"Nightmare…"
One of the six great magical legions under the Pranman Empire. Did that mean the black-haired man treating her wounds—Slowe—was one of the world's top combat forces?
"Yes, the Nightmare Legion." Slowe placed his hand on the buttons of her outerwear. "May I remove it?"
Amora: "…"
"Fine, if it bothers you, we can wait until you're ashore and have a servant handle it." Slowe appeared accommodating. His style was strikingly similar to Menger's: meticulous, stern, and never one for unnecessary words. He returned to the medicine cabinet, searching for a bone-healing potion, but the selection seemed lacking.
"Was Menger your spy planted in the Emerald Halberd?" Amora asked.
If Slowe and Menger were colleagues, then Menger must have been working for the Nightmare Legion. Over a decade ago, Menger had joined the Emerald Halberd to contribute to the development of the Root System. Yet, as it neared completion, he defected with critical research data. But if he belonged to Nightmare, why didn't he hand over the research directly to the legion? Why had he chosen to secretly continue his studies in a remote border town?
Amora suspected there was more to the relationship between Nightmare, the Emerald Halberd, and Menger than met the eye.
Slowe began preparing a makeshift potion, a process that would take some time. He pulled out a thin blanket and draped it over Amora. "That's classified military information. Also, don't refer to your father like that."
"Menger isn't my…" Amora hesitated, finding it difficult to even utter the word "father."
Slowe gently swirled the mixture in his hand and spoke calmly, "Menger, Father, or the late Mister Menger—take your pick. It's nothing shameful to acknowledge a familial connection. Be more open-minded about it."
Amora keenly picked up on his use of the phrase "familial connection." "Are you saying I share a legal kinship with Menger? Do I have identification records?"
"I'll handle that for you… How about 'child of a martyr'?" Slowe's potion began bubbling violently with green foam, looking revolting. But as the bubbles burst, the liquid inside turned as clear as distilled water.
"…Not interested." Amora resolved never to associate herself with Menger again.
"A martyr's child gets excellent benefits: free basic education and healthcare, a monthly stipend from the Nightmare Legion's finance department, and housing is taken care of too. These perks even extend for two generations—your children…" Slowe explained the perks of being tied to the Nightmare Legion with professional seriousness, setting the distilled water-like potion aside and skillfully working on another formula.
"No, thank you. I don't need any of that. I just need legal identification," Amora interjected, then added, "And could you help me remove this collar?"
Slowe's hands froze mid-action. He adjusted his glasses, fixing his gaze on her. "Remove it?"
"Yes… the God's Domain." Amora closed her eyes, her voice weary.
"Why?" Slowe's tone posed a question, but there wasn't much surprise in it. After all, he found it entirely unsurprising for someone to loathe Menger.
Amora answered honestly, "It's altering my consciousness."
"So what? It's just a minor adjustment," Slowe replied indifferently, his tone akin to reasoning with an unreasonable child. "Everything changes your consciousness. Seeing flowers brings joy, seeing manure disgusts you. Unless you remove your brain entirely, everything influences you, and it's precisely these countless changes that shape who you are now."
Amora suddenly felt this man was far more articulate than Menger. No wonder his rank was higher. She replied calmly, "You're practically a philosopher."
"Magical theory and philosophy are alike," Slowe said, his beautiful eyes obscured by the reflective glare of his glasses as he resumed mixing his potion. "It draws inspiration from all disciplines and applies itself across all fields. It's a tool for seeking the world's truths."
Amora no longer knew how to respond.
"The God's Domain cannot be removed." Slowe poured the concocted reagents into a large beaker, and they began reacting slowly, bubbling softly. "The collar is merely an external device. The system has already integrated itself. I mean, the God's Domain is now embedded within your consciousness."
Amora had anticipated the worst-case scenario, but hearing Slowe confirm it still left her feeling a wave of despair.
"Is there no way? Not even for the Nightmare Legion? Don't you want to take it for research?!" she fired off a string of questions, her voice rising steadily. Before she could completely lose control, Slowe pressed a cold glass vial against her forehead.
Her voice cut off instantly. Slowe removed the vial and said calmly, "If you had a tenth of your father's composure, that would be enough."
The chill from the vial seeped into her skin. Breathing in the minty scent lingering in the air, Amora closed her eyes and fell silent.
"I can tell you definitively that the Nightmare Legion has no interest in pursuing such research." Slowe appeared rational to the point of coldness as he mixed the beaker's contents with the chilled liquid from the vial. The result was a curious grayish-yellow substance, murky like muddy water. Whether it was meant for injection or ingestion, she couldn't tell.
He divided the mixture into several test tubes, allowing the reactions to finish, which would take considerable time. Sitting by the lab bench, resting his head on his hand, he observed Amora. "The God's Domain is a single-user system. It's exorbitantly costly and demands an extremely specific user profile. No magical legion would develop along this path. Right now, the six most advanced magical legions on the continent are all focused on systems like the Root System, which are shared-use models. Thanks to Menger, the Emerald Halberd has progressed the furthest."
"The golden age of solo combat magicians is long over. Ever since the last magical revolution introduced Sky Fortresses, we've entered the era of magical legions. No matter how brilliant a prodigy is, they can't compare to thousands of interconnected minds. Even if you could construct hundreds of magical formulas in a second, what of it? We have billions of minds thinking together, billions of magical system branches operating simultaneously."
"The God's Domain might be the work of genius, but it isn't aligned with the current era."
Slowe's final verdict resonated deeply with Amora. The more fantastical something seemed, the less practical it might be—she needed no further proof than the system's antiquated chant-based spellcasting.
Amora felt a sense of bleakness. "I understand… So, no one will continue researching it or find a way to extract it from my consciousness?"
"You can do it yourself," Slowe replied, raising an eyebrow as he checked the temperature of the vials. Not fully cooled yet, he resumed talking to Amora. "Or, when you have money and power, you could buy the most advanced laboratory and hire the most talented magicians to work for you."
"…Thank you for the suggestion," Amora replied, finding it impractical. However, Slowe appeared well-meaning. He seemed indifferent to both Menger and his research; after all, the Nightmare Legion wasn't short of geniuses, and their magical systems weren't lagging behind the Emerald Halberd's.
As Slowe expressed, the era had become so vast that individuals seemed insignificant. Only collective strength could bring about profound changes.
"All set," Slowe said, rising to his feet. He picked up the vials and waved them before Amora. "Bone healing accelerants. Just finished mixing them."
The contents looked cloudy. Amora guessed it wasn't for injection, perhaps topical application.
"It's a topical solution—apply it here and there." Slowe shook the vial again, and Amora suddenly understood why he'd suggested earlier that she remove her clothes.
"…"
"Embarrassed? Then wait until you're ashore and have someone else apply it. Currently, there are three men and a stallion on this ship—not the most convenient situation for a young lady." Placing the vials down, Slowe turned and left the lab, casually adding, "I'll go fetch a wheelchair for you."
Hearing "three men and a stallion," Amora felt an indescribable mix of emotions. Despite Slowe's stern and scholarly demeanor, he had moments of startling bluntness.
After some time, Slowe returned, pushing a wheelchair. Amora wondered why such a thing would be aboard a ship.
Slowe adjusted the wheelchair's backrest slightly, as if reading her mind. He explained, "This is a cruise ship. Many facilities are designed for passengers with mobility challenges, including wheelchairs and dedicated access ramps."
Recalling the bumpy ride on the carriage, Amora thought how considerate and luxurious transportation for the wealthy could be.
Slowe set the wheelchair to the appropriate height and extended his hands toward her. Amora noticed a faint glow on his glasses; the God's Domain system had captured the magical constructs he was using. It was a gravity-defying spell, commonly employed for handling delicate instruments.
Amora felt herself gently lifted into the air.
The transition was incredibly smooth, with no discomfort. The spell perfectly neutralized gravity and guided her into the wheelchair without any energy leakage. From Amora's perspective, Slowe's efficiency and speed were unattainable; he was an adult with a fully developed consciousness space. It was, overall, a textbook example of flawless spellcasting.
He had used only two spells so far, both anti-gravity types, and both executed with jaw-dropping perfection.
"This is about practice. If you use magic as often as I do, reflect after every use, and make adjustments, you'll eventually match my proficiency," Slowe said, displaying a keen ability to observe and respond—a quality utterly absent in Menger.
"Thank you for the advice," Amora replied, realizing she indeed needed a great deal of practice, especially given the unique system of the God's Domain. Without effort, nothing could be achieved. Magical theory, combat, and life itself followed this truth. Amora might fear bleeding, but she never shied away from hard work, knowing full well what it could earn her.
"You might need more than just practice," Slowe said, his tone laced with implication. "Menger was undoubtedly a towering figure in academia, but I'm certain he wasn't a good teacher."
Slowe's words struck a chord with Amora, sounding perfectly reasonable and irrefutable. Of course, Menger wasn't a good teacher; she had proven this with her life over the past decade. The lunatic's only teaching method was solitary confinement.
"And you?" Amora asked respectfully, following his lead. "I imagine you must be an excellent educator?"
Before boarding, Conner had addressed him as "Professor Slowe." If her guess was correct, this man was likely an academic military strategist with strong connections in the educational system.