Chapter 175
Chapter 175
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 175
>Chapter Title: Does a Good Deed Need a Reason?
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Bluish dawn light.
To shake off the shock from the day before, I grabbed my fishing rod early in the morning and headed to the lakeside.
Fishing is like that, after all.
It's unbearably boring when you're trying to catch fish, but it's the perfect excuse to sort out your tangled thoughts when your mind is a mess.
Anyway, even thinking back on it now, yesterday had been a nonstop parade of shock and horror.
- Hoho, how could this humble self compare to Duke Muspellun? Compared to his greatness, I'm just a mere mortal.
- Haha! Even the hero of the Lotrin Valley Bloodbath is so modest! Didn't Duke Muspellun himself say in his lifetime, "The only one comparable to me is the Sharp Wind Spirit Master"?
Mysern, feigning humility, and that nameless Nine Star slathering gold paint on his face.
And that was just the start?
- Lotrin Valley Bloodbath!
- Damian, you know about it?
- No, I don't.
- What? You don't know? Didn't you learn it in history class? The Lotrin Valley Bloodbath was the decisive battle that allowed the empire, cornered on all sides, to turn the tide...
Chenbi, excitedly flaunting his knowledge nonstop upon meeting a historical figure, and Damian quietly listening along.
It felt like the world was crumbling.
To think that Blandoga, whom I'd trusted so much, had fallen for the enemy's disguise and flung open the castle gates...
Rage boiled up from within.
What was even more infuriating was the cunning tongue of Sharp Wind Spirit Master Mysern.
Honestly, it had been suspicious from the start.
No matter how renowned the Sharp Wind Spirit Master was, would a Nine Star really roll out the red carpet like that?
There was a reason for it all.
What was it again?
- Oh, Sir Mysern. Now that young master Damian has arrived... why don't you finish what you were saying earlier?
Nine Star subtly shifting the topic amid the jovial atmosphere.
Mysern chuckled generously and replied.
- Hoho, right. I was just getting to that. As I mentioned to you earlier...
- You saw a boy with exceptional spirit master aptitude by chance on the road?
- That's right. And...
- That boy was our young master Damian, correct?
- Yes, he looked like a Blandoga heir, so I tracked him down. It seems...
- You thought it was only proper?
- ...You catch on quick, don't you? You already know what I was going to say.
- Haha! Thank you.
Anyone could see it was a jab at not interrupting, yet Nine Star laughed it off cluelessly. Clearly, he'd traded his realm for street smarts.
Anyway, the scheme Mysern had pulled to get into this mansion was as cunning as it was vicious.
'What? Damian has outstanding spirit master aptitude, so you came to teach him a thing or two?'
Even thinking back, it was absurd—I let out a hollow laugh. The fishing rod in my hand shook with it.
It was nonsense.
'Fine, let's say Damian could have spirit master aptitude. He probably wasn't entirely lying.'
So what made it unbelievable?
Spirits fundamentally see through a person's character.
They decide on contractors based on that insight—and that's exactly where I called bullshit.
Forget whether Damian had spirit master aptitude or not...
'This kid won't do.'
Why not?
'Just... no.'
They call spirit contracts a personality test for a reason. Could someone with Damian's rotten personality even contract a spirit?
It'd be a miracle if the summoned spirit didn't bolt.
And how do I know?
...I've tried.
'How many times was it?'
In my past life, I'd contracted spirits about three times.
The first one seemed to go okay at first. Kept it around for nearly two years? Not the strongest spirit, but pretty handy as free labor.
But what went wrong?
One day, it vanished.
Something like...
- Scary.
The second lasted three months.
The third, half a month.
Different elemental affinities each time, but the endings were similar. First: "Scary." Second: "I want freedom." Third: "Wasn't fun being with you, never want to see you again."
Like that.
For guys like us, contracting spirits is near impossible, aptitude aside. The fact that I managed three times was a miracle.
Spirits have aesthetic senses wildly different from humans—unclear standards, different views on good and evil.
'Do I seem evil?'
Maybe living like this makes us look evil to them... but that's knowing one thing and ignoring the rest.
In this harsh world of storms and upheavals, few maintain this level of goodness.
"Tch, honestly, it's a bit of a shame."
Free labor as superior as spirits doesn't come around often.
Think about it.
Just one earth spirit makes everything effortless.
Bricks that'd take three laborers to haul? The earth spirit waves a hand—whoosh!—and they're stacked up.
What does that mean?
Labor costs plummet when building the tower later.
Sure, you'd need to feed it moonstones and mana-rich snacks, but that's chump change compared to the savings.
In other words, spirits are the poster children for "all they do is eat and work."
'Definitely convenient to have one.'
Slaves... good, hardworking slaves...
Anyway, I digress a bit, but my conclusion is that Mysern's "Damian spirit master aptitude theory" was just an excuse.
But that sincerity of his? Couldn't ignore it.
He meant it that much.
For a Sharp Wind Spirit Master to be this earnest... well.
"Gives me chills."
The words slipped out before I knew it, and that's when I sensed a presence.
"What chills you so?"
"..."
Turning my head, there stood the Sharp Wind slave driver... no, Spirit Master Mysern.
Fresh awe gleamed in my eyes.
Mysern himself was a living legend among legends, having exploited free slaves for decades.
But that lasted only a moment.
I subtly stood to slip away.
'Foul wyvern apostle.'
Wearing human skin, but I wasn't fooled. Plague and wyverns? Best avoided.
As I packed my rod, his voice rang out.
"Just hear me out."
"No, I'm good."
"If you listen and still refuse, I'll back off clean. My compensation won't disappoint."
I froze.
For a split second, my resolve wavered.
Not the compensation... but the raw sincerity in his voice.
"I beg you."
I took in the sight of senior Mysern pleading earnestly, even bowing his head to someone as young as me.
This was sincerity I couldn't brush off.
"Fine, I'll hear you out."
"...Really?"
Of course.
"Senior, have a seat here first."
"...Senior?"
"You're my senior in life, aren't you?"
"Hmm... alright, then."
Duke Muspellun left me the epoch-making treatise "External Core." Haven't had time to use it yet, but it'll revolutionize my wallet... er, the magic world.
And a Sharp Wind Spirit Master on par with him?
'Mouth's watering.'
I'm still hungry.
Endlessly, always.
* * *
When the story ended.
Silence settled between the two.
Mysern sat beside Aster, rod dangling into the water.
Amid the dawn mist rippling over the lake, soft water lapping at their ears, Mysern closed his eyes.
'As expected, no go.'
He'd explained everything he knew.
- Somewhere in the Amera region, spirits are imprisoned. Suffering there for an unimaginable eternity.
Plus his guess that a "barrier" held them, and all the info he'd gathered over the years.
The point was simple.
Just, "Let's free the spirits together."
But the reasons not to choose it lightly were simple too.
A barrier holding spirits for eons—what dangers lurked inside?
Even Mysern himself couldn't answer lightly.
Sensing his feelings, perhaps?
Pury approached, nuzzling his head as if to cheer him up.
Pury.
Mysern gave a faint smile at the sentiment, then decided to give up.
The suffering spirits were tragic, but he couldn't force the choice on an innocent.
Of course, no regrets? Hardly.
How could there be none?
'...My lifelong wish.'
Some might not get it, but this was Mysern's lifelong wish.
From the day he became a spirit master, captivated by the pure existence of spirits—this old spirit master's dream.
So, giving up wasn't easy... but what could he do?
'In the end, alone it is.'
As Mysern steeled his resolve.
Aster's voice came then.
"What are you doing? Let's go already."
"...?"
Mysern tilted his head at the voice behind him.
'...When?'
Aster, who'd been sitting beside him moments ago, now had his rod slung over his shoulder, urging him on.
Amazed by the speed, a question arose.
"Where to..."
"To free the spirits, right? Wasting time? My slaves... no, the spirits are suffering right now."
"...?"
What? Did I hear something I shouldn't have?
But the bewilderment was brief.
Mysern grasped Aster's meaning and jolted in shock.
"You mean..."
"Yes, I'll help."
"Why?"
He regretted it the instant it left his mouth.
'Why'? In moments like this, just say "thanks" and accept the favor!
He knew it was shameless, but wise.
Yet Aster replied.
"Why? The world's grown harsh, ignoring others' pain, but I can't do that."
"...Hoh."
Mysern let out unguarded admiration.
'Others' pain?'
Others. A word others tossed casually, but it stuck in Mysern's mind.
Somehow, it felt like he saw spirits as equal beings.
"It could be dangerous... you sure?"
"Just is its own reward."
Meaning, no sacrifice too great.
That line left Mysern speechless.
Lips pressed firm with resolve. Eyes sparkling in the sunlight held a hint of mission.
"Why... why?"
Aster answered.
"Does a good deed need a reason?"
With that, Aster headed back to the mansion.
Mysern sat frozen, staring blankly at his retreating figure. Bright sunlight poured over the boy. And that sight was...
'A savior.'
Yes, the very savior the spirits described.
"Pury, what do you see now?"
Pury gazed at Aster a moment, then shuddered.
"Hm, Pury. What's wrong? Something amiss?"
Mysern asked, but Pury didn't answer. Couldn't.
Aster walking in the bright sunlight. To Pury, dark, ominous wings seemed to sprout from his back.
'Friends... danger.'
Something was afoot.
Definitely.
