Ep 24

EP.24 The Wizard Who Left the Courtyard "......!!" The purple tower master's eyes widened roundly as she covered her mouth with one hand and urgently grasped the sleeve of my clothing with the other. Wondering what was wrong, it seemed she wanted to yawn. I bent my knees to lower myself to her height and leaned in closer to her face. The tower master removed her hand from her mouth and yawned adorably. Seeing a cute yawn is a rare thing, but the tower master managed to do it. "Huaaaahhh." At a close enough distance to prevent any unnecessary misunderstandings between us, I fully inhaled the breath that the tower master exhaled. This was not some lewd act to satisfy a maniacal proclivity. Yawning is a natural phenomenon that occurs in beings with souls. Just as heat is derived from burning fuel, living beings also burn their souls for energy. This energy, if explained in the style of martial arts novels, is called genuine energy, or in normal terms, it's life force. That's also why dark wizards are so keen on capturing people. They use this life force to cast their spells. And a by-product of burning the soul is magical power. If I were to put it poetically, magic power is akin to the ashes left after a soul has burned. All creatures emit a small amount of magic power with every exhale when they breathe. And every once in a while, when unrefined magic power accumulates too much inside, it is all released through a yawn. The higher someone's level, the purer and more abundant the magic power released through their yawns. For a great wizard, one yawn could compare to a decent magical elixir. Therefore, there exists a culture where masters permit their disciples to ingest their yawns. In very close relationships, to absorb the dissipating magic power completely and without loss, they might even overlap lips—so it goes. How could one carry out such an embarrassing act? I was already on edge, tense at the mere thought that our lips might accidentally touch. Oops. "......?!" Did we just brush against each other for a moment? "Hooooo." The tower master let out a refreshed chuckle, as if to signify her contentment. Considering her indifferent reaction, it must have been my imagination... I touched my lips subconsciously. After the long and troublesome session with the second prince, Irid, the tower master and I were spending very quiet and peaceful days. We'd wake up in the morning, wash up, brush our teeth. Carve models. Eat, do a light stretch, carve models. Eat, take a short break to carve models, carve more models. Eat, and carve models... Yes, I needed a lot of models. I needed well-crafted models for the heroine, and I also needed giant robot models to realize the dream of many a man. There were seriously plenty of things I wanted to do. But the most urgent was to gather combat data. It's plausible within the setting for the second prince, the main enemy who is a mercenary with clumsy swordsmanship, but if a knight who's an enemy can't wield a sword, that would undermine credibility. I also needed data on monsters' movements. Although I established a foundation using numerous media from my previous life, after consulting with the tower's popular (with an astonishing 50% weekly outing rate) scar-faced senior, it seemed entirely unsatisfactory. "Maybe I should venture outside..." "Bu-but it's dangerous outside the tower!" "I know it's dangerous." In the nine years I'd spent in the tower, I hadn't researched combat magic, even as much as a fingernail's worth. It's not that I was a pacifist, but that it was simply more enjoyable to work on panty modeling than magic that could destabilize someone's mind. The tower master was also opposed to me learning combat magic, saying 'it mixes with impurities.' Considering it was advice from a great wizard, I hadn't given it a second thought. So then, I needed a collaborator. A bodyguard who could firmly protect me even outside the tower. Ideally, I'd have the tower master accompany me, but... "Should I write an application for the relocation of strategic weapons?" "No." It appears that superhumans of the great wizard level must submit an application to the palace a week in advance detailing where they will be and for how long. It seemed excessive at first, but when considering it from the perspective of a neighboring lord, it made sense. Surely if a strategic nuke were to suddenly stroll into one's domain, it would induce cold sweats and numb limbs. Even if the lord was cautious, if a loose-haired, tanned delinquent from his realm started a quarrel, depending on the disposition of the walking strategic nuke, an entire area along the roadside could be blasted away. Hence, to prevent the recurrence of stomach ulcers among the many lords of the empire, such measures were implemented. If the application is rejected, then one must submit another and could be dragged out for a month or so. It seemed wiser to lower my expectations for the tower master's accompaniment. Anecdotal evidence suggests that on the day when all the tower masters gathered to scout me, not a single one had submitted an application, which caused quite an uproar. There's gossip that the lord governing the village where I was born had foamed at the mouth and fainted. Anyway. I would need to take the opportunity to go outside at some point... --------------------------------------------------------------- Thinking to ask if she'd like to join me in carving bra models, I entered the tower master's study only to find her garbed in a thin nightgown, fidgeting with a letter. "Pr-Pr-Princess... le-le-letter." I took the letter from the malfunctioning tower master. It was a sumptuous letter adorned with all kinds of jewels that had fluttered in from the royal palace. All this could have funded my research. After peeling off each jewel decoration to check the sender, it was from the first princess. Stripping away all the complicated political rhetoric and summarizing to the core, the message was quite straightforward: 'I see my brother enjoyed himself.' 'I want in.' 'I like to beat people.' 'See you in a week.' "Hmm." The blunt content scribed elegantly was befitting of royalty. I read the letter once more, gauging the prospective player's needs. I also asked the tower master for more details on the first princess. She sat cross-legged on my thigh and spoke, using one arm to create a makeshift backrest. "I've heard that she's been obsessed with combat since she was young." "Obsessed with combat?" "Yes, Count Urenstor often said this: 'Don't act like a wild colt like the first princess.' There were also occasional reports about a knight of her domain having his arm broken while sparring with the first princess." It was a crucial point: combat. If the player enjoys combat to this extent, then it's my duty to prepare a combat map. The time has come to finally fulfill the yearning for an intense final showdown that I couldn’t deliver to the second prince. But then, a question occurred to me, and I asked the tower master. "Normally, wouldn't you number them as the first princess, the first prince, the second prince, and so on?" "Yes, that's correct." "Really?" "Ah, aha... The eldest prince is dead. That's why I intentionally left him out of the count. People of the royal family... do not like to talk about the first prince. It's taboo. They treat him as if he never existed." "How did it happen?" "It's just a rumor, and I'm not certain, but I heard he was poisoned. At around the age of ten." It was a sensitive issue worthy of precaution. A poisoned crown prince; speaking openly about this could smear the royal family's dignity. Poison, huh? Court intrigues and romance fantasies rushed through my mind as reference material. The royal family might have been more disunited than I thought, considering the poisonings and throne disputes. Did this also explain the second prince's strange behavior? If he didn't inherit paranoid DNA from the emperor, then it must mean that something had happened during his upbringing. If it's a sensitive topic, it’s best to avoid mentioning poison. I'll have to be careful not to incorporate gimmicks like, "Who poisoned my green tea?" Combat, combat... How about a dark fantasy? A world where everything has been destroyed, a gray wasteland. Following some... magical disaster. Ninety percent of humanity is wiped out, and bizarrely shaped monsters emerge to take over the pinnacle of the food chain. These monsters use a language incomprehensible to humans. Humans cling to their slender lifelines within small strongholds, eking out a living. Consuming artifacts and knowledge of a bygone brilliant civilization, they die quietly, day by day. Yet, there's a slim hope. Just a rumor really, but somewhere on the continent, there's a shelter left by human civilization... hmm, a 'Safe Dungeon.' A secret safe haven that guarantees survival for at least the next hundred years. Then enters the player. The player, with an aura of mystery, blazes a trail through the twisted natural environment and towering monsters. The survivors follow and revere the player. So, the player becomes a prophet. It would be good to introduce minor troubles within the group led by the player. Small thefts to heinous murders. These 'morally ambiguous choices' greatly help in defining the player's character. There should be a heroine as well. Perhaps, a delicate scholar type... one who is an aspiring knight pursuing the player out of admiration, and a tough guy – that should be enough for an initial concept. I definitely need to head outside the tower. The combat data is urgent. If I can't have the tower master as a companion, I'll need an alternative. Someone with decent battle capabilities who’ll actively cooperate in gathering my data. Not just a researcher holed up but someone with experience bashing goblin heads outside. I decided to seek help from the scar-faced senior. "Young fellow, try to mimic this. Lo-ra-lei." "Scar-faced." "Lo-" "Lo." "Ra-" "Ra." "Lei." "Scar-faced." Despite some trouble in communication, when I peeled off several jewels attached to the letter and offered them, the cooperation was remarkable. Indeed, nothing speaks like money. The tower master protested but prepared to head out remarkably swiftly. The scar-faced senior hired an adventurer party, organized an appropriate exploration itinerary, and reassured the tower master that it would be a truly safe journey. "Take this, just in case... this... and this, also..." The tower master, as if awakened to a mindset of killing anyone who couldn't protect her, nearly broke my neck with a pile of artifacts. She managed to put forty-nine necklace-type artifacts around my neck. She even went as far as to put her foot down, declaring I couldn’t leave until every single necklace was on me. The scar-faced senior then pondered for a moment and instructed me. "Whisper into the tower master's ear that she is the one you love most in the world." "Why?" "Because that will open your path." There was conviction in the scar-faced senior. I decided to trust my senior mage and veteran explorer. I had only childhood eyewitness testimonies to imagine. With the heart of a parent warmly embracing a daughter returning from school, I hugged the tower master and whispered into her ear. It was pleasantly warm. "I love our Yuna the most in the world?" "......!!?!" In that instant, the tower master vanished. No joke, no hyperbole—she literally disappeared. As I wondered what had just happened, according to the scar-faced senior's testimony, she had broken the hold of a sophisticated illusion magic and disappeared. For some reason, the scar-faced senior looked oddly satisfied. A senior is a senior, even if only by a few months. The scar-faced senior efficiently eliminated all obstacles like this. In the end, I left with only one necklace. Just like that, my heart pounding and fluttering—I stepped outside the tower for the first time in nine years. --------------------------------------------------------------- When we arrived at the meeting point, a trio of adventurers were awaiting us. I understood they were an adventurer party, but their armaments were no joke—almost equivalent to knights, with a bit of exaggeration. The ratio was one man to two women. At a glance, they seemed to consist of a warrior, an archer, and a rogue. The rogue's outfit was quite suggestive and small in terms of cloth area, which made it a good reference. I should directly model it as is for my use. The good-looking young man, whose hair was stylishly divided in a 2-to-8 parting, introduced himself as the leader. With eyes resembling those of a fox and even beauty marks near his eyes, he had a rather, let's say, distinctive appearance. "Pleased to meet you. I am Rowillen, a second-class adventurer who will be joining you on this adventure." "Nice to meet you. Beauty-mark guy." "⋯⋯Is he picking a fight with me right now?" "He's a friend with a bit of a quirky mind. Please understand." The scar-faced senior, who hastily intervened, gave me a cover. Judging by the expression Rowillen made upon hearing 'beauty-mark guy,' which seemed to annoy him, fortunately, it appeared he was into women. <fin>