The Regressed SSS-Rank Water Mage Wants To Live a Calm Life-Chapter 14: Gislow’s Plight

"Please, bo– Maxwell, take a seat."

Maxwell’s lips curled into a satisfied smile, and he nodded, gently making his way toward the wooden chair.

As he sat down, the young mage cast a calm gaze at Gislow.

The guildmaster sat with interlocked fingers, leaning forward to the table in front of him, while his elbows rested on said table. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

Gislow’s keen gaze carefully studied Maxwell, as if the young blue-haired mage was a tough puzzle he intently tried to solve.

Max raised a brow, a bit perplexed by the sudden silence that hung in the room, punctuated by the old man’s awkwardly intense stare.

"Ahem-?"

Gislow, seemingly drawn out of his stream of thoughts, widened his eyes and cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair. He then moved his gaze from Maxwell and stared at Vin, who sat quietly on the couch in the corner.

As Gislow’s gaze surveyed him, the middle-aged mercenary flinched slightly, then comported himself, breathing disproportionately.

Gislow chuckled softly, as if finding Vin’s reaction amusing. Then, finally, he gazed at Maxwell, and the faint smile on his lips disappeared immediately, replaced by that same puzzled expression. His lips parted to ask in the same old, deep voice:

"How?"

All the while, Max’s one brow had remained raised as he observed Gislow, but now it stretched even higher. It was looking likely that the brow would remain that way for the rest of their conversation.

With a slight smile on his lips, one that almost morphed into a chuckle, Maxwell spoke:

"How...?" He chuckled now, leaning back and relaxing in the soft rest of the wooden chair. "How what?"

Gislow blinked, clearing his throat and shaking the intensity off his demeanor.

"Pardon me, I was just a bit surprised."

Max’s brow finally settled, and he blinked.

’Oh?’

"And why exactly were you surprised?"

Gislow wiped off a non-existent sweat on his forehead, then let out a gruff grunt as he crossed his arms, still relaxing in his chair.

Immediately, he pointed a finger at Maxwell’s chest.

This time, the young mage raised both eyebrows.

"You," Gislow withdrew his finger and began taking off the strap around his body. "You surprised me."

Maxwell shifted in his seat.

"How so? Is it because I completed the A-rank task you weren’t actually expecting me to complete?"

Gong–!

A sound, akin to that of a gong being struck, echoed.

It was from the impact of the old man’s large silver shield hitting the ground right next to him.

The reverberating sound woke Frilo, who, a second ago, was peacefully napping on Vin’s hair.

The moment Frilo awoke, it spun in a daze of petty anger, letting out a cute squeaking sound. In the next moment, it flew toward Gislow, leaving behind trails of warm azure energy as it circled the man’s head.

’Pfft.’

Maxwell tried his best to hold back his chuckle.

Gislow grunted softly, rolling his shoulders as the weight of his shield finally left.

"Well," the old man breathed out in relief, "that is part of the reason."

’I see.’

Maxwell realized Gislow’s... plight immediately, and his warm smile widened more as he crossed his legs. This was exactly what Maxwell was looking for.

Gislow leaned closer to Maxwell, his breathing growing steady.

"The mana I sensed from you in the guild lobby earlier... I was a hundred percent certain your mana level was equal to — if not higher than — mine. That flare of intent, it was definitely 7th-circle tier." Gislow furrowed his brows. "But now I’m confused. The mana I sense from you now is that of a 2nd-circle, exactly how it was when I last saw you."

Of course, it was back to the second circle level. Currently, the blue rings revolving around Maxwell’s heart were only two. And the amount of mana in those two circles was so low that Maxwell felt as if he was powerless, like an elephant trapped in an ant’s body.

This was the exact reason why Maxwell was so grateful for his soul-link with Frilo. It settled this problem of Maxwell’s.

Frilo, being a grandmaster rank spirit — the highest rank a spirit could attain — possessed the ability to absorb any form of energy, be it divinity or mana, and transform it to the water element. And it could share this transformed energy with Maxwell through their soul-link. But the shared mana never settled in Max’s circles. The mana just circulated his mana pathways — a body vessel, like a vein or artery, made specifically for mana flow instead of blood.

Frilo’s ability had been severely weakened due to Maxwell’s regression. The amount of pure mana it could absorb in the atmosphere was at the level of 7th-circle, which was scraps to Maxwell, but a great feat to mortals. If Frilo recovered, which it would in time, it would be able to absorb mana comparable to ascenders — warriors above the 9th-circle.

And, of course, Maxwell could just take in the pure mana in the atmosphere on his own, use a breathing technique to turn it to the water element, and grow organically. But it took time, and it had only been a few hours since he regressed. He hadn’t gotten the opportunity to do so.

Maxwell narrowed his eyes.

"So?"

Gislow stared at him for a moment, seemingly pondering something.

"So... how did you do it? Did you use an artifact that boosts mana level? Or one specifically meant for heightening killing intent? But," Gislow caressed his long, grey beard, "that wouldn’t explain how you killed a wyvern. Did that damn brat give you an artifact before kicking you out of his family?"

Maxwell chuckled. Any other man or god in his place would’ve been offended by Gislow’s words. But not Max. The old man was lucky that the young mage was an understanding man.

’I guess by ’damn brat’ he means...’

"My father?"

"Yes, that damn brat. Did he perhaps give you any artifact?"

"None that I can recall."

Maxwell remembered. Gislow knew his father. Once upon a time, when his father was still a growing youth, Gislow took him in as a disciple. And that was when Maxwell’s father was in his twenties, and he was in his fifties now. Gislow was truly an old man. But that wasn’t even the absurd part of it. What was truly absurd was the fact that a shieldman took in a flame mage as a disciple.

Anyway, that was the reason why Maxwell even had the opportunity to speak with Guildmaster Gislow. It was because the old man noticed his father’s youthful temperance in Maxwell.

Gislow took his hand away from his beard and muttered:

"I see."

"So, about my ranking..." Maxwell leaned in, and the smile wiped from his lips.

The young mage raised an arm and swayed it gently in the air. To others, it seemed like a common speech-gesture, but in reality, Maxwell was swatting away Frilo, who was still buzzing around Gislow in anger, subtly hindering Maxwell’s view of the old man’s face.

’Stop it, Frilo.’

A flute-like sound echoed, and Maxwell sighed. Frilo, pouting, immediately returned to its thread form, angrily snaking its way toward Maxwell’s soul.

"Yes, your ranking. I did promise that you’ll get the C-rank license after you complete that task, didn’t I? You will, don’t wo–"

"I want a higher-ranked license."

Hearing Maxwell say this, Vin’s ears perked up, and he cast a consternated gaze at Max.

"Max?" Vin whispered.

Maxwell turned to the confused mercenary, smiling with his index finger over his pursed lips.

"Shh."

Vin’s eyes widened, then he blinked, and then his eyes returned to normal, and he smiled, shrugging.

’He gets it.’