The afternoon sun floods the room with golden light, but it does nothing to soften my scowl. A mountain of papers looms before me, imposing, almost mocking.
Seriously, who still uses paper documents in this day and age? They're bulky, take up space, and are a nightmare for lazy types like me.
I let out a sigh worthy of a tragic hero. "Why isn't all this digital?" I grumble, casting an imploring glance at Aunt Libel.
She sits across from me in an armchair, wearing that stern expression that says: You're not getting out of this, dear.
"Stop complaining and get to work," she says, rolling her eyes. "The sooner you choose your right-hand man, the sooner you can go back to slacking off."
Her words echo in my tired brain. The sooner it's done, the sooner I can slack off. Now that's a compelling argument.
I lean forward, grab the first paper from the top of the pile, and then… I freeze.
I narrow my eyes and look at Libel with suspicion. "This is a trap, isn't it?"
She raises an eyebrow, feigning innocence. But I know my aunt far too well.
She's fully aware of how tempted I am to rush through this and pick anyone just to get it over with. She must've accounted for that.
I squint at the pile as if it holds some unsolvable mystery.
And then, it hits me. "Oh, Aunt Libel, I see your game. You probably put your favorites at the top of the pile, betting I wouldn't have the patience to read all the profiles."
A sly smile spreads across her face, and she places a hand on her forehead. "Sometimes I forget you can think."
I decide to take that as a compliment—even if it doesn't really sound like one.
Libel points to the profile I'm holding halfheartedly. "Look at that one. Trust me, they're the perfect candidate."
I shrug, skeptical. But hey, it's my aunt. Let's humor her and do her this one favor.
I open the folder with a dubious frown. If this mountain of paperwork can disappear after this, I'll be willing to believe anything she says.
I let out yet another sigh, this one long and heavy with theatrical despair.
The folder sits in my hands, my fingers nervously fidgeting with the corner of the paper. My eyes land on the photo at the top. A woman. Beautiful, actually. Too beautiful, even, to be in a guild of mages.
Seriously, we're supposed to spend our time hunting monsters and defusing curses, not strutting down a red carpet. And yet, here's this face—so perfect it looks like it belongs in a fairy tale.
"Let's see…" I mutter, narrowing my eyes to focus on the details.
But my gaze lingers on her features for a moment too long. She has that kind of beauty that lights up an entire room, the kind that could distract you even in the middle of a battlefield. Honestly, her face reminds me of a sunrise—that precise moment when everything is calm, when the first rays chase away the darkness of night. A sunrise that almost makes you forget it's six in the morning, you're exhausted, and all you want is to stay under the covers.
My eyes drop to the name printed just below the photo: Lina Darnel. Not bad. Simple, elegant, and memorable.
I pause for a second, thoughtful. A beauty like this as my right-hand woman… It could be interesting. Like having a personal work of art in my office. Maybe it'd even motivate me to get things done. Or, more likely, it'd just distract me even more.
I tilt my head slightly, weighing the pros and cons. Not bad, Aunt Libel, not bad. Maybe you really do know what I need.
But cruel, unrelenting reality snaps me back to the present.
I force myself to shake off the daydream. This isn't a beauty contest or a casting call for a romantic movie. What I need is someone who can deal with me on a daily basis—and, ideally, do all the work while never complaining.
Reluctantly, I tear my eyes away from the photo and dive into the technical details. The first line catches my attention: Rank A Mage. Magic Type: Lightning.
Impressive. Powerful magic, useful in almost any situation.
But is that enough? My mind starts to drift again, bringing back memories of my last mission.
A shiver runs down my spine as memories flood back—those endless hours trudging through plains, forests teeming with hostile creatures, and treacherous mountains. And for what? To reach a place a simple teleportation spell could've gotten me to in seconds. The frustration wells up, sharp and bitter, as I relive that maddening experience.
"No." The word bursts from my lips, sharp and unrestrained.
I set Lina's folder aside, like letting go of a dream that's too good to be true. Sorry, Lina. You're perfect, but without teleportation, it's a no.
Without wasting another second, I dive back into the stack of profiles, determined to unearth the one—the ideal candidate. The papers flutter under my fingers, each telling a different story.
Fire mages, ice mages, even a mud mage? Seriously? Who puts that on a resume?
Still nothing. Not a single profile mentions teleportation. I start to wonder if this is some elaborate prank Aunt Libel cooked up to test my patience. And honestly, if that's the case, she's about to win.
"Aunt Libel, tell me you've hidden a teleportation mage in here somewhere. If not, I'm quitting. Right now."
She rolls her eyes, her expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. "Maybe if you actually read the profiles, you'd find them faster."
"Very funny, Aunt Libel. Hilarious," I shoot back, my tone as sour as my mood.
With a resigned sigh, I keep flipping through the pile. My determination wavers with every page, but I refuse to give up. No matter how many profiles I have to sift through, no matter how many useless mages I have to discard, I will find the teleportation mage. Because, let's face it, they're my only hope of surviving my own laziness.
After what feels like an eternity, there it is—a lone profile. The last glimmer of hope in this bureaucratic mountain of despair. And yet, everything in me screams to quit.
What's the point? None of the other candidates have lived up to my expectations. Not one has even a hint of teleportation skills.
"Seriously, Aunt Libel, what's your plan here?" I throw at her, my voice edged with frustration.
I avert my gaze, trying to hold it together. But exhaustion wins out, and a tear escapes, tracing a warm path down my cheek. Yes, I'm crying. So what? Being me is exhausting sometimes.
That's when Aunt Libel's laughter rings out. Not a polite chuckle, no—a full, booming laugh that echoes like a mocking chorus.
"You've got to be kidding me," I say, glaring at her indignantly.
She wipes a tear from her eye, still shaking with laughter.
"Nash, you're so dramatic! But I have to admit, I'm impressed. You actually stuck with it."
I narrow my eyes at her, suspicious.
"Impressed? I'm not!" I say, crossing my arms with a scowl. "There's no one in this guild who can teleport. No one!"
"Are you sure about that?" she asks, her calm tone grating on my nerves.
"Of course I'm sure!" I snap. "I've read all the profiles!"
She points to the last folder, her smile widening.
"All of them?"
I follow her gesture, my eyes landing on the final folder—one I haven't touched yet. My heart clenches, torn between curiosity and the urge to throw in the towel. What if…?
I sigh, raising my hands in surrender.
"Fine, Aunt, I'll open it. But if it's another mud mage or some guy without teleportation magic, I'm leaving this room."
She chuckles softly, but doesn't answer. That only makes me more annoyed.
I reach for the folder, my fingers trembling slightly as I open it, scanning the first page. And then, I freeze.
Name: Liam Kayen.
Rank: A.
Magic Type: Teleportation.
I'm frozen, the words dancing before my eyes like a mirage in the desert. Did I read that right? Is this… real?
"You're kidding me…" I murmur, caught between shock and exhilaration.
Libel crosses her arms and looks at me with a satisfied smile.
"So?"
I keep staring at the folder, still in disbelief.
"You did this on purpose, didn't you?"
She doesn't answer immediately, but her smile says everything.
"Maybe."
I let out a long sigh. I should never have doubted her, but damn, she could've told me sooner!
I gently close the folder, a smile tugging at my lips.
"Alright, Aunt, I think I've found my right-hand man."
To be continued!
Next Chapter: Meeting between Master and Assistant (1)