The next day.
Before meeting the master of the magic tower, Amelia and Paulen decided to first visit the church near the villa.
Before they left the house, Paulen said to Amelia in a playful tone.
“Getting served meals personally made by the Saintess for both dinner and breakfast. I’m worried I might become the target of the followers’ jealousy at this rate.”
“There’s no way any follower would harbor such feelings toward a paladin, you know?"
'Even though you were picking your teeth with a toothpick like you thoroughly enjoyed the meal…'
Amelia recalled the way Paulen had eaten.
No matter how many times she replayed it in her head, she couldn’t find a trace of reverence in his behavior.
“Hahaha! Anyone would get jealous after tasting your delicious cooking, Amelia. Don’t you think so too, Jiggly?”
'Jealous? Why?'
The slime tilted its body in confusion, unable to grasp the meaning of Paulen’s words.
Even though it had read several books at the Ludendion count’s estate and understood the concept of jealousy, it couldn’t easily associate it with food.
“Please don’t say strange things to Jiggly. Anyway, let’s get going.”
“Understood, Amelia.”
Just like at the church before, Amelia held the slime in both hands and stepped outside with Paulen.
“Ah! Saintess! And Paladin Paulen! It’s truly an honor to meet you both!”
The priest in charge of the church at the magic tower greeted Amelia and Paulen with a voice full of emotion.
Since priests who weren’t stationed in the holy city rarely had the chance to see the Saintess or a Paladin in person, it was only natural for him to be deeply moved.
“Please, if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to come find me. I’ll do my utmost to assist you!”
Amelia felt slightly overwhelmed by the sparkling eyes staring at her with admiration.
Of course, that sense of pressure stemmed from her own self-doubt—was she really someone worthy of such looks?
Even so, she understood all too well the heart of someone who looked at others with eyes full of respect, admiration, and hope.
“Thank you for your sentiment. I’ll be sure to rely on you when the time comes.”
Amelia gave the answer that the priest wanted to hear—one she herself had longed to hear in the past.
“Yes!”
Watching the scene, Paulen found himself reaffirming the same thought again and again.
‘Understanding the hearts of others and acting on it—that’s one of the reasons you’re truly a Saintess, Amelia.’
After exchanging brief greetings with the priest and followers, Amelia, Paulen, and the slime made their way toward the magic tower.
***
‘At last, the time has come.’
In a secret workshop located somewhere on the continent of Derxia—
There sat Troll.
Ventus Frail, a lich and former Sage of Magic, composed himself as he watched the broadcast screen.
Ever since hearing the news that the slime was going to meet the master of the magic tower, Troll had tried to calm his heart through meditation, but ever since they arrived at the tower, he had been unable to stay composed.
First, seeing his descendant, Gracie Frail, who was dressed like a doped-up tool wizard, grated on him as someone loyal to the Natural Magic faction.
Especially since Gracie’s appearance was the spitting image of his cousin in her younger days—his cousin, who had also practiced natural magic—it felt like watching her fall from grace into a corrupted state, and it tormented him.
– Times change. Maybe it’s just a passing trend! It’ll blow over!
Troll kept rationalizing, trying desperately to calm his troubled mind.
However, after Gracie left, and Paulen calmly strolled with the slime through the streets, even that rationalization crumbled.
– “Trend,” my ass!
There were indeed more shops dealing in magical tools than there had been during Troll’s time at the magic tower.
But none of the magicians walking the streets were decked out in magic tools the way Gracie was.
At most, one or two rings or necklaces, tops.
That’s why the image of his own bloodline disgracefully flaunting such gaudy artifacts kept replaying in his mind and tormenting him.
– Aaaaaargh!
Even before facing his mortal enemy Brooks, Troll let out a scream inside his workshop.
Of course, that didn’t mean he continued to suffer endlessly.
On the journey to slay the black dragon, he had faced hardships far worse than this.
Troll eventually managed to calm himself and recover.
‘I don’t like it… Not one bit… but! That decision was made by Gracie—my own descendant. I can’t just lash out in anger… Ugh! When I meet her in person, I’ll find out what’s going on in that head of hers!’
His pride as a Natural Magic user gave Troll a new goal.
The image on the screen changed, now showing the group heading to the magic tower after saying a quick farewell at the church.
And at the entrance to the magic tower—
“Good morning! Saintess! Paladin! Leave everything to me, Gracie Frail—the proud descendant of Sage of Magic!”
Gracie Frail was waiting for them.
Grrrrrrrrrr!
Troll suppressed the rising urge of the boomer Natural Magic faction within and kept watching the screen.
Following Gracie’s lead, they entered the tower.
▶ So many cloth-wrapped humans.
▶ Excuse me, it’s not cloth—it’s called a ro~~be~~.
▶ How do you even know that?
▶ Watching the broadcast, duh? You didn’t hear them call it a robe? lolololol
[Just Slam First] So this is the nest of those weird water-and-fire-shooting humans?
[Thread-Lady] ▶ Doesn’t look all that cute~ What a shame~.
‘This place… It hasn’t changed at all.’
Unlike the other monsters who were fascinated by their first sight of the magic tower, Troll felt nostalgic.
Magicians walking by, wearing robes color-coded to match their elemental affinities.
Shady-looking mages muttering research notes to themselves even while walking alone.
Mages giggling to themselves as they visualized new spells in their heads.
Apprentices with dark circles under their eyes, shuffling like zombies after pulling all-nighters to finish assignments from their masters.
It was a scene nearly identical to the one from fifty years ago.
But for Amelia, who was seeing the magic tower for the first time, such a scene only evoked anxiety and concern.
“Um… Uh… Miss Gracie?”
“Yes! Saintess! Is there something you’d like to ask?”
“Um… Are those people over there okay? They look like they might need treatment.”
Gracie responded to Amelia’s question with a bright smile and waved her hand.
"Come now, there’s no need for treatment. Scenes like that are quite common in the magic tower."
“Q-quite common, you say?”
“To outsiders, it may seem a little strange, but everyone’s fine, so don’t worry.”
“I see.”
Amelia nodded, trying her best to understand.
BOOOOM!
“Who did that?!”
“NOOO! That was my brand-new Divine Revolution spell!”
“Exploded again! It’s Ikperge’s lab this time!”
“How many times has it been now?!”
“Everyone who researches explosion magic is the same!”
“Someone go alert the church!”
“Is that really okay?”
“That’s just a typical magical accident that happens from time to time here. We’ve already sent word to the church—someone will be coming to treat the wounded.
Let’s go meet the tower master for now!”
“We should go where the explosion happened.”
“W-what? But…”
Even though Amelia often struggled with low self-esteem and could be shy when alone—
“Let’s go.”
When someone needed healing, she could act with firm resolve.
Gracie, flustered like a scolded child, broke into a cold sweat and answered immediately.
“Y-yes, of course!”
Watching this, Troll thought—
‘Presia… you left behind a fine successor.’
Troll, who had once been the Saintess’s companion, could see Presia’s reflection in Amelia.
***
Led by Gracie, Amelia headed toward the site of the explosion.
Though no one had died in the magical accident, one injured mage was healed before they moved on to the tower master’s room.
‘Don’t let the hatred boil over. Stay calm. I’ve seen how acting rashly leads to disaster.’
As they approached the tower master’s chamber, Troll repeated this to himself over and over, trying to prevent a possible outburst.
Then, the door opened.
“Welcome to the magic tower. Saintess Amelia, Paladin Paulen. I am Brooks Vessilja, the current master of the tower.”
The sorcerer who had betrayed him.
The one who tried to kill him under the guise of an accident, and laughed at him in the end—
Seeing Brooks Vessilja again, Troll…
– Pwahahahaha! What is this?! What happened to you?!
Burst into laughter.
More than any lingering hatred or boiling rage—
The sheer contrast between the Brooks Vessilja from his memory and the one standing before him now left Troll unable to hold back his laughter.
– You’ve gone completely bald! Brooks! Pwahahahaha!
Unlike the image he remembered—of a man with flowing, thick hair—Brooks now had a smooth, shiny head.
And not just that.
His long, drooping beard also fed Troll’s laughter.
Troll remembered all too well.
How much pride Brooks had in his hair.
He had grown it all the way to his back, quite long for a man, and had a habit of flipping it around.
Even while casting spells, he worried about it getting singed, and if another wizard’s spell so much as grazed it, he would explode in anger.
And on top of that, Troll recalled a comment Brooks once made while gossiping about a senior mage with a long beard.
“What’s so great about a beard? If you’re going to grow something, it should be your hair, like me. A beard just makes you look messy.”
That had been mocking and derisive.
Why? Because all the senior mages with long beards were bald!
Brooks had been the kind of man who ridiculed bald men with his own luscious hair.
And yet…
Now he had no trace of that once-glorious hair, and had grown the very beard he once scoffed at.
– Oh my god, my stomach! Pwah! Ha! Hahahaha!
Troll laughed so hard he could feel pain in a stomach he didn’t even have anymore.
Thanks to this unexpected transformation of his enemy, the violent outburst of hatred and fury that Troll had feared never came.
Meanwhile—
Sparkle sparkle!
Unlike Troll, the slime was genuinely fascinated by the tower master’s shiny head.
Because among all the human heads it had seen so far, Brooks’s was by far the smoothest and most lustrous.
It had seen bald people before, but none that gleamed like Brooks.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Tower Master Brooks Vessilja.
I’m Amelia, the next Saintess.”
“I’m Paladin Paulen, charged with her protection. It’s an honor to meet you.”
After the formal greetings, Brooks Vessilja stroked his beard and spoke.
“It’ll only be for a month, but I look forward to working with you. People here often get injured due to their intense passion for study.”
“Yes. I can see that.”
“Hmm? Ah, Gracie. Did something happen on the way here?”
“Yes, Tower Master. Senior Ikperge’s lab exploded, and the Saintess healed him.”
“You’ve already been of help. Thank you kindly, Saintess Amelia.”
“No need. I only did what I should have.”
With the formalities now over, Brooks glanced at Gracie and said—
“If you need anything in the tower, just call for Gracie.
She’ll gladly assist you.”
“Eh? Tower Master? But I have research time too…”
“The descendant of a great hero assisting the heir of another—how touching is that? Hohoho.”
‘Ventus’s descendant playing assistant to the next Saintess… what a sight.’
“...Yes, sir.”
Gracie gave an awkward smile and followed Brooks’s order.