Chapter 137
Chapter 137
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 137
Chapter Title: Owl
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Moses' books weren't exactly strangers to Ian. The actual time they'd been entangled wasn't all that long, but the impact they left behind overshadowed any other grimoire by a mile. Well, it had exploded right in front of him and killed him, so that was only natural.
Book of Moses 8.
Surprisingly enough, despite the name, it wasn't penned by the actual Moses. It was an ancient Greek grimoire written by a young mage who followed him around, borrowing Moses' name and authority after his death.
Books 6 and 7 of Moses recorded spells he personally used, but Book 8 was a chaotic mess filled with the mage's personal opinions. Still, its fame far outstripped the rest of the Moses series. That was thanks to its signature spell, tied to a great flood disaster.
The biblical catastrophe where Noah's Ark first appears. That prayer-induced flood magic could sink an entire village without breaking a sweat. Of course, it required a massive amount of materials to cast... but honestly, that was a moot point now.
The damn thing had gone kaput. No matter how legendary the grimoire, once it was dead, it meant nothing. At least it went out without tarnishing its reputation further. Small mercies.
Anyway.
With Book of Moses 8 torn to shreds, only Books 6 and 7 remained in the series.
Book 6 dealt heavily with angel summoning, while Book 7 focused on demons.
But with specialists like the Book of Pope Honorius for angels and the Lesser Key of Solomon for demons, those two couldn't quite match their prestige.
Book of Moses 8's fame wasn't for nothing. It had that unique great flood spell you wouldn't find anywhere else, making it a standout among ancient tomes.
Pulling light from between its fingers... probably Book 6.
True to the name, the Moses series brimmed with Catholic-aligned magic. Since Book 6 was angel-heavy, that seemed likely.
Eh, didn't matter much if it was 6 or 7. They were just ordinary grimoires he had no reason to tangle with. Holding Outer God grimoires meant instant death if he crossed paths anyway, so Ian cut his interest short, took a shower, and got on with his day.
Breakfast was homemade beef and radish soup. He slurped it down with rice, did the dishes, and sorted his schedule.
What needs doing now... testing the new grimoire's spells, alchemy practice, and swinging by the wizards' shop.
There was plenty more on a grander scale. Eddie's death would stir up backlash he needed to gauge, plus Laplace's reaction, bureau work, and so on. Big tasks aplenty. Laplace's response topped the list.
A crime syndicate won't retaliate over one dead member... but they'll try something. Maybe investigate the cause of death.
Ian didn't know how Laplace operated exactly. Just that their boss held an Outer God grimoire. Nothing on structure, member count, or exec traits.
Even Eddie couldn't fill those gaps. He wasn't a full member—just a collaborator—so his intel was laughably basic. Uncovering the boss's name, Walter, was win enough.
Even if they probed Eddie's death, Walter wouldn't bother flying to Korea himself. He'd send underlings.
Still, basic vigilance was smart. Better keep distance from wizards unless they're community users.
Mariang might show. Eddie's lover and partner, right?
Ian jotted Mariang in his notebook. Common names like Maria or Marian? Sure. Mariang? First time hearing it. Uncommon enough to spot instantly.
As he pondered, the blue shackles and Book of Contracts on his bed started vibrating.
He glanced over. They were surrounded by the other grimoires.
Amusingly, their vibrations all sounded like "whirr." No real difference in the noise. Ian smirked at the sight of the blue shackles and Book of Contracts shoved against the wall, the other two grimoires looming like bullies.
No matter the angle, it looked like straight-up harassment. The Hermit's Shackles paled in power next to the Recomposer of All Things or Master of the Outer Sea, so it was inevitable.
Weak get eaten. Survival of the fittest—even gods weren't exempt.
The Deep Sea Chronicles roughly vibrated its corner, scraping at the covers of the blue shackles and Book of Contracts. The Hand of Recreation stood guard, blocking any escape for the Book of Contracts.
The Book of Contracts sensed Ian's gaze and pleaded for help. Its chain rattled side to side, only for the Deep Sea Chronicles to flip onto it and spin. The Book of Contracts wailed in grief.
Ian chuckled dryly and tapped the desk. The bullied Book of Contracts summoned itself under his hand, vibrating happily. The other two spun on the bed, covers facing him like betrayed pups staging a protest.
Blatant defiance, but Ian ignored it. Grimoire tantrums were daily life.
He set the Book of Contracts on his lap and pulled out his phone.
Laplace worries on hold. No plans to seek them out unless they moved first.
Nothing to do but brace for the next mess. He didn't even know their base or if they'd set foot in Korea. Better to stay chill than fret.
Time for other priorities.
Need to hit Owl for early tobacco resupply anyway. Check other stock too.
The Clock Tower shop for wizards: Owl.
Old-school magic origins showed—no online store in this era. Purely brick-and-mortar, locations printed only in Clock Tower newspapers. Normals couldn't even peek.
Even wizards needed Clock Tower ties to subscribe, making spots near impossible to find.
Closed-off to the max. Brits mastered clannishness ages ago, splitting maps into "Britain" and "not-Britain." No shock there.
Can't just wander blindly. Might scour the country fruitlessly. Info first.
Luckily, Ian knew the perfect spot. He logged into the community without hesitation and posted.
You're anti-gonik you bastard. And fuck, don't use that tone you piece of shit who tore Eddie apart alive. Scary as hell.
Ian hammered the keys with a blank face, mumbling under his breath.
Gonik.
Short for fixed nickname—just a community term for set handles.
Didn't matter if he made one. Laziness kept him anon, no big reason.
But with newbies incoming, maybe time for one. Better than causing confusion.
What to pick?
As he mulled, a fresh comment dropped. He leaned back and checked.
The crazy bitch showed up. Ian groaned and replied.
You know Owl's spot? Unexpected.
Red outfit.
Flashy color, but convincing from a concept-obsessed woman.
Sudden plans, but no biggie. Grandmother could vet Dolores' alignment. Danger? Nothing jumped out.
No slacking, though. He'd whip up a broken reverse aimer.
Ambush could hit anytime, anywhere—not just from her. Prep was key: aimer first, then recarve defensive spells on his coat for basics.
Ding, ding.
Two alerts pinged. Ian checked casually.
Newbie and familiar face chimed in. Predictable—Dolores eagerly accepted. Social butterfly type.
No reason for Ian to nix it. He posted "whatever" and set his phone down.
Four people... gonna be noisy.
He stretched, pulled alchemy prep materials.
Tomorrow's meet meant no dawdling.
Best finish and equip the aimer today.
Ian summoned the Hand of Recreation, gently placing the blue shackles and Book of Contracts beside the Deep Sea Chronicles. The Book of Contracts shivered like an abandoned pet.
The Deep Sea Chronicles hopped atop and spun gleefully.
Sparks flew spectacularly.
Kraka-ka-kang!