Chapter 16
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 16
Chapter Title: I'm Going to See You Now
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In the era I lived in, gravity magic was never the exclusive domain of grand magicians.
Quite the opposite.
It was a basic spell that any magician had to learn—used on construction sites to haul materials, in warehouses to load cargo, and in civil engineering to pack down earth.
With its excellent mana efficiency and practicality, even a novice could levitate a heavy boulder with just a bit of practice. That was the bare minimum to call yourself human.
But...
"It's gone?"
I set down the blueprints and stared at the administrator.
"No, I'm not asking for some forbidden ancient magic. Gravity magic isn't some grand spell—it's just basic physics for lifting and pressing objects. Isn't that a required freshman course at the academy?"
"W-Well..."
The administrator confessed the shocking state of the empire's magic community in a trembling voice.
"Gravity spells fell out of practical use after Grand Magician Erendel left the empire two hundred years ago."
"Fell out of use? You mean the incantations were lost?"
"No, it's just... they're unpopular. No one wants to learn them."
"What? Unpopular?"
I let out a hollow laugh. What, do they hold popularity contests for magic?
"Truth is... young magicians these days care a lot about appearances."
"Appearances?"
"Yes. Flashy spells like fire magic that go boom, or ice magic that sparkles and dazzles—they draw crowds from noble ladies and secure plenty of patronage. But gravity magic..."
He glanced at me cautiously before continuing.
"It's not visually impressive, and it's seen as just brute-force manual labor for hauling stuff..."
"......"
"At the academy, it's called a '3D spell'—dirty, dangerous, and demeaning. Top of the avoidance list."
I stared blankly into space, my jaw slack.
What? Not flashy enough? Too plain? Too hard? The technology died out just because it's tough?
Erendel used it to drag down a meteor and drop it on the demon king's main base. And that's not flashy? The sky crumbling isn't dazzling?
"So..."
I rubbed my dry face with trembling hands.
"The empire's magic academy tossed out basic spells for superficial flair and now just researches party tricks?"
"W-We have no excuse..."
"You sons of...!"
I clutched the back of my neck. This country was a total disaster. At this point, wasn't collapse just natural selection? Was I the one keeping it on life support?
But what could I do? If I wanted to go home, I couldn't pull the plug—I had to install an artificial heart.
In the end, there was only one answer.
"Contact the palace now. Have them prepare a carriage."
"Pardon? W-Where are you headed? The forge inspection..."
"Forget inspections. We can't build machines without basic construction."
I glared toward the northern snowy mountains, grinding my teeth.
"Time to seek reinforcements."
"You don't mean... the Frigid Mountains?!"
"Yeah. I'll drag that old hag back by the hair if I have to."
"Sir Kasian. If I may be so bold, do you really need to go all the way to those distant snowy mountains?"
On my way to the palace warehouse for cold-weather gear, the forge's oblivious manager grabbed me. With a pure, innocent smile—like Columbus spotting the New World—he asked,
"Couldn't you just teach the magicians yourself?"
No malice in his eyes. But that made it even more infuriating.
I stopped dead and slowly turned to look down at him.
"Hey."
"Y-Yes? Sir Kasian."
"Don't you know my specialty?"
"Your specialty? Well, as a magic swordsman, you master both swordsmanship and..."
True, I was a magic swordsman. Swinging a magic sword and blasting black magic wasn't wrong. But the specifics were worlds apart.
I placed a hand on his shoulder and explained very kindly.
"Listen up. What do we need right now? Magic for safely lifting heavy materials and precisely assembling them for construction and production, right?"
"Y-Yes?"
"But me? I've spent the last twenty years honing killing techniques."
"P-Pardon...?"
"Want me to list my black magic repertoire? [Heart Burst], [Demon Summon], [Area Chain Explosion], [Soul Interrogation], [Undead Legion Creation]..."
With each forbidden black magic name spilling from my lips, the administrator's face grew paler, like a corpse.
"I researched how to blow demons apart more efficiently. How to send more of them to hell in one shot. That's all I've got in my head—destruction and disassembly."
"Ah..."
"You think asking a demolition mercenary to remodel your house prettily would work?"
"That..."
"He'd just show up with a hammer and smash the walls. That's his lifelong trade. Telling me to teach magic is like asking a butcher to perform surgery."
I smirked and held out my palm.
"What do you think would happen if I stormed the magic tower and taught those scholars? It'd turn into a slaughterhouse training ground. They'd learn to stack corpses into towers, not bricks. Good for the empire's future?"
"S-Sorry! My shortsightedness led me to..."!
The administrator shook his head, horrified at the mere thought. A necromancer factory in the magic tower... A sure sign the nation was doomed.
Ah, it already was?
I clicked my tongue and resumed walking.
"People think all magic is the same."
Magic that saves lives and magic that takes them are entirely different fields. And unfortunately, I only had a doctorate in the latter.
"Plus, they're scholars."
I grumbled, glaring toward the magic tower.
"Guys who think magic is sitting in a cozy lab crunching equations, sipping tea elegantly, scribbling papers, and posing with a staff."
"......"
"You think those types—who see grease on their hands and sweat by the furnace as lowly labor—would listen if I told them to learn practical magic and clock in at the forge?"
They'd foam at the mouth and collapse first.
Of course, it's not like there were zero options.
I could barge into the magic tower, lock the doors, stab my magic sword into a desk, and threaten to toss them out the window if they didn't comply. Drag them like squeezing nobles for cash.
But.
Forced workers won't produce quality goods.
Simple labor or fundraising can be done through fear, but precision machinery and advanced magic design? Fear doesn't cut it. Trembling hands don't write clean equations.
Precision machines run on understanding, skill, and at least some passion—not terror. Slave machines built in fear always break eventually.
"That's why I need her."
"Lady Erendel... you mean?"
"That elf hag's different from me. If I smash brute-force style, she slices with intellect."
I smirked, recalling old memories.
"Before the war, she was a genius holed up in her ivory tower, eating and crunching equations. Forcing knowledge into thick skulls—even cracking them open—is her specialty."
I closed my eyes, reminiscing her voice.
Ugh...
Her personality was utter trash—she'd curse like a sailor while teaching—but she'd produce results.
Magicians who survived her abuse all became high-rankers. They studied like hell just to avoid the insults.
No better surgeon to carve out the rotten, superficial brains of the empire's current magicians and implant fresh knowledge.
Of course, seeing the magic community's pathetic state, she'd probably clutch her neck and collapse from high blood pressure. But unavoidable.
"Tell the coachman. Crank the heating magic to max. I'm heading to the northern snowy mountains."
The road to the northern snowy mountains was treacherous.
This Crimson Chronicle world I inhabited followed a classic mass-produced fantasy setup—harsh on travel despite having magic.
To reach the north meant days in a carriage, ass numb from the ride.
Thump, thump.
"Argh, damn it..."
Every time the wheels hit a rut on the unpaved road, the carriage jolted wildly.
They called it the imperial luxury model, but the ride was rollercoaster-level. What good were plush cushions on roads worse than dirt paths?
"We're arriving faster than expected? Used to take a full eight days to the northern frontlines."
By my memory's geography, yes. The empire was vast, the north remote. But the coachman's reply surprised me.
"Ah, that was before! Now six days suffice!"
"Carriage improved?"
"Nah. The border's pushed south to the northern foothills."
"......"
"Frontlines retreated two days' travel toward the capital, so less distance."
Bragging, you lunatics? They got pushed back hard.
Lucky Erendel was in the foothills now. Small mercy—the search was shorter—but seeing the empire's state churned my gut.
After days of travel...
"Look at these roads. Empire or moon surface?"
I pulled back the curtain and peered out. Beyond the capital, the scenery was devastation.
Emaciated children played in the dirt; adults plowing fields had eyes etched more with resignation than resolve.
This was the empire I bled twenty years to protect? Hot bile rose in my throat.
"Hold up. Stop."
"Pardon? Trouble?"
"Stop the carriage."
The coachman reined in. I stepped out and called to a passing old villager.
"Hey, elder."
"Wh-Who might you be...?"
The old man shrank back at the ornate imperial carriage, terrified. Nobles must terrorize for sport routinely.
"No harm intended, don't fear. Just a question."
"Y-Yes... ask away..."
"What's with the village? Where's the lord?"
"L-Lord...?"
The elder gave a bitter smile and shook his head.
"Haven't seen his face in over a year. Last was tax collection."
"Takes taxes but skips governing?"
"Big revolt in the capital—highborns all fled... er, went to the city. Who cares if we peasants live or die?"
He sighed deeply, thumping his hunched back.
"Just praying those furred beasts don't invade this winter. Last year, the next village lost all its youth..."
"......"
"They'll come again. Might be kinder to freeze."
His flat tone pierced my lungs.
Despair and resignation—that was the empire's border mood now.
I finally understood why Erendel, that obsessive elf, grew disgusted with humans and fled to the mountains.
After we bled to save the world, descendants trashed it like this. I'd have quit in revulsion too.
And she had far more pride than me—enduring 300 years without a meteor was impressive.
'Should've beaten the emperor worse at our first meeting.'
Seeing the rot firsthand bred regret. A few slaps? I should've snapped his spine—self-defense.
Silently, I rummaged in my pocket and pulled out a pouch. Emergency funds from Elicia, but trivial to me.
"Here."
Thud.
The heavy pouch landed in the elder's hand.
"Wh-Whoa! Wh-What's this?"
He staggered under the weight. Gold coins glinted through the gap; his eyes bulged.
"Not death money—don't whine."
"S-Sir? This fortune, how...?"
"Hire mercenaries in the next town. Fix fences, buy food. Fight or flee the beastkin—whatever. Just don't freeze."
"But...!"
"Nobles try to take it? Say the emperor sent it. I squeezed him for it."
The elder prostrated. Uncomfortable, I slammed the carriage door shut.
"Let's go."
"Yes! Hya!"
The carriage lurched forward. Arms crossed, I watched the village recede.
Twenty years of my youth, and this was the empire's end? Nobles perfumed and partying while border folk trembled at beasts.
This a country?
Erendel would've lost it seeing this.
Her prickly nature holding back—miraculous.
"Faster. Mountains of work ahead."
Facing the chill northern wind, I closed my eyes. Far off, the white snowy ridges faintly appeared.