Chapter 20

[Translator - Clara]

[Proofreader - Gun]

Chapter 20: The Ugly Duckling (3)

Spirit.

An ancient existence said to be born from the souls dwelling in nature.

Nowadays, it's dismissed as mere folklore.

Such was evident from Fran's immediate reaction.

"...A spirit? Isn't that something from old fairy tales?"

"Spirits are real. The hard part is just believing in them."

The primary reason for disbelief?

Humans can't see spirits.

Only a select few humans possess the rare affinity to commune with them.

‘But it's different for elves, the guardians of nature. They are born with the ability to communicate with spirits.’

Thus, elves are the only ones known to wield the power of spirits across the entire continent.

Fran cast a slightly uneasy glance.

"This isn't because I'm scared or anything, but... You've done this before, right?"

"I have. Don't worry, I've even succeeded."

There was a time when he was invited to the elven kingdom.

During his stay, he playfully tried a spirit-summoning ritual taught by a friend—and to his surprise, it worked.

Everyone was astonished, claiming he was the first human summoner in 118 years.

‘Though, of course, I didn’t actually form a contract.’

The power of spirits is undeniably efficient and formidable.

But back then, as an Archmage who had already surpassed human limits, it wasn't an enticing option.

‘I could handle most things on my own without a spirit's help.’

Oscar turned his head to look at Fran.

‘But for this guy, it's a different story.’

He’s no Archmage.

His lack of control over his immense power, Wind Sovereign, has rendered him unable to use it effectively.

If he could successfully integrate a spirit into his body, he’d grow stronger in an instant.

‘The wind spirit could regulate Fran’s mana flow for him.’

Think of it as an automatic control system.

When Oscar explained this, Fran looked far from thrilled.

"So… you’re saying you’re gonna implant a spirit into my body... That’s gonna hurt, right?"

"..."

Oscar shot him a cold stare instead of answering.

Fran forced an awkward smile.

"Alright, alright. I’ll endure the pain. But, uh, can anyone just summon a spirit?"

"Not exactly. You need spirit affinity."

Oscar shrugged and crossed his arms, taking a step back.

"In other words, you won’t know until you try. So, give it a shot."

"..."

Fran, looking visibly tense, stepped up to the summoning circle.

He closed his eyes and began reciting the summoning chant Oscar had taught him.

"Spirit of the wind, pure avatar of cleansing, who sweeps away the world’s evil and darkness, I, Fran Sirius, a seeker of truth, humbly request to walk alongside your great power. By the ancient pact, I summon thee to appear before me!"

"..."

The silent training room remained undisturbed, except for Oscar's occasional glances.

"Hm, seems like it didn’t work. You must have no affinity."

"I could’ve sworn I felt a breeze just now."

"That was my sigh."

"Damn it!"

Fran's face flushed red with embarrassment as he stomped his foot in frustration.

"So, what now?"

"Move aside."

Oscar gestured for Fran to step back and took his place in front of the summoning circle.

Huff...

Closing his eyes, memories from the past surfaced.

Back then, it wasn’t a barren training room like this but a colossal world tree, surrounded by endless green.

"Spirit of the wind."

With countless elves watching, all he had said was a single, curt phrase:

"Come to me."

Whoosh!

Suddenly, a blinding light erupted from the summoning circle, followed by a fierce windstorm that engulfed the room.

"Ugh! What the— I can’t see anything!"

Fran’s voice, faint from the far corner, hinted at his being blown away by the sudden gale.

Turning his gaze back, Oscar saw a towering figure—easily over three meters tall—glaring down at him.

—Hmm, a human...? It has been 27 years since a human last summoned us.

‘Yeah, that was me last time, too.’

With arms crossed, Oscar nonchalantly spoke.

"I want to make a contract. Do we need to draft some kind of agreement?"

—No such formalities are necessary. What matters is the bond between our hearts.

The massive wind spirit knelt, extending its hand.

—Human, I am Silestin, the highest-level wind spirit. Will you forge a pact of camaraderie with me?

"Huh? Nah."

"...?"

Silestin, utterly taken aback, hadn’t expected such an immediate rejection.

—W-Why not?

"Oh, I forgot to mention."

Oscar casually gestured behind him, where faint groans of pain echoed.

"I don’t need a spirit. I just wanted you to fuse with that guy over there."

The once-majestic Silestin’s face now bore an expression of pure disbelief.

—How dare you?!

Indeed, Silestin’s fury was justified.

The winds surged even more violently, threatening to tear Oscar’s garments apart.

Raising both hands, Oscar calmly tried to placate the spirit.

"Now, now. Let’s calm down, Elasticin... or was it Silverstin?"

—It’s Silestin! And how can I calm down in this situation?!

"Just listen to what I have to say."

—No! I refuse to hear another word!

‘What kind of supreme spirit is this childish?!’

Annoyance flickered across Oscar’s face as his voice turned icy.

"...I’ll give you one last chance to calm down."

—Ha! And if I refuse? What can a mere human do to me?

"Silaphrion of Serenity."

At the sound of the casually uttered name, the wind stilled, and Silestin’s demeanor became noticeably more cautious.

Like a child summoned before a parent after mischief, he asked meekly:

—…Human, how do you know that name?

"Because I’ve spoken with her."

Silaphrion of Serenity.

The name of the Spirit King who commands the winds.

For ordinary people, discovering such a name was nearly impossible.

Even knowing it, calling upon her was not something easily permitted—she was a being on the level of a demigod.

Oscar continued:

"Tell her this: the White mage has returned."

—What… do you mean by that…

Silestin tried to question further but suddenly trembled as though struck by lightning.

He then stared at Oscar with a mix of awe and fear, as if seeing a creature entirely beyond comprehension.

—Human… Just who are you? For the King to give a direct command…

"Just tell me if it’s possible or not. If it’s not, I’ll figure out another way. I’m short on time."

—Ugh…

Silestin swallowed a heavy groan and nodded solemnly.

—She has granted permission. However, only a lesser spirit will be provided, and even then, it’s not a contract but a mere transfer of essence.

"That’ll do."

Though he wouldn’t be able to form a deeper connection with the spirit for greater power, even this much was more than enough.

By human standards, a lesser spirit’s power was akin to that of a fourth-level mage.

It was more than sufficient to manage mana in place of Fran.

—She also gave this message.

Silestin added, his voice suddenly adopting an air of gravitas as if mimicking someone else.

—Do not forget the ancient covenant.

"Don’t worry. I’ll keep my promise."

Oscar muttered under his breath, recalling his past life.

‘I didn’t forget—it was just that I couldn’t keep it because I died suddenly.’

Still, he harbored gratitude toward Silaphrion.

Thanks to her, he had saved countless members of the White Tower.

‘I’ll repay you generously, with interest.’

After organizing his thoughts, Oscar gave a firm nod.

"I’m done here. You have nothing more to say, right?"

—Perhaps… would you consider making a contract with me—

"Not interested."

—Understood…

Silestin, now visibly downcast, dissolved into the wind and vanished.

At the same time, Fran let out a scream.

"Aaaah! O-Oscar! It feels like something’s crawling inside me—it’s so itchy!"

"Stop exaggerating. That’s not a bug; it’s the spirit."

The lesser spirit was probably merging with Fran’s soul—a process described by spirits as “linking hearts.”

Normally, spirit affinity made this easy, but since Fran lacked that, it had to be done forcibly.

"Huff… Huff…"

Once the link was complete, Fran collapsed onto the private room’s floor.

Oscar approached and asked:

[Translator - Clara]

[Proofreader - Gun]

"How do you feel?"

"How do I feel? Uh… wait a second."

Fran jumped up, rolled his shoulders a few times, and even did a couple of quick hops.

His eyes sparkled brighter than ever.

"I don’t know why, but my body feels lighter!"

"Of course it does."

Forming a bond with a spirit typically purifies the body, removing impurities.

Hearing this, Fran’s face lit up with joy.

"This is amazing! I feel like my focus has improved too. It used to feel like my head was always in a fog."

"Brain fog, huh."

Brain fog, a phenomenon that impairs concentration and memory, often arises from stress-related conditions.

‘He’s always so carefree; who knew he was under so much stress.’

Oscar was curious now.

Fran had already been fairly competent, but how much more could he achieve at full capacity?

"Alright then, shall we begin?"

"Begin? Begin what?"

"…What do you think our goal here is?"

Oscar pulled a wooden stick from his robes, seemingly from nowhere.

"You need to train your unique magic, Wind Sovereign, and advance to the fourth level."

"But as I said, I have trauma associated with that magic…"

"Don’t worry about that,"

Oscar reassured him with a mischievous smile.

"It activates automatically when your life’s in danger, doesn’t it?"

"…?"

There were 15 hours left until noon the next day—just enough time to turn this fool into a fourth-level mage.

* * *

The forest behind the White Tower featured an outdoor training ground near its entrance.

Already waiting there, Gran's knight protector, Lazli, cautiously asked:

"Master, how much force should I use in today’s duel?"

"Don’t hold back. Fight with everything you’ve got."

"…Pardon?"

"By not using sword aura, I’ve already shown restraint. What more do you expect?"

Gran shook his head.

"If that fool fails to impress me, then it’s over. It’ll just prove he’s a loudmouth full of empty boasts."

"Understood."

Bowing, Lazli prepared for the coming match.

Shortly after, two mages approached from a distance.

"Good morning, Deputy Tower Master,"

Gran greeted.

"Indeed, the breeze feels nice today—a great day to be outside,"n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

Replied the Deputy with a warm smile.

Gran’s eyes sharpened.

"By being here, may I take it you’ve approved the terms of this arrangement?"

"After much deliberation, yes, I’ve decided to accept."

The Deputy glanced at Oscar briefly.

"The developer of the cure was insistent to a fault."

Of course, he refrained from mentioning how Elder Fidelina had protested vehemently, and Elder Maxim was likely still holding her back.

"Understood. Then, I won’t ask any further questions. This is the knight who will represent me in today’s duel."

"Level 5 Knight, Lazli Morgan."

"Level 2 Mage, Oscar Crusian."

"Now, let me explain the rules of the duel."

Gran took out two necklaces and began listing the conditions.

"Each of you will wear one of these necklaces during the duel. The first to seize their opponent’s necklace wins. It’s a simple game."

"......"

A necklace-stealing duel.

It was a rather traditional method.

"If no winner is determined within five minutes, we will concede defeat."

This was a considerate gesture, given the difference in skill levels.

The Deputy-Tower Master glanced at Oscar, as if to ask if this was acceptable.

"That’s fine."

Oscar nodded lightly, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Let’s not drag this out any longer. We can start right away."

"Are you sure you want to fight in that outfit? It doesn’t seem very suitable for combat."

Oscar was currently dressed in the flowing robes of the White Tower mages.

Though the robe offered decent flexibility, it was far from the practicality of battle armor.

"Oh, it’s fine."

Oscar smiled brightly and stepped aside.

"After all, I won’t be the one fighting."

"......What?"

Gran Sirius, about to question the statement, suddenly fell silent.

Behind Oscar, a figure approached, wearing the White Tower’s combat attire.

Gran narrowed his eyes at Oscar.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"You asked me to prove my capabilities. You didn’t specify that I had to fight personally."

Oscar shrugged and gave the approaching figure a pat on the back.

"This one here will demonstrate my abilities. I’ve been teaching him some tricks since yesterday."

"You think you could teach him anything meaningful in less than a day?"

Gran’s voice sharpened slightly, warning clear.

"If you’re sending Fran out expecting me to go easy on him, thinking I’ll take it lightly..."

"That’s not it. I’m only sending him out because I genuinely believe he has a high chance of winning."

Oscar cut off his opponent’s words, making a bold declaration.

"Surely, a Level 4 Mage would stand a better chance than a Level 2 Mage."

"......Level 4? But just yesterday—"

"He was Level 3, yes. If I aim to turn him into a standout mage within two years, this level of growth is the bare minimum."

"......"

Gran fell silent for a moment, then slowly nodded.

"It seems I made a fatal error by not specifying that you must fight personally. As a merchant, that’s an unforgivable mistake. Naturally, I’ll bear the consequences."

"Thank you for your understanding."

"There’s no need for thanks."

Gran seated himself in the spectator area, crossing his legs arrogantly.

"Words from a merchant’s mouth must carry more weight than gold."

He then spoke in a loud voice for all to hear.

"Lazli."

"Yes, my lord."

"Do not hold back under any circumstances. Should you disobey, you’ll face severe punishment."

"Understood."

The warning seemed trivial, but its impact was significant.

Fran’s body visibly tensed.

‘This isn’t good.’

Oscar noticed and approached Fran, swinging his hand.

Smack!

The sudden slap on his back left Fran staring at Oscar in disbelief.

"What was that for?"

"Relax a bit. Feeling better now?"

"As if a slap could—wait, huh?"

Fran’s eyes widened.

His stiff body felt notably lighter.

"I just eased your tense muscles and magic flow. Think of it as a kind of massage."

"Where did you even learn that?"

"Learn? It’s just natural talent."

"Right, my mistake for asking. Fine, you’re amazing."

"And you’re the talented mage I want to keep by my side. So don’t be afraid."

Fran looked stunned.

In the years they’d been together, Oscar had never spoken so highly of anyone.

Maybe that’s why the confidence he had lost began to return, little by little.

"Still... he’s a Level 5 Knight."

A formidable opponent, the likes of which Fran had never encountered in his life.

Facing such an adversary, it would be stranger not to be nervous.

"Hmm. I guess there’s no other choice. Come here for a second."

Oscar whispered a detailed strategy into Fran’s ear for a while.

"If you follow this plan, you’ll definitely win."

The idea of a Level 4 Mage defeating a Level 5 Knight was absurd.

Under normal circumstances, Fran would have rejected it outright as impossible.

But today was different.

"...Alright. I’ll give it a try."

Fran, with a determined expression, stepped onto the arena.

[Translator - Clara]

[Proofreader - Gun]