The Problematic Child of the Magic Tower
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
Chapter 304: Forest of Spirits (1)
White Tower, 40th Floor.
Training Chamber.
“Hah... hah...”
Fran braced his hands on his knees, gasping for breath.
His stamina had already been wrung completely dry, and his mana circuits were overloaded.
No matter how strict someone was, this was the kind of condition where anyone would say that’s enough, you can rest now.
“......”
Golden eyes stared blankly at the floor beneath sweat-soaked blue hair.
Just looking down made him want to sit.
No—he wanted to collapse right there.
He knew that comfort well: the moment when every cell in his body slackened, melting into bliss.
But he bit down hard on his lip and forced himself to endure.
‘Pathetic.’
Veronica and Killian came to mind.
Those two handled their daily training with genuine enjoyment.
But he wasn’t like them.
Honestly, he hated even coming to the training chamber—it felt worse than dying.
“......”
Every morning, he thought I don’t want to train about seventeen times.
Then he’d mechanically come here, complete the assigned quota, and flee the moment it was done.
That difference in attitude was probably why the gap between him and the others had grown.
‘All those little things piled up... and only now am I seeing the results.’
A bitter smile tugged at his lips.
He hadn’t worked harder than anyone else—yet he still wanted to stand shoulder to shoulder with them.
Even to himself, it sounded ridiculous.
‘I know.’
He knew that cutting sleep and forcing insane amounts of training was inefficient.
He also knew that if he’d done things properly from the start, he wouldn’t have needed this.
‘But I didn’t.’
So even if it was inefficient, this was the only way to catch up—if only a little.
‘Did I get too full of myself...?’
Leaving Oscar aside—someone he’d always considered abnormal since level one—
he genuinely believed he’d reached a similar level to Veronica and Killian.
Especially after learning Steel Breathing and mastering the whip, his confidence had soared.
‘Even Oscar said it. In terms of pure attack power, I was the strongest of the three.’
Maybe he’d been drunk on those words.
At the most crucial stage of growth, he’d used being tired as an excuse to do nothing more than the bare minimum.
“Whew...”
Fran exhaled deeply and closed his eyes.
Then, voices he’d overheard in the restroom recently surfaced in his mind.
“I want to join the Special Operations Division too, but what are the requirements anyway?”
“At least Killian-level talent, or achievements like Veronica’s, I’d imagine.”
“Then what about Fran?”
“...Oscar’s-friend quota?”
The moment he remembered that, his eyes flew open and his breathing became erratic.
“Hngh... hngh...”
Trauma he thought he’d long since buried resurfaced.
The memories of falling behind alone in his family.
No one had ever said anything—but he’d still felt endlessly small.
‘...Damn it. Haven’t I grown at all since then?’
His teeth tore into his lip, blood spilling out.
Wiping it away with his sleeve, Fran prepared to resume training.
Then—
Knock. Knock.
“Who is it?”
—It’s me.
Oscar?
Fran hesitated, then shook his head.
“I’m busy right now. Talk later.”
Knock.
“I’m training.”
Knock knock knock.
“Ah, seriously! Just go away!”
He startled at his own raised voice.
Then—
BANG! BANG! KRAAANG!
Oscar slammed on the door as if he intended to break it down.
—Fran, open this.
“.......”
That gentle tone made Fran’s legs tremble uncontrollably.
For a split second he wondered if he’d overtrained—but no.
This was fear.
Pure fear.
“W-why? I said I’m b-busy.”
—I’ll explain inside. Just open it.
“.......”
He rapidly calculated whether he could live inside this room forever without opening the door.
“...Damn it.”
Obviously not.
With a pitiful expression, Fran walked over.
“Fine! I’m coming!”
He opened the door and protested weakly.
“What’s so urgent that you come bothering someone mid-training—”
“Ah, sorry about that.”
For someone who’d nearly demolished the door, Oscar looked remarkably calm.
Too calm.
Almost inhuman.
“Wait. You’re—?”
Fran’s lips moved soundlessly before he finally managed to speak.
“L-Level 7? You became a Master?”
“Mm. That’s right.”
Everyone has a first, and firsts are special.
But how many people treated reaching level 7 like this?
Fran let out a hollow laugh and shook his head.
“You really are... tsk. Whatever. Come in. Not in the hallway.”
After closing the door, he glanced at Oscar.
“Anyway, congratulations on becoming a level 7 Master.”
“You sound completely soulless.”
“I always thought you’d reach it someday. Just not this fast.”
“Fair enough.”
“...Now I’m annoyed. So what, you came to show off?”
“Of course not.”
Showing off over level 7 would be embarrassing.
Oscar stopped walking and slowly examined Fran from head to toe.
“What. What are you looking at?”
“Hmm. Definitely around mid-level 4.”
“Oh, so you came to fight me?”
He’d obviously lose—but still.
Oscar shook his head.
“That’s not it. Something feels off.”
“Off?”
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
“With your talent, you shouldn’t still be stuck at mid-level 4.”
“...Huh.”
Fran hesitated.
Was that a compliment—or some kind of advanced mockery?
Unable to decide, he asked outright.
“Are you serious? Or just messing with me?”
“Serious. I don’t joke about things like this.”
Oscar’s expression was flat, devoid of humor.
“Then there are only two possibilities.”
Fran voiced what he’d been thinking himself.
“Either I was negligent in my training... or my talent was never that great to begin with. One of them has to be right. And honestly, I’d prefer it to be the first.”
“Hmm?”
Oscar narrowed his eyes.
“Negligent? I designed your entire curriculum.”
“Y-yeah. You did.”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t follow it.”
“I did! I did! I hated every second of it, felt like a cow being dragged to slaughter, but I completed the assigned quota every day!”
“Then why say you were negligent?”
“Because I ran away the moment I finished it.”
“...That’s it?”
Oscar snorted.
“That was plenty. It was a short-term, limit-pushing course. Anything extra after that would’ve been inefficient—like what you’re doing now.”
“Wait. So the training amount... was enough?”
Fran’s expression darkened.
That meant the problem wasn’t effort—but talent.
But Oscar shut that thought down immediately.
“Correct. And your talent isn’t bad either. I guarantee that—as someone who hit level 7 in record time.”
“...Okay.”
Strangely, that eased him.
Oscar’s words always carried an odd weight—like they had to be true.
“Then what’s the reason? Enough training, enough talent—how does it make sense that I’m stuck at mid-level 4?”
“Exactly. Which is why I thought—maybe it’s because of the lower spirit implanted in your body.”
“...A spirit?”
Fran tilted his head.
He’d never felt discomfort from it.
“Why would that matter?”
“A lower spirit’s capacity is roughly equivalent to level 4 by human standards. Same as you right now. Its limitations might be preventing your growth.”
“...Is that a guess, or something actually plausible?”
“It’s plausible enough that I came here personally. Think of it as after-sales service.”
Fran blinked, then asked.
“Then... after seeing me, what do you think? You’d know best—you were involved in the installation.”
“Technically, I wasn’t the installer.”
“So now you’re dodging?”
“I’m saying we need the person in charge.”
Oscar pulled out a piece of chalk and began drawing on the floor.
Fran recognized the action.
“A spirit summoning circle... You’re calling that spirit again?”
“Was its name Silestina? Anyway, yes.”
The fastest solution was to ask the spirit directly.
Once the circle was complete, Oscar spoke.
“Come forth.”
A violent wind surged through the chamber.
Fran, who’d once been blown away by it, managed to hold his ground this time.
‘He’s definitely grown.’
Oscar smiled faintly as he turned forward.
As before, a massive being—nearly three meters tall—manifested.
—Ho. I wondered who it was. The human from before.
The spirit grinned broadly.
—Have you finally decided to form a bond with me, Silestin, supreme wind spirit?
“No. I just have questions.”
—...What?
Silestin blinked in disbelief.
—Wait. You summoned me... just to ask questions?
“Yes. Important ones.”
—Insolent!
WHOOOOOSH!
The chamber shook violently.
Fran was nearly blown away, but Oscar shielded him with mana.
“...Calm down and listen first.”
—Silence! Last time and now again! If this is how you’ll treat me, never summon me again!
Silestin tried to disperse into wind—
—and failed.
—What? Why can’t I—
Chains erupted from the book Oscar held—the Wind Archive—binding the spirit.
A high-level spell capable of restraining wind: Windcatcher’s Snare.
“My question isn’t finished.”
—Insolent human! Do you think spirits are toys?!
Silestin swelled with fury—then abruptly froze.
—Grr... Mother! Why?!
Looking upward, he muttered to himself, then calmed down.
—So you are the one who freed Silmarion from suffering.
“News travels slow.”
Silmarion, the Mad Spirit—the insane wind Oscar and Sasha had laid to rest in the Red Mountains.
Silestin’s attitude softened instantly.
—Then as Silmarion’s brother, I must express my gratitude. Very well. What is your question?
“Examine him. His mana circuits aren’t expanding. Is it because of the spirit?”
—Hmm. Let me see...
The raging wind subsided as Silestin inspected Fran.
After a moment, he nodded.
—Yes. That seems likely. The space meant for his own mana circuits is being occupied by my kin instead.
“So it really is...”
Oscar frowned.
Removing the lower spirit now wasn’t a solution.
‘Fran’s ability to use Wind Sovereign relies entirely on that spirit.’
It handled calculations Oscar himself would otherwise have to perform.
If the spirit were removed, Fran might grow further as a mage—but Wind Sovereign could become unusable indefinitely.
‘Worst case, forever.’
As Oscar mulled this over, Fran spoke hesitantly.
“Um... Lord Silestin?”
Silestin’s eyes widened.
Being addressed properly stirred something in him.
—What is it, human?
“Is it possible... to replace the spirit implanted in my body?”
—Hmm. That would be difficult. If Mother ordered it, even a mid-grade spirit would obey—but she does not force those who refuse.
Lower spirits were one thing—but from mid-grade upward, self-awareness made it impossible.
Oscar finally spoke.
“Okay. Conclusion reached.”
“Huh?”
—What?
He answered simply.
“If you officially become a spirit mage, all the problems disappear.”
“...Didn’t you say before that I couldn’t? That my affinity was too low?”
“That was then. This is now.”
—Hmm. Indeed.
Surprisingly, Silestin agreed.
—You’ve lived with lower spirits implanted for months. It’s highly likely that your spiritual neural pathways have developed through constant communion.
“That means...?”
—Yes.
Silestin nodded.
—You may become a spirit mage after all.
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]

Comments

Loading...