The Most Arbitrary Wizard

"I’m in it for the money," the man said.

The difficulty of assassinating the Saintess was undoubtedly high, and correspondingly, the mission’s reward was absurdly large.

A full fifty thousand Gold Coins.

The exchange rate between outside world currency and Blake City’s Silver Coins was about 100 to 1. And since one Gold Coin was equal to one hundred Silver Coins, it meant the Saintess’s head was worth a total of five hundred million. You could truly retire after this one job. Who wouldn’t want to take a shot if they thought they had even a sliver of a chance?

Sean: "..."

’Five hundred million...’

’How very noble of you.’

"Everyone’s here. I’m going to go over some important points, so listen carefully." The person in charge of exit procedures today was a woman who looked to be in her forties. She had a neat, short haircut and carried herself with a military air.

She looked at Sean. "Seeing as we have a newcomer on this mission, I might be a bit more thorough than usual."

"First, forget your original identities."

"Forget Blake City."

This wasn’t about Sean and the others forgetting on their own; Blake City would help them forget.

A male secretary stood beside the woman. He held a transparent lab bag containing six test tubes of Forgetfulness Potion. Every Wizard heading out on a mission had to take the potion before being allowed to leave the city.

Of course, it wasn’t a complete memory wipe, just enough to blur the concept of Blake City.

Sean and the others would still remember who their contact was for extraction after the mission was complete.

"Second," the woman continued, "no matter what happens, prioritize your own life and the lives of your comrades."

"We want you to complete the mission, but not at the cost of your lives. The Saintess deserves to die, but you don’t. Every one of you is Blake City’s most precious treasure. If the situation becomes impossible, retreat when you must. No one will mock you for it."

There were no penalties for failing a church mission. If you had to call it a penalty, it would increase the interval before a Wizard could accept their next mission. Compared to a real punishment, this "cooldown period" was completely negligible.

"Third, in a moment, I will give each of you a bank card. All your expenses during your time outside will be covered by Blake City. However, please try not to be extravagant. If I find out you’ve repeatedly used public funds on call girls, you will be responsible for any amount exceeding the limit, and it will be deducted from your mission reward."

Call girls were a mistake most men made. This mission was male-dominated—only one woman in a team of six—so she used them as an example.

Sean, however, latched onto her use of the word "repeatedly" and couldn’t help but ask, "So, you’re saying once or twice is reimbursable?"

Everyone: "..."

’Is that something you can just ask out loud?’

The woman answered expressionlessly, "Yes."

Blake City did indeed have such a rule. Biological needs were considered a living expense, and there was a certain allowance for it.

The only girl on the team shot Sean a look and snorted, "Hmph. Men."

’This guy looks so sunny and innocent, and he’s handsome, but it turns out he’s just like all the others.’

Sean wasn’t bothered by his teammates’ strange looks. He had his reasons for asking.

Since it was their first meeting and he didn’t want to make a bad impression, Sean offered an explanation. "The allowance for call girls doesn’t necessarily have to be used on call girls."

The man who had advised Sean not to get himself killed chimed in, "It can also be used for gigolos, right?"

Sean: "?"

Everyone: "?"

’You’re even more ridiculous.’

"Save this kind of talk for after you’ve left," the woman said, cutting off Sean and the others’ banter. She continued, "That covers the basic requirements. Next, I’ll address matters specific to this mission."

"Chen, give them the photos."

The woman instructed her secretary.

"Yes." The man nodded, pulling a stack of photos from his coat and distributing them to Sean and the others.

The woman said, "The people in these photos have all gone out on missions in recent years along routes similar to yours and have yet to return. This includes the Wizards who went to assassinate the Saintess before you."

Obviously, all these "predecessors" had failed. Otherwise, the mission wouldn’t still be posted at the church.

Failure often meant death, but Blake City didn’t give up on anyone. They wanted their people back, dead or alive.

"If you find any clues about them during the mission, report them to your contact immediately."

The woman said, "Also, I think you’re all well aware of how difficult this mission is. Remember, from this moment on, you are a team. Discuss everything. Don’t act rashly on your own. Don’t get others killed, and don’t get yourself killed."

Hearing this, the man beside Sean finally couldn’t help but ask, "Miss Lais, I want to know, in your eyes, is it really possible for us to kill the Saintess?"

The woman tilted her head and looked at him. "Possible or not, you all came, didn’t you?"

The man: "..."

She continued, "I don’t know if you can succeed. This mission isn’t under my authority. The only thing I can tell you is that even if you fail, you have a chance to survive."

Blake City wouldn’t send its people to their deaths. The Wizards had guessed that much correctly.

As for *how* to survive...

That was up to each of them.

"Finally, also because of this mission’s high difficulty, your official departure time is set for nine o’clock tomorrow morning," the woman said. "You have half a day to say goodbye to your family and friends and to prepare properly."

Her words sounded a lot like she was telling Sean and the others to get their affairs in order beforehand.

After speaking, the woman looked at Sean. "You, come with me for a moment."

Sean: "Huh?"

He suddenly felt like a student who’d been singled out by the teacher after a lecture, as if he was about to get scolded.

’Did I tick off this female leader with that call girl comment?’

But in reality, the leader hadn’t given it a second thought.

She didn’t know Sean well, and even if she did, she wouldn’t have said much. It was a matter of personal conduct, and not her business.

She had called Sean aside because Gomez had asked her to ask Sean one more question on his behalf:

"You’ve only just arrived in Blake City. Are you sure you want to leave?"

Normally, once a mission was accepted, it had to be undertaken. The "mission system" was the most critical component that allowed Blake City to function, and it wasn’t child’s play. But since Gomez had spoken up, she had to show him some respect.

"If you back out now, I can make an exception and switch you to another mission," the woman said. "Otherwise, at your current Tier, going to assassinate the Saintess is a near-certain death sentence."

Calling it a "near-certain death sentence" was the polite way of putting it. To be blunt, a Tier Three rookie like Sean wouldn’t just fail to assassinate the Saintess; he’d be lucky to even get a glimpse of her.

Sean noticed she had said "leave," not "go out," and knew that Gomez had seen through his intentions. But Sean’s mind was made up. He didn’t belong here anyway. He could only smile and say, "Please thank Mr. Gomez for me."

"So you’re still going?" the woman asked.

Sean nodded. "I’ll be back, if I get the chance."

"Good." The woman appreciated Sean’s courage. "I also hope to see you return safely—with the Saintess’s head."

She and Sean returned to the group, and she instructed her secretary to distribute the Forgetfulness Potion to everyone.

This was a special concoction from Blake City’s Alchemists. It would take effect in twenty-four hours, so taking it now was perfect timing.

Personally witnessing the departing Wizards consume the Forgetfulness Potion was also one of her duties.

Before that, however, due to the nature of the Magic Potion, Sean and the others needed to memorize the faces in the photos and commit them to memory. Otherwise, they might forget them after they left.

They wouldn’t be allowed to take the photos with them. It would be a huge problem if they fell into enemy hands.

Each person had dozens of photos, which were not easy to memorize. Fortunately, Sean had a good memory. He treated it like memorizing math formulas, creating a function expression for each person’s facial features, which made it quite easy to remember.

Until, among the endless parade of strange faces, he saw one that was exceptionally familiar.

The photos were all rather old and a bit faded. As he flipped to the eleventh one, Sean’s hands suddenly froze, his eyes widening.

In the grey-tinged photograph, frozen in time, was his old friend.

Chris.

...

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