City of Dreamers (2)
"...The Oscar-style Breathing Method, and artificial stabilization of mana circuits through potions."
The Vice Tower Master, who had been reviewing the report on the intensive training camp, let out a deep sigh of admiration. He had recognized the value of this training method at a single glance.
"Good heavens. Once this content is presented, the very standing of the White Tower will change."
"Standing, indeed. There's no denying it."
Having grasped his meaning, Maxim stared at Oscar with an expression of wonder.
Oscar discovered that breathing method and brought it into the training camp in barely two days' time.
In other words, in just two days, he had devised the optimal training regimen built around an entirely new breathing technique. It was analytical and applied ability worthy of a true genius theoretical mage.
"...At this rate, it may not be long before you unravel the security spells woven into the breathing method itself."
"Security spells? Ah, right."
Oscar nodded. Now that he thought of it, he remembered being swamped by his subordinates' fierce opposition right after he first created that method.
They insisted it couldn't be taught to mages as it was—that a security mechanism absolutely had to be built in.
In the end, he had accepted their opinion and updated the final version with several security spells added. It hadn't been a particularly difficult task for him, after all.
Having organized his thoughts, Oscar spoke up.
"I did detect the security-related spells some time ago. I'll submit a formal report on the matter."
"Thank you."
For a while, the Vice Tower Master gazed at him with eyes full of affection. Then Fidelina, who had been keeping unusually quiet, finally parted her lips.
"...It feels a bit odd to say this myself, but the mages we recruited this year weren't especially talented."
"Well, I can't argue with that."
"But going by results alone, every single one of them completed their promotion to Level 4 within a year of joining the tower."
That was no ordinary feat, even by the standards of the long and storied history of the magic towers. It was something only possible during the White Tower's golden age, when the continent's geniuses lined up at its doors.
And there was only one thing that meant.
"It means that from now on, when we recruit academy graduates, we'll have a weapon to woo them with."
The White Tower can raise you to Level 4 faster than any other magic tower—talent or no talent!
What Level 3 mage in the world could hear that pitch and not be tempted?
"It's a sorry reality, but the academies' star geniuses don't even consider the White Tower of today as an option."
"That's certainly true as things stand."
Getting into one of the Four Great Magic Towers—excluding the White Tower—was their ultimate goal. But what about mages who weren't geniuses?
"The Blood Tower? Not bad. The Black Tower? Their momentum is genuinely frightening these days. But those two aren't one of the Four Great Magic Towers, are they?"
What was more, the potion business's runaway success had improved public perception of the White Tower enormously compared to the start of the year. Pile on top of that the advantage of becoming a Level 4 mage quickly, and the competitiveness was undeniable.
"We'll be able to recruit more mages next year than we did this year."
And their talent, too, would be markedly higher than this year's. This was the true harvest Oscar had reaped from the three weeks of intensive training.
"And here's the fun part—this promotional strategy only works for our White Tower. The other towers can't even imitate it. Because they don't have the Oscar-style Breathing Method!"
"Heh. If the Blue Tower catches wind of this, it'll sting a little, won't it?"
"Only a little?"
Just as the two elders giggled over their happy blueprint, the Vice Tower Master casually spoke up.
"Oscar, my boy—do you happen to know what day December 25th is?"
"Come now. I may be an amnesia patient, but even I know that much."
December 25th. That day was both a holy day of the El Terra Order and a public holiday of the Empire.
"Christmas. The day the Goddess's first apostle was born."
The apostle Chris Luther. He had spread the Goddess's doctrine across this land, founded the Order himself, and ascended to the position of first Pope. He then declared his own birthday a festival called Christmas, and so the day became a celebration for everyone to enjoy with family, friends, and lovers alike.
"Exactly. Then do you remember what the White Tower does on Christmas?"
"...Singing and eating cake? Ah! Or perhaps we hold a gift exchange?"
"It seems you don't know after all."
Judging by the smiling face, Oscar had guessed wrong.
Then what is it? As far as he knew, the White Tower and Christmas had nothing to do with each other. It was the Order's holiday, to begin with.
Watching Oscar's blank expression, the Vice Tower Master explained.
"After the war with the demonkind ended, while the White Tower was failing to turn a profit, it was the Order that first extended a hand and proposed a collaboration."
"A collaboration?"
"Yes. That collaboration is the White Tower's Christmas work, which has continued for over a decade to this day."
A mischievous smile crept across the Vice Tower Master's lips.
"Playing Santa Claus."
"Santa Claus... you mean that grandfather with the abundant beard who goes about in red clothes?"
"The very one. The symbol of Christmas, who gives presents to good children."
"I see."
Now that it was put that way, he had a rough idea of what the work entailed. In a word: stick a beard on your face, put on a Santa costume, and deliver presents.
"So they proposed the collaboration because we fly so well."
"Precisely. No one on the continent flies better than the mages of the White Tower."
But listening along, one question occurred to him.
"...Surely it's impossible for the White Tower's mages alone to deliver presents to every child on this vast continent?"
"It is impossible. Even so, we do our best to reach as many cities and as many children as we can. That's why while Christmas may be a public holiday and a day of rest for everyone else, for us it's one of the busiest days of the year."
The Vice Tower Master showed him a brief document.
"As this chart shows, the number of mages deployed varies with the size of the city."
"...Is this for real?"
The number of mages assigned to a mountain village of five hundred people was exactly one.
Moreover, according to the information in the document, children made up an average of about thirty-four percent of any given population.
So a city of five hundred people would have around a hundred and seventy children on average.
Delivering every single present from night until morning was far too heavy a workload for one person. As Oscar's face stiffened, Maxim shrugged.
"That's why everyone gets so touchy around this time of year. But thanks to you, we've added thirty-two more Level 4 mages this year, so it should go considerably more smoothly than last year."
Hearing this, Oscar breathed a sigh of relief.
"I'd forgotten. Tower work normally starts at Level 4, doesn't it?"
The foremost goal of a beginner mage was to become an intermediate mage of Level 4. In other words, whether or not this Christmas was busy had absolutely nothing to do with him, still at Level 3.
But that line of thinking grew a little blurred at the Vice Tower Master's next words.
"Normally, yes."
Normally? What was it? Why did that word prick at him like a thorn in his tongue, so grating and hard to ignore?
Oscar's sharp instinct did not fail him this time either.
"This year, the Lord of Vince has made a special request. Namely, that Oscar be included among the mages we dispatch—without fail."
"From Vince?"
Wasn't that the very place where he had first released the Cadena Flu cure? The Lord of Vince really was something else. Repaying kindness with... this kind of enmity.
"He says that after what you did for them during the Cadena Flu, he wants to meet you at this opportunity and properly repay you."
"I'm satisfied with his gratitude alone."
"Heh heh. I'm sorry, but I've already accepted. It seemed like it would be a good experience."
"......"
Ah. He was never going to ask for my opinion in the first place.
Oscar's eyes drooped at the corners as he spoke.
"Vince's population was five thousand, if I recall correctly?"
"You remember. That's why the mage party dispatched to Vince this time is eleven strong."
"Eh, I thought it'd be ten. One too many, isn't it?"
At that, the Vice Tower Master smiled warmly.
"We all know your abilities are exceptional, but we still can't entrust you with the full duties of a Level 4 mage yet. Above all, since the Lord of Vince personally requested you, you'll most likely spend your time being hosted at his estate rather than working like the other mages."
"Ah, I see."
And here I was getting worried for nothing. In a word, all he had to do was take a trip, receive thanks and gifts, and come back.
"Then there's really nothing I need to prepare."
"Correct. Once you arrive in Vince, you'll simply speak with the Lord there and help with a small event held at the estate—that's all."
Well, that much was manageable. Oscar nodded.
"Understood. When do we depart?"
"Three days from now, at eight in the morning. Word is that Vince will send a vehicle to pick you up separately."
"Oh, a vehicle..."
He retracted his earlier statement. The Lord of Vince was, without question, someone who at least knew what gratitude meant.
Once the discussion had wound down, Fidelina didn't forget to offer her own words of thanks.
"Oh, and the tower will be rewarding you separately for what you accomplished with that training. So look forward to it."
He hadn't shared the training method in hopes of a reward, but there was no reason to refuse what was freely offered.
"Understood."
Three days later.
Eight in the morning, with the winter sun lazily dragging itself up over the horizon. More than a hundred carriages stood in a long line at the entrance of the White Magic Tower.
"Knox! Mages bound for Knox Territory, this way, please!"
"One mage still hasn't boarded the carriage to Melbourne! We're departing shortly, so please hurry aboard!"
"Excuse me, mage, sir—please don't go handing out food to every child who calls you cute."
The atmosphere was as bustling as a marketplace. Judging by the scene alone, it was hard to tell whether this was the entrance to a magic tower or a labor office.
"E-excuse me—would you be Mage Oscar Crucian, sir?"
Oscar looked at the neatly dressed, well-groomed gentleman who had approached him and nodded.
"Yes, that's me. And you are?"
"I'm the driver who will be attending you for the next several days. Please feel free to simply call me Bill."
"A pleasure, Bill."
"Then allow me to escort you straight to the vehicle."
As Oscar followed him toward the waiting car, his eyes went round.
What is this?
The vehicle was at least one and a half times larger than the taxi he'd ridden before. And yet it was neither crude nor brutish—its sleek curves and finish gave off a smooth, refined impression.
If an ordinary taxi was a wyvern, this was something with the sheer presence of a dragon.
"Hey, that's a Starlight, isn't it?"
"Look at the grille up front—I'd say so. It's even the newly released Series 3."
"Feels like looking at a work of art. I could die happy if I got to ride in one of these just once."
"Wake up. One of these easily clears two million bells."
"...That expensive? That's a level where an ordinary worker could labor for fifty years without spending a single coin and still not afford it."
"Well, obviously. Do you know how many spells are woven into this thing?"
Around the car, mages had gathered like spectators, drooling over it.
"Pardon me for a moment."
When Bill spoke lightly and clapped his hands, the rear door swung open on its own.
"After you."
"......"
As if bewitched by something, Oscar settled into the seat, and Bill climbed into the driver's position.
"Please don't be alarmed."
With those words, he felt a soft belt wrap around his body.
"I-is this... cutting-edge technology...?"
"Haha. It's a model famous enough to rank among the top three guest vehicles in existence."
At this point, he had no choice but to admit it. This was on an entirely different plane from a carriage—indeed, it would be almost rude to compare it to a taxi at all.
Cars are the best...
Even while seated, there was enough headroom above him to fit three stacked fists. The dense jewels set into the vehicle's ceiling glittered like stars. When he stretched both legs out, the seat shifted on its own, reclining gently to support his body.
"Ah..."
Even as he marveled, the vehicle pulled away with unearthly smoothness. It was so supremely quiet that there wasn't even the usual jolt and rumble against one's body, and not the slightest sway.
"I heard the mages talking earlier. Are spells woven into the vehicle as well?"
"Yes. Fundamentally, it carries a generous array of safety spells—shields, shock absorption, and the like—along with enchantments for weight reduction, energy conservation, and speed enhancement."
In a word, this massive vehicle was itself a single magical tool.
Regrettably, that blissful experience came to an end a mere twelve hours later.
"We've been awaiting you! I am Pietta Vince, Lord of Vince!"
The Lord of Vince, who had come out to greet them before the estate, was a portly man of genial, ample bearing. Though it was unquestionably their first meeting, warmth practically oozed from the man's eyes.
"I have longed to repay the debt of you saving our territory, and now at last that wish is fulfilled!"
"I only did what ought to be done. If anything, I should thank you for the invitation."
"Was your journey a comfortable one?"
the Lord asked as they walked the corridor of the grand estate.
"Yes, thanks to the vehicle you sent, I lost all track of time along the way."
"Haha! I'm glad it pleased you. I was quite anxious it might not suit your taste."
"Not at all."
"I hope you'll continue to enjoy it for a long time to come."
"......"
I'm sorry—what?
Oscar stopped dead in his tracks.
"For a long time to come? What do you mean?"
"Ah, did Bill not explain? That vehicle is my Christmas gift to you, Lord Oscar."
"......"
He retracted his retraction.
The Lord of Vince was a true saint of this age, one who understood the meaning of gratitude better than anyone alive.