Chapter – 17….
A blood-red hue, born of pure madness, completely enveloped my arm, and the hologram’s color gradually deepened, as if warning of danger.
My vision swayed, and strength drained from my body.
It literally felt as if my soul was being sucked out.
The sword emitted a grotesque squeaking sound, spewing demonic energy in all directions.
Soon, the cave was filled with black magical energy.
My throat felt scratchy, and then a burning heat rose from deep in my lungs.
I couldn’t breathe.
The red aura that had started from my left hand surged straight into my heart, my head, my legs, and eventually my entire body.
My body, beyond my control, coughed, and something came up from my mouth.
A black lump of blood.
It seemed I could no longer hold on to reason itself.
Annoying auditory hallucinations endlessly tickled my ears.
I made no resistance.
The sword I held in my left hand tore through my palm, shredding bones and devouring my left arm.
Pain didn’t register.
I watched silently, then, throwing the torch away, I retrieved the sword I normally wielded with my now-empty right hand.
And, without a second thought,
I cut off my entire left arm.
A new wave, starting from my severed arm, swept through the cave. The crimson world vanished, leaving the surroundings cloaked in darkness, with only a quiet, blue hologram glowing.
**‘Load.
Test.
The ‘Ascended One’s Soul’ has cast an illusion upon you.
It is a high-level spell formed by weaving seven rings during the Ascended One’s lifetime, designed to stir chaos in the captive’s mind, turning them into a madman craving destruction and slaughter.
You possess no power to resist it, so the spell easily invaded your mind, and its effects ran wild.
A normal human—or even one with exceptionally strong mental fortitude—would have succumbed to madness in mere seconds under such a spell.
At least, the ‘Soul’ assumed that would happen.
But what has just occurred?
Amid the storm of madness, you severed the arm of your own hand holding the ‘Soul’ without a flicker of hesitation.
Such judgment and decision-making are beyond what an ordinary human could possess.
To discard a sword because you cannot reject it—there is no more brute force solution than this.
Was it the right move?
Well… if you can barely bypass a seven-stage illusion this way, you wouldn’t be looking up in awe at the mages who opened the seventh door.
Nonetheless, the result is exceedingly successful.
The ‘Soul’ was astonished that you remained unmoved by the madness and took decisive action, and it chose to end the illusion on its own.
As the spell dissipated, the crimson frenzy that had clouded your vision disappeared, leaving no trace.
It was as if it had all been a lie—the cave now peaceful.
Ah, so illusions are just illusions?
Even the arm you had supposedly severed was properly attached to your shoulder, just as before.
Fortunately, you have successfully preserved yourself.
The ‘Soul’ isn’t particularly satisfied, however.
Among all your lack of magical power, knowledge, talent, and achievements, only your formidable mental strength stands out.
Test result. Pass/fail judgment……
Pending.
You were not consumed by the Ascended One’s Soul, but you also cannot wield the mysterious power of the sword.’**
I absentmindedly touched my left shoulder, which I had “cut off” moments ago.
As the message had said, it was firmly there.
I knew it was all an illusion created by the sword.
Even so, the thought of it having actually fallen off made me nervous—it’s only human to worry.
I exhaled. That had been quite the ordeal.
I slowly withdrew the sword embedded in the wall.
It slid smoothly into my hand without resistance.
After swinging it a few times, it quickly felt natural.
Thanks to this, no one at the Magic Tower lost their lives, and I had acquired a fine sword.
Calling it “killing two birds with one stone” would be an understatement.
I lit a torch and exited the cave.
After acquiring the Ascended One’s Relic, commonly called the ‘Soul’, I had no pressing matters. For several days afterward, I did nothing but roam Caindea.
I had enough money, so there was no need to look for work. There was no one suitable to spar with, so I’d just swing my sword hundreds of times in the air until I lost interest.
My day ended with thinking about my future plans.
It was a tedious six days.
It was even more boring since there was no one I knew around.
I tried to recall anyone in Caindea directly related to this episode, then quickly gave up.
Getting entangled with vampires would have left me a dried-up corpse. No point taking unnecessary risks.
Finally, the day I had promised to meet a woman arrived.
As usual, I woke up at dawn.
Today was my meeting with the Crimson Sage.
I was already a little anxious. She was utterly unpredictable.
I had a few ideas, but I worried they might not work.
I quickly washed up, packed my things, and headed to the Magic Tower.
Our meeting was scheduled for noon.
I had several hours to kill and figured it would be wise to arrive early to organize my thoughts.
The streets, still dim, welcomed me as I walked down the alleys.
I arrived quickly.
I entered the Magic Tower.
First floor.
A huge hall.
Even at this early hour, it was crowded.
Perhaps because it was early, the mages who worked night shifts were busier than usual.
A tall mage reading a book near a column.
Another precariously moving a teetering stack of books higher than his head.
A third had violet potions lined up, chanting spells.
Boom. A small explosion occurred near the mage using the potions as catalysts.
I didn’t know what he intended, but he clearly failed.
The man’s hair was singed and frizzed like it had been hit by a bomb.
He awkwardly scratched the back of his head as he swept up the shattered bottles.
A voice came from behind:
“That guy always does this. He ignores the formula and changes the ratios himself, so it always explodes. Idiot.”
“Do you know him?”
“Not very well, but he’s famous. He’s a low-ranking member of Cresida Cresis. How he joined, I have no idea.”
“I can’t believe you’re part of Excilin’s Eight-Winged Phoenix, either.”
“……”
The person speaking to me was the woman I was meeting today.
Her face, after a week, looked quite haggard.
Skin dry, dark circles under her eyes reaching her cheeks—she looked as though she hadn’t slept for days.
“Something happened?” I asked.
“Huh? Oh, I don’t look great, do I? I was just experimenting with a few things. Actually, I should thank you.”
Thank me?
Not for bringing her troll blood. There wasn’t much else that came to mind.
She hesitated briefly, then tilted her head up, looked at me, and smiled.
“Like you said, using my traits made spellcasting much smoother. I wonder why I didn’t try it sooner.”
“That’s good, I guess,” I replied.
A human who had lived eleven years without talent could hardly achieve great results in a week just by using immigrant traits. Likely just a small breakthrough.
Whether she noticed my thoughts or not, she pretended to be cheerful.
She straightened her torso, hands on her hips, and made a playful hum. She seemed genuinely happy.
“Casting spells for fun—this is the first time I’ve enjoyed it. I stayed up all day, chanting spells. Thanks to me burning the common practice room, I had to pay for damages.”
“……”
“Doesn’t matter. Someone took all my assets, so I have nothing to eat or spend. The Phoenix Group agreed to cover the rebuilding costs. Actually, the master covered it. Hehe.”
“Is that really okay?”
“No. Not really.”
“But whatever. It’ll work out somehow. Oh, the Director is in the basement. The promise was for noon, but it doesn’t matter if we go now. The constant hologram reminders about the oath are annoying.”
Ah, the woman had made a magical oath: I would meet Rizewin by noon a week later.
If I had run away, I’d have been ruined for life. Looking back, it was reckless.
The woman tapped her chin with two fingers, then led me onward.
With nothing better to do, I followed her without protest.
We descended the stairs: basement first floor, second, third, fourth.
Only upon reaching the fifth basement floor did she stop.
I looked around.
The atmosphere was entirely different from the ground floor.
Dimly lit by magically treated lamps scattered around.
Corridors crowded with bolts, nuts, gears, and metal scraps—no room to step.
Everything was machinery or part of machines.
She walked through it as if it were normal, looking perfectly at ease.
At the end of the corridor, a large hall.
Dark, with no windows.
The smell of iron and oil was strong.
The hall was wide, but better described as a cluttered warehouse.
In the center was a massive object.
Ship-shaped.
Anyone could recognize a deck, mast, and scattered planks.
A single spotlight illuminated it, making it glow pale in the dim space.
The prow jutted like a horn, the keel vertically supporting the hull—intimidating, yet unfinished.
She led me near a platform holding the ship and said:
“This is the Phoenix Group’s lab. A project conducted by the Magic Tower. It’s called <Mechanical Garden>.”
“May I look at it?” I asked.
“No problem. If it were sensitive, it wouldn’t be here for the Phoenix Group or its guests. The director was busy working on it, but the group’s part is almost done. Ah, pick that metal piece up.”
I handed her a metal scrap from the floor.
She retrieved a spanner and hammer, and began tapping the lower part of the ship.
I pondered quietly.
The Mechanical Garden first appears completed in the story.
Everyone sees a ship, but it’s actually a flying machine.
A mana-crystal-powered airship.
A key transport later in the story for the resistance.
Here, at the Magic Tower, it was still under construction.
Soon she returned the tools and led me further inside.
Beyond the hall with the Mechanical Garden, another corridor appeared.
After a while, the pungent oil smell lessened.
At the end of the corridor, a door.
A sign indicated this was the director’s office.
I inhaled deeply as she knocked.
“Strange. Not inside. No response.”
“Maybe they stepped out?”
“Perhaps… the project is almost done. They usually don’t leave at a time like this. Let’s go in and see.”
She opened the door.
The lights were off; silence pervaded the room.
It looked as if a storm had passed, leaving chaos.
Books and yellowed papers were scattered everywhere, as if wind had blown through the windowless room.
She stepped carefully, avoiding the debris.
Her expression hardened—this wasn’t the usual state.
At the far desk, she picked up a particularly eye-catching note.
She unfolded it, eyes scanning the white paper several times.
Her face went pale, almost ready to cry.
“Damn director… at a time like this……”
“Let me see.”
I snatched the note and read it:
“Sorry, something urgent has come up, and today’s meeting is canceled. Please convey my apologies to anyone expecting to meet me. I don’t know how long it will take, so don’t wait for me unnecessarily.”
The handwriting was rushed, exuding urgency.
The woman trembled, panic-stricken, barely able to speak:
“A-a message… the oath deadline… twelve hours left… what do we do…?”
