The Problematic Child of the Magic Tower
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
Chapter 208: Encounter (1)
A deep silence stretched between them.
It was a false peace, one that would surely shatter if someone so much as tapped it.
“Hmm.”
The wolf beastkin scanned them with a look that said he couldn’t understand.
“The humans I met before would charge at me like they were ready to kill... but you lot are calm.”
Receiving no response, he surprisingly let out a faint chuckle.
A soft voice flowed from the mouth of the wolf.
“Well, I prefer it this way. If you're scared, let me assure you—there’s no need to be.”
“I only wish to talk. Not with fakes who worship us like gods, but with real humans like you.”
After a moment of silence, Sasha’s message magic came from behind.
—Master, he seems a lot friendlier than we expected, doesn’t he?
Friendly?
The moment Oscar heard that, he let out an involuntary snort.
At the same time, the wolf’s gaze turned to him.
“If it's such a funny story, I’d love to hear it too.”
“Oh, it’s nothing much.”
Oscar wiped away tears of laughter and calmly spoke to the level-8 powerhouse.
“It’s just funny how a beast keeps trying to act like a person. Don’t you think it’s hilarious too?”
The beast’s eyes stared intently—calm as the sea.
Then he asked,
“Hmph. In a situation like this, that kind of provocation doesn’t seem like the wisest choice.”
“A situation like this? I don’t really get what you mean. Why don’t you spell it out?”
“Well, obviously I came here to talk with you...”
The wolf chuckled despite himself, raising a paw to cover his protruding snout.
“Oh dear. It is a little funny, I’ll admit.”
“Right?”
The two smiled at each other.
Sasha, having no clue what was going on, just rolled her eyes in confusion.
The wolf let out a soft sigh and asked,
“When did you notice?”
“From the start. You looked so giddy just seeing us.”
“Tsk... I must’ve gotten too excited at the thought of smelling blood again after so long.”
There was no longer any attempt to hide the hostility in the beast’s eyes.
The once calm sea now stirred with waves of killing intent.
“Even so, you caught on quickly. Among humans—not livestock—you’re definitely a useful one.”
“Livestock, huh...”
So that’s what he thought of those who worship them like gods.
Oscar didn’t particularly feel like defending them.
After all, demons were always like this.
Even thinking about "coexistence" was proof of how naïve they’d been.
“Hoo, I was planning to toy with you until you sank into despair. But now the thrill’s gone.”
“Pity. I was quite enjoying watching you struggle to act like an intellectual.”
“Is that so?”
Baring his fangs in a wide grin, the wolf spoke.
“Then take that enjoyment with you—on your way to the afterlife.”
In the end, meetings between humans and demons always ended like this.
It had been the same 21 years ago, and nothing had changed since then.
It was a bit of a grim thought, but Oscar was thankful for it.
‘Everything else has changed with time, but these guys are still exactly the same.’
He was grateful that at least some things hadn’t changed.
—Prepare for combat.
Oscar’s message magic rang in the ears of his comrades.
The first to move was none other than Oran Quill.
From behind, a wave of mana swept through the area in an instant.
“World Liberation.”
“......!”
As expected from someone trained in the Grey Zone—he seemed to understand demons better than anyone.
He, who had been waiting silently for the right moment, didn’t hesitate and immediately unleashed the spell.
“Hooh... This is...?”
The beast’s gaze, now laced with interest, scanned the surroundings.
Before he realized it, he was standing on a “stage.”
The four others watched from the audience seats, with moonlight from the night sky acting as the spotlight.
Crack!
Oran’s eyes glowed blue as he gripped threads of mana with both hands.
『World Liberation: Puppet Symphony』
At the same time, a hundred puppets seated on the stage began taking their positions.
Each one humanoid in form, resembling mannequins from a high-end tailor’s shop.
...An orchestra?
One puppet bent its neck into a violin-playing posture.
Another gripped a pair of sticks and sat in front of a drum.
Others held horns, cymbals, oboes, bassoons—each equipped with instruments forming a full symphony.
They waited silently, ready.
“Hoo.”
Oran slowly rose from the audience, exhaling deeply as he moved his hands.
The motion resembled that of a conductor leading an orchestra.
And with it, a clear tone pierced the air.
The music began with the violins—light and lively.
As the first melody bloomed, Oran’s fingers began to dance.
Thousands of threads extended from his ten fingers, intricately connected to each puppet’s joints.
Suddenly, the tempo accelerated.
Several puppets playing violins abruptly stood up and charged at the wolf beastkin.
Their bows slashed through the air like swords, and the wolf observed it all with fascination.
“As expected—faster than anticipated.”
Without much effort, he dodged the attacks and crushed the puppets’ heads with his large hands.
Crunch! Crack!
“Tougher than they look.”
Though a few puppets were lost, the music showed no signs of faltering.
Step. Step.
Puppets seated in the audience descended onto the stage, taking over their fallen comrades’ roles.
“...So the structure is such that I must eliminate all of them.”
The wolf nodded as he looked at the puppets that filled both the stage and the audience.
“This is a fine time to appreciate the music.”
The orchestra’s performance moved toward its grand finale.
The song, having completely lost its initial light-heartedness, had grown as grim and heavy as the number of puppets piled up on the stage.
Yet, one thing it had not lost was its speed.
“Huff, huff.”
To maintain that, Oran was moving both hands frantically, drenched in sweat as though caught in a downpour.
‘Only about half the puppets remain now. I need to make a decision.’
Assessing the situation, Oscar glanced around.
To his left sat Kaya Lockwood, arms folded, as though merely enjoying a regular concert.
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
To his right, Sasha sat quietly, composed.
Meeting her eyes in the air, she asked,
“Shall we step in? That wolf demon must be pretty worn out by now.”
“No.”
The one who answered was Oran.
Standing a row in front of them, he responded while conducting in a dazzling display with both hands.
“Don’t interfere with my stage. Just managing the puppets’ choreography is enough to melt my brain.”
It was unusually blunt for Oran, who usually showed a degree of politeness to Sasha.
That spoke to how intensely focused he was on the puppets on stage.
‘...Logically, he’s right.’
Oscar’s expression as he looked down at the stage wasn’t good.
Hundreds of puppets lay shattered on the stage, forming a small mountain.
Yet their opponent hadn't even lost his breath.
‘The difference is staggering.’
Level 7 and Level 8.
Some might say it’s just a difference of one number.
But for the person experiencing it, it feels like an insurmountable wall—one that might take a lifetime to climb.
Had the opponent not held back, the battle would’ve ended long ago.
No one understood that better than Oran himself.
‘The change in the tempo midway through the performance is probably because of that.’
Oran must have seriously tried to kill that demon at first.
But from a certain point, the tempo of the performance changed.
‘From then on, he completely abandoned any control over tempo.’
It only got faster—never once did it slow down.
That meant he had already accepted and anticipated his defeat.
‘Since then, he’s been buying time—for us.’
To make the enemy use up just a bit more stamina and magic.
To reveal as much of the enemy’s skill and strength as possible.
Knowing this, all three showed somber expressions.
“Grrgh!”
The sweet and grand music was no more.
Every puppet—on stage and in the audience—rushed toward the wolf beastkin.
They swarmed him, one after another, piling on to keep him pinned down.
“...So the music has ended.”
Crash!
Each time the wolf beastkin moved his body, puppets unable to withstand the force were flung off.
In the face of that overwhelming power, the puppets were smashed like mere bugs.
“Is this the last of them?”
Crunch!
The wolf beastkin crushed the last puppet’s head.
As the music that had filled the space vanished, perfect silence descended.
“Or...”
His gaze turned to Oran, who stood in the audience.
“Do you still have more toys to show me, Maestro?”
“...Haa, haa.”
Panting and drenched in sweat, Oran bit down on his lip.
Oscar placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke.
“Don’t push yourself. This is enough.”
“Damn it, that guy’s insanely strong.”
The moment Oran muttered in frustration, the curtain finally fell on the brilliant stage.
As the stage, shrouded in curtains, cleanly vanished, the dreary red forest path reappeared.
The wolf beastkin, hands behind his back, asked,
“So, who’s going to entertain me next? Or will you all come at once this time?”
“There’s no other way but a joint attack. Let’s go together.”
As Kaya rolled her shoulders lightly, Oscar—his face showing newfound resolve—used message magic to communicate with the others.
—We have no chance if we fight him head-on.
Even if Oran Quill was the weakest among the level 7s,
He used World Liberation to fight that wolf beastkin.
‘But the opponent didn’t even lose his breath.’
So even if Kaya and Sasha also unleashed their World Liberation, with Oscar’s help on top, could they really win?
The odds were slim.
At best, an 8% chance.
—So what are you suggesting? Do you have an alternative?
Kaya glanced at him and asked.
Oscar looked at each of the three in turn and moved his lips.
—I swear on this spot: I will return.
—Wait, are you saying you’re leaving now?
Kaya narrowed her eyes and shot him a threatening glare.
Oscar didn’t avert his gaze and answered,
—Yes. There’s no time to explain. And I doubt that beast has much patience either.
He raised his index finger.
—Ten minutes. Just buy me ten minutes.
—What are you even planning to do in that time...?
—Got it.
Unlike the skeptical Kaya, Sasha nodded firmly.
Then she looked at him with steady eyes, unshaken by doubt or fear.
Just like she had done 21 years ago.
—Because that’s the best choice for all of us, right?
A soft breeze brushed against their cheeks.
The wind gathered around Sasha’s petite frame,
And then it howled like a storm.
—The ten minutes Oscar asked for—I’ll buy them, even if it costs me my life.
The calm gaze of Sasha, the White Tower Master, locked onto the beastkin.
—So don’t worry. Go.
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]

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