Chapter 404: Just Some Random Manuscripts
The middle-level magical library of the high tower found itself visited by an uninvited guest.
"That man… could it be…?"
"Black hair, black eyes. It has to be him. I never expected to see him here."
Due to the [Silence] ward in effect, the gathered mages spoke in hushed, jagged whispers, casting curious, fearful glances at Rhodes as he paced the aisles like any other seeker of knowledge.
Over the last decade, Rhodes had rarely appeared in public. Even when he left the Association, he usually veiled himself in basic concealment magic. He was well aware of his own celebrity status in the human world; should he walk the streets unveiled, the ensuing scene would be no less chaotic than a global superstar appearing in a city square. He had assumed the Association's mages would be different, but it seemed that—aside from a marginally better grip on their curiosity—they were just as prone to gawking as anyone else.
Perhaps I should take a more active hand in the Association's daily affairs, Rhodes mused to himself. Because he had been absent for so long, the current generation was suffocating under a mix of curiosity and the oppressive weight of his reputation. None dared to approach him, which suited him just fine.
He paused before a row of shelves, his fingers tracing the spines until he stopped and pulled a specific volume from the shelf.
Nearby mages stretched their necks, desperate to identify the book. Could it be a long-lost legend? A spell from the Age of Myth, abandoned by time? As their whispers grew more frantic, a presence cut through the room, silencing them instantly.
A figure drifted up to Rhodes's side.
"Found it?" Serie's voice rang out, clear and sharp.
She tipped onto her toes, peering at the unremarkable volume in his hands. Her golden hair was gathered into a sleek low ponytail that tumbled down to her waist, catching the sunlight like molten gold.
"Yes." Rhodes retreated to a corner desk. The surrounding mages scattered like startled birds, leaving the pair in a private bubble of silence.
Rhodes opened the nondescript grimoire. "The manuscript Olivia mentioned. Written by a human mage, it's about a divergent branch of Holy Magic. I wanted something light to read today."
Serie tilted her head, her gaze tracking the yellowed pages. "A divergent branch?"
"The origin of the Holy Magic used by humans today. It retains the anti-demonic properties but completely reworks the underlying runic circuits to better fit the human magical structure."
"I see." Serie nodded, though she sounded skeptical. "Why the sudden interest? Is it really just for 'relaxation'?"
"Hmm… not entirely." Rhodes's fingers flickered, unfurling a small sound-dampening ward around them. "Solifra mentioned yesterday that her healing magic worked on Aura. I wanted to investigate why."
Serie's expression turned sour. She knew exactly what Solifra's "healing" magic was capable of. For anyone else, Solifra's touch didn't mend bones—it shattered them. The first time Solifra had tried to heal a colleague, Serie had been the only reason the poor man hadn't been confined to a bed for months with multiple fractures. Since then, Solifra had rarely touched the spell. Serie hadn't expected the demon to try it on Aura, nor did she expect it to actually work.
Truth be told, neither Serie nor Rhodes had ever deduced why Solifra could wield Holy Magic at all, nor why it manifested with such destructive results for others. After countless failed experiments, they had simply categorized it as an anomaly of Solifra's physiology. But for it to function correctly on a demon like Aura? That was a nuance that demanded scrutiny.
"Any leads in the book?"
"A few." Rhodes flipped a page. "It's just a collection of rough sketches and notes. Nothing comprehensive. But there are some experimental logs at the back… the data is quite intriguing."
Serie leaned in, a few stray locks of hair brushing Rhodes's shoulder. She smelled of something sweet, like wildflowers, grounded by the faint, earthy scent of old paper and wood—the mark of someone who spent her life among books.
"This mana flow sequence…" she frowned. "It carries echoes of your early research."
"I noticed that, too." Rhodes nodded. "But after centuries of extension and adaptation, it has diverged significantly from my original hypothesis. Perhaps I can find a thread I missed back then."
Serie went quiet, sitting beside him, occasionally casting a glance at the pages. She found the mages hovering nearby increasingly irritating. It's just Rhodes. What is there to look at? You're ruining our private time!
Serie's lips parted, her voice slicing through the ward and directly into the minds of every mage nearby.
"What are you all looking at? Have you passed your magic exams? Is your research finished? Do you have drafts for your theses?"
The mages broke into a cold sweat, instantly abandoning their scrutiny and returning to their studies with frantic intensity. Serie smiled in satisfaction, plucking a book from the shelf and flipping through it. They were all trivial spells—the true gems were already locked away in her private vault. But sitting here, in Rhodes's shadow, even the most mundane text felt… interesting.
Perhaps there is some merit to Frieren's obsession, she thought.
The sun crept across the floor toward the center of the room. Rhodes stopped at a specific page, his finger hovering. Serie noticed the shift and peered over.
"What is it?"
Rhodes didn't answer immediately. He stared at the parchment, a small, amused smile touching his lips.
"What is it?"
"The author of this book is… quite something." Rhodes pointed to a frantic, scribbled note in the margin, written in an archaic script.
Serie leaned in to read the jagged, hastily scrawled text:
"They say that a man who remains without a partner becomes a Great Sage. But I do not wish to be a Great Sage—I only wish for a partner!"
Rhodes shook his head, a soft laugh escaping him. "That sentence just ruined the entire aesthetic of the grimoire."
"A bizarre sentiment. What could companionship possibly have to do with becoming a Great Sage?" Serie sniffed with practiced disdain.
"Who knows?" Rhodes closed the book, looking at her. "I only know that I have you, and I became a Great Sage nonetheless."
"Don't start saying such sappy things in public!" Serie turned her face away, though her cheeks flushed a faint, defiant pink. He complains about the author ruining the aesthetic, and then turns around and does the exact same thing? And with so many people watching? I want to bite him!
"You're right. The setting is poor. Let's find a better place for that later."
Serie turned back, glaring at him. "Are you busy this afternoon?"
"No."
"Then accompany me to the rooftop garden." She stood, abandoning the book on the chair. "The berries must be ripe. If we don't pick them, they'll rot."
The garden housed rare shrubs Flamme had cultivated centuries ago. Their fruit was a potent magical material; turned into jam, it could give a mage's reserves a subtle, lingering boost. For Rhodes and Serie, the effect was negligible, but the jam was delicious—the only reason Serie hadn't bulldozed the bushes long ago.
Rhodes stood and followed her. As they exited, he spared one last look at the busy library.
Serie's voice echoed from ahead. "What are you looking at?"
"Nothing."
Rhodes gathered his thoughts and hurried after her.
The rooftop garden was small but meticulously maintained. The red berries hung heavy from the branches. Serie preferred the tactile labor to using magic; she plucked a berry and dropped it into a small basket, and Rhodes joined in.
"We can have Olivia take some back next time she visits," Serie said as she worked. "She seemed to love the jam last time. She ate it with half the pantry's bread supply."
"Agreed."
"Also, we can dry these for tea. It has a lovely flavor."
"Mhm."
Serie paused, looking back at him. "Why are you so quiet today?"
Rhodes thought for a moment. "I was thinking about that book."
"Still? You've already finished it. Did you find a new lead?"
"No." Rhodes said. "It was just that sentence."
Serie blinked, then resumed picking, saying nothing. But the corners of her lips curved upward, just a fraction.
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