Moroz Magic Tower (2)
“Berga-nim. What do you mean… I just can’t understand…”
“If you can’t understand, then watch. Your anxiety won’t last long.”
I lightly descended from the ramparts. It felt strangely like ages since I’d last jumped down from a wall. Was the last time at Gratia? I’d struggled plenty back then searching for Grimhaul. Bigger targets were actually easier to spot, at least. Their necks were huge too.
Putting ifrits aside as exceptions.
Exactly like those golems over there.
The golems, now visible from afar in a silvery gray close to silver, looked like they were plastered with crystals. Anyone could tell at a glance they’d reflect something. The good news was they still had distinct heads and torsos. At least I could pinpoint the neck.
Time to get started.
My body and mind felt light. No urgency, no impatience, no desperation. I had that much leeway and experience stacked up, and above all, I could tell just from a few words exchanged. The sure reason they’d summoned me was none other than this battlefield.
On a battlefield built on rationality, pieces shine sharpest the more pointed they are. In short, awls pierce, blades slice, shields block—that’s all they’re for. Rationality is always like that.
And I was a top-ten mercenary certified by the Administration Bureau, the sharpest awl around. It was like winning rock-paper-scissors before it even started. I’d met a commander who knew to use an awl for piercing, not slashing or tearing.
A soldier, a mage, and in Jeong Ji-hoon’s hometown terms, a grad student—Boris pondered from the watchtower.
His revered Tower Lord, but this was a choice he truly couldn’t comprehend. An assassin gripping daggers against two hundred metal giants?
After just a few words, he’d felt an odd friendliness, which only made his heart ache more. If they lost, the assassin would die a dog’s death first, of course. Though Boris himself would naturally end up as golem pulp too.
He’d only said “just watch” before dashing out from the watchtower. There’d been something else tacked on, but Boris hadn’t caught it properly.
Boris regretted it. If it was a last will, he should’ve faced him straight and listened straight. He might’ve been the last person the man ever talked to.
And if he lost to the golems, Boris would be in the same boat.
As that thought crossed his mind, a sharp clash of metal rang out from far across the battlefield. It was unfamiliar to him. He’d come to the Magic Tower on pure magic talent and gotten dragged into this wave amid research. He’d only ever heard metal clanging in the lab.
But now.
Boris squinted hard at the distant scene. A far-sight spell would’ve been nice, but that wasn’t his specialty. Luckily, Moroz’s snow-covered climate meant no dust or sandstorms to obscure the view. He could properly witness the mercenary’s final moments…
Boris dropped his stubby wand—the one he’d never let slip from his right hand in his life—right onto the floor.
It clattered, rolled into the watchtower corner, but he didn’t even think to pick it up.
About half cleared. Still smooth sailing.
The First Kiss Addict’s critical hits had landed with maximum multipliers, dealing massive damage to the wave right off the bat. After that, I’d used the golem wreckage for repeated stealth attacks and strikes. Real critical hits that always dropped at least one golem per blow.
The guerrilla assaults—not pitched battles—had thrown their command structure into chaos, effectively delaying the wave big time. Lusanya must’ve hired me anticipating this much.
What followed would be tedious repetition. By now, everyone in Moroz was probably sighing in relief, thinking the wave would fizzle out like this.
But that wouldn’t do. I had to make Lusanya beg for this liege’s blood. Make her crave it to the point of madness before she’d inject mana into my body, right?
Absolutely not some pity for Boris or shared sympathy for the Magic Tower’s plight. Emotions in deals are poison. This was pure self-PR.
I carved a deep gash into my left arm. It hurt. Hurt enough that blood gushed out in rivers. The pristine snow around me stained red.
I’d thought about it catching the ifrit. I’d coated my blade in world tree sap and cleaved the flames. What if it’d been a fierce water magic wave instead of world tree sap?
In Karnart’s desert, were wind cutters and sandstorms magic damage or physical? Where did magic damage end and physical begin?
I was the test subject for this hypothesis, and Moroz was the lab.
The blood pool writhed like a serpent at my command. It savagely shattered a Reflector Golem corpse, swallowing the sharp octahedral shards.
And then.
It became a massive vortex. Golem chunks instead of sand grains. Blood instead of wind.
Reflect this, if you can.
Wave 45 Cleared!
Summoned Unit ‘Slayer Berga’ Contribution Rated Highest Grade!
Excess Contribution Available for Claim! (Excess contribution affects grade recalculation.)
Done.
A satisfaction I hadn’t felt in ages. Like recapturing a bit of that old thrill from when I first encountered this world as a game.
As I entered the gates, someone came running up with a flushed face. Boris. No way it’d be Lusanya.
“Incredible…! Truly amazing, sir!”
“Feeling like the Tower Lord’s choice was right?”
“Ah… haha… well.”
From Boris trailing off, I could tell.
“My choices are mostly right. This time too.”
Damn. Sorry, Boris. Be glad it’s not some Dmitri guy.
“I-I’ll head back first!”
He read my look and hurried off. At least with that intuition, he’d suffer but not get chewed out.
Anyway.
“Satisfied with the demonstration?”
“…It turned out just as you said.”
An unexpected response. I’d figured a simple yes.
“Forgot already?”
Lusanya spoke to me first for the first time since her “welcome.”
“What… oh. Rest up, right.”
“Yes. Exceeded expectations, Berga-nim.”
Her face remained expressionless, but reading between the lines was easy. Her address had shifted from “you” to “Berga-nim.”
“Satisfied with the other gift too?”
“What… yes. Thank you.”
As expected. She got it instantly.
The mixer demo with liege’s blood had shown my blood’s utility, but it was also a counter to magic-nullifying monsters. A Tower Lord would’ve adapted it somehow for future waves.
“Hoo… I lose. With this much favor, I have to deliver. But I’ll take that promised blood as payment.”
Lusanya sighed like she had no choice, but I vaguely guessed the calculation behind it.
So that’s how it was.
Stay longer in the summoned battlefield?
(Caution) Charged per hour stayed in Cron.
Damn. Of all times.
I’d figured it was about time to head back, but.
The pristine snowfield swiftly tainted with another white.
“Lusanya, one question. Urgent. How long does the mana injection procedure take?”
“Not precise, but if you mean the Artificial Circle Opening Procedure… at least 18 hours.”
That long? No helping it. The math checked out.
Additional Stay Fee (3 hours): 150 Cron
Additional Stay Fee (1 Day): 1,000 Cron
First time biting the bullet like this. I selected 1-day stay without hesitation.
“The Artificial Circle Opening Procedure divides into three main stages.”
I was in the Tower Lord’s lab now. Unlike her prim speech, it was a mess of clutter. So very researcher-like. This chaos gave me a twinge of nostalgia…
“Focus. Time is short.”
Scratch that. Even more familiar.
“Got it. Three stages. Listening.”
“Yes. First, forcibly open mana pathways for those not born with them.”
“How?”
“Literally, forcibly. Mix high-purity liquid mana into the blood.”
“…Normal humans would die.”
“You gain pathways as wide as you can endure.”
“Understood.”
“…Endure as much as the pain of a mage-less life.”
Lusanya’s face twisted subtly bitter. I didn’t know a mage’s—or this world’s—circumstances, but I could faintly guess why she’d built a tower in this harsh land.
“Second, carve the circle.”
“Method.”
“Similar. Physically carve it. Open the chest, remove a couple ribs, engrave magical script into the heart.”
What? Sudden open-heart surgery? That barbaric? And people survive that…?