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Amid the sound of Camila’s wailing, I lay back on the carpet in the sky, lost in thought.

“Ah, this feels good…”

The sunlight was warm, and a cool breeze gently blew. There couldn’t be better weather for reminiscing about the past.

Let’s turn back time for a moment. So, let’s start with the reason why the Duke threw Camila right in the middle of the desert.

Whenever strange and suspicious incidents occurred among us, regardless of who caused the trouble, we could generally pin it on someone’s “bad habit.”

Today’s story too starts from a mouth that earns a beating.

Episode 18 – The Man’s Club

As soon as the Duke opened his mouth, Camila jumped up in surprise.

“It’s unfair, Professor!”

It seemed even she thought this was a bit much. She tried her best to prove her innocence to avoid the punishment from the Archmage.

Innocence is proven through tears, and true tears are recognized as valid legal evidence.

Unfortunately, her opponent was a mage with a hundred years of experience, so this time, she needed to persuade him with words and logic.

So, if you were to ask, “Will she win?” Camila’s answer would always be “I will win.”

Because she was a Cambridge student. For her, logic and eloquence were fields she was confident in, competing with professors, SIS interviewers, and analysts.

“Unfair? Then why did you burn someone with magic?”

“That’s not true!”

Camila spread her palms and, with a serious expression, shouted, “That’s not true!”

“I only burned the warehouse, while the injuries were caused by the poacher trying to salvage the ivory!”

That was a fact.

Officially, the group’s assigned mission was to “block illegal weapons trafficking,” but in reality, the operation was “just to catch smugglers.”

Some might say, “We just needed to catch the arms dealer, why deal with the smugglers?” But the smugglers weren’t idiots; they wouldn’t just deal in weapons. If money was involved, they’d sell everything, including body parts and enslaving people. In fact, in the 21st-century world, human trafficking is still ongoing.

Thus, among the criminals Camila caught, there were professional poachers as well.

Just so you know, these guys were cutting and selling elephant ivory while it was still alive. The reason is quite absurd—they claimed that freshness was important!

To stop the elephants from rampaging, the shaman would cut their spines, and then they’d use electric saws to cut the ivory while leaving the elephants to die or be abandoned on the savannah. This was a stark example of human greed and depravity.

“Just how bad were they…?”

Camila used this point as her argument. In other words, they were people who “had it coming.”

Of course, Camila originally intended to only burn the warehouse. If the poacher hadn’t jumped into the fire, crying, “No! My ivory!” he wouldn’t have received third-degree burns.

Thus, the expression “they had it coming” was quite fitting.

Even so, the Duke had no choice but to sternly reprimand his disciple.

“‘Before using magic, check twice or thrice that there is no collateral damage. What we wield is not a weapon but magic.’ I warned you clearly. It seems the child only heard my words with one ear.”

“……”

“Alright. I will let this pass. Just as the child says, it was the poacher who brought the trouble upon himself. Who could stop a criminal walking into a hell of fire? Especially if it was due to their greed.”

It was a way of saying he wouldn’t punish her since he knew it wasn’t her fault. Camila, having won one round, smiled widely.

The questions moved on, but the Duke’s attack continued.

The Archmage, raising a newspaper, frowned. It was as if to say, “Look at this ridiculous article.”

“By the way, where did you learn to chant the incantation I never taught you? I heard you were muttering something while catching a bank robber.”

I had never heard of that magic in my life.

As the Duke asked Camila, she started sweating.

“Well… umm… I didn’t really learn it formally…”

Her voice grew quieter as if she were looking for a mouse hole. Even the sharp-minded Archmage had to concentrate hard to understand her.

Camila, who had been dodging the question, eventually only made excuses.

“I couldn’t even use it; it didn’t activate properly…”

“Looks like you picked up some tricks from wandering mages.”

Fortunately, it seemed the Duke wasn’t intending to scold her.

She emphasized that “one must thoroughly practice magic they’ve seen before using it in the field,” and Camila promised she would definitely do so next time.

Once that question was over, the next was about her “criminal actions.” The Duke let out a deep sigh as he unfolded the newspaper.

“I understand breaking the law. Sometimes, when chasing criminals, one inadvertently crosses the lines of law.”

“……”

“But from now on, never break the law again.”

“Yes, Professor.”

That’s a good answer. I clicked my tongue internally while lounging on the sofa munching on snacks.

Camila had to endure a lecture from the Duke for a while. He repeated and emphasized the basics that a magician should possess.

As someone who had been in the army for about twenty years, I felt like the Duke was conducting some kind of training.

And indeed, it was just that. The Duke was giving Camila a sort of character-building training.

“The beginning and end of using magic must not be clumsy. If the middle process is not smooth, it is a great mistake for a magician. Magicians are from ancient times meant to wield calmness and judgment…”

Goodness. How can someone say only such simple, reasonable, and logical things? I could feel sleep creeping in; his lecture was just like a principal’s.

What is it with older people? It’s like they can’t help but impart lessons and advice, or else their mouths feel prickly.

Our drunken Executive Director did that, so did the brigade commander, and so did the headmaster. Sticking people under the hot sun, what the heck?

Now the Duke was doing the same thing again—it’s a mystery that humanity hasn’t solved, and something modern science should address urgently.

It was at that moment when the Duke suddenly threw a playful reprimand.

“And if you’re going to do it, at least do it properly. Just how long were you boiling excrement, smelling all good?”

“…!”

At that moment, Camila was so unfairly shocked she couldn’t get her words out.

If the gasoline truck hadn’t toppled over the mountain, if the residents hadn’t stolen gasoline from the toppled truck, her boiling sewage would have remained an ‘unremembered memory.’

“Ugh… ugh!”

“Why? Why are you like this, child? Don’t cry. Come on, dry your tears!”

“I-I’m unfair!”

As Camila’s emotions surged and she started to lament, even the Duke, who had been quietly listening, unknowingly nodded along.

Upon listening, it didn’t seem like there was any wrongdoing on his disciple’s part. If one were to nitpick, it could be blamed on the residents who stole gasoline from the tanker…

“Goodness! How can you blame the poor refugees for taking a bit of gasoline!?” The people who would feel this way would likely turn fiery if they spent three hours boiling sewage in Africa’s scorching sun, with mosquitoes biting them (malaria/dengue/yellow fever, and other infectious diseases rush roulette) and then immediately rush to the scene to grab a gun, any gun.

And in the midst of that, when they’re crying with their mosquito-bitten faces, it would be inappropriate to continue giving harsh criticism.

It was precisely for this reason that, while the Duke was looking at Camila with warmth and sympathy, he immediately turned to question me.

“Was there no way for you to bring gasoline?”

“Huh? Me? Why?”

“…?”

In fact, Camila had similarly suggested, asking me to go get gasoline.

But wasn’t the nearest gas station over 60 km away (actually, just beyond the mountains – considering where the tanker had an accident)?

There were ways to fly there, but Camila insisted that was impossible. How could someone fly over a mountainous area like Afghanistan just with their bare body?

As I explained this situation, the Duke’s eyebrows subtly furrowed.

Then, suddenly, he began scolding Camila fiercely.

How could she not even try and just complain—

I didn’t teach you to be that way—

You must discipline yourself before learning magic— and so on.

“…Oh, oh.”

“…Huh?”

Faced with a barrage of scoldings aimed at her, Camila stared blankly at the Duke. I too could only blink in surprise whilst looking at the Duke.

By the way, the mountain that blocks the way between the gas station and the refugee camp.

The mountainous terrain that Camila referred to as “Afghan mountainous terrain” was a place where even the US military ‘helicopters’ rarely flew!

Why can’t helicopters fly there? To spin the rotors, they need to burn fuel; but the mountainous terrain is so precariously high that there isn’t enough lift or oxygen. It really was just like that.

Once, I had to fly over the mountain to get to a snack quickly, and as the air layers thinned, a Chinook felt like an 80-year-old grandfather stumbling. Wow… I truly thought that day our CIA friends would collectively fall to their deaths.

Shortly after crossing the mountains, the craft quickly regained stability, but we were gripped by the fear of crashing, clutching each other’s hands tightly.

We had no idea the soldiers with the door gunner and the military crew were looking at us with eyes that said, “What’s up with those idiots?”

We even sprawled on the ground, tumbling and crawling around together.

The expressions of the American military, the senior CIA officers, the members of the National Intelligence Service, and our seniors watching us, a mixed group of three races (Caucasian, African, Asian) lumbering down from a helicopter were so warm and kind.

Of course, the Duke had no knowledge of that.

1. Afghanistan is not in this area.

2. The place we brought her to was right in the middle of the capital, a hotel in Umsalga.

3. The mountainous terrain behind the refugee camp was completely ignored as we came straight here.

In the Duke’s eyes, his disciple was simply a “troublemaker who doesn’t want to do hard work but causes a lot of trouble.”

“……”

Camila sparkled her eyes, sending a signal for help, but I ignored her by casually turning my gaze away.

Therefore.

“I’ve decided to fix your rotten mentality first. You shall train your magic alongside mental discipline.”

“Kyaaaaahh-!”

And thus, in the scorching red desert, a melting pot for human modification was born.

“Did you hear that?”

The Duke spoke to his disciple on the ground.

“Even a soldier who can’t use magic finds a way to fight. Yet you, faced with the enemy, decide to bail just because you’re not feeling up to it.”

Camila’s cry echoed back, chased by a monster.

“How am I supposed to fight against all those monsters?!”

“Hey, you silly girl. Did I chop off your arms? Or have I taken away your magic?”

“My magic has been reduced to a tiny fraction!”

“That too is magic. Use what you have and fight.”

It was clear he meant to follow orders. If told to do it, she would do it, for better or for worse.

In the end, Camila had to cry and reluctantly fight the monsters.

“Uwaaah…!”

The sight of Camila capturing monsters with a minuscule spell was truly something new and refreshing. Maybe it was because she was always blasting things to bits before.

“Oh my. Woah… Om nom nom…”

I watched her fight, completely dazed.

And then—

*Swish!*

The Duke placed a few newspapers on the carpet. These were reports about various incidents concerning his companions.

As I stared intently at them, I caught the Duke’s mysterious, silver-haired archmage starting a conversation.

“It seems that not just that girl, but everyone else has caused a fair share of problems too. And quite the variety, I must say.”

“……”

“Could you tell me what has been going on?”

He was practically demanding a confession about the misdeeds of his companions. It was basically suggesting I snitch on them.

I smiled brightly.

“Ah, well, you see…”

*

A wave of violence engulfs the companions!

It all started with Francesca.

“Oh, it’s you, Raniere’s child.”

“…Grandmother?”

Longtime comrades meet, as Francesca attempts to show her reverence, but the Duke dismissively gestures her off.

“Enough of that. What formalities do you think exist between us?”

“Understood. But what brings you here?”

“I’ve heard some interesting news lately. They’ve developed a new potion.”

“A weapon designed to eliminate the monsters that have long plagued Mauritania. It’s based on alchemy.”

The Duke, who had broached the topic of alchemical weapons, naturally continued the conversation about ‘new magical weapons.’

“You’ve also created magical tools?”

“That’s correct. If you’re curious about the principles and usage, I can take you to my simple workshop…”

“You tested it on people, didn’t you?”

At this point, Francesca sensed something unusual, but the Duke’s gentle smile dispelled her unease.

“Ah, the inspection already…”

“I know. You received it from the Magic Tower and the Ivory Tower. I’ve read through them all.”

“What then?”

“It seems that you need results that can only be obtained in actual combat. So, I came to ask if you would wish to take this good opportunity.”

The Duke casually threw out this ‘proposal,’ and, of course, Francesca accepted without hesitation. After all, an archmage wouldn’t make a harmful proposal to a magician, especially not to a comrade’s descendant. If he called it a good opportunity, it surely held some value.

…or at least that’s what Francesca must have thought. That’s typical of a magician’s thought process.

“What happened?”

“Just as you expected, she accepted. I think starting with the potion topic worked well.”

“She is an alchemist after all.”

Thus, a new face joined the melting pot of human modification.

“What on earth is going on here?!”

“I don’t know! Just throw a test tube or something, Francesca!”

“I don’t have one! Grandmother took it!”

“Then let’s use a golem!”

“That too!”

“Oh, come on! You’re so thorough! Do magicians not suffer from forgetfulness?!”

While Camila and Francesca struggled in the boiling cauldron of human modification (with monsters crawling about), an experienced hunter set out to find the next target.

The next target was Lucia.

“Ah, you’ve come, Your Highness.”

“So you knew I was coming.”

“I had heard the news.”

Lucia greeted the Duke as if she had been waiting for him. The Duke, sensing what was on her mind, displayed no particular reaction.

“It seems the Inquisition’s eyes are everywhere. Well then, there’s no reason for us to mince words, so let’s get to the point.”

“Please, go ahead.”

“I’m sure the saint is well aware that I have taken Camila as my disciple. I’m concerned about any possible injury while the disciple is training with Raniere’s child.”

“Injury, you say?”

“I’d like your assistance in that matter.”

The Duke inquired if she could lend a hand, considering that Camila and Francesca were training together and might face unforeseen situations.

After a brief moment of contemplation, Lucia readily agreed to help.

—’Yes. I will.’

And then.

I took off my headset and set it down by the listening device.

“What happened?”

“Yes, it went smoothly. Priest Rebecca.”

The Inquisition’s Priest Rebecca nodded, looking relieved. She instructed the Inquisition officer waiting in the room to report to the Holy See.

Naturally, the Duke couldn’t harm Lucia without cause. Making a harmful proposal to her was out of the question.

But if the Holy See was involved, things would be different.

“Seems like Lateran has gotten rather agitated, hasn’t it?”

“Rather than being angry at Saint Lucia, I think ‘concerned’ would be a more appropriate term. Her actions during recent capture operations were a bit….”

“Violent?”

“I… would say they didn’t quite align with the virtues of a religious figure.”

The Holy See was appalled by Lucia’s recent actions.

She smashed a cultist with her mace? That could happen. It wasn’t heretical; the guy worshipped a demon. If she had crushed that creep’s skull with a hammer, the Holy See would have said, “Oh my, our Lucia smashed a head, how wonderful!”

But beating an innocent person with a mace was an entirely different story.

The horrifying incident where someone’s spine was gruesomely broken (thankfully, they survived) had not been reported, but the subsequent incidents were all broadcasted live. That moment when the mace hurled a person out of the window, smashing the glass, while a wingless falcon plummeted down.

Of course, Lucia would only target criminals like a sharpshooter. But this wasn’t some game featuring killcams.

How could the audience distinguish whether the falling person was a black-market merchant or a warehouse manager?

According to Mr. ‘B,’ who is well-informed about Lateran, the Pope, Raphael, was foaming at the mouth, while the Cardinals and Bishops all slapped their foreheads in unison. He himself reportedly broke out in a cold sweat.

“Honestly, it was shocking.”

“That day, all the cathedral priests came to work and it was chaos waking the people who fainted.”

Anyway, the Holy See needed to rein in Lucia’s behavior.

Hoping against hope, they gathered their energy and spun the saint gacha (failure sends you to purgatory, success leads to heaven). They thought they had drawn a good one and felt relieved, only to end up with the lucky Veronica.

Realizing the disaster impending, Raphael, despite his former title as Inquisition Director, decided to pin his hopes on the archmage for guidance.

Perhaps to Raphael, she might look like a divine envoy sent from the heavens.

Regardless, the third character thus joined the melting pot of human modification.

“Now there’s just one left.”

The fourth target was Akande.

He was a “true new face” somewhat unfamiliar to the Duke.

“This is the first time meeting you. What kind of figure are you?”

“Um, what should I call him? A nude performance artist? Tattooed pig? Or perhaps a warm-hearted trespasser?”

“I’m not sure about that, but he certainly looks quite delinquent. And with tattoos, no less…”

Maybe it was because he was old-fashioned. The Duke seemed quite uneasy around Akande, whose body was covered in tattoos.

Well, it’s hard to find someone who views tattoos positively.

I supplemented my explanation by pointing at the information file detailing Akande’s profile.

“It’s not for show. It’s akin to magical tools with power contained within the tattoos. It’s said to be the ‘Battle Cry’ that the ancient Al-Yabd soldiers inscribed on their bodies while fighting against the Papal expeditionary force. That’s my theory, anyway.”

“Interesting.”

“However, a lot of information from the Al-Yabd side has been lost. Plus, Akande isn’t exactly sure where his tattoos originate.”

The details about the tattoos remain vague.

“We’ll keep investigating.”

“Very well. Then how should we take him along?”

To be honest, Akande didn’t particularly need to be taken along. Unlike the other three, he was quite quiet.

“He’s gentler than he looks. It’s just that he seems like a serial killer, and that’s the issue. Aside from that, he’s fine.”

Forget the fact he eats significantly more than Camila, has trouble communicating, veers off in the midst of a fight, and brings home stray animals—aside from that, he was quite alright. Really.

“He brings back animals, you say?”

“Yeah. Maybe it’s because he’s nomadic, but sometimes he brings back stray animals.”

He had only brought one or two stray animals back on a handful of occasions.

“His character is lovely. What kind of animals does he usually bring?”

“Anything that’s been abandoned on the street. Chickens, goats, sheep…”

“… those should typically have owners.”

“It’s a war zone.”

Death is equal for everyone. Whether a warlord or a civilian. The animal’s owner is no exception.

The Duke nodded as though he understood.

“Then he’ll probably bring back dogs or cats too.”

“Of course. Both dogs and cats…”

Wait a minute.

Cats?

Suddenly, clarity struck me.

“Take him right now!”

“W-What?!”

“We need to detain that guy immediately!”

No cat daddies allowed. That can’t be permitted!

I had to catch him. I charged forward with a burning sense of mission, launching an operation to capture that cat daddy (who has never brought one back). Capturing him was quite simple and easy.

“Hey! Tattooed pig!”

“You called?”

“I have some strong monsters gathered together. Interested?”

He jumped up from where he had been pulling weeds near the refugee camp.

And he volunteered himself.

“I’m in—I’ll fight!”

So, within half a day.

With blood boiling and minds reeling, the melting pot of human modification achieved an astonishing 100% capacity!

What a great achievement. I couldn’t even believe I had accomplished it in just half a day.

Down below in the desert, a fantastic symphony of problematic creatures and monsters screamed.

Above, a perfectly clear sun shone without a single cloud.

It was, indeed, a beautiful scenery.

“……”

When I quietly closed my eyes and concentrated amidst the screams of the four people (one of them shouting out in joy), the Duke spoke up beside me.

“Is everyone gathered now?”

“Yes. Right?”

Camila, Lucia, Francesca, Akande. And myself. Our group consisted of five, so this was the total number of people.

The Duke nodded casually.

Then, without a shred of gravity, as if discussing lunch options, he began to speak.

“Now all that’s left is for you to enter.”

“What?”

“Now, go ahead.”

What the—

Before I could even utter a “wait,” the Duke moved first. A light hand nudged my back, while a soft breeze wrapped around my body, slowing my descent.

I was falling off the carpet while the Duke casually chattered toward me as though it were obvious.

“What good is it for you to be here when your companions are over there?”

Shut up, you dictator. I want to stay here.

“Of course, we should share both life and death together. Absolutely.”

Sharing life and death is bullshit. It’s not like you’d follow suit if your nephew died!

I wanted to yell a storm of curses but regrettably, magic only prevented my deadly fall and not any dialogue. The hollow echo remained trapped in my throat without ever ringing out.

I flailed my limbs, plummeting down.

Towards the boiling cauldron of human modification far below.

 

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