People of the Wind (1)
Back in the Special Affairs office, Oscar shared what had happened in Moske with Killian and Veronica.
"So he could explode with power in an instant. Just from the description, it sounds mighty close to the tattoo activation our whole tribe uses."
"It's different, though. Fundamentally different. This was a one-shot technique."
Moira Maine, who had only been a Demonic Human for a few short minutes, had every single one of his mana circuits burn out afterward.
In other words, even if he hadn't died on the spot, he would have spent the rest of his life unable to use magic at all.
Veronica, who had been listening quietly with her arms crossed, asked in a grave voice.
"So that means this was also the work of the bastards who attacked us in Vince?"
"Very likely, yes. When I spoke with someone from the Imperial Palace earlier, I got a little information about the relationship between the Black Finger and Demonic Humans."
"...The more I look at it, the more this feels like a trap laid out just for you."
Oscar nodded and agreed with her assessment.
"The run-in with them in Vince was probably genuine coincidence. We barged into their plan uninvited and wrecked it, after all. But this time, from the very start, they were openly gunning for the White Tower."
"If the pill caused a scandal, they figured the man in charge—you—would have to step forward. And their prediction hit dead center."
He had handled the job itself well, but there was no denying that in the end, he had danced exactly to the enemy's tune.
"The way I see it, they were after two things through this whole affair."
"Two of 'em? And what would those be?"
"The first, needless to say, was killing me."
At that impossibly calm voice, both of them flinched.
"What are you surprised about? If I hadn't beaten that Demonic Human, I'd probably be dead right now."
"...Which means those bastards have no qualms about killing mages of the Tower."
"These are the people who were prepared to erase an entire city off the map. Don't expect common sense from lunatics."
The air in the room turned heavy in an instant.
And the only person who didn't seem bothered at all was Oscar himself.
Sensing that strange dissonance, Veronica frowned and asked.
"...You. I've felt this for a while now, but—aren't you afraid of dying?"
"Hm."
If you had to classify it, mage of the Tower was a profession far removed from death.
They enjoyed high social standing by default, and unless they took on dangerous commissions, hardly anyone had the gall to come after them.
"Death, huh."
Caught off guard by the unexpected question, Oscar gave it some serious thought.
Of course, no human being welcomed death.
Naturally, he was no exception.
But.
He had overcome the despair and terror that death sowed everywhere it fell.
More precisely, he had had to overcome it.
It wasn't so much that he was remarkable—back then, anyone who couldn't simply didn't survive.
For those who failed to conquer the fear of death, only ruin waited at the end.
They either lost their minds, or their bodies froze up in terror on the battlefield and they died for real.
One way or another, staying alive demanded that you beat the fear down.
Every human who lived through the age of war against the demon race was like that.
"It's less that I'm scared and more that I dislike it, I suppose? After all, where would you find anyone in this world who enjoys dying?"
"..."
Was it just her imagination, or did someone who talked like that look far too composed about it?
Swallowing the words she wanted to say, Veronica shook her head.
"Fine, got it. So what's the second objective?"
"I suspect they were testing the Demonic Human's performance."
Oscar recalled his battle with Moira.
"He swallowed some bizarre pill and became a Demonic Human in an instant, sure—but nothing about it felt finished. Nothing about it felt complete."
"And what's that judgment based on?"
"That's..."
It was something only he could know, having come face to face with countless demons firsthand.
But he couldn't exactly say that out loud.
Oscar shrugged.
"A gut feeling. Besides, the moment he took a hit, he broke down on his own. No matter how I look at it, I find it hard to believe that was the finished Demonic Human the Black Finger is hoping for."
"So their second objective was experimenting with the pill's performance on a seasoned 5th-level mage—that about sum it up?"
Killian arrived at the conclusion neatly.
"Exactly. But no mage of that caliber would voluntarily swallow something suspicious, so they must have used Moira Maine—someone who held a grudge against me."
"Put plainly, the Black Finger lost nothing whatsoever in this affair."
"No—they actually came out ahead."
The whole board had been rigged so that no matter which side won, they'd walk away with at least one prize.
A despicable scheme, and at the same time, a clever one.
"Oscar. If the pill that creates those Demonic Humans is ever perfected, how powerful do you think it'll be?"
"Hm... that depends on how you define 'perfected.'"
If the final form of the Demonic Human experiment was turning a human into a true demon—
Then humanity would have to stop it, no matter the cost.
But it won't come to that.
He'd only experienced it once, but hadn't he experienced it all the same?
From what he had felt, becoming a Demonic Human was little more than converting human mana into demonic energy.
Its destructive power would spike dramatically for a moment, but in every other respect, it remained human.
Whether the Black Finger knows it or not, even a perfected Demonic Human...
Would never surpass the demon race. Of that, he was certain—forever.
And so the limit of the Demonic Human, as Oscar saw it, was clear.
"Even perfected, its ceiling would be raising your level by about two, temporarily. And even that much wouldn't work on high-tier mages, who need genuine enlightenment to advance."
"Hmm. And what if a high-tier mage swallowed it anyway?"
"A high-tier mage?"
Oscar paused.
Frankly, he could bet his entire fortune that not a single high-tier mage on the continent would put that thing in their mouth willingly.
But it's a hypothetical, nothing more.
If circumstances somehow forced a high-tier mage to take the pill, what then?
Oscar mulled it over, then shook his head.
"I can't say for certain, but I'd imagine it'd become something you'd have no choice but to call a calamity."
"You think so?"
"I do. But since it's a meaningless hypothetical, let's leave it there."
"Agreed."
Having brushed the matter aside, Oscar delivered his conclusion.
"Anyway, the reason I called you both here today was to warn you—be careful from now on."
At those words, both of their expressions turned serious.
"The Black Finger. That deranged cult worshipping the demon race could set its sights on the White Tower again at any moment, so stay vigilant no matter what you're doing. If anything feels even slightly off, share the information immediately."
"Aye, I'll do that."
"Got it."
With the meeting concluded, the two of them left the room.
And as if he'd been waiting for exactly that, another figure stepped inside.
"All finished with your talk?"
"...Hagore?"
"The mood seemed a touch serious, so I held off on coming in."
"Thanks for the consideration. Was there something you needed—ah, wait, now that I think of it?"
Oscar belatedly checked the calendar on his desk.
Watching him, Hagore grinned and nodded.
"Aye. The modification is complete."
The 13th Floor—the dwarf workshop.
Even Oscar had never set foot in this place before.
"Oh..."
The instant the elevator doors opened, a wave of searing heat washed over his face, and he let out a small gasp of admiration.
At the center of the vast, open-floor workshop stood a massive furnace that stretched all the way up to the ceiling.
"Might be a mite hot for a human. You holding up all right?"
"Yes, I can manage this much."
Truthfully, he could not manage it.
Thanks to the enormous furnace, the workshop wasn't just warm—it bordered on outright hot.
He was already wreathing his whole body in wind to regulate the temperature.
"Good to hear. This way, then."
Where Hagore led him stood a bike, unmistakably transformed from the one he'd seen before.
After admiring the seductive, streamlined cowl of its exterior, Oscar spoke up.
"A lot has changed. Although... didn't you perhaps pour a little too much effort into the shell?"
"Hah! A lack of time is no excuse to hand over garbage. Besides, didn't you say it yourself? You wanted an exterior that anyone who laid eyes on would call damn cool."
"I did ask for that, yes."
He just hadn't expected it to go this far.
Up close, it was as gorgeous and alluring as a masterpiece carved by a grand master of the sculptor's art.
"But there's no need to worry about that. I put even more care into the machine itself than into the shell."
"Now I can't wait."
Oscar exchanged nods with the dwarves who had begun drifting over one by one.
"If it's no trouble, might I ask for an explanation? I'm curious what functions were added—and which ones were taken away."
"Nothing to it."
Standing before the bike, Hagore began pointing out each part as he talked.
"First off, we did away with the front and rear wheels. Since she'll be flying through the sky, we figured they weren't strictly necessary, so we stripped 'em out entirely as part of the weight reduction."
"Same reason we cut the suspension. A flying bike's got no need to worry about traffic accidents, after all."
"Er... but doesn't that leave you awfully vulnerable in an emergency?"
At that worry, Hagore chuckled.
"You think that slipped our minds? We already had the White Tower's mages install shock-absorbing magic on the bike's underside for landings, along with an omnidirectional safety spell that triggers under pressure beyond a certain threshold. That carriage-machine of yours had something similar, didn't it? Think of it as a kind of airbag."
"I see."
In short, the bare minimum of safety measures were in place.
Oscar exhaled in relief and continued listening.
"Next, we added a flight control system to the gears on the handlebar, button-operated. Ascent and descent are simple enough that a child could handle them with ten minutes of practice—no special training needed."
"Naturally, we laid down double security so just anyone can't pilot her. Mana code and biometric recognition, that is. And on top of that, the White Tower planted a tracking spell that can be activated at any time, so you needn't fret over thieves."
"As for that sleek cowl you admired when you saw the sketches—it's not merely beautiful. It's a product of science, built with the latest aerodynamic technology. It lets the bike cut through air resistance."
"Once flight begins, a HUD will appear before you. Through it, the pilot can read everything he needs at a glance—the wind speed around him, the bike's velocity, navigation, all of it."
Clap clap clap.
Oscar applauded, his mouth hanging wide open.
The finished product had far exceeded anything he had imagined.
"The fabled skill of the dwarf master artisans truly is remarkable. No—honestly, it feels like the rumors actually undersold you."
At his heartfelt admiration, the dwarves grew bashful, rubbing the backs of their noses.
"Ahem. It's been a mighty long while since I last heard praise like that."
"Aye, this is it. Feels like me labor's worth finally being repaid."
Oscar's standing ovation went on for a full five minutes after that.