What Do You Want to Become? #1

Dinner was, of course, steak. Lawrence had sucked out every last bit of poison, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠turning it into incredibly fresh meat. Rachel was nothing short of the goddess of steak—she served it with the juices perfectly intact, the outside crispy, the inside moist and tender. As you bit through the crackling crust, the juices flooded your mouth, the rich aroma of meat lingering at the tip of your nose. Then came the texture of the succulent inner flesh. Perfect steak, through and through. If there was a book called How to Grill Meat, Rachel would undoubtedly be its author.

"Grrooo—this is so damn good."

"Right? For some reason, when I grill meat, I just know exactly where to stop and how long to rest ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it!"

"Mm-hmm. For this taste alone, I have to take you with me."

Chewing away at the delicious meal, Lawrence suddenly asked amid the feast. What kind of life had Rachel dreamed of as a child?

"Rachel, what did you want to be when you were little?"

"Huh? Me? Oh, just... living a normal life, eating well and doing okay, I guess. Hehe."

"You know I can't believe you when your eyes are shaking like that, right? Come on, spill it."

"Erm... promise you won't laugh if I tell you. Okay?"

What grand dream could make her hesitate like this? Lawrence urged her on, saying it was fine, just tell him. Blushing slightly, Rachel bowed her head and murmured,

"A-an... ass... ass... assassin."

"What?"

"An assassin! Darting through the shadows! Protecting people coolly! Guarding our lady so stylishly!"

"Pfft—."

Lawrence couldn't help but burst out laughing. Even giving her the benefit of the doubt, Rachel was worlds away from anything athletic. In modern society, she'd fit right in as a model or actress. Whether it was her mother's keen eye or just how she'd grown, Rachel's face was objectively stunning—no flaws whatsoever. An assassin with that face? Assassins were supposed to be utterly ordinary, featureless. That way, they wouldn't stick in anyone's memory or get pinpointed.

"D-don't laugh! That's why I didn't want to say it!"

"So, what made you dream that?"

"There was this super cool assassin protagonist in a book I read as a kid. I got totally hooked."

Of course, she'd later realized it was a pipe dream... Still, it was a ridiculous origin story, but that was fine. Childhood dreams often sparked that way. What mattered was whether she still harbored it now.

"So, do you still want to if you get the chance?"

"Yes. If I'd been strong... Young master might still be at the main house. And you wouldn't have to worry about me."

"Hm..."

Instead, her inability to do more than simple chores had become a lingering regret in Rachel's heart. Bad memories—or maybe self-loathing—made her sigh repeatedly. For the first time, she opened up to Lawrence.

"It's not something an adult like me should say in front of a child like you, but... I think I'm pretty pathetic. Even in a magic powerhouse like Montemer, all I can do is grill a good steak..."

"I'm used to counseling sessions."

"I'm sorry you have to go through twice the trouble because of me."

Lawrence shook ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his head with a smile. Sorry? For what? She'd raised him from infancy, and even in his past life, she'd served him devotedly. On the day he was dispatched to research duty, she'd pressed a warm lunchbox into his hands. Considering that, she was more than grateful—he owed her.

Lawrence said to her,

"So you want to be an assassin?"

"Come on, how could I now?"

"What if you could?"

"..."

Rachel fell silent, staring at Lawrence's eyes brimming with conviction. If she could, she'd guard him from the shadows forever. But that meaningful smile of his hinted at some bizarre process beyond her wildest imagination. Her instincts, honed from years as a maid, were ringing alarm bells.

"Come on, answer. Will you do it or not?"

"I-I'll do it! Whatever it is!"

"Good. Just wait."

Having devoured his steak, Lawrence shot up from his seat. Her resolve was a crucial first step for building his own forces. The guardian's system offered the perfect solution.

The sentinel guarding the dragon. The protector of the lair's treasures, the sleeping dragon, body and soul alike—Guardian. Lawrence's true comrades, the foundation for building his forces, had revealed themselves.

#2

Late into the night. Lawrence was immersed in engraving magic circles. Ever since acquiring his Dragon Body, his body felt no fatigue from ordinary work—not even a twinge. No more chronic shoulder stiffness from his Earth days.

Scratch, scratch-scratch.

He drew elegant lines, filling the voids. Crafting geometric patterns was pure joy. The pride of birthing a creation from his fingertips—what satisfaction. He felt the same fulfillment here.

He churned out artifacts for tomorrow's preliminary round. At the same time, he pondered Rachel's. Training's a must, right? Add artifacts she could manifest as needed—perfect. Unlike him, she had mana roads, so focus on essentials for manifestation and engravings otherwise. Nothing beat self-learning for freedom.

The only issue: would the family head, who'd received his letter, approve everything? Once tower training ended, Media would pull out all stops to kill or sideline him. But he had counters.

I keep the Montemer name but escape Media's grasp.

To do that, claim a Montemer frontier territory first. Take commissions, earn rewards, build merits steadily. Insane to outsiders, but the surest way to devour Montemer from within.

"And I'll meet good people there too..."

A few came to mind immediately. Turn them into his people step by step, and he'd have an independent force. Head full of future plans, hands busy—brilliant artifacts emerged one by one from his fingertips.

No mana roads? No problem. He already bore a greater blessing. And so, morning of the preliminary round dawned.

#3

The preliminary round. A test to select young mages. Formats varied: written exams, virtual dungeons, mage duels, knight matches—diverse challenges. Families ran them differently, but none as varied or brutal as Montemer's. Trauma left some abandoning mage dreams altogether.

"Y-young master, are you sure I can come here?"

"Of course. You're a proud Montemer too."

"Eek..."

Entering Montemer's main gate with a shrunken Rachel, Lawrence drew instant recognition—gates swung open.

"Welcome, Young Master Lawrence."

"Thanks for the hard work."

"Preliminaries start on the first floor of the Tower of Wisdom. Head there."

"Appreciate it. One question."

The gatekeeper bowed politely, eyes respectful. Before, a hint of disdain; now, Lawrence's status demanded caution. They say he went wild in the North—better not mess up!

"Yes! Ask anything!"

"Did the Iron Tower Master visit?"

"Yes! Sudden arrival, not on the list, but he showed his credentials."

"Got it. Thanks!"

Eckel had done well. Media would welcome him with open arms for tower intel. Why refuse a maid-spy? Lawrence smirked, feeling secure after this jab at her. Crossing the garden to one of the towers, he passed crowds eyeing him curiously, jealously, or warmly.

Things have changed.

Past life? Mockery and scorn the whole way. Not this time. He'd expose his mother's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠death, the family's fall—and stand at the top. Vowing as he gazed at the soaring tower, a voice called from behind. Slightly husky, betraying age.

"Oh ho, so you're the Montemer baby of the family?"

"Who are you?"

"Iron Tower Master, Iron Hanma."

A name evoking a muscled brute. And here came a white-haired giant, easily two meters tall.

This is... a mage? Lawrence bowed politely. Tower Masters equaled family heads, Montemer or not.

"Lawrence Montemer."

"Heh heh. Built like you could lift iron, lad."

Do you like meat? The Iron Tower Master grinned kindly.