Chapter 79: The Master of the Magic Tower

These spirits are bound to a summoner, so they’re not malicious like Teacher’s spirits, Ion thought.

He extended a finger. Most spirits flinched or glanced warily, but one bold spirit approached, grabbing his finger. Despite familiarity with humans, it inspected his finger curiously before rubbing its face against it—a soft touch, like a budding flower stalk. A smile crept onto Ion’s face.

He’d always liked spirits; their presence calmed him. He placed Sansevieria’s pot before them to introduce it.

“This is Sanse. Be nice to her.”

-…!

-…!

The spirits’ curiosity spiked. One touched Sanse’s long leaf, floated up, and slid down it like a slide, giggling. Another bent a leaf’s tip, letting it snap back, flinging a resting spirit off. They weren’t exactly “being nice” as he’d meant, but Sanse didn’t seem to mind, so Ion let them play.

“They’re having fun,” Zieg said. “Ion, wanna feed them?”

“Feed them? Don’t spirits live on mana?” Ion asked.

“You didn’t know? Spirits love something besides mana,” Zieg replied, pulling a small bottle of black granules from his subspace. A foul, rotting stench hit as he opened it.

“Ugh, I’m out,” Semir said, grabbing her bread and leaving.

“What is that?” Ion asked, wincing.

Zieg, pinching his nose, spoke nasally. “Found in small amounts in areas hit by frenzy phenomena. Spirits go crazy for it. We call it Mana Sulfur.”

“Mana Sulfur…” Ion muttered. It wasn’t in Hunter and Hero.

-…!

-…!

“Look, they’re clamoring for it,” Zieg said. “The smell’s so bad animals and even beasts avoid it, but spirits love it.”

Excited spirits bounced, tapping Zieg’s fingers. He handed the bottle to Ion, and they swarmed, trying to pry his fingers open. But another excited creature joined in.

“Yummy smell!” Baba cried, nose twitching as it lunged.

“Dam Ion, gimme! Mana Sulfur! Smells so good! Can’t resist! Hungry! Gimme!”

Why’s it acting like a spirit? Ion thought, baffled, but opened the bottle. The stench worsened, nauseating. He sprinkled some Mana Sulfur on the floor, and the spirits and Baba devoured it. Baba consumed the most, eyes rolling back in ecstasy.

“Your familiar’s something else,” Zieg said, still nasal. “First time I’ve seen one love Mana Sulfur. Only spirits eat this stuff.”

Soon, Baba, belly round, flopped onto its back, demanding boldly, “Mana Sulfur’s yummy. Bananas suck. No more bananas. Gimme Mana Sulfur from now on.”

Really tempted to toss it out, Ion thought.

Aura users trickled in from field missions. The dragon, presumed to be a Breeder, would arrive in two days. The Giants, distracted by their homeland, attacked cities less frequently. Everything was on track—except for one.

“Hungry… I’m dying… Pain… Agony… Gimme Mana Sulfur…” Baba whimpered, sprawled limply on Sanse’s pot.

Ion sighed, arms crossed. Since tasting Mana Sulfur, Baba had been like this.

“Gimme Mana Sulfur! I’m on a hunger strike! Strike! Resolve! I’ll die for it!”

“Mana Sulfur! No bananas! Gimme!”

“I’m dead! If I die, how’ll you talk to Sanse? Gimme Mana Sulfur!”

Three days later, Zieg and Semir’s Mana Sulfur was gone the first day. Sarah, Killia, and Musriolph donated theirs—kept for research, not just spirit food. Baba, a chimera, not a spirit, devoured it at a sponge-like pace, so much that spirits yielded their share. Now, Command had none left.

To sate Baba, they’d need to farm it from a frenzy zone, but the nearest was four days away.

The Breeder’s coming soon. I can’t leave, Ion thought. Only one option: let Baba starve. It rejected a basket of bananas—its choice. The problem was losing his translator for Sanse, who’d surely mourn Baba’s death. (Ion hadn’t spoken directly to Sanse but was certain she was kind and caring.)

Animals are the worst. Plants accept what’s given and adapt. Animals just demand more, ungrateful beasts.

As he sighed at the drooping bat, a knock came.

Ion opened the door to Sarah, who handed him a detailed Tulia base map, packed with text and drawings. “Memorize and burn it.”

Ion scanned it and set it ablaze.

“Whoa! I said memorize, then burn!” Sarah yelped.

“I did,” Ion said.

“What? You looked for ten seconds!”

“Yeah, took a bit.”

“…Now I get why people get mad at my genius,” Sarah muttered, leaning on the desk. She clicked her tongue at Baba. “Your familiar’s a hassle. What kind of familiar goes on such a hardcore hunger strike? It might actually die.”

“Yeah, I’m planning its grave,” Ion said.

“Haha, you can joke like that?” Sarah laughed.

It wasn’t a joke. He didn’t even want to make a grave—just a show for Sanse.

“But seriously, what’s the plan? You can’t let it starve,” Sarah said.

Ion was half-set on it but didn’t want the second protagonist to think him a psychopath. “I’m thinking. Killia said the nearest Mana Sulfur source is four days away, so it’s tough.”

“Huh? There’s one ten minutes away. Guess they didn’t mention it since we can’t enter,” Sarah said.

“Ten minutes? Where?” Ion asked.

Sarah pointed out the window. “See that pointy tower on the ridge?”

Ion squinted. A spire stood among dense trees he’d admired but never noticed, distracted by greenery. With flight magic, it was indeed ten minutes away.

“It’s a mage’s tower. Probably piled high with Mana Sulfur—the tower’s master researched it,” Sarah said.

“Dam Ion! Let’s go!” Baba sprang up. “Go there! Gimme Mana Sulfur! Hungry! Starving!”

Was it faking weakness? Ion thought, grabbing Baba and pinching its snout shut.

“So, an abandoned mage’s tower?” Ion asked.

“Yup,” Sarah confirmed.

Magic towers dotted the continents but were rare, built only by grand archmages for research, training disciples, or spreading knowledge. Disciples flocked to learn, though some archmages took none, while others accepted hundreds, often needing help with tower chores. This tower’s master, Sarah said, took no disciples.

“Must’ve been eccentric,” Ion remarked.

“Nope, the opposite—really fun and wise,” Sarah said, waving her hand.

“Nowadays, archmages like Killia are approachable, not stuck-up. But a generation ago, they were rigid, pompous, and standoffish.”

A generation ago was mere decades, not centuries as Ion had assumed, so he erased his mental list of ancient archmages.

“Even in that rigid era, this master didn’t act superior. They embraced differing opinions, saying, ‘It’s not wrong, just different,’” Sarah continued.

“Open-minded,” Ion noted.

“Yeah. If their skill was lacking, arrogant archmages would’ve shunned them, but they were world-class! Magic’s merit-based, so others followed their lead, ditching old dogmas.”

Now, the stereotype of haughty archmages was gone. Killia, a national commander, accepted being called “old man” by Sarah.

“They were also charismatic, handsome, and a social star. Knew fascinating artifacts and stories—kids loved them. Me included,” Sarah added.

“You talked to them?” Ion asked.

Sarah giggled. “Tons. They were my tutor.”

Sarah Harundas’s tutor?

Ion’s heart pounded. Sarah, oblivious to his stiffening expression, continued brightly.

“They predicted the Cataclysm, told the Illiand royal family what to do, settled their affairs, and left. Where are they now? A top archmage like them wouldn’t be in danger, but they haven’t shown up.”

Ion knew exactly who it was. His heart raced, but the air felt cold.

“The tower’s master… was Noishe Didayve,” Ion said.

“Huh? You knew! Yup, Idea’s hero!” Sarah confirmed.

Noishe Didayve—the name of the body Teacher possessed.