Flesh of the Great One.
The standing of the items that could be created from this material was considerable, befitting its rather grandiose name.
Single-use regression devices, a quill capable of manipulating reality as one wrote, a dagger that could sever space, a longsword that extracted and forcibly absorbed souls, a handset that enabled conversation with outer gods without any mental contamination, and more.
The grimoire was filled to the brim with all manner of diverse and outlandish things besides these. Most mages would probably seize upon them in a frenzy just from reading the descriptions.
But until now, Ian had never made any alchemical items containing the Flesh of the Great One.
It was only natural. How could he possibly make those things without the Flesh of the Great One?
Trying to force them together without the most crucial ingredient would yield nothing but failure.
Even now, things were hardly different.
*I may have obtained the flesh, but this isn't the end of it. I still need many other ingredients.*
Suppose, for example, he wanted to make the reality manipulation device, commonly called the 'Finger of God.'
The ingredients required were a single prisoner's wrist, a small amount of the Flesh of the Great One, and a Key Containing a God. He already possessed the small amount of flesh, and if he searched through the Cartel shops, the prisoner's wrist wouldn't be too difficult to obtain.
But the Key Containing a God—this was the problem.
Proper explanations were absent; it was an ambiguous ingredient with nothing but the word itself listed. An unhelpful item that provided no information on how to craft it or where to acquire it.
Because of these things, he couldn't gleefully jump into alchemy just because he had the flesh. All magic required procedures and sacrifices; merely getting ahead of oneself wouldn't make things work.
*For now, it's best to store the flesh away and slowly choose when to use it. In an emergency, using it as a magic ingredient wouldn't be bad either. There are quite a few spells whose performance varies depending on the quality of the ingredient.*
Screech.
Finishing his thoughts, Ian gently parked the motorbike he had been riding next to a utility pole in the alley.
A gloomy alley where even sunlight barely permeated. No foot traffic, and the CCTVs were either absent or broken—essentially a place ordinary people avoided.
Conversely, those steeped in the arcane favored such places the most. Ian was no exception.
"Came back earlier than I thought."
He dismounted his bike, helmet in hand, and entered the used bookstore situated at the end of the alley.
"Welcome."
A young girl sitting at the counter greeted him awkwardly upon seeing him. Ian tilted his head slightly at the unfamiliar girl's appearance.
"Ah, yes. It's a pleasure. Is the owner not in? I have something to ask..."
What was there to hide?
This bookstore was the location with the entrance to the Owl. When Ian said 'owner,' he meant Eric, who sat here like a fixture.
As if the girl knew this, she wiggled her fingers and kicked her short legs while remaining seated.
"If you mean Grandfather, he stepped out for a moment. I'm his granddaughter."
"Ah."
His granddaughter? Ian, who hadn't imagined Eric might have family, let out a small sigh and nodded.
"I see. Understood. Then I'll wait a moment."
Even knowing she was a mage's granddaughter, there was no need to change his attitude toward her. Just because she inherited a mage's blood didn't make her a mage, and he had no desire to use an overbearing tone with a child.
From the start, Ian was the type who preferred honorifics over casual speech. It was just that becoming immersed in magic had increased the frequency of casual speech; his personality hadn't changed, so speaking politely was still far more comfortable for him.
"I'll look around for a bit. Please don't mind me."
"Okay."
The girl bowed her head and pulled out a book written in English, beginning to read.
It was a picture book. Ian chuckled and looked away from her, then glanced over the books displayed around him.
*Just like last time, they're all in their original languages. I can't read them.*
Sherlock Holmes. The Phantom of the Opera, Moby-Dick, The Old Man and the Sea, My Sweet Orange Tree, and so on.
Since they were all written in their respective authors' original languages, the only one Ian could read was The Tale of Hong Gildong.
But he couldn't exactly stand here reading a tale of a righteous outlaw flitting east and west... Ian casually picked up Moby-Dick.
Just then, the girl approached his side at some point and poked him in the ribs with her finger, opening her mouth.
"Mister, can you read that?"
"...? Me?"
"Yes. There's no one else here but you."
"That's true, but... I didn't think you'd suddenly talk to me."
Ian smiled gently, bent his knees, and met the girl at eye level. The girl, who had been looking up at him with her head tilted back, blushed slightly and took a step back. Ian gave her a bright smile.
"You're right. I can't read it. Still, it's quite an interesting book, so I was looking through it."
"...Then should I read it to you? I'm pretty good at English. I don't have anything to do until Grandfather gets back anyway..."
The girl timidly offered. At the pure innocence of a child felt after a long time, Ian let out a small laugh. He adopted an even gentler tone and lightly patted the girl's head.
"Shall we, then? Thank you for helping me."
"...Mom always told me to help people who look troubled."
"Did I look troubled?"
"You were frowning."
"Was I? I didn't even notice. Thank you."
"Hehe."
The girl smiled shyly and moved toward the counter with Ian. Ian obediently followed alongside her.
In truth, those who immersed themselves in the arcane ought not take others' appearances at face value.
Just as martial arts novels often warned to beware of women, the elderly, and children.
In this line of work as well, being deceived by appearances carried a high chance of one's head and body parting ways violently.
But the girl before Ian's eyes was literally just a girl, and he didn't sense any special power from her. If her existence had been something arcane, Ian would have detected it immediately and slit her throat.
From the beginning, Ian possessed a targeting device that detected threats. Even if she were to do something foolish here, he could kill her instantly, so there was no need to be overly wary of her. Making a fuss over nothing and making a fool of himself would be rather unsightly, too.
Anyway.
The point was that there was no need to make a fuss while being on guard against the girl. So Ian sat down comfortably on the sofa inside the counter. The girl hopped into the seat beside him.
"Moby-Dick is quite a famous book. You know it, right?"
"I do. I actually know the whole story. You are..."
"I'm Amelia."
"Yes, Amelia. Have you read all of Moby-Dick?"
Amelia nodded at Ian's question.
"Yes. I've read it twice. Grandfather told me that the real Moby-Dick lives in the Pacific Ocean over there, so I should learn about it just in case."
"Ah..."
"But I don't really want to meet Moby-Dick. It's scary. A big whale."
Amelia said, swinging her short legs. Ian nodded with a bitter smile.
"Well, it is scary. It's a whale bigger than a ship. It even eats people."
"You're scared too? Hehe, that's amazing. Grandfather told me that as a mage's granddaughter, I shouldn't be scared of stories like this."
"A mage... So Amelia knows her grandfather is a mage, too."
"Ah, yes. Though my parents weren't mages."
Before they knew it, they set aside the talk of Moby-Dick and slowly conversed.
"Grandfather said I don't have any talent for magic, just like my parents."
"..."
"But even if I had talent, I don't think I'd want to be a mage. You have to do so many weird things for a month. I don't want to do that."
"The Four Elements?"
"Yes, yes. That's right. Ah, are you a mage too?"
Amelia asked, her eyes sparkling. Ian smiled faintly.
"Yes. I'm not a great mage, but I suppose I'm decent enough to be called one."
"Wow... You're the first mage I've seen besides Grandfather."
"While staying here? Haven't you met any of the mages underground?"
"No... Grandfather told me never to go downstairs."
"Really?"
Ian tilted his head as he stroked her light purple hair. Feeling his touch, Amelia quietly opened her mouth with a highly expectant expression.
"So, mister. Since you're a mage, can you show me some magic? Grandfather says it's a bother and won't show me much..."
It wasn't a difficult request. Ian nodded.
"I can. Hmm... then shall I show you a spell to find lost things? Have you lost anything recently?"
"Ah, yes. It's a doll I recently got from a machine. A small brown bear doll with a slightly dangling tail."
"A doll... just a moment."
Ian asked for Amelia's understanding, received a strand of her hair, and quickly drew a magic circle on paper. Amelia's eyes sparkled as she watched.
"Woooow...!"
He placed the hair atop the completed magic circle and uttered the incantation. It wasn't the magic of an outer god, but a common spell frequently used by ordinary mages, so there was no need to worry about side effects.
"Find what is mine."
Hum.
At the spell's conclusion, the magic circle glowed, and the location of Amelia's lost bear doll entered Ian's mind. He chuckled, turned to Amelia, and smiled.
"It's under the bed in the last room on the second floor. Looks like you dropped it while sleeping. You'll find it if you go look."
"Ah...! Okay, I'll go check."
Amelia jumped up from her seat and pattered off toward the building's second floor. Then, from the bottom of the stairs, she turned back to Ian and shyly blurted out,
"M-mister. If it's okay, could you teach me magic later too...?"
"But you said you didn't want to be a mage."
"...! S-still. You never know..."
She averted her gaze, trailing off. Ian snickered and answered.
"If possible, I will."
"Ah! Ehehe."
At Ian's immediate answer, Amelia beamed and scurried up to the second floor.
At the same time, the closed bookstore door opened and Eric entered. He took off his glasses with an expressionless face, then spotted Ian sitting inside the counter and twisted his expression.
"...Who do you think you are, sitting there so casually?"
"I was just keeping your granddaughter company."
Ian replied calmly and rose to his feet. At the mention of his granddaughter, Eric made a disgruntled expression.
"Where is that child now?"
"Second floor. But is it okay to leave her alone like that? What if another mage comes?"
"That's none of your concern. Are you usually such a busybody?"
Eric roughly tossed the envelope he was holding onto the sofa and let out a deep sigh.
"Amelia is my granddaughter by blood. That means she's the child of a mage household. Though she has no talent whatsoever, and even if she were to force herself into becoming a mage, she'd be nothing more than third-rate—no, fourth-rate trash without a grimoire's help. Still, she was born of mage blood. That means at her age, she should be able to handle everything herself."
"..."
"If that child dies while I'm away, that simply means Amelia's fate ends there. It is a mage's fate."
"Cruel."
"This is the law of mage households that have built up a long tradition. They have always kept only the talented alive, allowing the untalented to fall away naturally. We are no exception."
Eric chuckled and took off the coat he was wearing.
"Well, I suppose it wouldn't resonate with a mage unbound by household like you."
"..."
"Enough. State your business. Are you planning to use the Owl? Then I'll guide you. Follow me."
It was a proposal with no reason to refuse. Ian stared at him briefly, then sighed and followed Eric down the stairs to the basement. Trudging footsteps and water droplets falling from the ceiling reverberated through the enclosed space.
"It feels like it hasn't been long since you first came here. You're revisiting sooner than expected. What's the reason?"
Eric spoke as they walked. Ian answered with an expressionless face.
"I don't believe I have any obligation to tell you."
"Ha, look at your attitude. Isn't Korea the land of Eastern etiquette? You've got no filter for an elder many times your age."
"Don't you think it's odd for a mage to fuss over such things, old man?"
Ian smirked and spat that out, then put his hand in his coat pocket and continued.
"But if you must know... just think of it as groundwork for a mage hunt."
He was speaking of Irene. Eric, unaware of the circumstances, fell silent for a moment, then slowly opened his mouth.
"A mage hunt, you say... You're speaking rather dangerous words in these times. So long as the target isn't me, I couldn't care less."
Eric replied deliberately in a joking tone.
Ian didn't answer.
"...Right?"
"..."
He didn't answer.