-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: It Wasn't Just One or Two
-----------------------------------------------------------------
"...."
Amid the excruciating pain tormenting my entire body, I circulated the Heavenly Origin Art.
'Hot.'
So hot.
Was the Heavenly Origin Art such a grueling secret art?
Separate from the searing agony that began with the Fire Mark, the mana I absorbed through the Heavenly Origin Art was also ravaging my flesh.
It was like lava.
'Damn it.'
Normally, stray thoughts were forbidden during breathing exercises, but I couldn't shake off the curses.
The pain was that goddamn intense.
Still, even in the midst of it, I steadily circulated the Heavenly Origin Art.
If it were just pain, it would've been unbearable, but this was pain with a reward. And that reward was none other than—
Crackle, pop.
The sound echoing from within, like logs burning in a fire.
In truth, something really was burning away.
'Impurities.'
Originally, the path of magic favored those who started young for higher achievements.
The reason was that impurities built up in the circuits over time...
For some reason, a certain mana was burning away the impurities accumulated in my circuits.
I knew of one secret art like this.
Mana Shower.
A technique performed only on direct bloodline members by high-ranking mages of prestigious families, forcibly infusing mana to incinerate impurities in the circuits.
That's why direct descendants of great houses achieved such high levels.
'This can't be the Heavenly Origin Art's secret...'
No.
If the Heavenly Origin Art were that remarkable, it wouldn't be just a basic technique.
No matter how foundational it was to the Decullan Family, it didn't have that effect.
So, the cause must be the Fire Mark. Or rather...
'The Grimoire that turned into the Fire Mark.'
Obviously.
The Grimoire must have done something.
I focused my mind on circulating the Heavenly Origin Art amid the relentless burning pain. And finally, when I completed the first breath of the Heavenly Origin Art—
The pain finally ended.
"Pah—!"
I exhaled the breath I'd been holding and opened my eyes.
Crackle, pop.
But why? I'd clearly finished the Heavenly Origin Art, yet for some reason, the burning sound continued.
This time, though, it came from outside.
"...."
Turning my head toward the source, I saw a candle sputtering embers as it burned away.
I listened to the burning sound for a moment before turning my gaze away.
How much time had passed?
Rustle, rustle.
Damian was sleeping soundly on the bed beside me, and the night sky outside the window was full of stars.
It was an everyday scene, but somehow, it felt off.
'...Feels like the fog has lifted.'
My senses had sharpened.
"Is this what it means to attune to the wind?"
I tossed the question into the air.
It was in reference to the voice I'd heard just before starting the Heavenly Origin Art breath, but only the hollow sound of wind rippled in my ears.
I waited a bit longer, then chuckled softly and shook my head.
"An unexpected gift."
And a big one at that.
Impurity-clogged circuits had been one of the things that held me back even in my past life.
'I tried everything to improve them but ultimately failed. Couldn't overcome it.'
So instead of cleaning the circuits, I focused on increasing the purity of my mana.
Higher-purity mana faced less resistance passing through the circuits.
But now...
'The circuits are clean, of course.'
And the mana is pure.
'The purity of the mana is like in my past life—maybe even better.'
Still, beating the Decullan Family felt like it would take a hundred lifetimes.
The power they'd accumulated over generations, the hidden strengths not shown.
No single person could handle that.
But one thing was clear...
'My chances have improved.'
I'm a Troubleshooter by nature.
I weigh possibilities and plan accordingly, but in this life, I decided to be a bit more reckless.
Even if the odds are near zero, stacking them one by one might reveal a path.
Well, truth be told, I wasn't that meticulous even in my past life.
* * *
Day broke.
I woke Damian, we had a meal, and headed out into the Black-White Slums streets.
There was something I needed to take care of.
"Wow! Amazing!"
The first words out of Damian's mouth as he looked down at his bangs.
"My hair's brown!"
The first thing I did was conceal Damian's distinctive features as much as possible.
'Platinum hair stands out too much.'
Not everyone with platinum hair is a Blandoga, but it's not common either.
While I was at it, I changed his clothes too.
'No matter how ragged he looks, sharp-eyed guys would spot him right away.'
Not just the ones chasing Damian, but flies might buzz around too.
After spending the morning on that, before I knew it...
"Ta-da."
Damian now looked like a somewhat shady errand boy, with his bangs hanging every which way under a flat cap.
He seemed to like the new clothes, posing this way and that in front of the clothing shop mirror.
'This should at least prevent easy detection.'
I nodded at Damian's changed appearance and sank into thought.
'First, the urgent stuff is handled.'
Earned my keep.
Now, what remained was settling grudges.
'...The underling bastard.'
Underling.
'Back then, I got hit a ton. Beat for not meeting quotas, beat for eating too much.'
Beatings, beatings.
If I didn't get hit even one day, I couldn't sleep—it felt that off.
And the one who beat me was that underling, the very guy from yesterday.
Grind.
Thinking back made my teeth clench on their own.
'...'
I led the innocent Damian along, following old memories.
The memories were so faded they weren't clear, but I somehow found the way.
How long had we walked?
"Here we are."
I arrived at a crumbling ruin on the outskirts of the Black-White Slums.
It looked long abandoned to anyone, but it had a lived-in feel.
This was the hideout of the street urchin gang I'd belonged to in the past, including the underling.
No good memories, but so much time had passed it felt nostalgic.
Lost in manipulated sentiment as I gazed at the scene, an urchin emerged from inside the ruin.
"Huh? What're you punks?"
He'd just eaten, picking his teeth, and tilted his head upon spotting me and Damian.
But why? Seeing that dumb face suddenly sparked a memory.
- Brat, you little shit! Did I say fill my quota too today or not!?
"Hm, I remember now."
"What the— you're the brat, ain't ya? You little shit, where've you been wandering, showing up now?!"
"It wasn't just one or two who beat me."
Me, a magnanimous Troubleshooter who generally overlooks petty grudges.
But not so big-hearted as to deliberately forget a grudge once it resurfaced.
"You rotten punk! Where the hell you been?! Huh? What's with that getup? Bathe in the Sale River shitwater or what?"
I calmly stared at the approaching urchin glaring daggers.
I wanted to answer him, but my head was a mess.
Past memories were surfacing vividly, one after another. So vividly...
I could count the blows.
"What's this shrimp? Looks like he's got some coin... Gahk!"
He sniffed money on the newly dressed Damian, eyeing him up, then suddenly toppled with a flick.
After withdrawing my fist from his solar plexus, I calmly recited.
"One hundred twenty-three times."
The number of times this urchin in front of me had hit me.
No, actually, it wasn't exact.
I'm human too, and humans can't remember every single one.
Just... that's how it felt.
'That's how many I felt I got.'
Or put another way—
'That's how many I feel like hitting him.'
First guy on the list: one hundred twenty-three.
"What the—!"
"Spotty! What's going on!"
I eyed the urchins pouring out of the ruin one by one.
"Whew."
Not even a life flashing before my eyes, yet why so many memories surfacing?
Felt like numbers floating over their heads like prison IDs.
Mostly three digits.
"Scary stuff."
How far I'd go today.
Crack, crack.
I rolled my neck and shoulders, starting with the one with the lowest number.
Hearty thuds, frantic screams, and furious curses followed.
* * *
"...."
The underling stared blankly at the scene before him.
Thwack! Pow!
Crisp impact sounds rang out, followed each time by wretched screams.
"Argh! Ack!"
"What in the..."
The underling couldn't believe his eyes.
A gang of over a dozen.
Some of the toughest urchins around, getting demolished without a fight.
And not just beaten—they were getting wrecked.
"If it hurts, don't worry. I'll heal you."
When one went down, some kid he'd never seen approached and placed a hand on them.
The hand flashed, and the wounds healed instantly, good as new...
"Th-thanks... Gahk!"
Then another barrage of beatings poured down.
Better if they just passed out from the hits, but he healed them on the spot each time they fell, so no such luck.
Brutal. Hell itself.
But even more unbelievable than this surreal scene was something else.
Gulp.
'The brat... that guy...'
Was he always this good?
Just yesterday, he'd been helpless against the underling.
No, not just against him.
Weakest in the gang, daily punching bag—that was daily life.
"How high did you count to?"
"F-forgot..."
"Then we start over from the beginning. Listen carefully once more. You're number 173, got it?"
"Y-yes, got it."
'Lord almighty.'
Like the devil incarnate!
Telling Black-White Slums urchins to count to three digits.
Even two digits got you called the gang brain!
'Gonna beat us forever. Till we die—no, won't even kill us, just keep beating.'
The underling swallowed dryly without realizing.
He'd planned to find the brat and give him a thrashing.
Now he realized how reckless that was.
Watching the carnage in the yard, the underling quietly stepped away.
'Run.'
That was the answer.
He could count to three digits if needed, but that wouldn't be the end.
No, enduring three digits alone was horrific.
'Gonna die. Definitely gonna die.'
Run first.
Then, pride be damned, ask another gang for help.
Only way to survive.
"...You'll see."
Muttering a line he'd heard somewhere, the underling slipped out the back door.
Or tried to.
"You can't go."
"...?"
A boy was already blocking the back door.
Dressed like an ordinary errand boy, grinning round and round.
'That guy...'
The one who'd mercilessly "healed"(?) the gang every time the brat wrecked them.
'Wh-when'd he get here...?'
Terrified, the underling backed away.
Just moments ago, he'd been tormenting the gang by the brat's side...
Ghostly movement.
But the boy just kept grinning and said his piece.
"You can't go."
"..."
"Stay put and wait your turn. You gotta play too."
His face so innocently pure, yet the words chilling somehow.
The underling, forgetting to reply amid constant swallowing, moved only after the boy returned to the front.
"...Haa!"
He exhaled deeply and collapsed.
Through the long bangs, a glimpse of eyes that looked eerily sharp.
No, something even eerier.
'That's his idea of playing...? '
Was there another madman like that? Utterly insane.
They didn't seem sick or anything, but he'd clearly tangled with crazies.
The brat promising three-digit beatings, the errand-boy kid—both equally nuts.