Chapter 105

Chapter 105

Celaime Mikardo, the master of the Blue Tower and an 8th-tier magician who could wield Origin, was completely unable to grasp what was happening.

“He opened it? How is that possible?”

He blinked several times, yet the sight before him did not change.

Marquis Palatio had unlocked a door—a feat that had demanded two arduous years of Celaime’s life—in under half a minute. Now, the Marquis was stepping through it.

Struggling with his shock, Celaime jolted back to awareness and attempted to shout after the Marquis. But by the time he recovered his wits, the man had already passed the first barrier and vanished deeper within.

Celaime rushed to the now-open first barrier, examining it with profound disbelief.

To a casual observer, it would seem like nothing more than a wall, but Celaime, a magician of his standing, recognized what he was facing. He knew the immense intricacy needed to open this deceptively simple passage.

Only an 8th-tier magician, such as himself, could commit the necessary time and energy to unseal such a door. But there was an even more shocking detail:

“…The method he used… it’s precisely the same as mine.”

The technique Marquis Palatio had employed to undo the barrier was a perfect match for the one Celaime had spent an entire year discovering.

“What… is happening?”

Confusion and doubt whirled in Celaime Mikardo’s head. He turned to stare down the passage the Marquis had taken.

While Celaime had always held a degree of curiosity about the Marquis, his interest had been measured. The man was, after all, the object of his arrogant disciple Penia’s admiration—someone who still practiced old, rudimentary magic.

However, meeting the Marquis in person had moderated Celaime’s curiosity.

Certainly, the rumors and Penia’s behavior suggested the Marquis was exceptional, but Celaime’s initial impression did not match such high praise.

‘His mana reserves are shallow, his magical skill barely touches the 4th tier, and his inner eye remains dormant. Even accounting for his use of primitive magic, he is still subpar.’

The many flaws Celaime observed led him to view the Marquis as a lesser magician, a junior with little promise.

He had even briefly pondered what Penia could have possibly seen in this man to evoke such respect and awe.

But these thoughts were transient. Soon enough, Celaime found himself following the Marquis, trailing him to the second barrier.

And there, before the second barrier—the one that even Celaime had not yet conquered—stood the Marquis, apparently deep in thought.

Witnessing this, Celaime held his tongue. He chose instead to watch, wondering what the Marquis might attempt.

The second barrier was something Celaime had never been able to open.

In fact, he questioned whether it could be opened at all.

Like the first, the second barrier seemed ordinary at a glance. But to Celaime’s awakened sight, it was a maze of thousands of exquisitely layered magic circles.

Thousands of complex and interwoven magical structures—so tangled that Celaime had not yet managed to comprehend them in their entirety.

Despite this, Celaime’s sharp intellect had already theorized the way to open it:

“Locate the key magic circle among the thousands.”

But he had not yet succeeded in finding that key.

If the barrier were a physical door, it would be one with tens of thousands of keyholes.

Checking each magic circle one by one was virtually unfeasible, as it involved disentangling and interpreting thousands of intricately knotted constructs—a labor that would consume decades, if not more.

Remembering this, Celaime felt a wave of discouragement.

And yet, Marquis Palatio—or rather, Alon—tilted his head slightly, as if aware of Celaime’s attention.

Of course, Alon had no real cause to mind Celaime. Establishing a connection with the Blue Tower’s master could be beneficial, but it was not essential to his goals.

Alon’s wariness came instead from the peculiar hope he saw reflected in Celaime Mikardo’s gaze.

Earlier, when Alon had opened the first barrier without a second thought, Celaime had stared at him, his jaw slack with utter astonishment.

Now, Celaime was standing just a few steps away, observing him with the eager curiosity of a child awaiting another marvel.

‘He mentioned it took him a year to open the first door?’

Alon did not think Celaime Mikardo was a fool.

On the contrary, he considered him formidable.

From Alon’s knowledge, the two barriers protecting this hermit’s refuge were reputed to be impervious to twelve 7th-tier magicians working together for six months.

That Celaime, an 8th-tier magician, had unlocked the first barrier alone was proof of his remarkable talent.

Precisely because of this, Alon found the man’s hopeful stare immensely weighty.

Alon had opened the gates to the Hermit’s Hideout… simply because he knew the solutions.

‘The first barrier yields to mana interference. Twist the straight flow of mana into a semi-circle, and it opens… The second barrier? The key is the fifth magic circle from the top-right diagonal corner.’

With such knowledge, Alon could open the doors easily by directing his mana. Yet, the tangible expectation emanating from Celaime behind him made it difficult to act without pause.

If Alon were to open the gate effortlessly with a mere thread of mana, Celaime would inevitably uncover a painful truth—that the exhausting year of research he had invested had been entirely in vain.

“Hmm…”

Alon had no obligation to care about Celaime Mikardo’s feelings. But as a fellow student of magic, he understood the devastating despair that would follow such a discovery.

‘…Should I perform some magic?’

Just as Alon resolved to offer Celaime a benevolent deception, Celaime, watching Alon’s hesitation, began to interpret it as a sign of difficulty.

‘Maybe the second barrier is proving tougher for him after all?’

The spark of expectation in Celaime’s eyes dimmed as he tried to curb his own hopes.

And then, in that instant—

“Hoo…”

Marquis Palatio released a soft sigh and brought his hands together in a seal.

Celaime, fascinated, watched closely. Although he had heard the Marquis employed primitive magic, this was his first time seeing it enacted.

As he studied Alon’s method, he saw the Marquis mutter something quietly. Then, a small sphere of light materialized between Alon’s thumb and forefinger.

Celaime sensed it immediately.

“What…?”

A primitive sense of alarm shot through Celaime Mikardo. Instinctively, he frowned and started channeling mana for a protective spell. His reaction was almost instantaneous—a pure reflex.

But then—

“!”

What Celaime saw halted him completely.

Behind Alon, suspended in the air, were two massive, motionless eyes.

Celaime’s thinking stalled—or more accurately, he forced it to stop.

The instant he saw those eyes, the moment they entered his perception, he knew one thing for certain:

To comprehend what stood before him would lead to only one possible end—death.

The one thing Celaime could not control, however, was his own vision.

Having attained the 8th tier, his sight was sharpened to intuitively understand nearly anything it saw. Unlike his conscious mind, his eyes continued to analyze the phenomenon on instinct.

And then, it started.

The world around Celaime grew dark.

When his vision finally cleared, he saw it:

A circular chasm—a void so deep it seemed to draw his very soul into its emptiness.

What came next was a glimpse of pale pupils within that darkness.

The final sight he registered was—

“Kugh…”

—An enormous eye.

A massive presence so absolute it made him feel like a meaningless particle.

It was staring right at him.

‘I will die.’

The understanding hit him, and for a brief, empty moment, Celaime’s mind went blank.

Then—

KUGUGUGUGUNG!!!

A deafening roar filled his ears.

“!”

Returning to his senses, Celaime looked forward.

There it was.

The second barrier, which had resisted all his attempts for over a year, was now slowly groaning open, the massive door scraping against itself.

Beyond the opening stood Marquis Palatio, gazing back at him.

His face showed no feeling—completely impassive.

“…Ha.”

Witnessing this, Celaime Mikardo let out a dry, almost involuntary chuckle.

‘He’s been concealing his true strength all this time. So that’s it…!’

***

Although it lasted less than a second, the simple act of seeing it had thrown Celaime Mikardo’s mana into chaos and left his hands shaking uncontrollably as he tried to form a spell.

And yet, he could not stop laughing.

Even with the specter of death so near, his laughter would not end.

It was his relentless curiosity that sustained him.

The same insatiable drive that had raised him to become the master of the Blue Tower and an 8th-tier magician.

Now, that very curiosity was seized by the immense magical knowledge that Marquis Palatio plainly held, knowledge that undoubtedly hid power far beyond what Celaime had just witnessed.

And so, Celaime laughed.

Observing this response, Alon, the Marquis, could not help but think:

‘…Wait, is he actually pleased by this?’

In the midst of casting his magic, Alon had thought, ‘Surely, as an 8th-tier magician, Celaime Mikardo wouldn’t be deceived by something as basic as this simple display.’

Yet here he was—glowing brightly, as if overjoyed. Alon was momentarily taken aback by the unexpected reaction.

***

Having cleared the second barrier, Alon finally entered the inner chamber of the Hermit’s Hideout.

The inside was unimpressive—dimly illuminated, resembling the humble interior of a rustic, fantasy-style dwelling set within a cave.

But Alon had not come for the view. Without delay, he walked to a desk situated in a corner of the sanctuary.

And there, he found his objective.

“Got it.”

Unlike the dark bracelet he had acquired previously, this time the item was a bracelet colored pure white—the *White Hand of the Wanderer*. Alon stored it securely in his possessions, permitting himself a slight smile.

Then—

“?”

He spotted a piece of parchment on the desk, written in an ancient tongue. Lowering his eyes, he read the text:

—To the half-hearted magician who refused to compromise, who remembered the words that were forgotten… I bequeath my legacy.

Alon paused.

The wording felt familiar—it was almost the same as what he had found when obtaining the <Egg of the Shadow Dragon>.

“Hmm…”

After studying the parchment for a moment, Alon shrugged and placed it back down.

As he turned, his eyes met Celaime Mikardo, who was still smiling—brightly, almost disconcertingly so.

Slightly disturbed, Alon spoke to him:

“I’ve collected what I came for. If you desire anything, Master of the Blue Tower, please help yourself.”

In reality, little of magical worth remained; no books or texts on magic were visible anywhere.

“Is that so? Then I will gratefully accept,” Celaime responded, moving toward the desk Alon had just left.

There, he noticed the parchment Alon had examined. Picking it up, Celaime realized it was written in an ancient language he could not decipher. Silently, he slipped it away.

Under normal conditions, he might have asked Alon about it. However, Celaime interpreted the Marquis’s decision to leave it behind as a subtle hint—perhaps a silent plea to let the subject drop.

‘He probably wants me to handle this discreetly.’

Believing that questioning Alon would be fruitless, Celaime decided to take the parchment to the Master of the Red Tower, renowned for his skill in translating ancient scripts.

Celaime’s mind wandered. Beyond the parchment’s contents, what he truly desired was to discuss magic with Alon.

His curiosity was not something that could be easily suppressed.

And so—

‘…I must find a method to become closer to him.’

As Celaime considered how to narrow the distance, a thought occurred to him.

“Ah, Penia!”

Recalling his disciple, Celaime suddenly understood why the proud Penia had been so captivated by Marquis Palatio.

It did not take long for him to formulate a scheme:

‘Instead of remaining acquaintances, wouldn’t it be simpler to get closer to him if he were my disciple’s husband?’

Whether he was prioritizing his disciple or his own insatiable curiosity was ambiguous.

But one thing was clear:

‘I will ensure this succeeds.’

Filled with resolve, Celaime looked at Alon with an intensity that could almost be called fervent.

***

“…Why do I feel apprehensive?”

Seeing Celaime’s expression shift into something strangely resolute—his laughter now verging on disquieting—Alon could not dismiss a growing sense of dread.

Something odd was developing, and Alon could sense it.