The Problematic Child of the Magic Tower
Chapter 21: The Ugly Duckling (4)
Fran stepped onto the sparring ground and greeted his opponent with a slight nod.
"It's been a while, Sir Lazli."
"It has indeed, Young Master,"
Lazli replied, offering a faint smile and a gaze as warm as the sun.
Though Fran was the lord’s younger brother, they had once been childhood companions, spending countless days playing together.
"I won't be holding back."
"...Understood."
With that, their greetings came to an end.
They were no longer comrades, but adversaries facing each other on the sparring ground.
‘The Lazli I know is...’
Fran’s mind raced as he analyzed his opponent.
A man so bound by principles that his presence could suffocate those around him.
His devotion to fulfilling his master’s orders, even at the cost of his own life, made him a model knight.
Fran swallowed hard, tension evident on his face.
‘In most duels, the superior usually gives the weaker party three free attacks as a courtesy... But expecting that from such a rigid rule-follower is a stretch.’
Fran quickly estimated the distance between them.
‘Five meters.’
First priority: widen the gap.
"Begin."
The word barely left Gram's lips when Fran shot backward with a gust of wind.
Thud!
Just before stepping out of bounds, Fran landed on the edge of the sparring ground, his eyes locked on Lazli.
‘I’ve extended the distance to twenty meters. Perfect.’
Naturally, the closer the distance, the greater his disadvantage.
As a newly advanced Level 4 mage, there was no way he could match a Level 5 knight in close combat.
The best course of action was to decide the match before Lazli could close the gap.
"Here I come."
Lazli murmured softly, lowering his sword.
Mana began to rise around him, and the very atmosphere shifted.
His aura transformed into that of a predator, ready to tear its prey apart.
"....."
For a moment, the air above the sparring ground seemed heavier, like the weight of a storm cloud pressing down.
The pressure of a Level 5 enhancement-type knight was palpable.
Fran's body began to tremble as if it had a will of its own.
‘Was Sir Lazli always this imposing?’
No, it was just his overwhelming presence.
In truth, Fran was slightly taller.
‘Damn it, my body won’t move.’
He had told himself countless times not to be afraid.
But standing there now, he felt paralyzed, like a mouse frozen before a snake.
His mind was overwhelmed by a singular thought: fear.
‘Damn it.’
The instinct to flee surged within him.
After all, he had always been a coward, always running away.
"......."
And it wouldn’t be hard to run now.
Just one misstep, a single feigned mistake, and he could retreat, escaping this fear and pressure in an instant.
‘But.’
That wouldn’t change anything.
Fran knew better than anyone that running only led to relentless regret.
"......Tch."
He let out a bitter chuckle.
The fiery pain in his back, from the blow he’d received before stepping into the sparring ground, still lingered.
‘How hard did he hit me?’
Yet, oddly enough, it snapped him back to his senses.
‘Let’s do this.’
Even if he lost or failed spectacularly, he resolved not to run anymore.
Determination flashed in Fran’s eyes as he bit down on his lip.
The taste of blood filled his mouth, sharp and grounding.
He felt control returning to his body.
"Wind Blade."
Slash!
Two sharp blades of wind hurtled toward Lazli.
".....!"
Clang! Clang!
Lazli instinctively deflected them, his eyes narrowing slightly.
‘...Dual casting? More than that, he dispersed my aura?’
A faint smile crossed Lazli’s lips.
‘You’ve certainly grown, Young Master.’
He was proud, impressed even.
But he had no intention of going easy.
A knight’s duty to his master was absolute.
"Hup!"
Clang! Clang!
Lazli began moving swiftly, deflecting the twin wind blades as they came at him from impossible angles.
‘This feels like facing the sword-controlling techniques of the masters from the Eastern Lands.’
Of course, these wind blades were far from the real thing—slower, cruder, less precise.
But for a Level 4 mage to replicate even a semblance of that technique was extraordinary.
‘Still, enough observing.’
Clang!
With a deft maneuver, Lazli evaded both blades and charged toward Fran.
The wind blades pursued but couldn’t match his speed.
Recognizing this, Fran dispersed the wind blades and quickly wove a new spell.
『Gust Hand.』
A massive hand of wind rose from the ground, crashing down toward Lazli to pin him.
The spell had enough force to crush an ordinary person.
Fwoosh!
But Lazli tore through it with ease, accelerating once more.
‘Of course, powerful but clumsy spells won’t work against him.’
Fran rapidly adapted his strategy.
『Wild Leaf.』
A hundred razor-sharp wind-blown leaves filled the air. Each one gleamed with deadly precision.
Lazli analyzed the setup as he charged.
‘Trying to halt my advance, are you?’
Lazli gripped his sword tightly, fixing the leaves' positions in his mind.
‘It won’t be enough, Young Master.’
Whoosh!
Without hesitation, Lazli plunged into the storm of deadly leaves.
With every swing of his sword, sparks of light scattered, shredding the leaves as he advanced.
"Ugh!"
Fran grimaced as Lazli closed in.
The distance between them had shrunk to just seven meters.
With Lazli’s speed, Fran had time to cast only one more spell.
"Incorrect."
As if reading his thoughts, Lazli’s cold, piercing gaze locked onto Fran.
"The duel is over."
He wouldn’t give Fran another chance.
Lazli, now fully enhancing his body with magic, surged forward with even greater speed.
"......."
Fran’s eyes widened in shock.
Whoosh!
In the blink of an eye, Lazli closed the gap and reached out toward the pendant around Fran’s neck.
Hwaaak!
–From now on, listen carefully to what I’m about to say.
Oscar's whisper right before the match echoes through my mind.
–Though I’ve implanted the Spirit of the Wind in you to aid your magic control, you’re still not at the point where you can freely turn your body into wind. You haven’t fully overcome your trauma yet.
.........Does that mean I can only lose?
–Of course not. From what I’ve observed, Wind Sovereign is an absolutely broken magic. The ability to transform parts of your body into wind is incredible. Physical attacks won’t work on you, and unless your opponent can use magic or sword energy, they won’t even be able to touch you.
But what intrigued Oscar the most about Wind Sovereign was something entirely different.
–Integration. That’s where its true absurdity lies. No matter what clothes you wear, no matter what you hold, as long as it’s in contact with your body, you can turn it into wind as well. That’s the real cheat.
In any match, both sides keep their trump cards hidden until the end.
The opponent will likely reveal something at the last moment, perhaps dramatically increasing their speed.
That will be the turning point.
The moment the opponent lets their guard down, caught in the trap of thinking they’ve won.
–Your necklace will turn into wind and disappear.
Whoosh!
When Lazli’s hand grabbed at the necklace—
“...!”
What his hand grasped was nothing but a soft breeze.
Instead, the necklace around his neck was ripped away.
It goes without saying that the one holding it was Fran’s pale hand.
* * *
Right before the match began, the eyes of Gran Sirius, seated in the spectators' stand, were complicated.
‘...So, he’s become a Level 4 Mage after all. What on earth did that Oscar guy do in just one night?’
Gran glanced sideways at him and asked.
“You didn’t use some forbidden magic to force his growth, did you?”
“If you’re referring to Fran, rest assured. The method was entirely safe and sound.”
“...Safe, huh.”
Gran smirked cynically and turned his attention back to the imminent match.
He watched every spell Fran cast with meticulous focus.
‘Not bad.’
He’s grown a lot.
The kid who used to cry and sniffle while showing off the basics of magic had matured.
Now he wielded a dazzling array of spells, fighting evenly against a knight like Lazli.
‘But that’s all there is.’
Fran, his younger brother, was fundamentally unsuited to the life of a mage.
It wasn’t a matter of talent but of temperament.
‘Your weakness, your overflowing compassion—those traits will consume you one day.’
That might work for a theoretical mage, but not for a battle mage.
Gran couldn’t allow it.
His brother wasn’t cut out for the battlefield.
‘All you’ll find there are scars and regret. Or worse... you might not even survive to regret anything.’
Seeing such a bleak future for Fran, how could he not pull him back?
‘It’d be better for you to run a business.’
A curator of a grand gallery, perhaps—that would maintain the family’s dignity.
After all, Fran had the best eye for fine art in the family.
He wouldn’t get hurt or cause the family undue worry in such a career.
‘And he wouldn’t end up consumed by his magic again.’
As these fleeting thoughts passed, the match neared its conclusion.
The distance between the two contestants: a mere 12 meters.
Knowing how fast Lazli could move, Gran was certain.
‘It’s over.’
His knight wouldn’t give Fran the chance to finish his final spell.
He would carry out Gran’s orders to crush him thoroughly.
And that prediction came true.
“The duel is over.”
At the last moment, Lazli revealed his hidden speed, closing in on Fran before he could react.
And yet—
Whoosh!
When Lazli attempted to snatch Fran’s necklace—
“...!”
Fran had turned his necklace into wind and, in a twist, ripped off Lazli’s necklace instead.
“Well, it seems we have a winner,”
Remarked the Deputy Tower Master, breaking the silence.
He turned to Gran, who had risen from his seat, and asked,
“Do you accept the outcome?”
“....”
Gran didn’t respond immediately, his eyes flickering with disbelief.
‘That magic...’
Fran’s peculiar spell, the one that could transform parts of his body into wind, must have been a profound source of trauma.
‘I was told he’d never use it again.’
That’s what the renowned mage healer, Vesalius Silva, had said.
For 99% of mages who faced annihilation, the fear remained insurmountable.
‘Which means...’
Oscar Crucian.
He must have played a pivotal role in helping Fran confront and overcome that fear.
After a brief pause, Gran nodded slowly.
“...I acknowledge the loss.”
Conceding gracefully, he turned to Oscar.
“Should I congratulate you? Looks like you’ll have to put up with that foolish kid for another two years.”
“Don’t feel too bad. I’ll take good care of Fran.”
“...Not like I’ll miss him. I’ve got a packed schedule ahead, so I’ll be taking my leave.”
As he walked out of the arena, he passed by Fran, who hesitated for a moment.
He paused briefly and muttered:
“You’ve grown a little.”
“...What?”
“If you didn’t hear, forget it.”
Fran stared after his brother’s retreating figure for a long time.
From afar, Oscar chuckled to himself.
“What a funny guy. Pretending not to have heard him.”
If Fran really hadn’t heard, his eyes wouldn’t be curved into those crescent shapes, brimming with joy.
* * *
Gran Sirius stepped into the back seat of a luxurious black sedan as the chauffeur opened the door.
A middle-aged man already seated there, reading a newspaper, spoke without lifting his gaze.
“You’re alone?”
“It turned out that way.”
Still dazed by the result, Gran let out a hollow laugh.
“You must be disappointed. You carved out time in your busy schedule just to see the youngest.”
“Hmph.”
Adam Sirius, head of the Sirius Trading Company and patriarch of the Sirius family, cleared his throat.
“...I just dropped by since I had some spare time. Don’t read too much into it. Let’s go.”
With a low hum, the car glided smoothly along the road.
After a moment of watching the scenery pass by, Gran spoke.
“You remember, don’t you? When some noble from the capital called Fran an ugly duckling?”
The thoughtless noble had made a joke about Fran’s perceived inferiority to his siblings.
Their father had been furious, cutting off all supplies to the noble’s estate until the man begged for forgiveness.
Fran never found out.
[TL/N: Kinda glad they avoided the sad broken merchant family trope.]
“Why bring that up now?”
“I’m starting to think maybe Fran isn’t a duckling, but a gosling.”
“...A goose? Not a swan?”
“Yes. A goose.”
Gran chuckled as he gazed at the drifting clouds.
“Who knows, maybe in two years, he’ll turn into a goose that lays golden eggs.”
With Oscar Crucian by his side, Gran couldn’t shake the feeling that everything the man predicted would come true.
‘Two years to become a top-tier mage. Five years to restore the White Tower’s former glory.’
A dry smile crossed his lips as Gran decided he’d invest in the White Tower.
‘...Unlikely as it may be, it doesn’t hurt to make connections early.’
Recognizing untapped potential and investing in it was an essential skill for any merchant.

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