Chapter 243
Chapter 243
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 243
Chapter Title: If I Could Burn Like the Sun -3
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Records of this symptom appear in ancient tomes. In the chaotic era before the mage schools diverged, there was a record of a mage who relentlessly researched ways to dismantle "target designation."
Some soul powers manifest by specifying a target. For an ability like "weakening the enemy," designating the enemy must come first. So how is that designation achieved?
The ancient mage believed the secret lay in names.
He thought that by concealing or erasing his own name, he could nullify or weaken every "target designation" aimed at him. After prolonged experiments, he is presumed to have succeeded.
Why? Because fragments of his research materials and handwritten tomes clearly survived... yet no one remembered that mage, and not a single document mentioned him.
A mage's research can't be conducted in isolation. It demands facilities, reagents—traces are inevitable.
Thus, the existence of the research results without any social footprints of the work itself (trade logs, paper citations, gripes from assistant mages, and so on) signals the magic's activation.
We can infer that name erasure brings this effect along with it. On this, some mage offered the following assessment⋯⋯ (omitted).
⋯⋯⋯⋯.
Thud.
Selbia closed the page of the ancient tome and pondered.
...What was my childhood friend's name?
Selbia emerged from a week of secluded study in the Crimson Tower library. Dark circles hollowed her eyes.
She had combed through every book on amnesia like a madwoman, unearthing just one volume amid the pile that explained this bizarre affair.
Name erasure.
...No clue what magical mechanism could pull that off. Part of her suspected it was just some ancient mage's tall tale, like Envers jumping around claiming he'd grasped the heavens.
Yet the symptoms matched her situation with eerie precision.
Her childhood friend forgetting her? Plausible enough. If the mad mage = childhood friend hypothesis held water, he was already parading around with two women.
Stronger than her, and in some ways more alluring. Infuriating. Heart-wrenching. But if he was thriving in bliss... forgetting one hick girl from the village? Yeah, she could swallow that.
But the reverse—her forgetting him? Impossible.
Memories of features might blur over time, sure. But a name? No way she'd forget that. She'd scribbled it dozens, hundreds of times. Chanted it endlessly.
She'd even written love letters.
Selbia unlocked the small safe hidden under her dorm bed, pulling out letters never sent—maybe never to be. She checked each one.
The recipient fields? Not his name. "Childhood friend." "My sun." Euphemisms, every last one.
And the oldest—the first love letter, penned back home before joining the Crimson Tower...
▒▒▒.
The space for his name was mangled, letters twisting like they'd sprouted minds of their own, reforming into gibberish.
Selbia froze, cold sweat beading. Her girl's pure heart and long wait hid... something unfathomable.
What chilled her more?
"...I had no idea."
She hadn't even realized she'd forgotten. Oblivion had seeped in like spring breeze on her nose—utterly natural.
Terror gripped her, but relief flickered too.
He hadn't willfully erased her. Some incident had forced it. Yeah. Had to be.
A stray trigger might revive it all. She could bask in that warm gaze again.
...So, how to reverse it?
Nothing.
Beyond her level. Even reaching Mythic Legend wouldn't let her "burn a name" or whatever arcane feat. Her only slim hope?
"Enrollment Portal."
Full circle to the wish scroll.
The Sublime Archmage, Crimson Tower Master Vermilion, might know a way.
Complete the Tower Master's assignment. Become her disciple. Beg for the clue to reclaim memories. The wish had shifted, but the goal remained.
Her flickering resolve reignited. Goal set—march forward. Her childhood friend's teachings pushed her back.
Capture the exiled Crimson Tower mage, Krabelin Render. Somehow.
She clenched her fists.
"...Right. I'll nab Krabelin, no matter what it takes...!"
"Selbia, all done? Time to head out?"
"Eek?! W-Why are you here—this is my room, how?!"
"Window was wide open. Crimson's got that breezy openness vibe."
The intruder mage—sans permission—pointed at the gaping window. A rope dangled; he'd rappelled in from above.
"Why barge into someone's room without asking?!"
"You looked grave, ignored my knock, skipped meals... Figured something was up. Worried me."
Childhood friend (presumed) fretting over her. Like old times. Bliss. Dopamine surged on reflex.
No.
Selbia caught her angry face melting—slapped her cheeks to steel herself.
Not certain yet. 99% sure? Still, that 1% chance it wasn't him. Plus, two girlfriends. Weird illusion magic on first meet. Tentacle torment. Unfathomable guy...
Reciting the list to fan her rage gauge, the mad mage donned an apron.
"Cafeteria grub's meh, so I'll whip up something light... Pasta sound good?"
"⋯⋯⋯⋯."
Echoes from the past.
Sorry, Selbia. This is all I can do. Kids need hearty meals... Later, when I make bank, I'll cook you something delicious. Promise.
Yeah.
Crusts of bread, rotten veggies. Trim the inedible, scraps barely enough—he'd cooked for village kids anyway.
Selbia's nose stung; she looked up, voice thick.
"...I'll eat."
"Cool. I'll prep—meet me in the cafeteria!"
The mad mage ignored her dampness. Such tiny kindnesses stabbed her heart. Old scenes overlapped relentlessly.
Selbia wiped her eyes.
No, Selbia. Don't get greedy. Alive is enough—you swore that. Even if wedded, you'd congratulate him.
So rejoice.
Deep down...
She yearned for him, memories restored, to return to her...
Selbia and I finished prepping for the trip—
"...Trim the luggage? Your bag's triple my volume."
"More prep is always bett⋯⋯."
"Open it. Books? Why cram it full?!"
"For research⋯⋯."
After Selbia confiscated two bags' worth, we finished prepping.
Wherever our target Krabelin-whatever lurked, it'd be outside the Crimson Tower. To snag him, we leave.
But blindly roaming the continent? A short jaunt could turn lifelong odyssey. I asked Selbia.
"Hunt plan?"
"Crimson Tower gets steady tips on exiled mages. Intel funnels to the purification center. We wait here."
"Aye aye."
Selbia zipped through forms—export requests, etc.—and 30 minutes later handed me a file.
Sighting report on the target.
She tapped the dossier, analyzing.
"Latest: Mercenary gig near eastern front, Empire east... Reliability's trash. Probably fake."
"Why?"
"Contradicts prior sighting. Krabelin Render entered the Holy City's hero selection tourney—cross-verified endlessly, solid. Distance between spots? Absurd."
I applauded Selbia's sharpness.
"Aha... Sharp. Unless our target got snagged in a goddess-fueled mass random teleport from the Holy City fiasco."
"Pardon?"
"Hasn't hit the streets yet? You know the Holy City uproar? This was part. Every hero candidate scattered worldwide."
"...I'll book a carriage east."
Selbia's face screamed volumes unspoken. Asking details? She'd spill everything, wanted or not—terrifying prospect.
Riding the jolting carriage, bags stowed, swaying to its odd rhythm... My mind wandered.
First, Selbia.
"...Mm."
Minutes in, she was out.
Saw her tearing through amnesia books in the library. Felt like fussing over her. Draped a blanket on her when she dozed off mid-dawn read.
Spotted that tome too. Name something-or-other. Too obvious to miss. Clues piled up.
1) Selbia and I hail from the same mountain village. Ages match roughly.
2) The pure white path she described matched one I'd found within myself.
3) Memory gaps aligned. Not coincidence of faulty recalls—but my memories hidden, blinding her to me.
Thus.
Official or not, I'm her "childhood friend." World's tiny. I had a girl like that too.
Mulled it over hard after. Am I the same me pre- and post-amnesia? Does past-me doting on her obligate current-me?
Conclusion: No.
I chose gray over black or white. From then, past-me and now-me are distinct. No baton of old feelings.
But I won't let her long wait mean nothing.
Hard worker, right? Effort deserves reward. Memories back later... carve off a piece of me. Hand back her childhood friend that way?
No need to inherit anyway. I like her, if not full love.
Thud.
Carriage rocked hard. Checked Selbia—stirred a bit, still dreaming.
"Sleep tight..."
Deep sleeper?
Next, names.
I don't know mine; struggle memorizing others'.
Blamed "that thing" in my head's side effects. Maybe not. New hypothesis: If names hold power I underestimated...
Pre-amnesia me's magical ward? Reason back then demanded it.
Till I smash "that thing," nameless?
Bitter taste.
Time passed.
We reached Pomerker, near the eastern front.
Trip smooth. Flame mage heir here, after all.
Goblin ear canals? Mini fire seeds sorted 'em clean. Effortless bliss. Can't top illusion magic's "clam pasta jerky," but...
Back at Azure Tower, I'll crave this touch.
Prodded Selbia, curled asleep on carriage floor.
"Selbia? Selbia?"
"Mmmnyah..."
"Miss Selbia, Lady Selbia, bedwetter, fireball launcher."
"...Ungh..."
Out cold. Utterly defenseless. Shaking shoulders? Nada. Kidnap her home unnoticed, easy.
Means 100% trust in me—childhood friend. What'd past-me get up to...?
Anyway, her snoozing means double luggage for me.
"...Eh."
Her peaceful face softened me. Fine, inn only. Too heavy en route? Wake her.
Hiked her on my back, grabbed packs in both hands.
Regret not exercising, then: surprising volume. Movable.
Eastern front: First Princess Elaine's stakeout. Endless demon hordes, perpetual total war.
Violence demand? Bottomless. Front starved for manpower.
Source? Pomerker supplies it.
Heard mercenary market here dwarfs Empire's. Seeing it? Crystal. Mercs swarming.
Fivefold shops for sundries/armor vs. other cities. Pedestrians packing heat, casual.
Find Krabelin-whatever here, snag his noggin—mission done.
No moral math needed. Charges: Mage murder, data theft. Turned a Crimson research wing to bloodbath, fled.
Criminal? No mercy.
Grab a room, investigate slow. Approached a passerby friendly.
"Excuse me. Know any inns around?"
"Yep."
"⋯⋯⋯⋯?"
Stared blankly at the curt guy's back.
Bad day, maybe. Tried another, nicer-looking.
"Hey, seeking a decent inn. Best quality in town?"
"Nah."
"Pardon?"
"Don't wanna tell ya."
What.
Citizens' chill? Illusion magic hate-aura leaking subconsciously? Checked—no.
Not hate. Pure, emotionless ignore. Like I wasn't their problem.
No curse. Puddle reflection: Half-decent handsome. So why...?
Then, faint pull. Like finding lost body part. One of Soulfiend's demon shards here.
Puzzle clicked.
Hostile locals + shard = my head module culprit.
Shuddered at realization.
"What-TV Module, your doing...?!"
What antics made a whole city meh me out?!
Felt karma crawling my spine⋯⋯!