Jusaek Magic Tower (3)

Today in particular, the gallery was overflowing with profanity and metaphorical bloodshed. The cause, naturally, was none other than the refrigerators. A total of one hundred units had been listed for sale, and every single one had sold out within twenty-four hours.

Only fifteen had trickled out until 23:50; then, the moment the first user review dropped, the remaining eighty-five units vanished in a ten-minute feeding frenzy. That stampede had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠occurred before the review post even earned enough upvotes to hit the Hall of Fame.

Thanks to the fallout, the number of gallery users clamoring for my attention skyrocketed. Their posts were no longer casual banter or whining; they read like desperate prayers.

"Ah, I really wasn't planning on selling any more."

My resolve softened. I gave in and put up a final batch of exactly one hundred units on the marketplace. In an instant, the gloomy despair that had choked the forum dissolved into unbridled euphoria.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

And that was strictly where I drew the line.

"Sales halted!"

Refrigerators guzzled a massive amount of mana stones. The entire initiative was designed purely to drive up mana stone consumption, thereby accelerating the production yield of secondary Heat Stones. I harbored no megalomaniacal ambition to conquer the world through modern home appliances. If someone ran out of mana stones during an actual existential crisis, the fallout would be irreversible.

Yet despite my intentions, units originally sold for five hundred points were being flipped on the secondary market for as high as fifty thousand. Naturally, I slapped immediate bans on every scalper attempting to trade openly on the boards, but I had no jurisdiction over the black markets operating offline.

Consequently, the refrigerator swiftly transformed into an elusive status symbol reserved strictly for high nobility.

Ownership of a refrigerator had unironically become the baseline entry requirement for Adrian's aristocratic circles.

"Though I have to admit, having a fridge really does revolutionize daily life."

Naturally, I had benefited from my own inventory. The refrigerator tucked into the corner of my shelter had long since been stocked to bursting. It wasn't one of the humble baseline models peddled on the marketplace, either. I had treated myself to an extravagant four-door French-door refrigerator that I could only have dreamed of owning in my previous life. Of course, the vast majority of its interior was stocked with peak forum-browsing provisions: frozen pizzas, triangle kimbap, and bottles of ice-cold cola.

Right about then, a genuine question crossed my mind. Come to think of it, why have the dwarves been so dead silent?

Dwarves spent their lives toiling in subterranean mines, constantly radiating intense body heat. To them, an ice-cold draft of beer should have been a sacred ambrosia beyond all worldly comparison.

When I dropped a comment out of sheer curiosity, a familiar dwarven warrior finally surfaced to reply.

The dwarves hadn't vanished after all. Quite the contrary: having tasted the celestial nectar that was genuine chilled ale, they had simply spent twenty-four uninterrupted hours glued to the refrigerators like drunken limpets. I was well aware of their racial affinity for alcohol, but I had never dreamed it reached this level of sheer fanaticism. To think they were preparing to confer a title of nobility upon me.

"Not that I have any intention of making the journey over there, of course."

Still, morbid curiosity got the better of me, so I probed Thaldru for specifics.

Thaldru's single statement set the gallery ablaze. What is it? Let me in on the joke, damn it.

Sensing my bewilderment, Thaldru kindly followed up with an explanation.

The mantle those stout madmen were preparing to thrust upon me was far, far more terrifyingly exalted than I had ever dared to conceive.

"You are qualified."

Within the somber quiet of the floating abandoned castle, a voice as crystalline as cut glass resonated across the grand audience chamber.

"What I mean is... you may take a seat."

Erzsebet, who had detoxified her debilitating curse to a miraculous degree by regularly consuming cola and tomato juice, spoke softly while gazing at the refrigerator standing beside her throne.

"Yes... do not be bashful."

A creation born from a transcendent being, an artificial familiar crafted by the supreme Archmage Judddak: the Refrigerator. If it were merely forward, that would be dismissed as crude insolence. Yet it was both bold and exceptionally capable, never neglecting its sacred obligations.

"I like that you are quick-witted."

Erzsebet dropped clear cubes of ice into an antique crystal chalice and poured in the dark beverage. Two chalices in total. One of them held 'ice-cold cola,' personally prepared and served by the vampire progenitor's own hands—a supreme honor she bestowed exclusively upon the metal appliance.

"It is a pity. If we could celebrate together... it would be wonderful."

She felt only a passing sorrow that the refrigerator possessed no digestive apparatus. Yet even so, Erzsebet was profoundly content with her present reality. Her ancient curse was steadily loosening its suffocating grip. While stringing together prolonged, complex sentences was still an ordeal, this level of clarity alone was nothing short of a miracle.

She raised her chalice, holding a quiet toast to commemorate her meeting with the new companion.

— Hisssss.

The effervescent black elixir showcased its mesmerizing brilliance before sliding down Erzsebet's slender throat.

"Kyaaah!"

An astonishing ecstasy, no matter how many times she partook. Ever since discovering this celestial flavor, Erzsebet found it utterly impossible to slip back into her eternal slumber as she once had. In fact, she considered herself extraordinarily blessed. She even felt a lingering sense of gratitude toward the mortal adventurers who had once cast her into sleep to quell her madness.

Yet such exquisite joy felt hollow without someone to share it with.

Naturally, that someone was always Judddak. Whenever she felt the creeping ache of boredom or isolation, he was always there to offer a prompt reply. That singular comfort was something not even a state-of-the-art refrigerator could ever replace.

And just like that, she had secured official felicitations from the supreme master of the gallery himself. Now, the refrigerator had been formally consecrated as an acknowledged resident of the floating castle.

"...It is slightly disappointing."

She had subtly maneuvered for a face-to-face rendezvous, only to be rejected with clean, surgical efficiency. Yet surely, someday. If she continued to chip away with gentle persistence, wouldn't he relent eventually?

"Just as he did back then."

When she had been cursed with an unwanted immortality.

When she was trapped beneath an agonizing hex.

When every living creature shrank from her presence in terror, he was the sole being who had casually approached, struck up a conversation, and offered her the mantle of Assistant Moderator.

A delicate blush rose to warm Erzsebet's cheeks as she sipped her drink...

Or rather, such a thing was physically impossible. As the ancient sovereign of the desolate citadel, her alabaster complexion was virtually immune to mundane flushing, and her peerless mana control rendered involuntary shifts in blood circulation nonexistent. Regardless of physiology, however, her heart felt light.

She was just about to continue her tranquil routine of browsing the boards in warm contentedness when a jarring message flickered across the screen.

"...What is this?"

A grotesque, unregistered intruder was slipping past the dimensional threshold into the gallery.