The Doomed Genius (2)
A two-story gray building on the outskirts of Shilin.
Ordinary as it looked from the outside, the place was a gang hideout.
"B-Boss."
"Boss. It's Boss, you little punk. How many times do I have to tell you? I'm a businessman now."
"Ah, right, sorry, Boss."
"Hoo……"
Gordon, the head of the operation, rubbed his throbbing temple.
It was pitiful, really—the sorry state of a man who kept this idiot around as his right hand.
"Anyway, Boss, are you sure this is fine?"
"Sure about what?"
"That magician, sir. I heard he drank the elixir he bought from us and nearly died."
"So?"
"……Pardon?"
"I'm asking what that has to do with us."
Chiik!
Gordon lit the cigar clamped between his teeth and exhaled a cloud of acrid smoke.
"Hoo, you think I've been in this business a day or two? That fool got greedy and blew his circuits—mana overflow, end of story."
"Still, if the White Tower people look into it closely……"
"Oh dear…… Bart, you absolute moron."
Gordon chuckled lazily, then asked, almost offhandedly:
"You do know who ordered us to hand that elixir over to him, don't you?"
"No, sir. The client was wearing a hood the whole time, wasn't he?"
"And that's exactly why you'll never amount to anything."
"……Then Boss, you know who the client is?"
"I don't. No reason to, either."
Fwoooo.
Gordon exhaled another stream of smoke and smirked.
"But I do know who he belongs to. That kid's a White Tower mage."
"What?! Really?"
When Bart recoiled in astonishment, Gordon snickered and raised a hand for him to lower his voice.
"Any other fool could've fooled me, but not this body. When I took the money, I saw him wearing a White Tower ring."
"Whoa. Impressive, Boss. I didn't catch that at all."
"Well, that's the difference between you and me, isn't it?"
The moment Gordon opened his mouth to brag about his keen eye—
A strange voice cut into their conversation.
"If he were a real mage, he wouldn't have flaunted something like that so openly. He's not an idiot."
"Who's there?!"
Both men's heads whipped toward the window.
At the same time, Gordon's brows knitted together.
"You…… Oscar Crucian? I distinctly heard you were on death's door."
"Wandered a bit. Made it back fine."
"Tch."
Wearing an expression of genuine amusement, Gordon sank deep into the back of his chair and asked:
"So, still in rough shape, I'd wager—what brings you here?"
"I take some interest in what you two were just discussing."
"Tch. If you'd pretended not to hear, I might've at least spared you a moment's thought."
Now that it was out in the open that they'd tried to assassinate a tower mage, there was no letting this man leave alive.
Whether it turned into a corpse or a meal, this had to end here and now.
Gordon flicked his hand as if shooing away a fly.
"Kill him."
"Yes, Boss!"
The instant the order fell, Bart drew his sword and charged without a sliver of hesitation.
"……You kill without a second thought, don't you?"
"If I had any, I'd never have made it to the top of a street this nasty!"
"……"
Oscar's gaze went cold.
Well, good. That works out fine.
If his opponent was this kind of third-rate thug, there was no need to pull his punches either.
"Wind Shield."
"Pfft—!"
Bart, who had been on guard against whatever spell Oscar might cast, burst out laughing before he could stop himself.
A defensive spell, when he barely had enough firepower to stop the charge in the first place?
Well, I suppose a hothouse Level 1 mage wouldn't know any better.
The boy had apparently panicked and thrown up a barrier—meaning the fight was already over the moment he did.
With his strength, he'd rip that shield to shreds and cleave through the body behind it in one stroke.
SHRAAAAAAAAAK!
Just as Bart's blade, victory already assured in his mind, came crashing down like a thunderbolt—
Oscar's Wind Shield tilted, ever so slightly, to one side.
"What—what the……!"
It was a deflection so cunning it raised gooseflesh.
The full force carried in the sword remained untouched; only its trajectory had been twisted, just barely.
KRAKRACK!
Left with no chance to react at all, the blade skidded clean off and buried itself in the window frame.
"……!"
His heart plummeted for a heartbeat, but Bart was a veteran of the back alleys, and he made his call fast.
The distance is already closed. A Level 1 mage? I can beat one to death with my fists.
He let go of the sword immediately and swung his fist.
"Wind Cutter."
"Hk!"
Bart hastily dragged his free hand in toward his body, shielding his throat and heart.
As far as he knew, a Wind Cutter was certainly dangerous—but it couldn't cut deep.
It can only strike enemies in a straight line, too, so the path's flat and predictable.
Meaning defended like this, the worst it could do was slice his arm and draw blood. He could not die here.
The very instant Bart's fist, brimming with certainty, came hurtling toward Oscar's face—
"……"
Shwaaaaaaaa!
The incoming Wind Cutter suddenly slithered up Bart's arm like a serpent.
In the blink of an eye the blade had claimed his shoulder, and a moment later it scored a line across the nape of his neck.
"Keghak!"
At the searing pain, his left hand instinctively flew to the wound behind him—
and the Wind Cutter drew a red line across the exposed front of his throat.
"Khh—ghk……!"
Blood fountained as Bart staggered backward, crashed to the floor with a heavy thud—and never rose again.
"Bart!"
Gordon shot to his feet, spitting curses.
"You son of a—!"
He rummaged through a drawer, yanked something out, and leveled it at Oscar.
Bang! Bang-bang!
Three shots in rapid succession, then he stood wheezing to catch his breath.
"Hah, hoo. How dare you, some spineless little……"
"Huh. That's actually interesting."
Oscar murmured as he studied the three bullets suspended in midair before his eyes.
Astonishing speed. Astonishing destructive power.
If he'd been a fraction slower raising his Wind Shield, his skull would have three holes in it right now.
"I definitely didn't sense any mana…… what principle generates this much force, exactly?"
"Y-you stopped the bullets?"
Gordon's mouth hung open like a stranded fish. He'd assumed, naturally, that the boy would be dead.
"Bullets? So that's what they're called?"
A ranged weapon that could kill a man with no mana at all, and looked easier to handle than a bow.
The world had birthed a lot of strange things in twenty years.
Curiosity piqued, Oscar mused aloud:
"Well, studying it can wait…… here you go—have your bullets back."
KWAAAAAA!
A ferocious gale hurled the bullets back to their owner.
"AAAGH!"
In an instant, Gordon's collarbone, the back of his hand, and both thighs were punched clean through, and his whole frame collapsed in place.
Oscar walked to the desk, settled into the plush chair, and crossed his legs.
"Now then. I'd like to hear more of that conversation you were having with the corpse over there."
"……Keh-heh. Brought plenty of money with you, did you? That's premium information."
Gordon, malice flickering back into his eyes, smirked through the pain.
No doubt he was counting on the gunshot to bring his underlings swarming up like a hornets' nest.
Oscar saw straight through the calculation and offered some friendly advice.
"For the record, your men aren't coming. I've blocked the sound."
"……You can use Silence?"
"Something a little different."
Silence was a spell normally out of reach below the 5th level.
Even he couldn't dare trespass on that domain in a Level 1 mage's body.
"What I cast is Sound Binding. It just holds any sound trying to leak outside in place for a little while."
"……What absurd posturing."
He'd never so much as heard of such a spell.
"Believe me or don't, that's your business. I'd appreciate answers to my questions, though."
"……And if I refuse?"
"Pride more precious than your own life, hm? Not bad."
Then again, with that kind of nerve, no wonder he ran the back alleys.
Oscar shrugged.
"Then hold out, by grit or by guts. It's the road you've chosen."
"Hold out, what do you—mmph! MMPH!"
KWAK!
Oscar forced Gordon's mouth open with a rough hand and poured wind inside.
A moment later, a shriek rang out and filled the room from wall to wall.
"AAAAAAARGH! KRRAAAAAAGH!"
Gordon convulsed like a fish laid out on a cutting board.
It must feel like several thousand needles were churning through his innards.
He could say with certainty: a kind of pain the man had never once experienced in his life.
"I'm not fond of torture myself, you know. My ears ring for ages afterward."
Oscar covered his ears with both hands and pleaded:
"So open your mouth a little sooner, would you? I mean that sincerely."
"Ghhh—GGRRRRGH!"
Tears, snot, and drool streaming down his face, Gordon finally grabbed at Oscar's shoe barely a dozen seconds in.
The eyes staring up at him were brimming with nothing but terror and regret.
"P-please…… I'll tell you everything……"
"Good."
Snap! Oscar clicked his fingers and ended the torture.
"Tell me everything you know about the client."
"Hahk, hah……"
After a moment to gather his breath, Gordon cried out in a quavering voice:
"H-he came out of nowhere and gave me a fat pile of money and a vial of elixir, and ordered me to sell it to you cheap! Said you probably wouldn't be able to refuse it……"
"What did he look like?"
"He wore a deep hood, so I couldn't see his face…… but like I said, he was wearing a White Tower ring."
"Forget the ring."
It was obviously a clumsy act, staged to throw him off.
"Ah—wait, the smell! He had a distinctive smell, sir."
"Smell?"
"Y-yes! A cool, refreshing mint scent—but other than that, I couldn't tell you anything……"
Typical of a disposable errand-runner who knew nothing of use.
All I've learned is a fresh mint fragrance, then.
But there were countless perfumes of that kind.
It had been true in the past, so presumably there were even more in this era.
And of course, even that might well be smoke and mirrors.
Oscar let out a sigh and asked:
"One thing I don't understand. If you killed me—how exactly were you planning to clean up the mess after?"
"W-well, the White Tower is busy right now with the whole expulsion-from-the-Four-Great-Towers affair, so we figured the investigation would be relatively careless……"
"Hold on. What's that supposed to mean?"
Oscar's eyes narrowed.
"Expulsion from the Four Great Towers?"
"Y-you'd know that better than I do, Lord Oscar, wouldn't you?"
"I don't. I drank the elixir I bought from you and lost most of my memory."
At that brazen lie, Gordon's shoulders wilted.
"……I'm sorry. Truly. I deserve death for what I've done."
"Apology accepted. Now explain. In detail."
"The relevant documents are in the safe under the desk."
"Then open it."
When Gordon unlocked the safe, Oscar took the money pouch and several documents from inside.
Each bore a title: Ledger, White Tower, and Oscar Crucian.
Let's start with the White Tower file.
Rustle, rustle.
His eyes swept rapidly down the densely packed pages.
[White Tower logs the lowest performance of all magic towers for the second consecutive year.]
[Twenty years ago, the White Tower lost everything—and still, no new wind has blown through its halls.]
[Official statement from the Imperial Household: a major announcement concerning the White Tower will be made at this year's White Night Festival.]
[Experts cite the White Tower's greatest failings as its business failures and its absence of high-tier magic.]
His hand, busily turning pages, stopped short.
He simply couldn't make sense of it.
Why would the White Tower be missing its high-tier magic?
He knew, of course, that the demons had stormed the tower and burned nearly every record in it.
But he had made arrangements for exactly this eventuality, hadn't he?
……Don't tell me Edna betrayed me?
He had entrusted every last document to her—the Observer of the World, the Arbiter of Balance—
even leaving word that they were to be passed on to whoever became the White Tower's new master someday.
No. She's not the type to betray me. She has no reason to.
Deciding he would need to look into that separately, Oscar turned the page again.
[April 28th, the day the Great Emperor fell, was designated a national holiday: the Day of White Night. In honor of the sacrifice of Archmage Oscar Sage, the Emperor granted the White Tower the extraordinary benefit of a thirty-year tax exemption.]
[Yet the White Tower's decline began where no one expected it. When the war ended and the other towers parlayed their respective strengths into thriving enterprises, the White Tower alone faltered—and was left behind.]
Enterprises? What on earth had this been about, all this while?
Oscar pointed at the passage and looked up at Gordon.
"The 'business' you keep mentioning—does that mean the potion trade?"
"Potions don't even count as business these days. That's just a tower's most basic revenue stream, isn't it?"
"……Then tell me what each of the Four Great Towers is actually selling."
Ahem! Gordon cleared his throat once and launched into the explanation.
"The Yellow Tower, masters of lightning, opened the great age of Magic Engineering. Thanks to that, they're sitting pretty on a mountain of gold."
"Magic Engineering—you mean those streetlamps and the carriages, right?"
"That's right."
Just as he'd suspected—Magic Engineering was the Yellow Tower's craft.
Figures. In my past life, too, those bastards never shut up about Magic Engineering and their technological revolution.
So all that chatter about a Magic Engineering revolution sweeping the world the moment the war ended had actually been true.
Back then, no one could have imagined the discipline would advance this far in a mere twenty years.
……Had he known, he would have invested his entire fortune.
Forcing down the pang of regret, Oscar spoke again.
"What business are the Blue Tower bastards running?"
"They've got their fingers in a few pots. The big three would be their drinking-water venture, agricultural support, and the potion trade."
"I thought potions didn't even count as business?"
"With the Blue Tower, it's another story. As the number one name in potions, they've all but monopolized the market."
"……Those bastards are the number one name in potions?"
Oscar's face twisted.
Twenty years ago, the crown of the potion market had belonged to the White Tower.
Granted, every potion formula they'd possessed had burned to nothing, so it couldn't be helped—but it still stung.
"And what exactly is a drinking-water venture or agricultural support?"
"They sell purified water at a premium, and they make it rain over regions struck by drought."
"……All these circus tricks, just to scrape together a few coins."
This was exactly why you shouldn't get cozy with the Blue Tower crowd and their complete lack of roots.
Oscar clicked his tongue lightly—then a sudden question occurred to him.
"Wait. People actually buy that purified water and drink it?"
"Oh, please, don't be absurd. Anyone with money these days drinks nothing else."
"……"
So was he the strange one, or had the world gone strange?
Couldn't you just draw water from a well and be done with it?
Shaking his head, he moved to the next subject.
"The Red Tower, no need to ask—combat, surely."
"Yes, they've moved into the military. Thanks to that, they sweep up every monster-slaying operation there is."
"Hm."
Having grasped the rough shape of the other towers' business models, Oscar asked:
"Fine. Then what's the White Tower's business? Are they selling fresh air, perhaps?"
"Ha. Ha."
Gordon managed an awkward chuckle at the deadpan joke and opened his mouth.
"Delivery. The White Tower's main business at present is delivery."
"……"
Had he heard that right?