ushernet Chapter 57
Chapter 57
[Translator - Clara]
[Proofreader - Gun]
Chapter 57: Training Camp (2)
The sole drawback of harmony-based magic is that it accumulates mana at the slowest rate among all magical schools.
But what if there were a breathing technique that allowed mana to be gathered continuously, 24 hours a day?
It might sound like the fanciful daydream of a child, but making this a reality is exactly what the "Oscar Breathing Method" accomplished.
'I remember referencing Ouroboros magic quite a bit when I created this.'
Because of that, Oscar hesitated.
Now that he had successfully restored Ouroboros magic, would anyone believe him if he claimed to have developed a new breathing technique based on it?
After giving it some serious thought, his conclusion was clear: "Absolutely not."
'No matter how much of a theoretical genius Oscar might be, creating a breathing technique is just too much.'
Even in his previous life, he hadn’t perfected the breathing method until he reached Level 9.
And now a Level 3 mage suddenly produces a technique with equivalent performance?
At best, he’d be dragged to a secret imperial facility for experimentation.
“Hmm.”
But the goal of the upcoming training camp was to elevate all participants to Level 4.
To achieve that, it was essential to create a situation where teaching the Oscar Breathing Method would be plausible.
After pondering for a while, Oscar eventually came up with the most convincing approach.
'If creating and unveiling it isn’t feasible, discovering it by chance is the most natural route.'
Luckily, he knew just the place—an appropriate spot where the legacy of a former Tower Master could plausibly be hidden.
“...Hoo.”
It was a place he never wanted to return to, filled with remnants of his reckless younger days.
It was his old hideout.
* * *
Whenever he thought of his master, one particular scene would always come to mind.
Rustle, rustle.
“...Hey, are you seriously not going to help me with this?”
Overwhelmed by the mountain of documents he was dealing with, Oscar voiced his frustration.
His master, sipping a drink by the window, chuckled heartily.
“You brat, consider this practice. When you become the Tower Master, you’ll have to do all of this anyway.”
“Exactly! I’ll be drowning in this next month when I officially take over, so why make me do it now?”
“I’ve already done this for decades. You’re young—think of it as suffering a little earlier than usual, and stop whining.”
It was the day, just a month before the succession ceremony, when Oscar’s master had been grinning from ear to ear.
“Time flies, doesn’t it? Feels like yesterday when I picked you up off the streets.”
“Hey, don’t make it sound like I’m some stray cat you found on the road!”
“Technically, I did pick you up from the back alleys. Your eyes were gunky, and you had a runny nose.”
“Aaaagh!”
His master teased him with a mischievous grin, then looked out at the luminous moon and continued.
“...You’ve worked hard. Of course, the road ahead will be even tougher.”
Gilbert Rosenbach.
The 16th White Tower Master, who had stabilized the tower for 42 years, was on the verge of retirement.
“...That’s it? No more words of wisdom?”
“What more is there to say?”
“I mean, you could give me advice like, ‘Run the tower this way’ or ‘Avoid doing that.’”
“If you insist, I can.”
With a sly smile, his master offered a simple but profound answer.
“Do as you see fit.”
“...You’re joking, right?”
“Nope. That’s the White Tower’s essence. It should never stagnate—it must always flow. Make it your own.”
Those words carried a weight that Oscar only now began to fully grasp.
From next month, the lives of hundreds would hinge on his decisions.
Carefully observing his master’s expression, Oscar asked cautiously,
“Couldn’t you delay retirement just a little longer? You’re still spry, so why rush?”
“You brat, let me reap some benefits from having a talented disciple for once. Besides, my knees ache every time it rains—it’s hard enough just to walk.”
That pathetic expression was clearly a ploy.
If an 8th-Level Archmage struggled to walk, other elders would all be bedridden, awaiting death.
“Oh, and why does that emperor keep pestering me like this when I’m about to retire?”
[You did well. It’s quite well made.]
[Everyone needs a sanctuary to breathe.]
[It doesn’t have to be a place. A person you can lean on, or a hobby that clears your mind—anything would suffice. Make sure you have at least one.]
Did Master know he’d spent his free time loafing around here?
He thought he had hidden it perfectly...
[Oh, and about the succession ceremony gift. I thought it would be too awkward to give it to you in person, so I left it here.]
[P.S. Now that you’re going to be the Tower Master, try cleaning once in a while. You're too old for your room to look like this, you filthy brat.]
After 26 years, he was hearing Master’s nagging again.
He used to hate it so much, so why did he long to hear it now?
Oscar sat in the chair, staring at the spotless room for a long time.
He could almost see his Master folding the blankets, organizing the bookshelf, and using preservation magic.
"......You really left a gift."
He had thought it was a lie and had complained bitterly to Edna about it.
Fiddling with the wooden box for a while, Oscar finally opened the lid slowly.
Inside was a pair of thin, transparent gloves, delicate as cicada wings.
‘Zephyr.'
It was Master’s signature weapon.
Lighter than a feather, it could easily deflect sword auras or intermediate-level magic, and its strength was comparable to steel, capable of shattering rocks with ease.
Beside the gloves was a small note.
[May my treasure be used well by someone far more precious to me.]
"......"
Oscar silently took the gloves and slid them onto his hands.
They seemed a bit large at first, but as soon as he wore them, they adjusted to fit perfectly.
To the eye, his hands looked no different from when bare, which made the artifact even more valuable.
‘You said I’d find it soon, didn’t you...'
As soon as he spoke, Oscar’s eyes reddened, and he bowed his head deeply.
When he’d found Master’s remains, the gloves weren’t on his hands.
He had assumed a demon had stolen them after killing Master.
‘I asked every single one of the countless demons I slew.’
Did you take Zephyr?
But none of them had answered.
‘And yet, why is this here...?’
Why was it here?
If Master had taken it, wouldn’t he have prevailed against the demons he faced?
Might he not have escaped danger once or twice more?
Couldn’t he have, perhaps, burst out laughing heartily and shown up at the succession ceremony after all?
"......Ghh."
Clenching his fists, Oscar buried his head on the desk, his shoulders trembling for a long time.
* * *
He didn’t know how much time had passed.
Wiping his reddened eyes, Oscar stood and walked to the bookshelf.
Among the books, he pulled out a thick notebook.
‘It’s a shame, really. This will probably be the first and last time.'
It wasn’t as if he could conveniently stumble upon the former Tower Master’s hideout multiple times.
This was his only chance to turn his knowledge from his previous life into a book for the Tower.
‘But no matter how much of a Tower Master I am, I can’t take a copy of a high-level magic book out of here.'
The only thing of value he could share was the Oscar-style breathing technique.
Pushing aside his regrets, Oscar quickly filled the notebook with a pen he’d brought.
Completing a 120-page book, he used magic to artificially age the ink here and there.
‘Hmm.'
No matter how closely examined, it looked like a book written decades ago, so there would be no suspicion.
"......"
Before leaving the hideout, Oscar glanced back one last time, sticking out his lips in a pout.
‘And by the way, I’m not filthy anymore, Master. I bet I’m better at cleaning than you were.'
Hahaha!
He could almost hear Master’s hearty laughter echoing in his ears.
[Translator - Clara]
[Proofreader - Gun]