Chapter 64: The Weakest Wizard Class
Chapter 64: The Weakest Wizard Class
Future aspirations. Personal history. Preferred build.
Almost every piece of information about Bartimir was inside my head.
After all, I had personally nurtured him with great effort and even immersed myself deeply in his story while raising him.
“A future plan? Even if you’re the expedition leader, why should I follow that? I know far more about black magic than you do.”
“That is correct. For the sake of mutual trust, I will first prove my ability. Ask me anything. I can answer it all—even secret matters that only Sir Bartimir knows.”
“Really?”
The kind-looking demon black mage thought for a moment before speaking.
“Then… what color are my underwear?”
“Black.”
Asking about underwear right away—what a refined, high-level question for the very first exchange.
“To be fair, mine happens to be the same color.”
Crackle.
The Exalted One suddenly sent down advice that gold underwear would suit my hair and eyes better.
“What’s my hobby?”
“Looking at the curses sealed in the Devourer Mage Tower of the Dark Magic School and imagining what would happen if you absorbed them into your body. If you do it during the day, senior mages scold you, so you sneak in at night to observe them.”
Wriggle.
This time Leria intervened, sending a giggling intention through the snake tattoo.
It seemed Bartimir’s hobby of observing curses in darkness pleased the deity greatly.
“You even know it in that much detail….”
The demon lifted the corner of his mouth slightly and asked again.
“Then tell me—what disease do I most want to contract?”
“Flow Condensation Syndrome. A disease where the energy within the body stops flowing and clumps together. For mages, whose power relies on the free movement of magical energy, it is particularly fatal.”
Looking into the demon’s characteristic reverse-colored eyes, I continued.
“However, if combined with a certain curse, Flow Condensation Syndrome can actually become a powerful weapon.”
“You even know the optimal combination?”
I could feel Bartimir’s trust toward me skyrocketing vertically.
Time to drive the final nail in.
“If you contract that disease, it will certainly be extremely painful. Yet you still desire it. Pain is merely a means to reach a higher position, so it cannot be avoided simply because it hurts. That’s what you believe, isn’t it?”
“…You even guessed my psychology? That’s seriously impressive.”
Bartimir clicked his tongue in astonishment.
“Your evil god must really know everything.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not entirely true. To be precise, the phrase ‘knows everything’ should be preceded by ‘except what they don’t know.’ It’s a kind of propaganda phrase that cleverly conceals somewhat disappointing authority.”
《>:(》
“Still, doesn’t this prove that my head contains a surprisingly diverse amount of knowledge?”
“That much I have to admit. If you help me, maybe I can really achieve my dream….”
“Of course.”
The Sage Council of the Devourer Mage Tower.
A group of irreverent armchair researchers who regarded the magnificent labyrinth merely as a mysterious fountain endlessly producing materials they could sell.
The reason it was difficult to find wizards from Pletika in low-rank labyrinths was precisely because of this council.
Public opinion they led claimed that only labyrinths of C-Rank or higher were worth spending time exploring.
Because of that, a wizard like Bartimir—who was positive about expedition activity—was considered an oddity.
“There should be more field-oriented mages like Sir Bartimir. Only then can we break this atmosphere of calculating nothing but immediate gains.”
“Among apprentices or ordinary-ranked mages, no one enters labyrinths like I do. At best, a few senior mages do.”
The Devourer Mage Tower could truly be called barren land for exploration.
That was exactly why I intended to actively help Bartimir achieve his dream.
How could a district-governing faction in a labyrinth city like Pletika have no interest in exploration?
“Sir Bartimir, just trust me.”
I could guarantee it.
“I will wholeheartedly help you raise your position within the Mage Tower.”
It wasn’t impossible.
After all, I had accomplished it once before.
“I’m not sure it’ll work out as easily as you say, but I like the confidence….”
While looking at the expectation in the kind demon’s eyes, the rooftop door suddenly burst open.
“Excuse me.”
The maid Charlotte approached carrying a tray in one hand, her face slightly flushed as if she had been drinking again.
“Please talk while eating. For Sir Kar, I mixed fatigue recovery potion into spirit water. And for Sir Bartimir, here’s coffee mixed with negative emotions prepared by an alchemist!”
“Thank you.”
“Thanks.”
After Charlotte waved lightly and left,
I drank the refreshing beverage through a straw for a moment before continuing.
“To become a sage of a school, three requirements must be met. Your Soul Rank must be at least Level 7, and you must have research achievements recognized by a majority of attendees at the regular Devourer Symposium.”
Those two could be solved with time.
But the final one could not.
“Additionally, you must engage in a magical duel with a sage of another school and receive a good evaluation.”
Bartimir, drinking coffee cautiously while lying with his chin propped on his hand, frowned.
“Even if they’re glasses-wearing researchers stuck in laboratories, sages are mostly mages with over twenty years of experience. Winning a magical duel against them won’t be easy.”
“I agree.”
The sages—leaders of their respective schools—were monsters fully armed with powerful Mysteries and artifacts.
Compared to the current Bartimir, the difference was like that between the King of the Dead and a Fire Ant.
Some of them even belonged to the Twelve Heroes, so their personalities might vary, but their ability was undeniable.
“But do you know something?”
I spoke words that would make any ordinary mage scream in outrage—yet were undeniably true.
“Most of the current sages have terrible Mystery configurations.”
In other words, their builds were trash.
At my bold remark, Bartimir widened his eyes while sipping coffee.
He looked like a new employee hearing an unbelievably outdated and humiliating joke from Manager Choi the Evil Spirit.
《The Wise One is clapping at your refreshing statement!》
Slowly sitting up cross-legged, the demon smiled faintly.
“Interesting. You must have evidence for that claim.”
“I never speak nonsense or idle talk.”
“That actually lowers your credibility….”
Bartimir tapped his fingers on his knee.
“Sages spend their entire lives researching magic after entering the Mage Tower. Yet their builds are a mess?”
“Hmm. If I revise it to say ‘they contain extremely subtle and minor errors,’ would that be easier to accept?”
“A little?”
“In truth, it’s not a difficult issue.”
Theory and practice were different.
Applying knowledge learned in a study to real situations required countless trials and errors.
That was how the shared weakness among most sages—tiny flaws in their Mystery configurations—was created.
“Wouldn’t it be stranger if a magical combination created entirely in a laboratory without exploration experience were perfect?”
“That’s true.”
“Any Mystery configuration that has not undergone real-world testing inevitably contains flaws.”
“I see. I understand that.”
After gulping down his coffee, Bartimir looked directly at me.
“So you’re saying that if we exploit weaknesses in their Mystery configurations, fulfilling the requirements to become a sage isn’t that difficult?”
“You understood perfectly.”
“It sounds absurd, but when you say it, it somehow feels convincing.”
“That’s because I’m an extremely charming half-elf.”
“Sure you are.”
The demon snorted and lay back down, crossing his legs in a way that was terrible for his back.
I quietly drank Charlotte’s oddly addictive beverage before speaking again.
“First, Sir Bartimir must focus on growth. Your Soul Rank must reach at least Level 7.”
“I’ve been exploring labyrinths for that reason. That’s also why I accepted the offer to join the expedition.”
“You’re already doing well, but I can optimize your growth direction further. Would you like to entrust it to me? If you dislike it after hearing it, you may reject it.”
The demon black mage stared blankly at the sky before replying while wiggling his toes.
“Go ahead.”
“Thank you for trusting me.”
I rubbed my hands together with a deliberately sinister expression.
“What are you doing?”
“You accepted too easily, so I tried acting like a cultist to remind you not to trust people blindly.”
“Don’t do that. It looks genuinely creepy….”
“Yes.”
After nodding politely, I began a customized build consultation possible only for Bartimir.
“Sir Bartimir, you were forced to learn black magic Mysteries by the Black Mage Guild, correct?”
The law-abiding demon smiled bitterly.
“…Nothing is secret from you. That’s right.”
“Did the guild member who taught you at that time say anything about the future of black mages?”
Lying down with my hands behind my head as a pillow, I asked.
Bartimir answered without hesitation.
“They did. Every time they saw me they laughed mockingly. Said that the moment the Black Mage class engraves itself onto your soul, you’re already a doomed explorer.”
Black Mage.
Without question, the weakest wizard class.
“Black magic Mysteries manipulate the power of the demon realm. Since demons are originally inhabitants of that realm, the combination is excellent because they suffer fewer side effects.”
“That’s correct.”
“But the demon realm collapsed completely after the Great Holy War. So the synergy isn’t actually that great.”
Just how weak was it?
If they fought a cultist, they would barely win after a desperate battle.
Roughly comparable to the Thief, the second weakest class from the bottom.
That was exactly why I decided to raise Black Mage Bartimir.
He’s the only wizard with a conscience.
Like cultists, black mages were a tragic class—weak by design and rarely buffed.
To overcome such a bleak reality, bold measures were required to break prejudice and fixed ideas.
I had spent several days designing a demon black mage build with the mindset of an artist creating a masterpiece.
“Calamity Collector.”
When I quietly introduced the name, Bartimir blinked blankly.
“I gave a name to your growth method.”
If Marlin heard it, she would probably scold me for joking around.
But Bartimir’s reaction was the opposite.
His eyes shone.
“Right now you carry the disease Petrifying Body, which slowly turns the body to stone, and Gnawing Disease, which causes constant pain as if your muscles are being eaten away.”
Diseases were not Bartimir’s enemies.
They were mischievous friends.
“As for curses, you possess Ugly One!, which gradually erodes your outward charm; Treacherous Companion, which strengthens and preserves all diseases; and Sneer of the Atheist, which prevents communication with divinity or becoming a believer.”
Curses were the same.
Bartimir had formed close relationships with curses that ordinary explorers feared.
“Excellent. Continue exactly as you have been.”
Diseases.
Curses.
And other negative status abnormalities—calamities of body and mind.
A black mage who collected them.
That was the foundation of the Calamity Collector Build.