Ch.21Blasphemia Branch (1)

Divius called Ortes to his workshop. It was a natural course of action. To fit the artificial skin that would cover his body, he needed to take precise measurements of the physical form it would be attached to.

However, Divius hadn’t summoned Ortes merely for the task assigned to him.

He was curious about Ortes.

Servants—beings created to serve only one person from birth until death. Divius believed Ortes was a servant made for Carisia.

What kind of thoughts did such beings have as they lived? What kind of manipulation was done to their brains to make such devotion possible?

Was it surgery? Long-term brainwashing? Or perhaps interference at the genetic level?

Or, regrettably, was it some kind of mind-controlling magic that could be solved with a simple “click”?

How did they view the masters they were destined to serve for their entire lives?

“What the boss wants is simply fake skin that can pass Blasphemia’s skin authentication procedure, right? Not modification at the muscle fiber level?”

“Of course. I’m afraid of getting cut up too.”

It wasn’t even a funny joke. There had never been a time when that smile faltered, even in the middle of battlefields where blood and blades flew freely.

But since he had made the comment himself, it could be used to probe a little.

“Is that so? Then which is more frightening: an angry boss or a blind blade?”

“The boss, of course. That’s obvious.”

Hooh, controlled through fear?

Divius studied Ortes’s expression through his helmet. But the face of the man who had just claimed “the boss is frightening” remained completely unfazed.

***

That doctor. I could tell he was off his rocker from the moment I saw his avant-garde fashion of wearing just underwear with a white coat and a helmet.

He’s definitely not right in the head.

If you compare someone holding a knife to someone who can shoot beams from their hands, of course the beam-shooter is more frightening.

I answered calmly.

“Wouldn’t it be the same for you as a director? Being afraid of the boss.”

After all, who pays the directors? From an employee’s perspective, the employer is inevitably someone to be feared.

***

“Aren’t you afraid of Carisia as well?”—that counter-question was the truth.

Because of Carisia’s formidable magical abilities, and the possibility that her true identity might be connected to the upper echelons of the Ten Towers.

‘Come to think of it, Carisia and Ortes knew that I once handled modification surgeries for Blasphemia…’

If so, this wasn’t a simple warning, but a message.

A message saying ‘You should rightfully fear Carisia.’ An implication that whatever he thought Carisia’s identity might be, she was an even more fearsome existence.

“You got me there. Is that something they taught you in the Tower too?”

It was, to use an old-era metaphor, a ‘noble’ use of language. A subtle warning using metaphorical language. It seemed the direct descendants of the Ten Towers provided their servants with quite an extensive education.

“Nothing to do with the Tower. Just something I picked up along the way.”

‘What is this guy talking about?’

Being afraid of not getting paid by your employer is a universal anxiety for all working people. Ortes shrugged his shoulders.

***

The results of Ortes’s physical measurements were unremarkable. If anything, it was notable that no magical field was detected emanating from him, perhaps indicating high control over his magical power.

Magic compression—an essential technique for high-level combat mages to conceal their presence. Having reached his own conclusion, Divius brought out enough bio-fibers to cover Ortes’s entire body.

“If you can conceal your magical field to that extent, there’s little chance you’d be detected due to incompatibility with the magic imbued in the artificial skin. Still, just to be safe, would you mind releasing some of your magical power?”

Ortes shook his head.

‘I thought as much.’

The analysis of magical attributes was not something shared even among fellow tower mages unless they were close confidants. This was because a mage’s unique magical attributes provided clues about what magic they could use and how they could be defeated.

Divius abandoned his attempts to probe into Ortes and focused on his main task. He carefully cut the bio-fibers to the right measurements and assembled them like sewing.

Precision processing at the micro level. He wove pathways for Carisia’s seal magic to flow through, and crafted Blasphemia’s distinctive muscle fiber patterns that would serve as a kind of fingerprint during inspection procedures.

While processing the artificial skin, Divius occasionally threw questions at Ortes. They seemed like casual small talk, but were actually means to understand the mental structure of a servant.

There was also the slight possibility that he wasn’t a servant at all.

“Isn’t it difficult working under the boss? It seems like you’re handling more tasks than most directors.”

“I consider it an expression of trust.”

An immediate response that came in less than a second. Divius revised his thoughts.

‘There’s no way this person isn’t a servant.’

‘Is this guy trying to assassinate me? Does he know what would happen if I whined to Carisia about not wanting to work?’

Ortes seriously wondered if Divius disliked him. Did the man have strong power ambitions? Was he viewing me as an obstacle to his advancement?

‘If he wants to become a close aide, I could give up the position…’

Ortes felt an unexpected discomfort at the thought of someone other than himself being Carisia’s close aide.

His goal had always been to eventually resign and live well. If he resigned, he would naturally be separated from Carisia. So what was the problem?

‘Ah.’

It was still too early to resign.

‘It’s 2076 now. I can’t say for certain that I’ve prevented all possibilities of the world ending when Carisia clashes with the protagonist who will be resurrected in 2077, so I can’t resign for a while.’

Nodding to himself, Ortes added:

“It’s not that I enjoy the work either.”

Hearing this, Divius added a line to his notes:

<Servants are presumed to show unconditional affection and loyalty to their masters.>

***

The Bicada Traveling Troupe had an unexpected deserter. It was Niobe, who had met with Ortes.

“No. Why are you saying you want to leave so suddenly?”

After hearing directly from Ortes that Niobe had “talent for magic,” Bicada had been planning to sell her for a high price someday.

She was an orphan who had joined the troupe to avoid starvation, lured by its glamorous appearance, making her merchandise that could be sold without repercussions. He had even justified to himself that life as a research subject in a magic tower would be better than this wandering lifestyle.

But with her openly saying “I’m leaving” in front of the other members, it was difficult to forcibly keep her.

“I’m scared. Of that person.”

She was referring to Ortes, who had visited the night before. Was she frightened after seeing a high-ranking mage for the first time in her life? Of all things. Bicada frowned.

“That’s already over. Don’t be like that. Even if you leave, come with us to the next city—”

“He’ll be watching! You saw it too! That creepy…”

“Shh, shh!”

Hydra Company’s influence was strong. It was possible they were still under surveillance for being associated with Geryon. They couldn’t afford to let careless words bring trouble.

“I’m leaving here. I’m getting out of here.”

Faced with her firm resolve, Bicada could no longer try to dissuade her with excuses. He let her go, lamenting the money he could have made by selling her.

Of course, Niobe wasn’t leaving because she feared Ortes.

Far from escaping Etna City, she headed straight for the Hydra Company building.

She was seeking to meet Ortes, her senior agent from Blasphemia.

***

“She really came.”

That was my impression watching the kid looking around the company lobby on CCTV. She wasn’t like a child visiting her father’s workplace, but her innocent curiosity as she looked around made her seem quite naive.

The Blasphemia mages who constantly clashed with me were never this unguarded.

“Hmm. She’s quite young. Is it a disguise?”

“No. She genuinely appears to be around that age. Seems like a new recruit they brought in after our clash with them.”

“Then please treat our guest well. No, you’re the one going to be treated as a guest, right?”

I nodded. Since I would be following her to the Blasphemia branch, I was technically the guest in this situation.

“Make sure to provide ample travel expenses.”

Carisia laughed once with a “ha” and waved her hand.

“Feel free to turn things upside down if things go wrong. Just come back without getting hurt.”

***

“Director Arabel, are you ready?”

“Oh, really…”

Arabel swallowed the curse that was about to escape. As if it wasn’t enough to modify a small drone to be more covert.

To infiltrate a secret organization without being detected.

Preferably within one night.

‘What kind of unreasonable demands are these…’

Sighing, Arabel handed over a small box.

“This is the smallest one I have. It will turn on automatically when you open the box, and from then on I’ll control it directly, so please release it near the database.”

***

As Niobe was looking around the Hydra Company lobby, she heard distinct footsteps approaching. Click, click.

Disciplined steps and steady breathing. The distinctive gait of someone who had received professional training.

“Have you been waiting long?”

Looking at her senior who seemed decades behind the times, Niobe nodded with a satisfied expression.

“Not at all. Let’s go report your return quickly!”

She had heard many times that with the disappearance of most of Blasphemia’s senior members, the organization’s tacit knowledge had been severed. Though he might be a scatterbrained senior who had been lost for decades, a senior was still a senior.

If she could bring this senior, who retained the know-how of the old Blasphemia, back to the organization, she would surely receive a substantial reward. Filled with hope, Niobe quickened her pace.