Knowledge Without End

Moving from the gate—which felt more like a terminal—to the Magic Tower took only a split second through the use of magic. Abel spent the entire journey excitedly explaining Rahid. He told me that high-ranking mages with their own private labs in the tower could teleport directly, while others had to go through a separate identity verification process.

Abel bragged that his lab was located on the upper floors of the tower. I didn’t know exactly what the location signified, but judging by his tone, it seemed impressive. When I fired off a “triple combo” of praise—”That’s so cool,” “You’re amazing,” and “You’re the best”—Abel started hopping around with a goofy grin. He was practically floating in mid-air.

The Magic Tower, where I entered with Abel, was different from the Imperial architectural styles I had seen before. The Imperial Palace boasted a long history befitting the legend of the dragon’s protection, but the origins of the Magic Tower and Rahid were unknown.

The Magic Tower was built atop a massive lake. Unlike its exterior, which looked so seamless that one could never scale its walls, the interior was a complex jumble of several buildings cobbled together, reaching a height of 250 meters. This tower, already scraping the sky, had grown steadily throughout history and was destined to keep rising. Abel said the tower maintained this form because it symbolized the mages themselves; their primary creed was that there is no completion to knowledge, only continuous addition.

As we rode a wall-less platform upward, I could look out through open sections—where windows should have been—to see the panoramic view of the city. Surrounded by mountains, Rahid had long prevented other civilizations from invading and kept its own secrets from leaking out. It was a vast city, truly deserving of the title “Home of All Mages.” A massive canal wound through the city, and small streams converged into the central lake. The ground above them was transparent, revealing the water below, and the stones covering the floor like dense tiles were so colorful they seemed to form patterns when viewed from above.

People were moving faster than a walking pace; looking closely, I realized the ground itself was moving at a constant speed. An era with elevators and moving walkways, but no telephones? That was even more shocking.

Before heading to his lab, Abel grimaced, saying he had to visit the Master of the Tower first. He grumbled, wondering why the Master didn’t just stay at the Academy acting like a principal instead of constantly returning to the tower to bother people. I laughed; he probably wouldn’t have badmouthed the man like this back home, but being at the tower seemed to make him feel at ease.

The research labs varied in style depending on the owner, and the doors illustrated this perfectly. A round wooden door tangled with vines and flowers—looking like it would lead to a forest full of birdsong—stood right next to an iron door covered in a thin layer of frost that radiated a visible chill. Abel explained that they tried to group people with compatible temperaments together to prevent the cranky old geezers from fighting.

The door to the room of Pysa Tecon—the man who would hand over the title of Tower Master to his young disciple in a few years—was a deep navy blue. The door looked as soft as velvet to the touch, and when Abel knocked carelessly, it swung open without a single creak from its hinges.

Inside, I was quite surprised. Abel’s room back at the house barely had a spot to step, but this place didn’t have a single stray paper. Instead, it was spacious, pleasant, and even smelled refreshing.

I had heard so many stories about how mages were “unique” (to put it nicely), “eccentric” (to be honest), or “cranky” (to be blunt), so I expected the room of the Tower Master to be extraordinary.

“Well, look who it is! Tsk! You wouldn’t show your face when I kept telling you to come, but now you visit because you’ve brought your sister?”

The master of the room, who looked like a dignified scholar, let out that clicking sound of the tongue I had grown accustomed to from Abel. Despite his words, he handed me a candy, asking, “I heard you like sweets?” He didn’t seem like a bad person.

“Now that we’ve said hello, we’ll be going. I came to see you first, so don’t you dare move my room again.”

“Good heavens! Is this how I raised you? How can you never visit unless there’s business? You heartless brat.”

“You didn’t exactly raise me, Professor.”

I rolled the candy in my mouth while watching the two bicker over trivial things. The candy was quite large; the outer layer melted away smoothly, and as the hard center emerged, it began to pop and fizz in my mouth. Just as I thought it was lemon-flavored, it changed to peach, and after sucking on it a bit more, it turned into cherry.

When Pysa Tecon saw me diligently eating the candy, he chuckled.

“I like those quite a bit myself. It’s fun to put one in your mouth when you’re bored. If you stop by once more before you leave, I’ll give you a whole box of snacks I’ve collected, alright?”

Abel grumbled, asking why he couldn’t just give them now, but since he saw that I liked them, he would surely find a way to get them later.

“Professor, I’ve sorted through the materials you mentioned. The preservation magic must have been flawed because the text is badly blurred; it’s going to need restoration work.”

Just as Abel was about to get up for the fourth time—only to be pushed back down by Pysa Tecon—the door opened and a pile of paperwork walked in. I tried to find another word to describe the man, but nothing was more perfect than “pile of paperwork.”

The stack he held reached far above his head, completely hiding his face, and the trolley he pulled along was stuffed with documents to the point of near-collapse. Instead of wheels, the trolley hovered at a fixed distance from the floor; I could guess its weight just by how it tilted, nearly scraping the ground.

“Hey, Frey,” Abel said, leaning back against the sofa. The pile of papers called Frey let out a gasp. Quickly dumping the documents onto Pysa Tecon’s desk, the man rushed toward Abel, tears welling in his eyes.

“Abellll!”

“Why are you acting so friendly?”

The man, whose brittle silver hair was tied back so haphazardly it was hard to tell if it was hair or a hay bale, made a whimpering sound as Abel pushed him away.

“My goodness, why has it been so long? I thought you’d left the tower for good. The old man—no, sorry, Professor—the Professor told me to clear out that brat’s room completely! Do you have any idea how much I was shaking?”

“I—When did I ever say to clear it out? I just said to tidy it up, tsk! That’s what happens when someone leaves without notice!” Pysa Tecon hurried to make an excuse, pretending to be angry.

“Yeah, whatever. Let’s just move everything out this time. Kick me out while you’re at it.”

Abel wasn’t one to back down. After speaking dismissively, he turned toward me and smiled brightly. The faces of Frey and Pysa Tecon turned peculiar as they witnessed the extreme shift in his expression.

After the chaos subsided, a calmed Frey sat on the sofa with his knees pressed together, sobbing quietly. Now that I looked at him, he was a mess.

His face was shadowed from staying up for days, his brittle hair was tangled beyond the help of a comb, and his lips were so parched they looked like they would split and bleed at the slightest touch.

“I’m sorry. I must have startled you.”

He looked so pitiful that even Abel, who was usually indifferent to others, couldn’t bring himself to be harsh. I checked Pysa Tecon’s face as he consoled the emaciated assistant. Unlike Frey, he looked sleek and well-fed.

The documents Frey brought had transformed the room from a clean, high-end meeting space into a frantic research lab. Only then did I realize why Pysa Tecon’s room was so exceptionally tidy. It was the result of grinding down one poor assistant.

The reason Frey had welcomed Abel so happily was that although he wasn’t officially Abel’s assistant, Abel helped share the workload because they were both from the Academy and among the youngest in the tower. I clicked my tongue at the sight of Frey, who looked like a withered weed deprived of sunlight.

“Didn’t you hear that I’m scheduled to work at the Imperial Palace?”

When Abel said this—looking genuinely awkward—Frey’s face turned even paler. He looked so haggard now, but he actually had decent features and a good frame; if he just ate and slept well, he’d be considered quite handsome. His looks were going to waste.

Stammering over his words, Frey finally managed to speak.

“That… that’s a lie, right? Please tell me it’s not true. You told me… hic… you told me to wait just a little longer and you’d come up as an assistant…”

Abel glared at Pysa Tecon. I also found it hard to look kindly upon the Tower Master who had deceived his poor disciple.

“Now, that was the plan. It was the plan, but… this fellow says he’s going to the Imperial Palace, so how could I stop him? An appointment letter with the Imperial Seal came directly for him!”

“Don’t… don’t make excuses. You’re… always like this, Professor…”

In the end, Frey burst into tears and ran out of the room. As Abel glared, Pysa Tecon turned his reddening face away.

“Ahem, cough. Why don’t you go comfort him? Tell him I’ll get more staff after the graduation ceremony. Eh?”

“You’re just going to use the excuse that no one meets your standards and lure Frey with the title of ‘Head Assistant’ again. What’s the point of being the head if there’s no one underneath him to do the work?”

“No! No, I tell you! This time, really, definitely! I will absolutely bring someone in!”

Abel clicked his tongue, saying, “I think I’ve heard that about twenty-seven times now.”