The Son-In-Law Of A Prestigious Household Wants A Divorce-Chapter 141: Life in the Mage Tower

The taunt landed with almost laughable ease.

By nature, upright folk stiffen their backs so they won’t snap when pushed.

“What kind of nonsense is this?!”

“How dare some foreigner heap such insults on us?!”

“A performance? Will you still call it that when your head’s sizzling like a fireball?”

Mages were, after all, among the proudest creatures alive.

Their egos soared so high that looking down on anyone who wasn’t a mage was practically a reflex.

“Hah! I really can’t stomach this!”

“Come in here! I’ll show you what a real fight looks like!”

“Country-bumpkin noble—bet you’ve never even seen a proper spell!”

And, of course, humans can never just let someone they deem beneath them run wild.

Led by the mages, Isaac merely nodded and followed, utterly unruffled.

“Oho, you’re provoking them so politely.”

The Grandmaster jabbed Isaac in the ribs with her elbow.

Isaac just curled one corner of his mouth and stepped inside.

From the entrance corridor, a line of mages already snaked along the wall, all of them staring in puzzled silence.

“Hey, no cutting.”

“Romdel, even for you—cutting the line?”

“Comrades, lend me your ears. A mage of the tower has been insulted!”

Romdel, who marched at the head with Isaac, was apparently no small talent around here.

When he repeated Isaac’s words, the onlookers reacted exactly like the mages outside.

“That rat needs killing!”

“Fine—let him see real magic with his own eyes!”

“Can’t even muster the barest respect!”

“Vivian! Isn’t that your guest? Forgot which faction sent you from the North?!”

With cheers as hot as wildfire, they herded Isaac toward the dueling arena.

Inside, the layout matched every training ground Isaac knew, but the atmosphere was unique.

Hundreds of arcane glyphs drifted through the air, glowing dimly so the whole hall looked like a giant constellation sealed in a glass jar.

“Ohh…”

“Step onto the floor when you’re ready. I’ll go first.”

Romdel narrowed his eyes at Isaac, as though deciding whether to freeze him, burn him, or fry him, then strode into the arena.

The moment the surrounding mages dispersed, Vivian rushed over, face a mask of panic.

“Isaac-nim! What are you thinking?! You’ll be staying in the tower for days—if you start like this, the mages will despise you!”

“I didn’t provoke them thoughtlessly.”

“What? Then what possible spin do you have for becoming public enemy number one?!”

“Lady Vivian, you were in the infirmary, so you wouldn’t know, but their spells are useless in real combat.”

“Even so—”

“Besides, this arena fascinates me.”

He was, after all, the man who’d said he didn’t mind losing his head.

“I suspect I’ll use it often, and I can’t be bothered to line up for hours every time.”

Vivian’s eyes and mouth slowly fell open as the meaning sank in.

“Y-you’re saying… you taunted them just to use the arena?!”

“Yes. Break their pride now, and they’ll invite me in whenever I pass.”

No more waiting in the endless queue outside.

Leaving a stunned Vivian behind, Isaac stepped onto the dueling floor.

“Good luck, Isaac!”

“Disciple! Show them fighting isn’t done with books and brains alone!”

Just before he crossed the threshold, Sharen and Damien cheered him on.

The Grandmaster sidled up and whispered:

“Don’t hold back—go all out. This won’t end with a single bout anyway.”

The Grandmaster was really saying that knocking down one mage wouldn’t make the rest back off.

Isaac would probably have to duel several times, so he should pace his strength.

“…Understood.”

Isaac nodded, stepped inside, and allowed a faint smile.

His standards for “strength” were harsh—he’d always fought the strong from the side of the weak.

Maybe that was why.

This is unexpectedly fun, he thought.

A fight he was certain to win—now he could glimpse why the powerful sometimes drowned in their own might.

***

Two men entered the arena where drifting letters floated like flower petals.

One wore the classic robe and staff of a mage.

The other carried a sword—an ill fit for the Tower’s practical-training hall.

With his ponytail and twin blades at his hips, the sword-bearer’s decadent eyes hinted at many stories.

“…He’s handsome.”

A female mage muttered it, earning glares from the others—yet none could deny it.

More than a few silently began cheering for Isaac.

“Stand still. I have to anchor the time axis.”

“Time axis?”

No answer. The glyphs overhead flashed; raw mana surged and then stilled.

“Restoration magic,” Romdel said, gripping his staff. “Whatever breaks will snap back to this instant.”

Isaac’s eyes widened.

“Surprised by Tower magic?” Romdel puffed himself up. “Like seeing only the lake’s surface, never knowing its—”

But Isaac wasn’t listening.

Fixing a timeline—proof that magic might connect to his own returns.

“Very well—begin!”

All eyes locked on them. Romdel, a seasoned pro with a sixty-percent win rate, was feared in real combat.

“Just fry him—don’t even let him draw.”

“Make it hurt; let him feel what that place does to us.”

“Burn his tongue first so he can’t even scream surrender!”

The mages snickered.

Click.

By the time Isaac’s blade cleared its sheath, it had reached the end of its arc.

“You started with too much of an edge.”

A red line crossed Romdel’s throat. His pupils rolled up; the gathering mana scattered—

—and his head hit the floor.

“Making me fight a mage from this distance, really?”

Isaac was already re-sheathing his sword.

Thud!

Romdel’s severed head rolled.

And in that instant, time snapped desperately backward.

Isaac stood where he had begun; Romdel gaped at him, eyes bulging.

“Hiiieek! H-hurk! Hhaaa-agh!”

A grotesque screech. Clutching his neck with both hands, Romdel shook.

The memory of his head falling in a blink crushed him with raw terror.

Isaac glanced around, utterly calm.

“If we start again, will it rewind once more?”

“N-no! The stored timeline works only once!”

“Ah. I see.”

One more death here would be the real thing.

At Romdel’s frantic shout, Isaac clicked his tongue in mild disappointment.

* * *

That Night.

Isaac was back in his quarters.

By his count, he’d felled well over a dozen mages that day.

No one had died, of course, but fear and pride had both been properly stoked.

When he left, he’d spotted those same mages huddled in a strategy meeting—rather satisfying.

Looks like I’ll have the arena all to myself again tomorrow.

“Good thing mages are so competitive,” he thought. No more waiting in line.

Knock, knock.

“Discipleee—!”

The Grandmaster stumbled through the door.

Isaac frowned; she was swaying, words tangling together.

“You’ve been drinking?”

“Nameless brought it!”

“So you’re completely smashed.”

Isaac slapped a palm to her forehead. Getting this wrecked so fast meant it had to be something potent.

With nowhere to dodge in the tiny room, he ended up trapped in her hug.

“You’re working sooo hard! I’m so proud of you!”

“…Thank you.”

His face was buried in her cleavage, but Isaac stayed unruffled; he’d been through this a few times in his previous life.

“I saw you handle the device today! Way smoother than before!”

“Right. Training does pay off.”

“Haha! That’s my disciple! You don’t know how proud you make me!”

They say the drunk speak the truth; the rough pat she gave his head brimmed with tipsy affection.

“Hehe, acting like yourself… I know how heavy that is on you.”

“…”

“So? Want to sleep together tonight, just being your true self?”

She grinned mischievously. Isaac lifted his head and answered quietly.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Puh-huh? And wh-y-y?”

Her voice held no surprise, as if she knew.

“There’s a woman who confessed first. I need to give her my answer before anything else.”

The Grandmaster broke into a soft smile.

“Ah, how splendid you are…”

“Ahem.”

“My disciple—truly a source of pride!”

She ruffled his hair again and laughed.

****

A Few Days Later.

The Grandmaster’s great saber carved a crescent toward Isaac with breathtaking elegance.

Time itself seemed to stop.

Blood sprayed; a by-now familiar pain bloomed, and Isaac bit back a groan.

Death loomed close—and the clock rewound.

Another reset.

“…Was that rapid draw-and-strike just now?”

The Grandmaster’s ears pricked; she nodded.

“You saw it?”

“Y-yes… couldn’t react, but I saw it.”

He truly had—like moonlight stretched across a lake.

She bounded up and hugged him.

“Excellent! If your eyes can follow that, there’s no sword technique beyond you!”

She hopped in glee, then suddenly stiffened and shuffled back.

“Er—keep up the good work.”

That drunken night in Isaac’s room was, to her, a black mark best forgotten.

“…Grandmaster,” Isaac began after a moment.

Sparring with the Tower mages had revealed something.

“Actually, I think I’ve grasp—”

“Thank you for your hard work!”

A troop of female mages streamed in, thrusting towels and drinks at him.

“A-amazing!”

“You were incredible!”

“…I lost, though.”

“But you lasted way longer than last time!”

“Exactly—you’re amazing!”

“...”

The Mage Tower reeked of musty books and unbathed mages.

There were hardly “men” here—only mages.

Yet one fresh outsider had awakened the femininity hidden behind that title in quite a few of them.

Conversely, the will of the mages who vowed to topple Isaac now burned hotter than ever.

– – The End of The Chapter ––

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