Make Dark Fantasy Great Again
Chapter 57: Dibs!

Chapter 57: Dibs!

I have no idea what happened while I was deep in slumber?

I replied to Fienne with a grave expression.

“Well of course not, Fienne. I was asleep.”

She gazed into the distance, her expression thoughtful, before turning back to me with an icy stare and a heavy sigh.

“It was a nice fortnight while it lasted.”

“A fortnight? Good heavens, how surprising. Doesn’t that perfectly overlap with my coma duration? What kind of fun did you have all by yourself while I was suffering?”

“Suffering? You were blissfully laid up in bed, being waited on hand and foot. What suffering?”

“...Wait!”

A shocking realization struck me and I stared at Fienne, aghast.

“What? Is something wrong with your body?!”

“No, that’s not it. You said a fortnight, right? Two weeks?”

“Did you have something important to do? Oh no. Tell me now. It might not be too late.”

“No, nothing like that. It’s just...if I was out for two weeks, I didn’t eat or drink anything, did I? How did I survive?”

Plap. Fienne palmed her face with both hands, though one would have probably sufficed given her tiny face.

“I must really be a fool...Why do I keep worrying when I know it’s just a loss...?”

“Love is always stronger than hate, as they say.”

Fienne looked at me with pity.

“Go on. Get it all out. It must be stifling after being bottled up for two weeks.”

“Fienne, anyone listening would think I’m expelling some toxic waste.”

“Whoever that ‘anyone’ is, they hit the nail on the head.”

Fienne fell into wistful recollection.

“I’ll never forget how it was...those blissful days of your silence.”

“Well aren’t we dramatic...Alright, if only for your sake, I’ll try to fall into a coma more often.”

“Really? I’m so overjoyed.”

Fienne turned and headed for the door.

“Leaving?”

“That’s another excellent idea, but I have something I need to take care of first.”

“What’s that?”

Fienne didn’t answer, simply slipping out of the room.

Moments later, she returned with a tray bearing a bowl of porridge and a glass of water.

I covered my mouth with both hands, a gesture meant to convey, “I’m utterly touched.”

Apparently, the message got lost in translation because Fienne looked disgusted.

“I’m warning you just in case, but don’t get any ideas.”

“Aha, so you brought it for yourself?”

“...You’d be better off with the wrong idea.”

Fienne placed the tray on a small table tucked in the corner of the room, then, with considerable effort, dragged the table to my bedside.

She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, catching her breath. It was hard to believe this energetic young woman had managed to pull off the frail damsel act so convincingly.

Having completed the makeshift bedside table setup, Fienne sat back down and resumed our talk.

“So, tell me. How are you feeling?”

Her question prompted me to finally assess my physical condition.

The first thing that came to mind was the pain of mana overflux that almost gifted me eternal slumber, the sensation of my body falling apart. It had felt akin to that of skin splitting, eyes popping, organs and airways melting.

“Ugh—”

Just the memory triggered a violent physical reaction.

Fortunately, that was all it was; a memory. The pain itself was gone. At least for now.

“And?”

Fienne pressed for more.

“And...”

Regrettably, the absence of pain didn’t mean I was back to full health.

How to describe it? I imagined I was currently like a game character with full HP but zero stamina.

“Nothing hurts, exactly, but I guess I feel drained somehow.”

Fienne nodded slowly.

“Just as that person said.”

“That person?”

“Bardros. The high priest from the Church who helped you.”

The high priest. In the chaos, I hadn’t registered the significance of that title. Now, it hit me.

Only a handful of people ranked higher than a high priest within the vast Church hierarchy.

“Wow, talk about a turn of events. Imagine a nobody like me getting tangled up with someone as important as a high priest.”

“Says the guy who’s friends with master mages and treats the Gray Tower like his second home.”

“Ah.”

I’d almost forgotten. The masters were ridiculously high up there, too.

I recalled the time a master from the Blue Tower, invited to the manor, had engaged in a silent, tension-filled dominance battle with the Bendel patriarch.

Master mages didn’t need to back down, not even in front of the head of a prestigious noble family.

“Ha.”

A dry chuckle escaped me. Would my bastard self in the past have ever imagined hanging out with such influential figures?

“So, what did the high priest say?”

“She said the immediate physical danger had passed, but the depletion of your vital energy was unavoidable.”

In other words, full HP, zero stamina. Exactly what I was feeling.

“She said until your energy is fully restored, you’ll experience difficulty not only using mana, but even with basic physical activity.”

“Did she happen to mention how to restore said energy?”

“Yes. A very conventional method, but she did mention it.”

“Is it rest and good food?”

“Yes, correct.”

Fienne handed me the bowl and spoon.

I accepted them and asked a question.

“Did you make this?”

Fienne averted her gaze.

“I tried.”

“Tried?”

“I looked away for just a second and it burned. Must have been the ingredients.”

What ingredients did she use? The Eternal Wrath of Fire?

Never had I seen a chef so creative that they blamed the ingredients for burning the food.

“What’s with that look? Got something to say?”

“Nope. Just thinking how mean those ingredients were, robbing me of the chance to taste your cooking. Talk about stealing food right out of my bowl.”

I poked at the porridge with the spoon. It was the perfect consistency, not too thick, not too thin—the mark of a skilled hand.

“So, who did make this?”

“Master Didoa came and made a whole pot.”

“Aha.”

Alchemists were none other than masters of measurement. I immediately understood why the porridge was so perfect.

“It was quite hectic. I had to stop her because she was about to whip up a feast fit for a celebration. Then I had to stop her from making nearly a whole cauldron of porridge.”

I chuckled, remembering Miss Didoa constantly refilling teacups and offering pastries back in her lab.

“The porridge. Are you up to eating it?”

“Mhm, it definitely feels like nothing is wrong with me physically. Just looking at it makes me hungry.”

“That’s good. Then you can keep listening while you eat.”

“What, you’re not going to feed me?”

“Tch.”

Fienne clicked her tongue with a look of disgust. But, as if on cue, she snatched the bowl from my hand.

“So annoying. What do you take me for?”

“Hey, if you hate it that much you—”

“There you go again. No doubt you’ll make me look like the bad one if I don’t. I get it, so open wide.”

Fienne scooped up a spoonful of porridge, cooled it with a couple of dainty blows, then offered it to me.

“Well?”

She eyed my reaction, her posture strangely rigid.

“Tastes good and normal. But Fienne, you feeding it to me makes it killer porridge.”

“Ugh, everything that comes from that mouth of yours...”

Fienne shuddered theatrically, but dutifully continued to spoon-feed me. With my mouth busy chewing, she took over the narrative.

“To pick up from before, the high priest said you should have been dead.”

“Ur-hm? (Dead?)”

“She said the average person drinking a vat of elixir in one go would end up in a similar state to yours. Surviving would have been the real anomaly—that’s how severe it was. And under normal circumstances, even she wouldn’t have been able to save you...”

“Ur-hm? (I knew my condition was serious, but I didn’t realize it was that bad. But anyway, what was that about? Under normal circumstances, even she wouldn’t have been able to save me? Then how am I still alive?)”

“But that you’re alive and kicking now is entirely thanks to that insane stunt you pulled.”

“Ur-hm? (Insane stunt?)”

Fienne stared at me, letting out a disbelieving snort.

“Mastering Blue Breath on the spot? What kind of mage saves themselves in such a manner?”

“...The high priest said that? I would have died otherwise?”

“Her exact words were, ‘Simply suppressing the overflowing mana wouldn’t have been enough. Had he not reinforced his body with mana, it would have inevitably collapsed.’”

A shiver ran down my spine. Death had been that close.

“Did she also mention what I should do from now on?”

Fienne nodded.

“The high priest asked why you experienced such severe mana overflux. So, I had no choice but to tell her about your abnormal mana growth rate.”

“And?”

“She said there’s a high probability of this happening again.”

“So, I shouldn’t neglect body strengthening?”

“Precisely.”

“...Since I’ve learned Blue Breath, I guess I should take up swordsmanship?”

“Risir. Have you ever heard of anyone wielding both sword and magic simultaneously?”

A spellsword was a reliable combination of classes, almost a cliché at this point—at least according to my modern memories.

But by this world’s standards...

“I can’t say.”

Simultaneous mastery of magic and swordsmanship was incredibly rare.

“Right? And why do you think that is?”

“Because people don’t get romance?”

Fienne quickly shoved another spoonful of porridge into my mouth.

Surely it wasn’t to shut me up. I must have looked ravenous.

“Attuning to mana is an incredibly delicate process. Even for the most skilled mages and warriors, neglecting it quickly leads to dulling of their abilities.

Now, imagine trying to master two forces at once that aren’t just slightly different, but completely opposed. It’s the epitome of inefficiency.

There are few things more arrogant than pursuing both the path of magic and the sword. That’s why the high priest expressed deep concern. She said while Blue Breath was a brilliant temporary solution, it would become a serious obstacle in your future.”

“...So?”

“So, we told her she needn’t worry.”

Fienne let out a dry chuckle, as if she found her own words absurd.

“Don’t you agree?”

“...I’ll, er, try to live up to the expectation.”

Would my newly-minted-mage self have ever imagined having to pick a spellsword as my second job change, all to stay alive?

***As Fienne continued feeding me, she also fed me information; everything I needed to know, and most of what I was curious about.

“Ah, I was wondering where we were. So this is a guest room in the Gray Tower?”

“Yes. They reserve it for important visitors.”

As the bowl emptied, only one question remained.

“Fienne, can I ask one last thing?”

“I was just about to get to that. What happened at the Gray Tower that they’re suddenly offering you an honorary mage position—right?”

“Right.”

If apprentice tower mages went around outside boasting about their status, some people would gladly greet them with a swift slap to the back of the head.

Only fully fledged mages had any weight to their name. Only after completing the apprenticeship and officially advancing could they truly be recognized as a member of their tower.

It seemed like a small step, but countless apprentices spent over a decade trying to bridge that gap.

In fact, at the library I frequented, I often came across autobiographies of apprentice mages who had failed to become official mages. They detailed, in painstakingly vivid terms, just how incredibly difficult it was to obtain that status.

This was why I had firmly rejected Sir Meltas’ offer to become a student at the Gray Tower. While I could wield magic, I lacked any theoretical knowledge, and if I tried to become a full-fledged tower mage, I might meet my end at the apprenticeship stage.

Yet out of nowhere, they were suddenly telling me to become an official tower mage instead of a Supporter.

It felt almost like asking about job openings at Stanford and being suddenly told, “We have an open spot for a professor, go ahead and take it.”

“Fienne. Just checking, but is this a normal thing?”

“Are you seriously asking me if it’s normal for one of the notoriously elitist and exclusionary mage towers to offer an honorary mage position to a wandering mage with no magical affiliation or family backing?”

Like she said, it was something completely unimaginable, considering the well-known image of the mage towers.

Before hearing the full story from her, I tried to figure out the reason on my own.

Unmasking the black mage...the duel with Gerhen...the Blue Breath live demonstration and...

I had a rough idea, but it still didn’t fully explain why the mage tower was showing signs of such impatience.

Eventually, I gave up on figuring it out myself. But just as I was about to ask Fienne for the full story, a knock echoed from outside the door.

“Risir, are you perhaps awake?”

It was Sir Meltas’ voice.

Unlike usual, there was something unnatural about it, almost as if he didn’t want me to respond.

Of course, I couldn’t just ignore him based on a feeling alone.

“Yes, Sir Meltas. Come in.”

Huff. A sigh from Sir Meltas came through the door.

“Pardon the intrusion.”

The door opened, revealing the dreadlocked elder in his signature gray robe, marking him as a master of the Gray Tower.

And...

“Huh?”

Two figures followed behind him, one in blue robes, the other in green.

At that moment, Fienne leaned in closer and whispered softly in my ear.

“See those two? They’re why the Gray Tower is getting anxious about losing you.”

The meaning behind the honorary mage offer was clear: Move the hell aside—he’s ours!

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