Chapter 139: The Real Estate Developer (Combined Chapter)

Upon hearing Leonard’s words, Leyman and the rangers’ faces instantly changed.

Incidents of large-scale magic being unleashed within cities, affecting innocents and causing numerous casualties, were not uncommon. This problem had existed since the dawn of magic. During the Crown Wars, countless elven towns suffered devastating losses precisely because powerful spells were cast within their walls.

Of course, Seventon had regulations forbidding the use of magic within city limits, as did every settlement inhabited by intelligent beings. Court mages were tasked with enforcing these rules.

Though mages often regarded such regulations as trivial, at least spellcasters exercised some restraint; they avoided casting spells of immense power and wide range in urban areas.

Ordinary citizens rarely reported violations, and officials often overlooked clandestine magic use, so it was generally accepted. If unseen, it was as if it never happened. But now, the situation was caught red-handed and undeniable. Given the relationship between Boen and the court mages, this was an irrefutable piece of evidence.

The court mage beside Leonard displayed a mocking expression. Boen looked at Leonard, about to speak, when the voice of an elderly elf sounded from behind: “I taught this spell, and I was the one who instructed him to conduct the experiment here. With so many houses destroyed, you expect us to clean it up little by little? By the time winter ends, the task won’t be finished. Those left homeless might not even survive this winter!”

The old elf shook his head with a sigh: “The greatest tragedy for intelligent life is not death at the hands of an enemy, but annihilation through internal strife.”

Leonard’s face suddenly darkened. He hurriedly saluted and began to explain, “Guardian, the situation is as follows…”

At that moment, Leonard felt a weight on his shoulder. A blue portal opened out of thin air beside him, and a hand pressed firmly on his shoulder, cutting off his words.

A figure stepped through the spatial gate. The court mages nearby promptly bowed: “Master Sorcerer!”

“Master Hill! Long time no see!”

The newcomer was an elder with half-white hair. “I did not expect our reunion to be under such circumstances. Please forgive me.”

The elderly elf squinted, pondering for a moment. “Are you young Charles? I never imagined you would age so quickly.”

“Yes, you remain just as you were back then—unchanged. After so many years, you are still the same, while I have grown old,” the master sorcerer Charles said, his voice tinged with melancholy. “The longevity of elves is truly enviable.”

The old elf chuckled softly.

As these two esteemed figures reminisced without regard for those around them, the others stood silently. Their conversation hinted at profound information.

What surprised Boen most was the identity of the old elf: the Guardian.

This elf was among the first to arrive in Nather. At that time, the elves of Yelan had just established relations with Nather—though it was more one-sided aid from the elves to humans than a true alliance.

Later, the elves of Yelan and Ilfaran helped Nather repel the first massive orc invasions.

The original title of the Guardian was “Thrasel.”

He taught the early Natherrians how to fight the orc hordes pouring from the mountains.

Back then, many elves looked down on humans, considering them little better than apes—a prejudice that persisted even during Nather’s golden age.

Currently, the elven script and magic in Nather were both taught by Thrasel.

Thrasel’s exact origins remain a mystery; after helping Nather through its darkest days, he vanished without a trace.

Though Thrasel disappeared, a group of elves who followed his legacy inherited his will and have continued to guard Nather. They, too, bear the title “Guardians.”

Boen speculated that Thrasel was likely a divine attendant of the Sidrian elven pantheon. Despite internal conflicts that nearly wiped out their kind, the elves remained the dominant force on Faerun at that time—their empire rivaling the peak of Earth’s British Empire, a global hegemon.

A mighty overlord entering into relations with a handful of small kingdoms would not have happened without the covert influence of elven deities.

Boen’s thoughts hardened. It seemed the Sidrian gods truly had substantial power—they had recognized Nather’s potential early on. No wonder his mild communication with the elven divine script had attracted their attention. Yet, their grand designs were marred by incompetent subordinates.

Shaking his head silently, Boen watched the two dignitaries happily catching up. The court mages around them looked displeased. They had hoped to catch Boen in wrongdoing, but judging by their leader’s demeanor, they were unlikely to succeed today.

As dusk fell and the temperature dropped further, someone suddenly pointed out, “Look! What’s that?”

Blake sensed something and turned, pointing to a distant glow.

Everyone followed his gaze. The old elf and Charles seemed to notice it too, halting to observe.

At first, it was a small point of light that quickly grew larger—or rather, rapidly approached.

“Is that... a person glowing?” the ranger asked in confusion.

“No, that is a paladin of the Radiant Lord. The light comes from the shield inscribed with the ‘Everlasting Light’ divine script,” Leyman explained.

Having recently dealt with priests of the Radiant Lord, Leyman was familiar with paladins. While they all carried bright shields that emitted intense light during combat, this paladin’s shield glowed continuously and was unusually brilliant, like a miniature sun.

As the paladin approached swiftly, his presence radiated overwhelming pressure. The dazzling light illuminated the surroundings clearly, and all felt a suppression of life force—this was undoubtedly a high-ranking paladin.

“Paladin Captain Garrett…” Leonard spoke, his tone tinged with suppressed anger.

Hearing the title “Paladin Captain,” the ranger instinctively ducked his head, recalling his past in the black market. Then, remembering his reformed status, he straightened his back.

Paladin Garrett laughed heartily twice and saluted lightly. “Master Hill, Lord Charles, I didn’t expect to find you here. I was wondering who had the courage to recklessly use new spells in the city.”

Everyone looked at Boen upon hearing this. Blake and Lilith covered their mouths, stifling laughter. Boen’s expression twisted in embarrassment. He had only been casually experimenting with a spell, yet it had drawn such a crowd—temple officials, court mages, and a whole secret audience.

Following the group’s gaze, Garrett noticed the crescent moon emblem on Boen’s collar and his eyes brightened.

“Well, young man, you must be the prodigy arcanist, grandson of Count Eorum, right?”

Suddenly, Garrett’s voice whispered in Boen’s ear, and an arm draped over his shoulder.

So fast!

A cold sweat trickled from Boen’s temple.

Before he could react, Garrett was beside him. This man’s strength far exceeded that of Uncle John.

“I wouldn’t dare claim to be a prodigy. If my grandfather has no other grandchildren, then it must be me, ha... ha ha!”

Hearing Boen’s admission, Garrett’s interest piqued. “You’re a fine lad. Looks like the Eorum family is on the rise.”

He patted Boen’s shoulder vigorously, producing two loud thuds. If Boen lacked his inner energy, a normal person would have felt their organs rattle.

Boen’s face darkened. What did he mean by “on the rise”? Wasn’t he already rising? He wanted to tell Garrett to take that up with his grandfather but merely chuckled awkwardly.

As Garrett and Boen chatted, the old elf and Charles remained unperturbed. Leonard’s face, however, turned as black as soot.

“What about ‘Fossil to Mud’?” Charles glanced at the massive mud pit ahead. Though it had liquefied the rubble, it had only turned one problem into another.

Hill looked embarrassed. “Originally it was a druidic spell, but this boy modified it into a brand-new arcane form. No worries, he’s rich enough to handle the consequences himself.”

“Modified it?” Charles raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“Yes,” the old elf nodded.

Unexpectedly, Garrett overheard this as well. He stared at Boen incredulously before pulling him close and whispering, “Master Hill speaks the truth? You really transformed his druidic spell into arcane magic?”

Boen scowled inwardly. He was certain Garrett bore no ill will, but this fellow, like Hussein, enjoyed asserting dominance through strength.

Though annoyed, Boen nodded. “Yes, see this large mud pit? It’s the druid spell ‘Fossil to Mud,’ but I didn’t really change it. I just ‘translated’ the druidic elemental technique into arcane magic. I intended only to clear debris, never imagined it would become arcane. I didn’t want this!”

His tone was full of grievance, as if he had only tried to help but caused trouble instead. He silently cursed the old elf’s loose lips—this divine spell turned magic was not a secret to be shared lightly. Nowadays, gods sat on high thrones; mortals who died and entered their realms achieved “immortality,” but few thought mortals could become gods themselves. In later times, divine spells were often borrowed from magic, rather than the other way around.

Nearby, Leyman and Harbwick maintained impassive expressions. Blake and Lilith watched Boen with curiosity, while the court mages glared at him with indignation, silently screaming, “If you won’t do it, I will!”

The old elf twitched his mouth, realizing Boen had a shameless streak.

Only Charles and Garrett were truly shocked. They refused to be swayed by Boen’s words. Whether it was “improvement” or “translation,” the fact that divine spells could be converted into ordinary magic was profoundly significant.

They did not realize that when the old elf said Boen had “modified” divine magic into arcane, they accepted this claim without doubt.

As silence fell, Boen suddenly spoke: “Well, I’ll take care of the mess I made myself.”

Charles, knowing Boen’s wealth—his personal assets ranking among Seventon’s top few—smiled faintly. “Since you’re so willing, the cleanup in the eastern district will be entrusted to you.”

Due to previous negligence by court mages, the cleanup and rebuilding had been assigned to their order, but Charles had overruled that. It wasn’t that the mages did not want to do it, but they lacked funds. Many assets were fixed, and magical materials could not be sold outright. Barter was common among mages, and few held large amounts of gold, especially when storage was limited. Who else but Boen carried several chests of coins? Such wealth was rare.

“What? All of it?” Boen was indignant. So, after helping track down the serpent men, he was left to do all the cleanup? That was unfair! He was about to argue, but Charles added, “As long as you arrange for the displaced residents, the remaining plots are yours to use.”

Boen blinked, then loudly asked, “Really?”

“Really,” Charles nodded with a smile.

“May I use magic to handle it?”

“Yes, as long as you don’t use large-scale offensive spells within Seventon. I approve.”

At once, Boen pulled out a parchment and quill from his space and quickly scribbled.

Garrett approached curiously and laughed. This boy had the style of the Amanata order—writing contracts on the spot.

When Boen handed the contract to Charles, the master sorcerer smiled, while the old elf covered his face in embarrassment. Leonard and the court mages glared furiously at Boen.

“Contract spirit! It’s the tradition of Leyman’s guild,” Boen declared solemnly. “No matter with whom we do business, we rely only on contracts. Only then can we avoid unnecessary disputes.”

“Your style resembles some outsiders, but with contracts to bind both parties, interests are protected,” Charles agreed. “However, since it is a contract, I must add a time limit. If the work is not completed this winter, the agreement will be void.”

“No problem!” Boen readily agreed and added a deadline to the contract.

Charles glanced over and signed it.

With blue flames rising, the contract turned to ash in the fire.

The deal was sealed!

Boen breathed a slight sigh of relief, then laughed heartily. This was an unexpected boon—a step further on the path to becoming a real estate magnate!

While Boen reveled, Leyman watched with a headache. The plots in the eastern district were valuable, but the time constraint was tight. Though professionals had some cold resistance, ordinary people did not. With the bitter cold and frozen ground harder than stone, it was no wonder the court mages had been unable to clear the area.

They couldn’t exactly hire professionals to clean up either. Even for experts, finishing before winter ended was uncertain.

As Leyman fretted, Boen did something unexpected.

He collected some sand and lime from the ruins, then fetched a bottle of water. Standing where he had cast the spell earlier, he murmured, “Magic is the greatest miracle. If a problem can be solved with magic, don’t use your hands. Why else have a brain?”

(P.S.: Catching up on last week and Monday’s updates. Back to writing…)