Missing?
“Missing? What do you mean, missing?”
Tiny couldn’t help but stare in disbelief at the words.
A “magus” was a title reserved solely for 7th-circle mages. They were recognized as equals to 7th-stage mana users—Aura Users—superhumans in the hierarchy of power. Sure, they’d crumbled against high demons in one-on-one fights, but in normal circumstances, they could unleash destructive force surpassing Aura Users against multiple foes. With the Demon King’s army on the horizon, they were humanity’s treasures, second only to Aura Users in priority for preservation.
And yet…
“How the hell did that happen?”
“At the request of the Karon royal family, he set out to scout a new sea route. It’s been two weeks past his scheduled return, and there’s no word.”
“Two weeks isn’t that long, is it? Ships can be delayed for months if the winds turn against them.”
Tiny knew that much—it was common sense.
“He was the punctual type. Even an hour late, and he’d report via communication orb. The finance minister griped about him wasting expensive magic comms, and the story’s famous for it.”
“Hm? So you tried contacting him back, and no response?”
“…Mobile magic communication orbs don’t have fixed coordinates, so they’re one-way only, with limits on words and uses. That’s why they’re so pricey.”
The pub master tilted his head as if wondering how Tiny didn’t know that, explaining calmly. Tiny gave an awkward smile.
The future orbs did that as standard.
But he couldn’t voice that excuse, so he just grumbled to himself.
“…The Magus of Tides vanishing at sea? This isn’t a joke.”
It made “monkey fell from a tree” sound tame. A moniker with an attribute or natural phenomenon meant mastery over it. Someone dubbed the Magus of Tides could survive alone on the open ocean for days or weeks.
And he went missing at sea?
Suddenly, it hit him—he’d never heard of Gale Anderson or the Magus of Tides in his past life. He’d assumed the man died when Ortus was smashed by the Kraken.
Or was it this timeline…?
If so, it confirmed the worst-case scenario he’d discussed with the Sword Emperor.
“…Did those bastards already make their move?”
His face twisted involuntarily.
He hadn’t underestimated the calamity that doomed a kingdom. But he hadn’t expected things to go sideways right from the start.
As Tiny sank into thought, the pub master spoke unexpectedly.
“If the demon worshippers deployed forces capable of taking down a superhuman, then going alone would be too dangerous for you, Sir Tiny. We need to reconsider the plan.”
The man’s casual use of Tiny’s name. And dropping “demon worshippers” like he knew the full story.
Tiny eyed him anew.
“You’re the Blackwing leader?”
The pub master shook his head at once.
“How could I dare…? The Blackwing leader is His Grace the Duke. And you’re currently acting in his stead, Sir Tiny.”
“So you’re the de facto leader.”
“…Think of me as the field commander.”
“Hah…?”
A dry laugh escaped at the man’s lack of denial. From the first meeting, his presence had been unreadable—seemed like a civilian. Apparently not.
“Blader-grade or higher?”
Experts could hide their aura from lesser foes, but with Tiny’s transcendent mana sensitivity, it pointed to special concealment techniques. The stealth was on par with the demon worshippers he’d recently encountered.
If he can hide this well, maybe he can sniff out what others are hiding too.
Tiny’s mind wandered there, but the pub master shook his head.
“No, that’s a misunderstanding. I’m not mana-awakened.”
“…You’re not?”
That shocked him more.
“Hiding mana or using illusion magic would only complicate infiltration and disguise.”
Fair point. Key spots across the continent had mana detectors or guards. But operating powerless…
“Isn’t that too risky?”
“It’s thrilling too.”
The pub master grinned, sincerity shining through. Tiny chuckled dryly again.
“…Unique tastes.”
“Haha, I hear that a lot. But now’s not the time for my hobbies—we need to rethink the strategy.”
“…True. Hey, got any ideas? Ways into the palace without a letter of recommendation.”
“…I have Plan B for infiltration, but what I meant is your solo op is too risky.”
The pub master’s face darkened, but Tiny just shook his head.
“Doesn’t matter. Tell me about Plan B first.”
“But if they really killed the Magus of Tides…!”
“No, no matter the danger, this has to be done.”
Tiny cut off the concern firmly.
“Even demon worshippers can’t openly deploy superhuman-level forces in a royal palace. And anything less, I can handle.”
I’ll make it work. No failure. Success, no matter what.
His resolve and confidence bled into his words. The pub master, who’d looked dazed, sighed and shook his head.
“Indeed… No wonder His Grace praised you so highly.”
Hm? What was that…?
Tiny tilted his head at the faint words, but the pub master smiled and changed the subject.
“Then we’ll proceed trusting you, Sir Tiny. I’m swamped anyway.”
Made sense for Blackwing’s real head—an imperial noble’s shadow intel org.
“Right. So what do I do?”
“I’ve prepared an alternate identity. It builds on your existing one, so no confusion. Plan B is…”
Tiny nodded attentively through the long explanation and Q&A.
When it ended, he sank into thought with a complicated gaze.
Silence fell over the room.
Tang. Ta-tang. Tang. Tang.
A peculiar knocking rhythm shattered it.
“…Come in.”
The door creaked open at the pub master’s words, and a frantic young man burst in.
“Master, you need to come quick! Right now…”
He glanced at Tiny, then whispered the rest to the pub master.
—Th-they’re here.
Of course, Tiny heard it.
They’re here?
Looking puzzled at the pub master, Tiny saw his face harden.
“…What’s going on?”
Tiny asked directly, but the pub master averted his gaze.
“Something urgent came up—I have to go. Ship sails in two days. Lodging’s nearby; ask this kid if you have questions. He looks young, but he’s one of ours. Then…”
As the pub master fled, Tiny’s expression tightened too. The young man sighed in relief, wiping sweat.
“Phew, close call.”
“What happened?”
“Oh, uh… Nothing you need to know, sir.”
The awkward wave only piqued Tiny’s curiosity more.
“I’ll decide what I need to know. If it affects the op, spill it now!”
Infusing subtle pressure, Tiny watched the youth pale and bow his head.
“It’s… a group of customers.”
“…What?”
“You saw earlier.”
“…?”
“The disguise pub’s too popular—we’re swamped. All because of Master…”
Tiny could only smile awkwardly at the near-tears voice.
* * *
What he needed was verified identity. No royal or noble would let a random spirit user into the palace.
Hence the recommendation letter. But flashing one endorsed by the missing Magus of Tides, Gale Anderson, would only raise suspicions.
So Plan B focused on crafting a “noble-believable” identity.
The result…
“My, what a cute little guest. Boarding pass checked. Now your ID badge, please…”
At the gangway to the massive ship, Tiny sighed and handed over the silver badge.
A faint blue glow leaked from the engraved dagger emblem, projecting a translucent dagger in the air.
Such badges, reacting to blood or mana with a glow, were rare and not for just anyone.
“Gasp! A noble!? S-sorry for the rudeness!”
The sailor recoiled, face twisted. Tiny shook his head calmly.
“It’s fine. I’m just a fallen noble now.”
That bitter line silenced even the sailor inwardly cursing the noble kid’s lack of guards. He could imagine the desperate straits of a child noble wandering alone.
So he bowed sincerely.
“…Have a pleasant voyage, milord.”
The boy—Tiny—replied with a wistful smile and stepped aboard forlornly.
Then, turning away, his face twisted as he eyed the badge.
—There’s a noble house called ‘Mors.’ Vanished forty years ago.
—Framed as demon worshippers by the church, they fell. Later proven innocent, but no heirs for reinstatement.
—Black hair, black eyes, pale skin—their direct lineage traits. Why they were called demonic… Matches you perfectly, doesn’t it? No one’ll suspect based on looks.
—Karon has plenty of East Continent mixes—no issue there.
—Heir of a fallen house, grudge against the Empire, spirit user heading to Karon… Perfect backstory!
—From now on, you’re the child of that surviving heir and a wandering elf practitioner. Spirits inherited, done.
—I made it, but damn, it’s brilliant!
House Mors…
From the moment the pub master explained, a nagging itch lingered in Tiny’s mind.
Sounds familiar.
But extinct…
He’d asked if they were famous.
—Records mostly lost. Only physical traits left. Sorry, not much else. Never big anyway.
No satisfying answer.
Then where’d I hear of them?
Racking his memories yielded nothing—except one recent snippet.
—…His Grace was thrilled at yesterday’s report on you.
—…You botched one job, but your talent and presumed status outweigh it.
Philes lord’s dying words.
Black hair, black eyes—not common. Must be Mors he meant.
But still…
I heard it in my past life too. Where? From who?
No matter how he turned it over, the frustration lingered. Felt important—couldn’t ignore.
“Nngh.”
He groaned unconsciously, deep in thought.
Hm?
Suddenly, an unmistakable aura snagged his senses.