rock canyon shadows silently swallowed the six.
****
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