Why Is "The Tyrant's Obsession" Written in an Ancient Grimoire? (4)
The thick, violet mana storm that had blanketed the skies above the capital began to glow with a fierce, crimson heat.
In the center of the sky floated the archmage Elias. The corners of his mouth twisted upward in boundless arrogance. Behind him, piercing the distant atmosphere, the silhouette of a colossal burning meteor—Meteor—was being summoned. It carried enough force to annihilate the entire continent.
The overwhelming heat and crushing pressure of mana bore down on the ground. Even the orcs and gargoyles that had been frantically scaling the walls just moments ago flattened themselves against the earth, paralyzed by primal terror.
Elias poured every ounce of power into his amplification spell. His voice transcended mere sound waves, vibrating through the air across the entire capital of Lumiere. It slammed into every living being’s ears like a divine revelation.
With a solemn, almost sacred expression, he dramatically unfurled the massive tome bound in red dragon leather. In his mind, of course, he expected the pages to be filled with geometric mana arrays and intricate ancient runes—the perfectly reasonable assumption of any archmage.
But the moment the book opened, what greeted his eyes were strangely crude, oversized, cheap-looking letters.
“…Huh?”
Elias’s elegant chant faltered. His gaze reflexively traced the text. Before his brain could even register the anomaly and filter it out, the archmage’s well-trained lips instinctively read the words aloud.
“……”
The terrifying mana storm that had been crushing the entire capital suddenly cut off as if it had never existed. Silence. A silence deeper and more horrifying than any grave descended over the night sky of the Lumiere Empire.
The soldiers gripping their spears atop the walls in preparation for death, the priests offering prayers, even the horde of demonic beasts growling below the ramparts—all of them stared blankly upward.
“……Krrrk? (What the hell?)”
The massive orc chieftain at the front scratched his head, tilting it in confusion. In the middle of an apocalyptic battle that would decide the fate of the world, what in the blazing hells was that dizzyingly sticky line that had just echoed from the sky?
The first to react was the female lead, the one with the most sensitive radar for anything in the “romance” genre—the Saintess Piora.
“Kyaa, kyaaaaaaaah!!”
Her face flushed tomato-red, Piora clamped both hands over her ears and collapsed to the ground.
“T-Tower Master!! What kind of vulgar nonsense are you spouting in front of everyone?! You pervert!!”
The Saintess’s shrill scream shattered the silence. Only then did the mages in the Magic Department’s command center and the imperial citizens begin to murmur among themselves.
All eyes filled with shock and horror turned toward Elias in the sky. The gazes once brimming with respect and awe had instantly transformed into looks of utter contempt for the “greatest pervert erotica otaku of the age.”
“N-no…! Th-this is…!!”
Elias’s face drained of all color until it was deathly pale. His hands trembling, he frantically flipped to the next page. There, filling the entire spread, was a hardcore illustration so explicit and overflowing with flesh tones that it was painful to look at. And worst of all, the man in the picture bore an uncanny resemblance to the empire’s Crown Prince, Ludwig.
“……Hic.”
A pathetic wheeze escaped between the archmage’s lips. In that instant, his once-mighty intellect, his reason, and the dignity he had upheld for centuries as Tower Master crumbled into dust.
“I-it’s not!! This isn’t my taste—!! Who, who would dare put such garbage in the Akashic Records—!!”
In magic, the most crucial elements are the caster’s unshakable focus and control. Especially for an otherworldly 9th Circle spell like Meteor Strike—any disruption in the caster’s mind, even for a single second, turns the magic into a catastrophic disaster.
And right now, Elias’s mental state had completely collapsed under the unprecedented humiliation of having performed a live 19+ erotica reading session in front of tens of thousands of citizens and the Saintess he secretly adored.
Rumble——!!
“……Eh?”
Elias jerked his head upward in horror. The colossal meteor he had summoned beyond the atmosphere, which had been awaiting his command to crash down on the demonic horde, had broken free of his control. Following the pure law of gravity, it veered off course and began plummeting straight down.
The point of impact was directly beneath him—the largest structure in the imperial capital. It was none other than the main spire of the Magic Tower, a magnificent edifice with hundreds of years of history.
“N-nooooooo!! Stop!! Meteor Cancel!! Cancel!! Reverse calculation!!”
Elias flailed his arms in desperation, his face bone-white, but it was far too late to stop the 9th Circle mana backlash that had already spiraled out of control.
The top of the wall descended into pure pandemonium. Even the demonic beasts fled toward the opposite side of the wall with expressions that seemed to say, Why are these idiots dropping a meteor on their own headquarters?
KWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG————!!!!!!!!
In the next instant, a blinding flash lit up the entire capital as if it were daytime. The enormous meteor slammed precisely into the center of the Magic Tower’s pointed roof. The hundreds-of-meters-tall symbol of continental magic, known as the heart of sorcery, split cleanly in half like a child’s sandcastle and collapsed.
The shockwave from the explosion swept across the capital, shattering every window in the city.
“Uwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah————!!!”
Elias’s wretched scream as he watched his own headquarters get obliterated by the meteor he had summoned was swallowed up by the gray smoke.
“……Wow.”
In a private beach of the Varcia Empire, the screen of the magic communication device was engulfed in an overwhelming burst of light. I quickly turned my head away, nearly blinded by the glare.
Clotilde, sitting beside me, shielded her eyes with one hand and clicked her tongue.
“I think I just saw something incredible. Did half the Magic Tower just evaporate?”
“Yes. As expected of an archmage—the scale of even his self-destruction is on another level.”
I picked up the pair of sleek black magic sunglasses I had prepared on the table earlier. I slipped one on and handed the other to Clotilde.
“They say explosions are art. Truly, the archmage’s finale melted down in the most spectacular and dizzying fashion. It seems he hit Saintess-nim’s tastes right on the mark.”
Clotilde let out a dry laugh, put on the sunglasses, and gracefully leaned back against the edge of the open-air bath. On the screen beyond the dark lenses, the ruins of the Magic Tower were still blazing fiercely amid roaring flames.
“Goodness, he threw a tantrum trying to cure the Saintess’s headache and ended up snapping his own tower in half. The so-called greatest intellect on the continent just held a pervert erotica reading session in front of the entire nation. I wonder how he’ll ever show his face again.”
“Well, he’ll probably have to invent a new spell for growing a thicker skin first. Though the archive he’d need for that research just burned to the ground today.”
When I shrugged, Clotilde couldn’t hold back any longer and burst into bright laughter.
It had only been ten minutes since the Holy Sword’s battery died and the capital’s defensive line was breached. In those ten short minutes, the empire’s Magic Tower had been half-destroyed by its own master’s self-inflicted Meteor. The two great pillars that had supported the empire—military force and magic—had beautifully collapsed on their own, all thanks to the butterfly effect of our perfectly “legal heist.”
“Ilario. You really are the best business partner who ever walked into my life.”
Clotilde raised her champagne glass, letting it sparkle above the golden hot spring water, her sunglasses still firmly in place.
“The empire burns while we dine in luxury. What a perfect night.”
“You flatter me, My Lady. Without your magnificent smuggling network, such an artistic downfall would have been impossible.”
I lifted my own crystal glass filled with the finest champagne. A cool night breeze blew across the emerald sea, and behind me, the core of the continent’s national treasure—the Holy Sword—hummed like a magnificent boiler as it heated the hot water in the pool.
Our bank account was now stamped with an astronomical sum—the tuition fees paid by nobles from across the continent for the magic academy.
“Well then.”
I lightly clinked my glass against Clotilde’s.
Clink—!
The clear, beautiful ring of crystal echoed sweetly.
“To the archmage’s reason that melted so spectacularly, and to the endless pension that will soon fill our account. Shall we toast?”