Trial of the Desert Master
“Oh, so you've decided to walk the path of a mage, have you?”
“Of course. Otherwise, I wouldn't have made it here.”
Wise choice. I know I'm biased since I created it myself, but illusion magic is too valuable to relegate to the background.
Retos—the ghost known as one of the pinnacle mages who reached the heights of sorcery—held illusion magic in high regard. It might have been special affection for his own creation, but it felt more genuine than that.
Same reaction as the professors. There really is something to illusion magic that transcends public perception.
“You have a talent for illusions, huh? I hear mages with that affinity are rare.”
“That's right.”
“But isn't it supposed to be a pretty lousy attribute?”
“...You need to work on your people skills.”
Maness responded curtly to the blunt remark. It wasn't irritation at the words themselves, but genuine concern that Boltman might get punched somewhere if he kept it up.
By the way, how did you two end up here?
It was a sensitive question. The Library of Memories lay at the deepest heart of the Magic Tower. The path Maness had taken was essentially a secret passage—a so-called cheat route. No one knew why it existed or how it had been made. Even in the original story, Kyle had pieced together scraps of info from everywhere just to find it. The hints were half-forced into the narrative, so there was no way to uncover the passage's origins.
“I heard there was a place where I could get what I wanted, so during my wandering days across the continent, I pieced it together from rumors and stories I'd heard.”
You wandered the continent?
“I might look shabby, but I'm a caravan leader from a fairly influential trading company.”
...I see.
Retos admitted he'd wasted away with his books. That could be taken to mean he'd been stuck in the Library of Memories, cut off from the outside world for ages. It made sense that some paths connected from the outer barriers or that ancient runic knowledge had been partially deciphered. After all, Kyle would reach this place the same way later on.
The world must have changed a lot. Back in my day, you could count the people who could decipher ancient runes on one hand.
“My knowledge was too shallow for a perfect translation, but I managed to infer it from the magic circles and patterns.”
And you made it all the way here. You've used curiosity as your driving force well.
Retos paused the conversation for a moment, nodded to himself a couple of times, then floated upward.
You said you want something. If your intentions are impure, it's only right that I cast you out immediately.
His voice carried the same weight it had when they first entered the Library of Memories. Maness looked up to meet the gaze of Retos looming over the two sprouts from above.
“I heard that items left behind without owners gather in the Library of Memories. I want permission to enter that storehouse.”
Even after Maness revealed his intent, Retos just stared down at the two students without a word. Maness nudged Boltman with his elbow, and after rolling his eyes a few times, Boltman finally spoke up.
“Uh, same as him!”
Very well. You both want to enter the library's storehouse.
With those words, a transcendent spectacle unfolded. Countless books decorating the walls flew out into the air, gathering into a massive vortex. Maness and Boltman huddled against the fierce wind whipped up by the flying pages. The ceaseless swirling books and sharp sounds seemed to drain their very souls.
They barely held out and looked up to see Retos standing sternly.
What you desire most must not be obtained easily. As mages, you will pay the price with proofs of wisdom and courage.
Proofs of wisdom and courage. They soon learned what that meant.
“Ughhh!”
“Gaaaaah!”
Like a tsunami crashing over a calm sea, the contents of the storm-making books invaded their minds. The information wasn't deep—like single-sentence summaries—but the sheer volume forced them to their knees, clutching their heads.
“S-Save meeeee!”
Unlike Boltman, who was rolling on the floor kicking his legs, Maness pushed through to read as much as he could. It was all predetermined anyway. He'd already decided what to pick before even entering the passage. He'd mastered the strategy through dozens of failures. All he needed was to confirm the book's contents were there.
And they were. Maness found it.
Have you decided?
Retos asked his guests concisely. No need to specify what—he knew the injected knowledge would make it obvious what they had to choose.
As expected, one young mage stood and answered clearly, locking eyes with him.
“I've chosen. The master of the desert.”
Retos hid his smile behind a single book, meeting the illusion boy's steady gaze.
I hope you succeed in the proof.
In an instant, the book swelled dozens of times larger, glowing as it swallowed the two mages.
*
“...Y-You okay? Give him some water.”
“We're almost there anyway, aren't we?”
“Then why'd you say we should rest?”
Bickering voices rattled Maness's mind as it surfaced like rising from sleep. Feeling alive through his returning senses, he slowly opened his eyes. Even a slight lift brought intense sunlight stabbing harder than usual.
“You're alive. Get up—we're almost at the rest spot.”
It was hot and stuffy. A clammy grittiness like being buried in sand permeated every inch of his body. Once his mind cleared relatively, he sat up and took in his surroundings.
“Slacking off and you'll get eaten by a sandstorm.”
Turbans, camels, packs. Blazing sun and sand. Waking in the heart of the desert wasn't a great experience.
“Ugh, hot...”
Only after Maness finished scanning did Boltman grimace and prop himself up. The unfamiliar heat pricking his skin was novel yet unpleasant.
“W-Where are we?”
A sight nowhere in the empire. An endless sandy horizon greeted the two young men.
“A caravan heading to Warland.”
“Warland... You mean the warriors' homeland?”
They were wrapped head to toe in black cloth. Since the merchants hadn't noticed anything off, they'd replaced the book's characters. Maness quickly grabbed Boltman's collar and hauled him up.
“Let's walk and talk.”
“I don't get what's happening... We have to cross this desert on foot?”
“For now. It won't take long—just walk.”
He had to force him along. No time for lengthy explanations about the Library's role or whether entering the book's world was feasible. Testing the merchants' patience up front would be the worst blunder.
Maness practically dragged the stumbling Boltman back into the caravan line and began calculating. Oasis, backpack ingredients, desert moles, mana stone cave. And the desert master. He mulled over the memorized strategy, then snapped his fingers in front of Boltman's downcast eyes.
“...No energy to talk.”
“Quit whining after walking this little. If you wanna get out, there's something you have to do. Listen up.”
Boltman finally looked up like he might actually hear him out. Maness raised a finger signaling focus.
“Simple. Run when I say run, smash when I say smash. And what we smash is the biggest stalactite.”
“Stalactite? In the middle of nowhere?”
“You'll get it when the time comes. You'll know what to smash too.”
He wasn't dumb—just dealing with some weirdness. Maness wouldn't have brought him this far otherwise.
“Your head and body hurt right now, so that's all for now. But remember every word.”
“...Got it.”
Boltman replied with uncharacteristically serious eyes and tone. Then—
“You there.”
A massive man, perhaps annoyed they'd fallen behind, approached with a gravelly voice.
“If you're struggling, I can help. Hand over the packs.”
Boltman was staring at the ground again, so only Maness startled. It was the overwhelming bulk, but more so the face peeking from the hood. Slit pupils stretched horizontally. Protruding muzzle and razor-sharp fangs. A beastman's face stared down—no different from an animal's.
“I'm fine—could you take his, please?”
Maness needed his own pack's contents for the oasis, so he nudged Boltman to hand it over. Boltman let out a yelp upon seeing the beastman up close, but thankfully caused no further trouble.
“First time seeing beastmen, huh?”
“...Yeah.”
“You'll run into them plenty working caravans.”
The beastman opened the conversation first, perhaps eager for chit-chat on the way to the oasis.
“We're from the empire, so it's all new. Sorry if we offended.”
“Not calling you out. Makes sense if you're from the empire—few beastmen venture as far west as that.”
Warland, famed as the warriors' homeland, was also called the beastmen's sanctuary. In ancient racial wars, beastmen—pushed out territorially—settled the Ramir Desert in the continent's east, birthing Warland. Most beastmen never left the east.
“You look young too—probably new to the caravan. Desert runs are toughest at first.”
Maness eyed the beastman's gear as he walked ahead. The greatsword strapped to his back matched a grown man's height, and he still wore twin straight swords at his waist. Black cloth hid his clothes, but the exposed leather gloves hinted at his role.
“You mainly do escort duty in the desert?”
Desert mercenary. No one else would carry gear like that.
“Yeah. Tough work, but any caravan to Warland hires mercs.”
“Ramir Desert's full of nasty monsters, right?”
“Doesn't matter—this pay's the same grind anywhere. Sometimes worse. Here, the desert environment gets us hazard bonuses.”
The beastman stroked his chin thoughtfully before adding lowly.
“Long as you don't run into the desert master.”
Desert master—the term circulating among people clearly meant the earthwyrms. Rare beasts in vast Ramir Desert; encountering one meant steeling for death. They weren't the true lords, but they held the stature.
“Looks like we've hit the oasis.”
Maness looked up at the beastman's chin gesture. An merchant waved from a dune under the glaring sun. Beyond lay the oasis. That's where it really began.