Chapter 19
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 19
Chapter Title: Chapter 1.5 - Livelihood Black Mage (1)
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There were far too many incomprehensible things in this world.
For instance, if I was going to teleport and meet dwarves in some secluded warehouse, I never should've come to the resort with Sylvia playing the newlywed couple act in the first place.
It was contrived as hell, no matter how you sliced it. Even for a romance fantasy with a Meteor Drift ending, this was pushing it.
And it seemed that curse was still clinging strong, because the scene unfolding before my eyes was a total mess.
"Noble priest! We were merely slaves manipulated by that wicked black mage!"
"How could we harbor evil intentions and swing our hammers?!"
"We only picked up our picks and hammers to save our families—"
"Enough."
One word, and the murmuring dwarves fell silent.
Whew. So, to sum up their claim...
'Livelihood black mage?'
...Does that even make sense? How does an expression like that even exist?
What, rob people blind and call it 'livelihood' to make it okay?
My head throbbed like it might split open, and I grimaced. Sylvia whispered in my ear.
"Is this what black mages are like these days?"
"...Even I don't know, sis."
Right. I'd forgotten. Something so blatantly obvious.
"Please look mercifully upon our sins!"
"Mercy upon us!"
I'd forgotten this was a Meteor Drift ending romance fantasy world. Damn it all.
What would you do if you reincarnated into a Meteor Drift romance fantasy world where you only skimmed chapter 1 and the ending?
What could you do? Find a way to survive.
It was a novel I'd glanced at briefly after getting spoiled by some hack and then dropped. Of course I didn't remember squat.
Anyway, this world was weirdly... half-screwed up, but not entirely.
Take the Ilysia Empire, for example. It divided power into imperial nobles, court nobles, and border nobles for legislation, administration, and military affairs. The emperor held the right to grant or strip those titles.
But every territory had its own private knights' order. A ducal house with over ten thousand troops was basically a nation unto itself.
A bizarre hybrid of centralization and feudalism, I guess?
Of course, there was a good reason for it.
"Woo-hoo! Found a territory without any mages! Let's raid it!"
Black mages, the Nth-season repeat offenders.
That's why lords shelled out for knights and mages.
Because the moment you relaxed, your territory turned to ash in a heartbeat.
"Now, we'll abolish private armies in all territories—"
"You gone mad, Emperor?"
"...We'll keep them."
In that kind of situation, disbanding private forces was a pipe dream.
On top of that, courts, banks, schools, farming, and hospitals were all patched up with holy power.
Whenever some convenient magic tool popped up, it was always from the mage towers.
So politics and titles felt medieval, but city life was near-modern. Flick a switch at home, and lights came on. Wasn't this modern fantasy?
And the ones who'd raised that living standard on average? Good folks. No, dwarves. They were kneeling before me now.
"I am Grunhild Everton, chieftain of the Blackrock Tribe."
What the hell was this situation? I listened to their story, and my head started pounding on cue.
"As you can see, after the Holy-Demon War, the demons' range shrank, right? We wandered everywhere looking for a way to eat, and ended up here."
"But would humans give us work? After fighting tooth and nail like that."
"The only ones who reached out were the black mages. And they offered money we could never touch otherwise. What choice did we have?"
They were tied to black mages but hadn't killed anyone. Just worked for cash. Livelihood black mages.
Or subcontractors for black mages, maybe?
'Fuck.'
Now the world had evolved to black mages managing subcontractors. Was this even sane?
'No matter how you spin it.'
Dwarves were classified as demons by humans.
But were black mages the same as dwarves? Hell no.
Comparing folks who stabbed their mentors in the back for their wishes to beer-loving, earth-digging, metal-working dwarves? No way.
"So you want to surrender to our Holy Empire?"
"Yes! This is the unanimous decision of the Blackrock, Frostscale, and Highmountain Tribes. Please grant us salvation!"
"Salvation!"
I craved alcohol. By now, I should've been blackout drunk with the district chiefs, raising hell. Why was I stuck dealing with sweaty dwarves?
"Next."
"Yes!"
Still, work was work. I had to check if they were really uninvolved with black magic.
The holy laws of the God of Justice and the God of Wisdom.
A scale that weighed sins, eyes that pierced all lies.
"Clean. Next."
"Thank you!"
"Tch. You a warrior by any chance?"
"...Yes. I'm a Highmountain Tribe warrior, so I've swung an axe more than most."
"...On hold for now. Stand over there. Next."
It drained mental strength like crazy, but nothing beat it for sorting them out.
Better than truth-revealing water that knew all world's truths or an iron that got more accurate the redder it glowed.
No power struggles or mind games. How convenient.
"Eat this."
"Thanks."
Sylvia, always bringing food the moment my sugar crashed.
And without fail, stabbing a fork into cake and holding it out to me.
"Ah~."
...Not here, okay? Even if, we're working.
"Mm... surely the director's communication orb—"
"Yes."
Unable to resist her threat to socially execute me, I opened my mouth. A muffin brimming with her love filled it.
"Tasty, right?"
Nod.
Of course. Resort's top chef made it.
But say that out loud, and who knows what attack would come. I stayed mum.
I'm no clueless fool.
Finally, after a solid three hours, the background checks wrapped up.
A few had killed, but circumstances pointed to bandits or brigands. Textbook medieval dwarves.
Which meant they really were black mage subcontractors. That the 'medieval average'?
'Tricky.'
Once a black mage, always a black mage. Anyone who shakes hands with one is one too. Humanity learned that the hard way over millennia. It's custom, rule.
So 'livelihood black mage' shouldn't even compute. These dwarves really just took money and made stuff.
'Beyond my pay grade.'
Holy Empire law gave black mages life imprisonment or execution. No options. Folks who casually stabbed mentors—socializing them? Impossible.
But branding these dwarves black mages felt off. Accomplices get lighter sentences than ringleaders. Punishing them just for 'made stuff'? Too harsh.
Letting them go? Near treason. Law vs. reality—I needed compromise. But a guy whose admin skills were gutted wasn't versed in law.
If I decided solo, it'd set precedent, case law. Me making it?
'Overreach.'
Too much for a 25-year-old's brain. Overkill for a holy-power one-trick.
So I decided to kick it to the Six Holy Halls' council. Real sages there, unlike my thick skull. If they couldn't solve it, it was beyond me anyway.
Decision made, mind eased.
Now just cross-check testimonies, items, docs. Damn, still a mountain left.
"Sylvia. Wanna go sightseeing?"
"...Huh?"
"Gotta inspect the dwarves' work."
"Hold hands and I'll go—. Ow!"
Sylvia kept whining, so I flicked her forehead.
"Brat keeps acting up?"
"I'm not a brat..."
Sorry, but that just skyrocketed your brat meter. What lady acts like that?
"Lead the way."
"Grunhild Everton."
"Can you guide us now?"
"Yes."
With that, I followed the livelihood black mage dwarves to check evidence. What fun times.
Grunhild Everton. Chieftain of the Blackrock Tribe, not some grand figure.
Your standard medieval fantasy dwarf specimen.
Loves booze, loves hammering metal.
Snoozes whenever, hauls hungover ass to the mines. Dwarf archetype.
One thing set him apart: situational judgment.
"Grunhild! You lost your mind? You know what happens if you deal with black mages!"
"Think those bastards will leave us be without? They'll drag us off as slaves forever either way."
"...Makes sense."
Reason he became Blackrock chieftain. Reason he led about a hundred dwarves.
They valued his rational calls.
One day, living fat on cash, booze, meat from black mages per his judgment...
"Shit! Holy Empire nabbed a black mage tail!"
Disaster struck. Lutvihi Marquisate black mage fortress crushed.
"Grunhild! What now? We're as good as dead!"
Situation flipped.
Biggest gig—rare ore forging—gone. Demon-related? Those lunatics hunted to hell's end.
Heresy inquisitors, now exorcists. They'd swarm.
Heads rolling? Obvious.
"We're taking this all and heading to the Holy Empire."
"...? What the hell?"
"Sigh. Sell our bodies at peak price, get something out of it, no?"
So Grunhild resolved: Sell quick, at high value.
"Knew this might happen, so I prepped. Quit bitching."
He had insurance.
Classified docs smuggled from black mages past.
Saved for a rainy day. Black mages second least trustworthy in the world.
They torch mentors/parents casually—wouldn't let betrayal slide.
So he targeted Execution Bureau. Holy Empire's mad priest squad, untouchable by black mage influence.
Rational, he thought. Exorcist zealots would value his intel high.
"Pleased to meet you. I'm the current Deputy Director of the Execution Bureau, Jin Nikanor."
Problem: Forgot they weren't rational.
He knew they charged blindly, but the boss personally fielding? How?
Sold rank and structure to mage towers?
Facing the horror before him, Grunhild had no choice.
'Prostrate hard.'
"So this document's the vital intel you mentioned?"
"Yes! I stake my soul there's no lie in my words."
Damn black mage scum. Do the job right if you're gonna.
Never dreamed it'd lead to this mess.
But cursing changed nothing. Just squirm for best outcome.
"What's this?"
"Yes! Just a ring we set aside to sell. Suits the lady—care to try it?"
"Bro. Try it on?"
"...Sure. Looks fine."
Weird a priest dragged a girl around.
But deputy director fielding meant not normal anyway.
Like a nut claiming NTR and pure love coexist.
Grunhild shoved trinkets to win the cyclops over. Close with the girl—might work.
"Male version same design here."
"Whoa. Bro, try it."
"Yes! You two look perfect together!"
Desperate to live, he piled on flattery.