Make Dark Fantasy Great Again
Chapter 65: The Honorary Tower Mage

Chapter 65: The Honorary Tower Mage

0% “Ugh...Can even paper calendars break down now?”

I was stunned when I checked the date this morning. How the hell has it already been over a month since I became a mage of the Gray Tower?

In all that time, I hadn’t checked off a single thing from my hopeful [Things to Do When I Become a Tower Mage ★♥] list.

Things like watching how the townsfolks’ attitudes shifted depending on whether I wore my tower robe. Or dramatically tossing it on in a confrontation, as if it were some kind of royal permit.

You know, truly meaningful, thrilling activities.

Why is there so much work to do?

Contrary to my expectations, I had been drowning in nonstop busywork since becoming an honorary mage. Not that it was the Gray Tower’s fault.

The Blue and Green Towers—and even the Church—showered me with endless handshake requests before they left. And on top of that, for various reasons, the Gray Tower had been excessively accommodating toward me.

-As an honorary mage of the Gray Tower, is there anything I should keep in mind? Any particular mindset I should have?

-Something to keep in mind? But of course!

-Gah, more things to memorize. What is it?

-Remember that we’re proud of you!

-Huh.

-And act with the mindset that our tower reflects you!

-You’ve got that backward, sir.

-Ah! Did I say that you reflect on our tower? I’m so sorry, lad. How presumptuous of me!

-No, you actually said the tower reflects me.

-Oh, then I got it right after all.

-...

The general attitude of the Gray Tower mages toward me was, “Do whatever you like, m’dear Risir.”

I was genuinely grateful, and deep down, I couldn’t help but think what a sweet deal it was. But indulging myself too eagerly was the perfect way to ruin myself.

I couldn’t afford to forget that their perception of me was wildly overblown.

The Gray Tower treated me as if I were the greatest genius in history, someone who could even defy the gods.

But the reality?

Magically, I was a rookie who hadn’t even mastered the basics of theory. Socially, I was just a newbie who had only just shed the label of bastard and claimed a new identity.

If I let my brain melt from all this pampering and really did whatever I wanted, I’d be cleaned out in no time.

So, right after my appointment, I spent time acquiring the knowledge befitting an honorary tower mage. The history of the Gray Tower, its external standing, related precautions and proper conduct, and so on.

And when time allowed, I worked on strengthening my magical foundations with Sir Meltas. Maybe it was because I had already experienced it firsthand, but absorbing the theory and filling in the gaps wasn’t as difficult as I had feared.

This morning, too, I was attending a magic lesson, thanks to Sir Meltas’ generosity.

“Thank you again, Sir Meltas, for sparing such precious time.”

“Do you know what the masters have been saying about this lately?”

“Urgh. I don’t know what it is, but I already feel sorry.”

“They’re denouncing me for monopolizing you. We nearly had a trial on our hands.”

“Oh boy.”

“Anyway, the point is...you have no reason to thank me. There’s a wagonload of people who want to butter you up, and I, as one of those people, feel immense fulfillment for being given this opportunity.”

“Sir Meltas, you truly are a paragon of scholars. It suddenly reminds me of my master.”

“Ahem. I’d prefer if you didn’t talk about your master in front of me.”

“Please don’t speak like a jealous childhood friend. It’s really tough on me.”

“Bah, you little...By the way, I’m curious. If this master of yours were to teach you our current lesson, how do you think they would have taught it?”

“She probably would have made me spar with Senior Mum-mum.”

“...I can’t even imagine what kind of lesson that would be.”

As the time I spent learning from Sir Meltas began to surpass the time I had spent under my master, a rather serious question popped into my head.

So, who’s the real master now?

But that question didn’t linger for long.

What mattered wasn’t how much I was taught, but what I was given.

When I was truly nothing, it was my master who first acknowledged me and extended her hand. Without her, I never would have realized my potential, let alone made it this far.

Even Sir Meltas agreed on that point, admitting how he had initially dismissed me as an illegitimate child.

“Sniff...But I’m still confident I could do better...”

I decided to quickly forget the way he reacted like a jealous childhood friend again.

In any case, about an hour into the lesson...

“Teaching the basics to Risir? What could be a bigger waste of time?”

“Nothing, absolutely nothing. If it were me, I’d start with...”

“That’s one approach, but personally, I’d...”

Several passing master mages took notice and, one by one, gathered around. Before long, they had formed a ring of spectators, closing in on Sir Meltas with growing pressure.

The esteemed masters had seemingly transformed into a troupe of park-bench duelists, nitpicking and offering unsolicited advice at every turn. One might call it an impressive display...or an outright spectacle.

Sir Meltas did his best to ignore them as he wrapped up the lesson.

“Well, since it’s getting noisy around here, let’s call it a day. Oh, right. Don’t forget what I just said, Risir. The back alleys north of Bondalles have been unsettling lately, so if you have any business there, be sure to be cautious.”

“Understood.”

“And, as I’ve said repeatedly, I respect your decision to slowly rebuild your foundation from the basics. As you’ve probably already felt in various aspects, including the overflux, the path you’re about to take from now on is incomparably more treacherous than before.”

“Indeed, it is.”

“Even for someone like you, it won’t be as easy to breeze through as before. Always maintain your current humble beginner’s mindset. Otherwise, I dare say even you will—”

“Ah, I’m sorry, Sir Meltas. Just a moment...”

I frowned at the untimely interruption. Of all times, it had to happen right in the middle of Sir Meltas’ valuable advice.

“What’s the matter?”

“My magic power is about to surge again. Just a moment, I need to contain it with Blue Breath. If I leave this unchecked like last time, I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it.”

“...”

“Ah! I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. Please continue with what you were saying.”

“...Don’t mind whatever anyone else says and just follow your own path. That’s what I was going to say.”

“Eh? That sounds a little different from before—”

“Be silent. If I say that’s what I meant, then take it as it is.”

Sir Meltas sighed more deeply than when he was harassed by the park-bench duelists.

“Regarding that growth of yours. Didn’t you say it was a side effect from using the power of normalization?”

He asked me this with a confused look.

I answered with greater confusion.

“That’s what I thought too. There must be something else at play that I’m unaware of.”

Just when I thought I figured out it responds to the normalization of villains...How is this any different from a real seizure?

Or maybe, a previous case of normalization is affecting some other place, causing a chain reaction...?

When I shared this possibility, Sir Meltas let out a hollow, deflated chuckle.

“Risir. Did you know? For reference, it took me 60 years to get this far.”

“...I’m sorry.”

For some reason, it felt like the right thing to do, so I bowed my head deeply in apology.

It was winter.

***And another week passed.

I wonder how Fienne and Rona are doing? I haven’t seen them in ages. I guess they’re busy...not that I’m not one to talk, being glued to the tower and all.

Life at the tower was still relentlessly busy, leaving me with barely a moment to step outside and meet my colleagues.

But that wasn’t necessarily all bad.

Damn. This is so nice, so comfy. Cheers for free tower lodging.

Ever since the Gerhen incident, I had continued staying in the private quarters the Gray Tower had provided.

Reserved for masters and distinguished guests, the accommodations were, without question, far superior to the inn I used to stay in the 9th District. Especially because it was free.

If I had my way, I’d want to settle down here for good. But who am I?

A guy who knows a thing or two about shame. Which makes me even cooler than ever.

I couldn’t just mooch off the tower forever, relying on its generosity to cover my basic needs.

Students paid tuition to study. Masters contributed to scholarship and brought tangible benefits to the tower.

If I wanted to truly consider myself part of this place, I couldn’t just take for granted the rights my colleagues had fought so hard to earn.

In other words—

I just gotta earn my keep. Oh yeah.

I couldn’t achieve academic success like the students, nor could I make scholarly breakthroughs like the masters. Was there any way for someone like me to contribute to the tower?

Yes there was.

***The Gray Tower, being smack dab in the middle of a city teeming with all sorts of interest groups, couldn’t be a completely independent institution. Interaction with the outside world was inevitable, if only for its well-being and continued existence.

The most representative issue was money—mage towers, put another way, were cash-devouring monsters.

Astronomical sums went into tower research and facility maintenance costs. Student tuition fees alone weren’t enough to cover the costs, so towers employed various methods to secure funding.

And in this matter, there were those whose interests aligned perfectly.

The Gray Tower overflowed with prestige and power but lacked funds.

Merchants and lower nobles were flush with wealth but lacked prestige and power.

By donating vast sums to the Gray Tower, they maintained a mutually beneficial relationship. The tower became their patron in influence, and they became the tower’s patron in wealth.

One such patron was Polda, the leader of a mid-sized trading company.

After experiencing rapid financial growth, Polda found that her company’s influence couldn’t keep pace with its wealth. That was when she turned to the Gray Tower for support.

She likely reasoned that it was better to hand over the money to the tower than let city nobles and crime syndicates bleed her dry.

Both the city nobles and the crime syndicates—who made a living by deftly emptying other people’s pockets—would have to think twice before targeting a patron of the tower.

Essentially, the tower offered its patrons an “Oi, who bullied our benefactor?” service. It was how a scholarly institution built on lethal magic ensured its own survival.

Of course, given the weight of the tower’s name, such assistance was provided under strict conditions:

1. The issue must be devoid of political implications.

2. The patron must not be the aggressor.

3. The situation must necessitate magical intervention.

Believing that her current predicament met all three criteria, Polda came seeking the tower’s aid.

-The Red Crates are holding onto our goods, but we haven’t been able to reach them.

The Red Crate was a warehouse operation based in northern Bondalles. It was an open secret that they were tied to Leather Chains, the crime syndicate that ruled the area. Yet, countless merchants had no choice but to do business with them.

After all, only a handful of groups within Bondalles provided large-scale storage for outsiders. Merchants had two choices: take the risk and work with the Red Crate or sit back and let the city nobles bleed them dry.

A devil’s bargain—one with only one real choice.

-I’d go confront them myself, but you know the rumors. Things are apparently rough in that area lately. So, if it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to request the tower’s assistance.

Polda’s request was simple: “Those bastards aren’t the easiest to negotiate with. Please come along and look intimidating.”

The Gray Tower conducted its review.

Did the request carry political implications?

No.

Was the patron the aggressor?

No.

Did the situation require magical intervention?

-I know where the goods are stored. There’s a barrier set up around it—if things go south, I’d like the option to break it and retrieve my goods.

Yes.

And so, the tower decided to provide its “Oi, who bullied our benefactor?” service.

I volunteered.

***“I’m Risir, the honorary mage from the Gray Tower responsible for resolving this issue. Pleased to meet you.”

“...Likewise.”

Polda shook the young mage’s hand with a warm smile.

Are you kidding me?

On the outside, that is.

Polda recalled all the donations she’d sent to the Gray Tower so far. While not enough to make big demands, she thought it was certainly enough to warrant decent treatment.

At the very least, she expected them to send a proper mage. But this?

An honorary mage?

The title had a nice ring to it, sure. But the way he looked...

He’s cute, I’ll give him that. But still...

Polda saw a youthful face without a trace of world-weariness.

Indeed, he was far too young.

As far as she knew, mages of his age were 4th rank at best. Nowhere near the level of a full-fledged mage.

What kind of circumstances would grant someone like that an honorary title from the Gray Tower?

More disgraceful reasons came to mind than honorable ones—and Polda was fairly certain she wasn’t just overthinking it.

She pictured Karl, the leader of the Red Crate, and the subordinates under his command. Despite being called warehouse workers, in practice, they were little more than mercenaries.

Back when Polda trusted them to safeguard her goods, they had seemed so reliable. But looking back now, she wondered how she had ever been foolish enough to entrust them with her cargo.

She considered the worst-case scenario. Could this young mage in front of her handle it?

“...”

She simply couldn’t see it happening. The thought of this greenhorn subduing those ruthless mercenaries was unimaginable.

To begin with, having someone like him as her so-called tower mage seemed likely to cause problems that wouldn’t have arisen otherwise. The Red Crate would surely understand what it meant to have a tower mage barging into their business.

This is driving me nuts. What should I do?

While she was pondering, they arrived at the 13th District street where Red Crate’s business was located.

The rundown streets did little to mask their squalor, with filth covering every corner. Those walking through bore an unmistakable air of lawlessness.

It was the perfect setting for the young mage’s refined appearance to stand out. If not for his Gray Tower robes, trouble would have found him long ago.

“Let’s go.”

Yet, Risir took the lead with a carefree face, showing not even a hint of tension.

“Ah, um...”

Polda followed nervously as they stepped into a bar tucked away in a secluded corner of the 13th District. It was one of the businesses owned by Carl, the leader of Red Crate—a place he frequented.

“...”

In an empty corner of the bar, a bald man with a deep scar across his face sat hunched over a ledger. A mountain of coins was piled on the table before him.

He was Carl.

“...”

He recognized Polda and spared her a glance but offered no greeting. For someone who had been holding onto another’s goods while ignoring their calls, his indifference was quite audacious.

Worse yet, there was a flicker of irritation in his gaze, as if Polda were the one who stole from him.

Perhaps that’s exactly how he saw it. If he hadn’t already decided the goods were his, he wouldn’t have ignored her attempts to contact him for so long.

Dammit.

Forcing herself to push past the intimidation, Polda got straight to the point. She asked for the goods she had paid to store in his warehouse. A perfectly reasonable and fair request.

“You can’t have them right now.”

The response, on the other hand, was anything but reasonable or fair.

“What do you mean I can’t?! I’m a fair-paying customer of your warehouse! Which means this isn’t a request—it’s a rightful demand! And you have an obligation to fulfill it!”

“Oi, dear customer. We’ve got our own circumstances to consider. If you push like this, you’ll only make things difficult for both of us.”

Carl shot a glare at Polda before his eyes slid to Risir. Seeing the gray robes and the young face, a mocking smirk curled at his lips.

“Hah. I see you’ve brought quite the formidable problem solver, eh?”

“...”

Polda’s expression visibly soured.

One thought consumed her mind: if only a proper, full-fledged mage had come, Carl wouldn’t be acting this way.

“Looks to me you don’t give a damn about our troubles. You’ve already made up your mind to see this through to the end. Well then, we’ve got our own ways of handling things too. Hey.”

Carl kicked the leg of the table.

Hearing the clatter, the people filling the bar rose from their seats, closing in around them.

“You’ve lost your mind. Are you seriously thinking of laying hands on a tower mage?”

“Of course not. We’re just politely asking you to leave—while I’m being nice.”

The exact scenario Polda had feared was now playing out before her eyes. Risir’s unthreatening presence had turned a non-issue into a full-blown one.

How could a bunch of mere mercenaries dare to threaten a mage of the Gray Tower?

But at that moment, Risir stepped in to address Carl.

“I am Risir, an honorary mage sent by the Gray Tower to mediate this issue. Could we have a moment to talk?”

Polda screamed internally.

Speaking up in this situation? Are you out of your mind?

Sure enough, Carl burst into derisive laughter as he slammed the table threateningly.

As the loud noise faded, a heavy, uncomfortable silence fell over the place.

“Risir...”

That’s when it happened. Carl’s eyes grew hazy as he belatedly mulled over that name.

“...!”

He hurriedly shot up and gestured towards the opposite seat.

“M-Mr. Risir! Please h-have a seat!”

It wasn’t just Carl. Everyone in the bar was bowing their heads toward Risir.

“...?”

Huh? What the heck is going on?

Am I the only one who doesn’t know his name?

***

[The target falls under the dominion of the True Word]

[The target falls under the dominion of the True Word]

[The target falls under the dominion of the True Word]

[The target falls under the dominion of the True Word]

[The target falls under the dominion of the True Word]

***

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