Chapter 7
The grape-flavored elixir received rave reviews from the villagers. Just one sip healed their wounds and even fixed that nagging ache in their backs. And it tasted good too, so they figured with this stuff, they could coast for another fifty years no problem.
Considering folks in this remote rural village usually kicked the bucket around fifty, it was basically like getting a second life.
"Hey, wizard buddy, that stuff's amazing. How much for a bottle? I might scrape together every coin I've got."
"Dunno the exact price, but you'd probably need to hand over a three-story mansion at least, right?"
"Holy shit, that's insanely expensive. But dude, you sure it's okay giving that to us?"
The villagers let out gasps of admiration at the absurd price. But Franz had made it up on the spot. Pricing an elixir was nonsense to begin with—he just wanted to plant the idea that it was something precious.
The reason elixirs were so rare and pricey? They were discontinued. Dragon's blood was a key ingredient, and that dragon had vanished over two hundred years ago. So when asked if it wasn't a waste giving such a treasure to mere villagers...
Nah, not really. With the Demon King slain, there'd be no need for elixirs anymore. Plus, if he saved just one bottle, he could replicate it somehow. To Franz, it was no different from the potions on the market.
Worried about drinking a two-hundred-year-old elixir? Well, wine tastes like grapes, and so does elixir—should be fine, right?
He was in the middle of handing out single sips of the dubious elixir when suddenly, a chill ran down Franz's spine. A sticky, repulsive sensation rode the mana in the air straight to him.
He hadn't felt anything like it in the past year. And yet, it was a feeling he could never forget.
Monster. A monster's here.
Franz's gaze snapped toward the source. A small hill near the village, where the ominous mana pulsed strongest.
He'd half-expected something like this. No rule saying the monster that attacked the village before wouldn't come back. But he hadn't figured it'd show up while he was separated from his charge.
Or that she'd run into it first. He'd told her to catch her breath, not climb some high spot for no reason...!
Okay, sure, high ground is good for chilling, but still—he couldn't just stand here.
"Mind handing these out for me?"
Franz passed the elixir to a nearby priest and immediately cast a spell. Magic circles bloomed under his feet, stretching out in a line that curved to form a perfect ring. Layers of interlocking circles wove together into a complex array. With one step, as his foot touched the ground, he vanished.
A flawless 6th Circle teleport, completed in the instant of that stride.
Everyone who saw it gaped in stunned silence. The priests knew he was the Magic Tower Master, so they shrugged it off quick enough. But the villagers, clueless, buzzed among themselves for ages.
Wizards these days are on another level, and such.
Then a bald guy piped up, rubbing his shiny scalp.
"Uh, priest? Could I maybe get one more sip...?"
He dreamed of escaping baldness thanks to the elixir's power. A pipe dream, of course. Hair loss was incurable here too.
* * * * *
Franz reappeared, naturally, atop the hill. A gentle breeze rustled the grass and trees—perfectly soothing, with warm sunlight ideal for a nap. No wonder the saintess had dragged herself all the way up here.
Except for the one intruder ruining the vibe.
Franz shot a sidelong glance at her. Justia stared blankly into space, eyes unfocused, like someone who'd lost the will to live. He'd sent her up to cool her head, not freeze her emotions solid.
At least she looked physically fine, so he'd made it in time. Which meant one thing left to do: kill the bastard in front of him.
His gaze shifted back to the monster. It had the form of a wolf—but huge. Like four buses smashed together, in modern terms.
Grrrrowl—
It bared its fangs with a guttural snarl, drool dripping in thick globs from its gaping maw.
Franz didn't flinch. He just furrowed his brow in disgust at the filthy puddle forming on the ground.
Standoff lasted a beat. Then the monster lunged first, shockingly fast for its bulk. Thud. Thud. The earth shook with each step.
But who was Franz? The genius who'd mastered 10th Circle magic, untouched since the progenitor mage. The wizard of the hero party who'd felled the Demon King and brought peace.
He spread his palms facing each other. Eight magic circles materialized around the beast, their vertices linking to form transparent walls—a perfect cube trapping it inside.
As Franz brought his hands closer, the cube shrank. The monster thrashed desperately, but the walls held firm against its blows. Then—clap.
Palms met. Monster gone. Not a drop of blood spilled. Perfectly clean.
Franz checked Justia sidelong, half-expecting her to whine about excessive force again. Not that he'd listen to that nonsense.
But maybe left cheek this time? Nah—one molar short might make eating tough.
Luckily, no bloodbath. She showed zero reaction, just staring blankly at him with those vacant eyes.
Which left Franz feeling uneasy. Even justified violence brought guilt to the hitter. Plus, thinking back, he'd probably overdone the anger from pent-up frustration.
In a world where cancer cells counted as life, heretics were small potatoes, right? Humans got magnanimous when they went cold.
Having vented with that slap, Franz felt like a sage now. He decided to apologize first.
Stepped forward—but ran into the holy knights rushing up to give thanks.
"Thank you for saving her."
"It was my job anyway, no thanks needed. Mind if I talk to the saintess alone?"
Tension creased their faces—recent cheek-slap history.
"...Not picking a fight, don't worry."
Only after his firm assurance did they back off. Still watching from afar, though.
After all that hassle, Franz finally faced Justia.
"Let's talk."
He sat on a convenient spot. She picked one a bit away. Breeze whispered, grass and leaves rustled in the quiet. She gazed blankly at the village below, stirring memories that sharpened into painful clarity. Despair blackened her heart further.
Silence broke with her voice.
"...Why'd you save me?"
"Hey, even when you talk, it's always... Ugh, whatever. Sorry for slapping you."
He almost snapped at her attitude but cut it off—didn't want things dragging. Her unfocused eyes stirred an odd unease anyway. No sense provoking her into full villainess mode; the world might actually end.
"Why not just let me die? You hate me anyway. Perfect chance, right?"
She said "die" like it was nothing. No purpose in life, and even if one came, the saintess chains would bind her. A heart dyed in despair couldn't know future joy. She lived because she couldn't die—not because she wanted to.
Franz sighed. Anger would've been easier to apologize for, but this? Tricky. Guess he'd answer the question.
"Yeah, I hate you. But not enough to let you die."
"Hate me, but won't let me die. Contradiction."
Like me with God, she swallowed the rest. Pointless to say.
Instead: "Wanna destroy the world with me?"
Destruction for the world God loved.