WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ The Inept Mage’s Infinite Regression

Chapter 67

“A fire dragon?!”

Tsurumosa was startled, but he maintained his expert handling as Keropkalon shoved Laken back with brute strength before withdrawing.

A fire dragon could grow over fifty meters, while an evil dragon rarely topped thirty even when fully grown. Laken hadn’t taken the shape of a fully matured fire dragon, though, so her bulk was comparable—and when bulk was comparable, so was raw power.

Keropkalon tried to leap into the air, but Laken bit his tail and slammed him down. Laken could fly too, but she was clumsy with her wings, and on the ground, combat mages were there to back her up.

Marrsinon’s Flame hurtled toward the back of Keropkalon’s neck, aiming for Tsurumosa.

“Nonsense!”

Raising his staff with both hands, Tsurumosa unfolded the well‑known protective spell “Lanaruie’s Aegis.” A broad vertical barrier of shimmering silver air spread out, and the fireballs detonated before the wall. The shock wave reached Tsurumosa, but he had already strapped himself to the saddle, so it failed to unseat him.

{Think you can block this too?!}

Laken drew in a huge breath, the breath of a dragon—but Keropkalon charged forward and headbutted Laken’s jaw. The flames that should have burst forth instead leaked between Laken’s teeth and nostrils with a wet hwoo‑ruk.

Tsurumosa shouted, “You, on the other hand!”

Light gathered at the tip of Tsurumosa’s staff and lengthened into a gigantic blade—the same Arcane Blade that Vine had once wielded. As Keropkalon twisted aside, the three‑metre blade swept for Laken’s neck. A heartbeat before it hit, Laken reverted to human form, and the blade sliced only air.

“Try hitting me first!”

“…Damn!”

As Keropkalon staggered from his own momentum, the combat mages slicked the ground with oil. Keropkalon slipped and crashed down, and Laken re‑assumed her fire-dragon form, crushing him. Even so, Keropkalon lashed his tail to keep the mages at bay and forced Laken off, then pushed himself upright.

Things were not all going well. Soldiers resurrected by the Undying Church’s maga were advancing, and the guards sprinted to stop them.

Admoel brought Boen over to Ethan and said, “We’ll slip past Tsurumosa and get inside the temple.”

“What about Laken and the other combat mages? Can they win without us?”

“Don’t kid yourself. Even with us, it’s a long shot. The best bet is to end the menga. Move.”

While Laken held Tsurumosa’s attention, the three of them entered the temple.

The interior featured paintings rather than reliefs. The murals showed the Undying Church’s feats during the Age of Death: corpses rising from cemeteries, necromancers marching skeletal battalions, and one white‑haired necromancer crushing Death itself while brandishing a staff—clearly a member of House Eurogia.

Far off, a choir resounded. The words were indistinct, but the tone was solemn and exalted.

“That’s the menga.”

“Could we hold out till the song ends?”

“It’s two hours of antiphonal singing. It never ‘ends.’ ” Admoel turned to Ethan and Boen. “The menga is grand magic but simple. Even someone half‑trained can end it. That chant is the core; shut it up and the spell breaks. Shouting over them won’t cut it—you have to quit the chanters; gag them, break their jaws, sever their throats, or strangle them. Clear?”

“Of course.”

“Understood.”

Admoel nodded, then slowed, suspicion dawning.

“A Small Labyrinth.”

Boen caught on first.

“A spell?”

“Yeah. They wouldn’t cast grand magic undefended. Look—the frescoes repeat awkwardly.”

Ethan saw a mural abruptly sliced and spliced into another. Even he knew no painter would compose that way. As they walked, Admoel pointed out columns too thick or arches needlessly repeated—details an untrained eye would miss.

Boen briefly explained: Small Labyrinth was high‑level sorcery that warped a limited area into a temporary maze, stretching halls to impossible lengths and twisting architecture in ways never used in real construction.

A message flashed before Ethan’s eyes.

[Quest Triggered!]

[Quest: Break Through the Small Labyrinth (C)]

‘Looks like we have to get through regardless.’

Admoel felt along the wall.

“No lethal traps.”

“That’s something.”

“In exchange, they make you wander longer, which is worse, really.”

“Why not seal it completely?” Ethan asked. “We can still reach the site of the grand magic.”

“They only need to stall,” Admoel replied. “If our luck is bad, we might wander for days. A Barrier would block us, but when the magic ends, they’d have to come out; they can’t live here. Also, a Small Labyrinth snaps back when it’s dispelled. There’s probably a secret shortcut straight through somewhere too, but the chance of us finding it is near zero.”

“What if we exit and drop in through the roof?” Boen suggested.

“The labyrinth isn’t planar. Smash the dome and you’ll just hit another layer. Where they’re chanting isn’t the centre anymore. Dropping in through the roof may be slightly better, but we’d have to fight the skeletal wyverns up there—and Tsurumosa would notice.”

“Follow the singing?” Ethan offered.

“The song you hear is part of the labyrinth, meant to get you lost. That’s composite magic, rookie.”

Embarrassed, Ethan persisted. “If this won’t work and that won’t work, what will?”

Admoel tapped the wall, then swept his palm down it. After a pause, he spoke.

“Ethan, life sometimes brings moments when everything seems doomed. Then, you’ve two options.”

“What are they?”

“One: sit on the floor and bawl.”

“What else?”

“Know it’s ruined and do whatever you still can. Anyone who’d rather cry stays, the rest follow.”

When Ethan began to sink down, Boen folded his arms and hauled him upright.

Thus, Ethan, Boen, and Admoel took six hours to reach the grand‑magic locus. Boen was badly hurt en route. Naturally, it wasn’t merely that the labyrinth had confused them; Eurogia’s skeletons also held narrow chokepoints. Sometimes fighting, sometimes sneaking past, and following Admoel’s decoding, they barely arrived.

But another necromancer in a skull helm like Tsurumosa’s awaited them.

“You’re too late, combat mages.”

Amid the choir, one necromancer stood out, a woman garbed like Tsurumosa but wielding a weighted arcane rod crowned with a skull.

“What do you mean?”

“The war is over. Victory to the Undying King and Eurogia. Didn’t the maze seem easier at the end?”

“…So they still held that long? They fought well,” Ethan muttered, hope draining.

Admoel wiped his sweat. “I’m Admoel Bold. And you?”

“Martisa Eurogia.”

“Ah, Martisa—illustrious indeed.”

“As are you… I’ve heard some mages prize honour above life. Which are you, Mister Admoel?”

Admoel glanced at Ethan and Boen.

“Life, evidently. We surrender… Anyone here skilled at healing?”

Approaching to secure a healer and news, Admoel left the blood‑drained Boen and turned to stare at Ethan.

“Are you satisfied with this?” he asked.

“…Hardly,” Ethan responded.

“The others are lost, but surrender risks exposing your identity.”

True enough. The Undying King and the Empire would hunt whoever had steered the war, and they might suspect a Terran black mage.

Ethan sighed. “I had thought this one might go smoothly.”

He ruptured his own heart.

∞

“I think this way’s better,” Ethan said inside the labyrinth, pointing.

Admoel frowned. “Based on?”

“My intuition.”

“…This guy.”

“The intuition Professor Rivielton vouched for.”

Originally, Admoel had been unable to break through in six hours. His analysis wasn’t perfect, after all. Fortunately, he trusted Ethan’s gut.

Ethan needed a path that arrived on time. Luckily, the maze wasn’t absurdly complex, and skeletal ambushes were manageable if spotted early. Over three attempts—each time forging seals, drafting fake orders, sending birds, climbing Cora’s cliffs with Laken, and spending months in the Undying Church’s temple—Ethan sank nine months total.

They barely arrived within six hours, and were once again greeted by Martisa.

“Only six hours? Impressive. But Osmal Saikal has fallen. What now?”

Boen again looked at Ethan. “I know.”

Ethan reloaded the timeline. If Osmal was dead, the war was already lost; breaking the grand magic was pointless.

He’d have preferred a fresher save, but the war still bristled with unknowns, and he was finally unraveling the maze.

At first, he couldn’t follow Admoel’s decoding, but gradually, he began to grasp more. The labyrinth repeated patterns; behind them lay a finite set of secondary patterns. Two more runs cut three hours, and Ethan grew greedy.

“How’d we exit in just three hours?”

He tried again.

“Two hours? Incredible luck!”

Again, this time a clue emerged.

“One hour to break it? …Who’s your decoder?”

Ethan finally solved the secret.

[Quest “Break Through the Small Labyrinth (C)” Cleared!]

[Reward: 60 EXP]

[Reward: C‑Rank Lottery Ticket]

“Wh‑what?! Where did you people come from?!”

Martisa recoiled as Ethan, Boen, and Admoel appeared. Boen and Admoel shot Ethan wary looks.

Ethan had blown through the maze in just three minutes and led them straight to the center.

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