Dark Fantasy Normalized-Chapter 65

“Rules? Of course!”

“Ah, another set of things to memorize, huh? What are they?”

“Just remember this: we’re proud of you!”

“…What?”

“And act as if our tower is your reflection!”

“…You said that backward.”

“Oh, did I? My apologies for overstepping! You’re a reflection of our tower, not the other way around!”

“No, no. You said it right the first time.”

“Oh, then that’s correct.”

“…Okay.”

The general stance of the Gray Tower mages toward me was this: Lisir, do whatever you want.

While I appreciated their kindness and found it, frankly, amazing, indulging too much in their praise was bound to backfire.

I couldn’t forget that their evaluation of me was severely inflated.

The Gray Tower treated me as though I were the greatest prodigy in history, one who could even mock the gods.

In reality?

Magically, I was a rookie who barely understood the basics, and socially, I was a newbie who had just shed the label of "bastard child" and acquired a new title.

If I let their praise go to my head and acted recklessly, I’d be exposed for what I truly was in no time.

So, after my appointment, I spent my time learning the fundamentals expected of an honorary tower mage.

This included the history of the Gray Tower, its external standing, and the appropriate behavior and precautions needed in related contexts.

Whenever I had time, I also joined Sir Meltas to solidify my understanding of the basics of magic.

Thanks to my physical experience, absorbing theoretical knowledge and filling in the gaps wasn’t as hard as I had feared.

This morning, I was once again receiving a lesson from Sir Meltas.

“Sir Meltas, thank you again for making time for me.”

“Do you know what the other masters are saying about this arrangement?”

“Ugh. I feel guilty already, whatever it is.”

“They’re accusing me of monopolizing you. They nearly held a trial over it.”

“Great.”

“In short, you don’t need to thank me. There’s a whole carriage full of people vying to ‘claim’ you, and I’m just glad I had the chance.”

“You truly embody the spirit of a scholar, Sir Meltas. You remind me of my old mentor.”

“Ahem. I’d prefer if you didn’t bring up your mentor around me.”

“Don’t act like a jealous childhood friend—it’s exhausting.”

“Hmph, rude. But I am curious. If your mentor were teaching you now, how do you think they’d approach this material?”

“They’d probably have me sparring with Senior Mum-mum instead.”

“…I can’t even begin to imagine that class.”

When the time I’d spent learning from Sir Meltas finally surpassed the time I’d spent with my mentor, I began to wonder:

So, who’s my real teacher now?

But the question didn’t linger long.

What mattered wasn’t how long someone taught me, but what they taught me.

When I was nothing, it was my mentor who first acknowledged me and extended a helping hand.

Without them, I wouldn’t have realized my potential or come this far. Even Sir Meltas, who initially dismissed me as a bastard, begrudgingly admitted this.

“Still… I could have done better…” Meltas muttered, sounding like a jealous friend.

I decided to forget that part.

About an hour into the lesson, a group of masters passing by stumbled upon us and decided to linger, forming an impromptu audience.

“What a waste to teach Lisir the basics, don’t you think?”

“Exactly! If it were me, I’d—”

“That’s fine, but I would have—”

The masters began nitpicking and offering unsolicited advice, as if they were duelists in some old park, turning the scene into a mix of spectacle and absurdity.

Sir Meltas, trying his best to ignore them, wrapped up the session.

“Well, the commotion is distracting, so let’s call it a day. Oh, Lisir, don’t forget what I said earlier. Things are tense in the northern backstreets of Bondales, so be cautious if you have to go there.”

“Understood.”

“And I respect your decision to go back to the basics. As you’ve likely realized, the path ahead will be far more challenging than anything you’ve faced before.”

“It certainly feels that way.”

“No matter how talented you are, you won’t be able to breeze through it. Always keep your humble beginnings in mind. If you don’t—”

“Excuse me, Sir Meltas, but could you hold that thought?”

I interrupted him with a frown.

“What is it now?”

“My mana is surging again. I need to stabilize it with Blue Breath before it gets out of control.”

“…I see.”

“Sorry to keep you waiting. Please continue.”

“…I was going to say, don’t let anyone sway you from your path.”

“Wait, that’s slightly different from what you said earlier—”

“Quiet. Just take it as is.”

With a sigh deeper than the one he had heaved at the meddling masters, Meltas asked,

“That mana growth… Isn’t it a side effect of your normalization power?”

This content is taken from fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm.

I nodded, just as confused as he was.

“That’s what I thought, but it seems there’s something else going on that even I don’t understand.”

Just when I thought I’d figured out the pattern, this happens.

At this rate, it’s no different from a random outburst.

“Perhaps it’s a chain reaction,” I suggested.

“Some completed normalization triggering further effects elsewhere.”

Meltas let out a hollow laugh.

“Hah… Lisir, you know it took me sixty years to get here?”

“…My apologies.”

It felt like the right thing to bow deeply and apologize.

It was winter.

***

Another week passed.

“I wonder how Pien and Lona are doing? I haven’t seen them in ages—guess they’re busy. Not that I have much room to talk, considering I’ve basically buried myself in the tower.”

Life at the Mage Tower remained so hectic that I barely had time to step outside, let alone meet up with my companions.

But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

“Damn. This is great. The free accommodations at the tower.”

Ever since the Gerhen incident, I’d been staying in the quarters provided by the Mage Tower.

Designed for masters and esteemed guests, the space was leaps and bounds better than the accommodations I’d previously used in District 9.

The fact that it was free made it even sweeter.

If it were up to me, I’d settle down here for good and never leave.

But who am I?

I’m someone who knows the meaning of decency.

Someone better than that.

I couldn’t rely on the tower’s generosity forever to sustain my basic needs.

The students here paid tuition to immerse themselves in their studies.

The masters made scholarly contributions, bringing tangible benefits to the tower.

If I wanted to call myself a true member of the Mage Tower, I couldn’t treat the hard-won privileges of my peers as if they were my birthright.

In other words—

“I just need to earn my keep.”

I couldn’t achieve academic success like the students.

I couldn’t contribute groundbreaking research like the masters.

But was there a way for someone like me to contribute to the tower?

Yes, there was.

***

The Mage Tower, firmly rooted in a city teeming with various interest groups, could never be a completely independent institution.

For its survival and stability, external interactions were inevitable.

The most pressing issue was money.

The Mage Tower—

in other words, a monster that devoured money.

Maintaining the tower’s research and facilities required astronomical sums. Tuition fees from students could only go so far, so the Mage Tower employed various methods to address its financial challenges.

This created mutual interests with certain parties:

The Mage Tower, rich in honor and power but short on funds.

Merchants and lower-ranking nobles, short on honor and power but overflowing with wealth.

By providing substantial donations, these individuals maintained favorable relationships with the tower.

In return, the Mage Tower served as their political shield, while they acted as its financial backers.

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

After his company’s rapid growth outpaced its influence, Folda became a supporter of the Mage Tower.

“If I leave it alone, the city nobles and criminal organizations will bleed me dry anyway! Better to give it to the Mage Tower!”

It was likely a calculated decision.

After all, even the city’s shrewd nobles and notorious criminal syndicates would think twice before targeting a Mage Tower patron.

The Mage Tower offered a “Who dared to touch our patron?” service.

It was a survival strategy for a tower that thrived on both academic and martial prowess.

Of course, the weight of the Mage Tower’s name meant its assistance to patrons was strictly regulated:

The situation must not have political implications.The situation must not involve aggressive intent.The situation must require magical assistance.

Folda believed his current predicament met all three conditions and approached the Mage Tower for help.

“The Red Crate group has been holding some of our goods, but we’ve lost all contact with them.”

The Red Crate was a storage organization operating in the northern backstreets of Bondales.

It was an open secret that they were tied to the criminal syndicate “Leather Chain,” which ruled the area. Despite this, many merchants had no choice but to work with them.

After all, there were only a handful of groups in Bondales capable of securely storing large quantities of goods for outsiders.

Merchants were forced to make a devil’s choice:

Risk dealing with the Red Crate.

Or be openly fleeced by the city nobles.

Faced with this hellish dilemma, merchants’ options were limited.

“I’d like to visit their base and negotiate directly, but the rumors about the northern backstreets have been unsettling lately. So, I humbly ask for the Mage Tower’s assistance.”

Folda’s request was straightforward:

“Join me in meeting those troublesome folks and lend me some leverage with your presence.”

The Mage Tower evaluated the request:

Did Folda’s request have political implications?

No.

Did it involve aggressive intent?

No.

Did it require magical assistance?

“The goods are stored in a warehouse protected by a magical barrier. In case things go south, it’d be ideal to have someone who could break the barrier and retrieve the items.”

Yes.

Thus, the Mage Tower decided to offer its “Who dared to touch our patron?” service.

And I volunteered.

***

"My name is Lisir, an honorary mage of the Gray Tower, assigned to resolve this matter. I look forward to working with you."

"...Pleasure to meet you."

Folda clasped the young mage’s hand with a congenial smile.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

At least, that’s what he was thinking.

Folda reflected on all the donations he had made to the Mage Tower over the years.

It wasn’t enough to demand special treatment, but he certainly thought he deserved a proper response.

At the very least, he expected a certified mage to be sent.

And yet—

“An honorary mage?”

It sounded impressive enough, but the young man’s appearance—

“Cute, but—”

His face showed not a single sign of hardship, appearing far too fresh and youthful.

That was the problem. He was far too young.

To Folda’s knowledge, mages around this boy’s age rarely surpassed the 4th Circle of magic.

At best, they were mediocre, nowhere near the level of a certified mage.

Why would the Mage Tower bestow an honorary title upon someone like this?

He could think of more dishonorable reasons than honorable ones.

Folda’s thoughts turned to Karl, the leader of the Red Crate, and his subordinates.

They were, in essence, mercenaries masquerading as warehouse staff.

While Folda had once found their presence reassuring when entrusting them with his goods, he now saw his decision as naivety.

“Why did I ever trust those guys with my property?”

Folda braced himself for the worst-case scenario.

Could this young mage in front of him handle such a situation?

“...”

The answer eluded him.

Try as he might, he couldn’t picture this boy dealing with Karl’s thuggish mercenaries.

If anything, bringing along such a novice might create problems where none existed before.

Karl and his crew would surely understand the implications of the Mage Tower sending a mage along.

“This is a disaster.”

As Folda wrestled with his doubts, they arrived at the Red Crate’s business location in District 13.

The atmosphere was bleak.

The unpaved streets were littered with refuse, and the people walking these paths exuded an air of lawlessness.

The young mage’s neat and polished appearance stood out all the more here.

Were it not for his Gray Tower robe, trouble would have found him long ago.

"Let’s proceed," Lisir said cheerfully, striding ahead with an air of nonchalance.

"A-Alright..."

Folda followed anxiously behind him.

They entered a tavern located in one of the more secluded areas of District 13.

In a dim corner of the room sat a bald man with a large scar etched across his head.

It was Karl.

He was reviewing a ledger, piles of coins stacked on the table before him.

Karl glanced up, recognizing Folda. He didn’t bother with a greeting.

For someone who had ignored all of Folda’s messages while hoarding his goods, Karl’s demeanor was shamelessly bold.

In fact, he looked irritated, as if Folda were the one intruding on his property.

It wasn’t impossible Karl actually believed that.

By now, he may have fully considered Folda’s goods his own.

“Damn it.”

Folda forced himself to suppress his nerves as he got straight to the point.

He demanded the return of his goods, stored in the Red Crate’s warehouse—

a perfectly reasonable and fair request.

"It’s not happening right now."

A perfectly unreasonable and unfair response.

“What do you mean it’s not happening? I’m a paying client! I paid for the right to use your warehouse. That’s not a request; it’s a contractual obligation!”

"Look, customer. We have our own circumstances. If you push like this, it’s going to make things difficult for all of us."

Karl’s glare shifted from Folda to Lisir.

Gray robes.

Youthful features.

“Heh.”

Karl smirked.

"Looks like you brought along a scary enforcer."

Folda’s face twisted with frustration.

Only one thought ran through his mind.

“If only they’d sent a proper mage, Karl wouldn’t dare act like this.”

"Clearly, you came here to escalate things without considering our situation," Karl sneered. "But we’ve got our own methods for handling this. Hey."

He kicked the table’s leg.

Rattle.

The people lounging around the tavern stood up, encircling them.

"Have you lost your mind? Are you seriously planning to lay a hand on a Mage Tower mage?"

"Don’t be ridiculous. We’re just going to politely ask you to leave."

Folda’s worst fears were materializing before his eyes.

Lisir’s unassuming demeanor had emboldened these thugs.

Then, Lisir stepped forward and addressed Karl directly.

"My name is Lisir, an honorary mage of the Gray Tower, here to mediate this matter. Can we have a word?"

Folda screamed internally.

“What are you doing? Are you insane?”

Predictably, Karl scoffed.

Bang!

He slammed the table loudly.

The sound reverberated, filling the room with an oppressive silence.

"Lisir..."

That’s when it happened.

Karl’s eyes glazed over momentarily as he repeated the name.

“...!”

He scrambled to his feet and gestured toward a nearby chair.

"L-Lisir! Please, take a seat!"

It wasn’t just Karl.

Everyone in the room was bowing their heads toward Lisir.

“...?”

What the hell just happened?

“Lisir? Am I the only one who doesn’t know this name?”

───────

[Target is under the influence of True Speech.]

[Target is under the influence of True Speech.]

[Target is under the influence of True Speech.]

[Target is under the influence of True Speech.]

[Target is under the influence of True Speech.]

───────