Chapter : 3
Daniel quickly covered his mouth and turned his head. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. If I laugh, I’ll die. Don’t laugh.
Yet his usually mild-mannered superior seemed to have no intention of letting this situation slide with laughter either.
Elsier’s sharp gaze softened into a small smile as she spoke.
“Even though you belong to the Tower, you’re unbearably arrogant.”
Wiz’s eyes widened at the harsh words.
Normally, her face was so gentle it could inspire pity, and despite her mistake in this moment, Daniel couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. He hoped she wouldn’t start hiccuping from shock.
Wiz, who looked like she might cry at any second, finally opened her mouth.
“…This is bad.”
After gloomily setting down the frame, she retrieved something from under the counter. Another frame.
“I haven’t shown you this yet.”
“What is this…? Huh.”
Daniel’s eyes widened as he examined the paper inside the frame.
Is this real?
Is that actually real in front of me?
“Oh, the only guests who reach this far are rare. I always forget, but when you mentioned it, it just clicked! In emergencies like this, you just show this!”
I mustn’t forget it!
Unless she wants to suffocate her bold, annoying customers, she absolutely mustn’t forget this!
Daniel, who secretly considered his boss somewhat like a troublesome customer, felt his deep frustration bubbling up closer to the surface.
Wiz, who had made Elsier look like a hero who had reached the final trial, nervously glanced at the two of them.
The certificate bore the Tower Master’s seal pressed clearly in wax, with the implied message: “She is under my protection. Touch her, and you answer to me.”
Even after seeing that, Elsier’s gaze remained firm.
He smiled, but his words were cold.
“Do you think that increases your value?”
“You mean, if it weren’t for the Tower Master, I’d have no value at all?”
“….”
Wiz surprisingly understood Elsier’s sarcasm and immediately grinned, holding up the frame with pride. She looked like a triumphant general shouting victory.
“Value or not, as long as I can live comfortably, that’s all that matters!”
The two officials, at that moment, unconsciously concluded that this woman had a mind full of flowers.
In every nation on this continent—here and there—there was always at least one agency dedicated to special investigations. Whether overt or secret.
But by this era, “investigations” mostly meant retrieving something, and that “something” was never ordinary.
Artifacts or homunculi left behind by wizards.
Wizards were special.
And artifacts or homunculi they deliberately left behind were even more special.
These damn wizards embedded all kinds of bizarre magic into otherwise mundane objects.
Among them, some wizards were infamous across the continent for their power, others for their renown.
That alone was terrifying, but there was also an unspoken law among wizards: to be born a wizard and not create at least one artifact was madness.
[And honestly, it’s fun to make them.]
A seventy-three-year-old wizard chuckled as he confessed this, and it was dutifully recorded in the newspaper archives.
Many people had died from artifacts. Even more were disabled by them.
People suffered greatly because of the wizards’ pursuit of fun. Naturally, wizards were hated, despised, and looked down upon through the generations.
Still, rulers of nations eagerly collected magical artifacts.
They had limited uses, and some had lifespans, but artifacts with diverse magic clearly reflected national power. The differences between empires and kingdoms could even be measured by the number of artifacts and the types of magic inscribed on them.
Interestingly, unlike artifacts, homunculi were rarely mentioned by wizards. They were a people who loved to brag, yet never spoke of them.
Anyway, somewhere today, some wizard was probably laughing and playing the eccentric, just as they always did.
Because of this, the person who first combined wizardry and alchemy to make artifacts became a public enemy. Everyone in special investigative agencies desperately wished to shove that man into a cockroach-infested room. Sadly, he had died hundreds of years ago.
As that generation lamented giving wings to such uncontrollable eccentrics, by now, many people wished that at least one of magic or alchemy would disappear from the world.
For instance, overworked civil servants.
One side spread artifacts across the world, the other searched for them—a game of tag or treasure hunting between wizards and non-wizards.
Wizards found this “game” highly amusing, and for more fun, they left behind diaries, magical theory texts, and papers in abundance.
“I must grow stronger, that will make it more fun!”
“The more magic types, the better the fun!”
“I must leave behind annoying magic, that’s more fun!”
The problem? Generations of people had to read all those records.
They studied so thoroughly that their theoretical knowledge rivaled any wizard’s, yet they could never become wizards. This frustrated countless scholars.
Especially those aiming for employment in the special investigative agencies—trainees and knights alike—who were infuriated.
They had to study magic that could never be practically used just to safely locate an artifact!
Sure, they could avoid working at the agency, but it was considered a dream job. The pay was immense, the respect immense.
Being employed there meant they were elite in at least one field. The temptation to apply was irresistible.
Even skilled non-wizards suffered under these circumstances.
You might think wizards would help, but they all hid, pretending to be non-wizards.
And did they behave quietly while hidden?
No.
They’d sneak in magic, causing chaos, or bury dangerous artifacts for agents to find.
In short, teasing special investigation agents was routine.
Of course, some wizards belonged to royal households, but their rank was too low to help.
Wizards who played “catch me if you can” with knights were usually higher-ranked than royal wizards.
Occasionally, a highly skilled wizard would be employed by a state, only for an even stronger wizard to appear and prevent them from being used as a threat, then vanish like the wind.
Their style was uselessly stylish.
Non-wizards could never fully understand the wizarding world, but one truth was clear:
Non-wizards could never become wizards.
Only those born wizards were wizards.
Even after dissecting and experimenting on weak young wizards, nothing changed. Not a single person became a wizard later in history.
Yet scholars arose, studying why magic appeared, why alchemy arose, and why wizards mastered it.
“The result? Today, they’re still digging around.”
“…”
“The end of the story.”
Wiz, cheeks puffed with candy, clapped her hands after finishing the tale.
It was a story with no real point. In fact, utterly useless.
Shori, who had endured it for over thirty minutes, stabbed the bouquet’s stem into his thigh. A rough gesture.
Wiz, not noticing his mood, smiled faintly.
“Is this instead of applause? Thank you.”
“…”
Shori, boiling inside, forced a smile.
“Now explain why your romance consultation led to a story about foolish scholars.”
“There’s a commonality.”
“Commonality?”
“Both are hopeless, dark, and impossible futures, yet someone tries anyway…”
“….”
Despite being a babbling, ridiculous goldfish of a person, he had brought the bouquet as a gift for her consultation, yet now felt like throwing it at her. Shori didn’t understand why, but his hands didn’t stop.
Wiz, who had been fleeing, collapsed when the bouquet landed perfectly on her head.
“Done… defeated!”
“Hero!”
“Our blood pressure is saved! Thank you, truly thank you!”
The small round plaza in the alley, used by locals for rest, erupted in chaos.
People sunbathing or doodling sprang to their feet, praising Shori.
Shori, her long hair tied high, smiled graciously.
“You’ve worked hard. It’s all right now.”
“Oh, hero…!”
“What bravery!”
The artists, pretending to admire a dazzling presence, had spent 365 days, 24 hours preparing to tease Wiz. So when the chance came, they could seize it.
Yet they always forgot: at the end of the day, it was not Wiz who grabbed the back of their necks—it was them.
Wiz, wriggling, flipped herself, lifted her legs high, and sprung up.
Thunk.
Like a fish out of water, full of life. A breaking sound followed.
“….”
The plaza fell into a cold silence. Shori, approaching to check on her, was in rough shape, someone covering their mouth with both hands.
Wiz, brushing herself off, finally realized the chaos she’d caused and asked Shori:
“Huh? What’s wrong?”
“….”
Shori lay convulsing in pain.
Wiz’s eyes widened in shock. She gasped, pointing at Shori.
“The conscious Demon Lord knocked down the hero and ran away! Everyone, run!”
“…They ended one life and switched to ordinary villager #1! And blamed the innocent Demon Lord!”
“….”
Coincidentally, Daniel, who witnessed almost all of this sad yet funny scene, was deeply impressed.
But his priorities were clear, so his gaze focused more on Wiz than the fallen hero.
The Demon Lord may have been real, but Wiz shrieked and began fleeing anyway.
(To be continued in the next chapter)
