The Problematic Child of the Magic Tower
Chapter 55: Mage Hunter (5)
Whoosh!
Bern couldn’t tear his eyes away from the flame flickering on his opponent’s palm.
It was no wonder—because that flame was his own.
“...You stole my flame?”
“Bern, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know! Just be quiet for a second!”
Snapping at his companion out of frustration, Bern poured all his mana into reclaiming his flame.
But despite his command, the flame—once obedient—remained utterly still, as if it had turned to stone.
Only after struggling for some time did he finally acknowledge the truth: the flame, stolen by this stranger, no longer recognized him as its master.
In that moment, Bern’s eyes filled with murderous intent.
“You insolent wretch! You dare steal my flame?!”
The opponent, unperturbed by the killing intent of a Level 4 mage, let out a chuckle.
“You probably stole that flame from someone else in the first place. Aren’t we even now?”
“Calm down, Bern. Don’t let such a cheap provocation get to you.”
Jonathan managed to restrain his furious companion and coolly assessed their adversary.
‘It’s clear now. We’ve made a mistake.’
They had underestimated the White Tower’s mages.
There was no talk of their dabbling in wind magic, which explained their complacency.
The White Tower mages rarely engaged with the outside world, except for delivering supplies.
‘But the situation still favors us.’
Jonathan tapped Killian’s cheek lightly, shifting the tension in the air.
“Don’t get any ideas. Remember, your friend is our hostage.”
“Hmph.”
Whoosh!
The flame on Oscar’s palm suddenly dispersed, setting the walls of the underground room ablaze.
The once-dark basement now blazed with daylight.
Oscar spoke, his tone calm and unyielding.
“Kill him.”
“...What?”
“I said, just kill him.”
“You insane bastard! Trying to act tough?”
Bern snarled, pulling a dagger from his coat and pressing it against Killian’s throat.
Drip.
Blood trickled down from a shallow cut, the blade’s edge sharp.
“How about now? Still think I’m joking? Want me to really kill your friend?”
“Go ahead.”
But Oscar’s unyielding stance left both men momentarily flustered.
His eyes showed not a hint of fear.
With a cold gaze, he continued.
“You can’t do it, can you? Unlike me, that guy knows all the intermediate magic of the White Tower.”
“...You idiot. White Tower mages are replaceable.”
“If you really believe that, then kill him. But you won’t find another mage of the White Tower so easily.”
Seeing their hesitation, Oscar smirked.
“You picked the wrong hostage. Even if I were to save him, do you think he’d be grateful? That kind of sentiment doesn’t exist where they come from.”
Oscar knew the forest clans too well.
They valued honor above all, and madness often accompanied their devotion.
He spoke softly.
“Killian, even if you die, rest easy. I’ll make sure to avenge you.”
Killian’s body trembled, not out of fear, but something else.
Jonathan, alarmed, glanced at his face and froze.
‘What the...? He’s...smiling?’
Despite his trembling, the corners of Killian’s lips curled up.
That maniacal smile sent a chill down Jonathan’s spine.
‘He’s not afraid of death?’
Even hardened mercenaries and soldiers struggled to face death with such composure.
Yet this young man stood unmoved.
‘To embrace death so willingly...he’s insane.’
To the forest clans, however, this was natural.
For them, a warrior’s death was the highest honor, granting them entry to their sacred afterlife.
“Damn it, what kind of lunatics are these?!”
“Forget the hostage. Kill him, then torture the Saint.”
With their decision made, they left Killian and advanced toward Oscar.
Watching them approach, Oscar suppressed a triumphant grin.
‘Good. Killian’s safety is ensured for now...’
It was time to throw them into chaos.
『Water』
A simple water spell gushed forth, splashing across the heated basement floor.
Hiss! Sizzle!
Steam rapidly filled the room, turning it into a dense, sauna-like fog.
“Damn it! What a cheap trick! Jonathan, attack! Just fire everything!”
“Already on it!”
Bern and Jonathan unleashed a barrage of spells toward where Oscar had been.
He rolled to the side, analyzing the incoming magic.
‘Lightning, this time.’
The fear of having their flames stolen had led them to employ the Yellow Tower’s 『Lightning』..
Crackle! Zap! Zap!
The barrage continued, lightning bolts striking like machine-gun fire, until suddenly:
“Arghhh!”
A scream of pain echoed through the basement, silencing their assault.
“...Did we get him?”
“Wait a moment.”
Jonathan closed his eyes, his mana scanning the area.
Even in the dense fog, mana signatures couldn’t hide.
Eventually, he pinpointed Oscar’s location and nodded.
“Yeah. He’s lying there.”
“...Let’s confirm the body.”
Swallowing nervously, they approached the spot.
They found a charred, lifeless body—Oscar.
“Is he really dead?”
“The residual mana signature matches. Let’s finish him off, just in case.”
Jonathan fired another lightning strike.
Yet, the body disintegrated into smoke upon impact.
‘A doppelgänger spell from the Purple Tower?! We’ve been duped!’
‘That means he erased his real mana signature? At Level 3?!’
Their skills paled in comparison.
Realizing their peril, they froze.
Slice!
From Jonathan’s right, a chilling sound reached him.
“Bern? Bern?!”
No response came.
Jonathan didn’t look back.
Instead, he bolted toward the staircase.
‘The fog? No problem.’
This basement had seen countless victims.
Even in darkness, Jonathan could navigate it effortlessly.
‘Forget the flames. I need to escape.’
If he could lock the door behind him, Oscar would wither away inside.
Reaching the top of the stairs, Jonathan grasped the door handle.
『Steam Burst.』
BOOM!
A massive explosion sent Jonathan flying down the stairs.
Pain wracked his body; his world spun.
‘Broken ribs...’
Despite the agony, he conjured a final spell.
“Lightning Spear!”
The Yellow Tower’s swiftest spell surged forward—
But silence followed.
Crackle! Crackle-crash!
The magic, fixed in midair, screamed continuously, as if to warn of its own danger.
“How crude.”
From the opposite wall came Oscar’s sharp critique.
Jonathan, suspecting it might again be a doppelgänger, refrained from casting magic and instead glared in that direction.
Step, step.
As soon as he saw Oscar emerge from beyond the steam, raising his mana—
“Die!”
Crackle-crash!
A Lightning Spear tore through the air.
“That’s... quite different from the Lightning Spear I know.”
Dogs that bite don’t bark, and ripe grains bow their heads.
A true Lightning Spear cast by a mage of the Yellow Tower doesn’t scream so loudly.
It silently pierces through, ending a life without fanfare.
“And it’s far too slow.”
『Fusion Magic: Steam Cutter.』
All the steam in the basement converged before him, transforming into razor-sharp blades.
Shhhhhh!
These began to spin rapidly, slicing through the oncoming 『Lightning Spear』 like pudding.
“Impossible! The Lightning Spear is clearly a mid-level spell...!”
“No matter how many spells you steal from renowned towers, you can’t steal their essence.”
As Jonathan confirmed the cold gleam in Oscar’s eyes, he raised both hands in surrender.
“W-wait! I surrender! I surrender!”
Gulping nervously, Jonathan glanced at the corpse of his comrade lying on the basement floor.
Desperate not to meet the same fate, he tried to bargain with Oscar.
“We’ve stolen a wide range of spells—from the Red Tower, Yellow Tower, even the Blood Tower and the Black Tower. I’ll share them all, just spare my life.”
Taking Oscar’s silence as a positive sign, Jonathan hastily continued.
“I-I’ve heard the White Tower lacks a variety of spells. So, if you let me live—”
“Let you take back what you’ve stolen to fill that gap?”
“I’m tight-lipped! I won’t tell anyone. Just spare me, please!”
Oscar slowly surveyed the basement before speaking abruptly.
“Is that what this place is?”
“...What?”
“A kind, merciful place where requests are granted? It doesn’t look that way.”
Jonathan, fully grasping the implication, cursed with a contorted face.
“You son of a—!”
Crunch!
Oscar stomped on his mouth, shattering his front teeth, and growled.
“If you sin and feel no shame, you’re no human. If you lack compassion for the weak, you’re no human. And if you can’t distinguish right from wrong, you’re no human either.”
Snap!
A flame ignited on his flicked finger.
He tossed the ember toward the now truly fearful Jonathan.
“By my standards, you’re not human.”
Fwoooosh!
“Aaaaargh!”
The flames engulfing Jonathan flared far more ferociously than when they had consumed Oscar.
Perhaps the vengeful spirits of the mages from the Red and Yellow Towers, whom these hunters had slain, now fueled the blaze.
The basement filled with agonized screams.
“Aaaaah! Put it out! Put out the fire!”
Jonathan’s already unpleasant voice grew raspier as his vocal cords burned, becoming a hoarse, guttural cry.
Soon, only inhuman shrieks emerged from his mouth.
“Gyaaahhh!”
Oscar looked down at him momentarily but did nothing to alleviate his suffering.
Taking Killian, he ascended the stairs, glancing back only to close the iron door.
Creak, bang!
As the heavy door slammed shut, Jonathan’s screams were silenced.
In a dimly lit office, a communicator buzzed.
The room’s owner lifted it slowly to his ear, where a cautious voice spoke.
[First Finger, I confirm Mark Sweet’s suicide during transport.]
“...And? Do you expect praise?”
The man’s voice was surprisingly soft, almost melodic.
[No, sir. I just thought it was information you should know.]
A brief silence followed.
After some thought, the man spoke.
“What do you believe was the cause of this failure?”
[The scope exceeded our expectations. We didn’t anticipate involvement from the Royal Family and the Violet Brigade.]
“Indeed. Like a shrimp caught between fighting whales. But setting the Violet Brigade aside, do you know who brought in the Royal Family?”
[Yes, Oscar Crucian.]
The man leaned back in his chair, his voice dripping with irony.
“Curious, isn’t it? I distinctly recall ordering you to eliminate him months ago, and you agreed. Yet here he is, interfering in every incident—Cadena Flu, the Heavenly Silkworm, and now this. Must be a ghost.”
[...No excuses, sir.]
“This incident has dragged us into dealings with the two groups we least wanted to entangle with. A complete disaster.”
The Royal Family and the Violet Brigade.
The former was self-explanatory, but the latter was a secretive faction with unclear objectives.
Both were entities they had long avoided contact with.
[...I apologize.]
After a moment, the man sighed lightly and continued.
“The Christmas operation is canceled. They’ve decided to take over.”
[They? You don’t mean—?]
“Yes, the Nightmare Baron himself will handle it.”
[But if our ties to demons are exposed—]
“All necessary precautions have been taken.”
The man’s top priority was always security.
“Consider it a stroke of luck. Your incompetence grants us the chance to witness the Baron’s prowess firsthand.”
[...Understood. I will report accurately on events in Binz.]
The communication ended.
Upon returning to Sirin by carriage, the two made their way straight to the Vice Tower Master’s office to report.
Vice Tower Master Hamel’s reaction was nothing short of explosive.
“My goodness! The two of you have accomplished something incredible!”
The reason for his reaction quickly became clear.
“So far, it’s estimated that 14 mages have fallen victim to them. The magic towers have had enough and have dispatched Level 6 mages to the northern region to hunt these mage killers.”
“Level 6? That’s a serious response.”
It was only natural.
The towers cherished their mages, and any threat to their lives or the security of their spells was intolerable.
Their deaths were inevitable, sooner or later.
Killian nodded solemnly.
“They were despicable, without a shred of a mage’s dignity. Without Oscar, I’d be dead, too.”
“Killian, always be wary of magical tools from strangers.”
“...I’ve learned my lesson. No more repeat mistakes.”
Seeing Killian’s somewhat dejected demeanor, the Vice Tower Master turned to Oscar, his eyes gleaming as if beholding a treasure.
“Congratulations. Thanks to your outstanding performance in Baran, you’ve earned an alias.”
“An alias?”
It was equivalent to a title or nickname in other lands.
Just as Chief Walker was called “Black Blade” and Killian was known as “Saint.”
‘In my previous life, I had dozens of aliases.’
White mage, Master of the Wind, Perfect Mage, Creator of Commoners, and more.
He hadn’t expected to earn one so soon in this life.
Oscar asked with cautious anticipation.
“So, what’s my alias?”
“Noble Mage.”
Hamel’s lips curled into a soft smile.
“People say your spellcasting is elegant and refined.”
“...The Noble Mage of the White Tower?”
The moment he uttered it, his face flushed.
How was he supposed to introduce himself with such an embarrassing title?
He couldn’t help but glance at Killian.
“I was hoping for something more... imposing. Like his ‘Holy Flame of the White Tower.’”
At this, Killian’s sulking expression brightened immediately.
“Don’t be discouraged. The Noble Mage sounds impressive. Not quite as grand as the Holy Flame, but still.”
Just as Oscar lamented, someone knocked on the door.
Vice Tower Master Hamel suddenly seemed to remember something.
“Ah, it’s time for our guest from the Red Tower.”
A guest?
And from the Red Tower?
Oscar’s eyes naturally turned to the door.

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