The Problematic Child of the Magic Tower
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
Chapter 322: Special Prescription (4)
“......”
Oscar prided himself on having seen all kinds of people in his life.
But eyes filled with desire to that extent—this was the first time.
Eyes that hid not a shred of emotion.
A mirror reflecting the purest form of desire.
And precisely because of that, they almost looked... innocent.
“So by ‘diagnosis,’ you mean you want to examine my body?”
“Exactly. Growth at a speed without precedent. Perhaps within your body lies something that all seekers of truth have pursued for centuries.”
Whether it was desire or rapture, the gaze fixed on him was equally burdensome.
Ignoring it as best he could, Oscar fell into thought.
‘The Designer isn’t wrong.’
All signs pointed to Chester tracking the leader of the Violet Brigade.
Which meant Oscar had two choices.
‘One: wait until Chester makes contact again.’
The safest option.
The problem was—if Chester was already in a situation where he couldn’t make contact, the longer Oscar waited, the worse things would become.
‘Which means... I’d eventually have to search for him myself.’
Oscar’s eyes shifted to the Designer.
Right now, standing before him, was a man openly offering to sell out the leader’s location.
‘I don’t trust this guy.’
But there was no particular reason to reject the offer either.
If their interests aligned, there was no reason not to cooperate.
That said—the initiative had to stay on Oscar’s side.
“I have a condition.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“You get sixty minutes to examine my body. And only after all of this is over.”
“Hmm......”
The Designer frowned, clearly dissatisfied.
“That’s far too short. And I’d prefer to examine you immediately.”
“No. I don’t trust you.”
“I keep my word once it’s spoken.”
“So do I.”
“.......”
After a moment of serious consideration, Oscar offered a carrot.
“I’ll accept your input. I’ll extend it to one hundred twenty minutes.”
“Two hours......”
Still not ideal—but with focus, it was enough to get a proper look.
Folding his arms, the Designer studied him.
“You’re bolder than you look. What if I force a diagnosis right now?”
“You’d regret that choice for the rest of your life.”
He didn’t need to explain why, how, or how deeply.
The Designer’s imagination would take care of crafting the worst possible version.
“......Hah. Fine.”
In the end, it was the Designer who raised the white flag.
Shaking his head lightly, he spoke.
“You’ve got a knack for negotiation. You’d make a fine merchant—or politician.”
“The leader’s location?”
“Woah, woah. You’re in a hurry.”
Smiling, the Designer shrugged.
“Even for me, pinpointing the leader’s location takes time. Let’s meet two days from now—midnight, at the western wall of Rouen. We’ll move then.”
“You’re coming with me?”
“Of course. Just as you don’t fully trust me, I don’t trust you either. I’d hate to be used and discarded.”
A perfectly reasonable argument.
Oscar had no grounds to refuse.
“Fine. Two days from now. Don’t joke around.”
“Don’t worry. If this goes well, I’ll finally get to see something I’ve desired for nearly a year. I have no reason to sabotage it.”
At least he was honest about his greed.
As Oscar turned to leave the operating room, curiosity struck him and he looked back.
“You’re betraying your comrades. No guilt?”
“Hm? Betrayal?”
The Designer tilted his head, genuinely puzzled.
“When did I ever say I’d betray anyone?”
“......What?”
“I’m only giving you the leader’s location. Even if the two of you fight, I won’t help you.”
Oscar hadn’t expected help to begin with.
Still, leaking the location of the leader of a secret organization like the Violet Brigade was undeniably betrayal.
“And if I explain my reasons, even the leader will understand. He might even praise me for it.”
“.......”
Right.
Judging criminals by normal standards was the mistake.
Shaking his head, Oscar left the operating room.
Thirty minutes after Oscar left the pub—
A man with his hat pulled low stormed inside.
Heading straight for the operating room, he was stopped by the guards and growled.
“Move.”
“......”
“.......”
The two guards, having received no instructions, hesitated and glanced at each other.
Black spikes erupted from the floor, pointing at their chins.
“I won’t say it three times. Move, unless you want air holes in your heads.”
Seeing the icy gaze beneath the brim, the guards recoiled and cleared the way.
BANG!
The man burst into the operating room.
Without looking up from the medical chart, the Designer spoke calmly.
“It’s not time for your monthly visit yet.”
“Someone died.”
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
“Oh, that’s all? People die every day. Somewhere on the continent, someone is dying right now.”
“Designer!”
SLAM!
The man smashed the desk with both hands, the room shaking as if struck by an earthquake.
Only then did the Designer lift his gaze.
“You seem quite upset. You’ve even thrown away your usual mask.”
“This is troublesome. A criminal like you walking freely in the capital, running a ridiculous clinic—who do you think made that possible?”
“I’m quite grateful for that, actually.”
The Designer clasped his hands atop the desk, straightened his posture, and smiled.
“But this isn’t a one-sided favor, is it? Give and take. A proper transaction.”
“Good. Then you remember the terms?”
“Of course. I design perfect mana circuits for the people you send me.”
“That’s right. And two of the people you installed those ‘perfect’ circuits in are already dead.”
“Hmm.”
The Designer frowned, seemingly sincere.
“That’s unfortunate. But it’s not my fault.”
“They died from mana overload after your surgery—and you say it’s not your fault?”
“Heh.”
Chuckling, the Designer lifted his chin.
“I designed the most suitable, absolutely perfect mana circuits for their bodies. If they couldn’t handle them, then their own lack of talent is to blame.”
“Do you not understand the word ‘moderation’? Strong—but not lethal! Do I really need to spell it out?”
“Moderation......”
He rolled the word around in his mind, then tilted his head.
“But then it wouldn’t be perfect, would it?”
“You—!”
“I only care about perfect circuits. I don’t adjust my work to people. People must adjust to my work.”
“.......”
The man—Sever—had passed the boiling point.
Ironically, his rage cooled.
Looking around the empty operating room, he said quietly,
“Do you know why you’re called a Designer instead of a Doctor?”
“No idea.”
“Because you can’t save people.”
Like a dagger, the words pierced.
“A real doctor starts with saving lives. You start by fixing flaws that offend your eyes. Lives mean nothing to you.”
“.......”
“Do you know who died this time?”
“Do I need to?”
“You should. The second son of Duke Leodard, and the daughter of Viscount Berkshire. Are you prepared to face the wrath of two great noble houses?”
“Pfft.”
The Designer laughed, shaking his head.
“Pursuing truth always requires a few sacrifices. I thought you understood that.”
“They are not ‘a few’!”
“Knight of the Noble Faction, Sever Harven. Listen carefully.”
Meeting Sever’s eyes, he continued.
“The world only remembers what is complete. No matter how brilliant, unfinished works are forgotten with time.”
“People call that illusion. You’re chasing an illusion.”
“I admit it. But isn’t everyone? Wealth? Power? Aren’t those illusions too?”
“.......”
“People chase fleeting things and die incomplete. Their existence only makes completed works shine brighter.”
Sever stared at the mad mage with revulsion.
A lunatic willing to discard lives in pursuit of a “perfect mana circuit.”
Had he known it was this bad, he would never have worked with him.
“I don’t care about your goals. We’re done. Do whatever you want.”
“That won’t do.”
The Designer smiled faintly.
“I still have many works to create—and observe. Which means these surgeries will continue.”
“You expect permission after results like this?”
“Oh. You misunderstand. I’m not asking.”
He tapped the meticulously recorded medical charts.
“If you cut ties with me, I’ll hand over everything—to the Imperial Faction. The deals, and the list of everyone who received my procedures.”
“...You damn criminal.”
“You reached out to this criminal first.”
Avoiding Sever’s murderous glare, the Designer continued calmly.
“Don’t be too upset. It’s not a complete loss for you. I’m the only one in the Violet Brigade you can actually reason with.”
“.......”
Unfortunately, that was true.
No one else would trade internal information so readily for their own desires.
“Damn it. I should’ve opposed working with you more strongly from the start.”
“What’s done is done. But it’s fine.”
The Designer beamed.
“Everyone has a first time, after all.”
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]

Comments

Loading...