The Wager
After hearing the rumors about the master of the Central Magic Tower from Rombel, Elbridge offered a prayer to the Goddess of the Rusty Shield.
Once again, the Goddess’s answer came instantly.
Elbridge felt a quiet surge of joy, yet at the same time a flicker of unease.
"Goddess. This may be presumptuous, but something weighs on my mind."
"Even now, with so many more believers, you still answer my prayers without fail. As your only paladin, nothing could make me happier. Yet I worry that in watching over me, you might be neglecting the others."
"..."
The Goddess of the Rusty Shield suddenly sounded melancholy. Elbridge quickly changed the subject to his original purpose.
"You shine brightest in eras when so many people cry out in desperation, not in peaceful times. There is no need for concern. That aside, Goddess, the reason I prayed today is that I have a question."
"That is reassuring. Then, could you tell me about the master of the Central Magic Tower?"
The reply that returned was far from satisfying.
"…Understood."
"What is it?"
"…?"
Elbridge had obtained a rather puzzling piece of information.
*
The next day, Rombel was dragged off the moment he woke up by people who seemed to be a mix of engineers and mages. Their zeal was so fierce that even Elbridge and Marcus could not intervene.
At the same time, the people from the Magic Tower showed a startling lack of interest in either Elbridge or Marcus.
After lounging in the luxurious room for half a day, Elbridge finally spoke.
"The soft bed and ornate furniture are pleasant, but having absolutely nothing to do becomes its own kind of torment."
"I feel exactly the same," Marcus said, rubbing the scar on the bridge of his nose before making a suggestion. "Since things have turned out this way, shall we go gather some intelligence together?"
Gathering intelligence was the excuse Marcus pulled out every time he wanted to visit a tavern.
Under normal circumstances Elbridge would have told him to go alone, but today the offer sounded strangely tempting. There was no danger, and no pressing tasks.
"…Shall we?"
A huge grin bloomed across Marcus’s face.
"You’re not joking, right?"
"What’s there to joke about? Let’s go right now."
Elbridge shed his armor, tossed it aside, and rose from his seat.
*
Every city has countless taverns, each with its own distinct atmosphere.
Places where one could drink exorbitantly priced liquor while putting on airs. Quiet spots for a light meal and a drink on the way home from work. And the slightly messy, boisterous establishments where mercenaries gathered.
Finding a tavern favored by mercenaries was not difficult.
Nine out of ten stood right beside the Mercenary Guild.
Most of those taverns were managed directly by the Guild and served as de facto waiting rooms for mercenaries. They were also the places where information flowed most freely.
"This is the one."
The tavern Elbridge and Marcus entered was exactly that sort of place—packed with mercenaries, a faint sour smell rising from the wooden floor, the kind of establishment where strangers could easily strike up a conversation.
Such shops had one unwritten rule: no knights or holy knights allowed.
That was why Elbridge had removed his armor. Today, Holy Knight Elbridge did not exist in this tavern. Only the young mercenary called El.
Rather than taking a table, the pair claimed seats at the counter facing the owner.
"El. Anything you feel like eating?"
"Anything is fine. Let’s start with a drink."
"A drink? You really are a rookie. In a place like this, you start with three shots."
Marcus dropped a few coins on the counter. Six small glasses filled with clear liquor appeared—three in front of Elbridge, three in front of Marcus.
Without exchanging a word, the two men downed the brutally strong alcohol three times each in quick succession.
The sensation of it spreading through his body was intense. He felt as though he could sketch the exact shape of his esophagus and stomach from sensation alone.
"El, you hold your liquor well."
"It’s nothing special…"
Marcus smiled with satisfaction. He clearly enjoyed being able to drop the titles—Mr. Elbridge, Sir Elbridge—and speak comfortably.
Elbridge also found the casual atmosphere more pleasant. Outwardly, Marcus looked at least a decade older.
The two men leaned back and surveyed the room.
Information gathering was half an excuse, but the other half was genuine. Right now, both of them had only one question: why had Middlemarch become an entirely different world from every other city?
Marcus lowered his voice slightly.
"El. Two hundred years ago, Middlemarch wasn’t a city like this, right?"
"Correct. Every region on the continent has its own distinct character, but nothing this alien existed back then."
Silent carriages? The peculiar clothing? Those details were secondary. The most important factor was who held power.
From Elbridge’s experience, every city revolved around faith and its religious orders. Even those with vast wealth or the so-called nobility could not surpass the authority of the orders. There had been no exceptions.
Yet the Middlemarch of today was different. The Magic Tower overwhelmed every order.
One only had to look at the layout of the buildings. At the very center stood only the Magic Tower, while the temples were pushed to the outskirts, unable to approach its vicinity.
It really is a strange city.
Marcus glanced around, then noticed an old man drinking alone in the corner of the counter. Roughly sixty years old. From his bearing, he was almost certainly a retired mercenary.
Retired mercenaries shared one common trait: they were dying to tell their old stories to anyone who would listen. They had seen much over long lives and were always ready to talk—perfect sources of information.
Elbridge and Marcus moved to the seats beside him.
Marcus set a fresh glass in front of the old man and greeted him politely.
"Good evening, sir."
The retired mercenary accepted the drink without hesitation, drained it, then answered.
"Never seen your faces before. New in town?"
"That’s right. We came from Soleneon in the East. Both of us… Ah, I’m Marcus. This fellow here is El."
"Your accents sounded eastern. What brings you?"
"We lived in the East for a while, but the atmosphere here feels… off."
The old mercenary chuckled.
"You came to the right person. I’m not from the Central region originally—I’m from the North. So I know exactly how you feel."
"Do you?"
"Everything revolving around the Magic Tower instead of the orders feels strange, doesn’t it?"
"Exactly."
As he spoke, Marcus slid a silver coin toward the tavern owner. Nine small glasses arrived, along with a plate of fried pork rinds.
The old man tossed back another shot of strong liquor, then pointed at Elbridge.
"I was about that young man’s age—your name was El, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"When I first came to Middlemarch at your age, it was already a strange city, but not like this. From what people told me back then, everything changed after the current master of the Magic Tower descended from the heavens and claimed the position."
Elbridge asked, "Are you saying the master pushed the temples out?"
"Whether it was deliberate or simply happened naturally, I couldn’t say. But one thing is certain—every change began with the master of the Central Magic Tower."
"He is said to be a mighty mage who was once a god, but is it truly possible for one person to transform a city this vast?"
"It wasn’t done through magic alone. The master’s greatest weapon has always been his business sense."
The tavern owner, who had been wiping plates with a dry cloth, joined the conversation.
"That master is a cunning one. After descending from the heavens, he used both his magical prowess and the prestige of having been a god to swallow every profitable enterprise in Middlemarch. Temples and nobles alike can’t lift a finger against him. So the temples simply withered away on their own."
"Leaving nobles aside, can temples truly be pushed aside like that? The people here must still need divine protection."
"This is a city where the Magic Tower’s protection matters more than any god’s. That’s what Middlemarch has become."
Could a mage even grant protection?
When Elbridge tilted his head in confusion, the owner laughed.
"Among all the artifacts the master of the Central Magic Tower created, the one that changed this city most dramatically is the Magic Battery. Study that battery and you’ll understand everything about this place."
"What is a Magic Battery?"
"…You two really haven’t been here long. That thing right there is a Magic Battery."
The owner pointed to a metal box beside the counter. It was about a span tall and as wide as a man’s shoulders. Elbridge and Marcus could not guess its purpose.
The owner called out, "Hey, Milton!"
A flushed, drunken man turned around.
"You still owe for your drinks, don’t you? Come over here and charge the battery!"
"Yeah, yeah."
The man called Milton staggered over and placed both hands on top of the Magic Battery. The needle on its surface moved on its own, touching the number 15 for a moment before returning to its original position.
Having done his part, Milton shuffled back to his seat and resumed drinking.
Elbridge and Marcus still had no idea what they had just witnessed.
"I don’t understand."
"Milton is a mage. That battery can store a mage’s mana. He just deposited roughly fifteen units into it."
"What does that achieve?"
"The Magic Tower buys the stored mana for money. Milton accumulated mana here, and I’ll deduct the cost of his drinks by that amount."
"What does the Magic Tower do with the collected mana?"
"They use it to maintain magic circles, power magic carriages, infuse knights with mana in exchange for payment… all the things mages can do."
Elbridge and Marcus remembered what Rombel had told them the day before—that beneath the silent carriages lay boxes that stored mana, and that mana moved the vehicles.
"The important point," the owner continued, "is that becoming a mage lets you earn free money every day like Milton. Even a mediocre mage can make decent pocket change. Someone with real talent can live comfortably just by filling batteries. The truly outstanding ones join the Magic Tower and handle serious wealth."
Only then did the situation click for Elbridge and Marcus.
Believing in a god might occasionally bring divine grace. Becoming a mage, however, guaranteed steady income.
Uncertain grace versus certain reward.
It did not take deep thought to see which way people’s hearts would lean.
Marcus asked, "Can’t someone be both a priest and a mage?"
"They say divine power and mana are opposites. Divine power lowers the purity of mana, so it’s actually better not to accumulate any divine power at all."
Marcus seemed unmoved by the explanation.
But Elbridge felt the same shock he had experienced upon awakening from his seal and arriving in Soleneon.
A world where it has become natural to switch faith according to profit. If greater benefits can be guaranteed by abandoning faith altogether, then people might truly cast it aside.
Elbridge chewed the fried snacks, drank the strong liquor, and sank into thought.
In a city like this, were holy knights or priests no longer born?
What was the ratio of mages to ordinary people? The questions were endless.
At least the information gathering was reasonably successful…
Inside the noisy tavern, only Elbridge and Marcus sat lost in deep contemplation.
Then the tavern door burst open with a violent bang.
It was clearly slammed on purpose to draw every eye in the room.
All heads turned.
A female mage stood there flanked by two armored men. What caught Elbridge’s attention more than the mage were the knights. Instead of any order’s emblem, the Central Magic Tower’s symbol was boldly engraved on their armor and swords.
Knights.
Knights who drew power from mana rather than divine energy. Yet they were neither wandering knights nor retainers of noble houses. This was the first time Elbridge had ever seen knights bearing the Magic Tower’s mark.
A few patrons, clearly familiar with the scene, began to complain.
"Here they are again. The mood was just getting good…"
The reason for their displeasure soon became clear. The female mage chanted a spell and waved her staff; the hazy drunkenness clouding everyone’s minds vanished instantly.
She drove away their intoxication with magic.
When discontent filled the patrons’ faces, one of the knights walked over and placed a gold coin on the counter.
"I’ll leave this for the drinks. Anyone who still wants to drink can do so later. For now, pay attention to what I have to say."
Even so, a sarcastic voice answered.
"Oh, of course! Please, speak freely!"
The knight gave the speaker a brief, cold glance before stating his business.
"We are seeking mercenaries to fulfill a request from the Magic Tower. The mission is simple reconnaissance. However, we will not accept those lacking in skill."
Leaving the content aside, the knight’s tone was unmistakably condescending—as though asking whether any of them could possibly meet his standards.
"The search area is the underground sewers beneath Middlemarch. You have three days. The reward begins at one gold coin and will increase substantially according to results. Those willing to accept should wait at the Mercenary Guild tomorrow morning. We look forward to applications from those confident in their abilities. Mediocre applicants will only waste their time, since they will not be hired. That is all."
The knight finished and left.
Elbridge simply thought, I see, and let it pass.
Marcus, however, looked like a man who had spotted a gold coin lying on the ground. His eyes sparkled.
Elbridge found the reaction difficult to understand.
He knows that selling even one of the swords he carries would let him live in comfort for the rest of his life, yet he reacts like this to a single gold coin…
As expected, Marcus turned to him.
"El. We don’t have anything planned for the next few days. How about we take that request?"
"I’m not particularly inclined."
The retired mercenary nodded in approval.
"Wise choice. Don’t waste your time."
"Why do you say that?"
"That’s the seventh time I’ve seen the Magic Tower post the exact same request."
"The conditions are that good, yet no one has taken it?"
"Nearly every mercenary in this tavern tried to accept it. Not a single one was hired. Their skills weren’t up to standard, apparently."
Only then did genuine interest appear on Elbridge’s face.
It was clearly an odd request. His intuition was practically shouting that something lay behind it.
Staring at the gold coin the knight had left behind, Elbridge murmured, "Brother Marcus, accepting that request might not be a bad idea."
The response came not from Marcus but from the mercenaries drinking at the tables behind them.
"Haha! Anyone want to bet whether that friend can get the request tomorrow? I’ll wager one gold coin that he can’t."
"Same here—one gold coin."
The mercenaries playfully stacked gold coins on the table.
Only skilled mercenaries could toss gold around so casually. Their certainty was absolute: there was no way this newcomer could receive a request they themselves had been denied.
And Elbridge was not the sort of man who backed down from a wager he could win.
He snatched Marcus’s coin pouch, tossed it to the tavern owner, and declared, "I’ll come collect my winnings soon. Hold onto this for me until then."