Chapter 24
“⋯⋯⋯⋯!!”
The Purple Magic Tower Master’s eyes widened, her mouth covered by one hand while the other urgently tugged at my sleeve. Wondering what was going on, it seemed she was about to yawn.
I bent my knees to match her height and leaned in close.
The Tower Master removed her hand from her mouth and let out an adorably cute yawn. It was a rare sight to witness a cute yawn, yet somehow, the Tower Master managed to pull it off.
Heuuuaaaaaaauahhhh.
I inhaled all the released breath from the Tower Master, ensuring we were close enough to avoid any unnecessary misunderstandings.
Let it be clear—this was not a lewd act to fulfill any peculiar fantasies.
Yawning is a natural phenomenon that occurs in living beings with souls.
Just as heat is derived from burning fuel, living beings also burn their souls for energy. In martial arts terms, this energy is referred to as True Origin Qi, while normally, it’s called life force.
This explains why Black Wizards are so keen on capturing people—they consume life force to cast their spells.
And the byproduct of burning the soul? Mana. To put it poetically, mana is the ash left after a soul has burned.
Living beings emit a small amount of mana with every exhale. And occasionally, when a significant amount of unrefined mana accumulates, it all gets released in a yawn.
The higher one’s level, the purer and more abundant the mana released through yawns. For an Archwizard, a single yawn could rival the most potent elixir.
Because of this, there exists a culture that allows one’s finest disciple to “drink” their yawns. In extremely close relationships, they might overlap lips to absorb 100% of the dissipating mana.
How could anyone do such a thing without feeling embarrassed? I was already on edge, worried our lips might accidentally meet.
Uh.
“⋯⋯⋯⋯?!”
Did we just brush against each other slightly?
Phewwwww.
The Tower Master chuckled refreshingly, seeming pleased. Judging by her nonchalant reaction, it must have been my imagination… I absentmindedly fiddled with my lips.
After the excessively eventful session with the Second Prince Irid, the Tower Master and I had been enjoying extraordinarily calm and peaceful days.
Waking up in the morning, washing up, brushing our teeth. Then, we proceeded with our modeling sessions.
We ate, did some light stretching, and then modeled again.
We ate, rested a bit while modeling, and then continued modeling.
We ate and modeled…
Yes, I desperately needed to do a whole lot of modeling. Not only for heroines to use, but also for those colossal robot models that fulfill every man’s dream. There was an endless list of things I wanted to do.
Yet among them, the most pressing task was gathering combat data.
While it made sense that the Second Prince had a clumsy mercenary as the main enemy, if a knight appeared as the foe but couldn’t swing a sword, it would seriously threaten story coherence.
I also needed information on monster movements. I had laid some groundwork using countless videos from my previous life, but after consulting the Tower Master’s social butterfly extraordinaire (she went out almost 50% of the time), Senior Scarface, she told me my data was an absolute shambles.
“I should probably go outside at least once…”
“It’s dangerous outside of the Magic Tower!”
“I know it’s dangerous, but…”
In the nine years at the Magic Tower, I hadn’t even scratched the surface of combat magic research. It wasn’t because I was a pacifist—it was just that panty modeling was way more enjoyable than magic that drove people insane.
The Tower Master was also against me learning combat magic. She claimed it would “taint” me. Given that it was advice from an Archwizard, I simply nodded and ignored it.
Thus, I found myself needing an assistant. A reliably fierce bodyguard who could protect me outside the Tower. Ideally, it would be best if the Tower Master joined me…
“Should I write a relocation request for strategic weapons…?”
“No.”
Apparently, superhumans such as Archwizards must submit a request to the Imperial Court a week in advance to specify where they’re going and how long they plan to stay.
It felt a bit exaggerated to me, but from the perspective of the neighboring lord, I understood. Can you imagine suddenly having a strategic nuclear weapon strolling through your territory? They’d be sweating buckets and likely feeling faint at the prospect.
Even if the lord took precautions, if a black-haired, tanned, no-good thug from the area started trouble… depending on the temperament of that nuclear weapon, an entire block could go boom.
So, to prevent more instances of lords developing digestive problems, such protocols were required.
If an application got rejected, you’d have to file it again, dragging things on for a month or more. It seems prudent to manage my expectations for the Tower Master accompanying me.
For reference, on the day all the Tower Masters gathered to scout me, there was a frenzy because no one had submitted an application. I heard rumors the lord governing my birth village fainted from shock, foaming at the mouth.
Anyway.
At every opportunity, I needed to make a trip outside…
===============================================================
I entered the Tower Master’s lab to ask if she would like to do some bra modeling with me, only to find her in thin pajamas, holding a letter, creaking like a malfunctioning robot.
“Th-the princess… s-sent a letter!”
I took the letter from the broken Tower Master. It was ornate and lavishly adorned with jewels, clearly from the imperial family. All of this would ultimately fund our research.
Peeling away the decorations to check the sender revealed it was from the First Princess.
Stripping away all the complex political fluff, the core message was succinct:
My brother seems to have enjoyed himself.
I want to do it too.
I like beating people up.
See you in a week.
“Hmm.”
Reading through this clumsily written yet elegantly presented content, it struck me how royal etiquette was no joke. I re-read the letter to get a grasp on the needs of the prospective player.
I also asked the Tower Master if she knew any further details about the First Princess. Sitting cross-legged on my thighs, she answered, using one arm as a temporary support.
“I heard she’s been a battle maniac since she was young.”
“A battle maniac, you say?”
“Yep, Count Yurensto often said, ‘Don’t act like the wild horse that is the First Princess.’ There were even rumors of knights breaking their arms while sparring with her!”
That was indeed a critical detail—combat.
If the player enjoyed combat so much, I had a mission to prepare a combat map. It was finally time to fulfill that lingering wish for an epic final showdown I couldn’t achieve with the Second Prince.
Just then, a thought occurred to me, prompting a question towards the Tower Master.
“Speaking of which… don’t we usually count as First Princess, First Prince, and Second Prince?”
“Yep, that’s right.”
“Uh?”
“Oh, oh! The First Prince died. So I deliberately omitted that from our talks. The imperial family doesn’t like to discuss him. It’s practically taboo. Everyone treats him like he never existed.”
“Oh dear, how did that happen?”
“It’s just a rumor, but they say he was poisoned… when he was around ten.”
Now that was quite the sensitive matter. Discussing a poisoned crown prince could tarnish the reputation of the royal family if mentioned too openly.
Poisoning? The thought cascaded various reference materials through my mind, from palace intrigues to romance fantasy. The idea of poisoning and succession struggles hinted the imperial family may have been messier than I realized.
Was that why the Second Prince seemed a bit… off? If it wasn’t inherited paranoid symptoms from the Emperor, that must imply something happened during his upbringing.
Given the delicacy of the topic, any mention of poison should be avoided. I needed to steer clear of clichés like, “Who poisoned my green tea?” as well.
Combat, combat, huh…
What about a dark fantasy?
A world where everything lies in ruins, painted in ashes. A mana disaster happened, wiping out around 90% of humanity, leaving grotesque monsters to claim dominion over creation. These beasts spoke a language utterly incomprehensible to humans.
Humans clung to life at small outposts, burning up artifacts and knowledge from the once-glorious civilization of yore, quietly fading day by day.
Yet there is a glimmer of hope. It’s just a rumor, but somewhere on the continent lies a shelter… mmm, a Safe Dungeon that guarantees survival for at least the next 100 years.
That’s when the player emerges.
A player with an enigmatic presence who clears paths through the distorted environment while defeating massive monsters. The remaining humans then follow and worship the player. In other words, the player becomes a prophet.
It would be interesting to throw in minor troubles for the human group led by the player, from petty theft to serious murder. Choices that blur the lines of morality would help define the player’s character significantly.
I should include a heroine too. If she’s a woman… mmm. Perhaps a frail scholar, an aspiring knight who admires the player, and a “top G” would roughly cover it.
As expected, I truly needed to venture outside. Gathering combat data became urgent.
If the Tower Master couldn’t accompany me, I needed a backup plan. Someone with adequate combat prowess who would actively support my data gathering—not just someone locked away in research who had never smashed a goblin’s head.
I decided to reach out to Senior Scarface for assistance.
“Junior, repeat after me. Lo-re-i.”
“Scarface.”
“Lo-”
“Lo.”
“Re-”
“Re.”
“I.”
“Scarface.”
Though our communication faced slight hiccups, when I peeled off a jewel or two from the letter, she became unusually cooperative. Money works wonders, after all.
The Tower Master made a fuss, but preparations for the outing sped up remarkably. Senior Scarface hired an adventurer party, plotted a fitting exploration route, and assured the Tower Master I would have a very safe experience.
“Take this, and just in case, this too… and this… this…”
It seemed like the Tower Master had undergone a transformation, ready to kill me if she couldn’t keep me, as she heaped a mountain of artifacts on me. I was burdened with no less than forty-nine necklace-type artifacts!
The Tower Master even threatened that I couldn’t step outside until I wore every single one of them.
Senior Scarface pondered for a moment before instructing me.
“Whisper in the Tower Master’s ear that she’s the best in the entire world.”
“Why?”
“Because only by doing so will our path ahead open up.”
Senior Scarface was brimming with confidence. I chose to trust my upperclassman, a wizard and an experienced explorer. I visualized a heartwarming moment, similar to when childhood parents embrace their daughter home from school.
I hugged the Tower Master warmly and whispered into her ear; it was comfortable embracing her since she was so cozy.
“I like Yuna best in the whole world!”
“⋯⋯⋯⋯!!?!”
At that moment, the Tower Master vanished—not a joke or metaphor, but genuinely gone.
At first, I was baffled, questioning what just happened, but according to Senior Scarface, she had used some advanced illusion magic to escape my grip. For some reason, I sensed satisfaction radiating from Senior Scarface.
Even with just a few months of difference, it seemed a senior is a senior indeed. Just like that, Senior Scarface had effortlessly cleared all obstacles.
In the end, I only wore one necklace.
This was how, with a heart pounding with excitement, I finally stepped outside the Magic Tower for the very first time in nine years.
===============================================================
Upon reaching our meeting point, a trio was waiting for us. I heard they were an adventurer party, but their equipment was no joke. To exaggerate a little, they looked nearly knight-level.
The party was composed of one man and two women. Judging by appearances, they had one warrior, one archer, and one rogue. The rogue’s outfit was quite revealing, and the little fabric worth using as a reference was notable. I should definitely consider modeling it for later.
The apparent leader—a handsome young man with a stylish 2:8 parting—introduced himself. His eyes resembled that of a fox, and he even had a beauty mark close to his eyes; somehow, it gave off an oddly peculiar aura.
“Nice to meet you. I am Rowillen, a Second-Class Adventurer who will be joining you on this adventure.”
“Thanks! I look forward to your kind cooperation, beauty mark dude.”
“⋯⋯Are you picking a fight with me right now?”
“He’s just a bit… eccentric in the head. Please understand.”
Senior Scarface quickly jumped in to shield me from any harsh remarks.
From the look on his face when he heard “beauty mark dude”, he must prefer women—thank goodness!
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