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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: Not a Beating Offense
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The renowned magic family, Blandoga.
One of the great houses that fell to ruin at the hands of the Decullan Family, the Blandoga house possessed one unique secret art.
'Light of Healing.'
What Damian had just demonstrated was unmistakably the Blandoga's Light of Healing, no matter who looked at it.
No chance of mistaken identity...
'None at all.'
No doubt about it.
No other healing spell produced such immediate and certain results.
'But hold on.'
I narrowed my eyes at Damian, who was sucking on his fingers.
'At this point in time, the Blandoga house should still be pretty powerful, right?'
Their downfall wouldn't happen until far in the future from now.
Back when I was in the prime of my Troubleshooter days.
'Which means the Blandoga house is still going strong...'
So why was a Blandoga kid here? And using Light of Healing, no less—he had to be a bloodline member, a direct descendant at that.
"Damian, Damian..."
"You called?"
"..."
A hazy memory.
Something on the tip of my tongue, I furrowed my brow.
But it wouldn't quite come to me—maybe because it was such an old memory.
Especially since...
'I only got involved in the Blandoga downfall at the very end. Just showed up for the final battle.'
It hadn't been my main mission anyway.
Of course.
Slurp, slurp.
Damian sucking on his fingers was annoyingly distracting, making it even harder to recall.
Whoosh.
A chill wind blew in right then.
The gust was strong enough to make me grimace, and it whipped up Damian's bangs, which had been covering his eyes.
And when his eyes peeked out from beneath the platinum blond hair...
"Ah, damn it."
A curse slipped out unbidden.
Damian's eyes.
They were anything but ordinary.
One gleamed like the sea itself, an emerald green, while the other, in stark contrast, burned blood-red.
Known as...
'...Odd Eye.'
There was no question Damian was Blandoga blood.
The platinum hair, and the Light of Healing he'd shown—clear proof.
Which meant...
'Only one person in the Blandoga bloodline had Odd Eye traits.'
How had I not recognized him?
In the final clash between Blandoga and Decullan, a mage had burst onto the scene out of nowhere.
The one who single-handedly tore through dozens of Decullan mages.
Even the notoriously vicious Decullan mages couldn't help but back away from that monster.
The monster of Blandoga.
One who wouldn't die, no matter what.
Endlessly casting Blandoga's signature recovery spells, slaughtering Decullan mages.
And that person was...
"...Damian von Blandoga."
Of all people, it was this kid.
'How did I not realize?'
I stared at Damian, still sucking away on his fingers.
He'd squatted down on the ground by now, counting ants crawling by, and seeing him like that, it all made sense.
'Well, yeah. Who'd guess from looking at him? It'd be weirder if I had.'
The Damian in my memories was a total madman.
Cackling maniacally amid a barrage of Decullan spells, facing down the enemy.
Even as he perished in the magical onslaught, that laughter never stopped.
So yeah.
'A real psycho.'
A monster.
No wonder I hadn't recognized him.
Who'd imagine a monster like that started out as such a dimwit?
I gazed at Damian, who showed no hint of madness, and tilted my head.
'But why...?'
As I'd said before, he was direct lineage.
Not just any direct lineage, either—the patriarch's one and only son, the legitimate heir to the house.
So why was a guy like that rolling around in the Black-White Slums?
That's when Damian suddenly snapped his head up.
Eyes wide like something huge had happened, he stared straight at me and said,
"Food."
"Huh?"
"Let's eat. I'm hungry too. Mom said if you wanna stay healthy, you gotta eat right. You got sick 'cause you didn't eat."
He had a point.
'Not like it's worth a beating.'
But...
"You got money?"
I scanned Damian up and down. He didn't look like he had a coin to his name.
But then.
"This?"
He had it.
Damian peeked into the pouch at his waist.
And inside...
Shiny, shiny.
'...Jackpot.'
It was stuffed with gold coins.
Not just gold, either.
Packed so tightly there were silver coins, copper ones, even a few gems.
The pouch must've had spatial expansion magic, because it was a dazzling trove that nearly blinded me.
I stared at Damian.
"Damian."
"Yeah?"
"We're friends."
"Suddenly?"
I nodded.
"If I say we're friends, then we are. Got it? And friends share what they have."
"Hmm..."
He tilted his head, looking a bit unsure, so I threw an arm around his shoulder.
"Let's go, friend."
"Friend!"
Damian bounced around excitedly, like he'd never been happier.
His hand was soaked in spit, splattering everywhere, but whatever—at this point, it didn't matter.
Then, out of nowhere, Damian hit me with a sharp question.
"But what do you have?"
"Me..."
I hesitated a moment before answering.
"I've got a friend."
"Cool line."
I'm a Troubleshooter by trade.
Born and bred in the Black-White Slums, I don't discriminate when it comes to friends.
Anyone willing to share what's theirs can be my friend.
'And we're about the same age.'
He looked a bit naive, probably from being raised soft, but at this time, Damian was around my age too.
Which was, like...
"How old are you?"
"Twelve!"
I decided my age.
"Then I'm fourteen."
Two years older.
So I had two years on him, but like I said, age doesn't matter when making friends.
Even if he turns into a future lunatic—what's that matter?
That's how it was.
* * *
"Burp."
In an inn in the bustling Black-White Slums district.
I sat on the fluffy bed, patting my belly.
"Good eats."
Really good.
Damian was loaded.
The pouch was an artifact with expansion magic, packed to the brim with all sorts of gold, silver, and treasures.
I used a few silvers to book the room, washed off the grime, and had a proper meal.
Meanwhile, Damian was gawking around like it was all new to him, so I asked,
"What're you doing?"
"Didn't know."
"Know what?"
"There are houses on top of food places. I always slept outside. First time finding out."
"Oh, yeah."
Figured that's why a rich kid like him was so filthy—he didn't know about inns.
"Right."
Damian looked at me like he'd just remembered something.
"What."
"I don't have a dad either."
"..."
Was he getting back at me? He'd clearly been holding that inside. But.
"You do."
Where's this kid getting his nonsense?
"You said your mom's gone?"
"She's probably around."
I didn't know why Damian's mom said that, but his dad was alive. Right now, and in the future too.
Well, not the far future.
"And you... don't you have a mom too?"
Damian tilted his head at my words. Then he looked around and said,
"Where? She's not here."
"She ain't here, sure."
"If she's not here, she's not here."
"..."
That's when it hit me. Why Damian said he had no dad.
'If he's not here, he's not here, huh.'
Probably the same logic for the Blandoga patriarch. He'd stepped out, left the house empty for a bit or something.
"But why're you alone?"
"I ran away."
Ran away?
I tilted my head.
'Was he being chased in the past?'
Like I said, the Blandoga house was still mighty.
For a direct bloodline member—the patriarch's own son, no less—to be running solo?
I wanted to ask more, but Damian's face darkened as he muttered low,
"The family'll come get me."
"Yeah, they will."
They wouldn't leave the patriarch's son rotting in this dump forever.
To get a read on things, I asked,
"How long since you ran?"
"Slept ten times."
"Ten days, huh."
I crossed my arms and nodded.
That's when Damian shook his head.
"I take naps too."
What?
"I can sleep twice a day. Naps, I mean. Anyway, total of ten times."
"...So, about four or five days?"
Damian shook his head again.
"But since coming here, no naps. Ground's too uncomfortable. Just ten nights."
What kind of damn way is this to talk?
Anyway, I pieced it together. Truth was, I'd already decided what to do with Damian.
'The Blandoga are solid enemies of the Decullan.'
Even if they couldn't avoid ruin at Decullan hands, they were still a thorn in the side.
Building a connection now could help if I ever clashed with the Decullan later.
Even if not, no big deal.
'Great houses have lots of books.'
Even ones they don't value highly—their worth ain't low.
"Damian."
"Yeah?"
"We're friends."
"Right, friends."
Damian answered innocently. I curled my lips into a grin.
"Yeah. So when the family comes, make sure you say that. Tell 'em I'm a great friend."
"Right! You're a great friend!"
Of course, I wasn't planning to do it for free.
Free meals always come back to bite you.
My role was simple.
Live it up on Damian's dime until the family came back for him... Er, cough, not live it up.
'Nanny duty, protecting him from any threats that might pop up.'
Heh. Like anything dangerous would happen, but better safe than sorry, right?
Of course, first things first—something to handle.
I've got a bold personality, forget petty grudges quick, but lately I picked up a not-so-petty one.
'That damn slum rat.'
Fifty-seven hits worth.
Time for payback.
"Damian."
"Yeah?!"
"I'm gonna lie down now, don't touch me. Bad things happen if you do."
Breathing exercises worked sitting or lying down. Just easier lying at first.
He'd get it from how I said it.
He'd used Light of Healing, so he knew breathing arts too.
Sure enough, Damian got it.
"Breathing exercises?"
"Yeah, that."
"I do those a lot! Haven't lately! Makes my chest tingle!"
He put a hand on his chest, mimicking deep breaths in and out.
I ignored him and lay down.
"Yeah, that. Do it after me. I'll wait."
"Okay! Got it!"
That ended the talk.
I closed my eyes.
The faint candlelight vanished completely.
Perfect darkness.
'Alright, let's try it.'
I focused my mind.
* * *
'It was heartbreaking not to learn it.'
Truth be told, before my comrade said it, I hadn't really thought that way.
Looking back, I just hadn't realized.
'After becoming a Troubleshooter, I ran around collecting secret arts to learn.'
Something I'd never have done if it was just about missions. Hell, it was straight-up insane.
Infiltrated the Lortel house, magic great houses, all the top families, looting their arts.
'Nearly died getting caught so many times.'
If not for comrades risking it to bail me out, I'd be six feet under already.
That's how I scraped together and learned them. Sorted out, it went like this.
The big pillar was the demonic path.
Standard-issue Troubleshooter arts, building power on magic foundations.
But demonic path alone wouldn't break my Troubleshooter limits.
Layered on knightly body tempering, plus a bunch of miscellaneous arts.
Spirits, summons, alchemy, basic weapon use—everything.
Tough to learn, but gave me options.
'Like going full body tempering and becoming a knight.'
Or other arts to prep for the future.
But one vivid scene in my head. The fight with Decullan patriarch Pahren von Decullan.
Shaking the earth with a gesture, tearing the sky.
Lightning raining like a storm, a howling typhoon ravaging all—there, I was just a man.
Truly.
'A calamity.'
No single person can stand against a great house's might.
But thinking of the Decullan patriarch stirred something. Maybe it was possible?
So I decided.
'Demonic path again this time.'
The art to learn... Decullan basic technique, Heavenly Origin Art.
The continent's one-of-a-kind demonic path art, embracing all mana attributes.
'It's just the basics, but all Decullan arts root from Heavenly Origin Art.'
So I could reach it too.
That peak, what the patriarch showed.
Of course, not easy. Not every Decullan art stems purely from it, nor contains it fully.
'But possibility's enough.'
In my past life, when I got Heavenly Origin Art, I'd already learned Troubleshooter arts and couldn't master it...
'Memorized it for study, and now it pays off.'
Lips tugged up on both sides.
"Hoo."
Deep breath out as I began the breathing.
Then a voice spoke.
―Wind confirmed.
"...?"
Choppy, unnatural voice.
Pain hit.
"...!"
Source: slightly left of center chest, the Fire Mark.
Burning agony spread through my body.
―Deploy the breathing method.
A flash of thoughts, but I regained calm.
What to do stayed the same.
Just focus now.
'...'
Slowly breathed in, out. Exhale scattered into the air.
Deep, thick breath.