Chapter 171

The Back-Alley Mage’s Return – Chapter 171

Chapter 171. Spirits, the Demonfolk, and the Wyvern

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Meanwhile, at the exact moment Aster was shivering with apprehension.

An anonymous body of water somewhere in Amera.

By a lakefront so secluded and untravelled that it was too minor for even Moonlight Stone to be extracted, an elderly man gripped a fishing pole.

Was he angling for time itself? The hook didn’t even carry bait. He merely, with flawlessly clear eyes, continued to observe the surface of the water without pause.

Suddenly, it was precisely then that a vortex whipped up.

Whirrrrr—

The wind that materialized without a hint of warning blew savagely through the area, and yet—why was that? Even as the landscape churned and trembled, the elderly man stayed serene, without a single twitch.

Even right in the core of the blasts, the elderly man’s snowy beard did not sway; it remained still—and it was precisely then that the vortex ceased.

A stillness that descended in a flash.

In an area occupied by nothing but quietude, the elderly man raised his chin.

But something seemed peculiar.

The elderly man’s gaze trailed through empty air.

No—rather than “trailing,” that attention appeared anchored in one spot, as if he were perceiving something.

As though he could perceive something others could not, his vision was sharply locked onto a solitary point in the atmosphere.

In reality, the elderly man—no, Maisellne—could perceive what others could not.

And what, then, was he able to perceive?

Spirits.

Spiritist Maisellne observed his own spirit, Fury, hovering above the water, and offered a gentle smile.

It was an affectionate grin, like one he might show while observing a small grandson’s shenanigans, and it wasn’t long before his lips parted.

“Heh-heh. Are you brooding because I tasked you with doing it all on your own?”

At Maisellne’s inquiry, Fury jerked her head away with a pout, as if confirming she truly was brooding.

At the sight of Fury, Maisellne offered a helpless “heh-heh,” then slipped his hand into his vestments and pulled out a small rock.

“Here. It is Moonlight Stone—the one you adore so much. With just this piece, will you… feel a bit better?”

But had she become truly, utterly disgruntled?

Fury kept her face turned away and uttered not a syllable.

Even so, she couldn’t prevent the way her vision kept darting—peeking and peeking—toward the Moonlight Stone, and at that, Maisellne grinned widely.

Ordinarily, she would come sprinting, overjoyed over even a solitary small fragment of Moonlight Stone, but it appeared this time she was profoundly disgruntled.

“It cannot be helped, can it, hm? For this elderly man, a fairies’ dance is far too exhausting. I am not like I was during my youth.”

Even at his complaints, Fury did not turn her face.

And witnessing that, Maisellne sensed the march of years once more.

When he was young, she’d been like nothing more than a companion. At some stage, she’d felt like a younger sister, and now, she felt just like a granddaughter.

It was due to time’s progression.

Unlike mortals, whose physical forms and minds aged with time, spirits were relatively unburdened by time.

They retained that innocence eternally.

Perhaps the reason Fury was brooding like this, too, was due to that progression of time.

Fury recognized it as well.

That Maisellne’s time did not have much remaining.

That unlike herself, who would not alter, Maisellne’s time would shortly meet its conclusion.

Of course, Maisellne was still robust and vigorous, so he had no small amount of time left—but to Fury, a spirit, even that seemed fleeting.

And then he’d abandoned her all alone, so how could her spirit not be wounded?

“Fury, I apologize. Hm? I said I am sorry. Is that truly how you are going to act? Tch—then what about two Moonlight Stones?”

In the end, Maisellne extended a second Moonlight Stone, but Fury still appeared hesitant to grant him pardon.

That irritation finally softened only after Maisellne surrendered a fourth Moonlight Stone and delivered an apology so lengthy it was virtually an oration.

“Heh-heh.”

Observing Fury absorb the essence of the Moonlight Stone, Maisellne beamed with contentment.

They said individuals could feel that way just observing their grandchild consume food—perhaps this truly was how a grandfather with a grandchild felt.

In any event, when Fury had drained all the Moonlight Stone’s essence…

Maisellne could finally inquire about what he’d originally commissioned her to do.

“So. Did you listen carefully to the children’s utterances?”

Here, “the children” was what Maisellne designated the spirits in general—everyone aside from Fury.

At Maisellne’s inquiry, Fury swung her miniature arms endearingly, her mouth moving as if she were babbling on and on.

Her countenance altered from second to second, and as Maisellne paid attention, his own expression shifted along with hers.

How much time elapsed like that?

When Fury concluded speaking, Maisellne folded his arms and plunged briefly into contemplation.

He appeared as though he’d comprehended everything, but even Maisellne couldn’t instantly untangle the speech of spirits, which was transmitted as “will.”

If it were common, everyday interaction, it wasn’t so troublesome—but this occasion was a bit unique.

What Fury had transmitted contained not only Fury’s own utterances, but the utterances of “other spirits” as well.

How long did Maisellne reflect like that?

Shortly, his lips parted.

First, to verify Fury’s utterances.

“So you are stating those individuals definitely are not there, correct?”

Fury nodded.

“You verified correctly? Previous time you failed to locate them either—you nearly finished in grave peril, didn’t you?”

Had it sounded like he was cross-examining her? Fury expanded her cheeks as if brooding once more.

“Sufficient. Even if you feign anger, I am not granting you any additional Moonlight Stone. So—those individuals definitely are not there, and the Deculan scoundrels are not there either?”

Fury shook her head firmly. And then, the will she transmitted.

Deciphering that will, Maisellne gave a short laugh and shook his head.

“At that tier, it is not that they are ‘there.’ They were merely clerks. And now, let us observe… ngh. When you age, your recollection isn’t so acute. What did the children state again?”

In reality, it wasn’t because he was elderly. It was simply that because Fury was passing along the other spirits’ will in their stead, it was highly temporary.

In any case, Maisellne attended closely to the will the other fairies were transmitting through Fury, and shortly nodded.

As was characteristic of spirits, unlike mortals, it was wandering gibberish with all sorts of unneeded details—but to condense it, it was this.

‘So….’

It wasn’t all that different from what Maisellne had first perceived when he arrived in Amera decades past.

Even now, “the children” were pleading for assistance, and they were twisting in agony.

But there was precisely one element that had altered from back then.

The children communicated this to Fury.

‘To locate… a person?’

Maisellne’s eyes quivered slightly at the spirits’ utterances transmitted through Fury.

A immense, unquantifiable stretch of time that even Maisellne could not comprehend.

Spirits who had been confined somewhere in Amera, sobbing in screams of sorrow, were begging with one heart and one goal.

To locate a single individual.

Only he… could rescue them.

‘…Huh.’

Maisellne exhaled a soft breath and brushed his hair backward.

For a brief period, he breathed heavily in amazement—then, not long after, he expressed a skepticism.

The spirits had even conveyed the “person’s” attributes to Fury, and Maisellne grimaced at the concept that had entered his intellect.

‘But… is this truly a person?’

And it was comprehensible.

The depiction the spirits had transmitted was something that was difficult to label “human,” no matter how you examined it.

“Fury, did you perceive correctly? Are you certain it is a person?”

Fury nodded with certainty.

Maisellne squeezed his eyelids together, then immediately pulled out parchment and a graphite tool and started moving the attributes in his intellect onto the sheet.

It didn’t require long for the concept in his skull to become an illustration.

And when the illustration was finally concluded—

Maisellne revealed it to Fury and verified once more.

“…This?”

But why was that?

Fury shook her head firmly.

‘See, there is no method that could be—’

He was reflecting that, when—

It was precisely then that Fury, employing literal physical strength, grabbed the graphite tool away.

Zip, stroke.

Unbalanced, shaky markings were sketched over an illustration that had been reasonably proper.

When Fury deposited the graphite tool down with a tiny click, Maisellne’s upper eyelids quivered slightly.

‘It turned worse.’

The person in the illustration possessed these characteristics.

First, silver hair. The face itself was rather tidy and attractive—nearly like Maisellne when he’d been young.

If that were all, it would have been a common portrait—but the reason Maisellne had wondered, “Is this truly a person?” resided elsewhere.

The gaze.

‘What in the—those eyes….’

Where there ought to have been an iris, a peculiar maelstrom spun and boiled. Since it was graphite, the shades weren’t fully demonstrated, but according to the concept transmitted by the children’s will… indeed.

A crimson current. Like insanity.

Not only that—fangs extended upward sharply, like some fiend from a children’s story, and that grin appeared truly malicious.

And finally…

The sharp spikes Fury had appended.

“Hmm.”

Maisellne silently anchored his attention on the figure on the parchment.

Is this truly a person?

‘…This appears precisely like the demonfolk from myths.’

Could it be the children were executing a practical joke?

As far as that reflection went, Maisellne shook his head.

Spirits were too uncorrupted to deceive. And the children weren’t in any condition where they could afford to deceive.

Why would the children, who were screaming out for assistance, ever construct such a falsehood!

Then the illustration had to be the reality.

‘Hmmm.’

Maisellne contemplated the illustration for a lengthy duration—then raised his gaze sharply.

“Could it be… that?”

Occasionally, instances like this occurred.

Even with individuals, you understand.

You believe you are passing along precisely what you witnessed and perceived, but personal sentiments and effects get blended into the phrases or countenances.

If the first effect was negative, you might highlight only the negative segments of someone’s appearance while depicting them…

‘…Spirits are uniquely perceptive, so it occurs frequently.’

Spirits, in their innocence, were far more perceptive than individuals, and when they witnessed something, they could perceive much more.

Temperament… character—elements individuals might only discover through interaction, spirits could grasp in a flash, like a sudden revelation.

‘But even so… this degree is uncommon.’

Just how immense a trauma had the children experienced?

“Hmm….”

Maisellne pondered.

He didn’t recognize who the youth in the drawing was, but he must not be a common individual.

Because the gaze the spirits had depicted was the gateway to the soul, and the spikes emerging from the skull mirrored what the individual normally pondered. And the fangs drawn sharp and protruding…

…indicated he put what he pondered into execution precisely as he pondered it.

It was uncommon for an impression to be overstated this drastically, but generally, it maintained that sort of vibe.

At the same time, another reflection entered his mind.

‘…Am I truly attempting to rescue spirits?’

What if they were not spirits, but some malicious phantom entombed in ancient epochs?

Otherwise, they wouldn’t potentially indicate an individual like this as a liberator.

But only for a second.

“Hm. Correct. Let us proceed.”

At Fury’s prodding, Maisellne reeled in his angling cord and collected his items.

Whatever it was, he had to verify it with his own vision.

“Very well, Fury. Where is this youth located?”

Fury replied.

“Hm. Lake Gixen, is it.”

Once it manifested, the fairies’ dance would disperse and migrate from body of water to body of water. And of all destinations, Lake Gixen was the subsequent spot the fairies’ dance would migrate to.

“It appears we must accelerate.”

When the fairies’ dance manifested, Maisellne found it difficult to keep his intellect properly steady amidst the spirits’ sobbing that echoed by his ears. It wasn’t that he couldn’t withstand it, but… there were simply far too many adversaries who would welcome that occasion.

Deculan might exhibit no unique activity, but as for “those individuals,” there was no predicting where or how they might be lurking.

Reflecting that far, Maisellne stepped onto empty space.

In that second—

Swish—

A vortex cloaked his physical form, rising and revolving.

Maisellne’s form sliced through the atmosphere where the twilight had just started to sink.

Like a wyvern.