Chapter 38

Chapter 38
Liyan Aguileras has no fondness for falsehoods.

It is more than a simple preference—she abhors them.

This deep-seated animosity originates from her upbringing as the child of a Red Tower Master.

She was granted many advantages, yet these were accompanied by endless deceit and trickery.

The deceptions were so severe they left her with lasting psychological wounds.

Consequently, she developed an almost obsessive revulsion toward lying, a hatred that grew even stronger when the deceiver happened to be a magician, a reaction tied to her childhood trauma.

Therefore, when Liyan Aguileras initially encountered Count Palatio, she felt an immediate and instinctive contempt.

Even though stories circulated that Count Palatio had played a significant role in apprehending external dangers, Liyan perceived him as feeble.

He did not possess the ‘eye’ necessary to advance as a powerful magician, but Liyan, with her own considerable ability, could clearly discern Alon’s mana.

It was a pitiful sight, just a faint glimmer of energy.

While he was technically a magician, the scant mana he controlled was insufficient to even reach the second tier.

This brought to mind another piece of gossip—the notion that Count Palatio was not the true hero who halted the foreign threats, but had instead profited from the actions of Deus Macallian, a Master Knight.

The belief that he had taken credit for Deus Macallian’s achievements firmly planted itself in her thoughts as fact, causing Liyan to foster a profound resentment toward the Count.

Yes, that had to be the explanation.

But how?

Liyan now gazed at Alon in stunned disbelief.

More accurately, she was observing the extraordinary event Alon had produced.

A frigid zone had materialized around him, expanding across the burning desert, chilling the atmosphere in the heart of this sweltering terrain.

As she noticed ice beginning to crystallize on the sand close to him, Liyan could not make sense of the situation.

This was a form of magic that should be impossible for someone with Alon’s limited mana reserves.

And that was not all.

Even if she did not grasp the method of the spell’s casting, Liyan could perceive its underlying design.

“Compound magic, combining no less than three distinct spells…!”

Compound magic.

A theoretical explanation would be lengthy, but in essence, it means connecting two or more spells into one.

Naturally, merging spells is a formidable task.

Many components are required to enact magic, yet the fundamental arrangement must still be preserved.

In short, linking spells meant that if a single structure fails, the entire magical construct collapses.

The magician must personally rework the spells using their own calculations to achieve success.

The complexity of linking grows dramatically with each added spell, making it a feat only magicians of the fifth tier or higher can realistically undertake.

That is why, as Liyan stared blankly while Alon readied his subsequent spell—

“!”

—she observed something extraordinary.

The one-eyed man, who had been positioned before her just seconds earlier, had abruptly closed the distance to Alon.

No one had perceived his movement—it occurred in a flash.

Mercenaries, realizing belatedly that defending Alon was their most critical duty, swiftly pivoted.

Liyan, too, began on instinct to weave her own magic to support Alon, but she was already too late.

The one-eyed man stood before Alon wearing a cunning grin, his twin scimitars already in motion.

Yet, what Liyan witnessed was not the severing of Alon’s head—

“Freeze.”

Snap-!

—but the one-eyed man, immobilized completely.

Frozen in the exact stance of swinging his twin blades, the man was transformed into a statue of ice in that fleeting moment.

“Shatter.”

Following Alon’s soft utterance,

Crack—Crash!

The ice exploded, and the body of the man who had brought them such despair was instantly fragmented into countless pieces.

Silence fell.

“Hoo—”

With Alon’s quiet exhalation, a white mist once again swirled around him.

He withdrew the hand that had formed a series of seals even Liyan could not entirely decipher—

“I’ll give you a chance.”

—he stated, as if he had foreseen it all.

Without any shift in his demeanor, he cast a cold gaze upon the bandits, who were now paralyzed with terror.

“Get lost.”

It was a soft yet unequivocal command, carrying a sharp edge that left no room for misunderstanding.

After a single attack that eliminated their leader in an instant, the bandits paused only briefly before scattering in every direction.

Watching Alon calmly withdraw his magic as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, Liyan recognized the depth of her own ignorance and continued to stare at him.

A glimmer of respect shone in her eyes.

***

Observing the bandits as they fled in disarray, Alon felt a mix of relief and confusion behind his impassive expression.

‘It didn’t unfold exactly as I envisioned, but the outcome was successful, so that’s what matters.’

Alon was familiar with the Bloodsand Bandits.

They featured in a side narrative within the game.

In the game, these bandits had a trait where, if their leader was eliminated, the rest would immediately disperse.

That was why he focused on a swift defeat of the leader, and he achieved that goal as intended.

…Though, it was unforeseen that the leader would charge at him before he had finished adjusting the magical array.

‘It appears reducing the penalty was effective.’

Alon suddenly felt the oppressive desert heat returning, seeping into his bones.

The cold that had radiated from him earlier resulted from a spell he had spent more than half a year refining after his return from Caliban—‘The Extreme Cold.’

This spell, demanding the concurrent application of spatial, frost, and maintenance magic, temporarily altered the immediate environment to mimic the frozen wastes of the North.

However, for Alon, this alteration was vital.

‘The Extreme Cold’ was crucial because it permitted him to partially satisfy one of the four prerequisites for bending the world’s rules to eliminate foreign entities—‘the magic must be cast upon a land of extreme cold.’

In other words, the spell enabled him to lower the penalties he carried from four to three, rendering it extremely valuable to him.

The adverse effects of these conditions restricted his magical capabilities.

‘The magic I integrated with the extreme cold spell performed effectively. The reduction of even one penalty makes a significant difference in difficulty. Although the spell became more potent than I had originally calculated… likely because of the belt.’

Though Alon felt momentarily disoriented by the unanticipated increase in power,

‘Well, I suppose that is for the best.’

Shrugging slightly, he deliberately touched the accessory at his waist—a belt decorated with three amethysts, known as the “Belt of the Forgotten.”

This artifact doubled both the damage he dealt and the damage he received, a effect that applied to Alon despite the three penalties he was shouldering.

‘…If I can acquire that item here, I should be able to eliminate one more penalty for certain.’

Thinking this, Alon unfastened the belt and placed it in his pocket.

‘I will still need to refine the extreme cold spell. For the amount of power consumed across three spells, its duration is much too brief. It lasts scarcely a minute… I should research how to enhance that.’

With these reflections, he headed back to the carriage.

From that day onward, including the next, as they approached the desert city, two shifts occurred in Alon’s routine.

“Ah, Count Palatio! This is a special wine from Gur, renowned for its exquisite flavor. Would you care for a glass?”

“Thank you.”

“And this is a ham I brought to sell as a local product in the city. Would you like to sample it? It is truly delicious…!”

The first change was the complete reversal in demeanor from Rad, the leader of the Golden-Haired Caravan.

In just a single day, Rad began presenting Alon with even more extravagant offerings than he had given Liyan over the previous days, behaving as though he would willingly offer anything, even his own vital organs.

“If there is anything else you need, please, just say the word!”

Rad flattered Alon to such an extent it seemed his hands might tire from the constant gesturing, before finally departing with a deep bow.

“That man’s behavior did a 180—no, a full 360-degree turn.”

“…Wouldn’t 360 degrees mean he ended up the same?”

“I intended to say his demeanor shifted that dramatically.”

The second change was—

“Count Palatio.”

“…Liyan Aguileras?”

“Yes, if it is not too much trouble, I would like to converse with you about magic. Would that be acceptable?”

Liyan Aguileras’s disposition toward Alon had transformed entirely.

On the evening of the bandit assault, she had offered him a deep bow, an act that seemed contrary to her pride, and apologized sincerely.

Starting the following day, she began to approach Alon regularly, posing numerous questions regarding magical theory.

“So, you are saying this section can be modified freely within the magical array—”

“Yes, to employ compound magic, you must preserve the structure, so rather than locking the array, you manipulate it through rotation.”

Liyan Aguileras’s dialogues with Alon turned out to be quite advantageous for him.

Until that point, Alon had learned magic on his own, depending solely on manipulating spells through linguistic means.

Liyan’s inquiries and understanding offered him useful scholarly perspective.

Each time he clarified an array structure that was somewhat more advanced than her own, she would respond with quiet exclamations like “Oh… I understand,” which Alon found rather pleasing.

Naturally, as their discussions multiplied, the increasingly admiring looks she directed his way felt somewhat uncomfortable.

“Here, take this.”

“And this is…?”

“A potion.”

Again today, as soon as their conversation concluded, Liyan casually offered him a mana restoration potion.

Though it was not the supreme quality like those Penia had provided, the potion Liyan gave him each day was still quite valuable, leaving Alon feeling somewhat awkward behind his stoic facade.

“You need not bring a gift on every visit.”

“I am gaining knowledge from you. Please, do not feel obliged, just take it.”

Since she insisted on presenting him with a potion nearly every time they met, Alon ultimately accumulated roughly four mana potions by the time they reached the desert city.

***

After a trip lasting over a week, Alon arrived at the desert city, saying farewell to Rad, who urged him to call upon his services anytime, and Liyan, who pledged to offer him a formal apology at a later date.

“…It’s expected from a merchant, but for a Red Tower Mage’s daughter to change so drastically is quite jarring,” Evan remarked under his breath as he watched Liyan depart.

With that, Alon stepped into the desert city, calmly surveying his environment.

Aside from the sandy color of the structures, it was not terribly distinct from the capital of Asteria.

However, one building was particularly prominent—the enormous coliseum that was visible even from the southern gate, a structure that appeared to symbolize the colony itself and projected an immense aura.

‘It looks capable of seating over 100,000 people.’

Staring at the massive coliseum visible beyond numerous other buildings, Alon shared his observation and started walking with Evan toward Seolrang’s location.

After roughly twenty minutes—

“Well, well, my fine lord, how about a little conversation with us?”

Alon was confronted.

Before him and Evan stood a gathering of more than ten men who, at first glance, were unmistakably thugs.

Yet, curiously, the nearby mercenaries merely observed the scene without stepping in, even though the thugs were provoking Alon.

Some appeared amused, as if this was a regular spectacle, while others acted as though they saw nothing at all.

It was a very peculiar environment.

“If you cooperate, we might even arrange a meeting with our boss, Malian. What do you say?”

The thug’s statement immediately clarified the strange situation for Alon.

‘…These individuals must be affiliated with Malian.’

Remembering the name Malian, one of the four Baba Yagas of the colony, also referred to by the fearsome moniker “Beast of Horror,” Alon quickly recognized his error.

‘This is Malian’s domain.’

Alon recalled that, in the game, entering Malian’s zone would inevitably lead to encounters with thugs attempting extortion.

Letting out a resigned sigh, Alon wondered, ‘Do I have no option but to submit to their robbery?’

He understood that engaging in a fight here would be unwise.

Handling the thugs obstructing his path would be simple, but doing so would mean making an enemy of one of the four Baba Yagas.

This would impose needless limitations on Alon, who required freedom to operate in the colony in the coming days.

Just as he started to reach into his pocket,

Thud—

“Hey, are you sighing right in our faces?”

The thug who had been wearing a distorted smirk moments earlier lightly tapped Alon’s forehead.

It was a mocking gesture, as if taunting a child, his grin crooked.

Evan, standing beside Alon, instinctively frowned and moved to grasp his sword, but—

Boom!

The thug who had tapped Alon’s forehead was abruptly hurled sideways, smashing into a nearby building.

It happened in an instant.

Both Evan and Alon wore looks of astonishment as they observed the thug, who had been thrown across the street, while the other thugs who had been smirking earlier now had their expressions locked in shock.

“Hey—”

And then,

“What do you think you are doing to my Master?”

Crackle—

“Huh? Why don’t you tell me?”

—accompanied by the sound of lightning.

“Explain what you just did.”

The faces of the previously smug thugs rapidly shifted to ones of dread and alarm.

“Go on, explain yourself.”

Golden eyes glittered with intense anger.