Magiro Wilson.
A subordinate and companion who had been no different from the right hand of himself, the 17th White Tower Master.
At his core, the guy had always been cheerful.
But that didn’t mean he was frivolous.
When the time called for it, he could be more serious than anyone else.
“Y-you’re... sorry?”
The man blinked twice and tilted his head.
“I don’t think there’s really anything I need an apology from you for, Junior. Ah, unless you mean constantly talking back to your great senior whom you should revere like the heavens. If that’s the case, then with my heart as vast as the sea, I shall graciously forgive you, so don’t worry about it.”
“So, uh, could you maybe let go of me now? I’m suffocating here.”
As soon as he released the tightly embraced Magiro and stepped back, the guy gasped for breath.
“Huff, huff. You look all skinny and lean, but what the hell are those muscles...... What are you, some kind of battle mage?”
Sometimes, when silent nights dragged on endlessly, he had missed even this kind of grumbling nonsense.
Magiro, who had been staring fixedly at his face, looked slightly surprised.
“No way, you even cried? Look at your eyes, all red...... Am I actually that popular?”
Back then, he used to scold him for not being serious enough.
So why did this feel so unbearably welcome now?
Overcome with emotion for no reason at all, Oscar stepped forward to hug him once more, but Magiro raised a hand and backed away.
“Warning! Do not approach. I refuse any further fan service.”
“......That’s harsh. I’m just happy to see you.”
As Oscar showed disappointment, Magiro instead let out a faint sigh.
“Well, I do understand. There’s no distinction of age or gender before the charms of this Magiro-sama, former Casanova extraordinaire. But you should still show basic manners toward your senior in the Magic Tower.”
At those words, Oscar burst out laughing before he realized it.
“Kuh, Casanova my ass. You confessed to Mei seven times and got rejected every single time.......”
“......H-how does Junior know about that? Don’t tell me something like that got left behind in the records?”
Magiro’s face instantly turned bright red.
There had been many women who adored him, but unexpectedly, Magiro had been the pure and devoted type.
All his life, he had only looked at the childhood friend he grew up with back in his hometown.
“There aren’t any records like that. Unfortunately.”
“Whew, well, that’s a relief at least.......”
Magiro narrowed his eyes as he stared at him.
“How exactly do you know that, Junior? That’s classified information only a handful of people around me know.”
“Hm? No, Vice Tower Master Marlon went around telling literally everyone he met.”
“That senile old man’s finally lost his damn mind!”
Magiro had been fuming, but suddenly his expression froze stiff.
“But Junior, your sentences have been awfully short for a while now. And you keep saying things like ‘me’ and ‘Vice Tower Master Marlon, Vice Tower Master Marlon.’ Isn’t that a little strange for a junior who’s ridiculously younger than us?”
Oscar silently looked at Magiro.
Truthfully, he was a little afraid.
Afraid that if he revealed his identity, he would be deeply resented.
Afraid that this harmless, cheerful man would harden his face and pour out harsh condemnation.
But even so, he couldn’t run away.
That was not something he could do to Magiro—to the man who had been his most precious companion and subordinate.
Oscar slowly opened his mouth.
“You asked me if I was sure I wouldn’t regret it.”
“And I promised I would never say those words.”
Magiro’s deeply furrowed expression looked as though he were trying to grasp the meaning behind this contextless conversation.
“I still don’t regret it. No... even if I did, I don’t think I’d have the right to say it. But...... I’ve thought countless times that maybe it would’ve been better if I had gone alone that night.”
Magiro’s face rapidly stiffened.
As though he had understood exactly what Oscar was saying.
And then he warned him.
“Hey, I’ve tolerated enough of your little act.”
“I just...... if we ever met again, I really wanted to tell you I was sorry.”
“You’re dense as hell! Just shut up already!”
In an instant, hundreds of magic circles covered the sky.
Magiro’s unique magic, Over Craft.
Hundreds of spells forged with enough power to contend against an entire legion now aimed directly at him.
If it were this guy, the moment he opened his mouth one more time, he would fire.
Knowing that, Oscar deliberately moved his lips anyway.
“I’m sorry.”
Ssaek!
Along with the sound of air tearing apart, hundreds of spells rained down.
Kwaaaaaaaaaang!
A deafening explosion echoed across the once silent battlefield.
“......It’s your fault. You probably aren’t dead, so take that as compensation and get lost.”
Magiro coldly stared down at the gigantic crater that had formed, then turned to leave.
And it was precisely at that moment.
Thinking he must have seen something wrong, he hurriedly turned his head back.
And saw it.
“You’re still the same. I keep telling you, when you’re genuinely angry, you should harden your heart a little more.”
Oscar walked out while fanning the smoke before his face, perfectly fine despite having been hit by hundreds of lightweight spells.
Magiro’s gaze locked onto his hand.
“That’s.......”
“I figured this would make continuing the conversation easier.”
If Magiro had Over Craft, then he himself had Wind Archive.
The eyes of the man who understood that fact better than anyone trembled violently.
“Wait a second, what the hell is this? Is that...... the Tower Master’s magic restored? No, but even if it were restored, that’s not a magic anyone can simply use in the first place.......”
“You’re right. It’s a spell that fundamentally requires understanding the concept of dragon words that access the laws of the world themselves, as well as complete mastery over the essence of mana.”
From his mouth flowed, with absurd ease, the structure of Wind Archive—a secret that should never have been revealed.
Honestly, it wouldn’t matter even if he went around talking about it everywhere.
Even back when humanity was constantly being pushed back by the demon race and mages freely shared knowledge with one another, there had never been anyone besides himself who could use this magic.
With his hands clasped behind his back, Magiro began thinking with an utterly serious expression.
That posture he always made whenever he was deeply contemplating something.
“No matter how much I think about it, I can’t understand. Logically, this makes no sense. But if it’s some kind of trickery, the existence of Wind Archive becomes a problem.”
“Some bastard tampered with my soul. I definitely died together with the Great Emperor.”
“......The Black Tower?”
“That was my first suspicion too. But it’s not them.”
“Goddammit, feels like my head’s about to split open. Just come up here first.”
As Oscar climbed out of the crater, Magiro held out his hand.
Oscar took it and carefully climbed up before speaking quietly.
“The reason I said I was sorry was.......”
“Forget it. I don’t have the right to hear words like that anyway.”
Magiro wore an indifferent expression.
“I’m not human.”
“......I figured. The real Magiro died that night right in front of me.”
Perhaps.
Maybe.
Even knowing it was impossible, Oscar had still hoped for a miracle, and now a bitter expression crossed his face.
“So you’re a thought-form after all?”
“Yeah. I’m a thought-form that perfectly inherited the memories and personality of the human named Magiro Wilson.”
By now, thought-forms simply felt familiar.
Wasn’t this a world where even the thought-form of the very first White Tower Master, dead for centuries, still remained intact?
Compared to that, a thought-form from someone who died only a few decades ago wasn’t strange at all.
“I still can’t completely believe your story...... but it’s not impossible.”
Magiro slowly nodded.
“The one who taught a girl named Veronica Over Craft, and the issue regarding how Radan handled the tattoo magic he overcame as well...... if you really are the Tower Master, then all of that makes sense.”
“You know too. There’s practically no one else capable of those things besides me.”
“......I admit it. But soul transplantation? Other than the Black Tower, there shouldn’t be anyone capable of handling that.”
“It was probably the demon race.”
“Your basis?”
“I still don’t know whether it was coincidence, an accident, or intentional. But the Great Emperor is inside my soul too.”
Magiro frowned.
“You realize that kind of sounds like you’re asking me to kill you, right?”
“If that’s what you want, I’ll gladly fight you. But the Magiro I know would never choose that.”
“......Haa.”
As though exasperated, the man brushed back his hair and snapped his fingers.
The dirt ground rose and formed chairs, and he naturally took one of the seats.
“Sit down first. Feels like this is going to be a long conversation.”
Oscar nodded and sat down before opening his mouth.
“You want to hear my story after all, don’t you?”
“......Reincarnation? Possession? Goddammit. Whatever. Just tell me everything that happened after that.”
It became a long story.
Because they talked until the sun rose, and then until it set again.
Toward the end, his throat hurt every time he spoke, to the point he had to reinforce his vocal cords with mana itself.
“So, to summarize, you blamed yourself for the White Tower’s downfall and wandered all over trying to restore it?”
“That was my highest priority.”
“And realizing the Great Emperor was inside your soul happened relatively recently?”
“Only after I’d managed to place the White Tower back onto stable footing did I finally gain some freedom.”
“Hah.”
Magiro let out a hollow laugh.
He stared at the blue sky for a long while before murmuring.
“So you really completed the airship in the end. I’d like to see it at least once.”
“It’s not impossible. If we use my subspace, even thought-forms should be able to.......”
“No.”
The man shook his head firmly.
“I’m currently the engine and heart of this dungeon. If I leave my place, the dungeon will collapse quickly.”
“......Can’t you at least come see it for a little while and come back?”
“You must’ve forgotten because you’ve been here too long, but the entry conditions for this dungeon are one-time only and limited to those below Level 7.”
Meaning the moment Magiro was moved, this dungeon would disappear.
Oscar slowly closed his eyes and asked,
“When exactly did you make something like this?”
“During the war. After the Battle of Palm Gorge.”
Resting his chin on his hand, he grinned.
“After fighting like hell and crawling back to the Magic Tower, I lay down on my bed and suddenly realized something. Like, hold on, something’s seriously wrong here. Aren’t those demon bastards way too strong? Couldn’t the Empire actually lose? Stuff like that crossed my mind.”
From then on, Magiro began gathering knowledge from across the entire continent.
“The original hoped that if humanity ever lost, then this dungeon would become the next opportunity.”
The strategist of the White Tower.
Magiro Wilson, in order to become a pouch containing all the knowledge and wisdom in the world—
never let books leave his hands even for a moment.
Oscar, who had never known that fact even in his dreams, let out a hollow laugh.
“......I think I used to nag you, telling you to spend less time reading random things and more time rereading White Tower spellbooks.”
“My thoughts exactly. I did all that because you need broad knowledge to guide people toward growth suited to them. Seriously, you understood absolutely nothing.”
“I didn’t know. Because you never told me.”
With his lips jutting out sulkily, Magiro muttered,
“......The original intentionally never told anyone. Because he hoped this dungeon would never need to be used. He wanted everyone to survive and keep fooling around together at the Magic Tower.”
Oscar closed his eyes.
A dungeon made for some nameless future person, yet he had hoped no one would ever come.
“......What a ridiculous guy.”
“The original just wanted to do everything he possibly could.”
If they could end the war without dying, then that alone would be enough.
And even if they did die, perhaps he still wanted to pass on a spark called hope to the next generation of humanity.
After thinking for a long while, Oscar finally spoke.
“The White Tower has money now. So.......”
“You’re saying you’ll somehow handle teaching people outside, so I should come with you?”
“Yeah.”
“Then let me ask one thing. Can the current Violet Moon construct a dungeon of this scale using illusion magic?”
Compared to that, the current Violet Moon Oscar had met at the Night of Mages...... was still far, far lacking.
“Judging by your face, I guess they can’t. Still, that’s just like you, Tower Master. You really can’t lie.”
His mood sank heavily.
Because he had realized that the friend he had miraculously reunited with after so long would soon have to leave him again.
“Tch, seriously, there’s really no way around this?”
“There isn’t.”
“What if I find another method?”
“Don’t.”
Magiro shook his head.
“I’m not the original. So even if you keep me by your side, I can’t replace him. Just let me do what I’m supposed to do.”
He was right.
This man was no different from Magiro’s final will itself.
Forcing him to stay nearby would only be his own selfish desire.
“If that’s your choice...... then I understand.”
“I’m sorry. If the original had experienced more of the war and spent more time with you, Tower Master, maybe he would’ve made a different decision. But from the point in time when I was created, this decision is the right one.”
Smiling bitterly, Magiro asked,
“How did the original die?”
“......He created an opening against the Great Emperor, and then his heart burst. Even while dying, he smiled at me.”
“That’s a good death then.”
Magiro smiled warmly as he spoke.
“I take back what I said earlier. I’ll accept the Tower Master’s apology. So stop feeling guilty because of me—and because of us. I saw all the people who survived thanks to that decision flooding into this dungeon seeking knowledge. They are the future we protected. The original definitely wouldn’t regret it either. These are the feelings I myself hold right now, so you can believe them.”
He knew these were the words of a thought-form, not the actual person.
But why was it that, only after hearing those words, he finally felt forgiven?
Oscar closed his eyes, lowered his head deeply, and cried for a long time.

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