NOVEL NEXT Chapter 38
Chapter 38 – The White Mage (7)
#Only READ at DarkstarTranslations
—–CROW—–
“Right this way, please.”
“Thanks.”
Another guy with glasses. Same robe too. Yep, robes were definitely this world’s suit/padded jacket combo. Comfy as hell, but you could wear them to formal occasions without getting judged. Perfect.
The mage leading the way said,
“You mentioned Erin magic, but our guild doesn’t have any specialists in that area. So the 7th-rank alchemist from the Magnus school, known for his extensive knowledge of history, has offered to assist you.”
“I’m honored.”
Holy shit, 7th-rank was practically a doctorate, right? That was at least ten years of experience in the guild.
Why was such a high-ranking guy showing up just because I asked? I used my Vector—Speak Sternly voice, but I couldn’t hide my surprise.
“Here we are. He’s waiting inside.”
The guide stopped in front of a building.
“I’ll be going now.”
“Good work.”
I saw the guide off and adjusted my collar. My costume didn’t expose any skin, but it was better to be safe than sorry. My skin color alone made me stand out like a sore thumb.
*Creak—*
I opened the door and stepped inside. The room looked like a principal’s office. An old man with glasses was waiting for me, sitting at his desk. His slicked-back hair and suit with a brown vest gave him a butler-like vibe.
“You’ve arrived. I’m Usrate McIver.”
“Arthur Wayne.”
Since he was older and high-ranking, I used formal language as we exchanged names. He seemed like a gentle person.
“Please, have a seat. I’ll have some tea brought in.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll have to decline. I’m not in a position to… partake,” I said in my stern voice, tapping my mask. That should convey that I couldn’t reveal my identity. Usrate nodded understandingly and gestured for me to sit.
We sat on the sofas facing each other across a table.
“Well… given your circumstances, it seems difficult to engage in small talk. Shall we proceed directly to the matter at hand?”
“That’s fine with me. I don’t want to take up too much of your time, McIver-nim.”
“Thank you for your understanding. You’re a very courteous person.”
We exchanged some pleasantries and got down to business.
In Britannia, addressing someone by their last name was only done when acknowledging their authority and showing respect. In other words, it was a way of maintaining a respectful distance.
Someone once said that respect was the emotion furthest from understanding. Similarly, addressing someone by their last name in Britannia implied a lack of familiarity, which in turn conveyed respect.
“I heard you came here because of some magic found in a nearby ruin… Is it the ruin discovered by the Audhumla Adventurer’s Guild?”
“You’re well-informed. That makes things easier.”
He probably had heard something about it. A mage from the Mage’s Guild would be more interested in newly discovered ruins and former black mage hideouts than goblin dungeons.
“I found ancient Ulster Ogham script on a stele there. This is the original text and its translation.”
I handed Usrate the stele inscription I had copied into my notebook. He accepted it politely and read it.
“Hmm… It appears to be written by the ancestors of the Ulsy. Is there a problem?”
“Excuse me?”
Ulsy?
‘Ulsy’ was a derogatory term for Ulster people. Like using slurs like “Jap,” “Chink,” or “Gook.” It was like the Ulster version of “Yankee.”
To use such a word so casually with someone he had just met? It was incredibly rude and thoughtless. Like saying, “Isn’t rap just Negro music?” to a stranger.
‘This guy’s a racist.’
And a stupid one at that, unable to hide his idiotic thoughts.
No wonder he was still stuck at 7th-rank at his age.
‘Others reach 5th-rank by their 50s, but he’s still at 7th-rank. That says it all.’
7th-rank in the Mage’s Guild was the fourth-lowest position.
If I wasn’t mistaken, an old 7th-rank mage was like an old, stuck-in-his-ways sergeant. A post-middle-management type. It meant he had problems with either his skills or his personality.
He probably got caught taking bribes or something.
I wondered if there was any point in asking this guy for advice—he might spout some unfounded bullshit because he was an idiot—but I decided to give it a shot.
“Well, you see, I pronounced the Ogham inscription while translating it, and even though I wasn’t channeling mana, the magic activated on its own just from that short phrase.”
“…You mean the incantation, ‘Pray to the Sky God’?”
The racist old man stroked his chin and tapped the table with his finger.
“Could you tell me the pronunciation of the incantation? In the original language.”
“*yáǵeswō deiwōm dyēus*.”
I suppressed my mana to prevent the magic from activating as I spoke. I had become accustomed to controlling my internal mana catheters over the past few days, so it was easy.
“Pray (yáǵeswō)… I’ve heard that incantation at a seminar before,” Usrate said, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“It’s a kind of prayer passed down orally by the Ulsy. Some scholars focused on the fact that Erin, a nation from the golden age of ancient civilization, left behind meaningless scriptures like this instead of great artifacts or ruins.”
“That’s very interesting.”
This guy couldn’t resist injecting racism into every sentence. I had to be careful not to reveal my skin color. I didn’t want to be chased out with salt like a fake Kitai person.
“But what do you mean by ‘meaningless’?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. This magic is still passed down orally in some Ulsy communities, but it has no effect, no matter how many times you chant it.”
Usrate waved his hand dismissively and recited the incantation with relatively accurate pronunciation.
“《Pray to the Sky God (*yáǵeswō deiwōm dyēus*)》.”
The incantation was correct, but just like with the phony priest Paragon, nothing happened.
“…See? Even when chanting the incantation and channeling mana, the magic doesn’t activate. This proves that it doesn’t have a proper magical structure.”
Usrate chuckled, his tone condescending towards the absent Ulster people.
“Isn’t it funny? It’s just a superstition believed by the ancestors of the Ulsy. Later generations must have realized their ancestors were morons and stopped passing down this spell. The professor who held the seminar said he barely found any trace of it, even in remote tribes.”
“I see.”
I wished Semus was here. If he were, the white racist and the red racist would have been at each other’s throats.
Usrate let out an unpleasant laugh and looked at me.
“So, even if you say the magic activated, I find it hard to believe. I have to ask, what kind of magic is it?”
“This kind of magic.”
At his skeptical and mocking gaze, I recited the incantation. I didn’t want to use it, but I had no choice.
“《Pray to the Sky God (*yáǵeswō deiwōm dyēus*)》.”
*Kuwooooaaack!!!*
The green mana, having not been used for a few days, greeted me with the enthusiasm of a long-lost friend. It was almost as powerful as the first time I activated it. It wasn’t like it got stronger the more I abstained from using it, like with… you know.
“Well?”
I leaned back on the sofa, my body covered in mana coating. Usrate’s glasses slid down his nose.
“…H-how is this possible?”
Hell if I know.
I was the one asking the questions. Why was he asking *me*?
“C-could I examine your mana for a moment?”
Usrate asked, pushing his glasses back up. Examine my mana? I didn’t understand what he meant, but I figured it was like a doctor using a palpation device, so I nodded.
“Be my guest.”
“Thank you. Excuse me.
As he chanted the spell, a magic circle appeared on Usrate’s glasses. The racist old man peered intently at my mana coating.
Dude, stop staring. It felt like a creepy old man was checking me out. I tried to maintain a neutral expression, then gave up. The mask hid my face anyway, so I just frowned.
“…Amazing. I’ll need to conduct further research for the details, but it appears to be a physical enhancement spell.”
Usrate said, deactivating the observation magic. I relaxed my expression and asked,
“Among my acquaintances, I was the only one who could activate it. Do you have any idea why?”
“…I see. According to Professor Hiromane’s seminar, it seems similar to the descriptions of warriors in Ulsy oral traditions…”
Usrate stroked his chin thoughtfully, then looked at me.
“Excuse me, but Mr. Wayne, did any of your ancestors have an interest in that culture?”
Was he asking if I had any Ulster blood in my family?
This fucker was questioning my ancestry because he didn’t know the answer himself. I leaned back on the sofa and reacted with open annoyance.
“That’s an offensive assumption. I’m a pureblood, without a doubt.”
100% true. I was a purebred Korean. My mom and dad were Korean through and through.
They were so patriotic that when they asked me to buy alcohol for the ancestral rites and I unknowingly brought back Japanese sake, they beat the crap out of me and made me skip meals for a whole day. Dad, how was a 13-year-old supposed to know the difference between types of alcohol?
“I apologize. Your fluent Britannian pronunciation led me to make that mistake.”
I didn’t know what pronunciation had to do with bloodline, but Usrate apologized anyway. A bald old man with no conscience. What was the God of Baldness even doing? He hadn’t taken this guy’s hair.
“The Mage’s Guild has also researched this magic. But the conclusion was that its magical structure was flawed. It’s strange that it activated for you.”
Yeah, fucking strange.
I deactivated Beast Regression and clicked my tongue inwardly. He basically said he didn’t know. Sensing my irritation, the racist old man tried to change the subject.
“Of course, now that there’s a case contradicting the previous conclusion, it’s worth further research. But I have a question.”
“What is it?”
“If the magic activated, what’s the problem?”
Usrate looked genuinely confused.
“Are you worried because you don’t know what the magic is? Or are you concerned about side effects? Even if there are side effects, you could just stop using it. Why did you come to our guild?”
I took a deep breath at his question. Finally, we were getting to the main point. I channeled all my energy into Vector—Speak Sternly.
“The thing is… the side effects have already manifested.”
“…Excuse me?”
The racist’s eyes widened. He quickly scanned my fully concealed costume.
“Don’t tell me that outfit is not to hide your identity, but…”
“No, it’s not. If the side effects were visible, I would have shown you. That would have been much simpler.”
He thought I had turned into some kind of Deep One from the Cthulhu Mythos. I immediately shut down that horrifying—but not entirely impossible—imagination.
“It’s difficult to explain… but due to the side effects of this magic, I…”
I struck a dramatic pose, interlacing my fingers. My intimidating costume and mask, combined with my dramatic posture, made Usrate gulp.
It was a good thing he was a man. If it had been a female professor, she would have accused me of sexual harassment and blasted me with magic.
In the heavy silence, I used Vector—Drop the Spoiler.
“My penis has grown.”
And it had grown a lot, I mean a lot.
—–CROW—–
#Only READ at DarkstarTranslations