Why I Had to Go to the Magic City (1)

About six years ago, I opened my eyes in a hospital room.

“Patient, you shouldn't be trying to get up yet!”

“…Right.”

In my dazed haze, I'd tried to sit up on pure instinct, only to be caught by a nurse and pressed straight back into bed.

As sleep drained away, my mind slowly sharpened. And soon enough, I realized that strange, foreign memories were tangled up inside my own.

Memories that belonged to this body, not to me.
So I'm… Alpinia?

“Wha—”

“Patient! I told you not to get up!”

Even as the nurse gripped my shoulders and shoved me back down a second time, my thoughts kept churning on and on.

Surgery, magic fantasy world, Arbanka, a game, meme character, slim possibility, original story, deal…….

My past-life memories and Alpinia's memories fragmented and churned together in a chaotic swirl.

I slowed my breathing. Closed my eyes and counted to three.

When I opened them again, I'd managed to sort my thoughts enough to reach a conclusion about my current situation.

I got isekai'd.

And then the inevitable question bloomed: why me?

I wasn't some hardcore gamer who'd seen every ending. I hadn't discovered some secret achievement or hidden class. I hadn't customized a character swallowed whole by its own gimmick.

I'd never even installed the game in the first place.

The closest thing to a connection I had was using the 'Al-Peun-Ga' sticker a few times in community threads.

“…Status window.”

Half hoping it might work, I called out quietly. Nothing happened. I considered trying one more time, but after catching the nurse looking at me like I'd lost my mind, I gave up on that.

Which meant everything I actually had was based on the Alpinia memes. Well—no, I suppose I also had the original Alpinia's memories, being force-fed into my head in real time even now.

Still… that's not too bad, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is it?

I couldn't say for sure, but Alpinia was a boss character so overwhelmingly powerful that the majority of players had demanded a difficulty nerf. And according to the memories surfacing in my head, the Arbanka family was quite wealthy, to boot.

Granted, as a boss character there was always the risk of getting stomped by the protagonist's party—but honestly, even that wasn't worth losing sleep over.

Why was Alpinia a boss character in the first place?

I could roughly guess from the Alpinia comic series fans had made based on her deeds and dialogue.

'Your mind-control magic won't work on me.'

'I move only for my own amusement, and nothing else.'

'Why did I blow up that XX place? Because… it. Was. Fun.'

A textbook hedonistic terrorist. The kind of villain who blew things up here and there on pure whim, with no real motive or goal whatsoever.

Which meant—

Couldn't I just… live like a decent person?

All I had to do was refrain from stirring up pointless chaos for no reason, Alpinia-comic-style.

A remarkably simple task.

At any rate, the 'Arbanka' family I'd transmigrated into was an extremely prestigious one.

The Magic Security Bureau—an institution granted sweeping powers under the banner of counteracting magical crime and terrorism. And the Arbankas were an elite dynasty that had held its ministerial seat for generations.

Alpinia—that is, I—had been born with a rare, incurable disease. As it stood, it was an illness with zero chance of a cure.

But generations of holding the minister's seat had left our family with connections and wealth to spare. Enough to finally develop a brand-new treatment for a disease everyone had written off as untreatable.

And so, the family threw connections, fortune, and cutting-edge technology into the pot and somehow, miraculously, pulled the surgery off.

Then came what I received from my magnificent, wonderful family as a congratulatory gift for the successful operation and my discharge:

One billion Erk was roughly equivalent to a billion won in my old currency.

“That's a terrible joke.”

“Fear not. As a child of Arbanka, you are entitled to certain privileges.”

“How generous.”

“Specifically: a repayment plan conceived by the family itself.”

“?”

Thankfully, I wasn't being shipped off to some underground labor camp like in a certain manga.

Instead, the family occasionally arranged 'errands' for me. All I had to do was carry out whatever 'errand' the family assigned. Simple work, really.

Secretly inviting mages who opposed the Bureau down to the family basement, for instance. Or paying a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠little visit to a workshop building at night to set a small fire in the place that had just developed a new magical tool. Or meeting up with other folks in debt to Arbanka, like me, to ask after their health and recent circumstances.

Yep. A textbook specimen of a villainous organization.

“I can't do that.”

“In that case, there is an easier, simpler plan.”

“Which is?”

“Let's see… the Dornea Trading Company, the Ducal House of Dennis, the Archducal House of Lowell, and of course the Imperial Family.”

“Hmm.”

“If you were to conclude a betrothal with any one of those houses—”

“So. What exactly do you want me to do.”

Given the choice between a loveless marriage and becoming a criminal, I'd pick criminal every time. It did cross my mind that this might be amassing bad karma for a future stomping by the protagonist's party.

But there were still mitigating circumstances. I was only doing this because the family pressured me into it.

Gacha game protagonists are always pushovers. It's a rule.

No idea who or where the Grand Mage Saga protagonist lived, but this was practically an established law of the genre. Even more certain in a game like GMS, built around collecting a huge cast of characters.

Think about it. If the protagonist refused to forgive villains, it became awkward to write storylines for recruiting characters with that kind of 'character archetype' later on.

Like leaving a popular villain alive only to release them later as a new unit and milk the profits. Or releasing them from the start as a villain-faction character who reformed because they took an interest in the protagonist—still sold for profit, either way.

For revenue, and for growing the player base by catering to every taste imaginable, the game company had no reason whatsoever to give up the benefits of turning their protagonist into a pushover.

So all I had to do was avoid crossing the line into becoming an absolutely unforgivable villain. Then even if I got called to account later, I could just shed a few tears, go 'actually, I had my reasons too,' and talk my way through it.

And thus the path of my life as 'the underside of Arbanka' was opened.

After that… a lot happened.

‘You are Isaac's daughter, yes?’

There was the way superiors perched absurdly high above my station kept mysteriously inviting me out to meals.

‘If you stand with us, sister, we could surely overturn this rotten world!’

There were the meetings with certain unhinged groups.

‘Die, unnie!’

And there was my little sister, glaring at me with eyes brimming over with pure hatred.

Still, having actually done the work, it turned out not to be all that bad.

The mages opposing the Bureau had been the vile sort who kidnapped people to run magical experiments on them. That magical tool developed by a tiny unlisted company turned out to be a counterfeit currency press. As for the debtor, we had a calm, pleasant sit-down, and I introduced him to a line of work far better suited to his talents.

If you were being strict about it, it all sat somewhere in the gray zone. In practice, it was closer to handling the cases the Magic Security Bureau couldn't afford to touch openly.

So, y'know. Vigilante justice and private sanctions, that kind of vibe?

After about two years of grinding away at it, they ended up assigning me a few subordinates and officially spinning the whole thing into an actual institution.

And that is how, bearing the full radiance of the family's glory on my back, I settled safely into the post of Commander of the Inspection Unit of the Magic Security Bureau.

“Oh, yer here, Boss.”

I turned my gaze slowly, surveying the building's interior. Steel rebar scattered everywhere, sacks of cement, cigarette butts floating in empty paint cans. The workshop, starved of sunlight and cold to the bone, had the overall atmosphere of an abandoned factory.

“What's the situation?”

At my question, Subordinate #1 jerked his chin toward a group of mages bound up in the corner.

“All of 'em suppressed. Just that room left.”

A room of iron, unnaturally squatting against one entire wall of the building. No—'room' wasn't right. It was closer to a massive bank-vault safe, the kind you'd only see inside a bank. Its circular iron door, a good two meters across, was crammed edge to edge with engraved security spellwork.

“Inside?”

“These jokers went and slapped perception-warping magic on top of it all. Life-detection isn't picking anything up, though, so they're not keepin' slaves or test subjects… My guess? Drugs or ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠illegal scrolls, nothing fancier than that.”

Just as Subordinate #1 said, these were small-time crooks—barely worth taking down with two Inspection Unit members, let alone me. The contraband inside that vault was probably at exactly that level, too.

Had there really been any need for me to come out here?

I clicked my tongue briefly and reached my hand toward the iron door.

Magic Immunity.

Alpinia's passive trait from the game—the one that erased every spell thrown at her—worked just as well in reality.

According to the forensics team's explanation, it did this and that and somehow altered the fundamental structure of magic itself. I hadn't particularly cared about the mechanics, so I'd let it all wash over me.

In any case, the actual effect was simple. All I had to do was walk close enough to a spell, and—

Fwaaang—

Every spell, without exception, perished.

“Th-that's impossible!”

“How on earth…?”

I could guess exactly what the mages were thinking. They'd stashed all their contraband inside that vault, planning to stonewall us on the grounds that we had no evidence. If we demanded it be opened, they'd have sputtered about confidential vision techniques they couldn't show to anyone without clearance.

I spared a glance at their hollow, defeated faces.

“Shall I open it?”

“Boss, why do you always reach for explosives the moment there's an opening? The door's operating spellwork can be restored soon enough, so would you please step aside now?”

I just asked if I should open the door.

I really didn't understand why the people around me always slandered me as someone desperate to blow something up at the first opportunity. Granted, things did tend to get blown up around me during operations fairly often.

But that was unavoidable, on account of me being 'Alpinia.'

After all, it was the only thing I could do.

I couldn't use magic. Well—technically, if I tried, I could spit out a long, barcode-like string of spellwork. But that only mimicked the shape of a spell; it wasn't real magic, so it failed in seconds.

Fail. Yeah.

Alpinia's trademark explosive power was, in truth, the product of failed attempts to cast magic.

“Contents detected.”

Subordinate #2, who'd been hard at work staring at a scanning magical tool's screen in the corner, looked up. With the security magic dispelled, the vault's contents could be roughly made out.

“Drug crates, as suspected—multiple. The markings show… identification code 'Upper' confirmed. Four synthesizers, five refining machines… they actually managed to hide all that in such a short window. Impressive, honestly.”

I quietly took three steps back from the vault.

Magical tools ran on mana too, after all. Any magical tool that touched my hands was guaranteed to malfunction, break, or explode.

“Boss.”

“?”

“Could you move back a little more? You're standing right in the path of the scanning wave right now, so—”

“…Fine.”

One more step back.

It seemed I'd already done everything within my skill set. Thinking I might as well start the interrogation, I turned my eyes toward the captured mages.

Grin.

…Are they smiling?

Their expressions were far calmer than they had any right to be—and just as suspicion began to prick at me—

“Senpai! Get away, NOW!”

Subordinate #2's desperate voice split the air.

On the far side of the opened vault door, across the inner wall of the safe itself, a magical array throbbed with an ominous red light.

A trap.

What ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠effect? Summoning? An attack? Could it be blocked? Let it fire first and deal with the aftermath? No.

That thing absolutely, categorically, could not be allowed to activate.

Why is that here? Those damn Morgue bastards.

If I erased the spellwork itself along with the magic—

I'd have to get close. Too far. Too slow.

Then what could I do?

Break it first.

In the next instant, black lines spilled out from my hand and swallowed the entire workshop whole.