#22. Torch of Anti-Communism (7)
The second spring since the return of the age of magic was the season when primitive magic truly began to bloom across humanity. Basic bio-enhancements had ripened enough that ability users were rapidly awakening to additional spells. This surge undoubtedly included those cautious types who had concealed their second awakenings until now. Possessing a rare ability—one others lacked or that was exceedingly uncommon—could threaten one's safety in certain cases. But with similar instances multiplying, the incentive to hide had vanished.
Among my subordinates, whose circuits I had personally opened, the proportion of dual-ability users had soared past fifty percent. Even though I had prioritized optimization, potential, and stability over early awakening when designing their circuits, this was still nine times the average outside the organization.
Suyeon, who had lagged a step behind Kyung-tae during her second awakening, became our first triple-ability user by mid-March, gaining mastery over telekinesis. That didn't mean Kyung-tae was falling behind, though.
"Can you see it, hyungnim?"
Dripping sweat from prolonged exposure to ignition incantation heat in his fire suit—and from overworking his mana circuit under the guise of training—Kyung-tae pushed his black shaded goggles up onto his forehead. He held up the stopwatch like a dog begging for praise, staring at me expectantly.
"9.88 seconds! It doesn't even take ten seconds to melt a solid iron ingot anymore."
As Kyung-tae said, the forge that had burned with mana-fueled flames now held only glowing red molten iron. Melting a thick brick-like pure iron ingot in just a few breaths meant his flames' peak temperature far exceeded iron's melting point of 1,538 degrees Celsius.
High temperature didn't guarantee high combat prowess—fire users weren't immune to their own flames' heat. Still, peak temperature was a reliable gauge of an ability's magnitude and growth trajectory.
I gave Kyung-tae's shoulder a light pat.
"Good work. You're progressing well."
"Haha."
The guy beamed at my understated praise. Kyung-tae wiped his sweat and shrugged.
"If the world went back to normal, I'd be pretty bummed."
"Hm?"
"Not that I think it'll happen now, but it's just that vague familiarity talking. It's only been a year and a few months, after all."
"...Yeah."
I nodded, but the regret I felt was a different beast from his disappointment.
If the path to London gets cut off, those endless sleepless nights will return.
I didn't sleep great compared to normal folks even now, but it was worlds better than setting thirty-minute alarms just to lie down. This change stemmed from the real sense of fighting for survival, or so I told myself. It explained why my view of this unavoidable struggle had shifted so much from last spring.
Kyung-tae plopped down beside the cooling molten iron, watching Suyeon's training as he asked,
"Hyungnim, I've been thinking about the mana essence surge."
"Hm?"
"What if London's Round Table did something?"
"Nonsense."
Of all things. Exponentially raising mana essence density worldwide was a divine feat. If those imperialist Round Table bastards had such power, the world wouldn't look like this.
I pondered the mana resurgence's cause now and then. It was a nagging question that circled my mind's edge no matter how I ignored it. I mulled over my past musings before replying.
"Just a hypothesis, but I suspect Earth hitched a ride on some massive current starting that winter two years ago."
"Massive current?"
"Yeah. An invisible flow of mana essence crossing the stellar void."
This extended from my speculation that mana essence might be a form of dark matter. Nothing in this universe stood still—not Earth, not the solar system, not even our galaxy. So why not stars dipping into cosmic mana tributaries while sailing the black void?
But what use was an unprovable hypothesis? It always ended in profound futility.
"Just keep it in mind. It doesn't mean much anyway."
"Got it."
With headquarters lockdown monitoring the incident's fallout, I invested over twice as much time cultivating my mage skills and my subordinates' growth. Guiding primitive magic training was like a trainer tracking muscle fatigue and limits in real-time during workouts.
Ordinary ability users risked circuit rupture through trial-and-error to find their limits—like a deaf-blind man on a cliff edge, sensing unseen drops and unheard waves, inching forward on uneven ground amid gale winds.
My subordinates, under my watch, trained at peak intensity, method, and reps without such risks. Lately, I'd added visualizing their mana circuits: tracing structures with ignition heat rays, showing mana intensity via light brightness, and fatigue limits via color shifts.
I'd started it expecting modest help, but they benefited far more than anticipated. Suyeon's first reaction:
"So that's how mana flows through my circuit... The structure and flow feel so different from what I sensed."
Recognizing one's circuit via mana and mana power flows was basic self-diagnosis for mages. Basic in name only—it was tough. Messier arrays hindered understanding; complex flows strained sensation itself. It scaled with circuit computation and control.
Thus, natural awakeners relied on vague "it worked when I tried" mana handling. Fully grasping their circuits? Near impossible.
Even my optimized elites didn't fully comprehend theirs—what chance did others have?
I ruffled Kyung-tae's hair like a pet dog and approached Suyeon, nodding for her to continue. She was practicing simultaneous telekinesis and electricity: levitating metal beads with grounding wires, orbiting them at varied trajectories and speeds, then inducing discharges from her fingertips targeting each.
Regardless of power, this precision in mana control bordered primitive magic's pinnacle.
"..."
No guidance needed. Suyeon silently refined her practice, referencing the light-and-heat visualization of her mana flow. Having memorized my model answers, she adjusted toward perfection.
They could train in my mana field because I permitted their dominance. Without a grand magus's consideration, they'd wilt like I had before the "President"—mana field suppression starving their power.
Both ability manifestation and growth speed are beyond expectations.
Suyeon's second ability being electricity after bio-enhancement was surprise enough; now her precision surpassed my projections. Not just talent or effort—proof my Golden Age's Eye guidance was profoundly effective.
But scalable elite training had limits. Everyone here was irreplaceable human capital; losing one would hurt. The investment bred attachment.
That sparked one nagging doubt lately: Could I coldly cut them loose when needed?
I have to.
The organization was my survival tool; subordinates too. Contracts trading lives for lives ultimately secured mine. Attachment endangering that? Transposed priorities of the worst kind.
It showed I was human after all—an imperfect survival machine riddled with inefficient emotions. Overcoming innate flaws demanded relentless self-reflection and self-flagellation...
"Hyungnim?"
Suyeon's call snapped my reverie.
"Is something wrong?"
"Wrong?"
"Yes."
After a beat, I noticed my light-drawn mana flows frozen like a paused screen. She must've thought her control had an issue.
"No, just lost in thought."
"...If you're tired, why not rest? We can handle the remaining training."
"It's not that."
Her calm concern irked me—another emotional glitch. After my firm reply, she stared briefly, then bowed. "Yes."
I forcibly shifted gears.
At first, I thought they were just Yankees with funny accents.
Admiral Martinez, contacting me last night about selling seized cartel assets, casually mentioned port gossip at call's end.
But no. They were pimps from across the Atlantic. Slave traders come to haggle cheap for women from disaster-struck poor nations.
Not special on its own. But their British nationality caught my eye.
"Women only?"
What?
"Are they buying only women?"
...Isn't that obvious?
It wasn't. Valuable female commodities were scarce; competing traders needed stabler earners. Boys had niche demand; older men could be drugged or broken for labor.
Their uniform nationality was suspicious too. I recalled the puppeteer's murder night: his massive cruise off southern Hong Kong brimmed with Dongguan-style prostitutes. I'd found it odd but dismissed it post-mortem.
But what if the puppeteer hadn't needed them personally?
If the Round Table of Light and Truth was scraping female test subjects regardless of awakening... what for?
I made a request.
"Admiral, keep tabs on those traders' info."
Tail them?
"No. Just pass along whatever you hear."
Why care about mere pimps?
He grumbled but agreed—easy enough. I didn't push deeper to avoid risking him or exposing myself if they were Round Table pawns. Couldn't warn him without spilling the Round Table's existence.
For more intel, better to tap fellow slave traders indirectly than naive admiral requests.