Chapter 134

Charles Luntel, a source energy sublimator, a d2-level mage, his magic name is: Bridge.

He was once the captain of the Nofi Source Energy Club, and within the club he had a large portion of supporters, but the reason he gained those supporters also owed to his teacher's merit.

The teacher is an old mage who has reached the age of one hundred twelve.

Although this age is nothing for a traditional spellcasting profession, they have ways to let their soul and body break through limits together.

Moreover, modern technology can already support them in no longer choosing to become a lich-like undead path.

But his teacher is indeed not a traditional spellcaster.

The casting system that takes the Magic Staff system as its main research direction takes a clever shortcut.

It omits the time spent studying spell principles, skips the self‑training time to master spells, and even bypasses combat mastery time—all their energy is devoted to optimizing spell macros, rigorously testing AI judgments, and accumulating their own magical power.

This system was at first called a heretical path, suppressed by the entire traditional faction, and its development was lukewarm; only after receiving reference from otherworldly knowledge and actual products did it truly begin to develop rapidly.

Furthermore, due to its extreme populism, it rose rapidly.

But precisely because of this, in the development of this system, the broad sense of 'ordinary people' gradually became the main force.

What they want is convenience!

What they want is quick success!

Not the mysteries of magic, the ultimate of the demonic path, or the fairy‑tale‑like miraculous ability to soar beyond imagination.

One could say they are not people who study magic itself, but people who study how to use magic.

Furthermore, other mages call them 'boring people', 'thieves', and even 'blasphemers'.

The difference in what they pursue is thus shown.

Therefore, this system has many mages with normal lifespans.

They are all ordinary people, ordinary in every sense, and even in the distant past they were called 'Muggles'.

This is a rather insulting loanword used to describe beings lacking magical talent.

They also have no endless thirst for knowledge and pursuit.

For those who lack desire for longevity, even a large portion do not care about the gradual deterioration of spirit and body.

And Charles's teacher is one such member of this group.

At one hundred thirty‑two years old, even though the current average human lifespan is one hundred six, one would expect signs of senility, but the teacher shows none.

Spellcasters may not pursue longevity, but they do demand that their intellect endure.

The old mage, whose thinking remains clear, has many students; Charles is merely one of them, yet he is also the teacher's highest‑achieving student.

At thirty‑two years old he reached the d2 test; as a Magic Staff researcher his path is already excellent, and he hopes to inherit the teacher's position.

— as the club's founder, the teacher, although he handed the chairmanship to his senior apprentice ten years ago, still enjoys a status akin to that of a grand patriarch, detached from worldly affairs.

But is that the status he wants?!

What he wants is the magical canon that the teacher passed to his senior apprentice but not to him!

That series of iteratively updated spell‑macro code records, to outsiders looks like a 'shit‑mountain code'—something to avoid—but to the Magic Staff practitioners it is the supreme magical canon!

The mage whose magic name is Bridge can connect everywhere; his ability speaks for itself—why is he so guarded by his own sect?!

He can even get along with foreign gangs, so how could he end up isolated and opposed by everyone in the club?!

"So regarding this point, where do you think we should start, Miss Mostima?"

"Huh? Do I have to be a detective? Am I the assistant?"

The blue‑eyed fallen angel lady blinked in surprise.

Unlike her usual complaining on the public channel, 'Boss, what are you doing?', and her silent coworkers, she now looks rather intrigued.

It seems she doesn't care about the currently silent person who is both her coworker and her boss's sister.

"No, this is just a simple question; the answer is actually quite obvious."

He erased the electronic data of the wanted Charles Luntel from his handheld, and Aomo looked at this fallen angel lady, whom from the first glance he felt a subtle clash of attributes, her eyes stained with dark red.

The demonic aspect within him, activated by mental focus, prompted him to utter words befitting his identity:

"Because of Hei'an, because of madness, because of malice."

"This man originally possessed many things others could only dream of, such as talent, such as an upward‑looking desire…"

Undeniably, when mentioning this, Aomo recalled his friend who could never be helped up, but his thoughts moved forward, so he continued:

"But he too was consumed by desire, so he came early to this city, where the overcast skies linger, looking as if it were about to rain."

Aomo raised his head and looked at the sky, which was clearly three in the afternoon yet remained perpetually gloomy.

This was not his first visit to the outland of the Gate District; he had also seen the city's opposite side, bright with sunshine, but the desire revealed in that light always made him more repulsed… yet he could not deny the closeness he felt deep down.

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Whether sunny or overcast, this city is just as the Holy Terra Federation defines it——【Showing the gray culture of other worlds】.

What is gray culture?

——Neither white nor black, that is precisely the base tone of desire, which can lean toward either side or be purely intertwined.

"When I first came here, I thought I had arrived in Syracuse." The Dékèsàsī name communicator flashed briefly.

The silent archangel should have been her partner; that was what Aomo initially saw, and it is also the cognition from his otherworldly memories.

But she had been silent in all prior communications, which led Aomo to think it was the calm before the storm.

But her sudden utterance now carries no resentment; rather, it is a sentence that seems to have no beginning or end at first hearing.

It is perhaps a text that only a 'transmigrator' could understand.

Like the question 'Where is Syracuse?', Aomo actually has some impression he can answer:

It corresponds to the land in Yiluo District where mafia culture is entrenched, often overcast with unbroken clouds that hang over people's heads and hearts.

But Dékèsàsī's next sentence also said:

"But in the end, these two turn out to be different."

Also at this time, Mositima smiled and promptly asked: "Mr. Lindun, would you like me to explain what Xulagu is?"

"No need, I actually have some transmigrator memories," he rested his fingers on his forehead, Aomo looked at the other's utterly unsurprised face, "Although it's not complete, I still have a rough impression."

"Hey boss, and the other two, the angel hasn't spoken for seven minutes!" It's astonishing; at this moment, the most anxious colleague is actually some greedy person, or perhaps simply worried about the partner's mishap, Miss Kesong.

The one also responsible for soothing was still Mositima.

"You can check the location, Kesong; we aren't really just standing by while Xiaole faces danger."

Xiaole?

Aomo found the address somewhat unfamiliar, but could understand it was calling the angel, thinking it might be a nickname related to the true name.

However, figuring out this group's intersection isn't what should be done now, so he, who was observing around the building, also said: "Miss Kesong, can you mobilize the building's northwest elevator? I need Miss Dekasisi to drive the car there."

"By the way, stream the case live to the public channel; I need to shift some focus here."

"? Anyway, streaming is correct, I'll go check the elevator."

Although Kesong didn't understand, her professionalism in following the employer's instructions was strong, and Dekasisi simply threw out a sentence:

"I'm coming over, by the way, there are some things you need to know, about the gang you previously attacked."

Attack… Aomo was momentarily speechless upon hearing this term used to describe his own actions for the first time, yet he also listened and recorded Dekasisi's fragmented relayed words, his expression becoming uncertain.

"Sounds like you still have trouble; the boss would welcome you running a tab."

At this moment, the words spoken with a smile from Mositima further caused Aomo to subtly raise his hand, scraping his fingertip against the corner of his mouth.

This is his habit of hiding embarrassment.

To be honest, he isn't short of money now; it's just that expenses keep coming, and Penguin Logistics' pricing is even of the type considered cheap and reasonable among mercenary circles.

But Mositima still said that, regardless of whether it was abrupt.

This made him glance at his own attire. Although the combination isn't outdated, it's indeed been washed too many times.

When you observe others, others are also observing you.

So he felt it was a subtle clash of attributes…… He sighed inwardly and said: "You've misunderstood, Miss Mositima."

"This isn't a new trouble, but rather a new puzzle that will increase the difficulty of the upcoming segment."

"However, you're right, I do need to give everyone more money."

He couldn't help but admit this; Miss Dekasisi's information made him realize that his expectations were lacking.

"May I ask, how much should the fee be for bringing along the client's expenses when you take action?"