Redecorating the Tower
The first thing I did when I got back was redecorate the tower. Dust bunnies rolled around everywhere, and spiderwebs fluttered in the breeze—it looked like a long-neglected ruin. With lectures about to start, I needed to tidy up this grim scene before then.
I started with the most urgent part: the tower's outer walls. Cleaning them was no easy task. The powerful mana flowing through the tower formed a mana field that suppressed surrounding magic, making it impossible to use spells for the job. It was so strong it even prevented flight nearby. Only someone of Professor Irian's caliber could push through it. So, I crafted puppets specialized for scaling the tower walls.
I drew inspiration from the spiderwebs plastered everywhere. Mimicking spider legs, I gave them eight limbs ending in sharp claws that gripped the tower as they moved. They wiped away the grime with rags and mops attached to their bodies. The dust wasn't from a day or two—it was rock-hard layers built up over years. The puppets worked meticulously, peeling away the filth layer by layer, cracking open the accumulated traces of time.
Once I'd carefully scrubbed the tower clean, I couldn't help but be stunned. I'd thought the tower was ash-gray all along. Turns out, that was just a crust of dust, spiderwebs, and weather stains. As the puppets diligently pushed and polished, it flaked off, revealing the tower's true face: walls of pure white that gleamed with a clear, milky softness.
"Right, this was the color. Forgot because I hadn't paid attention."
That was what Professor Irian said when she saw it. How do you even forget something like that? Still, she seemed quite pleased with the hue. The girl who never stepped a foot outside her room before now took occasional strolls.
It took a full week just to clean the exterior using a swarm of puppets. The tower was massive, and the dust walls were thicker than I'd anticipated. But it felt rewarding.
Next up? As I pondered, my eyes fell on the overgrown trees and bushes. Most mages fly everywhere and wouldn't care, but surely a neat look beats this eyesore. With that in mind, I straightened the broken, twisted paths around the tower. I leveled the ground and paved it with uniform stones. That should make it walkable for anyone.
Then I thought: why not clear it all and make a garden? Following the rough boundary of the magical beasts' territory I'd scouted before, I flattened the entire mountainside. Plenty of beasts lived up to mid-slope, but nothing dared approach the peak near the tower, making it feasible. Using simple growth magic, trees and flowers sprouted along the path. They eagerly drank in the mountain's potent mana, thriving vigorously. I guided them to absorb only the mountain's mana, so I barely needed my own.
The trees and leaves shimmered green with infused mana, and the flowers painted their petals in vibrant hues. Grown rapidly by magic, they had no value as materials, but aesthetically, they were stunning. I orchestrated the entire growth in a natural yet orderly flow, manipulating the spells with precision. The trees stood at regular intervals, casting shade over the stone path, while colorful flowers in between swayed like waves in the breeze.
I stood on the finished path and took a deep breath. The flowers' fragrance, the scent of trees, the earthy smell—all harmonized, infused with mana for an even subtler allure. Made quickly, but I was satisfied. Natural, beautiful, a tidy setup that would give visitors a quiet sense of contentment.
As I strolled through it, I spotted a mage flying toward the tower. He saw me and landed in the garden, clutching the turtle pinned to his chest.
"Hello. Are you Ebron, by chance?"
"Yes. What can I do for you?"
He pulled a letter from the small backpack on his back and handed it over.
"Mail from the Arcana General Merchant Association. If you're the recipient, please sign here with your mana."
He pointed to a thin iron-plated strip on the left side of the envelope.
Arcana Delivery Service
Recipient Verification: Mana Signature Required
Arcana General Merchant Association—must be confirmation on that trading spot I'd bought. Following his instructions, I signed over the plating with my mana. The thin iron absorbed it and crumbled.
"Adelin, at your service for swift, secure delivery. For any future needs, feel free to request me by name."
He bowed and shot back into the sky at incredible speed. I stared blankly at his receding figure. Insanely fast. In cultivation terms, he'd formed a Full Tree at least—a formidable mage. Named requests, huh? So that's how the city's upper crust handles commissions. Good to know.
I glanced at the letter in my hand. Amid all the tower work, I'd nearly forgotten—course registration was almost over. I tore it open and checked.
Two simple profiles were listed. I groaned the moment I saw them. One name was unfamiliar, but the other was all too familiar: Hongryeong.
Figures. I'd had a feeling we'd keep crossing paths. I scratched my head. On second thought, it made sense he'd snag the spot. The woman who'd sold it to me—Hwaryeong, was it?—screamed same family as him at first glance. Same magic style, same mana vibe. Of course she'd push her kin.
Even at the university, blood ties wielded massive influence. Other families and groups probably pulled the same strings. Unimaginable for a drifter like me. Well, I had Professor Irian. Sure, it meant tons of grunt work, but I'd made it to the university and got to live in the tower. A fateful opportunity, you could say. Though more suffering lay ahead, no doubt.
I tucked the letter away. Until Professor Irian called, I'd wait. She hated hassle, so she'd definitely rope me into sorting applicants. No need to rush.
Time to spruce up the tower more. Exterior was mostly done—now the interior. I'd cleaned before, but with no proper furniture, it was still mostly empty. Students mainly used floors 1 and 2, so focus there.
Not knowing the original layout anyway, I remodeled floor 1 to my tastes, fast. Left corridors and central hall alone, just added rest benches. Key was distinctive room designs. Floor 1 as lounge and meeting square meant making each room comfy for long stays.
Start with a central room. Windows first. I smashed the tiny originals and carved huge arched ones. Sunlight poured in, softly blanketing the floor and warming the chilly space. They lined the walls, flooding the room with light.
For the floor, I laid thick rugs from beast hides to cut the glare. Freshly made, the fur was stiff, but that made them absorb sunlight better. In the center: a massive round table. Mana lanterns on the ceiling twinkled like stars, emitting gentle mana.
One wall got a wide fireplace roaring with pure flames fueled solely by the tower's mana. It scattered potent mana, creating cozy currents. Still short on seating, so I hauled in big sofas everywhere, enchanted for ultimate comfort, with side tables for snacks.
That filled the rooms. Anyone entering would feel at ease. But all temporary—magic would fade, rushed furniture crumble. I frowned at the slapdash seams. No choice: materials, time, spells all subpar. This was a miracle already.
To mask flaws, I placed puppets around—hospitality models, minor copies of the butler puppets serving Professor Irian. They'd distract from awkward spots. Best I could do. This as base layout, but customized per room with fitting arrangements and flair.
Another week flew by finishing the rooms. Resting after floor 1, a soul drifted over and plopped on my shoulder. I glanced without thinking and nearly screamed. A grotesque, melted-taxidermy ghost perched there.
I flung it off in panic. Glaring at the wriggling thing on the floor, I recognized it: one that leaked from Professor Irian's doorbell. Meant she was calling.
I pinched it with my fingers and headed to the stairs. Pressed the topmost of ten buttons. Ascending took me straight to her room—a restored tower function. Super handy: button picks floor, no more heart attacks passing her treasure vault.
Professor Irian lounged on her bed, staring at a large floating mirror. I approached cautiously. It showed floor 6; she projected mana through it, etching magic circles everywhere.
"You called?"
"You're here. Check this out."
She ripped open a void, dumping papers like a waterfall. They piled higher than her bed before stopping, reaching my feet.
I picked one up. Unknown mage's name—applicant for her lectures.
"Someone magicked it over. Sort 'em yourself."
Yup, expected that. I eyed the towering stack. How many was that? Uncountable.
Smiling, I nodded. "Got it. Any preferred types?"
She pondered, then shook her head. Handle it my way.
I levitated the pile with mana and stuffed it into my space pouch. Took ages. How long to review all this?
"I'll select two hundred and send the list up."
"Fine."
I bowed and withdrew. She was mirror-focused, silent. Glimpsing the magic inside? Way beyond me. Poor students heading there. Including me.
Sigh escaped. Hit floor 2 button, descended. Floor 1 decent enough—now floor 2 before lectures.
In central hall, upended pouch on big table. Avalanche of papers. While stacking, ordered puppets to furnish like floor 1.
Actually, little for me here—Professor fixed the room magics, so just fitting furniture.
Puppets got to work. I watched briefly, then turned to the paper mountain. Still spilling out.
Right—pick two hundred. Gotta hustle.
Rolled up sleeves, scanned one by one. Name, enrollment year, current floor.
This one: Kasian. Lumina 7,453 enrollment—senior by a year. Already floor 2. Average five years from 1 to 2, so talented.
Hmm, set her aside.
Thus, methodically reviewed. Couldn't skim—this deluge was priceless intel. Thousands of points on the scoring market easy.
Names revealed identities. Patterns emerged: clusters of similar names, years, floors. Group or family apps, obviously. Reject those en masse. Needed balanced ratios.
Mobs from same clique could derail treasure hunt plans. Pick one per such group maybe.
Found plenty more. Also eyed enrollment recency (newer better), low floors. High-floor newbies? Aside. Like Kasian. Too gifted—might snatch treasures unexpectedly. Mark for watch.
Filtered down to two hundred. Two sleepless nights of agony. Half per my ideal: mediocre vets matching enrollment to floor, or short-timers stuck on 1. They'd despair in prof's traps for sure.
Wanted all like that, but too obvious. Mix in talents to camouflage, but unrelated ones to prevent alliances. Filled the rest.
Took the two hundred to Professor Irian; swallowed into void. Stashed rejects neatly in floor 5 dorm corner. Might prove useful.
Time passed. Lecture day approached—one month post-registration.