The Problematic Child of the Magic Tower
Chapter 64: City of Dreamers (4)
“Ah, damn it.”
Oscar groaned.
So that’s why he had this drowsy feeling...
It was another dream.
Despite giving up his room to Veronica to avoid falling asleep, he had dozed off anyway.
Well, he hadn’t had proper rest in a long time.
The last time he got any real sleep was when he passed out in Baran City.
Since then, he’d endured an intense training camp, where sleep was nearly nonexistent.
All he managed was 30 minutes of meditation each day—naturally, the fatigue had built up.
But this place...
Oscar narrowed his eyes as he scanned his surroundings.
What lay before him was a remote mountain village—or, more accurately, the ruins of what had been a village.
Crackling flames roared as a massive fire consumed the entire village.
The acrid stench of smoke, the sickening smell of charred flesh, and the metallic tang of blood filled the air.
Magiro Wilson, the brain of the White Tower, approached, shaking his head grimly.
“This is horrific. Judging by the methods and traces, it’s the demons' work.”
Of course, it had to be.
Even in this twisted world, there were few who would slaughter a village on this scale, save for the demons.
“Any survivors?”
“...None.”
It wasn’t the first time Oscar had seen a village reduced to ruins, but this time it felt worse than usual.
Because just a few weeks ago, they had visited this very village.
The demons’ reconnaissance squad came here while they were staying.
They had swiftly dealt with the demons and saved the villagers.
He still vividly remembered the elderly village chief clasping his wrinkled hands in gratitude, tearfully vowing to honor the White Tower as their saviors forever.
“...Persistent bastards.”
Once demons set their sights on a target, they never gave up.
They would keep trying until they succeeded.
That relentless determination was something Oscar and the White Tower mages learned the hard way that day.
They should’ve evacuated them to a major city no matter what.
He should have ignored them and forced an evacuation even if they had pleaded about this being their lifelong home.
But he hadn’t foreseen this outcome.
The weight of that misjudgment pressed heavily on his chest.
Wearing a somber expression, Oscar turned his head.
Slowly but surely, the corpses scattered around the village began to rise and shuffle toward him.
This, of course, wasn’t something that had actually happened.
...A distorted dream.
Oscar stared impassively at the horde of zombies stumbling his way.
Among them was the village chief, his deeply wrinkled hands still recognizable.
Morning came, and Oscar woke naturally.
The clock read 6 a.m.
He had slept for seven hours, yet he still felt drained.
If anything, he felt even more exhausted.
No wonder—he had spent the entire night in his dream battling magic-resistant zombies.
After a quick wash, he stepped outside.
The brisk morning air filled his lungs.
“Oh.”
Snow must have fallen heavily overnight, as the world under the clear blue sky was blanketed in white.
Oscar took a moment to admire the pristine scene before walking down the snow-covered path.
Crunch, crunch.
Every step left tracks in the snow, giving him a strange mix of guilt and satisfaction.
“Hm?”
Oscar tilted his head when he arrived at the garage.
Bill, who was always there unless it was the crack of dawn, was nowhere to be seen.
...Does he sleep in often?
Waking someone from a deep sleep felt rude, but waiting around felt awkward.
He might as well run to the city for some exercise.
The city at the bottom of the hill was about a 30-minute run away.
He took off at a brisk pace, but it only took a few minutes for him to feel an inexplicable sense of unease.
There was no one around.
Even for the early morning, it was strange not to see a single soul.
Picking up his pace, Oscar reached the city at full speed.
“Is anyone here?!”
His voice echoed through the empty streets, but there was no reply.
He was the only sound in the entire city.
This is definitely...
Something was wrong.
His expression turned grim as he started searching the marketplace frantically.
Every shop was closed, the streets deserted, and even the square with the grand fountain was empty.
“Huff, huff.”
After running around for a while, he finally found people at an inn.
“Hey! Are you okay?!”
The inn’s dining hall was packed with dozens of people, but all of them were slumped over, fast asleep.
One person was even frozen mid-chew, a fork still in hand.
“Excuse me for a moment.”
Placing a hand on a man’s head, Oscar channeled his magic and narrowed his eyes.
...It’s magic.
These people hadn’t fallen asleep naturally.
It was a spell.
A spell so advanced that Oscar couldn’t break it.
Which means someone cast a spell on this entire city of over 5,000 people?
At the very least, this kind of feat could only be pulled off by a high-level mage.
But one question lingered in his mind.
‘Why am I unaffected?’
True, he had been an Archmage in his previous life, but now he was merely a Level 3 novice mage.
If a high-level mage had deliberately cast this spell, he shouldn’t have been able to resist.
‘That means...’
A special kind of magic—something that had a connection to him.
As Oscar's thoughts began to approach a conclusion—
Creak, creak.
The sound of someone walking outside the inn reached his ears.
Naturally, Oscar immediately hid behind the bar, suppressing both his mana and his presence.
"Hmm?"
Jingle, jingle.
Soon, the small bell on the door jingled as someone entered the inn.
"Strange. I could’ve sworn I heard something from this direction."
The voice belonged to a man with a rather light tone.
Creak, creak.
Each step he took caused the old floorboards to groan, echoing in the otherwise quiet space.
‘His stride is steady, and his center of gravity is balanced.’
This meant he was no ordinary person—likely a knight or a veteran mercenary.
"Was it my imagination? Then again, there's no way anyone could be awake right now."
It was clear this person knew something about the current situation.
‘I’ll subdue him first and interrogate him afterward.’
The moment Oscar finished deliberating, his ring glimmered.
“What!?”
At the same time, the man spun around, swinging his sword in a wide arc.
However, the figure struck by the blade dispersed into a faint mist.
“...An illusion!?”
Realizing he had fallen into a trap, a powerful gust of wind erupted from behind, hurling him into a wall.
Crash!
With a loud noise, the man smashed through the wooden wall and tumbled into the snow-covered street, coughing up blood.
“Cough, cough! A mage? How... how are you still standing?”
“I’ll be the one asking questions.”
Emerging through a hole in the wall, Oscar fixed him with a cold stare and asked,
“Answer me. What have you done to the people?”
“Keuk. Want to hear it?”
The man staggered to his feet, letting out a sly chuckle.
Seeing this, Oscar shook his head.
“No, forget it. It’ll be easier to ask once you’re subdued.”
“Hahaha! You must be feeling quite confident after one lucky ambush, huh...?”
With a sinister grin, the man suddenly swung his sword.
“A mage who lets their guard down at this range deserves to die!”
Sword aura?
The blade, laced faintly but unmistakably with magic, surged toward him.
Judging by its pale glow, he’s probably a level 4 user.
Oscar initially prepared to deflect the attack with a Wind Shield, as he always did, but quickly revised his plan.
No matter how faint the aura, he knew better than anyone how devastating sword aura could be.
Normally, evasion would be the right move... but with the artifact his master left him, there’s no need.
Snatch!
Oscar grabbed the incoming blade with his left hand.
“What? How...?”
The man’s eyes widened in disbelief, nearly popping out of their sockets.
He quickly looked at Oscar’s hand.
Barehanded?
Stopping sword aura with his bare hands and emerging unscathed?
That could only mean one thing—his opponent was far more skilled than he was.
Could he be a high-ranking mage?
As alarm bells rang in the man’s head, Oscar murmured,
“The morning breeze is cold. It should be enough to cool your boiling killing intent.”
“...What?”
“Wind’s Wrath.”
Oscar’s soft-spoken words rippled through the air.
The man’s eyes bulged as a blood-curdling scream tore from his throat.
“AAAAAAAHHHH!”
This was the same spell Oscar had once used during Gordon’s interrogation.
A close-range technique that sent wind magic into the target’s body, ripping them apart from the inside.
Without a doubt, it delivered pain no ordinary human could endure.
“KAAAAHHH!”
The man screamed so loudly it seemed his vocal cords might snap.
Moments later, he trembled violently, begging,
“P-please... please, I beg you...”
As the winds receded, Oscar looked down at the panting man and said,
“If you’re ready to talk, nod your head.”
“K-Kuh... kuhk.”
At first, the sound resembled sobbing, but it soon shifted into laughter.
As Oscar’s eyes narrowed, the man lifted his head and laughed like a madman.
“What’s so funny?”
“Ha... stupid bastard. You think I’d talk? Just kill me. Nothing will change anyway.”
He endured that torture?
It wasn’t something anyone could withstand with ordinary mental strength.
In my experience, there are only two kinds of people who survive this.
One was the truly strong, unshaken even with a blade at their throat.
The other was those so far gone their minds had already broken beyond repair.
‘This guy’s definitely the latter.’
Clenching his lips, Oscar grabbed the man by the collar and shook him.
“Answer me! What did you do to the people?”
“Haha, see this?”
The man extended his pinky finger.
As he infused it with mana, the finger turned black.
“I’m one of the Black Fingers.”
“...The Black Fingers?”
Hearing an unfamiliar name, Oscar furrowed his brow.
The man’s eyes widened in mock surprise.
“Kekeke, so you’re really just some clueless bumpkin. Listen carefully. We, the Black Fingers, are...”
Leaning in, he whispered softly,
“...a group devoted to the Great Emperor.”
“...What?”
The moment the word “Great Emperor” escaped his lips, the air grew suffocating with a murderous aura.
Oscar’s eyes turned icy cold as he muttered under his breath.
“Who... did you say you worship?”

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