Chapter 157

The Back-Alley Mage’s Return – Chapter 157

Chapter 157. The Compass of Evil in My Heart

The following morning.

I reconnected with Ransi right by the warp gate administration office.

“Are you certain you want to go through with this? While Lady Gamo will certainly make the necessary arrangements, the petty, malicious plots of the nobility will be far more degrading than you can possibly conceive, Aster-nim.”

“…”

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

I fixed my gaze upon her, then gave a brief shake of my head.

“No reason.”

“…?”

It was simply because a flash of genuine sentiment had crossed the features of the normally stoic Ransi.

Under regular circumstances, she would have interceded with a detached, professional declaration, stating something along the lines of, “because those were Lady Gamo’s instructions,” keeping it strictly business.

Yet at this moment, she appeared… truly concerned.

With her displaying such intense apprehension, I felt compelled to prompt her.

“Just what kind of people are they, for you to speak of them in this manner?”

I was genuinely curious.

I had already witnessed practically everything there was to witness—the acceptable, the unacceptable, and even things shaped like geometric diamonds—but I had never personally dealt with the political machinations of high society.

And yet, for some reason—

The corner of Ransi’s eye twitched.

‘What is that supposed to mean?’

The spasm vanished so rapidly that I might have shrugged it off as a trick of the light, and in that exact instant, Ransi opened her mouth to reply.

“They are juvenile.”

“Most underhanded tactics are.”

Sordid schemes are naturally infantile by definition.

I had only inquired because I wondered if the aristocracy possessed their own unique brand of sophisticated malice.

However, the specific dirty tricks that escaped Ransi’s lips transcended mere childishness and entered the realm of absolute patheticism.

“They will extend a foot to trip you.”

“In the middle of a crowded…”

“Picture the scene. Right in the center of a grand ballroom, an individual suddenly stumbles and hits the floor with a loud crash. You are holding a goblet of crimson wine… actually, knowing you, Aster-nim, it would likely be a plate of food. What do you imagine occurs when you lose your footing?”

“Everything will end up splattered across my attire?”

“Precisely when someone will sprint over. ‘Gracious, are you unhurt?! Aster-kun, what an unfortunate…!’ I guarantee you their tone will be just resonant and distinct enough to capture the focus of the entire room.”

As she detailed this, Ransi’s eyebrows knit together progressively, as though she were reliving a highly disagreeable memory.

Following that, she continued to elaborate without requiring any further prompting from me.

“On other occasions, they will attempt to put you in your place using so-called intellectual refinement—delving into classical art, music, literature, statecraft, economics, or contemporary social matters.”

“That much seems fairly standard…”

“They will publicly demand that you share your perspective.”

“…?”

“It amounts to nothing more than forcing you into the spotlight before a massive audience, but an individual will remark something along the lines of: ‘My! I understand Aster-kun possesses a unique perspective on this very topic. Shall we all grant him our attention for a moment?’ And that voice will be…”

“…Resonant and distinct enough to capture the focus of the entire room?”

“Your capacity for comprehension is quite remarkable.”

“…”

“Regardless, before you can even utter a single syllable, they will shower you with extravagant flattery in front of the crowd. The higher they elevate you, the more devastating the impact when you plummet.”

As I listened in silence, a realization struck me.

Perhaps this was not merely observations she had gathered from afar. It was highly probable that these were indignities Ransi herself had once endured.

At any rate, the list did not conclude there. There was an entire assortment of minor grievances.

They would intentionally provide you with an incorrect wardrobe requirement, or “unwittingly” drench you in spirits, or shift the social dynamic to isolate and humiliate you before the entire assembly—and the list went on.

The more details she provided, the more I found myself reflecting, What sort of absolute morons actually engage in these activities?

However.

‘Every single action is just barely too minor to warrant a physical retaliation.’

That was the core of the issue.

Revoltingly infantile, yet each individual slight was so insignificant that confronting them case by case would only make you look unreasonable.

And given this specific degree of pettiness, I could discern precisely why Ransi was exerting such effort to dissuade me.

‘These are all matters that would look utterly farcical if Lady Gamo chose to intervene personally.’

To put it another way, I would be forced to navigate these minor trials and tribulations entirely on my own.

Naturally, no individual possessing a shred of intellect would execute such garbage directly in front of Lady Gamo, but that protection would extend exclusively to her immediate presence.

Still, hold on a second.

As I absorbed her words, a particular detail felt entirely out of place.

“By any chance…”

“Yes, please proceed.”

“You are speaking as though it is an absolute certainty that I will be participating in a gala… am I correct?”

“Did Young Master Demian neglect to inform you?”

“…?”

“I operated under the assumption that you were aware, which is why I initiated contact with you.”

“…?”

The eyes that had been brimming with anxiety a mere breath ago now carried a subtle trace of revulsion.

It was as though she had believed I was a rational human being only to discover I was actually a common monster—her expression was even more intensely scornful than during our previous discussion regarding Blood, Sweat and Tears No. 1.

That was the moment I flashed a relaxed grin.

“I was merely jesting. Naturally, I am aw—”

“Save your breath. If I pressed you and you failed to provide an answer, I believe I would experience profound disappointment, Aster-nim.”

“…”

“Do you truly comprehend the situation?”

Quietly, I shook my head in the negative.

Ransi glared at me with unadulterated disdain.

“The day after tomorrow marks Young Master Demian’s twelfth birthday celebration.”

“Pardon?”

“…Let us depart. It is nearly time for our departure sequence.”

I questioned her, still completely bewildered, but Ransi merely pivoted on her heel and strode forward.

Her movement was so sharp that the displaced air practically whistled, causing my strands of hair to dance.

I gazed vacantly at her retreating form as she distanced herself.

‘I legitimately never received a single word about this.’

In all honesty, this was the absolute first I had heard regarding the matter.

The warp gate, keeping to its reputation, provided a rapid and highly efficient means of transit.

And perfectly mirroring the transit system, Ransi, the unyielding attendant, proved exceptionally adept at suppressing her fleeting emotional outbursts.

“I offer my regrets. Reflecting upon it now… Young Master Demian has never placed much value on the anniversary of his birth.”

“…”

“I had presumed he would at least convey the information to you, Aster-nim, but it appears my assumptions were incorrect.”

“…”

Ransi lowered her head with rigid etiquette, offering an apology for her sudden judgment.

Rather than harboring resentment over her behavior, I felt a wave of relief that my cognitive faculties had not simply betrayed me.

Truthfully, as a drifter hailing from the Black and White Zone, I had never attached much significance to birthdays—yet that realization did not make the entire scenario feel any less uncomfortable.

“Regardless, I shall outline the remaining details during our transit. The entity you truly must guard against is not those trivial provocations, Aster-nim.”

Ransi resumed her lecture the moment we crossed the threshold of the warp gate exit.

“The individuals who employ such transparent maneuvers are easily anticipated, and the rest of society is fully cognizant of their antics. Beyond the temporary loss of face, it presents no substantial threat. The genuine peril arises…”

“When exactly?”

“The precise instant you lose your composure, Aster-nim.”

“Huh.”

I required no further elaboration. I grasped the trajectory of this narrative instantly.

A destitute wanderer from the Black and White Zone who happened to stumble into a fortunate alliance with the right companion, thereby securing an invitation to an aristocratic function.

Yet that very wanderer proved incapable of enduring a noble’s calculated “oversight,” allowed his anger to flare, and instigated a violent disturbance.

The subsequent sequence of events was entirely predictable.

‘A lowborn vagrant who dared to insult a member of the peerage.’

They would be entirely within their rights to sever my head, and not a single soul would object.

Granted, given that it was the young lord’s anniversary and I was present as his personal guest, they would refrain from literal execution… in all likelihood.

‘But it would serve as an impeccable justification to ruin me.’

Ransi’s anxiety aligned precisely with my own calculations.

In any event, she pressed on.

“Even should you withstand the initial provocations, matters will not conclude there.”

“If it persists beyond that…”

“I cannot anticipate the exact pretext they will utilize, but they will undoubtedly attempt to compel you to demonstrate your capabilities or inherent value through some mechanism, Aster-nim.”

“Understood. For instance?”

“The most direct approach would entail a formal challenge to a duel, though within the confines of a gala, I remain uncertain what architecture it might adopt. One cannot simply unleash destructive incantations amidst a formal gathering.”

To put it plainly, there were zero guarantees, only a myriad of potential hazards.

We allowed the dialogue to lapse into temporary silence at that juncture.

“Ah, our destination lies along this corridor.”

“We are not proceeding directly to the primary estate?”

“No. Lady Gamo issued directives that we must ensure your formal attire for the gala is properly sorted if we intended to escort you. Given our restricted schedule, a completely bespoke creation remains impractical, but we can modify a premium ready-made garment to accommodate your proportions sufficiently.”

Consequently, we navigated our way toward a high-end clothier situated within the boundaries of Brando’s jurisdiction.

Our dialogue persisted even after we stepped across the threshold of the establishment.

After flawlessly communicating Lady Gamo’s specific parameters to the attentive staff, Ransi positioned herself adjacent to me while the tailors recorded my physical dimensions, initiating a secret transmission.

Ransi methodically detailed an extensive catalogue of hazards I needed to circumvent, and I absorbed the information in total silence, committing everything to memory.

And as I analyzed her words, a sudden realization dawned upon me.

‘It is almost as though… she formulated this entire presentation far in advance.’

Perhaps it was due to my status as a commoner originating from the Black and White Zone.

Ransi illuminated every facet ranging from aristocratic customs and behavioral patterns to their fragile, underlying ego disputes—the exact knowledge base I required—delivering it in an accelerated masterclass.

The density of the data was so refined and structured that it was impossible to imagine she was merely formulating it on the spot.

Furthermore, that was not the extent of her consideration.

She was actively recalibrating her instructional delivery to match my supposed “drifter from the Black and White Zone” comprehension capacity and my actual physical age.

The moment Ransi concluded her comprehensive briefing—

Observing Ransi instantly revert to her emotionally detached, formal attendant persona, I mentally categorized the incoming information for a brief moment.

All at once, an intrusive thought entered my mind.

‘The path of righteousness is bound to be incredibly protracted and grueling.’

Absorbing Ransi’s warnings, I could not shake the lingering impression that I was not traveling to the esteemed House Brando at all, but rather marching directly into the heart of Deculan’s Demon Realm or some equivalent nightmare.

So what course of action remained for me?

‘Surrender? Not a chance.’

Retreat is simply not in my vocabulary.

These wretched aristocratic pastimes had caused a minuscule seed of vengeance to fracture the parched soil of righteousness within my spirit.

It would likely perish before long, but at the very least, the scenario was not utterly devoid of entertainment.

Complying with the clothier’s instructions, I advanced to position myself before the mirror, aligned a formal jacket against my frame, and subsequently returned to my waiting area.

And then—

Ransi paused, displaying a brief moment of ambivalence.

Then, releasing a subtle exhalation, she answered.

I had already borne witness to this exact dynamic on the afternoon of our orientation ceremony, featuring the secondary descendant of House Dolanpe… what was his designation again? Hikster? Hipster? Simply recalling that specific encounter made the reality glaringly obvious.

The rodent-like boy’s eyes had turned completely bloodshot as he hurled himself in our direction, whereas Demian had merely maintained a perfectly oblivious, innocent smirk.

Faced with my absolute rejection of the idea, Ransi’s facial features tightened in rare surprise.

Even so, my internal calculations remained entirely unyielding.

If I possess the strength to act and witness an individual close to me being converted into a plaything, am I supposed to merely stand idly by?

A genuine companion is someone who operates on the principle of, “Only I am permitted to strike him, only I am permitted to mock him.” The specific manner in which I strike and mock Shine and Raileigh is essentially comparable to… No, that is an inaccurate comparison.

I do possess a modicum of moral awareness, so let me rectify that thought process immediately.

‘Those two individuals do not qualify as my companions.’

In any event, that detail was entirely irrelevant to the present issue.

Raileigh was perpetually prepared to plunge a blade into my spine, meaning he was automatically excluded from consideration, and I did harbor a minor sliver of remorse regarding Shine.

Well, that remorse only began to manifest the moment Shine achieved a sudden, massive surge in power.

Regardless of all that.

I permitted the boutique employees to guide me across the floor, positioning various garments against my torso, and it was precisely at that moment that a loud disruption erupted near the front entrance.

“Have you commoners lost your absolute minds?! Do you possess even the slightest inkling of who I am? You there. Look at me! You honestly fail to recognize my identity? Clear out!”

“M-my lord, as I have previously articulated, we are currently hosting private patrons within the premises…”

“Private patrons inside? Truly? Who exactly? Oh? Who could possibly possess such status that you dare turn me away at the threshold? Move aside, let me view their countenance. Who is it? Identify them this instant.”

Appraising the tone of the voice, the individual sounded to be in his mid-to-late adolescence. He still retained that unmistakable aura of fragile immaturity. He violently brushed past the trembling receptionist and attempted to force his way into the interior salon.

“Young Master…!”

“Oh? A pathetic wretch of your station dares to impede my progress? Listen here, you insignificant peasant. Are you even capable of calculating the monetary value of this garment?”

Alerted by the racket transpiring outside, I cast a glance toward the entryway, and Ransi narrowed her eyes, delivering a sharp look in my direction.

It seemed these elite venues operated under strict, unwritten protocols regarding confidentiality.

‘Indeed, if they simply disclosed every single identity upon demand, my line of work would be significantly less complicated.’

At any rate, Ransi stepped toward the foyer to extricate the overwhelmed employee.

It was precisely then that the obnoxious youth’s tone suddenly transformed into a vibrant ring.

“Well, well! Look at what we have here—if it isn’t Ransi herself?!”

What, they shared an prior acquaintance?

I adjusted my posture and focused my attention, my curiosity fully stimulated, while even the clothier standing beside me suspended his breathing.

However—

Ransi’s telepathic communication sliced through the intervening structure, reaching my consciousness.

To be completely precise, “slicing through the structure” merely meant communicating across a single dividing partition.

Either way, a fraction of a second later, I caught the faint cadence of Ransi’s voice, which had turned as frigid as ice.

“…I offer my greetings, Young Lord Paijin.”

“What is the meaning of this? What brings you to this location? Lady Gamo ought to be residing at the principal estate. Is the young master present within this shop or something?”

“My apologies. I am restricted from disclosing any information on that subject.”

Absorbing that brief verbal confrontation, the deep-seated impulses of the moral Fixer that had slumbered for a considerable duration suddenly reignited with absolute ferocity.

‘…So that is the individual.’

The internal mechanism in my soul that detects corruption screamed.

There is wickedness directly ahead, it declared.

And yet…

The indicator spinning erratically in my mind was almost certainly a figment of my imagination, correct?

In all likelihood.