The Problematic Child of the Magic Tower
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
Chapter 281: Happy End (6)
The mages who returned to the House of Heavenly Sword were led to the conference room.
“Ah, you’re back?”
Chenko Verstappen, the Sword Lord, gave them a light nod.
“Thanks for coming late at night, everyone.”
“...Not at all.”
“First, thank you for bringing the bodies of the knights.”
“It was something that had to be done.”
A total of twenty-three people died in this operation.
Ironically, not a single one of them was a mage—only the knights who had gone into the building lost their lives.
Knowing that, the mages tried not to offend the Sword Lord’s mood.
“I noticed earlier that people who inhaled the smoke showed strange symptoms. What’s the situation with that?”
“Luckily it rained, so the damage wasn’t too severe. Still, about four hundred people were affected.”
It was a somewhat harsh way to put it, but for a biochemical terror attack spread across the city, the casualties were comparatively small.
“Speaking of which... you’re called Oscar Crucian, right? I have something to ask.”
“Please.”
“I heard a rumor that you treated patients with those symptoms at Saint Hill. Is that true?”
When Oscar remembered Saint Hill, his face darkened for a moment.
He had done his best to treat the patients there, but in the end he hadn’t been able to save a single one.
“If the drug composition wasn’t drastically different from before, then it's possible.”
“In that case, could you manufacture medicine for the citizens of Sicadel? I’ll pay generously. I’ll get whatever ingredients you need.”
“That wouldn’t be difficult... but—are you sure?”
The royal court doesn’t like infected people being treated and released back into society.
After all, Saint Hill had sent a fixer named Sever Harben to eliminate all the patients.
“I understand your concern. But don’t worry about that here. This is Sicadel.”
That confident assurance made Oscar nod without realizing it.
‘Right, this isn’t Saint Hill.’
This place was both the city of the Heavenly Sword household and the seat of the Heavenly Sword himself.
No matter how powerful a court noble might be, they’d think twice about messing with it.
“Besides, we can’t leave Sicadel’s citizens to die because of a few cowardly rats.”
True to the Sword Lord’s character, he was bold and blunt.
“If you need anything, let me know.”
“Understood. For now I’ll need noctecha leaves, purple coral, and—”
“Hmm. Fortunately, those are not hard to find. Have them gathered by morning.”
“Then I’ll start work at dawn.”
When the meeting was dismissed, the mages streamed out of the conference room.
The House of Heavenly Sword had offered rooms to everyone, but some mages prepared to leave immediately.
Watching them leave without even saying goodbye, Killian asked,
“Oscar, what should we do?”
“Why? You want to go back first?”
“I thought it might interfere with work. I intended to train.”
“If that’s the goal, you’ll do better here.”
Opportunities for a level-5 mage and a knight to spar didn’t come often.
Generally the Tower and the Sword House didn’t get along, so exchanges were rare.
“You’ll learn far more sparring with the knights here than training back at the Tower. You can’t buy that experience with money.”
That was an attractive offer even for the knights.
They also didn’t often get to test themselves against mages.
Killian’s eyes widened at the suggestion.
“Oh... what an idea worthy of a genius!”
“But won’t it be awkward? With the casualties, the mansion’s atmosphere might be bad. People might call it tasteless and harm the Tower’s image.”
“Don’t worry about that. If anything, everyone will train harder—some will fight as if it were life or death because of the dead comrades.”
Knights were certainly tougher about that than mages.
It wasn’t the first time Oscar had seen them train with the fire of wanting to be stronger for fallen comrades.
“If you say that much, then fine. That’s right.”
“I do need experience against knights—fighting only mages all the time isn’t enough.”
In the end, the three of them decided to stay while Oscar made the medicine.
At dawn, an apprentice knight sent by the Sword Lord came to their room.
“How’s this amount of ingredients? Is this enough?”
“...We don’t actually need that much.”
“Don’t be shy; use plenty. I expect good results.”
Making the cure itself wasn’t particularly difficult; the recipe was already in Oscar’s head.
After half a day of work, he completed the medicine and took a sample to the Sword Lord.
“You’ve already made it? So soon?”
“Yes. This combination worked at Saint Hill.”
“Then there’s no need to delay. Go to the patients.”
After the medicine was administered, the patients’ conditions improved rapidly.
The Sword Lord watched and clicked his tongue.
“I’ve lived a life far from magic and alchemy, but even I can see that you’re remarkable.”
“It seems the composition isn’t very different from Saint Hill’s.”
Indeed, since it had worked there before, there was no real need to change anything.
Once they discovered that the medicine worked, it became a matter of manual labor—making it all day long.
“Ugh.”
By nightfall, after making more than five hundred bottles, Oscar finally left his room.
The Sword Lord had said to take his time, but lives were at stake—how could he?
By morning he’d probably have treated all the patients.
“Hm?”
Rubbing his stiff shoulders as he headed back to his room, Oscar stopped and looked out the window.
Despite the late hour, someone was practicing sword swings energetically on the open training ground.
‘Isn’t that the grandson of the Heavenly Sword?’
He always had that hollow look in his eyes.
Oscar had been curious, with access to elixirs like water, why did he look so gaunt?
Pondering for a moment, Oscar went out to the training grounds.
Whoosh! Ssssh!
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
The eastern dawn was still cold, but steam rose from the young man’s body as he swung his sword shirtless.
The movements were clean and precise—befitting the grandson of the Heavenly Sword.
“...”
Had he noticed the staring?
He glanced over, startled.
“Ah, I’m sorry if I startled you.”
Oscar awkwardly apologized and scratched the back of his head as he approached.
“I’m Oscar Crucian, a level-6 mage of the White Tower.”
“Oh, the White Tower’s alchemist... wait. Level six?”
The young man showed an incredulous expression.
He couldn’t sense any mana.
If he were an enemy, he’d have been beheaded without a word.
Even now, it was hard for him to read Oscar’s mana.
The young man, relieved, pulled on his shirt and said,
“Nice to meet you. I’m Cheon Ajin, the junior Sword Lord of the Heavenly Sword household.”
The junior Sword Lord of the Heavenly Sword—he’d won the White Night Festival’s duel championship.
Oscar was seeing him up close for the first time and noticed how very young he looked.
He couldn’t help asking.
“Pardon me for asking so suddenly—how old are you?”
“I turned twenty this year.”
At twenty and already just inside level seven—amazing.
A prodigy on an absurd level.
Comparatively, for a knight, he was probably as talented as Oscar’s best students.
“You’re already level seven? Impressive.”
“Oscar, you don’t seem that far behind me.”
“No, until last year I was only level one.”
“...haha.”
Cheon Ajin gave an awkward laugh, the kind of forced smile someone gives to be polite at a friend’s dull joke.
That made his hollow eyes and dark circles look even worse; his cheeks were gaunt.
Noticing that look, Cheon Ajin smiled bitterly.
“Does it look bad?”
“I’m sorry if that sounded rude. I guess I get drawn to it because my work is making potions.”
“I understand.”
He hesitated a moment, then spoke up.
“It’s a kind of curse.”
“A curse?”
If you were the grandson of the Heavenly Sword, you could easily arrange curses—people would be eager to help since you owed a favor to someone known as the strongest in humanity.
‘Come to think of it, I saw him at the temple. He’d been treated there, but there was no improvement.’
Oscar, who himself bore a curse, was curious.
“What kind of curse is it?”
“Every day my muscles and mana gradually disappear. I have to swing the sword while sleeping less than an hour to barely keep my muscles, and my mana disperses even if I inhale it like water.”
“What? That’s... impossible.”
Of course, muscles are essential to a knight.
You need basic strength to swing a sword faster and harder.
And mana is no less important.
“How did you end up cursed like that?”
“That is—”
“Hey, what are you doing?”
At that moment, both of their heads turned in the same direction.
The voice had come from the Heavenly Sword himself, who had approached without a sound.
He stared at his grandson with a stern look and said,
“You shouldn’t be idly chatting when you should be training.”
“S-sorry.”
Cheon Ajin, visibly frightened, resumed swinging his sword.
Oscar, watching this with a pang of pity, turned his head.
“Is there no way to treat it?”
“...”
He was outright ignored.
The Heavenly Sword stood with his hands behind his back and glared at his grandson for a long time.
‘Why stare at your grandson like you want to kill him...?’
But after watching a moment, Oscar noticed the Heavenly Sword’s gaze was fixed on something.
Realizing this, Oscar looked where he was staring.
‘The heart?’
The Heavenly Sword was staring at Cheon Ajin’s heart as if it were the source of his anger. When Oscar examined it, he was surprised.
“Oh.”
Around the area inside Cheon Ajin’s heart, Oscar sensed an alien presence.
Each time the heart beat, that presence absorbed a bit of Cheon Ajin’s life force and mana.
“So that bug was the real cause of the curse.”
“...”
Hearing that murmur, the Heavenly Sword was silent for a long while, then finally spoke.
“I’d like nothing more than to swing my sword and tear it to pieces right this instant.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“...If I act hastily, he’ll die.”
His sword was praised as if it could reach the heavens.
Yet he couldn’t act rashly because of the bug’s location—deep inside the heart.
Even someone like Cheon Mujin wouldn’t be able to carve the creature out cleanly.
“Wait until the perfect opportunity. You must remove it without a single mistake.”
So that was why he had been glaring at the heart like he wanted to kill it.
Still, the bug seemed lodged there, completely still, not even attempting to move.
“You know, in the Yan Kingdom they have some state called the ‘heart-sword’ or something, right?”
“Don’t talk nonsense. If you’re going to spout rubbish, leave and stop bothering us.”
The Heavenly Sword snapped and scolded him.
At that moment, Oscar, who was staring at Cheon Ajin’s heart, tilted his head.
“Hmm. I think I can remove that.”
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]

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