Chapter 140: Provocation
When Isaac first heard the place called the “Mage Tower,” he pictured a single, enormous spire standing alone in the middle of a plaza.
And that part was true—but, according to Vivian, the real Mage Tower actually sits behind the great tower everyone sees.
“These days the big tower is basically a symbol. If you think about it, it’s awfully inefficient, isn’t it?”
Striding ahead like a tour guide, Vivian kept up her calm explanations.
“Once we get around back you’ll find there’s far more to look at. Oh, and lately they’ve been selling meat and fish infused with special aromas through magic. You should try it—it’s surprisingly good.”
Pride shone from every word Vivian spoke. Being both a mage and a member of the tower clearly thrilled her. Mages bathe in magical elitism and talent worship; they truly believe their station in life is a blessing.
“Then how did such a lofty Mage Tower let its mana core get stolen?” Isaac asked, utterly deadpan.
Vivian froze, glanced around, and lowered her voice.
“That’s the problem—we have no idea. I heard it just went poof and vanished.”
“Haa… It was a treasure handed down from the very first Tower Master—nearly a century’s worth of stored mana.”
“And it was taken that easily?”
“…You’re rather sharp-tongued today, aren’t you?”
Flustered, Vivian asked the question softly. Isaac cleared his throat and dodged it. Sharen—busy playing a game of stepping only on the white paving stones—answered for him.
“Isaac’s training right now! He’s practicing saying whatever he wants.”
“Practicing… saying whatever he wants?”
“Uh-huh! Last time he told me to quit stuffing my face with sweets!”
‘So you were holding on to that, Sharen.’
‘I’ll have to apologize later.’
“Hah, warriors and their bizarre methods…” Vivian muttered, deciding no mage could ever understand such training.
“In any case, that’s why every mage in the tower is on edge—especially toward outsiders. I ask for your patience.”
“We won’t be patient. We’re guests,” Isaac shot back.
“…This really is part of your training, right?”
“Where exactly was the mana core kept?” the Grandmaster asked the still-muttering Vivian.
“A-at the very top of the tower. Why do you ask?”
“I fear they may have taken it.”
Because Vivian had once ventured into the Abyss Realm herself, mention of them turned her face ashen. Clenching a fist, she declared:
“This time I won’t trail helplessly behind. I have power, and I’ll produce results worthy of it.”
The helplessness she’d felt in the mana-less Abyss Realm must have been a brutal shock. Even while listening to Vivian swear her resolve, Isaac kept mulling it over.
Did the Transcendents steal the mana core?
When he’d listened to the Grandmaster and Nameless, the idea had seemed possible. The ten hybrids who once lived in Yeonji Valley…
They were trained because the Transcendents, too, desired to wield mana. Hellic imitating Arandel Helmut’s aura sword proved as much. The Transcendents covet mana—desperately.
But is that really possible?
Right now the Transcendents aren’t as free as they used to be. They destroyed the northern wall and shifted most of their forces north, yet the result still fell short of true victory.
Would they even have the leeway to reach for the Mage Tower?
And if they did, how could they extract the core without a single mage noticing?
Puzzling over a dozen questions, Isaac followed Vivian around to the back of the tower.
“Whoa…” Sharen breathed.
What lay behind the Mage Tower looked nothing like what they’d imagined. It wasn’t just a courtyard with a few auxiliary buildings attached at all.
A broad downhill road stretched behind the immense Mage Tower, pouring into a hollow the size of a giant jar. The basin was crammed so tightly with buildings that their roofs almost touched.
Although the structures tangled together with no single pattern, clear functional districts still emerged among the chaos:
Crystal spires that seemed to pierce the sky, a round glass conservatory glowing with a murky light, arcane machines whirring without rest.
At this point there was no denying it.
“……Superior. That’s the only word for it.”
Damien muttered the verdict to himself, but everyone silently agreed. People said the Mage Tower had grown into a city of its own—turns out that wasn’t an exaggeration.
“Most visitors are stunned at first,” Vivian said with a self-satisfied shrug. “No one expects a sight like this hiding behind the tower.”
Even as she guided them down the slope, Vivian kept explaining.
“We didn’t dig the city into a bowl for nothing. In wartime, a ceiling of mana forms over the depression and blocks enemy intrusion.”
When her running commentary ended, they found themselves standing before the tallest crystal spire.
The mages they passed along the way eyed them sharply, but nothing happened with Vivian acting as escort.
Inside the spire waited a burly, middle-aged man—about the age of Arandel or Uldiran. He wasn’t as massive as those two, yet at a glance he looked stronger than Isaac. A rough beard, greasy hair shoved back instead of combed, and a cigarette dangling from his lips completed the image.
The moment he spotted them he widened his eyes, waved a hand to snuff out the cigarette’s ember by magic, and strode forward.
“Hm? Ah, guests? The name’s Regant—current master of the tower.”
He introduced himself before Vivian could speak.
“Baron Isaac Logan. An honor to meet the Tower Master.”
“Must be rough coming here in such a chaotic time.”
They exchanged a friendly handshake, yet Regant showed little further interest in Isaac; his gaze slid straight to the two women.
“Which one is under the spell?”
For all his size and years, Regant practically quivered with the thrill of studying a new subject.
Nameless stepped forward and raised her hand.
“Me. I’ll cooperate for now—prisoner’s honor. Push too far, though, and I’ll overturn this place.”
She acted entirely on instinct. Watching his “master” set such an example made Isaac’s head throb.
“Er, she talks rough, but she’ll help. Really—no need to worry,” he assured the mage.
“Haha! If she cooperates, I’ll do anything she needs! A branch of learning that isn’t magic? Fascinating! Do you require any preliminary explanation of rituals?”
“Bring out some liquor and we’ll unravel it one step at a time,” Nameless said, flashing a cheeky thumbs-up at Isaac.
That’s how you do it, pupil.
‘…Maybe I should just quit.’
The thought crossed Isaac’s mind, but Regant proved to be a large-hearted man; delighted by Nameless’ spirit, he thumped his chest.
“Excellent! Magic’s never complete without booze and smokes. I’ll get everything ready at once! Mind if I summon a few other mages?”
While Regant and Nameless launched into an animated discussion, Vivian scratched her cheek in embarrassment and approached the others.
“I’ll guide the rest of you to your quarters.”
****
Leaving the crystal tower for the guest lodgings:
“Hey, you got anything sweet around here?” Sharen asked.
“D-did you just call me, hey?” Vivian sputtered. “A-anyway, yes, we do have sweets, but even Helmut remembers their manners—”
“I’m training too!” Sharen declared.
Vivian eyed her with deep suspicion.
“Yo, Sulky-face, do mages drink watery booze? I’d like to try a tavern,” Nameless called back.
“E-excuse me, Sulky-face?” Vivian spluttered.
“I’m training too,” Nameless replied with a grin.
And so, with half the party “training” in manners that baffled any proper mage, they followed the winding streets of the hidden city beneath the Mage Tower’s looming shadow.
Damien cracked another sly joke, and Vivian shot Isaac a please-hold-him-back look.
Isaac, however, had already fixed his gaze on a circular arena, where a clutch of mages were crowded together, staffs in hand, arguing heatedly.
“What’s that place?” the Grandmaster asked, ears pricking with curiosity.
“Ah, the Combat-Lab Lecture Hall,” Vivian explained. “Everyone who serves the tower has to be ready for the battlefield at any moment.”
Both Grandmaster and Isaac fell silent at once.
The Grandmaster had already dismissed the tower mages’ battlefield skill as abysmal after watching them fumble their distancing drills earlier.
Isaac had seen it with his own eyes—the way the tower’s mages collapsed helplessly in real combat.
“Think of it as our training ground and dueling arena,” Vivian went on, grinning. “Though it’s a bit different from yours.”
She puffed up, eager to flaunt the distinction.
“Inside, a special magic ensures no wounds remain—even if you’re injured.”
“Ho? No wounds?” The Grandmaster wagged her tail in interest, and Isaac felt the same tug of intrigue.
“Even if a head gets lopped off?” Isaac asked.
“…So this is part of your training,” Vivian muttered. “Yes—even then. The mechanism is—”
That was all Isaac needed to hear. He recalled Nameless’ recent demonstration and, justifying it as a way to save these pampered, overconfident mages, started toward the hall.
“A fight! A fight!” Sharen squealed, catching on immediately.
“Heh, go easy,” the Grandmaster chuckled, padding after her.
“A f-fight? Wait—wait a moment!” Vivian yelped.
“C’mon, pal, stay with me,” Damien teased, latching onto the flustered mage so she couldn’t follow.
As Isaac entered, the assembled mages stared outright.
“Who’s that? An outsider?”
“Why bring an outsider in at a time like this?”
“Look at his face—hah. Maybe he’s using glamor magic?”
“Damn, he’s handsome.”
While the comments flew, Isaac asked politely:
“Excuse me—Is this a theater?”
“A… theater? What nonsense—”
“This is the Combat-Lab Lecture Hall,” one mage snapped. “A dangerous place where we unleash live combat magic.”
Isaac’s smile widened.
“Ah, then I’m in exactly the right place.”
Silence fell. The quick minds of the mages required no time to parse his meaning:
‘Your “live combat magic” is nothing more than a show.’
Their eyes flared—hot, angry embers—all of them locking on to Isaac in an instant.
– – The End of The Chapter ––
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