Chapter 263 - Infinite Mage

"Diamond Armor." [Ed note: It's alternating between golden armor and diamond armor, but I'll use diamond armor from now on because it's funnier.] Setting aside the anxiety that nothing might happen, Shirone found himself engulfed by the inevitable unfolding of the blade. In an instant, everything changed. A hood covered his face as a fibrous cloak unfurled like flames, fluttering around him. A glass orb emerged from the palm of the gauntlet, and finally, the artificial intelligence Armand spun swiftly around Shirone. “Phew!” Shirone relished the sensation. He felt mentally clearer than ever before. His concentration deepening, it seemed he could amplify any magic with ease. Though Armand shared abilities with its user, no special state changes occurred since they were currently unrelated to battle. Shirone approached the full-length mirror to examine himself. Wearing a weathered robe and a hood obscuring his face, he resembled a fairly authentic magician. On top of that, the Exterior looked more impressive than any magical artifact. Even if not immediately, thinking of exploring the world as a professional mage one day made his heart race. Clenching his fists, Shirone pretended to summon his magical power. I am a mage of the Immortal Function. Someday, I'll become the ultimate mage and claim the pinnacle of this world. “Uoooooh!” As Shirone shouted toward the ceiling, he caught sight of the door in the mirror and froze. Vincent had entered, looking bewildered as he stared at Shirone. “Ah, Dad!” Flustered, Shirone stomped his feet. Fortunately, he was wearing the hood. If his face had been visible, his flushed embarrassment might have burst like a balloon. “Your mom says it’s time for dinner. Come down quickly.” “Ah, okay.” As Vincent closed the door, he threw out a comment. “Aren't you a bit too old for that?” Shirone’s face burned with embarrassment, and he hung his head. Only after hearing the door shut did he remove the hood and grab his head in frustration. “Ugh! So embarrassing! I just tried it for the first time today!” Thinking that an ill-fit gesture only invites trouble, Shirone deactivated Armand. The fibrous cloak and glass orb were reabsorbed as the mystic sword. Keeping it in its sheath through precise manipulation, Shirone stored Armand in a corner and headed downstairs. The aroma of soup from the dining table made his stomach rumble. With his hunger suddenly intensified, Shirone sat down and grabbed a spoon while Olina smiled, serving him a plate of soup. “Hungry, aren't you? Eat up.” “Yes. Thank you for the meal!” Though the food at the Magic School was rich in nutrients essential for mages, the taste of home was unsurpassable. As Olina watched her son finish a bowl of soup with satisfaction, she asked while serving him more. “What are your plans for this vacation? Do you have anything in mind?” “I plan on resting for a bit, and then I’ll focus on training. But first, there’s something I want to do.” “Something you want to do?” “Yes. Every winter, there’s a regional festival at the Les Mountains. Can I go?” Vincent chimed in. “Oh, you're talking about that old castle site. You mentioned wanting to go there before, didn’t you?” “Really? I don’t remember.” “You were very young then. It must have stuck in your heart unconsciously. Go ahead. Back then, we couldn’t afford to take you.” Olina rested her chin on her hand, smiling mysteriously. Regardless of his attempts to hide it, a mother could never be fooled by her son. “So, who are you going with?” Shirone flinched as if caught off guard. Although he hadn’t done anything wrong, his face flushed. “Well... Amy. I haven’t asked her yet, though.” “Oh, so it’s a date.” “It’s not like that! I thought she might feel distressed and wanted to cheer her up... She might even refuse to go!” Olina knew that Amy had failed her graduation exam, but she didn’t worry. The Amy she had met in Khazra was a thoughtful and honest young girl. Moreover, she had heard that the Karmis family held Shirone in high regard. Didn’t they spend time on an island together last summer? “Alright, go ahead. To properly explore the old castle site, it takes about three days. There are plenty of inns, so don’t worry, but make sure to take good care of Amy. You’re taking her to comfort her; don’t end up needing comfort yourself.” “...Yes.” Although she subtly rubbed Shirone the wrong way with her last remark, he simply agreed, sensing that delving deeper would be risky. After tidying up, Shirone returned to his room to pack. Since it would take quite some time to reach Creas, he needed to leave before noon. Though teleportation would have been faster than any carriage, he didn’t wish to breach the rules for a trivial matter. Bundled in his winter coat and woolen scarf, Shirone hefted his backpack and headed for the door. As he grasped the doorknob, an unexpected buzzing filled his head. Turning around, he realized Armand was sending out a mental wave, a protest outside their usual silent communication. With a sigh, Shirone spoke. “Sorry, but no. Commoners aren’t allowed to carry swords around without a weapon license.” To carry weapons legally, commoners needed a weapon license issued by specific guilds. As a mage, Shirone could automatically obtain one, but, as a student, it was currently unattainable. As an S-class weapon, Armand was a complicated asset. Yet, Armand refused to give up and continued sending mental waves. The challenge of bearing an ego lies in its pride. It didn’t seem to understand why it should be left behind after the trouble of forming a contract with it, regardless of its past owners. While it was in Zion’s possession, it might have been resigned to its fate. Maybe that’s why it radiated allure even with an existing owner? Thinking this way, Shirone felt a pang of sympathy. He couldn’t claim to cherish it more than its previous master did. Resignedly, Shirone approached Armand. To be honest, carrying Armand would certainly provide reassurance in any situation. Even if he were stopped for inspection, he could simply hide it using his precise control. “Okay, fine. Let’s go.” With that, Shirone opened his coat and invited Armand. The sword swiftly flew to Shirone's waist, fitting snugly in place. Its shorter length compared to a longsword made it easier to conceal. Once he closed his coat, only the tip of the sheath was barely visible. A casual glance wouldn’t betray its presence. As Armand’s mental wave vanished, Shirone shook his head and exited the room. While there were many tales of cursed swords turning on their masters, he could only consider this incident a minor quirk. *** Kingdom of Tormia. Located in the capital Baska, the Magic Association. The Alrog district, home to the major institutions of the capital, often made one frown when passing through at noon due to the reflective glare of numerous high-rise buildings. Especially notable was the Magic Association, one of the tallest, appearing as if a burning golden spectacle. A neatly dressed woman stood at the main entrance of the Magic Association, scanning the boulevard, having waited for someone for thirty minutes. Her tanned skin contrasted with her curly golden hair tied back, offset by the bold red horn-rimmed glasses she wore. Small yet prominent was her nose, and her rosy lips were firmly set, revealing her determined character. The faintly descending corners of her eyes lent her a strong demeanor, yet her overall appearance exuded an exotic allure uncharacteristic of Tormia. She was Ahoya Gangnan, the chief secretary of the Tormia Magic Association. A federation of numerous tribes, her native country lies near the equator. Gangnan was the last descendant of the now extinct Wolf Tribe, a warrior trained in the ancient martial art of Lammuae. Despite her late start in academics at fifteen after arriving in Tormia, her exceptional intellect allowed her to rise to the position of chief secretary of the Magic Association amidst fierce competition. Yet the aristocrats of Tormia, with their age and licentiousness, refused to recognize her skills. To them, she was merely a commoner woman of exotic beauty with an impeccably proportioned physique. Many men who dared to flirt with her unaware of her temperament found themselves doubled over in pain from a knee strike. Some of those were high-ranking nobles, yet the Magic Association never dismissed her. Here was the archetypal example of talent overshadowing personality. However, today, Gangnan intended to exercise restraint, as she awaited no less than the highest envoy from the neighboring Republic of Yakma. As a lavishly decorated state carriage appeared at the boulevard’s end, she straightened and adjusted her attire, dusted off her heels, and adjusted her glasses just in time for the carriage's arrival. When the armored guards opened the carriage door, a stocky man emerged. His face sank into his neck due to excess flesh, and his abdomen protruded like a cannonball. Yet, the eyes nestled beneath his heavy brows glinted sharply. ‘He is the highest envoy of a nation. I must treat him with the utmost respect.’ Gangnan approached with a click-clack from her heels, adjusting the files in the crook of her arm, and offered a ninety-degree bow. “Welcome. I am Gangnan, the chief secretary of the Magic Association.” “Ah! So, you’re Gangnan. Pleased to meet you. Ordon.” Ordon extended his hand for a handshake. It was customary for a high envoy to initiate a handshake with a chief secretary, but he harbored a hidden agenda. Gangnan’s renown as the woman who had bested numerous nobles in sheer physicality had reached even foreign social circles. With her exotic looks, commoner status, and the allure of being an unyielding flower, Ordon too couldn’t help but be intrigued. As Gangnan reciprocated the handshake, Ordon slyly caressed the back of her smooth hand with his thumb. Gangnan's expression didn't change in the slightest. Having already heard of Ordon’s reputation, she was prepared for such a trifling gesture. “The Chairman is expecting you. Please follow me.” Ordon admired Gangnan’s narrow waist as he entered the Magic Association. Considering she dared to lay hands on Tormia's nobles without repercussions, the Magic Association must be offering her protection, yet she wouldn’t dare act disrespectfully toward a foreign envoy. ‘I shall be the one to pluck this flower.’ The Subtle Fracture (4) On their way to the top floor, Ordon’s mouth never stopped moving. Although most of it was trivial chatter, Gangnan entertained him without revealing her annoyance. “What percentage of Tormia’s population is from the magic school?” “I believe it’s around 72 percent.” “Oh, similar to Yakma. That's smart thinking. School graduates tend to be reliable, unlike those from the streets who usually only know one trick. They lack versatility, and employing such types is pointless, isn’t it?” Annoyed by an outsider with no ties to magic making sweeping statements about the association’s business, Gangnan found it irksome. “But aren’t they more adaptable in real-world situations?” “Haha! Adaptability? More like petty tricks.” ‘Filthy bureaucracy.’ Gangnan's lips twisted in disdain. She herself wasn’t a product of an academy. An office-bound amateur, focused solely on figures and documents, could never grasp reality. Opening the door to the reception room, Gangnan surveyed the space and sighed. Despite welcoming an envoy from a foreign nation, the individual meant to join them on the same floor had yet to arrive. “Please wait here. I will fetch the Chairman.” As if following a predetermined routine, Gangnan defused the situation and closed the door. From that point, her pace quickened. The sound of heels imbued with a killing aura ceased abruptly. After turning sharply at a perfect right angle, she knocked on the Chairman’s door. “It’s Gangnan. I'm coming in.” No answer came. Not that she expected one, Gangnan forcefully turned the doorknob and entered. The room, humid and filled with the stench of sweat, assaulted her senses. The sight of the man on the sofa was an ocular affront. He wore nothing but a pair of boxer shorts that left little to the imagination. More unsettling was the shameless way he sprawled his legs. The mage’s taboo, smoking, made its appearance with the thickest cigar wedged between his teeth as he stared at the ceiling, his chest heaving as if he’d just completed a workout. He bore a wide chest and a waist like a tiger, features uncommon for a mage. His thighs were rock-solid, and his calves streamlined. However, to other women, the sight of the man’s body would elicit screams. Covered in scars as if hundreds of worms crawled upon his skin, no part of his body was spared. “What is it, mutt?” Gangnan's expression turned fierce. After the massacre of the Wolf Tribe, she met this man while wandering the world alone and embarked on a new life. Yet now, it felt as if he had become more of a foe than a benefactor. “What do you mean, ‘what’s going on?’ I told you an urgent envoy from Yakma is arriving. They’re waiting in the reception room right now—what exactly are you doing in here?” The man's head, which had been reclining behind the sofa, gradually rose. In contrast to his muscular body, his face was rugged, with cheekbones so pronounced they seemed formidable. A vertical scar ran down his left eye, and the lower half of his face was covered in scars beneath his beard, hinting at a life filled with hardship and toil. Michea Gaold, the president of the Tormia Magic Association. A First-Class Archmage, top-ranked in the Red Line, and one of the founding members of the Supernatural Psychic Science Research Committee at Alfeas Magic School. “An envoy… has arrived?” “Don’t you remember? I mentioned it just an hour ago! You need to go and welcome them quickly.” Gaold fell silent, lost in thought. He couldn’t recall. Lately, he'd been experiencing more frequent memory lapses. So what if he did? He drew deeply on his cigar and spoke briefly. “No.” Gangnan closed her eyes. She had to endure it. She decided to consider it as saving a miserable wreck of a man. Resolute, she opened her eyes again and took out an official document stamped with the royal seal. “It’s a direct order from Prince Adolf. It says the situation is severe, and you must cooperate, regardless of circumstances. If you still refuse, I’ll take action according to the law.” Gaold leaned his head back over the sofa again, indifferent. Irritated at being interrupted from enjoying his cigar, he muttered annoyingly. “You’re making a dirty nuisance of it. Can’t you leave me alone for a single second?” “Entertaining an envoy is a matter of seconds and seconds of disrespect. Please don’t act like an ugly duckling.” Gangnan finished speaking, her eyes glancing as she mumbled softly. “Ugly duckling…” Gaold lifted his head. “What did you say, brat?” “I said don’t act like one…” “That’s just what you said earlier!” “It was an emphasis.” With an air of nonchalance, Gangnan straightened her horn-rimmed glasses and went to the wardrobe. Taking out the association’s formal attire, she handed it to Gaold, who reluctantly slapped his knee and got up. “Ugh! This better not be for nothing, or someone’s getting thrashed.” Wiping away his sweat with a towel and changing clothes, he tossed his cigar to the floor and strode towards the reception room. As he opened the door, Ordon greeted him with a face lit up with delight. It was a given that his manner of addressing the secretary and the president would be distinctly different. After the formal greetings, Ordon got straight to the point. Despite being a top envoy, once it was down to work, his eyes turned serious. His aide brought a portable video recording device to the table. Then a small safe followed, which Ordon personally unlocked, revealing the ObscuraB inside. “Strange phenomena are occurring worldwide, including in Yakma. First, let’s watch the footage.” Connecting the ObscuraB to the device, a scene of an old-fashioned provincial town played out. Gaold, who had been watching indifferently, suddenly sparked with interest as his eyes lit up. People, possessed by what seemed like dozens of tongues swirling in their mouths, were attacking and consuming others. Screams followed, and the local defense force was deployed. However, they too fell prey to the ailment after being bitten, escalating the chaos uncontrollably. “This incident took place in an area called Kuberin. We haven’t obtained footage outside of Yakma, but rumors say similar diseases are spreading. Some regions report ghost sightings.” Gaold focused solely on the footage. Eventually, a special forces unit from the capital intercepted and subdued the entities. Among the swordmasters deployed, Gaold recognized several by reputation. Once samples were collected, mages cast enormous flames to incinerate the town. “Autopsies of the deceased were conducted immediately following the incident. Typically, mutations manifest based on existing traits. However, these victims’ mutations bore no resemblance to any known creatures here.” Returning to his apathetic demeanor, Gaold yawned languidly, feigning disinterest. “So, are you saying this came from space or something?” Ordon must have shown footage that was a top-secret matter in Yakma—showing it to a foreign mage and providing crucial information suggested they, too, sought something in return. It was impossible for Ordon, Yakma’s premier diplomat, to miss the change in Gaold's demeanor. Yet today wasn’t an ordinary negotiation; it was an issue of transnational importance, drawing the attention of countries worldwide. “There seems to be a problem with the spacetime continuum of the Maze…” For a brief moment, Gaold’s eyes glimmered with interest, though it quickly faded into nonchalance. “So what? What do you want me to do about it?” “We wish to investigate the spacetime continuum of the Maze. However, as you know, it can only be accessed through the Kingdom of Tormia… Of course, we’re not requesting an independent opening. Valkyrie’s approval has already been secured.”