I Became A Thief Who Steals Overpowered Skills - Chapter 61

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 61. Dorothy

Splash!

Aslan felt the cold waters of the Lake seeping through his entire body.

The scorching sensation from passing through the flame wall had faded, and as he finally drew a breath of relief, the clash of blades rang out from above the surface.

Krash was buying time against Adolf.

He couldn’t understand why Krash would go so far for him.

Krash had mentioned before that he possessed a skill capable of stealing the Woleum Body for himself.

Though he couldn’t sense it now, if Krash had truly stolen the Woleum Body just moments ago, then his purpose was already accomplished.

Yet Krash was facing Adolf directly, despite being able to flee.

As a Direct Descendant of Balheim, Adolf wouldn’t want to create conflict with Balheim, so he wouldn’t seriously harm Krash—that much was clear.

Still, there was no reason for Krash to take the risk of confronting Adolf head-on.

‘Could it be…’

For Lirina’s sake?

When Krash spoke with Lirina, the two had seemed quite close.

It was through Lirina that he’d first come to meet Krash, and perhaps there was something between them.

‘I’ll think about that later.’

He didn’t know why Krash was helping him so much.

All that mattered was that this kindness was something he’d be grateful for his entire life.

What he had to do now was make sure that kindness wasn’t wasted—to achieve his purpose.

Aslan hurriedly drew the Spirit King’s Egg and Dorothy’s Crystal from his breast.

Then, in the water, he began slowly pushing Dorothy’s Crystal into the Spirit King’s Egg.

A brilliant flash erupted.

The moment Dorothy’s Crystal was consumed, the Spirit King’s Egg blazed with light.

Witnessing this, Aslan cradled the Spirit King’s Egg tenderly to his chest.

‘Dorothy.’

Despite being the sole Direct Descendant of the Igrit Family because of the Woleum Body, the days long past had been filled with countless humiliations.

Aslan felt himself slowly wearing away.

His mother, Agatha, grew sharper and harsher with each passing day, while his grandfather Adolf had never acknowledged him for a single moment.

No matter what he did, Adolf never once looked his way.

As long as he couldn’t master the Flame Magic of the Igrit Family, he would never be treated as a Direct Descendant of the house.

Under that family’s relentless pressure, something inside Aslan had begun to rot.

And so, in the end, Aslan succumbed to mental exhaustion.

He found everything—not just his magical studies, but nearly every aspect of his life—utterly devoid of meaning.

‘Aslan! What is this attitude of yours right now!’

His mother’s sharp rebuke echoed clearly in his ears.

It was only natural—his progress in the magical studies she always demanded of him had ground to a halt.

Yet even beneath her scolding, Aslan’s mind remained utterly blank.

The mother he had once feared so deeply now felt worthless to him.

Perhaps he even felt pity for her instead.

He understood all too well why his mother—once so kind in his childhood—had become this way.

‘Master Aslan, wouldn’t a change of scenery—a walk, perhaps—do you some good?’

Watching him in this state, Lirina asked with concern.

Her words carried the weight of his devoted lady’s maid, and despite his mental exhaustion, Aslan found himself rising and moving at her gentle urging.

As he passed through a place where verdant trees caught the eye, a figure crossed his vision.

A girl with hair so pale and translucent it seemed to glow with blue light, and eyes like polished crystal.

The girl, whose face was beautiful as if carved from ice itself, sat atop a grassy patch, absorbed in something.

Upon seeing this, Aslan’s feet drew to an unconscious halt.

The girl’s appearance was indeed striking, but what truly captured his attention was what was unfolding in her hands.

Of course it was.

She was casting magic.

And it was a rather pointless sort of magic at that—crafting something minuscule from ice.

Crack!

‘Oh!’

In that moment, the delicate sculpture collapsed under the weight of her failed spell.

Her disappointment was written plainly across her face, and somehow, watching her, Aslan found himself laughing before he could stop it.

‘Heh.’
‘Huh?’

And that laugh carried to the girl’s ears.

Aslan was startled by the realization that he had laughed, and he quickly coughed to cover it.

It was rude to laugh at someone else’s failed spell casting.

The girl seemed to notice it too, her expression turning slightly pouty.

‘Who are you, laughing at me while I cast magic?’
‘Ah, that’s—cough—that’s not what I meant.’

Aslan felt awkward and scratched his head, then approached the girl.

‘Would you like me to help a little with the crafting?’
‘Huh? Are you a mage?’
‘Something like that.’

Aslan couldn’t use Flame Magic, but he knew how to use other types of magic.

So he used the Ice Carving Magic the girl had just attempted, crafting a small horse statue.

The girl’s eyes went wide at the sight.

‘Wow, you’re really good at magic! I keep failing over and over.’
‘It’s nothing special.’
‘So I’m someone who can’t even manage that much?’

The girl had quite a negative way of thinking.

‘The spell formula I used doesn’t look that different from yours. What’s the problem?’

As he spoke, the girl gazed at the horse statue, lost in thought about her own magic.

While it was basic magic, close to fundamental carving work, she had made several mistakes in the formula itself.

She didn’t seem to realize what had gone wrong in that part.

‘Would you… let me teach you a bit?’

Aslan asked somewhat sheepishly, feeling guilty about his earlier laugh, and her eyes sparkled.

‘Really? Then, then could you teach me this one and this, and this too?’

The girl seized the opportunity and quickly pulled books from her bag.

It turned out she was a first-year student at Red Tower Academy.

A failed student—someone who attended the Tower Academy but lacked any talent in magic whatsoever.

Yet she always loved magic, brimming with motivation—Dorothy.

That was their first meeting.

After that, as fate would have it, Aslan began meeting Dorothy every day.

She brought food from a shop she frequented often and shared it with him, while he taught her magic in return.

It was absurd that she was compensating a direct descendant of the Igrit Family by sharing meals, but for some reason Aslan didn’t mind.

He thought it was better to do something than to do nothing at all.

‘Ah, I see! The formula on this side was the mistake.’
‘That’s not the only wrong part—this side and this side were different too.’
‘Who made them wrong?’
‘Of course it’s you, Dorothy.’

Dorothy was, no matter how many times he saw her, quite an unusual Failed Student.

Normally, a Failed Student without talent would grow bored with anything.

Who would persist in effort when no progress came no matter how hard they tried?

She had been ostracized at the magical academy itself, branded as a Failed Student—that was how dire her situation had become.

For a Magician, the inability to wield magic was another way of saying one had no worth.

Yet Dorothy loved magic.

Each time she discovered a new spell, she would come to Aslan and discuss it with genuine delight.

Aslan watched her and found himself lost in thought.

He was cast out by the Igrit Family, treated as worthless simply because he could not master Flame Magic.

Yet Dorothy, who struggled far more with magic than he did, loved it with complete sincerity.

That truth often left him contemplative.

What exactly was he learning magic for? he would wonder.

Then came the day when Aslan fell ill with fever.

He had been going out every morning lately, and it had finally caught up with him.

Aslan lay with his eyes closed, mind blank.

Though he had taken medicine, his body burned with an almost unbearable heat.

It was agonizing.

He longed for something—anything—cool to touch.

But worse than the fever was this helplessness, this sense of lying idle with nothing to do.

It felt as though his very life was speaking to him again: you are powerless.

‘I wonder if Dorothy is waiting.’

The thought surfaced unbidden.

It had become his habit, after all.

Aslan smiled ruefully at the thought of her.

He had promised to teach her magic at this hour every day.

Now that he had broken his promise, he might never see her again.

‘I’m drowning in negative thoughts.’

As that thought crossed his mind, consciousness began to slip away.

Then he felt something profoundly cool against his forehead.

As Aslan’s eyes fluttered open, he caught sight of hair that shimmered between transparency and a pale blue hue.

It was Dorothy.

He wondered how she had made her way into his room, but Dorothy was already occupied wrapping ice she’d conjured with her magic in a handkerchief, working to cool his fever.

‘Do… rothy.’
‘Oh, does it feel better, Aslan?’
‘Much… my forehead’s so cold it’s almost fr… freezing.’

When Aslan, his voice strained by the fever, answered thus, Dorothy thrust out her chest with unwarranted pride.

‘That’s the power of my magic. How about it, Aslan—the magic you taught me is pretty impressive, isn’t it? My magic can help people too.’

At the sight of her, Aslan let out a hollow laugh.

‘Still a long w… way to go.’

At his teasing remark, Dorothy’s expression turned petulant.

But soon she rested her elbows on the edge of his bed and set her chin upon them, beaming.

‘Then get better soon and teach me more. I understand magic best when I’m learning from you.’

Though the Ice Carving Magic on his forehead was undeniably cold, Aslan found that coldness somehow felt like the greatest warmth.

That day, he understood something.

Magic, wielded by the right hand, could bring such warmth to another person.

‘My magic…’

It had existed only to help him survive within the Igrit Family.

But magic’s true nature was not mere falsehood or pretense.

Aslan felt as though he had gained a new understanding.

And perhaps, he thought, he might come to love magic again.

A few days later, once his fever had finally broken, Aslan learned that Lirina had brought Dorothy to visit.

‘Young Master Aslan, doesn’t someone recover faster when their girlfriend stays by their side?’

What a ridiculous misunderstanding that was.

Aslan’s face flushed—a fact he struggled to hide—as he scolded Lirina.

As a result, Lirina found herself on her knees with her arms raised to the heavens, serving her punishment for some time after.

From that day on, Dorothy began visiting Aslan’s home regularly.

With Lirina’s help, she could enter the estate through the front, and she would tap on Aslan’s window to slip inside, learning magic from him.

‘Why do you want to learn magic, Dorothy?’

One day, Aslan posed this question to her.

She had been practicing Wind Magic, channeling it through the barest trickle of mana, when she turned to face him at his words.

‘Fun? Well, that’s why.’

Fun.

Aslan fell silent at this utterly primal reason.

Dorothy’s eyes shone with such pure brightness.

She genuinely loved magic.

For Aslan, who had grown mentally weary of magic, that was a remarkable thing.

‘Then why did you learn magic?’

Dorothy turned the question back on him.

Why he had learned magic.

‘… Because I was born into a renowned magical family.’

Aslan had never once considered why he’d come to learn magic.

Simply because he was a direct descendant of the Igrit Family.

And so he had learned magic.

Or rather, he’d had to.

‘No, that can’t be it. Honestly, magic is hard and complicated, isn’t it? Children don’t want to do things that are difficult and painful. No matter how much people around them push them to try, the world of children revolves around themselves. In the end, they won’t do what they don’t like.’

Dorothy said this and laughed, turning to look at him.

That laughter was beautiful, like an ice flower carved to perfection.

‘Don’t you think you actually enjoyed learning magic?’

Aslan’s eyes blinked.

He’d grown tired of magic long ago.

And yet—enjoyed it?

‘Was there ever a time when I enjoyed learning magic?’

Aslan watched blankly as she ran past with her arms raised, thrilled at mastering the foundational Wind Magic.

Her joy awakened a memory from his own earliest childhood.

‘My dear Aslan, you did so well! This is the magic you can command, and it will be the magic that brightens your life from now on.’

On the day he’d first succeeded at magic, his mother had lifted him into her arms and smiled warmly down at him.

One of the principal reasons a child finds interest and joy in an accomplishment is parental praise.

Agatha showed him new magic every single day and demonstrated it before his eyes.

A brilliant bird of fire soaring through the sky, a stone beetle crawling across the ground, the gentle whistle of wind through grass, a soft sphere made of water.

Every spell Agatha wove was joyful and beautiful.

Every spell was crafted for Aslan’s sake, and so he grew up watching such magic, his heart drawn to it.

Aslan had surely known the joy of magic back then.

He had loved magic.

He had cherished it and delighted in it more than anyone else in the world.

Aslan lifted his head.

Before him, Dorothy raced along in crystalline joy, chasing a paper airplane borne aloft by Wind Magic.

A laugh escaped him.

He had forgotten that there had once been a time when he loved magic more than anyone—that very magic he had come to despise and hate.

‘Aslan!’

Seeing the girl call out his name, Aslan rose from where he stood.

And he was discovering the joy of magic anew.

By meeting this girl called Dorothy.

The wind blew.

From the magic Aslan unleashed, wind surged forth and lifted Dorothy’s paper airplane high into the sky.

A single paper airplane soaring into the blue sky seemed as though it might carry him up to the heavens as well.

‘Dorothy.’
‘Hmm?’
‘I think I like you.’

And so he spoke the words without thinking.

The feeling that had been swelling within him all this time.

Dorothy’s eyes widened at his words, and then she flailed her arms and took a step back.

‘Uh, whoa.’

Her face, as if she didn’t quite understand what he was saying, had flushed a vivid crimson.

Aslan laughed at the sight of her.

On that exhausted day, his laughter shone brighter than it ever had.

‘Can I… give you an answer a little later?’

And she answered with a timidity utterly unlike her usual self.

She truly had a gift for making him want to tease her.

‘No. Do it now.’

And Aslan had a mischievous side to him as well.

Grasping Dorothy’s wrist and holding her gaze steadily, Aslan left her face flushed a red so intense it seemed it might burst.

‘I don’t know! We’ll talk tomorrow!’

And finally reaching her limit, she blasted Aslan away with Wind Magic before fleeing without another word.

Aslan thought that spell was the most polished magic Dorothy had cast yet.

‘Tomorrow, then.’

Thinking of Dorothy overwhelmed by embarrassment, Aslan resolved to wait until tomorrow.

And the next day, when he woke as he always did—late in the evening—it happened.

‘Aslan!’

At Lirina’s urgent cry, Aslan turned to her in bewilderment, still fastening his clothes.

‘There’s a fire in the academy dormitory!’

The moment those words reached him, Aslan’s eyes widened.

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