The Hero’s Party Members Treat Me Well for Some Reason

The Street of the Outcast (2)

Much like the Crimson Magic Tower, which had once shown me the rudeness of a deal gone wrong.

Each magic tower had something akin to a reception counter to welcome outsiders. Otherwise, newcomers would surely get lost. Senior or apprentice researchers would usually rotate, standing watch like a duty shift.

And the Black Magic Tower, nestled in this remote place, was no different. Just because it was secluded didn’t mean people wouldn’t come.

Therefore, upon entering the Black Magic Tower, the first thing I encountered was, inevitably, the counter.

“Welcome… Huff!?”

The mage at the counter, who had been sitting with a languid expression, startled in surprise upon seeing me.

It was a reaction I was rather used to. I offered a bitter smile.

‘…Right.’

Just because they were black mages didn’t mean my curse wouldn’t affect them.

Affection had always been a distant word to me. I was constantly aware of it, but a bitter feeling was unavoidable each time I witnessed such a reaction.

“G-Good heavens…”

As I was feeling that emotion, the other party stared at me intently, mouth agape.

Then, as if in admiration, they exclaimed,

“T-This sheer wickedness!”

“…?”

It wasn’t a misperception. It wasn’t horror, but admiration.

“Such a palpable aura of ominousness from the very first glance… You must be a grand black mage, indeed. Please, enlighten me, senior. What weighty purpose brings you to this place?”

“Uh… Well, I was hoping to find a few… spellbooks…”

“Ah! To continue seeking knowledge even after reaching such heights! This unworthy junior is deeply impressed! Utterly humbled!”

…What is this? Perhaps curses affect black mages differently?

Maybe, being naturally steeped in darkness, they actually welcomed this sinister sensation.

‘ …No.’

But my fluster was fleeting. I quickly regained my composure.

Calm yourself. Perhaps it’s mere flattery. One mustn’t trust these insidious black mages so easily.

“This way, please. This humble underling will be your guide.”

Still, one couldn’t deny, thanks to him, I easily gained entry into the magic tower.

Thank goodness. I feared they might be as hostile as the Scarlet Magic Tower, but it seems that wasn’t the case.

Of course, I did strike first back then… but that’s what the Scarlet Magic Tower gets for pulling a no-show.

Ascending the tower, I encountered various types of black mages. Apprentice black mages hurrying with potions. A tired-looking Imp mage engrossed in a magical tome. A witch with half her face scarred by burns, stirring ingredients in a cauldron with her door ajar.

Their appearances were more diverse than in any other magic tower, but their reactions to me were all remarkably similar.

“G-Good heavens! What unholy wickedness is this!!”

“An extraordinary black mage!”

“We-we must flee! They might use us as magical components!”

“But, what if we could glean even a single line of magical knowledge from such a person…?”

“We must risk our lives to attain enlightenment!”

They all seemed to fear me, yet also to yearn. As much as they were afraid, they craved the teachings I possessed.

This, of course, only amplified my confusion.

‘What is this?’

Was it a characteristic of black mages that upon reaching a certain level, they were automatically dosed with a potion of inherent dislike?

Well, it wasn’t for me to talk, but black mages *did* tend to have a few screws loose.

Just look at the King of Corpses, the most esteemed authority on black magic – wasn’t he practically oozing with the grotesque?

Perhaps such aversion was akin to the dignity that emanated from higher-ranking mages.

Nodding to myself in this manner, the fellow guiding me spoke.

“And what school of magic are you seeking tomes on, senior?”

“Hmm… well, for now, I’m looking into tomes on the Arts of Pain, and those pertaining to Blood Golems…”

“By the Abyss! I’ve heard both are quite demanding disciplines! As expected of you, senior, to pursue such elevated studies. I, myself, am researching Osteoplasty. My skills are still rather lacking, but…

Since bones, flesh, and blood are originally one, wouldn’t you say we are, in a way, master and apprentice? Hahaha!”

Good heavens, this b*stard’s flattery skill is no joke. He casually forges a master-apprentice relationship.

I decided it was easier to just accept it.

‘…Alright, so what if it’s flattery?’

The truth doesn’t friggin’ matter. I’m feeling good right now.

“Rather than that, please, speak casually. It makes me feel uncomfortable, being addressed so formally by such a distinguished person.”

“Then, should I? Master?”

“Ah! Master! Trust in me and follow, elder brother!”

And so, master and apprentice laughed heartily as we ascended to the higher floors. We also did *Jjak-jjak-gung* with the head researcher and played *Sse-sse-sse* with the elder magician along the way.

Frankly, it felt less like coming to learn and more like a tourist jaunt.

Word had it, the tomes I sought were on the upper reaches of the Mage Tower.

Presumably, being difficult disciplines to master, they kept them high up.

The books I’d read back in the 충회성 were introductory, easy enough to grasp, but their actual application proved a challenge, indeed.

After all, who would willingly wage war against their own pain and fatigue?

One would sooner offer another as sacrifice. And so, it seemed these two disciplines were both arduous to wield and quite strenuous to learn.

The priest hailed me as impressive for having studied them.

We continued our ascent for some time, when abruptly, my priest’s footsteps faltered.

A glance at his expression revealed a disheartening gloom settling upon him.

“Is something amiss, Priest?”

“Forgive me. I wish I could guide you further, but my authority does not extend to this point… It seems I must summon another.”

The priest seemed genuinely regretful as he spoke. Perhaps he truly lamented parting ways with me.

Though even that might be a facet of flattery, truth mattered not.

For what matters is my own heart.

I espouse idealism (觀念); I am the world, and thus, my heart is truth.

For some reason, my brain felt slightly melted from excessive arse-kissing, but I decided to simply revel in it for now.

“It’s a shame we must part like this…”

“Indeed it is, Senior Disciple… Please, wait here a moment. I shall fetch someone trustworthy forthwith…”

It was then, that a sinister voice echoed from somewhere.

“Nay, there’s no need.”

The priest turned his head towards the voice, his face contorting in utter shock.

“M-Master Tower Lord!”

The Tower Lord himself had arrived, no less. Hearing that, I too swiveled my gaze towards the source.

And instantly, a wave of bewilderment washed over me.

Unlike other places, the Tower Lord of the Black Tower wasn’t some wizened grandfather, but a skull of bleached bone.

“I heard a commotion from below and came to investigate… and a noble guest has arrived, it seems.”

A living skeleton mage, a Lich, that is.

Realizing this, I couldn’t help but wear an expression of slight unease. Even if black magic somehow skirted the edges of legality, becoming a Lich was unequivocally forbidden.

Forcing life beyond its natural span was an affront to the natural order.

Therefore, the art of becoming a Lich was strictly prohibited by the Church, and all other nations.

If caught?

Designated a monster, and put down.

Yet here he stood, un-hunted…

‘Is he hiding it?’

No, he seemed far too brazen to be concealing anything.

Even if this place was remote, it wasn’t as if it was devoid of eyes and ears.

And so, I simply stared at the figure with a gaze full of burning curiosity for the while.

“Hmm? Hoo… Hmmm.”

However, it seemed I wasn’t the only one engaging in observation.

“My student, forgive me, but would you mind stepping aside?”

“Yes!!”

He dismissed the priest beside him and turned to me.

“Hero-nim carries quite a few curses, I see.”

Hearing that, I couldn’t help but be startled.

That he recognized me as the Hero… well, that could be because he’s the Archmage. But to even perceive the curses within me.

‘The other black mages never noticed a thing.’

As expected, the Archmage was on another level entirely.

So, without the benefit of regression, there are now two who’ve perceived my curses.

First, Oleg, the puppeteer’s henchman and shaman, and now, the Archmage of the Black Magic Tower.

Perhaps because these curses cling to my body, it’s those who mainly deal with black magic who can recognize them.

“Curses are not my specialty, so I couldn’t say exactly what kind they are… hmm, judging by the emotion I sense, it seems to be a curse related to affection. A rather potent one, I feel.”

The fellow added a word after his analysis.

“Oh dear, you must have suffered.”

‘…Keuh.’

For a moment, a surge of emotion welled up from my heart. Could it be that black mages have a warm corner somewhere within their hearts?

Oleg may have been a bit rough around the edges, but his manner was quite gentle.

But that feeling was fleeting, and I quickly bristled like a hedgehog.

“Spare me your needless pity. What are you scheming?”

Oleg had also tried to coax me into the Demon King’s army in this fashion. He might not be affiliated with the Demon King’s army, but there was no harm in being wary.

“Oh dear, scheming? I simply hold respect for you, who became a hero despite bearing curses. If my pity offended you, I apologize. However, if you are weary… you may lean on even someone like me to rest.”

“……”

Upon hearing that, I embraced the Master of the Magic Tower for a moment.

The sensation of stark white, unyielding bone pressed against my skin. It should have been cold, but strangely, it felt warm.

‘Should I just… live here?’

I pondered it briefly.