The phrase “the den of the evil mage,” which Mika had heard countless times in heroic narratives, spontaneously arose in her mind.
The day after undergoing an unusual training session, Mika visited the Magic Academy’s Marsheim branch as scheduled.
A modest yet dignified two-story building, located on a desolate street just outside an abandoned section of the western part of the city. However, the decaying state of its walls, combined with its looming spires that cast shadows at all hours, made the imposing structure seem more eerie than solemn.
Moreover, a light deterrent magical arrangement was also set up, likely for security purposes, carefully repelling visitors without clear intent in a manner that stirred an unsettling atmosphere.
This branch facility, more oriented towards research than learning, was known as the den of the radical factions within the Magic Academy and the stronghold of the heterodox Dusk Faction. It was precisely because Mika knew this that he saw the building as foreboding.
“Welcome, young disciple. We welcome you.”
The figure to greet Mika was a young professor.
Or rather, not young—Mika deduced from his magical wavelength that this appearance was a result of him resisting the aging process.
His appearance seemed to be of the Human Race. His muddied red hair resembled a poorly grown carrot, and his thin, grass-green eyes were almost thread-like. His face, lacking sharp features and uncharacteristically faint for someone from the empire, was marked only by a lip curled in an ambiguous half-smile that left a deep impression.
The figure’s slender and lanky build was enveloped in a black robe typical of mages, but the unfamiliar white-sleeved coat over it seemed to serve some unknown function. Its hems and sleeves bore various crimson and black stains, perhaps from unknown reagents, giving off a most unsettling feel.
“I am Professor Frauenrope of the Dusk Faction’s Behotolsheim family. Despite my modest talents, I have been entrusted with the responsibility of this branch. I declare that while I am here, I shall not speak of any internal factions. And you must never forget, any meaningless disputes can lead to catastrophes far beyond words in the midst of experiments.”
“It is an honor to meet you, Professor Frauenrope. I swear to strive diligently while heeding your words.”
To the professor who only gave his family name, Mika, masking his surprise with a gentle smile, performed a courteous noble’s greeting. He hadn’t expected the head himself to personally receive him.
Indeed, the Dusk Faction, infamous for producing the dreaded Psychic Magic, were the radical creators of such techniques as physical regeneration and revitalization technologies. They were a heretical group under the motto “Deeper yet, there is glory,” opposed by the moderating Midheaven Faction and the conservative Dawn Faction of the Magic Academy.
The enormous and deeply refined magic within the seemingly frail young man’s body was immediately discerned by Mika. After all, their goal was to evolve into higher beings through the honing of magic.
Surely, his physical body had been manipulated through various grotesque spells, and his apparent age was far from his true one. They were a mad lot who laughed off the forbidden as trivial and unceremoniously utilized it, the most unhinged among the spiraling magi.
“Now, I shall give you a tour… though, frankly, there’s not much of interest to see. But first, as a welcome present, please put this on.”
Without hinting at the slightest evil, Frauenrope handed Mika a bag stuffed with cloth. Inside were several white coats identical to the one he was wearing.
Designed with generously wide cuffs to ensure ease even when worn over robes, Mika donned the lab coat as instructed. Its simplicity was remarkable, capable of repelling moisture and automatically activating a periodic “Purify” spell, though Mika was somewhat concerned about it spontaneously utilizing the wearer’s magic.
Still, coming from a faction known to use convicts as fuel for magical reactors, this was relatively tame. Resigning himself to it, Mika casually inquired why such a thing was necessary.
“Our facility focuses on pharmaceutical research… with chemicals frequently splashing and the smell of volatile substances sometimes soaking into clothes. While someone like me who co-habits with a pharmacy might not notice, others from other factions may find it intolerable.”
“I see…”
“Then again, if one insists that wearing easily disposable clothing is too bothersome, it only makes sense to provide a substitute. These are inexpensive. When the ‘Purify’ charm’s limit is reached, please feel free to discard them and request new ones. You can never have too many, as we have them bulk-ordered within the academy’s budget.”
Since magic potions literally contained magic and were crafted to adhere to reality easily, stains on clothing often resisted even the “Purify” spell. The disposable lab coats were a solution developed in response to such issues.
While listening to this explanation and being shown around, Mika was impressed to find the inside far cleaner than its sinister exterior suggested. The water-repellent flooring, neither metallic nor wooden, and the air purification system that activated every few hours ensured spotlessness. Everything—equipment and supplies—was meticulously stored in labeled shelves and boxes. Even the animal-holding warehouses, renowned for being beast-stinking, were astonishingly free of odors, leaving Mka slightly awed but deciding not to question the ways of the Dusk faction too much.
The central building housed numerous laboratories, a few lecture halls, meeting rooms, and individual office spaces. To the east were the clinical trial wards for patients and the isolated rooms for “punishment clinicals”—though the latter were not shown—alongside various storerooms. In the annex at the rear of the compound were rest facilities like napping areas and lounges.
“This is your office. Please feel free to use it as you like. If you need anything, you can submit a requisition form. As for paper and other consumables, please help yourself from the east building’s storeroom.”
“Thank you. Though it’s quite a splendid setup for a mere listener, I feel honored.”
After reviewing the facility, Mika was assigned an office on the central building, shared with other researchers. The room—though immaculately clean—showed signs of long-term vacancy, yet was excessively grand for a mere listener. Two tall bookshelves stood within, along with a sturdy but economically made desk and chair, along with a two-seated bench that seemed reserved for visitors.
Frauenrope lounged casually on the bench, pulling out a small tin from his pocket and lamenting about the facility’s understaffing.
“Mind if I have a smoke? Let me remind you, smoking is strictly prohibited outside entertainment rooms and individual offices. The chemical compositions could interfere with other reagents.”
“Understood. Then, please excuse me as I partake in one as well.”
When Mika pulled out a cigarette and took a puff, Frauenrope retrieved powdered tobacco from his tin and inhaled it through his nose—a snuff tobacco. Unlike conventional smoking, this method delivered the tobacco’s effects via the nasal mucosa, commonly cherished by magicians who worked in environments requiring pristine conditions.
“Now, your materials are mostly on the desk. Familiarize yourself with them today, and as part of the regulations, submit weekly reports. For your reference, I’ve prepared some old samples.”
After gently kneading his nose to mix the tobacco, the skeletal professor lowered his gaze, casually asking if Mika had any questions.
“Well… isn’t it somewhat under-staffed, given its scale?”
The inquiry was met with a nonchalant response, seemingly dismissing it as trivial, though likely because hiding the reality served no purpose.
“Currently, only seven of us permanently reside here, excluding you. We operate in three shifts taking care of the clinical wards. Sorry, but with everyone else out on busy schedules, welcoming parties are out of the question.”
Had that remark been some kind of joke?
Be that as it may, Mika was quite shocked by the small number of seven. Regardless of its designation as an outpost, it seemed natural that at least a dozen or more personnel should man such establishments. Professors should be more than just a handful, especially considering the research-oriented subjects that demanded numerous researchers and their apprentices often crowded the space.
Given the facility’s presence in a state capital, Maka thought it especially understaffed. Even though skilled magic users were rare, the disparity was alarming.
Then, what about the non-resident staff, Maka inquired. In response, Frauenrope slowly turned his head, fixating his average-height nose towards the west, as if observing the space behind him in silence.
If Maka’s sense of direction was correct, that direction pointed west.
To the silent hubbub, unnoticed by civilians, that simmered quietly yet fervently.
It was here that the magician began noticing how the puzzle pieces of his assignments were aligning. The covert protection of a noble friend, the adventurers’ guild trying to involve him in their tasks with the heir of the Baden family at the helm, the absence of magicians requisitioned for massive material preparations— everything began to fit together seamlessly. Even the tea parties attended as his mentor’s representative and the frequent exchange of information during official gatherings and banquets revealed their contents piece by piece.
He had sensed a massive conspiracy orchestrated by the state, witnessing how the empire, displaying a seemingly tolerant smile, could be so ruthless for the sake of national development.
The intrigues simmering in the satellite states were still, relatively speaking, “reasonable.”
But domestically, the empire wielded its hidden short blade with merciless efficiency, ready to dispose of unnecessary “parts” as quickly as one trims nails, all for its expansion.
Learning from this, and even hearing of it secretly, Maka understood: If judged as a threat, these were the people who conspired to assassinate even their own crown prince. And now, a serious matter loomed.
Resources critical for maintaining urban functions are being withdrawn, leaving the facility with only the bare minimum of personnel, compensated by recruits like himself.
The image of the supreme ruler’s severe yet cold-blooded beauty passed through his mind.
Contemplating how the situation might turn out to be lighter if only bl**d rains were to fall, Maka thoroughly extinguished his cigarette, leaving not a trace of ash behind.
He pondered what he, now a cog in the great mechanism of these plots, could achieve. Given that he was here, it implied even his mentor had already agreed to his participation in this scheme.
Could he extend the reach of this cog to protect his friends when the time comes?
Within the calculated coldness of the Threefold Empire, adventurers, rootless as they were, likely held little strategic value. Their presence at best might reduce a few extra cogs and save some budget; the empire had little trust in such transient individuals.
Still, this was the central plan. The considerations of the peripheral participants were unpredictable.
“One condition of your appointment: we require you to write a single oath.”
The binding magic enforced on all members of the Magic Academy was also severe, forbidding disclosure of internal secrets without good cause.
Light complaints might be permitted, but explicitly recounting precise details, or even omitting one’s name entirely, remained prohibited.
While cutting his finger with a kn*fe to sign in his own bl**d, Maka wrapped his intentions in a smile, determining that if necessary, he would stake his life…
On one side, the magician made his solemn resolution, while on the other, a faction of the Sword Friends Association had departed Marsheim on an adventure.
A large expedition of twenty members, including the golden-haired leader and twenty more subordinates, indicated their serious commitment. All members were accounted for; only those unwell or already scheduled elsewhere remained behind.
The golden-haired leader, sensing a strange atmosphere, decided a temporary leave from Marsheim would be appropriate. In response to a previous request, they were visiting a certain manor on behalf of a known and trustworthy employer.
The destination lay three days’ walk southwest of Marsheim—a development manor that had been dealing with wolf attacks. Since their first meeting, the lord of the manor had grown fond of the golden-haired leader, often hiring them for subsequent tasks. Renowned for his generosity, unlike the typical miserly local landlords, the manor lord had even gone so far as to offer unmarried women to the steadfastly faithful golden-haired leader, a gesture enjoyed by other association members.
Though politely declined by the golden-haired leader, the manor lord’s persistence was an open secret among the association’s members.
On this occasion, they were visiting the estate for observation and offering technical assistance. Rumors of suspicious individuals appearing in the woods, seen by children and local hunters, had raised concerns about bandit scouts or a nesting rogue magical species.
The manor villagers sought the golden-haired leader’s help to settle their unease. Additionally, they requested an appraisal of the manor’s defenses and training for a fledgeling militia force.
Given the handsome payment and the fact that the manor lord was the offspring of a noble from under the Baron of Marsheim, this invitation seemed both trustworthy and a convenient chance for a respite.
With few concerns and a reputation for such jobs, the entire group enthusiastically agreed to participate. Even members with prior engagements hesitated, almost ready to join. However, prioritizing commitments above all, the unfortunate few stayed behind while the others prepared for a field camp.
As the twilight painted the evening sky, some enjoyed the gentle spring breeze and light, while others found even the familiar sky unnervingly bl**d-red. Too pale for fresh human bl**d but still eerily crimson, the sight unnerved some, imagining the fresh red bl**d of severed necks.
This was likely no major task. The accompanying trade caravans were not worth attacking, not to mention the presence of over twenty guards under the golden-haired leader—imbeciles would be hard to find to challenge that in the empire.
Brushing aside concerns as mere paranoia, they returned to their camp preparations. After all, whatever happened, the solution would lie in their swords…
[Tip] Punishment Test Subjects: Individuals with serious offenses might volunteer for experiments, wherein they deliberately contract certain diseases to test treatments, thus expiating their sins. While the sins are forgiven after one test, survival is not guaranteed. The process is sarcastically labeled as “a bad bet.”
[Tip] Named Requests: When a client has a task that only a trusted or familiar adventurer may complete, they can directly nominate specific adventurers to the guild. However, the final choice remains with the adventurer, and the client either reopens the request to the public or withdraws it if declined.
Pre-orders for Volume 3 are now available on various sites!
The illustrations for the Overlap official site will soon be released as well.
For those seeking my wobbly signatures, the deadline for the unofficial autograph campaign is January 10th. Please search on Twitter!
