Welcome to the Iron Tower, Young One

The annex. Eckel Yurgo arrived at Lawrence's residence under the pretext of [filing a report]. Though it was on Media's orders, at some point, rebellion had stirred in his heart. Why torment that child? Eckel had no idea where such thoughts had come from, but he was already turning to Lawrence's side.

Moreover, that boy was the next head of a man hailed as great—the heir of the Montemer family.

"Are you there? It's Eckel."

"Ah, come in."

"Pardon the intrusion."

Eckel came face-to-face with Lawrence, who was packing his things inside the annex. He spotted Rachel bustling about, and an old man watching him from beside the young master.

Eckel knew who he was. The master of the Iron Tower. The man who would walk alongside Lawrence for the next two years. It wouldn't hurt to make a good impression. The rivalry between the Tower of Change and the Iron Tower had nothing to do with him.

"I am Eckel of the Yurgo family. It's an honor to meet the Iron Tower Master."

"Hoho, at least you've got manners. Go on, tend to your business."

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"Thank you. I've come to file and deliver my report, young master."

"Shall we talk somewhere quiet?"

Lawrence asked Rachel to finish packing and headed to a secluded spot. Iron Hanma helped Rachel with the luggage as well. Eckel got straight to the point.

"I'll submit a false report to Lady Media. Please give me your instructions."

"Tell her there were no gains. She'll try slipping in another spy, since the last one failed."

"Cross-verification, then. I'll brainwash the new one and make them your pawn."

He understood perfectly with just a word or two—proving why mages were called clever for a reason. On top of that, Eckel delivered one more crucial piece of information.

"And I witnessed a meeting between Lady Media and a man from the Deferter family. I don't know their exact relationship."

"Is that so? Hmm... I'll have to keep that in mind."

"That's all for the message."

"Don't get caught. Take care of yourself."

Eckel bowed his head. He never dreamed he'd fallen victim to his own brainwashing. He was already living as Lawrence's loyal dog.

The Deferter family... They were the ones always eyeing the Montemer seat. Forever in second place, waiting for their moment to leap upward.

Those shady bastards? Don't get me started. Every petty scheme behind the scenes—assume Deferter's involved.

I'm telling you, for real. They put on a fancy front, but they're slimy as hell.

Gentlemen's family? Bullshit...

The assassin uncle had expressed utter disgust for that family. Surely Media hadn't hooked up with them? The reason for Montemer's downfall...

No, too early to jump to conclusions. The extermination happens twenty years from now.

Lawrence decided to note down this vital matter for now. It might be a clue to curbing Media's influence.

"I'll head back now."

"Yes. Take care of your health."

Eckel bowed once more and left. With him around, intel worries were off the table for a while. They'd buy plenty of time.

"Things are more complicated than expected. For now, let's just focus on getting stronger."

What Lawrence had to do was simple. Grow even stronger, climb higher. Become an untouchable powerhouse and build his own faction.

Let's go. To the Iron Tower.

He could finally enter a magic tower. A place filled with the scents of iron, metal, and meat. That was his destination.

"This is the Iron Tower. It's a humble place, isn't it?"

"It's better than I thought. I figured it'd be like a cave where you just lift iron all day..."

"Hohohoho."

Rich imagination for someone from a prestigious house, the tower master chuckled inwardly.

The Iron Tower looked just like that. About five stories tall. Cracked outer walls in need of repair. Mana flowed through it, but the foundation looked precarious. Like ancient architecture from antiquity, somehow still inhabited.

Was the Iron Tower always like this? But why does the master die?

He had to figure out why. To counter Media and the forces behind her. No matter what, he couldn't let the Iron Tower Master die.

The three stepped down from the carriage and entered the Iron Tower.

"Welcome back, Tower Master—!"

The booming shout as they entered startled Lawrence and Rachel. He'd sensed clusters of mana, but they were all gathered here?

"Hoho, have you all been training hard?"

"Yes—! Tower Master!"

The mountain of a tower elder bowed in greeting to Iron Hanma. The scene felt like a shot from a noir film, drawing an incredulous smile from Lawrence.

The tower folk eyed Lawrence and Rachel with Who's this kid? looks.

"From today, Lawrence Montemer, who will train here for two years, and his maid Rachel. Get along well."

"Gasp!"

"New recruits?!"

"Finally! Am I escaping last place—?!"

A booming voice rang out. A middle-aged man pushed through the crowd. He grabbed Lawrence's shoulder with a lid-sized hand.

"Pleased to meet you, young master! Ahh, from the famed Montemer family, gracing our humble tower! I'll take responsibility and make you tougher!"

"Haha... Looking forward to it, senior."

"Ooooh! Party time! We need a party! Right, brothers!?"

This runs like the army, Lawrence thought uneasily, but the tower master spoke up.

"We're comrades chasing legends together—not a strict hierarchy. You all know that, right?"

"Yes! Of course!"

"Good answers. Especially treat this one well—he's Montemer's heir. Behave accordingly."

"Understood!"

Like a general's son dropped into a battalion. That's how they saw it. In any case, Lawrence and Rachel secured their spots in the tower.

The moment they sat in their assigned room, a message appeared. This place was far more important than expected.

"Oh ho...?"

A thread had formed. Why ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his soul was drawn here. He'd read the name in history books.

The great battle mage: Icaller. Creator of iron magic, a one-man army. His lair was here. Quite the tale. History books called him just a mage of immense caliber—but a dragon, of course.

"Wait! I can only engrave magic circles. How am I supposed to restore it?"

"...Ah, right."

So, maintain and repair a colossal artifact—now? Lawrence let out a hollow laugh. Looked like a massive main quest had spawned.

"Feels like a long-term project."

He wasn't completely inexperienced. Though building-scale work was new.

His crimson eyes began to shine with fervor.

In the Montemer patriarch's chambers, Edward looked at Nikolai and said,

"Uncover the truth. I recommend cooperating with the western families."

"Understood, patriarch."

"Send a letter to His Majesty too. It'd be good if he provides a communication orb."

"Yes."

Short commands. The truth Edward spoke of was the Algeras family and their knights, corrupted into undead.

The north, where two imperial pillars converged. Black mages running rampant here was unacceptable.

Nikolai bowed and, to lighten the mood, continued—today's patriarch seemed in high spirits.

"You've been gathering mana more often lately."

"Have I?"

"Yes. Today, you even personally checked on the children, adjusting your mana."

"I see. With so much changing, perhaps that's why."

The patriarch's cryptic words. Nikolai couldn't grasp it all but kept smiling. Today's actions from Edward were quite unusual. Everyone in the family ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had noticed the youngest young master Lawrence at the root.

Maybe because of Piaje or Arthur. But there was a decisive clue.

Who has the patriarch ever called 'excellent' at that age?

No one, unequivocally. Not even the eldest son, closest to succession, at eleven. Post-awakening, young master Lawrence was growing terrifyingly fast.

"We'll uncover the truth swiftly. The Green Tower will support actively, and the Holy Kingdom will move too."

"Mm."

"His great Majesty won't stand idly by."

Undead were to be purged from the empire at minimum. With ties to the Holy Kingdom, they were mortal enemies to those wielding undead.

But more importantly...

"They dared touch Montemer. They will pay the price."

"I shall remember."

"Go."

Overwhelming mana poured from the patriarch once more. Unrestrained, it crushed Nikolai's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠body. If he felt this, how did an eleven-year-old endure it?

The more I think, the more impressive.

Nikolai fled the office to escape the pressure. Alone, the patriarch gazed outward, pondering.

Things are slowly falling into place, if only a little.

His son headed to the Iron Tower, and the weak son who crumbled. But as a father, he could do nothing.

This was his vow, promise, and chain. Swallowing regret, he gazed at the sky today too.

For an absolute being, his eyes held deep unease. Like a tiny human before infinite cosmos, staring beyond the world.