Chapter 59
Chapter 59
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 59
Chapter Title: 12. The Shrewd Fool (2)
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“Kyaaah—!”
Vivian let out a high-pitched squeal of joy after successfully casting Ice Bloom.
She was so thrilled that she hopped up and down in place without even realizing it.
She’d thought it might come surprisingly quickly, but no such luck.
Still, pulling it off before the day was out was good enough.
Above all, succeeding once filled her with confidence that she’d never fail again next time.
She hadn’t tried it yet, but the same went for Flame Strike.
‘It’s night, so I’ll test that later.’
Ice Bloom did make crunching noises as the ground surged upward.
But compared to the explosive roar of Flame Strike ripping the earth apart, it was downright quiet.
It was bedtime for most folks, so caution was key.
‘Time to head back quick. But everyone’s probably asleep by now... How do I sneak in without waking them...?’
That was when four men swaggered over from a distance.
“Damn, you just pop right into view even in the dark.”
“Ooh, check out those curves.”
“What’s a babe like you doing out here? Feeling lonely?”
Vivian tensely scanned their faces.
It wasn’t a completely unfamiliar experience, but her own calm mindset in the moment felt utterly alien.
‘...Why am I so damn calm?’
Back then, she would’ve backed away in terror or collapsed right there.
But now? Vivian just felt a mild annoyance, like spotting flies buzzing together.
The issue was that these four were stronger than her.
No hard proof, but her instincts screamed it.
She stayed composed, yet sensing that one man’s aura put her slightly on edge.
‘Especially this tall bastard...’
Ian was pretty tall himself, but this guy loomed even larger.
He seemed to be the ringleader.
“Wait a sec. Red hair, that spell size... Vivian, right?”
“Yeah, up close it’s her. Shit, with skills and a body like that, how’re the rest of us supposed to cope with the jealousy?”
A smiling face could look this repulsive.
Vivian felt a visceral disgust from their sleazy, twisted grins.
But she couldn’t let her revulsion show rashly.
One of them was stronger than her, and there were four altogether.
“Um...”
The moment she started to calmly ask them to back off.
She spotted Ian closing in from afar, radiating a murderous vibe.
His usual fierce features had hardened into something downright lethal.
Who was it that said it?
The ones who stay calm while seething are the real danger.
Ian’s face screamed he’d already made up his mind—no room for talk.
The instant she saw him.
A line from that romance novel she’d been devouring lately flashed through her mind.
[If it’d win your heart, I’d lie and say I’d pluck the stars for you. And if that sparked your interest in me, who knows? I might really pull it off.]
“...Um, why’re you guys messing with meee...”
The four cackled at Vivian’s shrinking reaction.
“Holy shit, she’s adorable. What kinda manager lets a girl like this roam at this hour? Managing like total garbage?”
“Me, you fucking assholes.”
Ian, who’d snuck up without a sound, spat it out irritably.
Vivian gulped, hearing him curse for the first time.
The four, meanwhile, burst out laughing at the lone arrival.
“Whoa, badass.”
“Uahaha! ‘Me, you thucking bathtards~’”
“Where’s this punk-ass manager get off? Fucking hilarious.”
That punk-ass manager—Ian—let out a hollow chuckle as he swept back his bangs.
Ridiculous had its limits.
Ian deliberately eased his expression and stepped closer.
“Guess I came on strong. She’s our mage—cool if I take her back?”
“Heh, fat chance.”
“This pussy scared?”
“No need to blow a fuse. Let’s introduce ourselves.”
Ian extended a hand for a shake.
“Ian.”
The burliest one—the apparent spokesman—grinned and clasped it.
“Straight shooter, huh? I dig it. Gordon. D+ rank hero. Gearing up for the official exam.”
Gordon boasted like it was a badge of honor.
Someone behind muttered.
“Ian...? Rings a bell...”
But nobody gave it a thought.
“An esteemed official hero challenger, I see.”
Ian nodded like it all made sense.
There was a reason they’d zeroed in after spotting Vivian’s Ice Bloom.
Her firepower now sat at upper D-rank levels.
‘Even so, a No Casting barrage from her would mop them up fast... Not that they’d know. Too far for her voice to carry, so they figured no incantation.’
In other words, they’d approached figuring she was just a heavy-hitter mage.
‘Lucky for them Vivian’s sweet and a bit shy. Wrong personality, and they’d be paste under a spell barrage.’
Ian eyed the other three lurking behind Gordon.
The one who’d reacted to the name kept rolling his eyes, digging through his memory.
The other two grinned with eager anticipation.
Like they’d struck gold.
From the vibe, Ian pegged them below D+.
They were banking on Gordon to school him.
‘Superbia’s no prime spot for D+ heroes. Not enough fitting dungeons. Him hanging here? Only one explanation.’
Meanwhile, Gordon—still locked in the handshake—grew flustered.
He’d been crushing with all his might since they gripped, but zero give.
No one he’d met withstood that vice.
Not even fellow D+ heroes—Gordon’s raw power beat the average.
Ian’s face didn’t even twitch in that iron grip.
Gordon cranked harder, dead set on pulverizing, his face flushing red as neck veins throbbed.
Ian spoke casually.
“Yeah. Fugitive life suiting you?”
“...What?”
Gordon’s strength drained in a flash.
“C-rank dungeons are a whole different beast, huh?”
Only D-ranks got a + tacked on.
Earn recognition at D, hit D+ and qualify for the official hero exam.
C-ranks—starting from D+—were a universe apart.
Grievous wounds were routine; a raid could drag on for days, forcing overnight stays inside.
Tons challenged C-ranks for official status, got spooked, and bailed.
A classic rank-up bottleneck.
Gordon was stuck right there.
‘To temps below him, a challenger D+ looks like a titan. Those minnows? E-rankers at best.’
Vivian herself blinked a bit at Gordon’s D+ hero claim.
‘Not even considering his own growth... Still a ways off, but not impossibly far.’
A hero too scared of C-ranks to cross over, yet flaunting that fake “challenger” cred.
Guys like that? “Fugitives.”
“Bet playing king among the small fry was a blast.”
“What the fuck are you...”
Gordon’s face twisted menacingly—then his hand snapped.
“Ghk...!”
Ian clamped down and shoved; Gordon crumpled to his knees.
“Kkuk, guhek...! Y-you fucking...”
That second, Gordon got it.
He hadn’t grabbed Ian’s hand—Ian had been holding his all along.
“Official hero challenger on his knees? What a sight.”
“D-do you know who I— GAAAAK—!”
Gordon’s wrist folded at a sickening angle.
The other three couldn’t process it.
“Go-Gordon... D-don’t fuck around...”
“Hold up—Ian? That Ian...?”
One finally placed the name.
Ian ignored it, pinning Gordon and calling out.
“Vivian. Over here.”
“Where do you think—!”
One lunged for her—
“GRAAAAK—!”
Gordon’s scream ratcheted up.
“Wanna watch your buddy’s hand vanish? I can oblige.”
They froze, helpless to stop her.
Touch one hair, and he’d dismantle their whole skeletons.
Vivian shuffled over timidly and ducked behind Ian.
“You okay? Not hurt?”
“N-no...”
Ian checked her over as he spoke.
They hadn’t laid a finger on her, so probably true—but worry wouldn’t let him skip it.
Suddenly, one dropped to his knees.
“I-Ian...! My bad!”
“Hm. Two kneelers now. You two?”
“What the fuck—who even is this Ian prick!”
The rest were clueless.
Ian flicked Gordon’s jaw—lights out.
A grazing tap, and he slumped limp.
“Vivian.”
“Yes?”
“Turn around and wait a sec.”
“O-okay...”
One kneeler charged, swinging a fist.
In Ian’s slowed time sense, he caught the booze reek.
‘Drunk.’
Against the sloppy haymaker, Ian snapped his own fist out.
Collision—opponent’s crumpled inward, mangled.
Ian’s? Pristine.
-Crunch!
“Kwaaak...!”
“Drama queen.”
He’d dialed back the force.
By his metrics, anyway.
“Grhk...”
“Quiet. Next.”
Kick to KO, then he eyed the last holdout—not kneeling.
Will broken, Ian closed the gap himself.
“A, s-sor—”
The trembling backpedaler got a silent kick.
Ankle shattered—he launched airborne, spun wild, and face-planted.
Instant nap.
Ian squatted to meet the kneeler’s eyes.
Pulled a candy stick from his pocket, but the guy slammed his forehead to the dirt, begging.
“Mercy, I’m sorry! Ian...!”
“One question.”
“Yes!”
“You dropped ‘kidnap’ earlier. Meaning? Sounded like that Gordon punk.”
“Uh...?”
“In the middle of Superbia?”
“Ah, n-no, not like that at all...!”
Taking a lone girl out late night, that kinda thing—he flailed limbs explaining desperately.
Big diff from kidnap? Debatable. But not organized crime, crystal clear.
Still, guilt flickering—he kept glancing at out-cold Gordon.
“Something up with him?”
“Uh? Oh, uh...”
No evidence, pure gut punch.
‘An org sniffing around Superbia...?’
Unsure, Ian hauled the guy over to Gordon.
Slamming him down, knee-pinned, then checked the wrist.
‘Local crooks love body marks...’
There: under left wrist, circle with central X tattoo.
Emblem of a massive crime syndicate Ian knew.
‘Libertarian Alliance...’
They preached “freedom” to flout laws and screw others.
Mercy’s old nemesis, continent-famous—hunted by Ian and the military police alike.
Ian focused on hero training, so tracking fell to the MPs.
But them in Superbia? Bizarre.
Notoriety aside, self-preservation ruled them.
MPs thickest here, imperial watch heaviest—impossible turf.
‘Haven’t stirred near Superbia in ages...’
Ian eyed the wrist again.
One horizontal slash under the mark.
Bottom-rung peon.
‘Superbia recon fodder? Or are higher-ups already embedded?’
No clue which.
‘Why? What’s the play?’
Ian’s gaze drifted slowly sideways.
There stood Vivian, still patiently facing away as ordered.
Fingers tightly interlaced, a touch anxious from the wait.
The No Casting mage prodigy.
‘...No fucking way.’