I Want to Speak (7)
I wanted to vent the frustration and injustice in every direction—not that it felt like a true waste, but it still stung and rankled. My concept, however, would not permit it.
Outwardly cool, inwardly bawling like a child, I handed over the dragon’s corpse.
“You took so long I came myself!”
And right after that, a visitor arrived at the temple.
Someone from the Magic Tower.
“What? Did something happen??”
Around then I was still a little dazed from accepting a modest token of thanks—five million gal—for the transfer, on the grounds that taking it for free felt wrong.
It wasn’t that the sum was too large. It was that the stupid joke “your materials have been replaced with money” kept floating around inside my head.
Honestly, no matter how big the figure, thinking only of the rarity of the materials left me plenty disappointed. I wanted a sword forged from dragon scales more than five million gal.
But that wasn’t happening…
“It is nothing you need concern yourself with. More importantly, what brings you here?”
…Could I maybe run one more dragon raid?
“I want to test the finished product as soon as possible, but you lot never show up.”
Of course not. Yeah.
Truth be told, I didn’t have the guts to head back out to that sea either. Riding that ship and hunting dragons again? Even less so.
Better to just wait for the next raid that appeared. Aughhh.
“So, ah—this is the Demon Knight? I can tell at a glance.”
Anyway, it was time to deal with the visitor.
I packed away the lingering regret and fixed the newcomer with a sideways glare. Even under my insolent stare, the visitor never lost that easygoing smile.
Platinum eyes curved into long crescents against skin the color of cocoa powder.
“I’m Murloc. As a Great Sage my epithet is Fierce White Wind! It’s been ages since I got an interesting job—I had fun!”
He stretched out a hand to take mine. He looked quite advanced in years, but I could not allow contact, so I casually swatted it aside.
The rebuffed hand of White Wind flowed back as if nothing had happened, then clapped together with its partner in a crisp smack. Smooth.
“Right, so I’ve prepared a Sealing Shackle. Function first: it suppresses demon energy while converting a portion into mana you can use when needed! It also has a function for brainwashing the demon inside you—well, ‘brainwashing’ is just the word; think of it as suppressing the ego. In short, it keeps the demon from acting up! Ah, I didn’t know which you’d prefer, so I made both a neck version and a right-arm version. Pick one, would you?!”
Smooth, yes—but the energy level was way too high.
Totally different from our party’s Archmage…!
“If possible, go with the neck one! If I do it right I can even put in a function that goes bang! and blows your head off at a critical mom—”
“What in the world are you saying?!”
The Archmage, who had seemed content to watch from behind, came running in horror.
In that moment I was profoundly grateful that our party’s Archmage was an Archmage.
After the dragon-scale sword, I had nearly lost my human rights as well.
“What? The arm? What a waste. Fine. At least try it on for n—”
Clang!
“…….”
“…….”
“…I’ll go remake it.”
Not that things went well afterward, either.
“All right, let’s see how today goes!”
There had been a brief controversy over the Great Sage Fierce White Wind’s character, but talk of the Sealing Shackle itself never died down.
Regardless of the Inquisitor’s assurances, it was better that nothing of the sort ever happened in the first place. Naturally.
So for the entire time we stayed in the city, I remained with him. Officially, to verify the Sealing Shackle’s effects.
“Improved model number 93! Here we go!”
Was it inconvenient? Well… not quite to the point of wanting to desert.
He was considerate about bathing and sleeping, and whenever he found something to improve he returned to the Magic Tower laboratory. The improved models had started at number 1 and now reached the 93rd.
In actual attached time it was less than two hours a day. He even granted my small requests free of charge.
Click.
Anyway, after that process the 93rd improved model was fitted to my right arm—a little higher than where a gauntlet would sit, right up against the armpit.
You have equipped the Sealing Shackle.
Stats have decreased.
A slight clearing of the head, and the now-familiar window I had grown used to over the past few days appeared.
“How is it, how is it?!”
How was it? The fit itself wasn’t much different from the previous ones. Checking the status window, the only change was that my mana had returned to the 1,500 range.
Compared to my fretting that every single stat might get slashed, the penalty was quite reasonable. The mana had risen for no good reason in the first place, so dropping it again wasn’t particularly inconvenient.
There was a faint sense of having something given only to be taken away, but at this level I was satisfied. The fact that the Rage skill hadn’t been deactivated was still a pity, though.
“Great, try using some mana!”
But from the past few days’ experience, the important thing to watch with the Sealing Shackle wasn’t the strength of the penalty.
“It won’t break this time.”
It was whether the shackle could stably supply the mana consumed when using skills.
For reference, that was also why the Sealing Shackle had needed improvements all the way up to number 93. Every single one had shattered because it couldn’t handle the output.
“Really!”
Still, I had no complaints. Without even a shackle like this, the Church would keep throwing Breakers at me.
More than anything, the experiments were dragging on this long because White Wind refused to seal the skills themselves and insisted on trying to seal only the demon.
Given that the skills could end up sealed by accident, I had no choice but to cooperate quietly.
Without skills I was worse than a fish-shaped bun with the red-bean paste missing.
“Come on, hurry, hurry!”
Leaving the impatient researcher behind, I trudged into the center of the training ground. A space provided by the temple that owed me a debt…
Training ground in name only—it was basically an unused rear mountain they’d handed over. You could tell just by looking: the ground hadn’t even been leveled, let alone compacted.
At least they’d put up a barrier so people wouldn’t wander in and get caught by accident. That much was fortunate.
Swish!
“Good, the basics work.”
I lightly fired off a Chamgyeok. Nothing wrong with the Sealing Shackle. Stage one success.
“Next output!”
But where there’s a stage one, there’s a stage two.
If skill use worked, now it was time to worry about output.
Matching White Wind’s expectations, I used the next skill. According to the description window alone, the one that ate the most mana: Bombard.
Whoosh!
Spiral mana poured from a random sword that had been lying around the temple. A beam a little smaller than the one I’d used unconsciously in Montata punched through the space ahead.
My mana plummeted in an instant.
“It didn’t break this time either! It didn’t break, right??”
Even if skill use worked, whenever Bombard-level output appeared the Sealing Shackle had always shattered up until now.
Leaving White Wind’s fidgeting behind me, I planted the recovered sword in the ground for a moment and traced the ring on my right arm with my left hand.
I swept my fingers over the surface of the Sealing Shackle, but felt no cracks beyond the originally engraved text. That meant the shackle had finally endured the wall of demonic power that was Bombard’s output.
“Good, good. Let’s keep going just like this!”
From the fact that I didn’t remove the Sealing Shackle, White Wind read the truth. His face brightened as if success were right before him, joy steadily filling it.
“Keep going!”
I was just as expectant of success. If the final test succeeded, these endless experiments would finally be over.
“Hurry!”
I accepted White Wind’s urging without resistance. Skills that burned through mana like crazy poured out one after another.
With Three Claws—which tripled the trajectories—also active, the mana consumption didn’t even need calculating; it was enormous.
Triple Chamgyeok, mana spears embroidering the air, skills that shook the earth continued for a long while like a linked combo.
Since I was experimenting anyway, I was also practicing skill mastery and application, so the form of the skills pouring out each time varied slightly.
Boom, ka-boom.
“That’s it, that’s it, that’s it!!”
And around the time the ground that had been abused for days finally threw up its hands and called GG—
my mana finally hit rock bottom.
“Did it break? Did it break??”
The moment I fired the last Chamgyeok, I watched the identical trajectories that had sprung up on either side and shook out my wrist.
Having gained a mana-control skill, I’d paid a bit more attention to regulation, and both body and mind were exhausted. Sweat—something that rarely appeared—was running down my neck.
“Give it here!”
But the researcher paid no attention to my condition.
“Hurry!”
He dashed to my right side and stamped his feet. The reason he didn’t grab my arm and snatch it by force was the unspoken rule that had formed between us on the first day.
Well, “unspoken” only meant we hadn’t put it into words—my sword had carved the air right beside him. So of course that research maniac had gotten the message.
I removed the Sealing Shackle and handed it over. There was a fine crack, but it hadn’t broken. White Wind’s face lit up completely.
“Great! Now I just need to reinforce the durability a little more!”
He hopped around in a way thoroughly unbefitting the rank of Great Sage.
I couldn’t blame him. Age and position were simply too high; anyone would rejoice after nearly a hundred attempts finally succeeded.
And I was just as glad—both the real me and the concept included.
If the concept was freed from the fundamental stress of a Sealing Shackle that was both a nuisance and something that evoked demons… the real me needed no long explanation.
Modern people need personal space.
“See you later!”
Leaving the one who always said goodbye even without receiving an answer, I sheathed my sword without a word. If that was too cold a treatment, well—concept, so it couldn’t be helped.
“Out of the way!!!”
Besides, Fierce White Wind probably didn’t particularly want my greeting either. The proof was that he finished only his own farewell and then bolted off.
He didn’t seem all that different in age from the Archmage, yet he was so… well, lively. Spirited, rather.
“Hope this is the last one…….”
I rubbed my neck against the hollowed-out sensation left by dumping all that mana.
My mana recovery speed had risen since that day, so it would fill back up soon enough… but this feeling of having scraped the bottom completely never got easier to get used to.
I felt as helpless as a newborn baby.
“…Time to go.”
Still, everything that needed doing right now was finished.
I moved my stiff limbs and left the training ground. It was noon on the tenth day since we had left Zakrati and arrived in Canabes.
“My lord!”
Had I managed to return to the temple while avoiding the training-ground supervisor’s vacant stare? Dev was the first to greet me.
“You’ve come at the perfect time!”
The next warm welcome came from the Inquisitor. Across her body was armor of a shape quite different from anything I had seen before.
Armor with a blue-silver base. Even though blue was the foundation, the color was pale enough that it matched her red hair surprisingly well.
How they had managed to complete a full plate when there shouldn’t have been enough material was a bit of a mystery, though.
“It was completed thanks to the efforts of the temple blacksmiths. They discovered that it mixes with baptized iron rather than ordinary metal, so they fitted me with a full plate.”
I had transferred the materials, yet in order to maintain the concept of having no interest in others I had intended not to ask any related questions. Before I could say anything, however, the Inquisitor was already chattering the whole story.
It felt like a school-age niece or younger cousin rushing over to brag, so I didn’t mind listening.
Even if every piece of information left a bit more residual attachment to a sword made of dragon materials.
“However, because it mixed with iron the color changed like this. I think it’s fortunate—if it had been made only in the original color it would have stood out terribly.”
…I want a dragon-scale sword too!! I want dragon-scale gear…!
“Ahem, I would also like to speak now.”
No. Even if I didn’t get a reward this time, Kimchi Dumpling is happy. Our Kimchi Dumpling worked so hard over there—she’s allowed this much.
Why other people don’t give the reward and I have to is still a mystery, but if the kid’s happy, that’s enough. Sniff.
“My lord, additional contact came from the Adventurers’ Guild…….”
While I was earnestly soothing the overflowing regret, Dev slipped in and confessed his own business.
“They say you are to receive another medal of merit.”
…Again?
No, I already received one ten days ago—why??
“Apparently from Ayu Hin and Lampan.”
I furrowed my brow slightly.
It wasn’t as if they felt they had to give one just because Zakrati had, and if they had money to make those medals they should spend it on citizen welfare instead—what was this?
Moreover I already had two medals of merit. The one from Tatara and the one from Zakrati.
“Useless.”
I had barely managed to refuse the medal they tried to give as thanks for slaying the corrupted dragon and saving the western sea by crushing it in front of the branch head. And now they wanted me to take two more? Not a chance.
I sat at a dining table and leaned my sword beside me.
“…You’re not accepting this one either?”
Ah, no. My inventory is already full enough of bad stock!
And if they’ve got money to make those, tell them to use it to help the kids and the refugees!
“As expected of the Demon Knight…!”
When I remained silent, a reaction burst out from another direction. The Inquisitor.
“In that case I will dismantle the Demon Knight’s medals of merit as well and convert them into relief funds!”
“…I figured something like this would happen, but honestly. Do you people truly have no desires?”
I had wondered why she was suddenly going off the rails… but that wasn’t bad.
Not bad, yet somehow odd, wasn’t it? How did my refusal get connected to having no desires? It should just go under “manners of a complete ass.”
And why announce so boldly that she’ll dismantle them for relief funds? Does she think I’ll allow it? Or does she figure that since I refused I won’t care anymore?
Concept-wise the last one was correct, yet somehow they seemed to think I would like that, which left my feelings complicated.
Is my concept okay like this??
“You’re all here?”
Fortunately, before I could suffer concept-gestalt collapse, the Archmage entered the dining hall. In her hand was a rolled-up map.
“Perfect timing. I have a proposal for everyone—will you hear it?”
“What is it?”
Looking at the map laid out in the center of the dining hall, I felt a sense of déjà vu.
“Inquisitor, through this recent affair I have felt the need to supplement our numbers. Even right now, the combat burden falls almost entirely on the Inquisitor and the Demon Knight, does it not?”
After finishing one job, resting thoroughly, then gathering when everyone was roughly in normal condition and spreading out a map usually meant…
“So, what do you say we stop by this place and look for talent? In an arena there might be at least one person who matches what we seek.”
…talk of heading to the next location, right…?