Welcome to the Café of the Dark Guild’s Successor - Chapter 42

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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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A café run by the heir of the Dark Guild.
42
“So the granddaughter of House Portrin fancies my grandson? The boy’s got my youthful looks, it seems. He’ll be breaking hearts left and right at this rate.”
The man turned toward the cottage with a complicated expression, then drew forth a Magic Stone.
As the Portal Magic etched upon the stone split the air, blue light rippled outward and a portal bloomed open.
Inscribing Portal Magic onto a Magic Stone was such an advanced art that Portal Magic Stones commanded exorbitant prices.
Few mages existed who could fabricate and deploy such stones at will.
He was one of them.
The portal delivered him to Endar, hallowed ground among all mages.
It opened at the very peak of the Magic Tower that crowned the city’s heart. Through the blue light emerged a white-haired man who rushed forward frantically at the sight of him.
“Master Mason! I’ve been searching everywhere for you. Where have you been gallivanting about all this time without a word? My heart’s been black with worry.”
Barren Fuhn Mason.
He had held the title of Master of the Magic Tower for many long decades, and stood recorded as the youngest 8-Circle mage in history—a great wizard indeed.
Yet those who knew Mason called him a cantankerous, ill-tempered old curmudgeon.
Though his youthful countenance made the epithet seem ill-fitting.
It was his willful nature, his arrogance, and his contempt for all save himself that earned him the name.
Of course, no one dared complain of Mason’s temperament. His power was more than sufficient to warrant such pride.
Since becoming Master at thirty, he had never relinquished the post—proof enough that no mage had ever emerged to surpass him.
“Wyatt, convene an emergency council. Assemble all the Elders within thirty minutes.”
“Now? This instant? I don’t even know where everyone is. There’s not a single Elder left in the Tower besides me.”
“Use the Communication Network on the eighth floor.”
“……Is it war?”
Mason did not answer, instead sinking deeply into a chair and closing his eyes.
This threw Wyatt into a frenzy. If he failed to gather them within thirty minutes, the master’s displeasure would inevitably fall upon his head.
“I was worried he’d fallen into some sort of slump, but here he is, right back to his cantankerous self. Not an ounce changed. Why did I ever become his disciple?”
Wyatt’s face twisted in distress as he lamented his own fate and hastened toward the eighth floor.
Through the Communication Network here, one could send word to any registered mage in the Tower, anywhere in the world.
However, only the Master held authority to use it, and even then only for official purposes. All traces of its use were recorded.
Wyatt pressed his palm against the Communication Network to activate it, then called out the names of the three remaining Elders in succession.
“Attention. Zelen, Catherine, Alex. Can you hear me? The Master has issued an emergency summons. Return to the Tower at once. You have thirty minutes. Make that twenty-three now. Lateness will not be tolerated, for any reason.”
Ten minutes later.
All four Elders, Mason excepted, had gathered around the circular table in the Greenhouse where important councils convened.
“What in blazes is this about? I was in the middle of a critical experiment.”
“An emergency summons like this has never happened before… or has it? Come to think of it, there was once during the war.”
“Wyatt, do you know anything? You’ve been attending the Master constantly.”
“I’m in the dark too.”
The Elders murmured among themselves, each speculating as to why the council had been called.
Shortly, the appointed hour arrived with exactness, and the Greenhouse door opened to admit Mason, his expression grave.
“Master?”
“What is the meaning of this?”
Mason raised his hand, silencing the clamorous Elders at once. The moment he furrowed his brow, perfect quiet fell upon the chamber.
With all eyes upon him, their pupils barely moving, Mason locked gazes with each Elder in turn before he spoke.
“As of today, I am retired. I hereby declare Wyatt as my successor and the next Master of the Tower.”
The Elders’ pupils dilated with profound shock at the gravity of his words.
He who had held his seat unshaken for over seventy years—retiring?
And not a natural succession brought about by the emergence of a stronger mage, but a voluntary abdication! Such a thing had never occurred.
“This is far too sudden.”
“Everyone knows Wyatt is weaker than you are. We cannot accept it.”
“If the Master retires, it will plunge us into chaos.”
The Elders could not easily swallow such a bombshell pronouncement from Mason, the spiritual pillar of all mages.
Yet no matter how much they protested, Mason’s decision had been made and would not waver.
“My mind is already settled.”
“Why would you do this? If you’re simply exhausted from laboring so long, then rest. Surely that would be better?”
“I agree. Why not take a few years to recuperate and return refreshed?”
“Master, I… I cannot become the Master.”
Even Wyatt’s refusal gave Mason pause; he could not quite conceal his troubled expression as he spoke.
“I have lived my entire life as a mage.”
Catching the defiant gleam in Zelen’s eye—as if to say, what else would a mage be?—Mason struck the back of his head with his staff.
“Ow! I’m over forty now, Master!”
“I spent my whole life pouring my soul into magic, and in doing so, I lost the most important thing. It’s late, but before it becomes too late, I mean to go and find it again.”
“Find what, exactly?”
Zelen asked, his tone suggesting he found it almost impossible to believe anything mattered more than magic.
“Family.”
Mason’s voice held no hesitation, but it was heavy with regret.
In that same moment, Mason’s mind retreated into memory.
Weeks prior.
Mason, having completed his training in the Greenhouse as always, opened his eyes in despair.
For decades now, his magic had advanced not one iota.
He strove ceaselessly to pierce the unyielding barrier before him, only to meet frustration at every turn.
“Is the wall of the 9-Circle truly impenetrable?”
Troubled, he left the Tower for the first time in ages. He thought to rifle through the books stacked at home, perhaps to clear his mind.
Returning home after a decade’s absence, Mason made straight for the Storage Room in the basement.
The room was crammed with an enormous collection: sundry odds and ends, magical implements, Artifacts, books, research materials, and more.
“This will take some time to sort through.”
Mason sighed and began searching the Storage Room.
But hours later, buried amid a haphazard pile of papers, he discovered an unexpected bundle of letters.
“What is this?”
More than that—they were Sealed Letters, bound with a Blood Oath so that only Mason could open them.
As Mason examined them suspiciously, his eyes widened.
On the back, written in tiny script, were the words: “Yours, Alena.”
“Alena sent me letters?”
Startled, Mason verified that no curse lay upon them, then cut his palm and let his blood flow.
As his crimson blood seeped into the letter, the seal unraveled and the letter opened of its own accord, floating in the air.
[Mason,
Will there ever come a day when you read this letter? If you never find it, then such is our cruel fate.
I have borne your child.
I left intending never to tell you, but now that I see our precious little one, my thoughts turn to you.
It’s a daughter. I’ve named her Lily.]
[Mason,
Lily is so beautiful and clever.
I had hoped she would have no talents at all, but it seems she’s inherited your gift for magic.
It frightens me. I would shield her with all my strength, but… the doctors say I don’t have much time left.
My body grows weaker each day. If I die, will you take Lily and raise her for me?
As ordinarily as possible. Not as you became. Never let her study magic.
Protect Lily. I pray this letter reaches you.]
As Mason read the letters, he was seized by a shock so violent his eyes flew open wide.
There were five letters in total from Alena.
One announcing her pregnancy, another telling of her illness, and a final one full of resentment toward him for never answering her letters.
“This cannot be…”
Mason’s eyes filled with tears as he absorbed the full weight of the words.
“Alena, forgive me. I… I never knew. That you were carrying a child, that you died. That you had sent me letters like these… Why didn’t you come to find me?”
But perhaps she had.
Mason recalled why not a single letter from Alena had ever reached him.
Alena was the only woman Mason had ever loved.
He had seen her by chance—impossibly, achingly beautiful—and fallen in love at first sight, and they had shared a time that felt like a dream.
But Alena, weary of a man for whom magic would always come first, had left him.
Mason had found her hiding place more than once, seeking to keep her, but each time she had turned him away coldly.
Finally, wounded, Mason had sworn never to see her again and severed all contact.
He had instructed his butler that should she ever send word or come seeking him, under no circumstances was he to be told.
Afterward, consumed by his training at the Tower, Mason had scarcely set foot in his house, so he never had reason to visit the Storage Room.
Had the butler not kept the letters there, Mason would never have learned the truth.
“Forgive me… forgive me, Alena…”
Recognizing that every ounce of fault lay with him, Mason was seized by an agony and remorse that threatened to consume him utterly.
He clutched the letters and wept, his body racked with sobs that came from the depths of his being.
His eyes bore the unmistakable imprint of profound regret and self-recrimination.

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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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