Chapter 175. Does Good Deed Need a Reason?
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Bluish dawn.
To crawl out of yesterday’s shock, I packed my fishing rod from early morning and made my way to the lakeside.
Fishing is like that, originally.
If you’re trying to catch fish, there’s nothing more boring than this, but when your heart is unsettled or your thoughts are tangled, it’s the perfect excuse to sort things out.
Anyway, even when I recalled it again, yesterday had been a nonstop chain of shock and fear.
- Heh-heh, how could I dare compare this humble self to Duke Muspellun? Measured against his greatness, I am nothing more than an ordinary man.
- Haha! How humble you are, hero of the Great Battle of the Rotrin Valley! Didn’t Grand Duke Muspellun himself say in life: “The only one who can be compared to me is the Spiritist of the Cutting Wind”!
Maisellne modestly downplaying himself, and an unnamed Nine Star gilding his face.
And was that all?
- The Great Battle of the Rotrin Valley!
- Demian, do you know it?
- No, I don’t.
- Wha—what, you don’t know that? Didn’t you learn it in history class? The Great Battle of the Rotrin Valley, the decisive battle that allowed the Empire—cornered on the defensive at the time—to secure the footing for a reversal…
Chenbi, thrilled at having met a figure from history, showing off knowledge without pause, and even Demian quietly listening along.
It felt like the world was collapsing.
House Brando, the one I’d trusted so much, opening the gates wide because they’d fallen for the enemy’s disguise…
Rage boiling up inside me.
And more disgusting still was the crafty tongue of Maisellne, the Spiritist of the Cutting Wind.
Honestly, it was strange from the start.
No matter how renowned the Spiritist of the Cutting Wind was, why would a Nine Star greet him with a grin this wide?
There was a reason.
What was it he said again?
- By the way, Sir Maisellne. Now that Young Master Demian is here as well… how about you continue what you were saying earlier?
In that cheerful atmosphere, the Nine Star smoothly shifting the topic.
Maisellne, smiling generously at that, said—
- Heh-heh, right. I was just about to talk about that. As I said earlier to you as well…
- You said you happened to see a boy on the road with outstanding talent as a spiritist?
- I did. And…
- That was our Young Master Demian, you meant, right? Surely?
- Yes. At a glance, he seemed like a child of House Brando, so I inquired around and came here. I suppose…
- You thought it was proper etiquette?
- …You’re quite quick-witted, aren’t you? You know everything I’m about to say.
- Haha! Thank you.
It was obvious he was being sarcastic—telling him not to interrupt—but the Nine Star laughed without a clue. He definitely traded his awareness for his realm.
Anyway, the scheme Maisellne used to get into this mansion was truly crafty—and vicious.
‘What? Because Demian’s spiritist aptitude is outstanding, you came because you wanted to give him some instruction?’
Even thinking about it again was absurd, so I let out a “ha” and a laugh. Along with it, the fishing rod in my hand bobbed once.
It was a story that didn’t make sense.
‘Alright, sure—Demian could have spiritist aptitude. He probably wasn’t outright lying.’
But what doesn’t make sense?
Spirits, by nature, perceive people.
And based on that perception, they decide on a contractor—what I said didn’t make sense was exactly that point.
Leaving aside whether Demian has spiritist aptitude or not…
‘This one won’t do.’
Why won’t he?
‘He just won’t.’
As a joke, contracts with spirits are called a personality assessment, and could Demian—with a rotten personality—really form a contract with a spirit?
You’d be lucky if the spirit you summoned for the contract didn’t just run away.
How do I know that?
…Because I tried it.
‘How many times was it again.’
In my previous life, I tried contracting with spirits about three times.
At first, things seemed to go alright. I kept one around for close to two years, maybe? It wasn’t a particularly powerful spirit, but as far as free labor went, I liked it quite a bit.
But what was the problem?
One day, it disappeared.
What did it say again?
The bond was so low I couldn’t clearly grasp its will, but I think it was roughly something like—
- I’m scared.
After that, the second one lasted three months.
The third contract lasted half a month.
The elements of the contracted spirits were all different, but the endings were similar. The first was “I’m scared,” the second was “I want freedom,” and the third was “It wasn’t fun being together, and I never want to see you again,” was it?
Like this.
For people like us, contracting with spirits is close to impossible regardless of aptitude. Honestly, the fact that I managed it three times is practically a miracle.
A spirit’s aesthetic perspective differs quite a bit from a human’s, so their standards are unclear, and even their sense of good and evil is different.
‘Do I look evil to you?’
Maybe to spirits, living like this all looks evil… but that’s talk that knows one thing and misses two.
In these harsh tempests and upheavals, it’s rare for anyone to maintain this much goodness.
“Tch, honestly, it’s kind of a shame.”
There isn’t much free labor as superior as spirits.
Think about it.
If you have even one earth spirit, everything becomes simple.
Bricks that would take three or four laborers to move and carry—an earth spirit can go swish-swish-swish! and stack them papapap! like that.
What does that mean?
It means when I build my tower in the future, labor costs will drop dramatically.
Of course, you have to feed it Moonlight Stone and other mana-filled nutritious snacks, but compared to the money you’ll earn, that’s still profit.
In other words, a spirit is basically the very definition of “eats and works.”
‘It really would be convenient to have one.’
A slave—an efficient slave….
Anyway, I drifted off topic a bit, but my conclusion was that Maisellne’s “Demian spiritist aptitude theory” was nothing more than an excuse.
But his will—his intent—couldn’t be ignored.
It meant he was that serious.
And for someone like the Spiritist of the Cutting Wind to be this serious… honestly.
“Gives me chills.”
My voice slipped out without me realizing it, and at that moment, I felt a presence.
“What gives you chills?”
“……”
When I turned my head, there he was—the master of the cutting-wind slaves… no, Spiritist Maisellne.
Newly, a light of respect rose in my eyes.
Maisellne was a legend among legends in this field—a living legend who’d used free slaves for decades.
But that look only lasted a moment.
I subtly stood and tried to excuse myself.
‘A vicious wyvern’s apostle.’
He wore a human shell and appeared before me, but I won’t be fooled. Plagues and wyverns are things you avoid as a matter of course.
As I gathered up my fishing rod, his voice came right then.
“Just hear me out once.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“If you listen and still refuse, I’ll withdraw cleanly. I won’t be stingy with compensation.”
I froze.
For a brief moment—just a brief moment—my heart wavered.
Not because of the compensation… but because I could feel the aching sincerity in his voice.
“I’m asking you.”
I looked at Senior Maisellne, pleading earnestly. For him to bow his head to someone as young as me…
This was sincerity I couldn’t possibly ignore.
“Then… I’ll listen, at least.”
“…Truly?”
Yes—truly.
“Senior, sit here first.”
“…Senior?”
“A senior in life, aren’t you?”
“Mm… alright, then.”
Grand Duke Muspellun left me that epoch-making theoretical work called the “External Core.” I haven’t had time to make use of it yet, but it’s… for my wallet—no, for the world of magic—a monumental invention that will carve a new line.
And a spiritist said to be comparable to him?
‘My mouth is watering.’
I’m still hungry.
Endlessly. Always.
When the story ended,
silence flowed between the two of them for a moment.
Maisellne sat beside Aster, lowering his fishing rod into the water.
In the dawn mist, with rippling water swaying and a gentle sound of water at his ears, Maisellne closed his eyes softly.
‘As I thought… it’s not possible.’
He’d explained everything he knew.
- Somewhere in Amera, spirits are trapped. They’ve been suffering there for an immeasurably long time.
Along with his guess that what imprisoned them seemed to be a “barrier,” and the information he’d investigated in his own way over the years.
The point was simple.
It was simply: “Let’s restore freedom to the spirits together.”
But the reason it wasn’t an easy choice was probably simple, too.
A barrier that had imprisoned spirits for an unfathomable span of time—what dangers lurked within?
It was a question Maisellne himself couldn’t answer readily.
But had she sensed his feelings?
Furyrit.
Fury came close and stroked his head as if telling him to cheer up.
Maisellne gave a faint smile at Fury’s heart, and finally decided to give up.
The spirits suffering for so long were pitiable, but even so, he couldn’t force a choice onto an uninvolved person.
Of course, was there no regret?
How could there be no regret?
‘…It’s my lifelong wish.’
Some might not understand, but it was Maisellne’s wish.
From the day he became a spiritist, the hope of an old spiritist who’d lived his whole life captivated by the pure existence called “spirits.”
So giving up wasn’t easy, but… what else could he do.
‘In the end, I’ll have to do it alone.’
As Maisellne made that decision in his heart—
Aster’s voice came from beside him, right then.
“What are you doing? Let’s go. Why aren’t you moving?”
“…?”
Maisellne tilted his head at the voice behind him.
‘…When?’
Just a moment ago, Aster had been sitting beside him—and now, with the fishing rod slung over his shoulder, he was urging him on.
Shocked by that quick movement, Maisellne also felt a question rise.
“Where… are we going…?”
“You said we’re saving the spirits, didn’t you? Do we have time for this? Even now, my sla—no, my spirits are groaning in pain.”
“…?”
What was that? It felt like I heard something I wasn’t supposed to hear?
But the puzzlement only lasted a moment.
Maisellne quickly grasped Aster’s meaning and was struck with shock.
“You… you mean…?”
“Yes. I’ll help you.”
“Why?”
The moment he said it, he regretted it.
Why? At a moment like this, he should just say “thank you” and accept the kindness outright!
He knew it was shameless, but that would’ve been wise.
But Aster said—
“Why? These days the world has grown harsh, and many people look away from others’ suffering, but I can’t do that.”
“…Ha.”
Maisellne let out an exclamation he couldn’t hide.
‘Others’ suffering?’
Others—a word most would’ve let slide without thought, but for Maisellne, it stuck in his mind.
It sounded, somehow, like he recognized spirits as equal persons.
“It could be dangerous… are you sure?”
“Justice comes with a price.”
In other words, he wouldn’t refuse even sacrifice.
At that one line, Maisellne lost his words entirely.
A firm resolve showing through tightly pressed lips. In eyes glittering under the sunlight, you could even glimpse some kind of mission.
“Why… why is it?”
Aster answered.
“Does good deed need a reason?”
Leaving that one line behind, Aster started walking toward the mansion.
Maisellne sat as if frozen, blankly taking in the boy’s retreating back. Bright sunlight poured over the boy’s head. And that 모습 was…
‘A savior.’
Yes—exactly as the spirits had said, a savior.
“Fury, how does he look now?”
Fury stared at Aster for a moment, then flinched—her body trembling.
“Mm, Fury. Why is that? Is there a problem?”
Maisellne asked, but Fury didn’t answer. No—she couldn’t.
Aster walking under bright sunlight. On his back, in Fury’s eyes, it looked as though ominously dull wings had sprouted.
‘Friends… danger.’
Whatever it was, he was planning something.
Surely… surely he was.
