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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Mod7
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There was no time to waste.
Nobles wouldn’t visit the Magic Tower this early in the morning, not even to see a revered mentor. Especially not the aloof Lady Isabella.
And there was no guarantee she’d even be at the same Tower I was going to. There were five in total.
I grabbed the scrolls I’d spent all night creating, ignored Ella’s calls about breakfast, and ran.
“Y… Young Master! Breakfast…!”
She called after me, but I was sure she’d understand.
The academy and the Magic Tower weren’t far apart. I could reach it in five minutes at a full sprint.
And even after five minutes, it would still be too early for the nobles to be stirring. I wouldn’t run into Isabella.
I picked up the pace.
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Isabella was excited. She’d received word that her mentor, who was often away on mysterious journeys, was returning today.
He was more than just a teacher. He’d been a father figure to her, providing the affection her strict father withheld. He’d nurtured her love for magic, guiding her towards new heights of understanding.
But her excitement was tinged with guilt as she remembered her encounter with Jenison.
She’d been too arrogant, too proud of her own talent. She’d always despised nobles who looked down on commoners, yet she’d treated Jenison with the same disdain. She’d felt superior, convinced that associating with her was a privilege he should be grateful for.
But she was no different from the nobles she despised.
She’d been avoiding Jenison, consumed by guilt and self-reproach. Her confidence, once unshakeable, had begun to crumble.
‘Ugh… why did I do that…?’
The memory haunted her. His hopeful expression as he’d approached her with a request. The flicker of hurt in his eyes when she’d rejected him. His carefully maintained composure.
It gnawed at her conscience.
But the past couldn’t be changed. He seemed to have given up on her, and she was too ashamed to face him.
His actions hadn’t been right, but perhaps she was partly to blame. Perhaps her rejection had driven him down this path. The thought plagued her.
‘…I’ll apologize when the weekend is over…’
She couldn’t regain her lost confidence, but perhaps she could alleviate her guilt. She thought about how she’d apologize, how she’d make amends.
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I arrived.
The Magic Tower, a towering white structure, loomed before me. A color that represented both warmth and coldness, a duality that mirrored its inhabitants.
White-robed mages bustled around the base of the tower, clutching thick stacks of documents and staffs.
I felt a wave of self-consciousness as their gazes turned towards me. I wasn’t used to this much attention.
I suppressed my unease and approached a receptionist, hoping to inquire about selling my magical items.
She recognized me and frowned slightly, but quickly replaced it with a professional smile.
‘…Professional…’
“Hello, how can I help you?”
“I’m here to sell some magical items.”
“…Magical items?”
“Yes. Scrolls.”
I placed the scrolls on the counter. The receptionist looked surprised, then excused herself and disappeared into the back.
I waited for about ten minutes.
She returned with an older man, his features kind and welcoming.
He looked at me, then at the scrolls, then back at me, as if confirming my identity. He sat down and spoke.
“Greetings. I’m Phlon, a mage and administrator of the White Magic Tower.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Jenison.”
“Let’s get straight to the point. Why did you bring these scrolls?”
He was suspicious. Scrolls were difficult and expensive to produce. And considering my reputation, he probably assumed I had ulterior motives.
He was wrong.
“…I’m here to sell them.”
“You seem sincere. But we have no reason to purchase these scrolls.”
“You’re jumping to conclusions.”
“Jumping to conclusions? There’s no profit in stocking items that are difficult and expensive to produce.”
He was right. The Magic Tower only sold popular, high-quality items. There was no point in stocking something that wouldn’t sell.
But he didn’t know something.
“…What if I could mass-produce them?”
“…Young man, lying in a business negotiation is unwise.”
“I can prove it.”
“…Jerry.”
“Yes!”
So the receptionist’s name was Jerry. She looked nervous.
“Bring me a sheet of paper.”
“…A sheet of paper, sir?”
“Yes. A single sheet.”
“Here you go.”
He took the paper from her and looked at me, his eyes narrowing.
“Create a scroll. Any scroll. You have ten minutes.”
“…Any scroll?”
“Yes. Any type. Ten minutes.”
“…Ten minutes…”
“That’s all you get. If you can mass-produce them, then this should be…”
“Five minutes.”
“…What?”
“I can create one in five minutes.”
He looked increasingly incredulous, then frowned and said,
“Very well. If you can do it in five minutes, I’ll make a deal with you. However, if you fail, there will be consequences.”
His attempt at intimidation was amusing, but I didn’t show it.
He didn’t know my talents. He’d only heard the rumors about the talentless scoundrel. He didn’t care what my actual talents were.
Whoosh—
Light emanated from my fingertips, swirling and shifting, transforming into a vibrant array of colors. As I moved my finger across the paper, intricate patterns began to form.
Curves and straight lines representing the base spell. Runes amplifying its power. Symbols dictating its trajectory. And finally, markings indicating its duration.
A complete scroll, created in less than four minutes.
I looked up and saw Phlon and the receptionist staring at me, their faces a mixture of shock and awe.
“Ha!”
I chuckled, amused and slightly exhilarated by their reaction.
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“I apologize for doubting your abilities… You certainly can mass-produce them.”
“I… I’m so sorry!”
It was uncomfortable seeing them, older and more experienced than me, bowing their heads.
I reassured them and returned to the negotiation.
“I apologize for my earlier rudeness, but… would you be willing to make a deal with us?”
“I am.”
“Th… Thank you!”
“However, the profit split will be 70% for me, 30% for the Tower.”
“W… What?!”
“Is that a problem?”
“That’s… an exorbitant percentage…”
He was right. The Tower needed to make a profit, and giving a novice alchemist like me 70% seemed excessive.
But…
“Scrolls are expensive. 30% is still a significant profit for the Tower.”
“Even so…”
“If you’re not interested, I’ll take my leave.”
“A… Alright! We’ll do it!”
I smiled at his predictable response.
“An excellent choice.”
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As I left the Magic Tower, I noticed a commotion. A crowd had gathered, and the female mages, in particular, seemed to be in a frenzy.
Curious, I investigated.
At the center of the commotion stood a man.
The founder of the empire’s magical foundation, a 9th-circle mage who rivaled the Headmaster in power. A figure feared by demons and revered by mages.
He was tall, his physique surprisingly muscular for a mage. His hair was white with age. He had the kindly face of an old man, but he was a seasoned warrior, a ruthless killer on the battlefield. And a doting mentor.
The Great Sage, Prion Hybel.
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