The attentive Nieder Steward, who was serving by the side, hastily presented a charcoal sketch. The rough-edged parchment was placed on a table that resembled an altar made of beech, as if on display at a market. The pencil sketches by an unappreciated street artist had accurately captured the ordinary face and a faint sneer on the lips of a young boy on the paper.
"Don't you want him captured alive?"
One of the visitors, a middle-aged man with a scholar-like demeanor and a receding hairline, joked in response. George Thierry, who was dismissive of the task due to his clear understanding of Monet's peculiarities, could not help but showcase his love for sarcastic remarks once again.
"Oh...this face looks a bit plain, but it's still fairly standard oh~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~"
Despite being a man, he had a high-pitched, coquettish voice, much like a woman's. All but Monet felt a chill down their spines, their bodies breaking out with goosebumps.
His slender fingers, as pale as a patient's, ended in crescent-shaped sharp fingernails, coated in bright oil paint. He leisurely traced the contour of the boy's face on the parchment with the sharp, painted arc at the tip of his nail, his lipstick-coated lips twisted into a salacious grin.
"I hope this boy is still a virgin, otherwise the fun will be discounted."
Stefan Herbert Lawrence smiled seductively, causing his wrinkled face to flutter with the gold dust.
"Oh, it doesn't matter if he is a virgin or not, he certainly won't be after he met you."
Thierry's tone was light, as if joking, though it was in fact sarcasm and protest.
"We're negotiating business here. Only the silly Albion fellows would bring the stench of their lower body into a business arena."
"I'm not an Albion."
"I wasn't talking about you, you fool with the Albion surname."
"Baldy…"
"QUIET!!!!!!"
Before Monet and Nieder collapsed from stifling laughter spurred by this absurd argument, the fifth person in the room, another visitor, Alphonse De Sade, finally had enough and intervened to terminate the never-ending, pointless argument.
"Mr. Monet...we have no interest in...the grievances between you and the target, nor do we wish to know what happened. But—but hiring three wandering magicians as assassins for a hefty sum, with a child as the target, don't you think that's a bit extravagant? Of course, you're the one paying, so you call the shots."
The elderly mage, his face full of wrinkles, showed no eagerness in his treatment of his patron, and there was not the slightest hint of humility in his language. Upon finishing, the distaste on his face was as if he had eaten something dirty and was about to vomit it out.
Monet, as the patron and the owner of the house, should have become angry and loudly protested against this kind of disrespectful attitude, but he did not react.
The first issue was whether that greasy, fat body could perform the high-difficulty task of "jumping" without anyone's help, which was questionable. Plus, he was not facing some mediocre businessman who stammered in front of him, but three magicians.
Magicians enjoyed many privileges that ordinary folk could hardly access. For instance, on a street, if a low-level (note) magician met a wealthy businessman, the latter had to doff his hat and let the former pass first. Also, among the nobles, there were examples of those of common origin who ascended to nobility through military merit. However, most were knights who only inherited their titles for one generation. The titles of middle- and high-ranking nobles and grand nobles were monopolized by families with magicians in their lineage. In Welt, magicians and nobles were synonymous.
Although the three magicians present had committed serious crimes and had been stripped of their titles, they were still figures that Monet could not afford to offend. Their slightly outrageous attitude was totally within acceptable bounds.
Unable to become angry, and not knowing how to defuse the situation, Monet maintained an awkward silence.
Seeing his master trapped in a tough situation, the clever Steward stepped forward, his face still marked with whip scars.
"Perhaps you three are not aware, but a few days ago, this insolent boy killed Anthony Joly, a Strengthening Magic user we hired to maintain order and security at the market."
"Oh, I know that guy, yet another dead baldy."
Lawrence said dismissively, his insults and provocations pouring out of his mouth like a flippant whistle. Dieyeli raised an eyebrow, glaring at the painted face of his companion. His forehead pulsed under the skin, and his gritted teeth rubbed together in a menacing tone.
"Not you, you're a good baldy."
Only the dead are good baldies — a barbed mockery and an eye roll were returned to the growling middle-aged man of Mediterranean descent.
"Enough!!! Shut up!!!"
Sade, who had lost his patience with his two buffoonish subordinates, slammed the table and yelled. The Triangle Mage's roar quieted the Cross Mages, who exhaled their pent-up frustration. Sade then made a "please, continue" gesture.
Having grown accustomed to the discordant interplay among the three visitors, Needle took a deep breath and delivered the crucial point with a heavy tone:
"Mr. Joly was killed by the kid using an unknown suspicious magic."
Frivolity, resentment, and arrogance all faded from the magicians' faces. Sade, who was now commanding the situation, took another look at the portrait of the young man and began to speak in a quieter, more authoritative voice:
"Tell us the specifics."
While it appeared somewhat unexpected, the mages simply adjusted their attitude from carefree to cautious. It was professional intuition, not a sense of difficulty or reconsideration for the task. Furthermore, the target was still a fledgling, barely hatched, who happened to know some magic. The possibility of losing didn't even exist. However, the cost to achieve victory must be within acceptable limits. To reduce that cost, it was essential to fully understand and analyze the enemy's information and then formulate the most appropriate tactic. Thus, a fascinating hunt was about to begin.
The rituals would be magnificent, with a pitiful lamb being pursued and toyed with to fulfill the hunters' sadistic desires before becoming the best offering for the underworld.
Under the dim light flickering from the oil lamp, the hyenas smiled with their mouths wide open.
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Little Theater Time for Commentary:
Nidhogg: It's commentary time again. Can you tell us, Li Lin, how are levels of magicians determined?
Li Lin: Magicians are classified by the level of mana they can manipulate to form spells. The more complex the spells they can construct, the higher their level.
Nidhogg: And what are the signs of their levels?
Li Lin: They are geometric shapes. The lowest level, apprentices, only have a blank circular badge. After officially becoming a magician, one is given their initial badge representing "one," a single straight line. Continuing in succession, higher ranks are cross, triangle, quadrangle, pentangle, hexagon, heptagon, and octagon. The highest rank is the golden-rimmed circle, also known as the "Ninth Circle".
Nidhogg: That concludes today's commentary!
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PS: We have a cover now! Thanks to the production team! We got a strong recommendation on the genre channel! Thanks to all the readers who have supported this book! Thank you, editor!