Chapter 174
Chapter 174
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 174
>Chapter Title: Not a Horse, but a Demon
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A short while later.
After thoroughly thrashing the back-alley thugs, Aster stepped out onto the street with heavier pockets and a lighthearted expression.
Mysern watched the scene while concealing his presence, but it wasn't long before his gaze shifted to Fury.
"...Is this right?"
It was a question loaded with layers.
Was that boy truly the savior who would rescue the spirits trapped for an incomprehensible span of time? And was that act itself justified?
The first part, he couldn't say.
It wasn't his judgment to make.
He was merely carrying out the will of those pitiful spirits.
The second, however, needed verification.
'No matter how vile a person is, they shouldn't be beaten without reason.'
It was only right that the guilty receive punishment, but that didn't mean anyone could lay hands on them indiscriminately.
And so, to make a more accurate judgment, Mysern headed to the scene.
The simplest approach would have been to grab Aster and interrogate him, but no one could stand firm before overwhelming power.
If he confronted the boy outright, Aster would undoubtedly spout only self-serving excuses.
That was why he wanted to witness the situation firsthand before any questioning.
He arrived at the site.
"Um."
Mysern narrowed his eyes at the gruesome scene.
The thugs lay collapsed, beaten so expertly that they bore only bruises—no broken bones anywhere.
Then, something caught his eye.
A glint.
Sharp blades reflecting the sunlight.
The scene was brutal, but...
'...He spared the lives of those who drew swords on him?'
Mysern silently surveyed the site before moving on again.
Or so he tried.
"Old timer."
"...!"
A sudden voice.
Mysern's eyes widened as he slowly turned his head.
There stood the boy he'd thought had left—Aster, leaning crookedly against the wall and staring right at him.
'When...?'
For the first time in ages, Mysern felt a chill run down his spine.
To have his back taken so openly without noticing?
But that wasn't the only surprise.
He'd detected Mysern's presence? A presence even Tohoman, a Nine Star, hadn't sensed?
His mind reeled from the implications as Aster fixed him with a cold glare and spoke.
"Old timer, why do you keep following me?"
"Um."
What to do now.
'This wasn't part of the plan...'
What an utter disaster.
* * *
Truth be told, Aster was just as flustered.
'Damn it, what the hell is he?'
He feigned composure on the outside, but inside, he was a mess.
'Obviously a spiritist.'
Why was a spiritist tailing him?
At first, he'd been suspicious.
An itch at the back of his neck, but extending his senses yielded nothing. Even Tohoman hadn't noticed.
It made sense, though.
His own senses were exceptionally sharp, while Tohoman's—despite his realm—were a bit dull.
A trait common among earth-affinity mages, but anyway.
After sensing that oddity, Aster had strained his nerves to pinpoint the source of that nagging itch.
Frankly, it gave him goosebumps.
Something was definitely following him, yet no presence registered... If it was an assassin on his tail, his head could roll at any moment.
A shiver he hadn't felt in ages.
He hadn't worried about such things in quite some time...
Aster's thoughts reached that point when Mysern spoke.
"...How long have you known?"
"Is that the important question right now?"
Truth be told, he'd sensed the 'tail' upon entering the festival street. And pegged him as a spiritist at the astrology shop.
Other mages might find spirit presences unfamiliar, but not Aster.
"Um, my apologies. But I assure you, no ill intent."
"Hmm, no ill intent, you say."
Aster pretended to read between the lines while internally wiping sweat from his brow.
This was him acting tough as best he could.
Deep down, he wanted to yell "First strike wins!" and charge, but that wouldn't work against a mage or knight—let alone a spiritist.
Spirits were always around spiritists; it was never truly one-on-one.
An unseen enemy made it two against one.
Hence his utmost caution, when Mysern spoke up.
"Truly, my apologies. As I said, no malicious intent in following you. I swear it on my spirits. Will you believe me now?"
Mysern eyed Aster as he said it.
Swearing on spirits was the highest guarantee a spiritist like him could offer.
The bond between spiritist and spirit was pure companionship. Swearing falsely on a spirit would make it abandon him.
It was an oath worlds apart from a mage's hollow "I swear on my mana"...
"What if you have multiple spirits? Or maybe you're not even a spiritist?"
"...?"
"No, like those Black-White Slums street rats swearing on their parents. Some even swore on two or three foster dads."
"..."
Mysern was momentarily speechless.
It was unimaginable.
Black-White Slums urchins were orphans without parents—swearing on parents? Multiple foster fathers? What kind of twisted life led to that?
But such questions were fleeting.
To prove his innocence, Mysern manifested Fury.
Szzz—
"Can you see? This is my spirit."
Aster took in the girl-shaped spirit, a little larger than a handspan, that appeared beside Mysern.
'So he's shown one.'
Now, the question was how many more the old man had.
With that in mind, Aster spoke again.
"Is that the one you're swearing on?"
"Yes."
"I see."
Of course, he didn't buy it.
The sworn spirit could have left, and he swapped in another.
The surest way would be to make him swear on "all his spirits" or "that specific one," but...
'No good.'
That could force an instant clash if the old man harbored malice—no room for negotiation.
Leave an escape hatch; that was key.
Aster feigned relaxing his guard as he eyed Mysern.
"Alright, so no ill intent. Then what's the reason for tailing me?"
Softening his hostile tone was a feint.
He eyed Mysern, ready to strike if needed.
Mysern let out a thoughtful "Hmmm" as he regarded Aster.
It wasn't a pleasant situation for him.
'I wanted a calmer setting for this talk...'
But what could be done?
It had come to this.
"Truth is, I have a favor to ask—"
Aster cut him off.
"Stop."
"...?"
Mysern tilted his head.
What?
Moments ago, the hostility had eased, his voice softening—now it dripped venom in an instant.
And the malice was no mere flicker.
"I didn't hear a thing."
With that, Aster spun on his heel and strode away briskly.
'Tch, no ill intent?'
If that's not ill intent, what is?
* * *
Mysern blankly watched Aster depart.
He didn't even think to stop him.
The boy brushed past with such icy resolve.
"Um... What a mess."
Even if their first encounter soured things, to not even get a proper word in?
'What now.'
Mysern pondered briefly.
'Must I step up alone after all?'
That had been the original plan, but it wasn't ideal.
The spirits' voices amid the fairy dance.
Thanks to hearing them, he knew more than most—but not by much.
Just that the spirits were trapped in some barrier, writhing in agony for ages, and the fairy dance was their sole chance to break it.
He had no idea *how* to free them.
Yet he'd sought Amera because he couldn't guarantee surviving until the next dance...
And now, to let slip the savior the spirits themselves chose?
'Not good.'
Ignorance was one thing; knowing the potential made regret crash like a tide.
Perhaps that boy could liberate the tormented spirits in the barrier.
"If only I'd gotten the words out, the regret wouldn't—" Um.
Mysern shook his head.
No words would have eased this; that was self-consoling nonsense.
So what then?
"It's just... I can't let it go."
Direct confrontation like this, and he'd bolt again.
Force could compel talk, but that was unjust.
"Fury, no choice."
Mysern steeled himself.
Time to dredge up a forgotten name.
"Fury, let's go."
He stepped into the alley with resolute strides. Or tried to.
'Wait... Where are the Blandoga folks staying?'
Aster had clocked him; tailing now was pointless.
Ugh.
Mysern scratched his head furiously and headed to the bustling streets.
Somehow, it felt like a trying day.
* * *
By evening.
Aster dragged his exhausted body—worn from prowling the astrology district—back to the Blandoga lodging.
A truly eerie day.
'Where'd that spiritist even come from?'
No, set that aside.
'A favor from me? How does he even know me?'
Utterly baffling behavior.
If he just needed a strong mage, plenty elsewhere—tailing him meant he'd targeted Aster specifically.
Yet in this life, he'd never crossed paths with even the "spirit" in spiritist.
How?
Aster shook his head to clear it.
'How what? Doesn't matter.'
What mattered was this:
He'd refused, and that was that—no further entanglements.
The spiritist might force it later with power, but cross that bridge when it came.
Even then, he wasn't too worried.
Why?
'Blandoga.'
Aster gazed up at the lavish mansion and smiled smugly.
Damian to his left, Chenbi to his right.
But the real muscle? Tohoman tagging along with Damian, and this nameless Nine Star.
The old spiritist seemed formidable, but against this lineup, what could he do?
'Today or tomorrow, today's the day.'
With such petty confidence, he strode forth boldly.
"Ha ha ha! Young Patriarch, you're here? Why so late? We've been waiting ages."
A nameless Nine Star rushed out the entrance, beaming.
'...What?'
The guy who rarely smiled was grinning ear-to-ear? Perplexed, Aster tilted his head.
Damian, sensing something fun, lit up.
"Why? Something inside?"
"Heh heh, don't be shocked. We have a guest—you won't believe who. Ah, you might not know, Young Patriarch. It's someone from way back."
The Nine Star grinned like he'd met an idol and said to Damian,
"The legendary spiritist who stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Duke Muspelrun, the Archmage of Finality, back in the great war! Hero Sir Mysern is here."
The words landed.
Aster thought:
'...Fuck.'
Demon-possessed? What the hell?
Oh, and for the record, 'ma' here ain't horse—it's demon.
As in, possessed by one.
...Life.