A Talentless Mage Devours a Disaster-Class Future - Chapter 41

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

Chapter 41

The twilight hour had settled in.
A carriage rolled through the gates of the manor.

“Welcome home, Miss. You’re late this evening.”
“Practice ran long.”
“Shall I prepare dinner—”
“A bath first.”
“I’ll have it ready at once.”

Clip-clop, clip-clop—

The manor of Aria Di Valera, the Golden Star of Exion.

She descended from the carriage, her hair catching the fading light as she crossed the threshold.

Her steps were lighter than usual.
Without thinking, a faint smile had bloomed at the corners of her mouth.

Before she could grasp the door handle, Aria noticed the smile on her own face and blinked, startled at herself.

Since deciding to join that chaotic kingdom endeavor, one word had haunted her: why.

Why had she indulged in such an absurdity?
Why hadn’t she simply refused?
Why had she remained in Exion all this time, fabricating excuses about postponing her performance?

Of course, setting that aside, these past few days spent drilling in coordination for the Bosco combat assessment had been the most foreign experience of Aria’s life.

There were no nobles fawning over her, watching her every move. There was no flawless stage demanding perfection down to the millimeter.

In fact, the group was nothing but a living embodiment of shortcomings.

Darren, who stammered and fidgeted through every sentence, and Vera, who wielded barbed remarks through a teddy bear’s mouth.

Cassius, rattling on between them with exaggerated theatrical gestures that kept the energy alive.

And then Aion, who remained serene and quiet even amidst all the chaos.

These past weeks had crashed into Aria like a tempest in a teacup—vast, resounding.

To others’ eyes, compared to the stages she ordinarily graced, it might appear infinitely trivial.

But not to her.

Every moment when her heart swelled and she wrestled earnestly with thought—they sparkled like jewels.

Even the precious gems she’d always been given paled against these moments.

Aria loosened her confining clothes and changed into everyday wear before her bath.

She emerged into the hall and stood waiting, covering a yawn as preparations were made.

Though her schedule had grown tiring, she had never once found it tedious.

Her butler approached her slowly and began to speak.

“Your bath is ready, miss.”
“Thank you.”

He bowed lightly, placing a hand over his chest.

And in that instant,

Aria spotted a small slip of paper wedged between the butler’s white gloves.

Slip—

“Today was exhausting, but thanks to you, I think I can rest well.”
“…I merely fulfill my duty.”

She offered him her hand in acknowledgment of his service before stepping alone into the bath chamber.

The household staff lined up to follow Aria into the bathing room.

“Miss, allow us to assist with your bath—”
“That won’t be necessary. I’ll manage alone tonight.”
“But—”
“No one is to enter.”
“…Very well.”

Aria slipped into the bath to avoid the gazes of the servants arrayed behind her, then carefully unfolded the scrap of paper she held in her palm.

The butler’s precise script contained only two sentences.

— Madam Amelie will soon arrive in Exion. It appears one of her informants is hidden among the household staff.

Crinkle. The paper crumpled limply in Aria’s fingers.

Her hand trembled so violently she could barely fold it.

Madam Amelie.
The moment those three syllables struck her mind, the warmth that had suffused her blood moments before drained away like a lie, leaving only ice.

“Why…”

The word that had only recently taken root in her heart began to mutate into something else.

Something dark and murky.

Why was Madam Amelie coming.
Why now, of all times.

Aria slowly lifted her head. The spirited, vivacious face of a teenage girl had vanished without a trace.

Translucent, pallid skin; violet eyes so serene that no emotion could be read from them.

She had become again what she was perfectly crafted to be—a cold, fragile glass ornament of her House.

“If this continues…”

A cruel choice had been forced upon her.

***

Friday afternoon. A dilapidated cottage on the northern edge of Mistyveil Forest.

“…….”

Squeak, squeak—

Aion wiped down a shelf in the corner of the cabin in silence. He’d come here on a Friday afternoon to fulfill his contract with Professor Rowell.

“Haaaaaaah….”
“…Do you always yawn like that?”
“It’s just how it comes out.”

The Elf Mage, the cabin’s owner, buried deep in an armchair, let out the most languid yawn imaginable.

The book she’d been reading moments before lay carelessly draped across her face—she looked less like a Grand Mage and more like someone for whom everything was a bother.

Swish—

As Aion wiped, he picked up a peculiar Horned Cup from the shelf’s edge, its surface etched with strange markings.
The moment his fingers touched it to dust it off:

Ding—!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
[!] You have made contact with an object imbued with mysterious power.
[!] Magical Power increases by 1.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Aion’s hand froze.

‘…My Magical Power went up just from touching it?’

Everything in the cabin was equally extraordinary.

Whenever he handled them under the guise of cleaning, Yggdrasil would respond and nudge his stats upward, however minutely.

“Don’t touch that carelessly.”

As Aion examined the cup from every angle, the Elf Mage’s drowsy voice drifted across from where her book still covered her face.

“…Is it a dangerous object?”
“Not for me. But it is for you.”

Thunk—

Aion hastily set the cup down, struggling to maintain his composure.

The Elf Mage brushed the book from her face and let out a soft chuckle.
The one eye visible beyond her blindfold gleamed with peculiar interest toward Aion.

“Little one.”

She rested her chin on her hand and asked,

“What made you decide to become a mage?”
“…Why are you asking that?”
“Just because. It seems only proper, as this cabin’s owner, that I know what sort of person sweeps and cleans my place.”

Aion paused his cleaning and fell into thought. He harbored no grand ideals or sense of mission to save the world.

In the barren frozen wastes of the North, his desire to become a mage had stemmed from a certain past event.

“…I made a promise to someone.”
“A promise?”
“To become a mage. I promised.”
“You have to keep that promise, no matter what?”
“Yes.”

Aion’s answer came flat and spare.
She nodded slightly, as if the reply pleased her.

“I see. Now I understand why someone with such mediocre talent resolved to become a mage.”

The assessment was cutting, yet Aion’s expression remained unchanged.

It was the truth, after all.

She leaned forward slightly. Her uncovered eye, visible beyond the edge of her blindfold, bored into Aion with penetrating intensity.

“Then what is your reason for learning magic?”

Aion’s brow furrowed faintly.

“Did I not just tell you?”
“That’s why you became a mage.”
“…Isn’t that the same thing?”
“Same words, but different meaning.”

She flicked her fingers lightly.

Tap.

The flames beneath the stew pot bubbling over the brazier shifted to blue in response to her gesture, adjusting their heat.

“You’re already a mage. What is a mage, anyway? If you can use magic, you’re a mage.”
“…”
“But how you grow through magic is a different matter altogether. Which kind of mage you become, in a sense…”

A faint smile played at the corners of the Elf Mage’s mouth.

“Magic—don’t you find it fascinating?”
“Not particularly…”
“You don’t give it much thought? You’ve never wondered about it?”

Aion gazed down at his own palms in silence.

The sensation of piercing a target two hundred meters away through magic; the memory of felling the Salamander in a dire situation.

Though he had learned these skills for survival, that vertiginous exhilaration he felt when that power took shape beneath his control was unmistakably vivid.

The Elf Mage turned her gaze from Aion to the forest and spoke.

“Perhaps you’ll understand soon enough.”

Whether she was recalling her own past through him remained unclear.

“Yourself.”

***

Days later, at last—the long-awaited day of the Bosco combat evaluation.

The courtyard in front of the training hall where Arcane Soul stood had no room to set foot, crowded as it was from the early morning.

“There are an unusually large number of spectators today. It’s just the basic evaluation for first-years, after all.”
“Isn’t that understandable? This year’s new cohort is quite exceptional. Everyone’s come to see for themselves.”

The air thrummed with elegant yet fervent murmurs, not unlike those drifting through a glittering salon of high society.

The upperclassmen had gathered to assess the heirs of notable houses, while the younger students came to gauge their peers’ abilities. Refined conversation flowed here and there.

A Basic Magical Combat lecture ordinarily wouldn’t draw such a crowd, but Donabel’s reputation as the instructor had drawn far more attention than usual.

Perhaps because her evaluation methods were perfectly suited to entertainment spectacle.

“That too—but isn’t the real draw Dorothy, the young lady of House von Meyer?”
“Ah, the granddaughter of Archmage Granbel? Of course everyone’s eyes would be fixed on her.”

The murmuring had not abated in the slightest.

“Did you hear? Aria Di Valera—the star of Calion—is supposedly competing today?”
“What? Where? I don’t see her.”
“She hasn’t arrived yet, I suppose. Strange, that.”

It was precisely as this refined fervor—carrying meaning far beyond a mere test—permeated the entire training hall

“…Huh?”
“Look, there!!”

The crowd parted like the Red Sea at the entrance, and in an instant the murmuring ceased.

“It’s, it’s Leonhardt!”
“The Student Council officers….”
“Why is the Student Council president here….”
“Marcel! And Iris too!”

Leonhardt—a third-year with silver hair swept back neatly—entered Arcane Soul with that distinctive, unhurried and cool gait of his.

Flanked by Marcel and Iris, he crossed the threshold at an unhurried pace that somehow commanded absolute attention.

Behind them came several Student Council members and others whose affiliations seemed unclear but whose presence was unmistakably formidable.

“The rookies are quaking.”
“They really are, I miss this place.”

Even the upperclassmen quietly yielded space and averted their gazes before that overwhelming presence.

The group made their way to the second-floor observation seating, where auditing was permitted, and settled in.

Upon seeing them, someone bounded up to the second floor like an eager puppy greeting its master.

“Leonhardt!”

The first to rush out and bow was Mark de Seneyl.

He mustered the most graceful aristocratic smile and stood beside Leonhardt’s party, positioning himself near their seats.

“I never expected you to visit personally for the basic evaluation of us first-years.”
“…Ah, yes. Who was it again?”
“Mark! Mark de Seneyl. We met once before, a long time ago, with my father….”
“Ah… that child from long ago. So you’ve enrolled at Exion.”
“Yes! My evaluation is scheduled for today.”
“Yeah. Keep your head up.”

Leonhardt turned his gaze downward and replied flatly.
Marcel and Iris sat on either side of Leonhardt, making it difficult for Mark to continue the conversation. Just then, a senior student from the row behind brought up a different topic.

“That little kid is Granbel’s granddaughter? She looks weak though?”
“I heard she’s on the verge of reaching the 4th Layer?”
“…What? Really? What kind of monster is she….”
“Isn’t she stronger than you?”
“Look, experience is a thing, you know? Want me to recite just how terrifying my track record is?”

Mark stood quietly, unable to intrude on their conversation, watching for an opening.

Then someone seated behind asked Leonhardt a question.

“Leon, where’s this person you’re keeping an eye on? I don’t see anyone particularly standing out.”

At those words, the muscles in Mark’s jaw suddenly tightened.

“I’m not sure… hasn’t he arrived yet? I don’t see him.”

Iris pointed toward the entrance of Arcane Soul as she spoke.

“Senior, look there.”
“Oh, he’s here. That one.”
“The naked guy?”
“Not him—the handsome one with black hair.”
“Ah, I see him. He does look decent.”

Mark glanced toward the entrance of Arcane Soul, reading the situation.

A man entering with a composed expression.

“Aion… Iscar.”

Grind—

Whether Mark ground his teeth or not, Leonhardt raised his hand lightly in greeting toward Aion.

Aion responded with a slight bow, then fixed his gaze straight ahead.

“…How cold.”
“Don’t despair, Senior Leon.”
“I’m rooting for your love.”
“It’s not love, so please don’t comfort me?”
“Hmm….”

After grasping the turn of events, Mark suppressed his anger and spoke to Leonhardt.

“If I….”
“……?”
“If I defeat him, can I join the Student Council?”

As Leonhardt’s eyes widened in response, Marcel tried to stop him.

“Hey, what are you….”
“No, that’s actually a good idea?”
“…Senior?”

Leonhardt’s eyes curved like crescents as he spoke to Mark.

“Try it. Go on.”

The Talentless Mage Devours Catastrophic Futures — Chapter 41

Author
Wang Mozhi
Publisher
Daon Creative
Planning / Editing / Production
Yeon
Cover
Dalli

UCI
G720:N+A036-20260706063.0041

© 2026. Wang Mozhi

※ This e-book is a work protected by the copyright law of the Republic of Korea.
No part or all of the contents of this work may be reprocessed in any form without permission from the author and publisher.

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————