Chapter 20
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 1.5
Chapter Title: Livelihood Black Magician (2)
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Natius Stanton.
The current head of the Execution Bureau's cathedral and a man once called the Fist King.
He now described himself as an old relic from a bygone era.
"Hup!"
Bam! The sandbag exploded with a burst.
No one would dare utter those words after seeing that.
He had already burst over ten sandbags without wrapping a single thread of aura around his fists.
"Hoo…"
He drew in a breath and exhaled. Then he gathered power from his feet, ankles, knees, and waist.
Maintaining tension throughout his body, he unleashed a full-force strike.
Bam!
"Damn."
Another sandbag burst apart.
They had supposedly wrapped it three layers deep in beast hide, but it tore so easily. Someone must have pocketed a bribe for sure.
Just as he was about to demolish another, the bell rang and the door swung open.
"Your Excellency. Burst another one?"
Edmund, his comrade of several decades who had become the Minister of Rites, chided him.
"How much could one cost that you're nagging me again?"
"It's not about the price. What bishop in this world looks like this?"
Tap, tap, tap.
Grains of sand trickled from the spent sandbag.
A scene you might see in any neighborhood gym. Of course, not one you'd expect in the Execution Bureau's cathedral.
"Edmund. If you don't keep moving steadily, you never know when you'll kick the bucket."
"I doubt pain will drag me away from my desk. At worst, I'll die of frustration, not illness."
Natius's face soured.
It grated on him that a comrade who had shared countless battlefields was now spouting the evasive barbs of those noble bastards after gorging on paperwork.
He yearned to settle it the old way—with fists—to see whose argument held up.
"… Why are you staring at my head?"
"Never mind."
Natius relaxed his stance upon seeing the man's lush hair.
Unlike the old days, this one had a silver tongue now. He might win with fists, but dragging it out would end in defeat for sure.
Damn it. Some people were already bald as eggs.
"So, what wind blew in that made you suddenly start swinging your fists?"
"My disciple."
The biggest reason Natius's head had gone shiny wasn't raw strength. It was that walking disaster of a disciple.
"Master."
"What?"
"Does your hair have to fall out first bef— Gah!!"
The day he taught basic fist arts. The disciple's strike as he gazed at Natius's gleaming scalp was still vivid.
Green wood stays green from the first leaves, they say.
"You ■■ dwarf."
"You little shit!"
Taunting hidden elves in the woods to draw them out.
"I could make better with my feet than you lot."
"…? What did you just—."
"I'll show you right now. Hold on."
"? That lunatic's going for our treasure swords!!"
Melting dwarf swords in front of their fortress.
"Ahh. This is magic. Fireball."
"!@#@!#!$%!"
"Hey! Calm down! Don't take the bait!"
Lighting oil-soaked arrows and claiming it was magic.
His disciple had been a lunatic from the start. There were far too many antics to list them all.
"So he pissed you off again?"
"No, that bastard groped a shop girl's ass—."
He was a walking disaster who fought 32 duels at Ailene's Cradle Academy, yet he had kept an upright heart despite it all.
Yes.
"…Please let me rest here."
Until the night he showed up drenched in rain, clutching something mangled in his arms.
The price for embracing what shouldn't be embraced was horrific. Who could have guessed he'd share his heart with one of the Seven Dragon Generals, not just any demon?
"Bring some more."
"Sigh. At this rate, the cathedral will turn into a desert."
"I'll clean up. Just bring them."
He hung up the new sandbag the Minister of Rites had brought.
Jab. Straight. Hook.
He swung to clear his mind.
Satisfying movement. Again—one, two.
Don't leak power. Fists draw from leg tension and rotation, not arm strength—.
Bam!
"Your Excellency Natius!"
"Damn."
The explosion shook not just the cathedral but the entire building. A result impossible from pure physical force.
"Haa… Let's call it for today. What's the point if you coat it in aura?"
Unconsciously, he had channeled mana into aura.
Even so, his role wasn't over. He swung again.
There was a lost lamb wandering, and if guidance was needed, he'd have to punch that disciple's face again. He couldn't stop training.
If he'd become the human scum toying with Sylvia, he could just beat him without mercy.
"I'm fine now."
He realized it the moment he saw that half-baked fake engagement ploy.
How could he utter harsh words to someone desperately gathering dying embers with all he had?
All he could do was wait. If the boy chose the wrong path…
"Hoo."
He'd lived long enough—why did being a master have to be such a hassle? Maybe he should have forced the engagement two years ago.
As he sighed in frustration, the communication orb glowed crimson and vibrated.
'Speak of the tiger.'
Answering the call from his rascal disciple brought up that rotten-potato mug.
"What is it?"
- I have a report for Bishop Natius.
Oh no. A major problem had likely erupted.
His disciple rarely used his full name otherwise.
Had he crossed the line with Sylvia?
'No way.'
Natius knew. His disciple was an impotent loudmouth who only talked marriage.
If he'd crossed it, he'd have done so ages ago.
He'd have proudly claimed her as his fiancée. He wouldn't have pulled off those stunts if he cared for others' opinions.
He wasn't one to give in to impulse or emotion—.
'…Hmm.'
Recalling how he'd beaten a scummy noble at the academy meant revising that a bit.
He dealt with scum scummily. That was his nature.
"So, what happened?"
- There are two issues, actually. I'll start with the lighter one.
Daniel spoke flatly through the orb.
- They seem to be trying to create a god, with high probability.
"…And that's the light one?"
- Yes. We'll probably need a grand council including the elders. From the circumstances, a ton of sacrifices have flowed in, but gods aren't whipped up overnight.
A head-splitting report from the jump. He had no hair to lose, but it threatened even future growth.
Then what was the heavier one?
- So we can handle this slowly… The other side's the problem.
"Report simply."
He leaned in tensely, only to hear the absurd reply.
- Black magicians mobilized dwarves to mint counterfeit silver coins.
"…?"
- Judging by the volume, if we don't stop it in time—.
"Deputy Director."
- …Yes.
His disciple was still missing a few screws. Wonder who he learned work sense from.
"No need to judge priority. Just report everything next time."
- Understood.
"Then we're done."
Click. The light faded, and a sigh escaped Natius.
A god was about to pop out—why fuss over counterfeits? Natius still couldn't fathom Daniel.
This is unfair.
Unlike some minor god I could snag if I wanted, counterfeiting was the crime even 21st-century Earth called the king of disruptions.
Especially considering that great man who aced physics, math, and astronomy—but not stocks—still devised every trick to curb currency crime.
Counterfeiting was a nightmare from the enforcer's side.
Shaving edges, melting and selling, smuggling abroad for profit.
That alone was headache-inducing, and now black magicians were duplicating money.
A nameless minor god wasn't the priority, okay? My silver coins' value was plummeting right now!
"…Deputy Director. I'm truly sorry, but may I ask one thing?"
Lost in a daze on the bed, I heard the High Priest of the Holy Records Office speak up.
"Sh-shouldn't creating a god be handled ASAP?"
Fair enough from his view.
Gods dropped like flies in the Holy-Demon War for me, so they felt familiar now. But to average priests and high priests, it was shocking.
"Even if it can't touch a hair of our main deity, if black magicians use a god as a to—."
"They can't."
"…Pardon?"
Mix soul, spirit, vessel—the three elements of a person? They couldn't even manage that properly, let alone a god's.
Phoenix feathers, millennium turtle shells, holy beast horns—cobbled from random junk, no vessel could hold a real god.
Some insane black magicians used their own bodies as vessels. But that mixed in their demonic taint, making them easier to hunt.
"A god polluted by demonic energy isn't immortal or undying anyway. A native god over a millennium might be a headache, but that's not this."
The counterfeit silver flooding markets to buy those materials scared me more than any god.
Dwarves might be cranking them out everywhere right now. More money's always better—that law held here too.
'Black magicians indeed.'
Continent's public enemy number one didn't disappoint, topping collateral damage charts. Attacking the economy now, even?
"I-is that so."
The High Priest looked dubious at my calm declaration. He couldn't comprehend, but there was no more to explain.
"Please spare me just once! Yes! The busty woman you want— Gaaah!"
"Mooo. I know nooothing."
"May I have permission to request mercy for merely breathing a thousand years?!"
The gods I'd seen acted like that—how could I feel threatened? Too tedious and pedantic to spell out.
"Still, we can't ignore it, so we'll move soon. Tracking the money flow should lead right to them. Any more questions?"
"No. Forgive my rudeness, blinded by knowledge?"
Rudeness? Compared to what the District Chiefs pulled daily, this was spotless.
"It's fine. Handle the rest at the Holy Records Office."
"Yes. I'll take my leave."
With that, the High Priest bowed deeply and exited.
The polite demeanor I'd demanded from the District Chiefs.
'Birds of a feather, huh.'
Like I bowed to my master, the Execution Bureau Chiefs made it routine with me. If they copied even a tenth of that priest's courtesy…
'Just a short rest.'
Headaches done, holy spell fatigue melting through my body.
Thud. Sprawled on the pristine bed, eyes closing—
"Oppa!"
Sylvia stood by the bed, arms wide, holding swimsuits of different designs. Pretty revealing ones.
"Hot springs! Hot springs! The water here's amazing!"
Ah. So tired, so sleepy.
"Sorry, oppa's beat right now. Later?"
"…Even just lying on this bed alone together—."
"Hot springs!!!"
I bolted off the bed in an instant; Sylvia clicked her tongue.
But what could I do?
Front meant trial; back was summary execution.
So please.
"Just soak and come back, right?"
"…"
"Right?"
Say something. It's scary…!