The Problematic Child of the Magic Tower
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
Chapter 180: Ghosts (3)
Fast.
That was Oscar's assessment upon seeing his opponent’s movement.
‘And it’s not just a matter of speed.’
The spear’s trajectory was sharp as well.
As the spear shot toward him, Oscar stood still, not blinking an eye.
“......Hooh.”
Clang! Crackle!
The only thing stopping the spear’s advance was the shield in front of him, sparking with each impact.
‘As expected.’
Oscar’s gaze deepened.
He hadn't misjudged.
Even though he had only taken a single blow, he could tell through the spear’s tip—his opponent was a seasoned spearman.
‘But a spear-wielding assassin......?’
Spears were not typically favored by assassins.
For assassinations, portability and concealability were key, making smaller, easily hidden weapons far more practical.
“Not bad. You’re quite capable for a mere 4th-level mage—quick on the response, too.”
The only thing separating the two men was a thin barrier.
Close enough to hear each other’s breaths, Dirje smirked.
“And what about your eyes?”
“......What?”
Clang!
Pressing the barrier with the spear shaft, Dirje suddenly retreated slightly.
Then, he began twirling his long spear in a ∞ pattern.
“Phew... haah.”
Whoosh! Whoooosh!
At first, the movements were slow.
Gradually, however, the spear accelerated.
Before long, it moved so fast that it left afterimages, producing a shrill, piercing noise.
Zzzzzzzzzzz!
The abandoned street was filled with a sound akin to a massive swarm of hornets buzzing.
‘This is......’
The moment Oscar’s eyes widened at the sight of the spear’s trajectory—
Compressed wind, hidden within the spear’s path, shot toward him like a dagger.
Swish!
Oscar deftly dodged the two gusts of wind and immediately sent them back at his opponent.
“W-what?”
Caught off guard by how effortlessly Oscar deflected the ambush, Dirje swung his spear in shock.
Bang! Bang!
He detonated the returning gusts mid-air, then glanced at Oscar’s calm face, his eyes narrowing.
“You recognize this technique? Where the hell did you learn it?”
“Hmm? Why don’t you figure it out yourself?”
“Hah, is that so?”
Dirje’s grin widened with amusement.
Sensing the bloodlust in that twisted smile, Oscar frowned.
Then, Dirje slipped his hand into his coat.
“If you’re going to be that cheeky, I guess I’ll have to get serious too.”
From his coat, he pulled out a plain black mask.
Without hesitation, he placed it over his face.
‘......Limiting his own field of vision with a mask?’
It was an utterly incomprehensible move.
‘I don’t know the reason, but it doesn’t matter. That guy’s using Nordic spear techniques.’
The Nordic family was a noble house from the southern continent, renowned for producing elite spearmen.
Oscar had faced warriors from their house on the battlefield before.
‘Rhythmic spear movements and deceptive noises to confuse the opponent, followed by sudden bursts of blade-like wind.’
That was the essence of Echo Spear Assault, a Nordic signature technique.
Incidentally, it was structured in such a way that anyone facing it for the first time was almost guaranteed to suffer a major injury.
After all, who would expect a spearman to suddenly unleash a long-range attack?
‘So, that Dirje guy is from the Nordic family?’
The Nordic techniques were secret arts, passed down only within the family.
No outsider could learn them, no matter how hard they tried.
‘I got lucky, but this gives me the advantage.’
In his previous life, Oscar had sparred against Nordic spearmen multiple times.
In other words, even if his opponent didn’t recognize him, Oscar knew Dirje’s techniques inside and out.
‘And if this guy fights the way Nordic spearmen do......’
Whoosh! Whooosh!
With his mask on, Dirje began twirling his spear again.
Seeing the trajectory, Oscar’s eyes glimmered slightly.
‘As I thought.’
Shadow Drop.
It was one of the Nordic family's most lethal techniques.
A finishing move, intended to swiftly end a battle.
‘Martial arts rarely evolve.’
Like the deep roots of an ancient tree, martial arts techniques remained largely unchanged over time.
While they occasionally underwent minor refinements, their core structure remained stable for generations.
‘But magic is different.’
Magic could change dramatically—even within a single day.
If necessary, a spell could be modified or improved on the spot.
That was part of the beauty of magic as a discipline.
‘Meanwhile, Neil Brion is still observing from the sidelines.’
Oscar shot a glance at where Neil was standing, then drew more mana into himself.
‘At this rate, this Dirje guy might be easier to take down than I expected.’
Knowing the enemy’s techniques but still falling for them would be foolish.
Having prepared his trap, Oscar waited patiently for his opponent to step into it.
“Haah!”
At that moment, Dirje lunged forward, closing the distance in an instant.
Oscar’s eyes glimmered sharply.
‘The target of Shadow Drop is... the ankle!’
The move was named Shadow Drop because severing the opponent’s ankle would cause their shadow to seemingly fall away.
The moment Oscar saw Dirje’s stance dip low, aiming for his ankles, he stomped the ground.
‘Now.’
Thud!
The instant his heel struck the ground, the massive wind blade he had prepared erupted from the stone pavement.
Dirje was already crouched low, fully committed to the ankle strike.
‘It’s over. He can’t possibly dodge this from that position.’
Just as he predicted, the massive wind blade bisected Dirje’s body in one clean stroke.
Now, all that remained was Neil Brion.
At merely 5th-level, dealing with him would be far easier.
...Or so he thought.
“Wow, I wasn’t sure, but it turns out it’s true.”
“......!”
A sudden, sharp jolt of dread gripped his heart as a spearhead came flying toward him.
Swish!
He barely managed to twist his head, avoiding a fatal wound, but a thin line of blood trickled down his cheek where the blade had grazed him.
“You dodged that too?”
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
“.......”
Slowly lifting his head, Oscar gazed forward.
There, still standing, was Dirje.
‘What the hell is this...?’
He was certain he had seen it with his own eyes—Dirje lowering his stance and his body being cleaved in half by Oscar’s wind.
So, what was this?
The same man, in the same position, wearing the same black mask, now glaring back at him.
“Phew, I almost died there. I didn’t expect you to know about Nordic spear techniques.”
“......How are you still alive?”
“Because I never died in the first place.”
Dirje casually lifted his mask, revealing an entirely different face underneath.
“Did you enjoy the illusion I showed you?”
“An illusion?”
“Yeah. The owner of this face was once a mage of the Violet Tower.”
With that, Dirje lowered the mask again.
As Oscar pondered the meaning behind his words, he murmured softly.
“......So it’s not just about changing your face.”
It was clear now—Dirje’s ability allowed him to steal the face and powers of the people he killed.
More precisely, by wearing their face, he could use their abilities.
The reason for keeping the mask on was obvious: to conceal which face and skillset he was currently using.
‘Stealing the faces and powers of the dead...’
Combining those two details, a realization flashed through Oscar’s mind.
“Heh, you look like you’ve realized something. What is it?”
“Just thinking that I might know where you’re from.”
“Not a chance. Stop spouting nonsense and—”
“Bloodveil Clan.”
“......!”
The single utterance made Dirje’s body stiffen.
He immediately snapped his head toward Neil Brion, growling lowly.
“You bastard! What the hell have you been blabbering about?!”
“Calm down! It wasn’t me, I swear!”
“Don’t mess with me! Otherwise, how the hell would that brat know about our clan?!”
“They say if you drench yourself in the blood of the fallen, you gain their abilities and memories, right?”
The Bloodveil Clan’s method of growth was grotesque and brutal.
Instead of training for decades like others, they honed their skills as assassins, hunting the strong and stealing their experience and powers.
It was far more effective—faster and more efficient.
‘But that savage and unnatural method of growth made them a threat to the Empire. Soon after they emerged, they were designated as enemies of the state and swiftly eradicated.’
Oscar knew that a few survivors had fled to their homeland in the Red Mountain Range.
‘But to think that the accursed bloodline of that clan still endures...’
He had only read about the Bloodveil Clan in ancient records—this was his first time seeing one in the flesh.
The words were so cold they could cut flesh.
Dirje was no longer concealing his energy, letting his bloodthirst surge without restraint.
“Answer me. How does a brat like you know about a clan that vanished over a hundred years ago?”
“Well...”
Trailing off, Oscar smirked slyly and shrugged his shoulders.
“Who knows? Why don’t you find out for yourself?”
“......Fine.”
Dirje growled lowly and bit into his thumbnail.
Extending his hand into the air, the blood from his self-inflicted wound pooled together, forming a massive greatsword.
‘Tch, he’s completely lost it.’
Just mentioning the Bloodveil Clan had shattered Dirje’s composure.
Of course, that didn’t mean the battle had suddenly swung in Oscar’s favor.
‘If anything, it means he’ll stop holding back.’
From now on, Dirje would be using his full strength.
‘And on top of that...’
Oscar’s thoughts briefly turned to Neil Brion, who had vanished at some point.
That slippery snake was likely lurking somewhere nearby, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.
‘But I can’t waste my focus on him.’
He needed to prioritize Dirje.
As Oscar drew in his mana, Dirje’s figure suddenly disappeared.
‘He’s faster... That’s our tower’s—?’
Dirje was now enveloped in the White Tower’s acceleration magic, 『Haste』, making him at least three times faster than before.
Somewhere amid the crumbling ruins, Dirje’s voice echoed like a taunt.
—Give it up. You have no chance of winning. Surrender now, and I’ll grant you a quick, painless death.
Not worth responding to.
Oscar took a deep breath and slowly closed his eyes.
The eerie stillness of the abandoned street filled his ears.
—Closing your eyes? Are you actually giving up?
“......”
No response.
The bizarre standoff stretched out for a moment.
—Then let me start by taking an arm.
A voice whispered from behind him, followed by a sharp pain at his left elbow.
In that instant, Oscar’s eyes shot open as he completed his spell.
『Spatial Lock』
Crack!
Dirje’s greatsword, which had just nicked Oscar’s elbow, froze in place, unable to budge.
Oscar had anchored the sword’s spatial coordinates with magic, rendering it completely immobile.
“What the...?”
Slowly, Oscar turned around and met Dirje’s startled gaze, locking eyes with his black mask.
He had deliberately allowed himself to be cut, baiting the opponent.
Now, it was time to strike back.
The surrounding mana surged toward him, condensing into his legs.
‘What I need right now isn’t a flashy spell...’
No, he needed something swift, precise, and utterly inescapable.
“Damn it!”
Dirje instinctively released his sword and leapt back, sensing the impending attack.
But Oscar was already prepared.
Oscar-Style Martial Art, Secret Technique – Chapter 2
Thunderclap.
Rumble.
The ground trembled as mana surged through his legs, producing a sound like an approaching thunderstorm.
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]

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