Chapter 319
Chapter 319
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 319
Chapter Title: Ashen Mage Tower (2)
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There was a man named Krenbel Eleanoa.
He had once been one of the six elders of the Ashen Mage Tower, but now he was no longer bound by that title. He was an Elder. A figure equivalent to the true lord of the tower.
It had to be that way.
Krenbel possessed both the skill and the achievements to sit upon the throne of the Tower Lord. He was more than qualified, yet he had refused the position himself.
"The seat of the Ashen Mage Tower Lord is not for an ordinary soul like me. Whoever sits there must be someone truly extraordinary, unlike anyone else."
He didn't fit the role.
There would be someone more suited than him.
For that reason, Krenbel had continually refused the position of Tower Lord... but though he held no official power, he shouldered all the duties and responsibilities of one. The tedious, burdensome tasks that offered no gain, which everyone else shunned.
Because Krenbel had borne that burden for so long, the mages called him Elder out of respect.
The Elder of the Ashen Mage Tower.
There was good reason he had earned that name.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Click.
The sound of heels echoed through the long corridor leading to the uppermost floor of the Ashen Mage Tower. The rapid clicks grew shorter in interval, urgent and pressing.
The owner of those footsteps was Resti Eleanoa.
Her violet hair fluttered wildly.
The robe of the next Tower Lord billowed noisily around her. Resti, recently dubbed Iron Blood in the tower and seen as an emotionless doll. Yet here she was, panting as she dashed down the corridor.
Her secretary, trailing behind, could only feel flustered. But considering Resti's background and her connection to the Elder, it wasn't all that strange.
Resti had been taken in by Krenbel Eleanoa.
He was her adoptive father, her master, and to her, a benefactor like no other. The first to recognize her talent and affirm her worth.
And now, that man had risen from his sickbed.
After years.
Click, click.
As Resti ran, heels striking the floor, she felt relieved for the first time that she was leading the way. No one could see her face right now.
Drip.
How long had she run? Resti stopped before a half-open door. She steadied her breath. The room where the Elder resided. And for the past few years, it had become his sick chamber, an office turned bedside.
She flung the half-open door wide.
There sat an elderly man in his twilight years, propped up against the bed. He had been gazing out the window but slowly turned his head. His eyes met Resti's as she entered.
"Oh, Resti."
The old man smiled kindly.
"You've grown so much since I last saw you."
For a moment, Resti swallowed hard.
She had imagined this scene countless times a day. Meeting the Elder's gaze as he rose from his bed, exchanging greetings.
What would she do? What expression would she wear? What words would she say?
In her imaginings, she faced him as a perfect Tower Lord, ensuring he wouldn't worry after so long.
She had pictured it so often that she believed she could do it in reality.
"...Ah."
But as always.
Imagination and reality were worlds apart.
Resti slowly raised her arm and brushed her face. Far from perfect, she couldn't even control her expression. No matter how much one tried to act mature, a child was always a child before their parents.
"Yes, Elder."
Resti barely squeezed out the words.
"It's been so long."
She forced an awkward smile as she spoke.
2.
"They say the Elder has risen from his sickbed."
Raniel blinked at Rosel's words.
There was only one person an elder like him would call Elder. Raniel asked Rosel.
"Krenbel?"
Rosel nodded.
Krenbel Eleanoa.
The Elder who had lain bedridden for so long had opened his eyes. He was recovering swiftly. Rosel summarized the news briefly...
"...Impossible, right?"
Raniel muttered shortly.
"What do you mean?"
"If my memory's correct, the Elder's illness... wasn't something curable, was it?"
She pressed her chest firmly as she spoke.
"You know, that saying. The soul is sick."
There was an expression: the soul is sick.
It mainly afflicted mages, a disease that arose after walking the path of magic for too long. Its cause and cure remained unknown.
"I remember the Elder had that."
"He did."
"And yet he's risen?"
"So it seems."
"Hmm..."
Raniel rubbed her chin.
'Something's...'
It was undoubtedly good news.
Elder Krenbel Eleanoa was one of the few people Raniel personally respected. A man faithful to a mage's true calling, regardless of origin or status.
For such a figure to rise from his bed—it was good news, certainly...
'But it feels off.'
She couldn't shake the nagging unease.
The recent incident Kalt had handled, and now this timing—it made strange thoughts swirl in Raniel's mind.
"That's why I'm heading to the Ashen Mage Tower now. Want to come?"
"Mm, I'll go separately later."
"Alright."
After Rosel left, some time passed.
Raniel slowly stood. Then she too headed for the Ashen Mage Tower. Not the upper levels, but below.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The underground waterway flowing beneath the Ashen Mage Tower.
"I've brought him as requested."
Kalt forced the black mage to his knees before Raniel.
"The investigation's ongoing, but nothing solid yet. They're thorough bastards..."
"I see."
Raniel glanced sidelong at the black mage.
His shoulder seemed dislocated, arm dangling limp. A gag muffled his mouth—precautions to prevent incantations.
'Fingers bound too.'
Mages who knew how to handle their kind. Raniel let out a short sigh and gestured to Kalt.
"At least remove the gag. We need to let him talk first."
Kalt complied without protest.
Such measures were mere contingencies. With Ashen mages present, no black mage could conjure variables through magic, no matter how bold.
"Filthy... filthy slaves of the stars!"
The moment the gag came off, the mage screamed.
"Doom! The promised doom comes. You star-worshippers will be powerless before it. You..."
Raniel pointed at him as he raised his voice, chuckling.
"Hey, how's your dialogue always exactly the same?"
"Right? Hasn't changed in years. Doom, stars, apocalypse. At this point, I swear they have a script."
To the black mage, it was impressive-sounding jargon pieced together. But to Raniel and Kalt, who had interrogated countless doomsayers, it was the same old spiel.
"Hey."
Raniel nudged the black mage with her toe.
"I'm no good at interrogations and such. Can't drag it out tediously, can't do the torture finesse either."
With that mutter, Raniel bent her knee, leveling her gaze with his. Usually, a bit of intimidation made black mages spill everything in fear.
Raniel van Trias, Ashen mage.
How she "handled" traitors was infamous among them. Assuming the same here, she patted his shoulder casually.
"Just answer what I..."
"Talkative bitch."
The black mage sneered.
Then spat blood-mixed phlegm. It missed Raniel, but the act itself was his defiance.
Raniel's brow twitched.
"What did you say?"
"Deaf?"
He shouted again.
"Talkative bitch. No talent for torture? Can't interrogate? Ha! Bluster in moderation..."
Raniel sighed deeply.
"This guy's fucking insane."
What gave him the balls?
She yanked off her glove with a snap. Kalt averted his eyes. Raniel had long been notorious for lacking interrogation skill.
Interrogation meant extracting info.
What Raniel did was closer to torture. And Kalt knew victims were half-crippled before spilling anything.
'This one's doomed too.'
As Kalt thought that—
Crack!
The black mage's head snapped aside.
A few teeth flew from his mouth into the air.
3.
Black mage Zakel blinked.
What just happened?
No sensation in his cheek. No pain, but blood dripped below. Where from?
'My mouth.'
Blood flowed from his own mouth.
Lips split, jaw foreign. Only then did Zakel notice his broken teeth rattling inside.
Grip. Someone seized his hair.
"Head up."
Forced to look.
Thus, Zakel met the girl's eyes again. She looked like some nobleman's daughter. Her speech, gestures—mimicking a tough guy, almost comical.
When he first saw her, Zakel thought she was a hound newbie or visitor. Her moves were too amateurish for a real hunter.
But...
"No long talk."
Zakel met her eyes.
"Why here. What you did. Since when."
Her icy blue eyes gleamed.
"Explain."
Instinctive dread from those chilling blues. Jaw trembling, Zakel sensed he couldn't drag this out.
He twitched his bound fingers slowly.
His last-resort spell, but fear clouded judgment—he activated it. As his fingers stabbed the ground—
Crunch!
"Gaaaargh!"
Raniel's heel crushed his fingers.
Not just crushed—she ground the sole, twisting his digits.
"Guh, grrk!"
As Zakel groaned and bowed, her hand yanked his hair again. Forced his gaze to her.
"No bullshit."
Zakel gritted his teeth.
Pain sparking before his eyes, he rolled his tongue. Out of options. He steeled for the end.
'Better suicide than torture...'
Grip. He bit his tongue. Triggered the engraved spell.
"Slaves of the... stars..."
Zakel glared, lips curling.
Circuit on his tongue flashed. Light burst from eyes and ears, building to explosion. His final line:
"The great prophet's rod..."
But it never finished.
"Total bullshit."
Grip. Raniel's hand clamped his jaw and mouth. Then slammed his head to the floor.
Boom!
Brain-rattling impact blinked his vision. When it cleared, Zakel realized his spell was stolen.
"Same tricks every time. Always splitting words like hiding secrets, then biting tongue if it goes south."
She pointed to her palm, weary.
Gathered there: the mana he'd prepared for suicide. Crushing it nullified the spell.
"Think that'll work?"
Dissipating magic.
"Work, my ass."
Raniel sighed shortly.
His final contingency gone. Zakel knew what that meant.
"You can't die."
She stared straight.
Blue eyes curved like crescent moons.
"Not till you spill everything."
Nightmare eyes.
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