#039. Old Tales and Links (1)
Life was rushing toward death at a sudden pace.
The whirlpool of death would eventually swallow his life whole, leaving no trace behind.
That was why.
The reason the old man considered his meeting with the boy to be fate.
'A fortunate turn. A vessel has finally appeared to properly inherit the magic I've accumulated. Even if not an official successor...'
His goals before death had been clear:
To complete his lifelong research into a book.
To pass down his accumulated magic and knowledge to a successor.
Yet he'd achieved neither.
His research hadn't even reached the halfway point, and his teachings couldn't be called fully transmitted.
'The research was impossible to complete regardless. And while I taught Veronica everything without reservation...'
Veronica was brilliant.
Her ability to grasp abstract concepts surpassed her peers.
She could reconstruct entire worlds from text alone - realms she'd never experienced.
Beyond magic, she'd mastered mathematics, linguistics, and other disciplines.
Her memory was impeccable, rarely forgetting anything seen or heard.
"Grandpa! You promised to quit smoking! Especially with your poor health! You smoked again!"
"W-when did I ever promise such—"
"Exactly 82 days, 4 hours, and 31 minutes ago! Ugh! You left bell peppers again today and mixed the laundry baskets!"
Lately, her adolescent intensity made him wistful for the quiet, docile child she'd once been.
The old man discreetly wiped his eyes.
Ahem.
Returning to the matter: Veronica's magical progress disappointed expectations.
Six months of dedicated study, yet she still couldn't construct a stable magic circle.
'Not lacking talent.
Her mana sensitivity proved her chosen by the arcane currents.
Psychological barriers caused her repeated near-successes to crumble - this much was clear.
Time, however, was the enemy. Without establishing her circle, proper guidance remained impossible.
'Molta and Yulphin sense mana but can't yet manipulate it.'
He'd taken them for their potential, but these saplings would outlive their gardener.
Then came the boy.
A prodigy radiating hunger for knowledge, wielding talent that made the old man's aged heart thunder with painful intensity.
"I don't have much time to teach you magic," the old man said, lips parting like ancient parchment. "We begin today."
"Good. But first—" Ray produced a ring from his pocket. "—what exactly is this?"
The old man accepted the band, his scrutiny sharpening.
"Amplification elements... traces of enhancement... A charging stone variant. But—"
His irises flickered with arcane recognition.
"Ah! Conditional activation formulae! Strength and reflex augmentation... and layered beneath—"
The wrinkles around his eyes deepened.
"—an exploitation-class enchantment."
"Normal charging stones degrade with use," he continued. "This repairs itself by draining the wearer's vitality. Human life force being... a crude form of mana."
Ray recalled Cedric's hollow eyes and superhuman frenzy. The pieces aligned.
"Who crafts such dangerous artifacts?"
The boy weighed his words. Adults' motives were murky ponds, but...
"I became leader of a street gang. The previous boss got this from a stranger claiming Mercred membership. Promised recruitment if we gathered enough strong kids."
The old man's teacup clattered against its saucer.
"Mercred..."
His voice carried decades-old dread. "Their operatives always carry crimson stones - badges celebrating mana addiction. Firearms, drugs, flesh trade... they're the rot beneath civilization's floorboards."
Ray leaned forward. "How?"
"Every member's a mage."
The revelation hung like execution steel.
"Mages are rare," Ray stated.
"Exactly. Yet Mercred fields hundreds. They worship strength through any means." The old man's gaze drifted beyond the window. "There's an old rumor... they possess part of the Rainbow."
His desiccated fingers traced the ring's malevolent curves.
"This changes things, boy. Drastically."
