Chapter 48

“What? You want to learn magic?”

“Hahaha, of course I do.”

Skoll, about to bring a spoon to his mouth, nearly dropped it at Jampe’s words. His voice carried more than a little surprise. Jampe, on the other hand, just laughed it off, carefree as ever.

Watching them, Colin shook his head lightly. He calmly lifted a forkful of food, tasting it slowly, then nodded in quiet approval. The new chef’s cooking truly was exceptional. After a sip of water, he sampled another dish, savoring it with unhurried grace.

“And what exactly do you plan to do with magic?”

Jampe… for all his recklessness, even as someone who had reached the level of Grand Master, he still had the heart of a child. Or maybe he was just hopelessly naive. Skoll sighed inwardly at the thought. He set his spoon back into his soup and stared at his friend.

Magic, all of a sudden? What nonsense.

“I’ve gotten pretty far with swordsmanship already. So why not add magic and become a magic swordsman?”

A magic swordsman?

Skoll couldn’t even laugh properly. The best he could manage was a dry, empty chuckle.

Unlike knights, mages gathered mana near the heart. They then combined that internal mana with the external flow of the world to cast spells. The body served as a channel. The wider the channel, the stronger and faster magic could be released.

But that channel only stretched in proportion to the amount of mana stored.

If a channel was only wide enough for third-class spells and you forced a fourth-class spell through it, the channel would rupture—explode. Not that this really happened, because a third-class user could hardly manage a fourth-class spell in the first place.

Knights, on the other hand, stored their mana near the navel. Mana couldn’t remain in multiple places at once—it was fundamentally incompatible with itself. If it was gathered in one place, like the heart or the navel, then storing it in the other became almost impossible. Not entirely impossible, but so close that it may as well be.

And mana stored at the navel lost its purity. It was unsuitable for magic, which required pure mana. Only heart-gathered mana kept its purity—and precisely because of that purity, it couldn’t be fine-tuned to fuel techniques like Aura Blade.

Aura Blade required impure mana, the kind gathered at the navel.

Kark’s case was a strange exception, because what he wielded wasn’t mana at all, but internal energy.

Jampe, however, either didn’t know this or didn’t care, and now he was insisting he would learn magic. Skoll doubted he understood what he was asking for.

“Heh… a magic swordsman, huh? Do you really think you can learn magic?”

“Of course I can. There’s Pellod, isn’t there?”

At that, Skoll closed his eyes with a sigh. If Jampe had Pellod in mind, there was no stopping him. Technically it wasn’t impossible, but trying to talk him down would take far too much effort. Better to let him try and fail on his own.

Beside them, Colin had long since tuned out the conversation, enjoying his meal at a leisurely pace.

“Fine, do what you want,” Skoll muttered, defeated.

Pellod… if that was truly what Jampe meant, then he was referring to the Crimson Empire’s court mage, a 7th-class master. Pellod and Jampe were infamous rivals. Pellod was over seventy now, nearly twenty years older than Jampe, but even so, his calm intellect vanished whenever they clashed.

Only a handful knew of this side of him: the Emperor, the Empire’s Three Great Knights—Skoll and Colin among them—and Pellod’s disciple, the 6th-class master Gario. If the continent’s mages, who revered Pellod, ever found out, chaos would break loose.

And if Jampe actually went to him to study magic? Pellod would almost certainly make a fool of him.

After all, how many times in the past had Pellod lashed out, furious that a young upstart dared challenge him?

Thinking of Jampe’s future, Skoll opened his mouth again.

“Do you really think Pellod will teach you magic?”

“Of course. Hehehe.”

Jampe’s eyes gleamed with mischief as he chuckled in a dark, unsettling way. Clearly, he had something in mind.

“So you do have a plan, then?”

Skoll couldn’t help but ask, curiosity prickling at him. What kind of scheme was making Jampe grin like that?

“Hehehe.”

But all he got in return was that same eerie laugh. Skoll sighed. Whatever it was, Jampe would never hand it over easily.

He’ll demand something in return, no doubt.

Skoll let it go, lifting his spoon again as Jampe’s laugh lingered behind him. Still, the thought circled endlessly in his mind—what exactly was that fool plotting? Forget finishing the meal properly.

“So… you’re asking me to teach you magic?”

A low, skeptical voice filled the cramped study. Bookshelves surrounded the small room on all sides, with only a simple wooden table in the center, two chairs drawn up opposite one another. A single book lay open on the table, catching the lone shaft of sunlight pouring from the window above. Everything else remained in shadow, cloaking the space in a heavy, strange atmosphere.

“Of course. Old man.”

The younger man, who looked barely in his thirties, replied with a sly grin. At his words, the one he had called “old man” furrowed his brow ever so slightly.

This insolent brat—has he lost his mind?

The dim light was all that illuminated Pellod’s favorite reading spot. Today, as usual, he had been absorbed in a tome on magic when Jampe barged in, dragged a chair across the floor, and plopped himself down right across from him.

Pellod had spared him only a single glance before returning to his book. But the man’s next words made it impossible to focus.

“I came to learn magic.”

From anyone else, Pellod would have ignored it outright. But Jampe—Jampe always managed to get under his skin. He didn’t know why, but whenever he saw this man, his composure cracked. Even his sharp, disciplined mind couldn’t explain it.

Kneeling, begging, clinging to his robes—that was what Pellod would have expected. Instead, Jampe had the gall to sit there and demand, bold as ever. A true eccentric, Pellod thought, narrowing his eyes.

“You think I’d actually teach you?”

“Heh… you’ll have no choice.”

Pellod studied him carefully. Confidence like that wasn’t empty—it meant Jampe was holding something. Something certain.

What is it?

“Hehehe…”

Jampe’s low laugh only fueled his irritation. Pellod searched his mind, and then the answer struck him faster than expected.

No… could it be?

Jampe leaned closer, letting the light from above carve his face into sharp lines of shadow and glare. His grin widened as he whispered.

“Well? Have you figured it out, old man?”

The play of light and shadow made his expression infuriatingly smug. Pellod clenched his teeth. If that incident had never been discovered, none of this would be happening now.

Thinking of it again made his brow furrow deeper. It wasn’t that erasing Jampe’s memory with magic had been impossible. But as a Grand Master, Jampe’s mental fortitude was formidable. Unless Pellod poured his full concentration into the casting, the spell would fail—and in that span of time, Jampe would simply escape.

“So then? You’ll teach me, won’t you? Otherwise… I’ll spread word of that matter. Hehehe.”

Sunlight revealed the full curve of Jampe’s grin, spreading wider and wider across his face. Pellod’s brow furrowed as he watched. Teaching magic was possible, yes—but only if he could erase that incident from Jampe’s memory once and for all. Even now, he was considering how.

Jampe, on the other hand, smiled in satisfaction. For the first time—no, in his life—it felt like a true victory. He had won against the old man with words alone. Even if it was blackmail, a win was still a win.

Pellod frowned deeper at his tone and sank into thought, searching for a way out of the situation.

“What’s the matter, old man? Hurry up and teach me already~”

Jampe’s sly voice grated on Pellod’s ears, but he continued thinking. After a pause—five breaths’ worth—his eyes gleamed sharply, and he finally spoke. Jampe twitched at the sudden intensity, but still, confidence held his shoulders straight.

“Fine, I’ll teach you. But I won’t be the one teaching you.”

“What? I wanted you, old man.”

The way he said “wanted” carried a strange edge, but Pellod ignored it, speaking smoothly, almost soothingly.

“Calm yourself. You know I’m a very busy man. As the Crimson Empire’s court mage and a 7th-class master, my duties are endless.”

He deliberately emphasized court mage and 7th-class master, and Jampe, without realizing it, nodded along. That was his mistake. Pellod smirked inwardly. Just a little more and the trap would close.

“Which means I have very little time to spare. And if I can’t personally teach you, who stands to lose?”

Jampe mulled it over, then replied reluctantly. “Well… I guess that would be me?”

“Exactly. You’re smart, aren’t you? And someone as clever as you shouldn’t be short on time to study magic. So I’ll introduce you to someone else. A mage you already know of—one with considerable skill.”

This time Pellod stressed you’re smart, and Jampe, easily swayed, was nearly convinced.

“But…”

Jampe frowned, about to raise an objection. Pellod cut him off immediately.

“No need to worry. I’ll make sure no one finds out you’re learning magic—as long as you keep one promise.”

To persuade an opponent, one had to anticipate what they feared most. Pellod knew this well, and inside, he urged Jampe to take the bait.

And Jampe did. His biggest worry had been exposure. He didn’t really care if others knew, but the thought nagged at him, unsettled him. Hearing Pellod bring it up eased his mind, and in that small relief, he walked right into Pellod’s hands.

“A promise? What kind of promise?”

“That you’ll keep that incident to yourself, and tell no one. Simple enough, isn’t it?”

Pellod leaned forward across the table, whispering softly.