Chapter 53
Chapter 53
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Mage and Priest
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"Did you know? Honestly, I was a bit relieved when you ended up like this."
Fienne spoke up from beside Sir Meltas, who had been explaining just how poor my physical condition was.
"I mean, who in the world grows like you do? Growth has its limits, you know. I was worried you'd suddenly keel over without any warning someday, but it's such a relief that it ended like this."
"Hm. I think I know what you're getting at."
As I listened, I started to understand what the two of them wanted to say.
Honestly, I could somewhat relate.
My growth rate was unnaturally fast, even by my own standards.
Since it benefited me, I'd just thought, 'Well, good things are good!' But looking at it objectively, there were more than a few red flags.
Now that an incident like this had finally happened, even I felt relieved.
I'm just one cog in the grand order of nature after all.
Not some completely abnormal freak.
"So in the end, I'm just an ordinary human."
"That's not it."
"Not quite."
"Huh."
Of course.
It was just a figure of speech—the situation itself was far from welcome.
I'd made my mark at the Mage Tower.
Made my mark with the adventurers.
Now that the tide was turning in my favor, suddenly there was a hole in the boat, leaving me bailing out water.
Reaching a level I couldn't have imagined before was certainly worth celebrating, but separately from that, I was still just an outsider with no standing in the city.
I had a long way to go before I could properly establish myself here.
'Oh, that reminds me—'
Something suddenly came to mind, so I turned to Sir Meltas.
"Sir Meltas. Speaking of which, what happened with that?"
"Ah, the black mage incident and the supporter matter?"
"It looks like we've ended up dragging our feet on it. Sorry about that."
"No need. Why should you apologize? The ones who owe you an apology are the Mage Tower folks who put those words in your mouth."
Whew.
Sir Meltas let out a deep sigh.
"If I may offer not an excuse but an explanation for the delay—do you know this, lad? To the Mage Tower right now, you're a hot potato."
"Me? Because of that black mage thing?"
"Exactly. Hard to believe, I know, but there are those who aren't thrilled that you solved one of the Mage Tower's problems."
Fienne snorted beside me, as if she had a pretty good idea who.
"No way, is it that? They can't just admit that an outsider like Rishir, and not even a noble, solved a Mage Tower issue, or it'd damage our precious tower's reputation? Gotta be some highborn nobles, right?"
Sir Meltas smiled wryly.
"Spot on. In the end, this Mage Tower is a place where mages and scholars pursue knowledge, but before that, it's a gathering of people and nobles rife with petty power struggles. Rishir, some pretty influential folks in the tower aren't pleased with your achievement. Marina and I, along with Master Didoa, are raising our voices, but the opposition is fiercer than expected."
"So what do those opponents want to do about it?"
Fienne sounded frustrated, like it was her own problem.
"Their wish is clear: save face. Meaning, bury the black mage incident entirely, since they see it as damaging to their image."
"If the Mage Tower praises Rishir's feat in its name, it'd be officially acknowledging the incident, so they're blocking it however they can."
"That's right. Once again, I truly apologize, Rishir. But there's some good news."
"Good news?"
"Yes. Word from Marina is that Miss Hainya, fed up, is stepping in."
"Hainya?"
"Indeed. With her as the heir of the great noble house Mastiene, we can hope for the best. And there's more good news: the matter of your supporter qualification has passed."
"Oh..."
"Soon you'll enjoy various benefits as a supporter and get things moving. So—for now, the priority is your health."
Clap!
Sir Meltas clapped to lighten the mood.
"Back to the main point: what you need boils down to two things."
"Fienne and you, Sir Meltas? Haha! I knew it."
Hah.
Sir Meltas and Fienne sighed beside me.
"This guy. Is he really as sick as a miracle for surviving? Should've been sicker, bedridden and silent."
"What would you do with me silent and bedridden...!?"
As I hugged myself with both arms, Fienne scowled.
"I'd do whatever."
"Rishir. It's a relief you look healthy, but I trust you'll be more cautious in your actions beyond talk. The first of those two things you need is solid rest and recovery."
"Isn't it just a matter of being careful with mana operation?"
"True, but hearing you say that makes me uneasy again. You seem ready to do anything else. Out of concern, I'll ask in advance: what do you plan to do while minding your mana?"
"You said overload happens because my frail body can't keep up with the mana output? So I figured I'd train my body some. What's better than muscles for mana?"
"You plan to train your body in your current state? Are you sane?"
"Hm. Body training. A wise choice."
I whispered to Fienne.
"Fienne. It's fine. We'll pretend you didn't hear that. Shall we try again?"
Pout.
Oh no. I'd meant to spare her embarrassment, but I'd dealt the finishing blow.
Fienne's cute lips pursed out.
"I'm the fool for worrying. Do whatever you want."
"Don't wanna. I'll listen to you, Fienne."
"Then die."
"You'd be the saddest if I did~"
"Wanna give me a chance to prove it?"
"Rishir. You two get along so well. It's nice to see."
"Wh-who's your wife!?"
"Weren't you?"
Sir Meltas looked at Fienne with a 'what's this?' expression.
"Anyway, following up on the body training: the other thing you need to cure your overload is precisely that training."
"What's a body fit for a 5th-circle mage like? Should I aim to get harder than rock first?"
"I'd love to say what do you take mages for, but surprisingly, that might be right."
"How can a person get harder than rock?"
"Didn't you?"
Sir Meltas looked at me with a 'what's this?' expression.
"Of course, I don't mean literally making your muscles like rock. Do you know this, lad? Martial artists don't suffer overload."
"Pardon?"
"A simple example: you hit an unprecedented realm ascent, causing unprecedented overload. But if you were a martial artist? Your overload would've been minor."
"Because for them, realm ascent means a rise in physical abilities too?"
Fienne chimed in from the side, and Sir Meltas nodded.
"As expected of Rishir's wife-to-be—sharp as a tack. You've hit the nail on the head."
Sir Meltas clenched his fist.
"Martial artists wield mana through their bodies. You'd say, 'Isn't that the same for mages?'"
"Isn't that the same for mages?"
"Slightly different. We mages store mana in our bodies as vessels and control it with mental power. But martial artists..."
"Wield the vessel?"
"Sounds crude that way. For them, the body isn't a vessel—it's the sword. A sword reforged through mana."
"Ah. So they don't just store mana in the body—they fuse it in."
"Exactly."
It suddenly hit me why I'd never heard of overload back in the Bendel Family.
For knights who strengthen their bodies with mana to ascend realms, overload from the body failing to endure mana was truly an alien concept.
"So all mages at 5th circle and above have bodies matching their mana?"
I gazed reverently at Sir Meltas's clenched fist.
How much power was packed into that fist of a 6th-circle mage tower master?
"No. Toughness isn't the only way to overcome mana. Long-term coexistence and building tolerance—that's how we mages adapt."
"My growth was too fast to build sufficient tolerance."
"Right. And—"
Whew.
Sir Meltas sighed deeply before continuing reluctantly.
"This might not be limited to now."
"..."
I mulled over his words and reached my own conclusion.
"Considering my growth rate so far, it's likely tolerance won't keep up in the future either—is that it?"
"Precisely. Even if we heal the current overload, if your growth rate doesn't change, recurrence is just a matter of time."
"In other words, instead of building tolerance, I need to train my body."
Summarizing his advice in my terms was simple.
Leveling only main stat mental power could kill me.
Put some points in sub stat stamina.
After a moment's thought, I said,
"Being a mage is kinda inferior, huh?"
"Gal!!!"
"No, but really. Crushed to death by your own power? Like a fish out of water."
"Don't lump your personal issue onto all mages! Besides, with your insane growth, you'd have problems even on the martial path!"
"Slandering us martial artists without evidence."
"Us martial artists?"
Fienne looked at me pitifully.
She couldn't understand. In the end, even a True Ancestor was just a foolish mage.
That was the moment I planned to enlighten these foolish mages with martial wisdom.
Sudden shortness of breath.
A cough—cough!—and blood stained the hand over my mouth.
Sir Meltas and Fienne eyed me reproachfully.
Playing the patient card now, you coward? their faces seemed to say.
"Heh heh. What now, you wicked mages?"
Fienne sighed sharply.
"The wicked mage wants to hear real plans, not nonsense."
"...Like I said earlier, I'll use every means for rest and recovery, and train in parallel if possible."
"Where do you plan to learn swordsmanship?"
"Hmm. Any chance you know something about swords, Sir Meltas?"
"Asking me for sword lessons now?"
"Felt like you might know swordsmanship too."
"Sorry to disappoint. But I can do something similar."
"Spear arts!?"
"You need to work on your preconceptions, lad."
Sir Meltas pulled out a fist-sized notebook, jotted something down, tore off the page, and handed it to me.
"Martial arts manual!?"
"Wrote down a swordsmanship guild in Bondalles that might suit you."
"Ah."
I skimmed the note.
One question here.
"But Sir Meltas, can you really learn proper swordsmanship at a place like this?"
In this world, swordsmanship wasn't just 'swinging a sword'—it was 'wielding mana through the sword.'
The very thing the bastard had striven for over a decade without attaining.
Proper swordsmanship was an advanced art rivaling magic, as far as I knew.
Sir Meltas smiled wryly, grasping my intent.
"Can't promise it'll meet expectations. If pay-to-enter guilds taught high swordsmanship, why would nobles bow their heads to become apprentice knights in other houses? Normally, it'd be a bind—just the magic path is endless."
"Sounds like you're saying I'm not normal?"
"Yes. That's what I'm banking on. You'll make it work somehow."
"That's awfully irresponsible."
"Does it matter? You're not even my disciple."
"Even more irresponsible...! I thought you and I shared something deeper than master-disciple."
Ting. "What do you want me to do? That's what I wanted."
"Why, you...!"
The prim, pouting braided elder shut me up completely.
A short while later.
After finishing with Sir Meltas, I was preparing to leave the lab.
"Sir Meltas. Thank you for all the advice."
"...That said, lad. Are you really okay?"
"Pardon?"
"Your body. You seem too—fine, given what happened."
"I just coughed up blood."
"...Anyway, take care of yourself."
"Yes. Thank you. I'll be off then."
"Wait."
Perrin spoke up.
Perrin, who had been glued to me moments ago, had scampered to a corner of the room now that her energy(?) was recharged.
"Old man. Got a bowl or plate?"
"Hey, Perrin. That's no way to talk to Sir Meltas."
"It's fine, Rishir."
Sir Meltas chuckled indulgently, like with a granddaughter, and handed Perrin a saucer.
"What for?"
"He's sick."
"Oh. Perrin, you worried about me?"
"...If you're sick, Didoa will be sad."
Didoa was surprised too, but Perrin followed her remarkably well.
She liked the sense of kinship in Didoa's aura.
That was how Didoa ended up with a pet wolf.
Honestly, it didn't sit entirely right with me.
I'd dumped the stray dire wolf on stern Didoa.
But no choice—Perrin clung to me when hungry for energy, then coldly distanced herself once full.
For now, Didoa was the only one sane Perrin fully opened up to.
The silver lining—
—was that Didoa genuinely liked Perrin too.
"This is for Didoa."
Perrin set the plate on the floor.
Then shifted to wolf form—
Guh! Guh! Guh!
—and started retching into it.
"Wh-what!? Perrin!?"
Transparent, slimy fluid poured from Perrin's maw into the saucer.
And moments later.
With a clatter (splatter), a marble dropped on top.
Back in human form, Perrin wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Eat."
"...!"
Edible, huh?
Her face was like a chef presenting a gourmet feast.
Perrin gazed at me, full of confidence and anticipation for my reaction.
Catechists.
They are entrusted by the church with the grave mission of guiding lost lambs back to the righteous path.
The church grants them broad authority in this regard, allowing them to interpret and execute their duties freely.
A number of catechists, led by High Priest Bardros, entered Bondalles.
Their mission was singular.
To root out the apostle of the black mage parasites hiding in the Gray Mage Tower.
It was no easy task.
Among the cunning black mages, parasite apostles were especially devious, insidious, and secretive.
Above all, little was known about them.
The Mage Tower likely hadn't even noticed their presence.
Thus, they faced a dilemma.
The highly insular Mage Tower was one of the prime groups that shunned the church.
Let alone conducting a full search inside, even formally entering was a distant prospect.
How to make the Mage Tower acknowledge the parasites and secure cooperation?
Catechist Tordal took the first step: approaching a Mage Tower affiliate.
He was confident.
By hard-won intel, her half-demon status gave her very low standing in the tower.
She would surely accept his proposal.
The half-demon mage Didoa, hearing him out, asked back with her characteristic emotionless face.
"A black mage has infiltrated the Gray Mage Tower?"
"Yes. Though you wouldn't have noticed."
Didoa tilted her head and muttered.
"Again?"
"?"
Again?
Tordal couldn't comprehend what the half-demon before him meant.