Chapter 228
Chapter 228
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 228
Chapter Title: Letters to Windmage (21)
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The Professor involuntarily turned his head at the old mage's words.
Over there, Astrad was carefully loading the corpses one by one onto stretchers and sending them floating into the sky. With the saintess's soul secured, these were the next best rewards this region could offer: an insanely talented comrade and a human compound interest account.
But why? Why our promising talent!
The Professor had been mulling over what to teach the guy first if he recruited him right away—maybe start with special forces-style physical training since he looked so frail. This news hit like a bolt from the blue.
'No way... is there still some character backstory I haven't uncovered?'
"Without him... we'll all starve to death..."
"You sick—"
"Hmm?"
"Oh, no. Nothing."
"Yeah... we'll all dry up and die... The Home is rotting away, and if Astrad, who's shouldering one whole pillar, leaves... the Home will gradually weaken... become unstable... and we'll lose our home..."
Ah. So that's what he meant.
It was the story of those piling-up undelivered letters he'd heard in Astrad's secluded room. The malignant inventory that only consumed mana kept growing, but the grand mage's magic blocked any way to dispose of it.
"No way around it at all?"
"No."
"Absolutely no way?"
"Nope."
"You're planning to lock up a wind mage?"
"I can't do that... but at least that child's wind is still circling the Home. I can see it. Until that wind leads Astrad out... he'll stay in the Home."
No matter how many times he asked, the old mage's eyes were resolute: no.
Damn. This was it.
'A character where, in the overall story flow, recruitment is impossible at this point.'
That lightning-crackling, bearded old grandpa seemed like a faction NPC representing Felix Home—a character standing for an entire camp or force.
When such an NPC sees the player's recruitment attempt and says "Not this one," it means you've already missed a branch point, making recruitment impossible.
The branch point was obvious without checking. Ignite Astrad's rage to turn him into a war mage, and he'd go beyond Storm Hill. Otherwise, he'd stay and research to repair the Home.
Sure, presenting a solution beforehand or smashing the Home's pillars with his own hands might have changed the outcome. But in his world now, "Astrad, transfer impossible" was firmly stamped.
'Either drive the kid mad and use him right away, or leave him as the good Astrad here.'
It sucked, but he gave up cleanly. What they'd gained here already far exceeded the goal anyway. If he had to choose one, he'd pick leaving this guy here a hundred times out of a hundred.
"...If that's his wind's wish."
"Gooood... thank you... That face blooming like that, instead of full of sorrow when taking the first patient... must be thanks to you..."
"Yeah, well. The kid looked kinda depressed."
"Oooom. Astrad... is a child born on a good wind... rising on the right wind at the right time..."
The old mage looked up at him quietly with small eyes buried in wrinkled lids. He said something to another mage behind him, then rummaged through his robe with trembling hands.
"There's... something I should give you..."
"Oh."
Faction NPC confirmed. Even handing out main quest completion rewards.
Whoosh!
The old mage tossed him two boxes from his bosom.
Click.
From the small, ornate box came a vial the size of his thumb. Something magical sealed the bottle, inside which something spun viciously, splattering water droplets on the glass walls.
"One is... a bottle containing a storm... A now-dead mage... persuaded a storm he met while wandering and bottled it... It promised to let you unleash its fiercest fury, so shatter it against an overwhelmingly powerful foe, and it'll lend you the storm's power..."
"Oh."
Nice. A consumable AoE magic tool. Unlike scrolls, items with unique names like this were quite rare. Only usable once, so he'd find out the power when he used it, but it wouldn't disappoint.
Good good. Very satisfied with the small one.
"And this...?"
"Open it yourself."
The larger one was a long box half his forearm's length. Covered in heavy magical seals, just the right size for...
'A magic tool! Perfect wand size! Hya, this is really rare! Even if it just has Wind Walk, I could turn at right angles mid-leap without speed loss!'
GG had few equipment items to begin with, but he'd had especially bad luck with them.
The handcuffs from the church didn't fit during serious fights, and the same issue made his holy relic knuckles unusable. For him, tools that activated extra performance when held were essential over regular gear, and here it was, served up on a platter. Time to get to work.
'Please be a wand, three spells, no two even! Since it's from Lightning Grandpa, ideally one wind attribute, one lightning—slick combo...'
Click!
"Hm?"
Er... it was bigger than expected. Even generously, not wand-sized. Seals plastered like a case, fresh ones too—not an ancient relic.
What the hell was this? The moment he touched it in confusion.
Shrrrip!
Snap!
"W-What?!"
The instant his hand touched it, the thing inside tore through the seal and grabbed him.
Crude, broken, creaking, covered in grimy stains... but that white etched indelibly in his mind.
Edeorna's severed arm. The "gift" from the old mage was Edeorna's arm.
"What the..."
"I knew it was you. Ooom... Almost got fooled."
"N-No, this is..."
Crack!
As he tried to make excuses, his body—dried up after using all the stored blood from the Edeorna fight—instinctively reacted to the thick mutant blood and mutated slightly. Especially where the arm gripped: undeniably changed.
Smack!
He hurriedly slapped away the white hand, reverting to normal, but everyone had already seen.
"It was you... You... You smashed the Home like that, let those monsters do it, fooled us all..."
Crackle, crackle-crackle—!
Muttering lowly, the old mage sparked small from his fluttering robe. Radiating terrifying presence, he picked up Edeorna's hand...
'Oh, here it comes!'
...Whoosh!
And tossed it to the Professor, just like the first boxes.
"...Hm?"
"Ooom... I gave it as a gift... but you throw it away like this, this old man... gets hurt..."
"Yes?"
Er... not killing him?
Caught off-guard by the sudden turn, he hadn't thought of countermeasures.
Flee?
Not after investing days here—running now meant no elf forest ticket. Escape on hold unless hit hard enough to cripple movement.
Fight?
He'd... win? No Felix Home support this time, and the old man was close enough to touch. Might win if lucky. But beating these elders would spike infamy beyond tolerance—on the Professor's name, famous as saint or hero, not red mutant. Fighting out too.
Neither viable, so he'd have to take hits passively till the opponent stopped. But no attack came. No lightning bolt—instead, a deeply hurt face, trembling over the tossed gift.
"You're... not doing anything?"
"What? Doing what...?"
"Uh... I am the red mutant, true... but I should've confessed myself. There's a very deep, complicated situation here..."
"Ah, the red one, gotta punish him. Gaaargh, you shattered part of great Felix's legacy! Not enough even if struck by tooth-melting lightning for a hundred days!!—EeEEE."
The old man flashed his eyes briefly, then hobbled over leaning on his staff and brushed dust off the Professor's arm.
Pat pat.
"You worked hard too, fought well... I'll let it slide once."
"Let... it slide? Without even asking why?"
"Already feel like it. No need... to know why...? Me, everyone feels the same? Seems they like you. We've watched Astrad since he was a kid. So go now, strange guest."
With that, the old mage turned sharply as if done, walking his own path.
He'd dragged him in seriously, packed a hearing on "Is the guest a red mutant?" to shrink his guts, but when confirmed: "Oh well. Wanna let it slide now. Bye."
"Just... wanna let it slide?"
Er... there must be a reason.
His devoted combat showing, psychological factors, etc.
"Feels like their brains are stuffed full of peripheral nerves instead."
Ultimately, they just felt like letting it slide.
Absurdly impulsive livers.
"Ah, so this is the reward for leaving Astrad."
Make the kid a vengeful maniac for recruitment: gain potent wind mage ally.
Leave as Felix Home repairman: consumable magic tools and... er... one Edeorna arm.
Classic RPG quest splitting rewards by branch.
Strength drained, the Professor resealed Edeorna's right arm in the box and sprawled out.
Anyway, now it was truly over.
Rewards claimed, enemies repelled, nagging loose ends tied up somehow.
"Hey! Guest! Patients all loaded! Get on if not walking!"
Up there: Astrad's voice and waving hand, Notum; Aldrich and Ottoman desperately pointing at the dusty holy relic from a tent-like thing.
Some injured, some dead, but Storm Hill wrapped without a single aftermath.
"...Want a calorie bar."
Hearing his sudden stomach growl, the Professor boarded the drifting sky cloth.
Must be 'cause they were heading home. He'd fought till his late parents loomed before his eyes again, so he wanted rest.
****
Ydrasil. Elf. 70 years old, about 14 in human terms.
Like most long-lived races, elves mature physically fast to peak, then mentally slowly, so Ydrasil knew only what her grandmother and village elves taught: surviving Blue Line's harshness, etc.
Such a pure blank slate, Ydrasil obeyed the Professor—her mother had delegated full authority—like gospel.
Her role in this op was similar.
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'Intermediate water spirit... Honestly, not sure how to use it. Overlaps Ottoman's position, and pulling it out...'
*Gulp, glug—Kuh! I, I might struggle... That beauty doesn't fade no matter how used to it...*
'...Ottoman turns idiot. Anyway, test your abilities properly later. This time, just remote support and scouting. Got your role?'
'Yes. Wait at designated spot, report if mages spotted. If battle, remote attack from safe spot.'
'...So reliable. Your speech feels like old squadmates. Love it.'
'Learning feminine speech from Miss Lucilla, but doesn't stick without constant hearing. Elves don't change easily.'
'Know. Not complaining, just your obedient tone hits right.'
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"...Party leader Professor... prefers curt, unfeminine replies."
Scratch scratch!
Priority: mother's orders. Learn human ways from human Professor.
So post-mages' pass, she monitored and recorded the human Professor's every move real-time via spirit's eyes. Elves had great memory, but permanent records beat fallible recall if unaltered. Carnean's kin never half-assed.
First nest passed uneventfully. Second too.
At third nest, a chill prickled every pore; she bolted up.
"...Enemy. Extremely dangerous enemy."
Do: observe/report mages. Done. Next: if enemy appears...
'Support from safe position.'
She did. Amid valley-shaking mana waves, nearest safe spot.
Fled to Felix Home, planned arrows from there to Professor's location.
Till battle end, dawn.
"Ow! Ydrasil! We can just sit like this?! Explosions echoing here!"
"Party leader Professor's request... Request. Support from safe spot. I handle strong spirits, but physical defense weak. For 'safe,' minimum distance from mana AoE or blockable spot—like current Felix Home..."
"Uwaaa! Annoying! Idiot! Wall-hanger! Weird elf!"
"...One error. My intellect average or better. Skin pale, not human-world savvy—so weird elf yes."
"Waaah! Uwaa! Uwaaa!"
Ydrasil eyed shrieking Lucilla, pulled her notes.
[Lucilla Aedran]
16. Noble lady. Proactive. Bright, publicly cute looks.
Calculating. Hates losses extremely.
Self-assesses hates 'no fun' people. Meaning investigating.
Knows gold/silver coins well.
.
.
.
.
'Hm...'
Scratch scratch
+ Lists facts upfront: screams.
+ Unlike human Professor, hates her speech intensely.
"...Hehe."
Pleased at new knowledge, Ydrasil pocketed notebook.
Meanwhile, busy Lucilla chatted with gatekeeper, donned complex morning-prepped outfit, dawn-organized gloves/accessories.
"Ydrasil, how do I look?"
"Equipped many complex attachments."
"No, ughhh! Pretty?! Wait. Any irregular dress wrinkles, dust, uncovered face blemishes?!"
"Left calf below. Pattern disrupted."
"Good! Hero gets used to it, meant this...! Eyes lively?"
"Age-appropriate human female vitality. Yes."
"Thanks! Remember questions! For 'pretty?', follow this process!"
"Ah, thanks, Lucilla. But where, dressing 'pretty'?"
"Where else! Dawn chaos, but party's not sitting out! Unlike some elf who fled at battle start!"
"My name Ydrasil. Not 'some.'"
"Gaaah!"
Lucilla nearly screamed again, calmed thinking of upcoming people.
'Noble lady mindset, noble lady mindset. Mind is water, body mirror holding it. Frowns/angry voices disrupt mind, disrupted mind ruins poise. Hoo! Calm, Lucilla. Pretty. Graceful! Sudden fame, but legendary lady-like!'
Professor's request: useless in combat, so handle elf trade goods loss calculation/negotiation for party's spots.
Lucilla overinterpreted his "Do what you're good at here."
'My strengths. Human relations. Profit/loss calc. Storm Hill—anyone in Empire contactable by name—with my suuuper special fame...!'
Merchant Lucilla knew all Empire power nobles, influencers, money-makers.
Her [Teldrat suitor] fame, already spread, pierced picky noble stewards to nobles.
Plus Ydrasil's testimony of "region-wide danger battle," party in peril: she started mass-writing letters.
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To dear Marquis Duval head,
Lucilla Aedran.
Forgive first-contact discourtesy. Dire situation forced rude letter.
Empire in danger.
Great mage Felix Drixiel—Emperor's friend/royal knight—tomb, Storm Hill, under enemy attack.
Felix Home half-destroyed prior raid; all mages/warriors in fierce battle...
Aid quick lest ancient Empire site, mages, hero party vanish like wind in noble sacrifice...
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To dear Jewelry Shall merchant lord.
Forgive first...
Aid...
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To dear border bishop XXX.
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To dear, dear, dear...
Lucilla dash-wrote minimal-etiquette letters amid dawn battle noise, woke sole Home gatekeeper old man for fastest dispatch method, dumped armful into outgoing mail chute.
'...Only traders with branches nearby, nobles within day—few come. Requested combat aid; nearby see valley battle scale. Please, summoned reinforcements not late...!'
Didn't expect haughty nobles to move. Just did her best per request. Probably just mercenaries owing favors, holy knights rushing for saint's crisis.
Guided by gatekeeper to Home entrance, Lucilla...
Purr, purr!
Clank clank clank clank!
"...Hic, heek?!"
Choked at iron wave filling view. Trailing Ydrasil awed at elite knight feast.
"You were right, Lucilla. I should've tried harder."
"N-No... I didn't call this many..."
Lucilla's oversight.
Sent letters 'simultaneously' to multiple nobles. Not casual—Empire under attack terror.
Recipients flipped; confirming neighbors got same, raced to domain shrines for holy comms.
To where?
First to know Empire attacked.
Imperial Palace.
Clank. Clank. Clank. Halt!
Frozen at absurd scale, trembling Lucilla: tall knight dismounted, knelt before her.
"Heard your call for aid, Lady Lucilla."
"Th-Tha...nks.... Who might you be from..."
"We thank you. Indeed, aura vast enough for Empire raid. Aslan sword house knight order. Joining immediately."
"S-Sword house... that duke's?"
"Knew no direct request to sword house, but imperial aid order came. Excluding Empire rock zone guards, most spare forces on Storm Hill security diverted here."
"H-Hic! Hiccup!"
Lucilla watched guestbook slip hands, weave knight orders with colorful house banners. That: elite seed knight order for heirs only. That: Sword Duke Aslan banner. Duval marquis, Santalia duke, and...
"Im-Imperial flag... imperial house banner! Eek!"
"Greetings later. Can't leave front empty."
"Ah... yes..."
"Soon, palace invites to thank foreign noble's devotion to Empire safety. Note it."
"Palace...?"
"Letter coming. Now, onward!"
Picture-book knight: reared horse stylishly, led others down valley.
Underestimated Empire's letter/holy magic info net; Lucilla, stunned, eyed last knight's dropped guestbook.
'Dazzling.'
Opulent visitor list. All battle-hungry knights sans regional reps swarmed.
Overwhelming power: one word mobilized border lords instantly. Spare elites only, yet this number/quality.
"This... is the Empire."
Legs gave; Lucilla collapsed.
Dawn just past, sun rising.
Around when Professor finished mages, thought "Truly done, home for rest~" .
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