Chapter. 12. Lettuce to Windmage (1)
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Hans, the innkeeper.
As a veteran resident of Wind Hole Village who has lived here for over 10 years, a retired Class A mercenary, and now the owner of Wind Hole’s only inn, he was able to quickly calm himself down.
In fact, it occurred to him that his tackle with all his might did not have any impact on the large man in priestly attire in front of him, and when he thought about it, he realized that this man was also a magician anyway.
Hans took out a thick storybook that he had bought for his future wife and grandchildren ever since he took over and settled down in this strangely cheap inn.
I didn’t know what kind of trouble I would face if I chased out the wizard. But I felt like I had to teach him properly, because if I left him alone, he might ruin his inn with a single gesture like that.
The professor’s group had all come down after hearing the commotion, so it was also helpful that they were able to talk at once.
“So… Professor Magic Saint Hero?”
“Just call me Professor.”
“Yes, yes. So…how much do you know about Felix Drixiel? Are you sure you don’t even know his ‘letter magic’?”
“I’m not from here, so all I know is that they ate the dragon’s tail meat, eyes, and arms. Doesn’t everyone know to begin with? People in the Empire believe in the superstition that if you talk about a wizard, the wizard will come to you. That’s why even if wizards cause trouble all over the place, rumors don’t spread.”
The inn owner said that of course everyone didn’t know.
“hmm? “Professor… you don’t even know that?”
“yes?”
“Hero…did you just come out of training in a mountain valley somewhere? Even if they are not from the Empire, is there anyone in the world who does not know the Empire’s ‘letter magic’?”
“Leader. “Even I, who lived in the forest and just came out to the human world, knows that much.”
“It’s a flying letter from the empire… I heard about it from the village elders. “It’s the legacy of the archmage.”
Even if Lucilla and Ottman are like that. From Borka to Hydrasil?
Somehow it felt like everyone knew it except me.
Aldrich said, ‘Such an idiot is the leader of the party.’ He’s looking at me with these eyes, and honestly, it’s a bit unfair to be treated like an idiot. Since the NPCs are residents of this place, they may know about ‘Flying Letters from the Empire’ through common sense. But I am a real resident who has only just started living here. Just as people here don’t know what gasoline is, isn’t it possible that I don’t know something that is common sense here?
Anyway, amid the pitiful looks from the group, the innkeeper sighed and opened the book.
“Then I guess I’ll have to explain it from the beginning. Let’s see…”
Palak-
Hans, a retired mercenary, opened the storybook with a sad thought in his mind, ‘I thought I would read this book for the first time at the bedside of my rabbit-like children.’
“Once upon a time, a long time ago, there lived an archmage of wind named Felix Drixiel…”
=========
“My dear friend, Randolph.”
“Don’t do it. Please, Felix, please!”
“Uhm… I’m sorry. You know it too. “What kind of person am I?”
Randolph was most afraid of that horse in the world. Because Felix always said something terrible after that.
“D’Bois, who takes care of the damn shepherd and the squire. “What is it today?”
“Well… I wanted to receive a letter.”
“Suddenly?”
“okay. “As always.”
Randolph, the squire who came with his honorary knighthood, cursed his fate for being tied to the world’s most mysterious wizard.
Of course, even though he was an eccentric wizard, he was good to him, and since the five years since we had been together with him, he has always called him ‘my friend Randolph’ (before that, he had called him Slow Flesh), and like this, he goes beyond the relationship of squire and knight and speaks of double insults. Even though he was a decent boss who didn’t say anything.
As someone who has to report each fief’s astronomical claims for damages by magic telegram every day to the fearsome chancellor of the imperial palace. As someone who received dozens of messages a day telling me to hang him as soon as he was found, and telling me to stop him at all costs because he could kill you even if he wasn’t an archmage, my wish was for that old wizard to settle down somewhere and live like a rat.
Fortunately, today’s ‘impulse that came with the wind’ was rather calm.
“Ugh. What else can I say? I took it for ten years. I am devastated, Felix. “I’m not good at calligraphy, but I’ve learned how to write, until you’re satisfied.”
“No, no, that’s no different from the [Wind Message] magic I share with you every time I run away. I want to receive a real letter. Prepare a pen and paper, write with ink and your heart, fill in your prayers, and travel the world in a letter that is delivered to that person!”
“So… you mean the kind sent by nobles?”
“okay! I was living an ordinary life without thinking, and one day, a letter arrived at my doorstep like a gift. Traditional and romantic. Isn’t it? “These things really get better as people get older!”
“Oh, yeah, whatever. “But isn’t there a problem?”
“what?”
“[Where you live]. There’s no way a person who wanders around and can’t sleep would have an address to receive letters, right? Every time an ex-pat comes to me, I form a group of five or six people and go searching. Where can I get a letter? “He doesn’t even have a home.”
“I know that, but I’m not asking you, Randolph. “What could be better?”
“Uh… what if I say I’m not there?”
“Well. If there is no ‘good number’… a ‘bad number’ will take its place.”
“Oh my god, d’Bois.”
========
“For reference, the ‘bad move’ that Felix mentioned here means that in the summer, when Felix Drixiel wanted to see snow, the squire, who was suffering from fever at the time, could not make a sharp move, so Felix could not resist the urge and enjoyed the cold northern air. All you have to do is think about the incident that was pulled together. That year, imperial wheat production fell by 20%, and the furious emperor ordered the Knights of the Guard to capture him. After about five years of pursuit, Felix, who was surrounded by dozens of sword masters, had no choice but to work as the imperial court wizard for three years. “I had to do it.”
The innkeeper was unusually good at talking about whether he doubled as a bard, and even the professor who didn’t know the story and the companions who already knew the story were engrossed in his story while listening to the noisy rustling outside the window.
“They considered it as just 3 years of work? One-fifth of the empire’s annual crops were lost? Isn’t it just a question of food? At that level, the military power will be reduced, public sentiment will become uneasy, and the uncivilized people will swear at the emperor, saying that God is angry, as the stored military provisions will have to be released, right?”
“That’s what [An Archmage] is. It is said that during the three years he worked as a court wizard, farmers did not have to sow seeds. It is said that the wind swept all over the country and spread wheat seeds across the mountains and fields of the empire. Well, it would take a long time to talk about that, but that’s not what’s important right now, so skip it.”
“so. In the end, how was that ‘impulse’ resolved?”
In response to the professor’s question, the innkeeper Hans pointed to the group of letters unfolding beyond the window.
“As you can see. It was resolved in the most ideal way. “After his death.”
“After death… So you didn’t achieve it until you died?”
“Rather, it is said that the impulse itself was the final origin of the Archmage who sensed that his life was coming to an end. By exchanging bodies with a dragon, he was able to see through heaven’s energy, but the limbs he took in return were only symbolic. What it really took away was a lot of life.”
When I made water for the innkeeper, who was gulping and looking around, the innkeeper took it carefully and continued to explain, even making hand gestures.
“According to the ‘Biography of Felix Drixiel’ written by his squire Randolph after his death, he loved the wind to the extent of reaching the 8th rank, but on the other hand, he was also a very affectionate person who was very sad about his fate of wandering forever and never being able to settle down. In the end, it is said that in his later years, when he expressed ‘I want to receive a letter,’ he was expressing his wish for a place to return to and a place to settle down for himself and for the wind wizards who had the same fate.”
And, wizards were people who made the pictures they had drawn in their minds into reality. The stronger you want it, the stronger the spell you create.
‘I want to receive a letter.’ It was the final impulse of the 8th Rank Archmage, who had longed for his entire life to have a place where someone could visit him at any time.
“After his death, Squire Randolph said, ‘He went away so suddenly, as always, that he left me no time to prepare or mourn his death. Instead, he left a legacy that will be remembered forever.’ “It is said that he wrote it in his autobiography.”
“Then what is the legacy…?”
“yes. This is ‘Felix Home’, the home of the wind wizards in Wuthering Heights. “It is said that the building, which acts as a magical totem in itself, casts a spell on the entire empire according to the archmage’s wishes.”
Hans said that seeing was faster than explaining with words, so he took a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and then took a piece of charcoal from the stove.
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“Let’s see… there’s a wizard. “What’s your name?”
“Otman. “It’s Ottoman Baudelaire.”
“Ottman… Baudelaire. Now, write like this [Hans of the Windhall Inn, to Ottoman Baudelaire] and then fold it twice.”
Hans waved the twice-folded paper in front of the professor, then held the letter out the window he had broken and said:
“Next, we will recite the promised spell. [I send a letter to the wind.]”
Whiuuuung-!
The moment the innkeeper finished speaking, a strong wind blew…
Whilick-!
Fly, fly, fly!
A crumpled letter roughly written in charcoal began to fly up the hill, flapping its wings vigorously in the wind.
“Then, as you can see, the Archmage’s spell throughout the empire sends letters. It will ride the wind to the Windhole and be delivered to the wizard. It doesn’t matter where you send it. Whether it’s the imperial palace, Marquis Raspell, a back alley gutter or a drug dealer’s den. “The wind can deliver any letter as long as there are three things: the sender, the receiver, and the desire for the other person to be happy to receive the letter.”
“It is a great magic that is activated through the recipient, sender, and emotional conditions…”
I couldn’t even imagine what kind of imagery and magic I would have to use. A wizard manifests magic through clear understanding and imagery. Can you activate magic with only someone else’s emotions and their name? That it was continuously cast across the entire empire, and that it continued for decades after his death?
It was magic on a scale that was incomprehensible to the professor’s magic knowledge.
“Anyway, all the letters flying out there are from all over the empire. When letters like that gather at Felix Home, the resident wizards sort them out where they should go, edit letters that have been corrupted by the magical currents of each place, or letters that float around Felix Home with the recipient’s name written incorrectly, and send them again. “It is something that is carried on the wind.”
“It’s morning and evening… There is a delivery time of about a day, but it’s magic communication that anyone can use. “It’s huge.”
The professor seemed to understand what the ‘Imperial Important Facilities’ written in the information Dana sent meant and why harming those facilities was considered an attack on the Empire. This wizard named Felix Drixiel created an information network that spanned the entire empire, although he did not intend to do so.
Thanks to the magic of the Archmage, it is an information network that boasts strong security, protected by all wind mages who have been given the only resting place.
Considering the enormous military, economic, and political benefits it brought to the empire, there seemed to be ample reasons to protect it.
‘It’s a magic post office. I never imagined Wuthering Heights could be such a place. ‘Maybe it’s not as terrible a place as you think.’
The professor imagined Felix Home in his head. A magical sculpture made from the remains of an archmage. A businesslike and mysterious appearance, with letters flying in the wind like migratory birds, and magicians floating among them busily sorting the letters.
It wasn’t a very bad image for a professor who was imagining something like ‘a mission to break through a magical tower that was like a blender and to persuade a wild-haired magician to go crazy.’
Sigh-
“for a moment. “I want to ask you something.”
While the innkeeper paused for a moment, his interest was piqued and he was about to ask a few more questions, when Borka, who had been strangely excited from earlier, quickly intervened and spoke.
“Those free-spirited wizards do such a thing properly? “Why don’t you suddenly throw it away on a whim?”
“of course. That’s the only duty they have to perform while living in Felix Home. Organizing and distributing the letters that arrive every morning. That is the lodging fee that wind wizards have to pay to use the nest that the archmage sacrificed his all to build.”
Phew!
Borka’s breathing became heavy at the innkeeper’s assurance.
“So… anyone within the empire can receive the letter?”
“Of course.”
Whoosh, whoosh!
“everyone? Even if you are not a citizen of the empire? Even if they were my two children who were captured in the forest and sold here!!”
“Uh…maybe?”
Craddangtangtang!
When the innkeeper, taken aback by the werewolf’s strong snoring, responded cautiously, Borka kicked out the door and ran out, as if he had been waiting for the answer. Soon, there was a sound of something pouring and breaking outside, and a beautiful werewolf carrying torn paper, raw chicken feathers, and ink in his arms burst into the shattered door.
His face was a mixture of joy and desperation.
“If anyone knows how to read, please write a letter! The sender is Borka Dalun, and the receiver is Tushan Dalun and Marka Dalun! “These are my children who are said to have been captured here!”
“….ah!”
“Oh oh! “There was a way!”
The professor, who instantly realized what Borka’s words meant, slapped his knee.
‘right! He came here looking for his children!’
Now that I think about it, when I was starting the Heroes’ Quest and had to choose between elves and ancient humans from the western desert, I chose to go to the empire because of Borka.
I completely forgot, but it seems to happen automatically once you enter the imperial territory.
Borka was planning to send a letter to his children somewhere in the empire to find out their whereabouts.
If you’re lucky, you might get a reply and find out their location.
Even if there was no reply, he could at least let them know that he was in the empire and that he had not yet given up on his children.
and. Even in the worst case…
“Innkeeper. Even if… all conditions were met. “If the recipient is not in the world…”
“Well… nothing happens.”
At least, we can know that his journey is over.
“…Give it to me. “I will write it.”
Square, square-
While Otman was writing down Borka’s words in the neat handwriting of a noble wizard, the werewolf’s voice was watery as he spoke out his inner thoughts in a trembling voice as if nothing had happened.
widely.
“Ego. “It’s done.”
“Give it to me.”
Borka carefully holds the letter Otman gave him in his arms. The werewolf looked longingly at the letter held in his hairy hands, and finally opened his mouth.
“[Send a letter to the wind.]”
Whiuuuung-!
I’m afraid to run out of words. Before I had time to mentally prepare, the wind blew through the room.
Palak.
Riding the wind, a letter flew to his side. One sheet.
The group could not say anything in that quiet magical wind.
“….this.”
“Hey Borka. This….”
“Nothing.” Don’t do it. “Nothing.”
Drop- Drop-
Sharp fingernails dug into his palm, causing blood to flow, but the werewolf stood there and said nothing. He was just staring at the letter left behind without moving anything. To face the reality that had been approaching only through painful imagination and determination for a long time.
Whiuuuung-
at that time.
….Palak.
The letter fluttered in the small wind that blew again. As the letter, like a child’s death notice, falls down helplessly, the werewolf reaches out to grab it without realizing it.
Palak- Palak-
I saw his bloody hand splitting the air, and the paper flying with difficulty above his unfocused eyes.
Two heartfelt letters and two spells.
“Oh oh. Oh oh oh….”
Looking at the two letters flying high into the sky with the wind, Borka eventually fell to his knees.
“Congratulations. “I really… tried hard.”
Borka has been quietly doing his best as a member of the party. However, Otman, who knew what kind of feelings he had toward the empire, had no choice but to sincerely congratulate his two children for being alive.
“Oooooh! Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu…..
15 years since leaving the forest. 4 years as a wanderer. Eight years as a gladiator. And after spending the last three years searching for a place to die, he was captured by the cult and brought here.
The residue of hope, worn and shattered over the years, flowed through his eyes. The werewolf was pinned to the spot and howled for a long time, out of gratitude for his children who survived those long years, and regret for making him spend those painful years as a stranger.
Just a little more. Please stay healthy until we find them somewhere here. You can bite off his neck and dig your nails into his chest, accusing him of abandoning his child, just once. I hope that just once, he can once again hold his living children in his arms.
The letter containing the werewolf’s origins only flew powerfully toward the blue winter sky.
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fantasy,
