Chapter 3

Justia hated mages.

She recalled her past. Back when she traveled with the hero's party as their saintess. Hiding in a cave during a mountain rainstorm. The time the hero ate a poisonous mushroom and stumbled around all day in a daze. Lying on a wide hill, gazing up at the stars in the night sky. Though hardships and trials accompanied those days, there had been a certain joy to them.

Just thinking back on those memories brought a faint smile to Justia's lips.

But as she snapped out of the reverie, an ugly reality awaited her.

"Saintess, your rest time is almost over."

"Yes, I know."

Justia had been lost in pleasant reminiscence until the attendant's words jolted her back. Irritation welled up inside her, but as always, she swallowed it down and gave a gentle reply. After all, this was the kind of saintess people expected.

She must harbor no impure emotions. She had to embrace the world with love. She was a being who sacrificed herself for the sake of the world. There was no room in that for the little girl named Justia. Only God's proxy, manifested in the world, was allowed to exist.

To quell her frustration, Justia reached for the glass of water on the table in front of her, then stopped upon realizing the attendant had prepared it. Regretfully, Franz's letter would have to wait a little longer. Her rest time was nearly up, just as the attendant had said.

Justia rose from her seat and left the room. She faced a multitude of followers who worshipped God.

Time passed like that for quite a while.

Late into the night, finally alone without even an attendant, Justia pulled out Franz's letter. Now that there was no one to interrupt, she planned to read it slowly.

But there was nothing to read.

The only thing scrawled on the large sheet of stationery was, ironically, that single short sentence. Justia's eyes widened in bewilderment as she stared blankly at the letter. On a whim, she flipped it over. But the back was pristine white—completely blank.

No way, right?

A Magic Tower master wouldn't send a letter like this. Especially not to a saintess; he'd have to put extra care into it. It had been a whole year since he last checked in, so at least a greeting...

With that thought, Justia held the letter over the candle flame beside her. Franz had once mentioned a strange ink that appeared when exposed to fire, and she remembered it well.

But no matter how long she waited, the paper only singed black—no letters emerged.

Not this either, huh?

Justia bit her lower lip lightly. Then—whoosh—she poured water over the letter. Another trick Franz had mentioned: ink that revealed itself on contact with water.

But the paper merely soaked through; no letters appeared.

Only then did Justia realize the truth. The check-in letter after a full year contained just that one measly line.

Ha.

A disbelieving laugh escaped her lips. Her brow furrowed deeply.

Yeah, that's just how he is.

In truth, back in the hero party days, relations between the saintess and the mage hadn't been great.

Even as a saintess, she was no different from a rural girl from the boonies who could perform God's miracles. She cowered and hid at the sight of monsters, and when faced with guts spilling or blood spraying, she'd often vomit up everything inside her. The party's designated healer couldn't even take care of herself.

In Justia's memories, Franz always spat harsh words at her in those moments.

So she gave them right back. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Harsh words deserved harsh words in return.

And she worked her ass off. Because she hated hearing those barbs from Franz so much.

In the end, people never change. It was her fault for expecting anything.

Justia sighed, wiped the waterlogged desk, and lay down on the bed. No way she'd reply to that.

But sleep wouldn't come, even as time dragged on. She'd sworn in anger not to respond, but deep down, it still bugged her. It was just one line, after all.

But a letter was a letter.

In the end, Justia got out of bed and started writing a reply. One sentence received meant one sentence back.

The academy's dispatch of a magic instructor: approved.

The proposal for food supplies from the countryside: approved.

Request to use the Magic Tower's second-floor lab...?

"Arian, this request for the second floor—it's from those necromancers, right?"

"Yes, they begged and promised to behave this time, so I let it through provisionally."

Were they seriously planning to turn the Magic Tower into a corpse field? They'd already approved lab use once before, only for feral ghouls to rampage through the entire tower, causing no end of headaches. They'd even been ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠disciplined, but apparently, they hadn't learned.

"If they ask, tell 'em ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to do experiments outside."

"Got it."

Franz scrawled REJECTED in huge letters on the document and moved to the next.

Orphanage purification mage dispatch: approved.

Royal palace outer wall cleaning mage dispatch: approved.

Haa.

A long sigh escaped Franz after processing paperwork for what felt like ages. He'd been at it nonstop, yet he'd barely dented half the stack. And he'd handled a similar load yesterday—it was absurd.

He hadn't taken a single break since becoming tower master. At this rate, he might actually keel over from overwork.

That was when it happened.

"Take a short break, sir. You look more tired than usual."

A teacup appeared on the desk. A rare secretary-like act from Arian.

As she'd observed, Franz had stayed up late last night writing to Justia, so her perceptiveness was impressive. The only issue was how utterly tasteless the tea was.

Franz eyed Arian and the cup alternately before quietly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠picking up his pen. It felt like silent pressure to get back to work.

Arian chimed in. "Surely you're not planning to refuse tea that your busy secretary brewed in stolen moments."

"Ah, fine. I'll drink it."

At this point, he suspected she'd made it bad on purpose.

Anyway, he'd said he'd drink, so Franz took the cup. A blue Magic Circle formed in his hand, instantly chilling the steaming tea.

And—gulp.

The cool liquid slid down his throat, clearing his head like a breath of fresh air. A subtle tea leaf aroma lingered in the aftertaste, lifting his mood.

But Arian's face twisted at the sight of him cooling and chugging her specially brewed tea.

"I won't brew tea for you ever again."

"Nah, yours tastes better cold anyway."

He knew it wasn't polite, but tea was a matter of taste. What was wrong with enjoying it your way? Besides, sipping hot tea was for the leisurely rich with time to spare. He was a time-poor workaholic—such luxuries were wasteful.

Arian talked tough, but she'd brew more anyway, so no worries there.

His body was more fatigued than usual, though. Maybe some stretching.

As Franz reached for the ceiling, a thought struck him.

If Justia got the letter by now...

Any change in the status window? Half-doubting, Franz summoned it into the air.

Incredibly, just sending the letter had bumped Justia's percentage up. He had no clue what the criteria were, but progress toward saving the world felt good.

Though, only 1%? Seemed stingy when he was risking his life here. A little generosity wouldn't hurt.

Anyway, next steps after her reply arrived.

As Franz flipped through more papers, he chuckled.

No need to wait for a reply now. If the saintess was attending personally, he'd match the level.

Franz penned his name onto the support mage list. Arian would freak, but saving the world trumped paperwork.

The next day, Franz arrived at St. Serpian Cathedral for the first time in ages.

And there was Justia.

"Long time no see."

"Huh...? Why are you here...?"

Justia's eyes went wide.