The Problematic Child of the Magic Tower
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
Chapter 303: Seventh Circle (5)
The Grand Temple of the El Terra Church was famous for its sacred and peaceful atmosphere.
It was the biggest reason many people visited the place in search of healing.
But today, an odd air lingered within the temple—one eerily similar to the tense stillness before the start of a war.
“Which is why I’m saying that’s utterly ridiculous!”
An elderly man dressed in the Church’s ceremonial robe protested harshly.
“I don’t know how many times I’ve said this, but four—four high priests lost their lives during this expedition! We have not suffered casualties so severe since the Human–Demon Great War twenty-one years ago! And yet we’re offering commendations? Commendations—for what? For what achievement? We should be reprimanding people instead!”
“Heh heh heh.”
Archbishop Baldwin replied with a genial smile.
“I read in the newspaper a few days ago that people’s judgment tends to decline with age. I thought it was nonsense, but seeing Archbishop Cedric now, it doesn’t seem entirely wrong.”
“W–what did you say?”
“If you’re trying to undermine my achievements, don’t resort to such unreasonable claims.”
“Achievements? Did you just call that achievements?”
Cedric’s eyes sharpened as he addressed the entire chamber, as though persuading the gathered clergy.
“Everyone. What is divinity? It is the boundless blessing bestowed upon this land and upon us—His faithful servants and lambs—by Terra Herself. And yet you lost it, let it be taken away by an outsider, and still dare to boast?”
“......That phrasing—‘taken away’—is rather unpleasant.”
Baldwin still smiled, but his eyes had turned cold as ice.
“So you're saying the divinity should’ve remained lodged in the Demon King’s chest, is that it?”
“H–heavens! Are all words meant to be taken literally? That’s not what I meant!”
“Oh? So you do understand what that implies? That’s surprising.”
“Y–you insolent—!”
The mood in the chamber was about to turn ugly.
“Both of you, calm yourselves.”
The Pope himself stepped in to mediate, and both archbishops bowed their heads.
He looked at each of them in turn and spoke.
“After listening for a while, neither of you is wrong. Baldwin, you retrieved the divinity from beyond the western sea, a place we had not even been able to approach for the past 842 years—and it was something our Church had long dreamed of. However, as Cedric said, the divinity currently resides with an outsider. That is also true.”
“Your Holiness, that was by the divinity’s own will.”
“All the more reason to feel ashamed. There were more than enough members of the Church present there.”
Baldwin had no retort.
It was indeed true that the divinity had not chosen a priest or paladin, but a mage as its vessel.
“What matters now is what kind of person this mage—Oscar Crucian—is.”
“The divinity chose him personally. Shouldn’t that relieve any concern?”
“No. Precisely because it did, we must understand him in far greater detail.”
The Pope’s expression grew solemn.
“Our duty is to spread His words so that people do not fall into sin. But I, too, cannot claim I have never committed even the smallest wrongdoing in my lifetime.”
Everyone nodded.
Who among them had never committed even a small sin?
“If that mage were to commit some great sin, the divinity could be tainted—or even vanish.”
“I have considered that possibility as well...”
Baldwin continued with the same concern.
“But he is not the sort of villain who would do something so worrisome. He is gentle by nature and understands what goodwill is.”
Though at times he acts so infuriating it drives me mad, Baldwin silently added.
“Hrm. If someone as perceptive as you speaks so highly of him, I find it trustworthy... but the Church should still assign people to observe him.”
“If we make it too obvious, he will feel watched and become rebellious.”
“Then we shall avoid prompting such feelings.”
After a moment of thought, the Pope issued instructions.
“First—Layla.”
“Yes, Your Holiness.”
“Gather information about Oscar the mage—his reputation and rumors—both inside the Tower of Magic and in Sirin.”
People were creatures with surprising differences between their public and private selves.
To truly know someone, one must observe them where they feel most at ease.
“And Cedric.”
“I await your command.”
“You will go meet the Sage of Stars. With his insight, he will judge the young man’s character better than anyone.”
The sage who resided on Starlight Mountain was well-known across the continent.
Whether he was truly human or something closer to a ghost was unclear.
After reaching Level 9, he had engraved his very existence permanently into the world—a mad eccentric among eccentrics.
But with over a thousand years of perspective, his appraisal would surely be invaluable.
“And lastly, Raphael.”
“Yes, Your Holiness.”
“Collect every record on his childhood. His academy records will be especially useful.”
A person’s early years often revealed their innate disposition.
Raphael, youngest among the archbishops, bowed loyally.
‘Hmm.’
Watching all this unfold, Baldwin wore a somewhat troubled expression.
It was rare for the Church to dissect and analyze an individual this thoroughly.
‘Well, the matter is the matter... I understand the necessity, but still...’
A vague uneasiness tugged at him.
Perhaps even a tinge of guilt toward Oscar.
And his memories of the rumors resurfaced.
When Baldwin first met Oscar, his view had also been colored by prejudice.
‘They all said he was the Delinquent of the White Tower.’
But thinking of Oscar’s current self, Baldwin felt reassured.
Surely, he must have grown up ordinary and decent.
With that thought, his worries melted away.
‘Yes, everything will be fine!’
Baldwin trusted Oscar wholeheartedly.
* * *
“Mm. Mmm!”
Elder Maxim Visk of the White Tower, his face flushed with excitement, pinned a new notice on the bulletin board.
He then admired it with the proud smile of a man who had just accomplished something great.
“All right! New announcement is up—come take a look!”
What kind of notice could possibly get Elder Maxim this excited?
Curious mages gathered one by one, inspecting the newly posted, comically large notice.
<★☆★ Congratulate! Oscar Crucian Reaches Level 7! ★☆★>
The layout was no more sophisticated than something straight out of a mid-tier academy entrance brochure.
But the content was shocking.
‘Oscar reached Level 7? He became a Master?’
‘Wait—wasn’t he Level 1 around this time last year?’
‘Level 7 in a single year? Then is that rumor actually true?’
The rumor circulating everywhere was the same.
—Oscar Crucian was so overwhelmingly talented that the White Tower deliberately restricted him from leveling up until a certain age, afraid another Tower might steal him.
It made no sense—but honestly, a Level 1 mage reaching Level 7 in one year made even less sense.
“This is historic. A single year—unbelievable.”
“It’s the breathing technique, obviously. The other Towers and the sword schools don’t have it, so they can’t even dream of this speed.”
“No question.”
Oscar’s breathing method allowed one to accumulate mana 24 hours a day and reinforce the circuits.
Without it, no faction on the continent could ever produce a similar record—likely not even close.
Thanks to this breathing method alone, the White Tower’s prestige was rising dramatically.
‘Wait... doesn’t that mean we’re actually really strong now?’
‘Two Level 8 mages, and now a growing number of Level 7s.’
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
‘Even novice mages are reaching intermediate levels faster thanks to the breathing method.’
In five years—ten at most—they could arguably call themselves the strongest Tower on the continent.
This was why the elders, including Maxim, adored Oscar.
Not only had he provided the breathing method, but he had also brought enormous financial profit.
* * *
“......Haaah, haaah.”
Oscar exhaled roughly as he hid in the hallway.
He had been harassed by people all day and only managed to escape because evening finally arrived.
‘I didn’t think it would be this bad.’
When he created the flu remedy, or when he developed the airship, he had indeed been popular.
But mages were mages—when he became a Level 7 Master, the number of questions hurled at him multiplied by an entire digit.
And he wasn’t exaggerating.
Every single mage he passed on the way came running to interrogate him.
They all wanted to know his “secret technique,” but he had nothing he could say.
‘What am I supposed to tell them? Die once after reaching Level 9 and come back to life?’
He had peeked at the situation near his room earlier—mages were already camped around it.
So Oscar fled to the Special Affairs Office—an important restricted area, off-limits to anyone without clearance.
“Oh.”
“You’re here?”
Inside, Veronica and Killian were seated.
Come to think of it, every time he came here, they were always here too.
Surprisingly diligent people.
Killian congratulated him first.
“Heard the news. Sincerely—congratulations.”
“Thanks. Looks like you’re not far behind either.”
After returning from his tribe, Killian had reached late Level 5.
At this pace, he might reach Level 6 within a month or two.
‘Even considering how fast tattoo-mages grow in the early stages, this is fast.’
Their greatest hurdle was Level 7.
Because they lacked the ability to directly manipulate mana, the concept of internalizing mana as one’s own was extremely difficult for them to accept.
‘Well, I can help him with that when the time comes.’
Next, Oscar turned to Veronica.
She was still mid-Level 5.
Compared to Killian she seemed slower, but among her peers, she was still impressive.
‘Her problem was simply that she spent too long figuring out her path.’
Even so, she hadn’t fallen that far behind—proof of her talent.
Once she committed to the path of a speed-shooter, her growth accelerated sharply.
“Well, good for you. I did think you would reach Level 7 quickly.”
“Surprising—you’re not jealous?”
“...That only applies when our speeds are remotely comparable.”
Veronica muttered in a voice barely audible.
After receiving their congratulations, Oscar looked around.
“Where’s Fran? Haven’t seen him lately.”
“Oh... that guy.”
“Hrm.”
Both Killian and Veronica made uncomfortable expressions.
“What? Did you guys fight or something?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“If it were something like that, we wouldn’t look this awkward. I’d just curse him out and be done with it.”
Veronica scratched the back of her head roughly.
“He barely shows his face to us these days.”
“What’s he doing?”
“What else—training.”
“Then that’s good, isn’t it?”
What could be healthier for a mage than training?
But Killian shook his head.
“It’s excessive. He’s pushing himself to the point of harming his body.”
“And when we try to stop him, he won’t listen. Stubborn as hell.”
“Oscar. You know Veronica—if she says someone is going too far, it's really serious.”
“...What?”
Oscar watched Veronica’s scowl deepen and asked.
“Why is he suddenly training so hard?”
“I suspect it’s because the three of us are advancing too quickly.”
That made Oscar recall Fran’s level.
“He’s still Level 4, right?”
“Yes. Mid-Level 4.”
Slow.
At that pace, he was even slower than Damian, who was a whole class below them.
Oscar’s expression turned puzzled.
‘Strange... why? Fran’s talent is not poor—not at all.’
If anything, he was exceptionally talented.
Oscar remembered clearly how he had gone through great trouble to keep Fran in the White Tower when his family had tried to recall him.
‘He has talent. He works hard. So why isn’t he improving? That makes no sense.’
A mage with talent and consistent effort shouldn’t stagnate.
Only one possible variable flashed through Oscar’s mind.
‘Wait... don’t tell me—it’s the spirit he had transplanted into his body?’
Oscar’s face drained of color.
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]

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