The Problematic Child of the Magic Tower
Chapter 79: The Special Operations Division (4)
Veronica Fricks took a small, deep breath.
‘That guy stronger than me? Ridiculous.’
She scoffed at the idea.
It had been two years since she reached Level 4.
Back in her academy days, supported by the White Tower, she had already been an intermediate mage in her final year.
‘I hate to say this myself, but I have talent.’
And she wasn’t some lazy, overindulgent fool basking in that talent.
She was confident, proud, and absolutely sure: no mage had worked harder than her in the past two years.
‘I’ve never skipped my morning training, not even once.’
She avoided outings, knowing even a cold might disrupt her training.
She rigorously managed herself, pushing her body to the brink of overwork.
‘I may not have reached Level 5 yet, nor can I claim to surpass Killian, but...’
At the very least, she prided herself on being one of the top two Level 4 mages of the White Tower.
That pride was her fortress, built through endless effort, and the driving force to keep going tomorrow.
‘Watch closely.’
A mage who had only just reached Level 4 three months ago?
Even with talent, there was no way to overcome two years of effort infused with blood, sweat, and tears.
Narrowing her sharp eyes, she opened her mouth.
“Bring it on.”
At her words, Fran glanced back at Oscar.
“Why are you looking at me? Look at Veronica.”
“Uh, are you sure it’s okay to use that?”
“What are you suddenly talking about now? When you fought me, you blasted away like you wanted me dead.”
“Well... that’s because I was sure you wouldn’t die no matter what.”
“Same with Veronica. She might get hurt, sure, but she definitely won’t die.”
Oscar warned him with a stern expression.
“Attack her at full power. If you hold back, you might be the one who ends up hurt.”
“...Sorry, I think I got ahead of myself.”
That single statement snapped Fran back to his senses.
Turning to face forward again, he readied himself.
Although she was prepared to cast magic at any moment with her quick-cast ability, Veronica didn’t attack first.
Her posture conveyed one thing.
‘She’s telling me to reveal my cards first.’
Whatever it was, she was ready to crush it head-on.
It was understandable.
After all, hearing someone weaker claim they were stronger would surely get under anyone’s skin.
“Alright... Here I come.”
With that, Fran untied the cord around his waist.
‘A whip?’
Veronica’s eyebrows twitched at the unexpected weapon.
Mages from the White Tower typically didn’t use such tools.
‘If I recall, whip users are mostly from the speed-focused factions of the Yellow Tower.’
One thing was clear: a whip didn’t seem to complement the White Tower’s wind magic.
‘A whip relies on speed-based attacks.’
If she could block just the first strike, she could unleash a barrage of spells before he could recover the whip.
‘I just need to block it once.’
She heightened her concentration, tracking Fran’s movements down to the subtlest details:
the positioning of his feet, the rise and fall of his chest with each breath, every little clue.
Finally, his body moved.
‘The ankle.’
The first motion wasn’t his arm but his ankle.
It twisted, followed by his calf, thigh, pelvis, and waist in smooth succession.
The force traveled through his body, culminating in his shoulder turning as he struck.
“Dance of Steel.”
Crack!
The sound wasn’t something a simple whip could produce.
It echoed like the sky splitting apart, ringing in her ears like a song of doom.
Instinctively, Veronica deployed a Wind Shield.
‘No, that’s not enough.’
She quickly layered two 『Air Cushions』 between them, used 『Wind Shield』 to slow the whip’s approach,
and finally, formed three layers of 『Wind Shields』 for an impenetrable defense.
A master of quick-cast magic, she conjured six spells in an instant.
Feeling a moment of relief, she froze.
‘What...?’
She saw it.
The slowed whip effortlessly tearing through her three Wind Shields as if they were paper.
“Ugh!”
A burning pain flared along her side as her body was lifted off the ground.
Boom!
She crashed and rolled several times across the training field, landing outside its bounds.
Watching the exchange, Killian unfolded his crossed arms in shock.
‘That attack just now..."
Would he have been able to block it?
The answer was obvious without much thought.
‘Impossible.’
Blocking that brute-force attack head-on was nothing short of suicide.
If he ever faced it, evasion would be his only choice.
“D-damn it.”
Dusting herself off, Veronica stood back up.
If she hadn’t dissipated the final impact, she would’ve been carried off on a stretcher.
“Veronica, are you alr—”
Fran started, but abruptly clamped his mouth shut.
The expression on her face wasn’t one of pain but seething frustration.
Any concern or sympathy would only fan the flames of her indignation.
“The match is settled.”
Oscar spoke with a bright smile.
Watching him, Fran gave him a sharp look.
"Hey! How can you laugh in a situation like this...?"
"Why? Am I not allowed to laugh? Should I instead hang my head and apologize, saying, ‘I didn’t mean for it to happen, I’m sorry’?"
Tilting his head to the side, he glanced at Veronica.
"If that makes you feel better, I can do that. What do you say?"
"...Get lost."
"See? This way works better."
Approaching her, Oscar spoke again.
"This is the kind of standard you were curious about when you asked how to get stronger quickly. Does this answer your question?"
"You... just wait."
Veronica wasn’t responding to Oscar but was glaring at Fran, who stood on the training ground behind him.
"You, once I learn properly from this guy, let’s face off again."
Her fiery determination was almost palpable, a perfect moment for ambition.
Oscar, watching her, smiled warmly.
‘Right now, she’ll be able to handle even intense training.’
With her prideful and competitive nature, there was no doubt in his mind.
"Mam, your room fee is overdue..."
"I’ll pay it all at once when I leave, so buzz off."
In the dim, damp corner room of a dingy inn, a woman, irritated by the musty smell unique to such places, slammed the door shut and cursed.
"Goddamn it."
She scowled at the stack of job requests piled on the desk.
‘How did my life end up like this?’
It was all because of the White Tower.
No, to be precise, it was all because of a brat from that godforsaken place.
‘Oscar Crucian...’
The woman was Moira Maine, a Level 5 mage who had once been a rising star in the potion department of the Blue Tower.
If her collaboration with NewTech had gone as planned, securing an exclusive deal with the archbishop, she could’ve been on a clear path to becoming the department head.
‘If only things had gone that way, no one would’ve dared look down on me.’
But now, even the innkeeper of this cheap lodging dared to look her in the eye and demand money.
Someone who, in the past, wouldn’t have even met her gaze.
"Ugh."
But what choice did she have?
Abandoned by the Blue Tower, she was now relegated to dangerous, life-threatening assignments.
Of course, refusing their orders and running away wasn’t even an option.
She knew better than anyone that you couldn’t live freely on this continent after turning the Four Great Magic Towers against you.
"Damn it..."
Living as a mercenary, or something even less dignified, for the rest of her life was unacceptable.
Yet she had no brilliant plan to escape this situation either.
All she could do now was sit in his dingy room, spewing curses and drinking heavily.
Knock, knock, knock.
The sudden knocking at the door made her snap her head around.
"You bastard! I told you, I’ll pay it all when I leave—!"
But as she yanked the door open, she trailed off mid-sentence.
The person standing in the hallway wasn’t the innkeeper.
It was a man in a suit, hands clasped behind his back, smiling.
A complete stranger.
"...Get lost. You must have the wrong room."
Just as she was about to shut the door, a polite voice slipped through the crack.
"Ms. Maine. Don’t you want revenge?"
Pause.
He knew her name.
And from the mention of revenge, this man clearly knew her circumstances.
Snapping herself out of her drunken haze with a flicker of magic, Moira reopened the door, growling.
"Who the hell are you?"
"How much longer will you rot in this stinking room? You’re not someone who belongs in a place like this."
"I said, who the hell are you?"
"I’m someone here to help you."
Moira stared at the man with his amiable smile and asked,
"Help me? Why?"
"To be honest, because we have a common enemy."
"Hah. And how would you know who I hate?"
"Oscar Crucian. Isn’t that right?"
The man whispered, his voice as sweet as honey.
"I know how you can take revenge on him and regain the trust of the Blue Tower Master."
"...Go on."
Though she remained cautious, Moira asked further.
"Recently, in the region near Sirin, White Tower potions are selling better than those of the Blue Tower."
"Because delivery is faster due to the proximity, I’d assume."
"Exactly. The problem is, the Blue Tower is on the verge of losing the entire northern market."
At that, Moira scoffed.
"So what? You want me to go to Sirin and sabotage their potion department?"
"Of course not. There’s no need to storm into enemy territory recklessly. The White Tower uses the Sirius Merchant Guild’s network for their potion distribution."
"...Safe, then."
"Yes, with the Sirius Guild’s banner, no bandit would dare touch them."
The man continued,
"We’ll switch their potions with poisoned ones during distribution."
"Switch them out?"
"Yes. Once people start dying from the potions they purchased, rumors about the White Tower’s potion quality will naturally spread."
Hearing the plan, Moira chuckled.
"The White Tower or merchants aren’t fools. They’ll investigate right away."
"And who do you think the White Tower would send to investigate?"
Realizing what the man was implying, Moira’s eyes gleamed.
"Oscar Crucian."
"Exactly. The very person who created all those potions will personally come to find the issue."
"Then we kill him?"
"We’ll handle the cleanup. All we need is a skilled individual to get the job done."
Someone capable of definitively killing Oscar Crucian.
Moira, tempted by the proposal, asked one more thing.
"Sounds enticing enough, but I can’t team up with someone whose affiliations are unclear."
"...Hmm, if that’s your concern."
After a brief pause, the man retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it over.
As Moira instinctively took it, she froze, recognizing the strong scent of the perfume it carried.
"NewTech?"
"The vice president values you as an excellent colleague and wishes for your reinstatement."
Everything clicked for Moira.
Since her dismissal, relations between NewTech and the Blue Tower had soured.
‘They want me back to restore their partnership with the Blue Tower?’
A mutually beneficial arrangement.
As that thought crossed her mind, a sinister smile spread across Moira’s face.
"Come back when you have the exact time and location."

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