A Rat in the Tiger's Den

Bertolt de Rasid, Lord of the Magic Tower.

"……."

I stepped out from behind the altar at an unhurried pace.

The exits were already sealed, and my concealment had been seen through. How exactly he had shaken off the Transcendents and tracked me down, I still couldn't say—but one thing was certain. If I tried to bolt blindly from here, a spell would plant itself between my shoulder blades before I made ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it three steps.

Which left me only one option.

Talk.

"As expected… the five great mages of the continent really are something else. You can even hear a rat's breathing."

I shrugged, doing my damnedest to look unbothered.

Bertolt looked down at me with eyes that gave nothing away and leveled the tip of his staff against my throat.

"Flattery is appreciated. But as last words go, that was rather pedestrian."

"They're not last words yet. There's something I want to know before I die… may I ask?"

I met his gaze and pressed on.

"Why? You already have honor, wealth, power—everything. What could you possibly be missing that would make you betray humanity and become the errand boy for a monster like that?"

"…."

Bertolt's brow twitched at the question. The reaction lasted only a moment; then he clicked his tongue as if scolding a foolish child.

"Betrayal? Monster? Ha. How utterly naive."

He pointed at the massive incubation tanks behind him.

"This is not betrayal. It is evolution. Once I reached the absolute limit of magic a human can attain, I understood. The mana of this world has hit a ceiling—it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠can no longer produce Transcendents."

"Huh… so you wanted to become a Transcendent?"

I said it as though the idea had just struck me, but I already knew the whole story.

Bertolt had been more devoted to magic than anyone—obsessed, even. From the first moment he touched a spell, he had idolized Kyra Bell Arenas, the woman who had grasped the pinnacle of magic in a human body and become a Transcendent.

That longing had eventually smashed itself against a wall of pure talent and crumbled into bitterness. So he chose the Outer Gods… and that, in a nutshell, was his entire tragic-melodrama of a backstory. The garbage kind.

"Yes. I wanted to become a Transcendent. To reach the realm beyond the Ninth Circle and shake the continent of Rahelon to its foundations. My talent alone was not enough. But their power is different. Only divine force of another dimension entirely can carry us to higher ground."

"So you offered up those children as sacrifices? For that measly scrap of power?"

"Great undertakings demand sacrifice."

A lunatic. Classic mad-scientist logic. There was clearly no reasoning with him.

But I still needed time—to read the situation, to work out a way to stay alive. I steered the conversation sideways to buy myself a few more seconds.

"Fine. I've heard enough of your twisted philosophy. One more question, then."

I flicked a glance toward the sealed laboratory door.

"What about my masters—Lady Kyra and the Platinum Dragon Empress? There's no way they failed to notice you slipping away."

Kyra had promised me five minutes. A little of that time still remained. The fact that Bertolt had strolled down here this calmly meant something had gone wrong upstairs.

Bertolt snorted at the question.

"Spare your concern. Those arrogant Transcendents are enjoying themselves right now with my disciples in the labyrinth of the Magic Tower."

"…What did you just say?"

"I activated every elite mage in the tower, along with the tower's own defense system. Even a Transcendent will need considerable time to escape a labyrinth that twists perception itself."

He shrugged, a thin, ugly smile curling his lips.

"Of course, they cannot kill them. Holding them for five minutes is the absolute limit. But that is more than enough time to dispose of a single rat like you and erase every trace of evidence."

"…Ha."

A chill ran down my spine. Looking at it now, this old fox had been digging the pit from the very beginning.

"Surprised? Did you truly believe I had no idea why I sent that letter out of nowhere, why you came here, or why those arrogant Transcendents snapped up my proposal so eagerly?"

Bertolt's voice rose steadily.

"It was clumsy theater from the start. Kyra Bell Arenas is a suspicious woman. She would never accept my offer at face value. And then she shows up with the Platinum Dragon Empress in tow? The purpose is obvious—to dig into my affairs."

"……."

"I simply waited for you to walk into the tiger's den of your own free will."

I stood there speechless. I had half-suspected it, but we had been completely read. Our plan, our objective, even our route.

"How… how the hell…"

As I stumbled backward in shock, Bertolt grinned, drunk on victory.

"Curious? How I knew all of this and prepared accordingly?"

He raised his staff high. Sparks began to crackle from the jewel at its tip.

"Think carefully, little rat."

The words that left his mouth hit like a hammer blow.

"Not long ago, in the Forgotten Snowfield… how exactly do you suppose the Omniscient Eye That Mocks All Creation was able to descend?"

"…No."

The Omniscient Eye. That nameless Outer God that had appeared out of nowhere and tried to kill me. Its descent hadn't been some random variable like the ones before?

"You… you did that?"

"Yes. When Argentina fell and the world's restrictions weakened, I—or more precisely, the One I serve—marked the coordinates. The Platinum Dragon Empress ruined the attempt, but thanks to that, your movements became an open book."

Every piece of the puzzle snapped into place. The sudden Outer God descent, the invitation from the Magic Tower, and this trap—all of it had been Bertolt's plan. Or rather, the plan of the vast shadow standing behind him.

"Satisfied now?"

A colossal surge of mana began to whirl around Bertolt. The air reeked of something burning. Static prickled my scalp until every hair stood on end.

Eighth Circle—the absolute peak of magic a human of genius talent could reach. And yet, because he was only a genius, he could never cross the wall beyond it. That bitter grudge poured into the spell taking shape before him.

"Then die. Become a sacrifice for the Great Holy Angle."

KRAAAANG—!

Dozens of spheres of blue lightning coalesced at the tip of his staff.

KRA-ZZZZZZT—!

There was nowhere to run. Inside a sealed laboratory, the lightning hurtled toward me at blinding speed—a storm of blue thunder filling my entire field of vision.

I scanned the room one last time on pure hope. Still no cover. Not that it would have mattered. Eighth-Circle grand magic—Judgment of the Thunder God—wasn't ordinary lightning. It was a power of pure destruction that erased space itself. The concept of "dodging" simply did not apply.

And yet, faced with that hopeless situation, I didn't panic. I twisted the corner of my mouth into a grin instead.

"Sorry to disappoint… but I didn't come empty-handed either!"

I crossed both arms and raised them over my head. At the same time, I reversed the rotation of the mana core inside my body and drew out the secret technique Kyra had drilled into me—a specialized anti-divine-force barrier she had devised to help me keep fighting Outer Gods.

Woom—!

A translucent, ash-gray hemispherical membrane unfolded around me—thin-looking, but anything but fragile. An absolute defense that thoroughly rejected and expelled external interference—especially alien mana—while consuming almost no power of its own.

TZZZZT! KRAAAANG!

Bertolt's massive bolt of lightning slammed into my barrier. The thunder that should have reduced me to ash in an instant slid across the surface instead, scattering and canceling out. The Holy Angle's divine force mixed into his spell collided with the nature of my barrier and lost its strength.

"……What?!"

Bertolt's eyes flew wide at a sight he could not comprehend.

"A mere Sixth Circle… blocking an Eighth-Circle spell? An attack laced with divine force, no less?"

"Sorry, old man—it's a little early to be shocked!"

I clenched my teeth. Blocking the attack wasn't the end. Survival required a counterstrike, and my real weapon was never defense—it was retaliation.

The impact of the lightning absorbed into the barrier, and the residual divine force and mana clinging to its surface—I didn't let any of that enormous energy bleed away. I dragged it straight into my core.

Crrrk.

My blood vessels swelled as if they would burst. My muscles screamed. Power that exceeded my vessel. But if I used that power as fuel… I could temporarily cross the wall.

And until now, I had always surpassed my limits to help Leon put down Outer God after Outer God.

"As long as the conditions are met… even a Sixth Circle can force out pieces of Seventh-Circle magic…."

Crimson flames writhed across both of my hands—not ordinary fire magic, but compressed flames of pure destruction, the absorbed lightning energy forcibly converted into the fire attribute and amplified.

"First time seeing this dirty little method, huh?!"

I thrust my hands toward Bertolt.

KRAAAAAANG—!!

Two colossal dragons of flame erupted from my hands. The heat they poured out turned the underground laboratory's freezing air into a furnace of dozens of degrees in an instant.

"Y-you insane little—!!"

Bertolt recoiled in horror at my stunt and hastily threw up a defensive barrier.

KRAANG! KRA-KRA-KRAANG!

The fire dragons clamped down on his shield and detonated. The laboratory floor melted. The glass incubation tanks lining the walls couldn't withstand the heat and burst one after another.

Through the thick smoke, Bertolt staggered out coughing. The hem of his white robe was blackened and scorched. No real wounds, of course—but a proper scratch had been left on the pride of an archmage.

"You dare… a mere rat… burn my robes?"

"Count yourself lucky it was only the clothes. Next time I'll torch that beard of yours."

I dragged in a ragged breath and reset my stance. Mana was ebbing out of me like a retreating tide, but I could still hold.

"Insolent cur!"

Bertolt swept his staff ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠through the air. Space warped, and dozens of ice spears and gravity orbs materialized at once.

"Die!"

"I'm not dying, you bastard! I made it this far—why the hell should I die now?!"

I had clawed my way through every dirty hand the world dealt me. If something this small was going to kill me, I would have slit my own throat the first time Leon started flaunting his love life in my face!!

I flung the barrier open again and sprinted full tilt. Through the rain of magic I rolled, blocked, absorbed, and fired right back.

KRAANG! BOOM!

The laboratory became a wreck in seconds. An Eighth-Circle archmage and a Sixth-Circle irregular mage locked in a life-or-death chase. The weight class difference was obvious, but I clung on with sheer spite.

Two minutes… no, three more minutes. Just hold on that long.

I had found the evidence. And from the system the goddess had given me—silent for so long—a new form of quest notification had finally appeared. A sign that a new current in the story had begun.

All I had to do now was survive until my masters, those utterly terrifying women, arrived.

At the same moment, on the first-floor lobby of the Magic Tower.

Inside the spatial-distortion barrier Bertolt had so proudly called the labyrinth of the Magic Tower.

"……."

Kyra—her hair more than ninety percent red—stared into empty air with a look of pure boredom. In front of her, hundreds of the tower's elite mages were drenched in sweat just trying to keep the barrier intact.

"Hmph. Is that all?"

She yawned wide and glanced around.

"They called it the labyrinth of the Magic Tower, so I expected something impressive. It's just a few twisted spatial coordinates and a merry-go-round."

"Indeed. So dull I could fall asleep."

Serapagnia was already sprawled on her back in midair, counting the mages on her fingers.

"One, two… one hundred twenty-five. Three seconds to incinerate the lot of them, yes?"

"Hey, Platinum Dragon Empress. Three seconds? If I move, it's a one-second wipe. And ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠while we're on the subject—could you ease up on the pawing at Erevan?"

"Don't make me laugh. My breath is faster than your magic. And it is not 'pawing'—I was chosen."

That was the truth of it.

The two Transcendents were not trapped. They were simply so dumbfounded by the crude snare—and so busy betting on who could smash it first—that they had paused to watch the show.

Of course, if Erevan had known what was happening, he would have screamed himself hoarse. Unfortunately for him, he would go to his grave never learning that while he was fighting for his life, the two women had been waging a love war over him.

"Ghhhk…! H-hold the line! Until the Tower Lord arrives…!"

The mage commanding the barrier coughed up blood as he roared. His desperate cry never reached the two women.

"Ugh, fine. The Fourth Chain's already broken, and Erevan's fighting hard enough… might as well earn our keep."

Kyra drew her beloved short sword from her subspace and drove the tip into the floor with a light tap.

"Agreed. If so much as a scratch lands on my man, this tower vanishes into history as of today."

Serapagnia flicked a finger as casually as if she were brushing dust off her sleeve.

And in that same instant—

SHATTER—!

The absolute defense system of the Magic Tower that Bertolt had boasted of—the dimensional labyrinth—shattered like a pane of glass. Hundreds of mages were flung into the air without even time to scream.