Chapter 80: Teacher’s Tower

“Dam Ion, what was Teacher like?” Baba asked.

“Why the sudden question?” Ion replied.

“Sanse hates Teacher. Really hates them. So I’m curious. What kind of person were they?”

Ion glanced down at Sansevieria in his arms. It made sense—Teacher’s actions would’ve seemed cruel to Sanse, tormenting and abusing Ion in her eyes.

Ion revered Teacher as his benefactor, often recalling their conversations. Seeing Teacher’s handwriting after so long stirred nostalgia. Yet, he never once wished to return to the past or see Teacher again. If offered a chance to regress, he’d refuse without hesitation.

That’s the kind of person Teacher was.

“Just… a scary person,” Ion said.

Not eccentric. Teacher didn’t act superior around the orphans, showed a clumsy side, made mistakes, and even admitted them when pointed out. But open-minded, charismatic, loved by kids?

If I told the orphans, they’d think I’d lost it.

Teacher had watched children die like moths to a flame under harsh training, saying, “Should’ve picked a stronger one. Too weak.”

At first, they made graves, but after ten deaths, they stopped bothering.

Still, Ion respected Teacher. Yet, Sarah’s description was hard to believe. Could Noishe Didayve’s sociable persona be the original Noishe? Unlikely. The original Noishe wasn’t a grand archmage, just a fringe magical scholar claiming multidimensional existence. Noishe became a grand archmage only after Teacher’s possession, roughly 16 to 25 years ago, in their mid-40s.

Did Teacher’s personality change with age?

It made sense. Possessed into a book, Teacher likely lived hoping to reunite with loved ones on Earth, believing dimensional travel would make it possible. In Idea, that hope might’ve softened their demeanor. But on Earth, learning those loved ones didn’t exist… it twisted them.

“Scary person? I don’t get it. I don’t know fear. But Teacher hates me too,” Baba said.

“You don’t even know them. Why would you hate them?” Ion asked.

“Sanse hates them, so I do too. You doubting Sanse’s judgment?”

“…”

“Doubting Sanse? You like Teacher more than Sanse? Taking Teacher’s side in front of Sanse?”

Was this how a husband felt, caught between a mother-in-law and wife while a clueless sibling asked dumb questions? Ion answered firmly.

“Sanse’s better. Don’t ask obvious things.”

Teacher was gone, so of course he’d side with Sanse. Her leaves seemed to glow a deeper green.

“Sanse’s happy,” Baba said, fluttering to Ion’s neck, rubbing its soft body against him. “Now let’s go in. Smells like Mana Sulfur inside. Tons of it. Hurry. I’m starving.”

Learning Teacher’s tower—both home and lab—was near Command, Ion had flown straight there. The 30-story spire looked pristine, not abandoned for decades. No vines clung to its clean white exterior, as if maintained regularly.

Approaching, Ion stopped. “Baba, go inside first.”

“Yay!” Baba flapped eagerly.

Zap!

“Ow!” Baba tumbled back, struck by an invisible force near the iron door. Ion caught it.

“As expected… a spell blocks living beings from entering,” Ion said.

Baba, shaken, flew onto Ion’s head, ruffling his hair. “Dam Ion, you knew about the zap? You’re bad! The worst! Worse than Teacher!”

“You said you don’t know fear. It didn’t even hurt,” Ion retorted.

“Still bad! Hate you!” Baba kept ruffling.

Ion ignored it. Even you can’t open that door. Countless archmages tried and failed over decades, Sarah had said.

A powerful barrier protected Noishe Didayve’s tower. Ion wasn’t worried—he knew his abilities surpassed Teacher’s. But the barrier resisted several of Teacher’s unlocking spells. Circling the tower, which took 30 minutes due to its size, he pondered.

“Dam Ion’s useless. Useless and bad,” Baba taunted.

Ion switched tactics, using an attack spell strong enough to break a grand archmage’s barrier. My magic’s shattered Teacher’s defenses before.

Boom!

His magic bolt struck the barrier’s center. Crack, crack. Like glass fracturing, it shattered with a clang.

Cough, cough.

Inside, Ion choked on thick dust. Spiders ruled the abandoned tower, their webs coating ceilings, walls, and floors. At Command, Ion had swapped his Earth cloak for a one-piece robe with superior functions, automatically purifying dust. He pushed through webs with its long sleeves.

Scurry.

Some bugs fled his steps; others, fearless from years without humans, got crushed.

“Dam Ion! Mana Sulfur smell up there! Go up!” Baba chirped excitedly from his shoulder.

“I’m exploring slowly. You’ve got wings—go yourself.”

“Go together! Mana Sulfur smell! Yummy smell!”

“Not going. Go alone.”

The first floor seemed a lobby and dining area. Clearing webs from a shelf revealed neatly arranged, empty dishes.

“Dam Ion’s mean…” Baba leaned its soft body against Ion’s neck. As Ion blew dust off a table, he picked Baba up with two fingers.

“Why aren’t you flying?”

“Mana Sulfur’s on the top floor. No strength to fly…”

“Liar.”

“True! I’m weak. Can’t fly. Hungry. Starving…”

Baba went limp, light as five persimmon leaves or one acorn.

Sighing, Ion headed to the stairs. Dust puffed with each step.

Cough, cough, Baba hacked.

An S-rank chimera (presumed) coughing? That can’t be good for Sanse.

Whoosh. Ion magically animated a broom on the landing. It hopped, sweeping dust from higher steps, gathering it into a small whirlwind. Baba’s coughing stopped—not for Baba’s sake, but to protect Sanse’s leaves.

Teacher’s tower was ten stories, not thirty. Passing a study, parlor, and bedroom, the fifth floor held labs and research rooms, free of dust and webs, likely preserved by magic. Blue light spilled through transparent glass doors, revealing shelves with vials of unknown liquids and ancient, crumbling books. Modern glass doors and vials oddly complemented medieval tomes.

Suppressing curiosity, Ion headed to the top to feed Baba. At the tenth floor, he pushed a wooden door, stirring more dust into his growing whirlwind, now basketball-sized.

The single room was a cluttered storage: wooden crates, faded picture frames, rusted candlesticks, leather straps, flat coins—miscellany piled haphazardly.

“A storage room,” Ion muttered. Teacher used the top as a junk heap.

“It’s all Mana Sulfur!” Baba squealed, flapping to a crate, frantically trying to open it. Ion lifted the rusted latch.

“Mana Sulfur! So much!” Baba cheered, hovering but not eating yet. Thirty-two glass bottles of Mana Sulfur filled the crate.

“Open it, Dam Ion!” Baba urged.

“Calm down,” Ion said, setting Sanse on a clean spot and grabbing a bottle. Black granules filled it to the brim, threatening to spill. He gripped it tightly, but the lid wouldn’t budge.

“Magic seal?” Ion wondered. No sign of a sealing circle.

As Baba practically died beside him, pleading, “Open it! Hungry! Starving!” Ion suggested breaking it.

“No, break it! Spill it! I’ll eat!” Baba said.

Instead, Ion used magic to turn the lid. Creak. It popped open.

“Ugh.” Expecting the stench, Ion set the bottle down and pinched his nose.

Chomp, chomp.

Baba dove in, devouring Mana Sulfur. At this rate, it’d finish in ten minutes.

“Hm?” Ion, watching in disgust, tilted his head. He lowered his hand.

No acrid smell. Teacher researched Mana Sulfur—had they found a way to neutralize its odor? Since others’ Mana Sulfur reeked, Teacher hadn’t shared the method.

What was Teacher researching with Mana Sulfur?