Make Dark Fantasy Great Again
Chapter 66: Underworld Mogul

Chapter 66: Underworld Mogul

0% The canvas of eager students, painting their futures with strokes of pure passion—that’s how the Gray Tower Lord remembered her tower, once upon a time.

“...”

But the Gray Tower the Lord beheld today was very different.

Gone were the students burning with pure passion, replaced by a mix of scheming politicians and turncoat mages.

The Gray Tower Lord gazed at her puppet with cold eyes.

“This was the best you could do?”

The puppet withered in shame.

“Yes, Master. This was my utmost. I apologize for failing to meet your expectations.”

“I see. You have served me well until now.”

That was the extent of her praise for the puppet’s long years of service.

The Gray Tower Lord reached out a hand toward it.

“...”

And the light in the puppet’s eyes flickered and died. The construct, which had managed the Gray Tower in her prolonged absence, reverted to a mere object.

The Gray Tower Lord took in the sight of the tower with a heavy heart...but not for long.

She turned her back without hesitation.

The Gray Tower had lost its pride and its lord. Now, only schemers and traitors remained.

[Region – The Fallen Gray Tower]

***The Gray Tower Lord, ‘The Wandering Star’, was a creature of legend. To find anyone who had seen her, one would need to seek out individuals with at least five years of experience within the tower.

After all, the Lord of the Gray Tower hadn’t shown her face in five years. Even then, during her brief visit, she concealed her identity and met with only a select few.

Some scoffed.

-Even a real estate broker dealing with cursed properties would show more interest than that.

Some questioned.

-Why would someone like that be recognized as the tower’s lord?

And some answered.

-Because despite everything, no greater mage has emerged to take her place.

A tower lord was more than just a master—they were a symbol. At times, their achievements surpassed those of the tower itself.

The Gray Tower’s history was not a long one. Compared to other towers, which traced their lineage to great noble houses steeped in magic and tradition, its very name—Gray—seemed all the more faded.

Nevertheless, it was recognized as a tower in its own right. Because it was where the Wandering Star had chosen to root herself. Because it was where the weight of her achievements remained.

The mages of the Gray Tower spoke of her with reverence. Some, awed by her legend, accepted the idea of a tower lord cursed with a restless fate.

...And then they would ask: “So who actually runs the tower?”

That question would be met with silence.

Surprisingly, however, the Gray Tower had never struggled with this issue, as the absence of its lord was seamlessly filled by another.

For all her wandering, the Gray Tower Lord was not irresponsible. Before vanishing, she had responsibly(?) found someone to shoulder her burden.

Wherever the tower required the lord’s seal, that person was there. Dark circles etched into her skin, a cynical smile heavy with exhaustion and resignation—Demia.

She carelessly pulled up her brittle, dust-streaked gray hair and allowed herself a single indulgent thought.

I am taking a bath before blacking out tonight. I swear.

But then, a familiar name spoken just a few steps away shattered the fantasy.

She quickly let it go.

Risir...

To Demia, it was a name straight out of a nightmare.

The mages of the tower all sung praises of his talent, welcoming him with open arms.

Demia couldn’t. The directive she had received from the Tower Lord was to preserve and revitalize the Gray Tower. And what the tower needed most wasn’t talent—it was funding.

For the past year, Demia had been working tirelessly behind the scenes on an extensive financial recovery plan.

That plan had just collapsed with Risir’s appointment as an honorary mage.

***There was a merchant family called Merich.

Having amassed immense wealth through trade in the South, they had risen as a new force of power. Yet, they struggled with a lack of legitimacy and noble recognition.

With some money in the bank, they wanted to rub shoulders with the elites and add a touch of gold to their name—but those so-called elites refused to acknowledge them, dismissing them as mere upstarts.

When taking their money, the nobles would fawn, “Ah, as expected of House Merich! Such generosity!”

Yet the moment their backs were turned, they’d sneer, “Well, that’s Merich for you.”

Even the shrewdest merchants would find themselves grinding their teeth at such blatant hypocrisy.

Seeking a solution, House Merich set their sights on the Gray Tower. They aimed to secure an honorary mage title for their eldest son, thereby claiming a semblance of noble legitimacy.

Over the past year, Merich had waged an aggressive campaign of financial support for the tower. They were on the verge of solidifying their partnership, standing at the precipice of what could only be described as the “Our CEO Has Lost His Mind” phase of their patronage.

Demia had been so thrilled about the deal that she’d lost sleep over it. If she could secure this agreement, the tower’s finances would finally be stable. And that meant she might experience something that, for her, had only ever existed in legend: a vacation.

Will I get to visit a cafe too, at last...?

I’ll eat good food...buy new clothes...look at makeup...and sleep in all day...Heheheh...

She almost couldn’t believe it. Did she really deserve such luxury?

Well, the heavens answered her: “Nope.”

At the perfect timing, a wandering mage named Risir appeared and ascended to idol-like status within the mage tower.

The Council of Masters unanimously proposed appointing Risir as an honorary mage.

Demia refused.

The Council of Masters unanimously proposed appointing Risir as an honorary mage.

Demia refused.

The Council of Masters unanimously proposed appointing Risir as an honorary mage. The Council of Masters unanimously proposed appointing Risir as an honorary mage. The Council of Masters unanimously proposed appointing Risir as an honorary ma—

Demia fainted.

And so, instead of the eldest son of House Merich, the Gray Tower’s title of honorary mage fell into the hands of the wandering mage, Risir.

For reference, the appointment of an honorary mage was traditionally limited to once every two years.

House Merich’s stance on the matter was clear: “Too bad.”

And when House Merich expressed regret, they did so as boldly as they expressed goodwill. Not only did they withdraw their patronage without hesitation, they mobilized their full influence to make their displeasure known.

The merchants who had long maintained good relations with the Gray Tower abruptly turned their backs.

Demia fainted again.

Of course, some of the more rigid-minded mages were bound to make a comment like, “You were basically selling the honorary mage title for money. Isn’t that wrong?”

If Demia were to offer a defense—if it could even be called that—most mage towers had long used such appointments to strengthen their external political influence.

In fact, the Gray Tower had been the exception for upholding its integrity until now. Though, that was precisely why House Merich had sought its recognition over any other.

In that sense, this could perhaps be considered an opportunity, as the incident would only serve to elevate the Gray Tower’s prestige even further.

Ah, right. There was yet another piece of good news.

Thanks to Risir’s help, the Gray Tower had successfully cut away a festering wound—Gerhen. With that, it had taken another step closer to embodying the value of integrity.

The only small issue? Gerhen’s family, the Dreiders, had been one of the tower’s key patrons.

Thus, in its steadfast pursuit of integrity, the tower repeatedly encountered one fortunate(?) event after another until, to resounding acclaim, it found itself in the midst of a financial crisis.

Such a cruel irony. The closer one came to honor, the poorer they became; the further they strayed from it, the wealthier they grew.

Between becoming an honorable beggar and a dishonorable tycoon, Demia had unwillingly chosen the former, which meant she needed to find a solution.

Unfortunately, none came to her mind.

And so, the Gray Tower’s de facto leader began to feel a certain resentment toward Risir, the root of all this trouble.

“Is Risir not the honorary mage of our tower? And yet, you’ve assigned him to something as trivial as mediating a dispute between merchants?”

It was amidst this mounting frustration that Master Mortier—Risir’s most ardent supporter within the Gray Tower—stormed into Demia’s office, voicing his displeasure.

“Master Mortier. Do you have any idea how many resources were spent on the selection and induction ceremony for the honorary mage?”

As the Gray Tower Lord’s proxy, Demia infused her weary voice with authority.

“But that’s...!”

How cowardly to bring practicality into this!

Master Mortier averted his gaze.

“Let me ask a question, Master Mortier. What has our tower gained by appointing this honorary mage?”

“We have gained an individual with unparalleled potential and value.”

“Indeed. He is a talent we gained at a steep price. So, I consider this a test of his worth.”

“But Deputy Tower Lord, you know full well about Carl of the Red Crate!”

“A former mercenary. One who made a habit of serious offenses before laundering his past. Considering his temperament, it’s highly unlikely Risir will be shown the respect due his title. Such an honorary position, held by someone so young, is bound to be interpreted in many ways.”

“If you understand that, then why...?!”

Demia gazed at Mortier meaningfully.

“Because, like all of you, I too hold great expectations for him.”

“...”

Despite her words, her expression was utterly impassive.

In truth, Demia held no real expectations of Risir. The criminal syndicate Leather Chains, situated in the northern backstreets, had grown beyond even the city nobles’ control.

As one of the nobility’s primary sources of funding, the syndicate had severed all external communication and contact, choosing to act independently.

There was no doubt that Carl was acting strictly on orders from above. So would he simply surrender goods just because a merchant demanded their return?

As unfortunate as it was for the merchants, the likelihood of them recovering any goods or rights tied up in the north was extremely low. Once Polda experienced the situation firsthand, she would quickly grasp the reality.

Therefore, Demia concluded that if Risir’s dispatch managed to avoid inciting complaints from Polda, that in itself would be a satisfactory outcome.

***To a merchant, information is tantamount to life itself.

The worst consequence of lacking information might be some monetary loss, but for a merchant, their lifeline was their purse strings.

Conversely, profit could revive even a dying merchant—there was a well-known tale to that effect.

The master of a major trading company, bedridden with chronic illness and old age, suddenly sprang to life with a final burst of energy upon hearing news of a windfall from beyond his door, roaring with glee.

Thus, Polda strived to be well-informed on most matters, from the political climate to the daily happenings of Bondalles. This habit had been instrumental in her rise from the very bottom to her current position as the leader of a mid-sized trading company.

Some said that Polda knew just about everything.

She knew that the criminal syndicate ruling Bondalles’ underworld wasn’t simply a gathering of common thugs, but a coalition of adventurers and mercenaries seduced by the taste of illicit wealth.

And she knew that the recent activity of Leather Chains, one such syndicate, was cause for concern.

Of all the merchants, Polda was the first to show signs of withdrawing from all business dealings related to the northern districts of Bondalles.

Indeed, her information network was unparalleled among her peers in the city. She knew this herself, which was the reason for her current state of utter bewilderment.

“My deepest apologies for failing to recognize you, Lord Risir! I’ll immediately resolve the matter you mentioned!”

“Ahaha, thank you. But tell me, do you know who I am?”

“How could I not?! It’s only natural that I do!”

“Ahaha. Why is that natural?”

Risir...how could I have been unaware of a big fish like this?

The man bowing before Risir was Carl.

As the operator of Red Crate, he served clients across both the polished halls and shadowed alleys of Bondalles, earning the trust of Leather Chains. So who could possibly make Carl not just deferential, but outright subservient?

“Now, here you are! Miss Polda’s goods!”

“Oh dear, thank you for the prompt service.”

“T-to hear such praise from you, Lord Risir! I’m honored! If you ever require further assistance, please don’t hesitate to find me!”

Who else could so effortlessly resolve a dispute with Leather Chains, given the power they wielded? Even most high-ranking adventurers, city nobility, and tower masters would struggle to achieve such a feat.

“Miss Polda, is this the correct vault?”

“What? Oh, yes! It is! Thank you!”

She had reaped an unexpected reward.

Risir.

Polda etched the name—unfamiliar to almost everyone in the city—into her memory.

***“What in the world is going on?”

The Gray Tower was in an uproar over the sudden arrival of a carriage procession.

Demia demanded an explanation from her secretary.

“The trading company leaders of Bondalles have requested an urgent audience...!”

The same company leaders who usually ignored the Gray Tower in favor of the city’s nobility? So suddenly?

Demia’s dark-circled eyes twitched.

At that very moment, a rumor about a certain honorary mage was rapidly spreading amongst the merchants—word of someone who could cleanly resolve issues that even the city’s nobles couldn’t handle.

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