The Problematic Child of the Magic Tower
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
Chapter 132: Artificial Island, Ivemir (9)
"I hate pain."
"We've done everything we could to avoid this suffering."
"It must not be forgiven."
As voices filled with fear, sorrow, and rage echoed through the space, the water inside the tank churned violently.
Oscar, watching the scene, narrowed his eyes.
'...The attack was successful.'
The enemy's reaction alone was enough to confirm it.
His attack had ignored the solid walls of the tank and struck directly, dealing significant damage.
'But I couldn't finish it in one blow.'
A brief sense of unease crossed his mind.
Perhaps he had touched the dragon’s reverse scale.
'I have a bad feeling about this.'
The only way to suppress his anxiety in battle was through victory.
Right now, while the enemy was still disoriented, he had to unleash as many attacks as possible.
Realizing that "Wave Sound" had affected the opponent, Oscar clenched his fist.
"You want to hurt 'us' again?"
Drip.
The raging water inside the tank suddenly became eerily still.
A cold gaze swept over him like an ominous chill.
"...!"
Then, the entire space began to tremble faintly.
'This is insane.'
Just by drawing in magic, the enemy was shaking the entire room.
Even as someone whose mana reserves could rival a high-ranking mage, Oscar was completely outmatched.
'It's coming.'
Whooosh!
A massive surge of hostility-filled magic engulfed Oscar.
At the same time, unfamiliar memories flooded into his mind, carried by the torrent of power.
* * *
Eternal life is a dream no wealth, power, or even an emperor has ever attained.
For ordinary citizens, it was even more unreachable.
"It’s an incurable disease."
The words from a renowned priest in the great city struck the patient like a death sentence.
He had expected this outcome.
Even the local healers in his village had given up on him, shaking their heads in defeat.
"Priest, then... can you tell me how much time I have left...?"
"Judging by your condition, you won’t survive more than three months. I’m sorry."
The priest's voice was heavy with regret.
As the patient took slow, burdened steps out of the temple, a man in a sharp uniform suddenly blocked his path, greeting him with a bright smile.
"Sir, you wouldn’t happen to be suffering from a serious illness, would you?"
"...How do you know that?"
"Ah, my apologies. Let me introduce myself."
The man handed him an elegantly designed business card with a simple inscription:
[Imperial Life Magic Research Institute, Richard Bohr.]
The patient was stunned, more than anything, by the man's affiliation.
"T-The Imperial Court?"
Why would someone from such a prestigious place approach him?
Fear crept into his heart, and his shoulders tensed.
Sensing his unease, the man spoke again.
"Oh, there’s no need to be afraid. I’m here to make you a generous offer."
"A... generous offer? To me?"
He was nothing but an ordinary villager.
The only skill he had was steering a boat and catching fish.
Noticing the man’s self-conscious expression, Richard smiled.
"Yes. An offer that is extended only to individuals like you—those suffering from incurable diseases."
Richard retrieved a document from his pocket and asked,
"Tell me, do you have any interest in eternal life?"
* * *
Dozens of people in full-body lab suits filled the room.
Not a single strand of their hair was visible, and their masked faces concealed their identities.
Holding clipboards, they conversed intensely, resembling doctors in a hospital.
'As expected from the Imperial Court, the atmosphere is overwhelming.'
The patient recalled the proposal he had received a few days ago.
‘They said they could cure my disease...’
But that wasn’t all.
They had even whispered the possibility of eternal life.
'Of course, there's no way that's actually possible.'
For him, just curing his disease would be a miracle.
Looking around, he saw others with similarly pale complexions, some even in wheelchairs.
They had all likely been gathered here for the same reason.
'...How many people are there?'
At a glance, there were easily over a few dozen.
Though he hadn’t counted, he estimated there were between 200 and 300 people.
At that moment, someone in a protective suit stepped onto the podium.
"You have all been selected to participate in a classified Imperial experiment. Congratulations once again."
Ah, it was the man who had given him the offer.
His name was Richard Bohr, wasn’t it?
The crowd clapped at the word "congratulations," though many were still confused.
"His Majesty the Emperor has given his word. From now on, you will all be granted eternal life."
"Oh... Ohhh...!"
"His Majesty himself?"
The applause grew louder.
Some people even shed tears.
No one had expected the Empire to extend such generosity to them.
Then, a skeptical-looking woman raised her hand and asked,
"Why... cough, cough... why are you doing this for us? Just so you know, I don’t have any money."
"We are not doing this for money."
Richard replied firmly.
"If this experiment succeeds, the Empire will conquer incurable diseases and obtain eternal life. Your names will be recorded in history, and even if the experiment fails, your families will be financially compensated."
"Ooooh!"
"Thank the heavens! Even at my age, I can still help my children..."
Smiles bloomed on the weary faces of the sick.
But just then, the skeptical woman from before interrupted the moment.
“What happens to us if the experiment fails?”
“......”
The patients, who had momentarily forgotten about that part, turned their gazes toward Richard.
He shrugged and said,
“Well, I’m not sure. But all of you who volunteered for this experiment have been diagnosed with incurable diseases and are living on borrowed time. At worst, the experiment won’t cure you... and you’ll meet the fate that was already decided for you.”
There wasn’t a single person who failed to understand that the "decided fate" meant death.
“We’re going to die anyway, so isn’t it better to at least have this chance? I’m in.”
“If we succeed, we gain immortality. If we fail, we die. Let’s do it!”
They had nothing left to lose and nowhere to run.
A hope that they might live.
Like a ray of light in the pitch-black tunnel of death, that hope ignited a fire within them.
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
The inside of the laboratory felt like another world.
Rows of transparent glass tubes stood in perfect alignment, their interiors swirling with indistinguishable biological masses.
In one of them, something resembling a human brain twitched grotesquely.
No sound could be heard.
“Now, everything is ready. Please proceed in an orderly manner to the designated area.”
The patients were guided to a vast, empty chamber.
No, there was one thing inside.
‘...The researchers?’
From behind a glass wall positioned about two stories high, researchers clad in protective suits gazed down at them.
Each held a clipboard and a pen.
Then, a mechanical voice echoed through the room.
[Ah, gas will be dispersed shortly. Please remain calm and take slow, deep breaths.]
“Gas? What kind of gas?”
[......A necessary step for curing your diseases.]
“W-wait! I have claustrophobia! I’m already struggling to breathe—just let me step out for a moment.”
No response came.
Instead—
PSSSSHHHHH!
Green gas began to spew from all four walls, engulfing them.
“Hey! Let us out! Open the door!”
“Ugh, it stings. Wait, what is this...? AAAAH! M-my skin...!”
“This is insane! Open the door! Open it now!”
The patients screamed in agony as their bodies felt like they were being burned alive, pounding desperately on the walls.
Watching them through the glass, Richard murmured under his breath,
“Once the unsuitable subjects are eliminated, extract the souls of those who survive.”
“Yes, sir.”
The researchers nodded without a hint of emotion.
* * *
When the patient regained consciousness, he was submerged in liquid.
Realizing this, he instinctively held his breath—yet oddly enough, it didn’t feel uncomfortable.
‘No, more importantly...’
The sharp, stabbing headaches that had plagued him incessantly were gone.
The pain had completely vanished, as if it had never been there.
Overwhelmed with joy, he shouted,
‘Richard! It worked! I think I’m cured! I don’t feel any pain anymore!’
Bloop, bloop...
But instead of words, only tiny bubbles floated up.
“Hmm?”
Noticing the change, one of the researchers approached the tank.
But as he got closer, something seemed... off.
‘Wait... how can he be that big?’
The researcher, staring down at him, suddenly turned and called out,
“Test Subject 47 is awake!”
“Oh?”
Gathering around him, the researchers hastily scribbled notes in their files.
“Any signs of rejection?”
“None so far.”
“Excellent. Let’s compile the data and report it to His Majesty.”
As the researchers dispersed, the patient finally took a look around.
Rows upon rows of glass tanks stretched endlessly, each containing something grotesque.
‘...Bugs?’
Wrinkled, brain-like masses—like pieces of flesh taken from some deep-sea creature.
Staring at them for a long moment, the patient felt a terror he could not put into words.
He hadn’t seen his own reflection, but he understood.
He was no different from the things in those tanks.
The experiments that followed were horrifying.
“Test Subject 47 has successfully demonstrated control over magic signals.”
“Good. 47, can you hear us?”
He realized they were referring to him but didn’t respond.
Richard, watching him in silence, spoke.
“Pull the lever.”
“Yes, sir.”
The researcher pulled the lever by his tank.
Immediately, his entire body was engulfed in searing pain.
‘AAAAARGH!’
It was as if a bolt of lightning had struck him directly.
And yet, even in unbearable agony, he couldn’t scream.
Every survivor endured the same training, learning to live as "homunculi."
His role was simple—manipulating magic to turn lights on and off.
“We have 53 surviving specimens.”
“More than expected. But one alone wouldn’t be enough to control the entire island. Merge them all into one.”
“Understood.”
Fifty-three souls, fused into one homunculus.
That was the true form of the artificial intelligence controlling the floating island.
* * *
‘...What the hell is this?’
Overwhelmed by the memories flooding into his mind, Oscar was stunned.
But soon, a deep, sickening revulsion welled up inside him.
‘The emperor from 200 years ago was a complete lunatic.’
No matter how terminally ill they had been, turning living humans into test subjects was beyond insane.
He turned to the tank, staring at the entity—a being composed of fifty-three fragmented souls.
“You... saw it, didn’t you?”
Realizing that Oscar had absorbed its memories through his magic, the entity muttered.
“I thought you showed it on purpose... but it seems that wasn’t the case.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. That was our memory. Proof that we survived despite everything you humans did to us.”
Once again, an overwhelming force of magic crushed Oscar’s shoulders.
“Guh...!”
He barely managed to brace himself with his own magic, but the entity scoffed.
“Trying to compete with us in mana reserves? Our mana is nearly infinite.”
“...For now, maybe.”
But that would soon change.
Oscar thought of the three reckless troublemakers who had gone to sabotage the island’s mana generator and sent up a silent prayer.
‘Please... hurry up and do something.’
Ssshhh...
From the ground, a dozen mage-like figures emerged and began advancing toward him.
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]

Comments

Loading...