Chapter 4

[Translator - Clara]

[Proofreader - Gun]

Chapter 4: The Tragic Genius (3)

Delivery, delivery... delivery?

As Oscar rolled the word around in his mouth, he blinked.

“Delivery, as in delivering goods or letters, right?”

“Yes, that's correct. The couriers of the White Tower can fly, so their delivery times are fast and their service reliable. They’re officially called Wind Riders…”

At that moment, Gordon sensed something was wrong and quickly shut his mouth.

That turned out to be the right choice.

Oscar’s eyes had grown as cold as ice.

“...Interesting. So you’re trying to stall for time with nonsense? Give it up. Your underlings won’t show up, no matter how much you wait.”

“What? No! That’s not it at all!”

A panicked Gordon protested in a voice full of indignation.

“It’s written in the documents! Page 13! Fourth line!”

“...”

Flipping to the page, Oscar saw that there was indeed content about a delivery business.

“...Are you telling me the White Tower’s business is really delivery?”

“Yes! I swear it’s true!”

“Hah.”

Oscar could only laugh incredulously.

Once, the mages of the White Tower were beings of renown.

Masters of the skies, dominating battlefields from above.

Their free yet fearless nature had earned them comparisons to dragons and eagles.

“…And now you’re telling me they fly around delivering packages?”

It sounded like they’d become nothing more than a bunch of carrier pigeons.

Did their ancestors develop the 『Flight』 spell for this purpose?

With fiery anger in his eyes, Oscar sharply turned his head.

“Who is it?”

“Pardon?”

“Who’s the bastard who came up with this ridiculous business plan?”

“I believe it was the current Tower Master, Sasha Maestro.”

“...Son of a...”

It was one of his own.

Taking a moment to steady his suddenly ragged breathing, Oscar asked another question.

“So, even though our people are working as... what was it again?”

“Wind Riders, sir.”

“Right, Wind Riders. Even with that, you’re saying we can’t match the revenue of other towers? Why?”

“Well, for starters, the White Tower uses intermediate mages for Wind Riders since they’re better at flying.”

“...”

Intermediate mages?

Not even novices?

That was an absurd choice.

Mages at level 4 and above came with significantly higher costs.

‘Even giving them proper assignments would be far more profitable.’

As questions swirled in his head, Gordon spoke again.

“Most importantly, the delivery fee is almost free, so the business has been consistently operating at a loss.”

“...Good grief.”

Turning precious resources into delivery workers wasn’t enough; they weren’t even charging properly?

A business is supposed to make money, not drain it.

Oscar would’ve gone straight to Sasha to demand an explanation if he could.

What on earth was she thinking with this plan?

‘Especially since the White Tower’s decline means there aren’t even enough mages to handle a monopoly. The volume alone would be overwhelming.’

Shifting these intermediate mages to assignments would surely be more lucrative.

And ventures like magical engineering or agricultural support sounded like money-makers at first glance.

Meanwhile, the Red Tower dominated government-led monster exterminations, solidifying its influence at the center of power.

‘Revenue, societal impact, mage hierarchy, political clout…’

In every aspect, the White Tower paled in comparison to the other Four Great Towers.

If they were expelled, they’d have no one to blame but themselves.

Frankly, they should’ve been grateful the imperial court tolerated this nonsense for 20 years.

‘Where do I even begin to fix this mess?’

And with only seven months left until the White Night Festival, an event commemorating the White Tower’s sacrifices.

Rebuilding the tower’s prestige in that short time was near impossible.

Just as countless plans flashed through his mind—

“Gah... ugh!”

Gordon suddenly began frothing at the mouth and convulsing.

At first, Oscar thought it was theatrics, but his state clearly signaled imminent shock-induced death.

‘It must be from all the blood he’s lost.’

Sure enough, the floor was drenched in blood.

Oscar debated whether to save him but eventually opened the ledger.

“Let’s see… arson, assault, robbery, loan sharking, oh, and even murder-for-hire?”

This guy was a walking pile of trash.

Oscar jumped out the window without hesitation, seeing no reason to save him.

By the time he landed and dispelled 『Sound Binding』, the room had fallen silent.

Dead men tell no tales.

* * *

Back in his room, Oscar collapsed onto the couch.

“Ugh, this body…”

A few simple spells were enough to make him feel this run-down.

He muttered in a voice heavy with fatigue:

“Wind Archive. ”

The unique magic that had made him the greatest mage in human history.

Whooosh!

A fierce wind swirled over his palm but quickly dissipated.

‘…As I thought, using it in this body is still impossible.’

Then again, even back then, he hadn’t mastered this magic until reaching level 7.

With a resigned sigh, Oscar cast a 『Scan』 spell over his body.

His condition just didn’t feel normal.

‘Once the scan’s done, I should know what’s wrong. It’ll take a few minutes, so…’ n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

He began reading through the file he’d taken from Gordon’s office: Oscar Crucian.

>[Heir to theCrucian Count family and sole survivor of the mansion fire.

Recognized early for his genius, he became the target of recruitment battles among all the major towers and factions.]

“Huh?”

Oscar’s expression showed genuine surprise.

From the description, this guy sounded like a prodigy.

But the Oscar Crucian he knew had struggled to reach level 1 by the age of 20.

Blinking, he read on.

>[He graduated early from the Empire Academy’s 9-year magic course in just 6 years, achieving perfect scores on every exam.

His groundbreaking student theses showcased his undeniable brilliance.]

“Wait, he really was a genius?”

So why was such an exceptional individual still stuck at level 1...?

Rustle.

His growing confusion was answered on the next page with an unsettling revelation.

>[This makes his situation all the more tragic.

If not for being afflicted with Mana Deficiency Syndrome, he would surely have become an era-defining Archmage.]

“…This guy has Mana Deficiency Syndrome?”

Oscar’s face hardened.

If that were true, even he wouldn’t be able to fix it.

No matter how much miraculous medicine he drank, he’d remain stuck at novice level forever.

‘So that’s why…’

Oscar looked at the reflection in the mirror with pity.

For a 20-year-old, this was an unbearable despair.

To understand magic better than anyone else but be unable to use it...

‘If he couldn’t comprehend it, at least he wouldn’t have suffered so much.’

As he sighed in sympathy, the Scan results finished.

“…Display results.”

As he examined the findings, Oscar’s face gradually contorted.

‘What the hell is this?’

The cause of Mana Deficiency Syndrome was straightforward.

All humans, even those who weren’t mages or knights, were born with 20 innate magic circuits.

But when these circuits became tangled, the flow and accumulation of mana were disrupted.

Even a lifetime of training wouldn’t take them beyond level 3.

‘But... this is different.’

Though it appeared similar to Mana Deficiency Syndrome, the root cause was entirely distinct.

‘No doubt about it. Someone deliberately tied these circuits.’

The circuits in this body weren’t just tangled; they were deliberately knotted, preventing them from functioning.

If he could untie these knots, the circuits would immediately return to normal.

Oscar bit his lip.

“Who the hell did this…”

As a mage, as a senior, as an adult, he was furious.

Someone’s interference had derailed a life brimming with potential, stealing the future from a promising young mage.

"……."

Pausing briefly to analyze the circuits, Oscar reached a conclusion.

‘It’s possible. Not easy, but possible.’

The vicious knot binding this person, the resentful shackles.

He could cut them all.

‘If I untangle these and reach a higher level…’

At that point, the one responsible for twisting these circuits would surely make a move.

Clatter!

Oscar rose from his seat and approached the bookshelf.

‘According to Fran, this guy lived like a problem child, drowning in alcohol.’

But what if that image was deliberately constructed?

What if he had feigned idleness because he knew someone had tampered with his circuits and was even targeting his life?

‘If this guy is truly a genius, he would’ve known long ago that he wasn’t suffering from Mana Deficiency Syndrome.’

If that’s the case, succumbing to the temptation of illicit elixirs becomes understandable.

In a situation where he couldn’t discern who to trust or who had tied his circuits, he would’ve had no choice but to try freeing himself.

‘It would be great if he had written some sort of journal.’

Fortunately, the bookshelf was lined with dozens of thick notebooks, their covers worn from frequent use.

Oscar pulled one out and blinked at the title.

“……Reinterpretation of Basic Magic?”

Rustle.

Reading the title with a light heart, Oscar froze as he flipped through the pages.

[Translator - Clara]

[Proofreader - Gun]

[Wind Cutter has the drawback of a monotonous trajectory. To address this, here are some modifications…]

[The defensive spell Wind Shield is infinitely versatile. When used offensively, the advantages are…]

[The weapon known as a gun is highly suitable for reinterpretation through White Tower magic. Inspired by rotating bullets…]

...

It was a grimoire.

A book filled with Oscar Crucian’s annotations and interpretations of White Tower’s basic magic.

There were even a few original spells of his creation among them.

“……Impressive.”

After reading through the entire book, he understood why this person had been called a genius.

No exaggeration—his theoretical insight rivaled Oscar’s own.

Even just the enhanced Wind Shield described in this book demonstrated that.

‘This is similar to the Wind Shield I use.’

A method of forcibly creating openings by twisting the opponent’s attack trajectory.

The same technique he had used earlier against Bart.

This concept and principle were entirely different from traditional shields, which were solely defensive.

‘On top of that, he’s detailed the most optimal usage in various scenarios.’

From a mere glance, it was clear how much effort he had poured into this book.

How much contemplation had gone into the annotations.

"……."

Because of this, it was impossible to dismiss this as a mere book of basic spells.

To some, these spells might be basic, just a fleeting step in their journey.

But to him, they were everything.

Rustle, rustle.

Standing still, Oscar silently turned the pages.

The scrawled notes seemed to shout out:

He hadn’t given up.

Even though he was labeled a defective product, unworthy of being called a proper mage, he had worked harder than anyone.

More than anyone.

He loved magic.

"……."

Oscar, his eyes involuntarily reddening, eventually reached the final page.

There, written in still-drying ink, was a short note.

“Hoping this book brings even a faint breeze to the White Tower. From a mage facing a great challenge.”

With that simple sentence, the book ended.

But the lingering sentiment stayed with Oscar for a long while.

‘A mage facing a great challenge.’

He knew.

This guy had known everything but had endured it alone, unable to share his plight with anyone.

"Oscar Crucian…"

Oh, young mage who didn’t succumb to the harsh fate placed upon you,

brave pioneer who walked a lonely path.

Closing the book, Oscar muttered softly.

"By the name of Oscar Sage, 17th Tower Master of the White Tower."

The dream you couldn’t fulfill,

I will achieve in your stead.

And those who clipped your wings and locked you in a cage,

I will ensure they pay the price for their sins.

* * *

Morning came.

But Oscar hadn’t slept a wink, having spent the night reading through dozens of books.

‘I’m tired, but I’ve managed to review all of Oscar Crucian’s research journals thoroughly.’

Thinking back on their contents, he wore a bittersweet expression.

If he were to summarize his thoughts, it would be something like: "Impressive and remarkable, but ultimately incomplete."

‘Because almost all the research was left unfinished.’

Of course, that was inevitable.

No matter how talented a painter might be, they couldn’t perfectly depict a landscape they’d never seen before.

The fact that Oscar Crucian had achieved so much through imagination and conjecture was astonishing in itself.

‘But don’t worry.’

He had perfectly grasped the intent and direction of the research.

All that remained was to complete the numerous unfinished projects.

As Oscar pondered where to start, an announcement interrupted him.

- Attention, this is a message from the broadcasting room.

"……!"

Startled, Oscar looked up at the small device mounted on the ceiling.

The voice was coming from there.

- Oscar Crucian, please report to Research Lab 4202 immediately.

“A communication spell…? How did my magic code get detected so easily?”

Even though he changed his code every minute?

The question, laden with suspicion, received no response.

After a moment of hesitation, Oscar carefully climbed onto a chair to inspect the ceiling-mounted speaker and finally relaxed.

"Whew, I thought… So this is another piece of magic engineering."

Life had truly become convenient.

To be able to contact someone unilaterally without knowing their magic code.

‘Room 4202, was it?’

Exiting the room, Oscar headed straight for the magic elevator to ascend to the 42nd floor.

Fortunately, he was familiar with elevators from before, so there was no confusion.

Knock, knock.

“Come in.”

Inside, buried under a mountain of documents, sat Elder Maxim.

Oscar restrained himself from greeting him too eagerly.

‘Who would’ve thought the elder I saw in the infirmary was Maxim, my junior.’

He had learned this while Fran explained things in the infirmary.

Maxim Visk.

A junior who had joined the White Tower a few years after him.

Hardworking and earnest, he had been a promising talent for the future.

‘To think that kid grew old and became an elder.’

He remembered how cute it had been when Maxim used to follow him around, calling him "senior" and later "Tower Master."

A contented smile spread across Oscar’s face.

‘Judging by his youthful appearance, he must’ve worked hard.’

That was among the highest compliments a mage could receive.

After all, as a mage’s mana reservoir grew, their aging slowed.

Maxim, now in his mid to late forties, looked no older than his early thirties.

“How’s your condition?”

Without looking up from the papers, Maxim asked indifferently.

“Well… Ah, yes. I’m fine.”

“You look it.”

Thud.

A document was tossed onto the desk.

“You injured three people at the bar and killed the boss and enforcer of the Gordon family. Do you have anything to say?”

“Yes, I had my reasons.”

Oscar placed a pouch of money and a ledger on the desk.

Maxim glanced at them and asked,

“What are these?”

“The payment. The fee they received to assassinate me.”

“…Did you just say assassination?”

Maxim’s slightly surprised eyes urged him to explain further.

“Yes, the elixir was laced with poison. When I confronted them about it, they tried to kill me.”

“Hmm.”

After verifying the contents of the pouch and ledger, Maxim nodded.

“There’s indeed mention of a murder contract, and the amounts match.”

Oscar had told the complete truth—except for the part about his possession.

There was no room for doubt.

As expected, Maxim spoke again.

“Frequenting bars must’ve earned you some enemies. I’ll close this as self-defense.”

“Thank you. By the way, may I ask for a favor?”

“…It’s unusual for you to ask for favors. What is it?”

To Maxim, who looked surprised, Oscar finally voiced the request he had been waiting for the opportunity to make.

“I wish to meet the Tower Master.”

[Translator - Clara]

[Proofreader - Gun]