A lifespan slowly being chipped away, and a sense of helplessness unable to resist even slightly.
Life at the Bohemirn Magic Tower was despair itself.
But that didn't mean he denied the path he had walked.
'I am a Mage.'
A group that seeks to uncover the mysteries of magic.
And not limited to magic alone, but a researcher who pursues the veiled unknown. That was the essence Verden was born with and had honed.
Then, before him appeared an orc possessing characteristics never before reported.
The bounty was important too, but as a researcher, curiosity was piqued. Of course, had it been dangerous, he would have erased it without hesitation — but the result, as seen.
The corpse had been secured cleanly.
Creaaak.
A rusty door opened, and Verden stepped inside.
A storage room for byproducts of the Adventurers' Guild.
Normally, a guild staff member must accompany anyone in, but Verden, having had his identity guaranteed by Lord Pythe, was allowed entry alone.
'The smell isn't pleasant.'
Verden frowned and looked around.
In one corner, something was wrapped in a large cloth. Stains were smeared all over, and it felt too unpleasant to touch, so he used magic to lift the cloth.
A Clown Orc with one wrist severed.
The once-frozen body had thawed, but the temperature remained cold.
'Was the cloth itself a magic item?'
It was too filthy to tell. Just how long had it been used?
Anyway, as the guild master had said, there were no signs of decay. Immediately, Verden floated the Clown Orc's corpse in midair and examined it carefully.
"The eye color and overall appearance aren't particularly unusual... the difference must be this mouth and massive physique."
Orc Warrior, or Orc Lord, perhaps.
The Clown Orc's traits were far removed from such higher species. It even had lower intelligence.
It was more accurate to consider it a variant that had deviated from the standard evolutionary process.
"Hm..."
But something about that conclusion didn't sit right.
Normally, such cases are classified as special entities, and such beings possess power that far exceeds the norm — enough to destroy a small territory like this in an instant.
Compared to that, the Clown Orc's abilities were pitiful.
'Its power came from consumption... would dissection reveal something?'
That thought crossed his mind, but he shook his head.
That field had never been Verden's specialty to begin with. He had neither the intent nor opportunity to learn it. And above all, it simply didn't suit his tastes.
Verden resumed observing.
He memorized the traits — the excessively developed teeth and the flexible esophagus. Once something enters the world, the more knowledge one has about demi-humans, the better.
Then —
"...A scar?"
On the top of the orc's head.
A very small scar, easy to miss. Narrowing his eyes, he examined it closely. As if cut with a blade, the straight line was precise and clean.
'Why wasn't this healed?'
Verden recalled the essence of regeneration.
Regeneration is the power to restore the body to a previous state — even severed limbs can be healed. Yet such a small scar remained. It made no sense.
Wait.
If that's the case...
'Did the regeneration ability emerge after this scar appeared?'
Is that possible?
But it was right in front of him.
Verden thought flexibly.
He proposed several possibilities and linked them to the location of the scar. He questioned and answered himself about the idea that had come to mind.
Why is the scar still here? Because the regeneration appeared after it was made.
Why the crown of the head?
He didn't know. But from the appearance, it looked like an incision.
Can a demi-human, who has not undergone evolution, acquire abilities after birth?
According to all known records, it was impossible.
Bringing all this together, only one strong hypothesis remained.
"Someone artificially created a variant..."
This was the conclusion Verden arrived at.
It wasn't particularly special. Anyone who had worked at the Magic Tower or studied ancient history would have come across this kind of experiment in theory.
The only problem was, it had led to the deaths of thousands, and had since been eternally forbidden.
'Even Bohemirn Magic Tower didn't conduct that experiment... who the hell did something like this?'
Lost in thought, Verden returned the Clown Orc to its original position.
There were no leads, so thinking further would be a waste of time. And while Verden's theory was plausible, it couldn't be said to be absolutely correct.
Perhaps by sheer chance, the creature was born with a scar that looked like a knife wound.
'No need to report this to the guild.'
He couldn't go causing a fuss over something he wasn't certain of.
If it becomes a real issue, that's the job of whoever is dispatched by the Adventurers' Guild. No true expert would overlook what Verden had thought of — at least, not if they were competent.
Verden returned to the lord's castle.
Even after several days, the guild remained quiet.
***
During a short rest, Verden focused on magic.
Now that his tier had risen, he needed a new battle style to match. It was a necessary step.
And on the day he left the territory:
◇ Ring of Circulation
⦁ Slight increase in mana capacity
⦁ Small increase in mana recovery speed
"...I've been given too much."
Verden looked at the various equipment laid out on the bed.
A ring and a staff, both magic items, and even a robe made from the hide of a magic beast. All of it had belonged to a thief named Vilshen.
The robe had been badly damaged, but Lord Pythe had it repaired to fit Verden's body. These were items of considerable value, yet the lord had shown no greed.
'And then there's the 3 million Elk reward, the 2 million Elk bounty for the Clown Orc, and even the bounty on the thief, he said he'd give me all of it.'
While it was certainly less than the damage that would've been done to the territory if those two had been left unchecked, it still felt like too much for one person.
Perhaps it was partly a reward for saving the knights and soldiers, but that couldn't be the only reason.
'Is it to establish a connection?'
After all, nobles are beings who are sensitive to profit and loss. Even in acts of generosity, there are meticulous calculations.
Verden accepted the favor without refusal.
After preparing himself, he looked into the mirror.
Wearing the clothes gifted by Conrad and the thief's robe, with a staff tucked at his waist, he looked very much the Mage.
Verden left his room early in the morning and headed for the castle gates.
Knight Enok and Conrad had come to see him off.
"You didn't have to come all the way out here."
"Not at all. You're our savior — this is the least we can do."
"I also came to check one thing. That document, you brought it, right?"
What Enok referred to was the proof of the thief's subjugation.
With that alone, Verden could claim the bounty without needing any formal request. It bore Lord Pythe's official seal, so losing it would be dangerous.
It wasn't easy to forge, but not entirely impossible either. If it got forged, the lord's reputation would suffer immensely.
"Of course. As long as I'm alive, there's no risk of losing it."
"...You don't need to go as far as staking your life on it. In any case, I'm relieved to hear that."
The three of them shared casual conversation and exchanged farewells once more, as they had the day before.
As Verden's figure gradually disappeared into the distance, Conrad shouted after him.
"Lord Asher! If you ever visit the Con Merchant Guild, be sure to mention my name! You won't be disappointed!"
Verden simply waved behind him in reply.
***
Verden soared into the sky and flew in a straight line. Thanks to reaching 3rd-tier, there was no need to speak any incantations.
'Still not quite used to it, though.'
It was difficult to sustain for long durations, but if he moved only in straight paths, he could travel quite efficiently. Of course, with his immense magic power, he could sustain flight longer than most without needing to conserve.
Most of all, the freedom to move alone was what he liked best.
'They said it takes about five days by carriage to reach the city.'
At his current speed, three days would be more than enough.
Verden mainly traveled by day and slept atop trees at night. Thanks to the magic circles he placed around, he didn't need a night watch.
On the night of the second day, he arrived at the only village between the city and the barony.
He planned to rest here for the night and head for the city the next day.
Having had no proper place to wash along the way, he felt quite grimy and quickly secured a room at an inn. Perhaps used to travelers, no one in the village gave him strange looks.
'...This is inedible.'
Whatever cooking method had been used, the chicken was so dry it felt like chewing tree bark. He spat it out onto the plate and washed his mouth with ale.
Instead, he filled his stomach with jerky he'd received from the lord's castle and looked around.
Some people in the inn looked noticeably troubled.
'What's going on?'
Not the kind of expressions you'd expect from villagers in a peaceful countryside. Among them were two men speaking seriously.
Sound travels through the medium of air. By manipulating it, one could hear distant conversations as if they were right beside them.
Verden quietly focused his ears.
"...Damn it, what the hell is this suffering because of those goblin bastards. They even took our livestock, and now we have to pay good money to hire adventurers? We could've handled it ourselves if we teamed up."
"If we get hurt, it's a loss, a loss. Didn't the village chief always say? Everyone has their own area of expertise. Goblin subjugation isn't our job, it's for adventurers. Just wait until tomorrow morning, then it'll all be over, so stop complaining."
"Hmph. Still, it's a waste."
Goblins are vermin.
They start small — stealing things, then escalate to attacking people and stealing or eating them. If there are just one or two, it's no problem. But when they reach dozens, they become dangerous.
If they manage to steal weapons like daggers, they can butcher a few people in an instant.
The best response is immediate action through adventurers as soon as signs of trouble are found.
'A common enough case.'
He lost interest.
But just as he was about to dispel the magic, something strange came from the men's mouths.
"...By the way, is that rumor true? That the hunter saw a monster in the forest?"
"Shh, shh! Didn't the chief say not to talk about it...!"
"Come on, who's going to hear? We're far enough away. I'm just curious — give me a little hint. You're close to the hunter, aren't you?"
With a sigh, one of the men cupped his mouth and spoke quietly.
"So... the hunter said he was catching rabbits and accidentally saw a monster bigger than a person. He got scared and hid behind a tree, just peeked a little, and said its mouth was horribly torn wide open."
"Its... its mouth was torn? What the hell... he didn't just mistake it for an orc?"
"I asked him that too, but he swore it wasn't. It was the size of an orc, but its face looked like a goblin, or something like that. Luckily, he escaped unharmed, but looks like he won't be going into the forest for a while. Anyway, this is a secret. The chief said if this spreads, we'll have to pay the adventurer extra."
'A torn mouth?'
The Clown Orc he killed not long ago came to mind.
Since there'd been no further word from the Adventurers' Guild, he had started to wonder if he'd been overthinking it.
But now, something similar had been spotted again.
'...They said tomorrow morning, didn't they?'
Verifying a hypothesis.
That was a researcher's instinct.