[Translator - Clara]
[Proofreader - Gun]
Chapter 2: The Tragic Genius (1)
A spacious living room with one wall made entirely of glass.
Through it, the view of the white city of Sirin unfolds in its entirety.
"I still can’t believe it."
Oscar, silently gazing at the nightscape, muttered to himself.
"...Twenty years have passed."
The words of the man called Fran were no lie.
The view of Sirin spread before him was distinctly different from the one he remembered.
‘It’s developed so brilliantly, it’s almost blinding.’
Indeed, the city that once fell into darkness as soon as the sun set was no more.
The dazzling lights scattered across the city glittered as though stars had been pulled down from the night sky.
‘Magic lighting. It used to only exist in places like the magic towers or the royal palace.’
Now, such luxurious magical items were casually installed on the streets.
And the vehicles, moving without the aid of horses, were astounding no matter how many times he saw them.
"Streetlights, automobiles, the magical engineering revolution."
Murmuring the new words he had learned, Oscar continued to take in the peaceful night of the city for a long while before faintly smiling.
‘It’s a relief.’
The city during the age of despair had always been shrouded in gloom.
People avoided conversation and bore the eyes of those who had given up on everything.
But now, smiling faces were visible everywhere.
"...It’s truly a relief."
The guilt weighing heavily in a corner of his heart felt slightly lighter.
Even though it was for the sake of humanity, he had never forgotten the moment he abandoned this place.
‘If only they could see this, they’d be pleased too.’
He missed his subordinates, who had ascended to the heavens first, but at the same time, he felt unworthy of seeing them.
Lost in complex emotions, Oscar gazed at the city of the night and muttered.
"Enough admiring."
Tap, tap.
He lightly tapped on the glass wall, and it instantly transformed into a spotless mirror.
Oscar stared at the man in the mirror, whose face still felt unfamiliar.
"...Oscar Crucian."
By some twist of fate, the owner of this body shared his name.
A scion of a fallen count family, taken in by the White Tower at the age of ten, now twenty years old.
‘At least the looks pass.’
Sharp eyes and pale white skin gave him the appearance of an aristocratic gentleman.
His blue eyes, identical to those from his past life, seemed to pair well enough with his black hair.
‘But... as a mage, he fails.’
To remain at level 1 by this age meant a woeful lack of talent.
Even with average ability, he should have reached level 3 by now.
‘Was that why he felt so desperate?’
Rumor had it that he had embezzled research funds to consume an illegal potion.
A potion that could multiply one's magical capacity severalfold, but at the risk of death if it failed.
‘Fran said it was sheer luck that he survived after drinking that junk, but…’
Well, this body’s owner likely drank the potion and died.
That’s probably why his soul ended up in this body.
The concept seemed similar to possession used by spectral monsters.
‘But there’s no way my soul would have wandered the world for no reason.’
Someone had clearly tampered with his soul.
Though he had no idea who that contemptible person was, finding out could wait.
‘For now, I need to figure out the White Tower’s current situation and what happened to my disciples.’
After all, among the three disciples he had, two were now being called traitors.
"...What in the world happened during all this time?"
With a complicated expression, Oscar sat down on the sofa.
He intended to sort out his thoughts and examine the condition of his current body.
Wuuuuuung!
At the call of the former Archmage, dormant mana circuits activated, and he was startled.
"What is this?"
There was a lot.
For a mere level 1 mage, the amount of mana was overwhelming.
Moreover, most of it was unrefined, pure mana.
‘...So all of this came from drinking that cheap illegal potion?’
Incredible—he marveled at the modern world’s ingenuity.
His mouth slightly agape in admiration, Oscar deftly drew up the mana.
‘Hmm.’
Despite the abundance of mana, the state of the circuits was far from satisfactory.
Mana circuits were supposed to be smooth, like a well-maintained path.
However, this body’s circuits were a mess, like a sandpit where feet would sink with every step.
‘Well, it would be asking too much to expect anything decent from a talentless level 1 mage.’
Just as Oscar was about to take a closer look at the mana circuits—
‘...What’s this?’
Sensing something strange within the circuits, he gathered it to the index finger of his left hand and expelled it like sweat.
Sizzle!
A single drop of black liquid fell onto the corner of the desk, melting it instantly.
"Poison?"
And a lethal one at that.
Judging by the remaining quantity and time elapsed, it must have been an ingredient in the illegal potion.
After a brief moment of contemplation, Oscar slowly nodded.
‘...I see. I think I understand the situation now.’
The illegal potion Oscar Cruciang had consumed couldn’t possibly have been cheap.
The sheer amount and purity of mana were beyond what could be achieved with ordinary potions.
‘It must have been a high-grade potion, the kind you couldn’t get even by paying extra.’
The seller likely used the potion as bait to propose some kind of deal, and Oscar Cruciang couldn’t refuse.
The problem was that he hadn’t realized the potion was laced with poison.
‘In short, his cause of death wasn’t a mana explosion—it was poisoning.’
Moreover, the poison was excessively potent for killing a mere level 1 mage.
Unless the body was dissected and thoroughly investigated, it would have gone undetected.
"..."
Debating how to handle the situation, Oscar slowly rose from his seat.
Staring at his reflection in the mirror, he spoke.
"...Rest in peace. I’ll repay the debt of borrowing your body with vengeance."
Even if not for that, it was wise to eliminate potential obstacles in advance.
Oscar grabbed a vial faintly smelling of herbs and left the room.
[Translator - Clara]
[Proofreader - Gun]
* * *
Walking down the tower’s corridor, Elder Maxim reflected on the events of the morning.
‘What a surprise.’
Oscar’s Wind Shield had been executed with such precision that even he, a seasoned mage, was momentarily stunned.
Had he not regained his composure instantly, his wrist might have twisted.
‘The boy has been practicing harder than I thought.’
As a White Tower elder, he could discern a great deal from just one observation.
Though Wind Shield was a basic spell, it couldn’t reach that level of mastery with mere days of effort.
The boy must have been training tirelessly, likely sacrificing sleep and rest.
Feeling an unexpected pang of emotion, Maxim halted and gazed out the window.
"...Foolish boy."
Years ago, when the Vice Tower Master brought in a scrawny child, he had vehemently opposed it.
This wasn’t an orphanage, and they couldn’t afford to take on another mouth to feed.
But his opinion soon changed.
‘A genius.’
The moment he witnessed a fragment of the child’s overwhelming talent, hope took root against his will.
This boy would grow into a great mage.
He would breathe new life into the declining White Tower.
"..."
But the gods were cruel.
They had given the boy the mind to comprehend all the principles of magic but not the body to wield it.
Despite his extraordinary understanding of magic, his growth lagged behind.
After investigation, the boy was diagnosed with Mana Deficiency Syndrome.
‘That was the first time I learned how bitterly a person could cry.’
Perhaps that was why he had felt relieved when the boy declared his intent to transition into a theoretical mage.
Given his unparalleled magical comprehension, he could still achieve greatness in the field of theory.
But after his transition, his actions were nothing short of disappointing.
He hasn't produced any results in years despite the research funds we provided, scraping them together from limited resources.
“And to top it off, there was that embezzlement scandal... That problem child, always managing to stir up trouble.”
“Heh.”
A low chuckle came from behind, and Maxim quickly turned around.
There stood an elderly man, small enough to barely reach Maxim’s chest, standing with his hands clasped behind his back.
“Deputy Tower Master?”
“I was just looking for you, Elder Maxim. Here you are.”
“You were looking for me? What for?”
“I had a feeling you might storm off to confront that boy in a fury.”
“Ah, about that…”
Maxim, looking slightly embarrassed, cleared his throat.
“I already gave him an earful this morning.”
“What, already?”
Clicking his tongue lightly, the Deputy Tower Master spoke again.
“Don’t be too harsh on him. He’s likely struggling the most with himself.”
“I can’t tolerate him indefinitely. Embezzling research funds is unforgivable. That said…”
He’s just avoiding reality.
He’s like a naïve child who believes everything will work out if he just takes a miracle potion.
But lately, his perspective has changed a bit.
‘Perhaps the first person to give up on him, the one who held the most severe prejudice, was me.’
After all, he’s been working harder than anyone else, quietly, where no one can see.
A pang of shame struck Maxim as he let out a bitter laugh.
“Maybe that rascal Oscar is more mature in some ways than I am.”
“If that’s true, let’s hope he doesn’t stir up trouble for a while.”
“Haha, come on, he has some conscience. He just caused a scene hours ago—he won’t start another one already.”
As Maxim laughed it off, confident no more trouble was brewing, Oscar stepped into a tavern on the other side of the city.
* * *
“Welcome.”
Upon entering the establishment, The Goblin’s Tear, a bartender wiping down a glass, greeted him.
Oscar sat down at the counter, glancing around the room.
“This… is a bar?”
“As you can see. Though we do serve light snacks as well.”
This was unexpected.
He had been following the faint herbal scent lingering on the potion vial, only to end up at a tavern.
That means it’s one of two things.
Either someone bought illegal potions and came here for a drink, or this place is the transaction site.
The latter was far more likely.
“I was here a few days ago, meeting someone for a deal. Do you remember anything?”
“I’m afraid not. We get too many customers every day to recall everyone.”
“It was about a potion. The kind that can exponentially increase magic power if it works, but can kill you if it fails. Nearly killed me, in fact.”
“…Sorry, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
The bartender shook his head, feigning regret, and continued polishing his glass.
Watching him closely, Oscar casually remarked,
“Having trouble cleaning that one?”
“Pardon?”
“That glass. You’ve been wiping the same one since I walked in.”
The bartender froze for a moment, his hands pausing mid-motion.
At that, four burly men who had been lingering nearby suddenly surrounded Oscar.
“Hey, Mage. Stop bothering the poor bartender and have a chat with us instead.”
“Why don’t you sit back, have a drink, and spend some money?”
“Who remembers every customer in a place like this? Be reasonable.”
Oscar glanced at them calmly before speaking.
“…Am I being threatened right now? I’m a mage from the White Tower.”
“Pfft! A mage? Not all Tower members are the same.”
“Hey, show some respect! He’s a so-called genius theoretical mage.”
“Yeah, though he’s just a half-baked one who can only use basic spells.”
The thugs burst into laughter, revealing more than they intended.
‘So this guy is a theoretical mage.’
That explains why he’s still at Level 1.
Theoretical mages prioritize the study and interpretation of magic over practical combat.
“Well, we don’t know anything. So unless you’re buying a drink, scram.”
“Lies.”
“…What?”
“What you just said—it’s a lie.”
The air holds more information than most people realize.
For instance, the faint vibrations in the air around that man indicated he was lying.
“Wha… How dare you—”
“Tony, don’t.”
The leader silenced his companion and subtly displayed the sword at his hip.
“Mage, stop being unreasonable and leave. Otherwise, this won’t end well.”
“Hm.”
Oscar rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
If the original owner of this body were here, how would he handle this?
The answer came quickly.
Who cares?
A grin spread across his face as he looked at the man.
“Did you know? Sometimes, when people have a near-death experience, their personality changes drastically.”
“…What?”
“So if I seem different, blame it on that.”
The moment he finished speaking— shhk, shhk!
The sound of heavy slicing filled the room as three of the men behind him crumpled to the ground.
“Wha—what?! My leg! My leg is bleeding!”
“AAAAH!”
Their screams of pain and terror filled the tavern.
The last man, trembling, reached for his sword, only to freeze as a cold sensation touched his neck.
“This… this is…”
“Wind Cutter. One of those basic spells you were mocking.”
No magic is inherently weak.
It all depends on how it’s used and by whom.
“Now, I’ll ask again.”
Oscar’s sharp gaze pierced the man as he twirled the potion vial in his fingers.
“Who sold me this crap?”
[Translator - Clara]
[Proofreader - Gun]