The White Magician (7)
“I’ll guide you. Please come this way.”
“Thank you.”
Once again it was a man wearing glasses. His clothes were the same robe as before. As expected, robes really were the suits and padded jackets of this other world. An outfit that was insanely comfortable yet perfectly acceptable at formal events? It was flawless.
The magician walking ahead spoke. “You mentioned it was Erin’s magic, but our guild has no specialists in that field. Therefore a 7th-star alchemist from the Magnus School, who is well-versed in history, has volunteered to assist.”
“That is an honor.”
Fuck. A 7th-star is basically PhD level, isn’t it? A magician who has worked in the guild for at least ten years. I only tossed the topic out there—why did someone of that caliber come running?
Even while answering in my vector-solemn tone, I couldn’t hide my inner surprise.
“Here we are. He is waiting inside.” The guide stopped in front of a certain building. “Then I’ll take my leave.”
“You’ve worked hard.”
After sending the guide away I adjusted the collar of my costume. The outfit revealed none of my bare skin, but there was no such thing as being too careful. My skin color alone made me stand out like a beacon.
Creeeeak—.
When I opened the door and stepped inside, the room felt like a principal’s office. An old man with glasses sat waiting for me. His slicked-back hair, suit, and brown vest gave him the faint air of a butler.
“You’ve arrived. I am Earthlate McRoyver.”
“I am Arthur Wayne.”
Since he was an elderly man of high status I used polite speech for our introductions. His impression was remarkably gentle.
“Please sit. I’ll have tea brought out.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I must decline. I am in no position to drink anything.”
I kept my solemn voice and tapped the mask. That alone should have conveyed that revealing my identity was difficult. Earthlate nodded in understanding and gestured to the sofa. We sat facing each other across a low table.
“Then… given your circumstances, starting with small talk would be difficult. Shall we proceed directly to the main topic?”
“I have no objection. I’m sorry for taking up your time, so let’s do that.”
“Thank you for your understanding. You are well-mannered.”
We exchanged the usual pleasantries, each applying a light coat of gold to the other’s face, then moved on to business. For reference, in Britannia calling someone by their surname was only done when acknowledging their authority and showing proper respect. Put negatively, it was a way of deliberately maintaining distance. Hadn’t someone once said that respect is the emotion farthest from understanding?
Similarly, addressing others by surname in Britannia carried almost no familiarity; instead it produced a nuance of respect.
“I was told you came today because of magic discovered in the ruins near this area… am I correct in assuming it is the ruins found by the adventurer guild Audumla?”
“Since you already know, this will go quickly.”
He must have caught wind of it. Anyone in the mage guild would be far more interested in newly discovered ruins or a dark magician’s old hideout than a mere goblin dungeon.
“I found ancient Ulster ogham script on a stone tablet there. Here is the original text along with my translation.”
I handed over the notebook page on which I had copied the inscription. Earthlate accepted it politely and began to read.
“Hmm… It appears to be writing left by the ancestors of those Elsh bastards. Is there some problem with it?”
“Pardon?”
Elsh? The word was a clear slur for the Ulster people—the local equivalent of slurs like “zipperhead,” “chink,” or “gook.” In usage it was closest to the Yankee version aimed at the Irish. To casually spit such a word at someone you were meeting for the first time was insanely rude and thoughtless. It was on the level of asking a stranger, “Isn’t rap part of Black culture?”
This fucker is a racist.
And not even the kind who knew how to hide his rotten opinions. No wonder he was still stuck at 7th-star even at his age; the man was simply an idiot. While others reached 5th-star in their fifties, the fact that he remained at 7th-star told the whole story. The 7th-star rank in the mage guild was fourth from the bottom. An old 7th-star magician was essentially a staff officer who could never earn another star—a permanent section chief. It meant there were problems with either his ability or his character. He had probably been caught taking bribes somewhere along the line.
I briefly wondered whether it was even worth asking advice from an idiot who might spout baseless nonsense, but decided I had nothing to lose.
“Ahem, you see… last time, while interpreting this phrase, I ended up pronouncing the wedge-shaped characters in the middle. Even though I wasn’t manipulating any mana, the short phrase alone caused the magic to activate on its own.”
“…You mean the incantation ‘Pray to the Sky God’?”
The racist bastard stroked his chin, fingers tapping the table.
“Could you give me the pronunciation? In the original language, please.”
“yáǵeswō deiwōm dyēus.”
I suppressed my mana so the spell would not trigger. Thanks to growing familiar with the mana catheter inside my body over the past few days, it was easy.
“Pray… I believe I’ve heard that at a seminar.” Earthlate pushed his glasses up. “It is a type of prayer passed down orally among the Elsh people. A few scholars have noted that the ancient civilization of Erin, from the golden age, left behind meaningless scriptures like this instead of great artifacts or ruins.”
“That is quite interesting.”
The man can’t go a single sentence without airing his racism. I’d better make sure he doesn’t notice my skin color. I have no desire to be chased out while being called a Kitai fake and pelted with salt.
“But what do you mean by ‘meaningless’?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. This magic is a shamanistic rite still orally transmitted in some Elsh tribes, yet chanting it a hundred times produces no effect whatsoever.”
Earthlate chanted the spell with relatively accurate pronunciation.
"Pray to the Sky God"
⟨ yáǵeswō deiwōm dyēus ⟩
The pronunciation was correct, yet—just like the monk Paragon—nothing happened to Earthlate’s body.
“…You see? Even when the spell is chanted and mana is manipulated, the magic does not activate. This proves it never took the form of proper magic in the first place.”
Earthlate laughed in a tone that openly looked down on Ulster people who were not even present.
“Isn’t it laughable? This is nothing more than a superstition believed by the ancestors of those Elsh savages. Their descendants must have realized their forefathers were fools and hurriedly stopped passing the rite down. The professor who held the seminar said he barely found traces of it among a remote tribe.”
“I see.”
I suddenly wanted to drag Semmus here. If that red-mohawked warrior had been present, the white racist and the red racist would have gone for each other’s throats.
Earthlate gave another unpleasant laugh and glanced at me.
“Therefore, even if you claim the magic activated, I find it difficult to believe. So I must ask—what exactly is this magic?”
“It is this kind of magic.”
Under his half-suspicious, half-mocking gaze I chanted the spell. I hadn’t wanted to use it, but the situation left me no choice.
KWAAAAAAAAAAH!!!
The green mana, unused for several days, surged with the violent joy of a friend you hadn’t seen for ten years. The power was almost as fierce as the first time it had activated. Fuck, it’s not like edging makes it stronger.
“What do you think?”
I coated my body in mana and leaned back against the sofa. Earthlate’s glasses slid down his nose.
“…H-how is this possible?”
I don’t know, you idiot. I came here to ask you that.
“J-just a moment. May I observe the mana?” Earthlate asked after fixing his glasses.
I didn’t understand the exact meaning but guessed it was like a doctor pressing a stethoscope to the chest and nodded. “Please do.”
“Excuse me. .”
A magical array appeared above his glasses as he scrutinized the mana coating wrapped around my body.
The racist old man stared intently. Hey asshole, stop staring so hard. It feels like a gay old man is undressing me with his eyes. I tried to keep my expression neutral but gave up. The mask hid everything anyway, so I freely frowned in disgust.
“…Remarkable. I will need to conduct proper research, but at first glance it appears to be a body-strengthening effect.” Earthlate dispelled the observation magic.
Only then did I relax my face and ask, “Among my acquaintances, I am the only one who can activate it. Do you have any guesses why?”
“…I see. From what I recall of Professor Hairomain’s seminar, it resembles the descriptions of ancient Ulster warriors passed down in their oral traditions…”
Earthlate stroked his chin, then gave me a sidelong glance. “Pardon me, Mr. Wayne, but did any of your ancestors happen to take an interest in that particular culture?”
This fucker is basically asking if one of my ancestors fucked an Ulster woman. The bastard claimed he didn’t know, so now he was digging into my ancestry.
I leaned back on the sofa and openly showed my irritation. “That is an unpleasant misunderstanding. I am unquestionably pure-blooded.”
It was one hundred percent true. I was a pure Korean. My mother and father were Korean to the bone. Their patriotism was so fierce that when they told me to buy ritual wine, I unknowingly brought Japanese sake and got beaten half to death while being starved for an entire day. Dad, how the hell is a thirteen-year-old supposed to tell different kinds of alcohol apart?
“My apologies. With such fluent Britannia pronunciation, it was rude of me to jump to conclusions.”
I had no idea what pronunciation had to do with bloodline, but Earthlate bowed his head in apology. For an old man without a conscience he still had a surprisingly thick head of hair. What was the god of baldness doing? Why hadn’t he taken this bastard’s hair?
“The mage guild has also researched this magic. Most scholars concluded that the formulas cannot form a proper magical structure. The fact that it activates anyway is extremely puzzling.”
Yeah, it’s extremely fucking puzzling, you asshole.
I released Beast Regression and clicked my tongue inwardly. In the end he was just admitting he had no clue.
Perhaps sensing my irritation, the racist old man tried to shift the mood. “Of course, now that we have an example contradicting previous conclusions, the topic is certainly worth researching. Still, I have a few doubts.”
“Such as?”
“Well… if the magic truly activated, what exactly is the problem?”
Earthlate looked genuinely confused. “Are you anxious because you don’t know its true nature? Or are you worried about side effects? Even if that is the case, you could simply stop using it. So why have you come to our guild?”
I took a deep breath. Finally. We’ve reached the main point.
Using every ounce of concentration, I spoke in my most vector-solemn tone. “The truth is… the side effects have already occurred.”
“…Pardon?”
The racist bastard’s eyes widened. He quickly scanned the costume that completely concealed my skin. “Don’t tell me that outfit isn’t meant to hide your identity but rather—”
“No, that isn’t it. If it were a symptom I could show, I would have shown it already. The conversation would have gone much faster.”
He seemed to think I had transformed into something like a Deep One from Cthulhu mythology. I immediately denied the horrifying—though not entirely impossible—idea.
“It is difficult to say, but… because of this magic’s side effect, I…”
I interlaced my fingers, maintaining an imposing air. With the intimidating costume and mask setting the mood, Earthlate swallowed hard. It was a good thing the bastard was a man. If he had been a female professor she probably would have blasted me with magic while screaming about sexual harassment.
In the heavy silence I delivered the final spoiler.
“My penis has grown larger.”
Insanely larger, at that.