Chapter 6

Ortes collapsed beside Tarknia’s bedside. Tarknia could barely move his remaining left hand.

A careful movement of mana succeeded in partially repairing the internal circuits of the control panel connected to the mic.

“….”

A sudden wave of doubt washed over him. Suppose he alerted his subordinates outside about this situation—could they possibly subdue this intruder?

Tarknia, who had been contemplating survival by comparing the abilities of his subordinates against the intruder’s, heard Ortes speak.

“There are a few things I’d like to ask.”

The microphone connection was still barely intact.

***

“Have you seen a girl with hair about this length recently?”

I raised my right hand to indicate an approximate height.

Given that Kreton had no prior dealings with the Torres School’s main tower, the probability of Astrape being delivered there was extremely low—but this was the final confirmation for the rarest of chances.

“What… kind of nonsense is this? There must be thousands of slaves that have passed through my hands. Do you really think I remember each one?”

“Hmm, but don’t you personally manage special slaves? Like wild mages, for instance. Before they’re delivered to the main tower, you’d personally handle them, wouldn’t you?”

It referred to a procedure where the internal mana circuits of a mage were suppressed to an appropriate level to prevent unruliness during transportation.

Since Torres School hadn’t taken notice and assuming Astrape was delivered, there was only one scenario:

If Astrape was among the slaves Kreton had supplied in the last transaction, she would still be awaiting this suppression procedure.

Though the odds were absurdly low, I didn’t want to miss this chance and risk creating another opportunity for Carisia’s demise.

“So it seems you’re a slave hunter. If a slave you claimed first ended up being sold to our Magic Tower… Hmph, must’ve been quite a valuable one, huh?”

“If we meet again next time, I’ll introduce myself properly. Let me ask again: Among the special slaves you currently manage, is there a particularly talented wild mage in electrical magic? She might have blonde hair.”

“You’ll meet hell if we meet again… No.”

Tarknia answered without even opening his eyes, as if fully resigned.

His words carried a sense of detachment, as if he had accepted his inevitable death.

In the original story, Tarknia burned with ambition to advance by offering slaves to the main tower.

Astrape’s potential as a wild mage was extraordinary, and Tarknia was promoted to the main tower for his contribution of her.

However, Tarknia underestimated Astrape’s potential, incorrectly setting the intensity of the mana circuit suppression, which eventually allowed her to reclaim her self-awareness.

Later, when Astrape mocked him about this fact during a battle with Torres School, Tarknia couldn’t hide his fury.

Judging from the emotional display described at that moment, someone pushed to such extremes wouldn’t convincingly lie now.

“No, that’s good news. Then let me ask one last thing.”

***

“To where would you prefer?”

The question he threw out at the beginning of the fight came back around. The intruder persistently asked how he wished to die.

Tarknia muttered while exhaling blood-tinged breath.

“Just make it quick. Cut my head off.”

Perhaps out of concern that his corpse might cause war with other factions and harm Torres School, this wasn’t an answer born of loyalty.

He merely wanted to spite the intruder, even in his final moments. Tarknia opened his eyes, waiting for the last sight he would see.

The unnamed intruder maintained a calm expression. Slowly raising a high-frequency blade, he swung it down.

With no sound of severance, Tarknia’s head cleanly detached.

Ortes meticulously retrieved the brain chip likely embedded in Tarknia’s skull before activating the magical glyph drive.

A fireball spell, a basic fire incantation, was unleashed. Perhaps due to the control panel being destroyed, the fire prevention system didn’t activate.

Confirming that the flames had reached Tarknia’s body, Ortes stepped out of the room.

It was time to return from the mission.

***

Amidst the chaos of a slave escape, though possessing the magical glyph drive, those captured weren’t proper mages.

But their sheer numbers were overwhelming—the reason why the Torres School mages hadn’t yet managed to suppress the escape.

If it were just a group of powerless individuals, the situation would’ve been resolved long ago. However, the endless barrage of magical glyph drives relentlessly targeted the mages’ breathing space.

Every time one was subdued, five more appeared; when ten were subdued, twenty poured forth.

Until now, they had only used nerve-severing spells to preserve the value of the merchandise, but just as they were about to unleash more destructive magic—

An abrupt crackling broadcast interrupted them. An unstable noise fell into the midst of the uprising.

“Have you perhaps seen a girl with hair about this length?”

The mages froze at the voice coming through. A strange transmission was airing from the supervisor’s office.

What could this mean?

No sounds of battle came through the broadcast, only dry questions and answers continued.

The mages hurriedly tried contacting their supervisors, but there was no response.

In their confusion, the slaves saw hope.

And when Tarknia’s desperate plea—”Just kill them already!”—finally echoed, the mages began to flee.

Among the rejoicing slaves stood a child with golden hair.

Crackle.

A flash of electricity flickered and vanished from her fingertips.

She repeated the words she had heard over the broadcast—a murmured relief that the person hadn’t come here after all.

The voice sounded similar to the nameless man who had been distributing the magical glyph drives.

Could it be…

Against all odds…

‘Did they come to save me?’

Astrape gazed at the open exit, recalling her distant hometown, Etna City—a city of declining corruption.

***

Upon returning from the mission, I found myself summoned to a staff meeting.

How could they call me to a meeting immediately after returning? I inwardly criticized Carisia’s misguided work ethic.

After thanking the driver who brought me here, I tidied up my appearance.

Though somewhat bloodstained, changing clothes here would be unwise.

Considering Carisia’s temper, the smell of blood on my clothes would bother her less than my tardiness due to changing.

I should’ve prepared a change of clothes beforehand.

Adjusting only my attire slightly, I proceeded straight to the conference room.

Knock, knock.

“Come in.”

Carisia’s cold voice greeted me. Worried about what whims she might indulge next, I opened the door as quietly as possible.

***

Kreton flinched at the sight of Ortes entering the room, the unmistakable scent of blood filling the air.

Whose blood it belonged to needed no guessing—it came from the Torres faction he had been dealing with.

‘From the moment he requested only one seat next to the driver, I suspected something…’

Had he truly wiped out the entire faction alone?

Ortes silently slipped in and positioned himself behind Carisia, much like during the inauguration ceremony. Kreton noticed the faintest twitch of Carisia’s lips.

Was it satisfaction or annoyance?

The lingering scent of battle emanating from Ortes’ clothes might disturb her.

Alternatively, she could be pleased that her subordinate had successfully completed his mission.

Before Kreton could analyze her expression further, Carisia’s face returned to its usual stern composure.

“Ortes.”

“Yes.”

“You told me not to include death in my plans, yet you seem to disregard your own advice.”

A reprimand? Her expression remained unreadable.

Without a flicker of emotion, Ortes smoothly replied as if reciting a prepared script.

“The duties of a servant and a master differ. The methods I use aren’t suitable for you, and vice versa.”

Carisia nodded approvingly.

“Understood. Geryon, did you hear that?”

***

Wow, this workplace is really something beyond imagination.

Returning from a mission and attending a meeting without even changing clothes—only for the first words to be a critique of my lifestyle.

Ah, Chairman. That wasn’t necessary.

What I meant was to have some attachment to life, but it seems my words were misunderstood due to poor timing.

I’ll have to explain properly when we’re alone.

When I responded that it’s my duty as mid-level management to visit the field when needed, despite the chairman overseeing it causing tension among employees, an unexpected name rang out.

“Did you hear that, Geryon?”

Geryon?

That was undoubtedly the name of one of the three Magic Tower Masters who once ruled Etna City before Baegmun took control.

A combat mage with six arms created through bodily modifications, each arm implanted with a different attribute mana core, allowing him to manifest up to seven attributes simultaneously with his personal incantations.

Now that I think about it, there weren’t nine people in the meeting room.

I looked toward the tenth figure in the corner.

Two arms on the right, one on the left. The remaining three had seemingly evaporated, leaving only mechanical devices visible near the shoulders.

Carisia’s severe gaze pierced through him as she addressed the bowed Geryon, speaking as if reading out a verdict.

“This is why you live.”

…What?