The Assistant's Offer
Allen woke earlier than usual again today, his mind drifting back to what he'd transported in the cart yesterday. The fluttering red cloth, the body rigid as wood.
At least it's a corpse.
How many people died in Ranka? Like any poor country, they bred plenty and buried plenty. Civil war, murder, starvation, disappearances—all fanning the flames of death.
It was a sight Allen had grown accustomed to since childhood, so he had some tolerance for it.
What would I have done if it were still alive...?
Allen pushed the thought aside. Such hypotheticals were meaningless now. Even a faint voice would have required strength he didn't have.
He glanced down at his palm. Nothing there. To shake off the unease, he shifted his gaze to the floor below the bed, where his assistant Vito lay, breathing in deliberate, mechanical rhythm.
Assistants learned mana training techniques. Basic as they were, they could generate a Mana Heart, so every laborer strived to become one.
Ding-ding-ding!
The familiar clang of metal on metal heralded the start of the day, right on cue.
Vito sat up at once, his eyes flickering faintly with energy. The training for assistants activated the brain and sharpened concentration—a perfect fit for magitech engineers.
He rolled his neck this way and that, then locked eyes with Allen and shuddered, shoulders quivering.
"...You're up? You know what today is, right? Head to the power room at eight sharp."
Startled like a cat spooked by falling leaves, Vito shrugged it off and strode out of the room.
Allen finished his solitary meal and stared into the mirror by the washbasin. That was why Vito flinched.
Dull, parched eyes stared back indifferently. Even splashing his face with bone-chilling cold water changed nothing. He might feign indifference to his parents' deaths, but eyes were windows to the soul, reflecting the truth.
There was no fixing it right now. Allen shook off the water from his face and headed to the corner of basement level one, where the power room waited.
Before the heavy door, a cable with a mechanical eyeball extended from the security panel, scanning the visitor.
Beep-beep-beep. Ding!
The crimson glow like spilled blood shifted to green, and the steel door slid smoothly aside. Inside was straightforward: a cylindrical mana furnace the size of a container in the center, an emergency furnace to the left, and stacks of mana batteries opposite.
Vito, seated before the batteries, patted the chair beside him.
"You're early. Sit."
"Understood."
Allen affixed the square sensor from the chair to his body and sat. At once, Vito jabbed a needle into his forearm.
"Not even a flinch."
"I'm used to it."
"Even your first time, you barely reacted. Oh, graph's up."
Vito fiddled with the terminal linked to the sensor. Watching him, Allen naturally opened the book he'd brought along.
Mana extraction had been daily routine since arriving at Nobak Clinic. Allen glanced briefly at his bruised arm—like his parents'—then focused on the book.
Magitechwear and the Mage
With the spread of magitechwear enabling even commoners to cast spells, the mages' status seemed precarious. But mages were mages. They found ways to interfere with—essentially hack—magitechwear.
We'd forgotten that master craftsmen wield superior tools far better than amateurs. The mages' position solidified further, and the labyrinth gave their pursuits wings.
Yet technological progress over time was astonishing. As magitechwear improved daily, trainees grew weary of grueling study and resigned en masse... True mages dwindled sharply today...
"Argh!"
Allen, etching each word into his mind, turned at the sudden noise. Vito, brow furrowed, was pounding the terminal.
"Output's way more unstable than last time..."
Vito clamped his mouth shut. In the quiet power room, he'd momentarily forgotten Allen was there. Their eyes met.
"This is my job. You just read your book."
"Try adjusting the resistance and narrowing the sampling interval."
"I got it. You got more experience than me? Or just focus on the extraction quietly."
At Vito's irritation, Allen returned to his book. The button clicks faded entirely, leaving only the hum of machinery and the rustle of turning pages.
How many minutes passed? Vito glanced at Allen, then tweaked the terminal as suggested. The graph onscreen sharpened instantly.
Whose advice was right was clear. Slumped in his chair, Vito stared at the ceiling.
"I wanna get down to the basement."
"..."
"You listening?"
"Yes. Loud and clear."
Allen's flat, emotionless reply. Vito actually preferred it that way—far easier than fawning laborers or prying senior assistants.
"You'd make a good confessor someday."
"What's a confessor?"
"Where you from, not knowing that? Oh, right, Ranka. Makes sense for your hometown. But then where'd you learn magitech?"
Forgets everything outside his interests. Vito muttered inwardly, then waved it off, realizing he'd veered off-topic.
"Anyway, back to earlier. I wanna go underground."
"Why?"
The question carried layers of meaning. Just yesterday, they'd carted that corpse to basement level two—a secret workshop.
Vito, who'd been avoiding Allen's gaze, finally met his eyes.
"I know damn well it's a slaughterhouse down there. Dissecting people like pigs, processed from somewhere. Why else do fish bite so well out front?"
"..."
"You think I like this collar? That's why I wanna go down. It's disgusting, sure, but it's also opportunity. Impress the boss there, and I could open my own shop like the seniors."
"Seniors? Other assistants left this place?"
"A few got boss's investment and branched out elsewhere."
Vito clenched his fists tight—a picture of youthful zeal.
"You close with them?"
"Thought so, but guess it was one-sided. They kept in touch a month or two, then... Busy, maybe. Wait, that's not the point. What I'm saying is—"
Vito scratched his head, ears tinting red.
"Wanna teach each other? Cover each other's weak spots?"
"I lack experience and knowledge."
"Forget what I said earlier. Watching you, you'll catch up on knowledge quick. What I wanna learn from you is intuition."
Intuition. The ability to instinctively grasp a subject without prior knowledge.
"Been watching you a month. No graduated senior's got better intuition than yours."
"Is intuition that important?"
"Duh. You know why mana shifts to other attributes?"
"No."
"Right. Nobody does. We just know it happens and use it. Skip the process, know the result. Point is, grasping 'it'll turn out this way' is crucial."
"Can intuition be taught...?"
"Quit stalling. Watch you up close, hear your thoughts—I can at least imitate. So, you in or what?"
Allen fell silent; Vito crossed his arms, waiting.
Bomb collar, assistant...
Vito's obsession with self-improvement was obvious. Assistants and laborers here were slaves or orphans. Knowing society's underbelly, they clung to climbing the clinic's ladder.
Better than joining a cartel and dying in a shootout. If it pans out, even earn the title of magitech engineer.
Allen stroked his collar. The mark of Nobak's favored toy felt especially deep.
He made up his mind. He didn't know what future lay ahead, but broader horizons meant more ways to cope.
"Your offer—"
Shrrk.
Both heads turned to the power room door. A hulking elderly man entered.
"Just the place."
"Boss, you're here."
"Good work so far. Vito, take a break. You, follow me."
Nobak checked the terminal data from Vito, and Allen quietly trailed behind. First time alone with the boss since arriving.
In his black robe, Nobak stopped before the private elevator in the corner of the first floor.
"How's life here?"
"Good."
"Don't overthink. Speak freely. No one's bullying you?"
"No."
Who'd relax with a bomb collar on? Besides, Allen knew his place. Nobak seemed uninterested in prolonging the chat.
The elevator halted at basement level two. A vast space held multiple workbenches shrouded in opaque plastic sheets. Fans and air purifiers hummed everywhere, yet the fishy stench clung heavy.
Nobak led Allen to a corner. What seemed a wall parted, revealing a stark white lab.
He punched buttons on machines, then pointed to the central operating table.
"Lie there."
Allen hesitated. The cart beside bristled with gleaming, sinister tools.
"Forgot the first rule after a month? Obey me without question."
Nobak wagged a finger up and down. No electric shock tortured him. Instead, mechanical arms descended from the ceiling, seizing his limbs and forcing him onto the table.
Nobak approached, vials slotted between his fingers.
"Think I'll kill you?"
"..."
"I extract mana regularly to keep your Mana Excess Syndrome from wrecking you, and you still don't trust me..."
Mana Excess Syndrome arose from overproducing and absorbing mana; uncontrolled flows damaged the body instead.
Steady mana expenditure, costly dialysis treatments, or advanced training to extend life—the latter worked best.
"Been too busy to check on you. Time to make up for it."
Speaking like a kindly doctor, Nobak injected unknown fluids into Allen's body. He even dripped strange liquid into his eyes; searing pain hit, but the restraint kept his lids pried open—he couldn't blink.
"Good. Up now. How do you feel?"
"My eyes hurt."
"Not that trivia—your internal mana. Well, you haven't learned training yet. Lie there this time."
He indicated a narrow bed with a donut-shaped cylindrical scanner at the head.
Allen shot a glare at the ceiling before lying down. Soon, the bed slid smoothly into the cylinder.
Nobak stroked his short beard, eyeing the real-time data and images.
"Mana resonance imaging scanner works fine. Mana Excess Syndrome's internal circuits... Deep wounds everywhere, but the width is impressive. Fine reference material."
Examinations done, Allen staggered, drained. Nobak steadied him promptly.
"Careful now."
"Thank you."
Infuriating hypocrisy, but he endured. Allen bowed his head, imagining a whetstone sharpening a blade.
Oddly, Nobak escorted him all the way to basement level one.
"Tell Vito I said so—learn the training. It'll help generate a Mana Heart."
Allen dipped his head wordlessly. Only after the door sealed did he turn. His body still burned.
Help?
Allen scoffed inwardly. Nobak's gaze at him mirrored Saldos citizens eyeing Ranka folk. No—more sinister.
Mealtime, apparently; laborers swarmed the communal cafeteria. Allen passed them, heading to his room. Spotting Vito alone, he spoke at once.
"I accept your proposal."