Chapter 35
Chapter 35
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Is It Wrong to Have Two Masters?
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Rishir's sudden request for assistance with consuming the elixir.
Meltas was dumbfounded, but on the other hand, he felt no small amount of excitement.
"Rishir. Do you know the value of this elixir?"
"I figure it's worth about as much as a grand mansion in a major city."
"Do you have to quantify everything in material terms to be satisfied?"
"Not necessarily, but doesn't it make things crystal clear this way?"
"...In any case, you knew its value and still asked me for this favor."
"Ah, did I perhaps commit a breach of etiquette?"
"A breach? Quite the opposite."
Consuming an elixir was a monumental event for any mage—one that could make or break their entire life. Just putting a monetary value on it yielded enough wealth to live off idly forever.
And the effects gained from such an elixir? More than enough to serve as a turning point in one's life.
It could elevate you to a realm that would otherwise take years to reach, or even open entirely new paths.
In other words, asking someone to assist with consuming an elixir was tantamount to entrusting them with your life. Something impossible without the utmost trust.
"Aren't we practically strangers? Yet you so boldly made this request of me. What if I saw the elixir and got greedy?"
The title of 'Master'—reserved for the Magic Tower's elites—wasn't earned by skill alone. It also demanded reputation and character. Finding someone more trustworthy than Meltas in Bondales wouldn't be easy. Rishir's judgment wasn't wrong.
But it wasn't absolutely right either—the elixir was a treasure that could tempt even the most reputable figures. If asked who he'd recommend for elixir assistance, Meltas could name no more than five with confidence.
In that sense, Meltas wasn't entirely displeased with the situation. Rishir placing such utmost trust in him.
Meltas waited expectantly for Rishir's response, brimming with anticipation.
Perhaps something like, 'I've long heard of Master Meltas's esteemed reputation. If I had to pick one person in Bondales to trust without reservation, it'd be you.'
In the old man's mind, visions of Rishir serving him as a disciple were already forming.
"I was certain Master Meltas wouldn't harbor any ill intentions."
"Ahem. And why is that?"
"You witnessed firsthand the Assassin Guild Master's interest in me. I figured you'd be too mentally shaken to make any rash decisions."
"..."
Meltas was taken aback. Contrary to his expectations, Rishir's judgment stemmed from utterly cold, rational discernment. Not a shred of respect or faith involved!
Meltas wavered between raising his evaluation of Rishir or feeling offended that such a trivial reason led to his selection.
"Separately, I did have a slight feeling that Master Meltas isn't the type to betray trust over something like this."
"Slight... You're terribly unskilled at flattery. If you'd polished that latter part, you'd have left a far better impression."
"Is that so? But isn't it strange to fully trust someone you've just met today?"
"True enough. In fact, separate from the good impression, my overall evaluation of you has dropped. You're a young man with sharper discernment than expected. You seem indecisive at first glance, but it's quite surprising."
"Master Meltas, if you'd refined that latter remark just a bit, you'd have left a much better impression on me. I'm actually quite weak to praise."
"I didn't feel like saying anything to make you feel good. And you weren't exactly holding back either."
"What a fruitful conversation. I feel our relationship—between Master Meltas and myself—shedding all pretense and filling purely with truth."
"Where does this come from?"
Meltas shook his head with a wry smile and began preparations for assisting with the elixir consumption.
"Rishir. This is serious."
"Please, for the love of everything, don't tell me there's something wrong with my elixir. I'm already prepared to burst into tears."
"Quite the opposite. Where on earth did you get this elixir?"
"Pardon?"
One should always know what they're consuming for maximum benefit. To make the intake more effective, Meltas had analyzed the elixir. That's where the problem arose.
"I can't even fathom its components or the magic infused within."
"Is that a good thing?"
"What a question! The precision in its crafting and refinement required for this... It's utterly beyond measure."
Rishir felt a sense of déjà vu. Come to think of it, he'd had a similar conversation with his master Pamon.
"An elixir like this isn't something you can just buy with money. I'm dying to know its origin. It's almost like you raided some high noble family's vault."
"Haha. Raiding a high noble's vault? That's quite the exaggeration."
Rishir averted his gaze and changed the subject.
"So, what should I do? Should I just drink it? I was taught that a real man doesn't ask questions when the cup overflows."
"A real man's virtue? More like fools' bravado. For the record, I've never touched a drop of alcohol in all my years. Liquor is a poison that clouds the mind."
"Doesn't smooth socializing and relationships sometimes demand it?"
"Quiet. In any case, consuming this elixir will likely require additional help."
"Ah, you mean that Marina person from earlier?"
"What nonsense. I surpass Marina in knowledge across all fields. This is simply outside my specialty."
Follow me.
Rishir pocketed the elixir and trailed after Meltas.
Gloomy mages crammed into dark, cramped towers.
That had been Rishir's preconceived notion of the Magic Tower. After touring it once, he had to admit it was a prejudice.
The buildings resembled 'halls' more than 'towers,' organically connected to one another.
The passageways linking them had wide gaps between pillars, giving an open feel. Sunlight streaming through those gaps and the well-maintained gardens around added vibrant life to the openness.
"I expected the Magic Tower to be a bit more somber."
"A common misconception. The Magic Tower symbolizes the lofty value of intellect and the noble aspirations of its scholarly pursuers. How could it—"
Meltas gazed at Rishir with shining eyes.
"—does the place pique your interest?"
"Shall I share my impressions from touring it?"
"Go ahead."
"The tuition here must be exorbitant. I can almost hear the students' wails from under those luxurious pillars."
"Don't talk about the Magic Tower like it's a necromancer's lair. And don't worry about tuition—there are scholarships and grants."
"So it's a system that exploits the majority except for a tiny elite. I wonder if I'd make that elite cut?"
"Ahem. Enough about money. Nothing's more pointless than measuring academic value with material yardsticks."
Rishir. I'll make you my disciple no matter what!
Meltas's tearful efforts continued. As they moved, he diligently pitched the Gray Magic Tower's strengths to Rishir.
In the process, Meltas gained a startling realization.
Ah! He has zero—rat dropping's worth—interest in academic value!
The Gray Magic Tower's storied history and traditions. The meaning and value of belonging. Things any mage would naturally care about.
Rishir couldn't have been less interested. Meltas's talk of pride, rights, and duties as a tower mage was worlds apart from his concerns. Rishir aimed for maximum gain with minimal responsibility—unbound by the tower yet enjoying its privileges. A shallow, pragmatic mindset through and through.
In the end, Meltas had no choice but to yield.
"...For the record, joining the tower opens paths to material benefits in many ways."
"That's sudden. But my heart's starting to race. Care to elaborate?"
"How did it come to this...!"
Meltas lamented his situation, stooping to pander to Rishir at the expense of his scholarly pride. Yet Rishir clearly warranted it. At first drawn only to his abilities, prolonged conversation shifted interest to the man himself.
Rishir's (excessively) open mindset. Meltas thought it meshed perfectly with his extraordinary talents. Once one aspect appealed, others began to shine too.
Now, he even reflected on his initial dismissal of Rishir as a bastard. Had he not botched the first impression, couldn't they have built a better rapport? Meltas resolved to emulate Rishir's openness to some degree.
His current actions stemmed from that reflection.
"Phew... The tower has a Supporter system."
"Supporter?"
"It recognizes the rights of those who provide direct or indirect aid to tower mages. Using your favored phrasing: enjoy tower affiliation privileges without exorbitant tuition, grueling studies, or strict duties."
"!!! Wait, such an advanced system exists!?"
"Is that what 'advanced' means? Anyway, it's not as omnipotent as you think. Supporter rights are heavily limited compared to affiliated mages."
"Still, being a Magic Tower Supporter means no one would dare dismiss me as a bastard elsewhere, right?"
"To some extent, yes. The tower's name carries weight."
Now for the main point.
Meltas paused briefly before speaking.
"For the record, becoming a tower-affiliated mage guarantees respect anywhere. I stake my name on it."
"Oh..."
"So, Rishir. How about learning magic under me?"
"You mean become your disciple—"
"Exactly!"
"But I already have a master I serve."
"What!!! "
Boom.
Meltas froze, thunderstruck.
But soon, he applied the (excessively) open mindset learned from Rishir.
"Then I'll be your second master. That works."
"What."
Boom.
Rishir froze, thunderstruck.
"Is a mentor-student relationship allowed like that?"
"Why not? Learning is an endless journey. Imposing limits is like locking yourself in an iron cage."
"Wise words... But, if I may be so bold, do you plan to delve into black magic or necromancy soon? Your eyes are sparkling a bit too much."
"In any case, give it serious thought."
"Yes. I'll keep it in mind. By the way, what about this Supporter thing?"
"Is 'keeping it in mind' code for stalling on my offer?"
"Oops. Why so clingy?"
"Tch. Insufferable brat. Just watch—I'll make you my disciple yet."
"Lord have mercy."
Rishir's mind reeled.
My first encounter with a persistent pursuer... and it's a dreadlocked geezer!
Barrier effect. The Magic Tower grounds were far larger than they appeared from outside.
After a long trek across the grounds, the pair arrived at the Alchemy Hall, directly opposite the Hall of Magic.
"Ah, Master Meltas."
As they walked the corridor, a group of female students spotted Meltas approaching from the opposite direction. Giggling and chatting merrily moments ago, they offered him polite greetings before fleeing like the wind.
Professors and students... Just like a school.
Rishir advanced down the hall with that impression.
"Hm?"
His steps suddenly halted.
Where the female students had gathered. A woman lay sprawled there. Papers were scattered everywhere, each stamped with footprints.
"Ahem. We've shown an embarrassing sight."
Should even this feel like school? A bullying scene. Having exposed the tower's dirty laundry, Meltas cleared his throat and quickened his pace to leave ASAP.
"Rishir?"
But Rishir had vanished from his side. He'd crouched by the woman, gathering the papers.
Doesn't feel like someone else's business.
He saw echoes of his past self in her.
"..."
Meltas stared at Rishir like he was some rare specimen.
Unique reverse eyes—black sclera, white iris.
The bullied woman was a half-demon. That explained why Meltas pitied her but hadn't helped.
By worldly standards, the 'normal' female students had bullied the 'abnormal' half-demon, while the 'abnormal' Rishir willingly aided her.
As Rishir collected the papers, the woman sat frozen in place.
She watched him steadily with her reverse eyes, as if observing a mystical phenomenon unfolding before her.
"Was I intruding?"
Rishir handed her the bundled documents and asked. She shook her head slowly.
"No. Thank you for helping."
She expressed her gratitude with an emotionless face and voice.
Rishir nodded and offered his hand.
"..."
She stared at it for a long moment before cautiously speaking.
"It's dirty."
"Dirty?"
Beings blessed and cursed by mana alike—demons. Half-demons inherited certain demonic traits.
The brand was a prime example.
The woman raised her hands to show Rishir. Crimson geometric patterns protruded like veins across her palms. Her robe sleeve, slightly hiked up, revealed arms wrapped in dark stockings.
"I usually wear gloves, but they took them."
She clenched and unclenched her fists repeatedly. Even recounting something grim, her expression and tone remained flat.
Thanks to that, Rishir could treat her relatively at ease.
"It's fine. I'm a bastard myself."
"?"
In the end, she grasped Rishir's hand and stood.
"Interesting."
She crookedly tugged up one corner of her mouth—an unnatural attempt at a smile, like forcibly overlaying emotion on a blank face.
Then she turned and walked away.
Rishir and Meltas resumed walking as well.
"..."
"..."
"..."
Before long, the three ended up walking side by side down the corridor.
"Ahem."
Meltas broke the silence.
"Didoa. Is Master Tulan in his lab?"
"No, Master Meltas. Master Tulan is currently away."
"Darn."
"?"
Rishir belatedly shot Meltas a questioning look.
Acquainted?
"She's Master Tulan's assistant."
Ahem. Followed by an excuse-like addition.
"For the record, showing kindness to Didoa would only put her in a tough spot."
"No one's saying anything."
"Just preemptively addressing it. Take it as is."
Didoa nodded beside them.
"Master Meltas is right. As belated as it is, it's best if you avoid getting involved with me. The tower folk will never see it in a good light."
Moments later, Rishir and Meltas reached their destination.
The office-cum-lab of Tulan, the Gray Magic Tower's elite alchemist.
Didoa unlocked the door and ushered them in. As she'd said, Tulan was out.
She guided Rishir and Meltas to the central sofa, then fetched glasses from a cabinet and showed them.
"No, I'm good."
"Smart choice. Anything I touch gets dirty."
"...On second thought, my throat's parched. Tea, please."
Didoa swiftly brewed tea and set it before Rishir and Meltas. Standing beside, she fidgeted with her bare hands, unsure what to do with them.
"Ahem. Didoa. I didn't ask for tea."
Meltas glanced awkwardly at her hands and spoke.
"Perfect timing, actually. I'm quite thirsty right now."
"...No. Never mind. I'll drink."
Slurp. Meltas finally took a sip and spoke.
"Didoa. When will Master Tulan return?"
"Probably not until sunset."
"...That's inconvenient."
"The help you mentioned, Master Meltas—is it this Master Tulan?"
"Ah. Master Tulan is one of the Gray Magic Tower's foremost alchemy experts."
"Can't we consume the elixir without his help?"
"We could. He's just the first who came to mind. Any skilled alchemist would do, really."
Rishir's gaze shifted to Didoa as he listened.
"I hear you're Master Tulan's assistant, Miss Didoa?"
"...Rishir, surely not?"
"The assistant to the tower's top alchemy expert—doesn't that vouch for your skills?"
"...Lord have mercy."
Meltas fiddled with his braided beard to soothe his anxiety.
Entrusting that precious elixir to a half-demon!
"So, Miss Didoa. Would you be so kind?"
"..."
Didoa's gaze drifted to the window.
Didoa.
Today was important for her.
The day a long-prepared plan would bear fruit.
"...No. It's fine. If you need help, I'll assist."
Didoa decided to postpone that plan.
It was the moment when Master Tulan and a few alchemists' lives were extended.