Chapter 63: An Invitation from the Mage Tower

Re-written date: 7 / 17 / 2025

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Chapter 63: An Invitation from the Mage Tower

No one in the audience had expected it, but the film ended not with the usual credits, but with a surprise—the entire cast and crew stepped forward on stage to give a heartfelt salute.

It was a moment of genuine respect and gratitude, and the impact was immediate. Murmurs of surprise and delight swept through the crowd. The special sendoff made it clear that this was no ordinary screening—it was a premiere, and one tailored for the lucky few present tonight.

This sort of thing definitely wouldn't happen once the movie hit the regular theaters. After all, actors and directors had no obligation to appear in person for every screening. That kind of personal gesture was a one-time treat—something only those at the premiere would get to witness.

Notably, neither Belldia nor Viz joined the rest of the crew on stage. Given their unusual backgrounds, their absence was understandable. But from the looks of it, neither seemed to mind. They likely preferred it that way.

With the final ceremony now complete and the cast stepping down from the stage, most of the audience began preparing to leave. No matter how good the movie was, the rules were clear—once the showing ended, it was time to clear the hall.

That included even the highest-ranking guests in attendance, like General Wilhelm and Knight Commander Wycliffe. Although the young man accompanying them, Rhine, looked like he wanted to linger a bit longer.

Rhine's interest in the film and its crew was obvious. His eyes kept drifting back toward the stage, even as they made their way to the exit. Still, Wilhelm and Wycliffe both knew better than to indulge whims. They weren't here just to watch a movie—they had come to the southern territories for serious business. Chief among them was the discussions with the southern duke about looming threats from the Beastkin Kingdom in the west.

"We're leaving already? Don't you want to see the next movie too?" Rhine asked, his voice tinged with regret.

Wilhelm gave a small chuckle. "Once we've finished our talks with the duke, we'll come back. Priorities first. Getting to see something this revolutionary was already more than I expected."

Wycliffe chimed in, his tone as loud and commanding as always. "The general's right. Don't push your luck, Rhine. Just because the movie turned out better than expected doesn't mean we can get distracted. We've got real work to do."

"...Yes, sir."

Rhine let out a defeated sigh. "I was hoping to at least meet that Goblin Slayer guy. I didn't like him much at first, but by the end... I can't believe how cool he turned out to be. A guy who only hunts goblins—who would've thought?"

Wilhelm laughed again, this time more heartily. "That's just because you haven't seen much yet. Many adventurers up north are just like him. Meticulous. Disciplined. They take every job seriously and never put their teammates at risk. Still... this Goblin Slayer, even I couldn't get a full read on him. If possible, I'd love to have someone like that in my ranks. With war against the Beastkins possibly on the horizon, a warrior like him would be a rare asset."

"Speaking of that... did you notice the name of the director during the credits?" Wilhelm's tone turned thoughtful. "Edward Durin... It sounds familiar. I swear I've heard that name somewhere before."

Rhine and Wycliffe both gave him puzzled looks. Clearly, the name didn't mean anything to them.

Wilhelm frowned, trying to place the memory, but nothing came. After a moment of trying, he gave up with a small shake of his head. "I must be imagining things."

As the three passed through the crowd, still buzzing with excitement over the film, they continued to discuss the movie's plot, picking apart details and sharing favorite moments. All the while, they steadily made their way toward the private teleportation terminal that had been prepared for them.

Even among the general audience who had just finished watching the premiere, the mood was about the same—buzzing, intense, and full of emotion. Some viewers had already started leaking vague plot details to their friends and neighbors. Because of that, even though the theater hadn't run any major promotions, Goblin Slayer still spread across Nosrick like wildfire. It helped that Edward had also announced that the official release would begin the very next day—and more importantly, that ticket prices would remain at just five copper coins each.

It was a statement of intent, loud and clear: this film wasn't just for the nobles or elite scholars. It was for everyone.

The premiere had been a clear success. Edward could feel it even from the shadows behind the audience, watching silently as the emotions rippled through the crowd. With that single goal accomplished, he finally found himself with some free time—a rare luxury. For a moment, there was a sense of emptiness, the kind that comes not from failure, but from not knowing what to do with sudden peace.

Fortunately, others had already taken the reins on the next steps.

Baniel had the entire film promotion campaign well under control. He was preparing to extend the reach of the Nosrick Cinema system into the northern territories. Of course, he hadn't jumped into construction right away. The cultural differences between the North and the South were too significant to ignore, so he'd chosen to travel there first, to get a clearer picture of what would work.

As for the Adventurer's Guild, both Guild Masters had thrown themselves into action. Because of Edward's influence, the previously separate Southern and Northern Adventurer's Guild had finally agreed to work together. For the first time, they were beginning to coordinate their efforts and resources, trying to improve the guild system as a whole rather than just protecting their own turf.

So now, with no urgent tasks on his plate, Edward was left drifting for a bit. The emptiness pushed him to realize something he'd been putting off—he needed to start thinking about his next film.

Sure, Goblin Slayer was only just beginning its rise in popularity, and its momentum would continue to grow for a while. He had time to prepare. There was no rush. But still, it didn't sit well with him to just sit around and wait.

Which was why, now that he finally had a moment to breathe, he decided to focus on something else that had been on his mind for a long time.

The gates of the Durin Family castle stood tall before him, lit by the glow of a magical teleportation circle. In a blink, Edward appeared just outside the front entrance. The moment he stepped onto the familiar stone path, a certain maid he hadn't seen in a while came running toward him with a bright, excited expression.

"Lord Durin! You're finally back!"

It was Winry, her formal title and posture doing little to hide how much she wanted to give him a hug. Edward simply smiled, patting her on the head. It wasn't until that moment that he remembered—he had completely forgotten to build a proper teleportation gate between the Durin Castle and Nosrick.

Then again, teleportation magic wasn't exactly simple to use. It consumed an enormous amount of magical energy. Without a powerful mage like him acting as a walking mana battery—no, a walking mana generator—it was basically unusable for the average person.

And that was the same problem affecting all sorts of Magitechs and constructs.

Back when he'd tried selling imaging crystals separately, the plan had failed for a similar reason. Normal people just didn't have the magical power to operate the devices. That lack of accessible magical energy was the biggest bottleneck to making these conveniences part of everyday life.

It was a frustrating truth: even though the magic existed, even though the technology worked, none of it mattered unless people had the power to actually use it.

That same problem applied to Magitechs, enchantments, and pretty much any mage-crafted invention. If someone wasn't a trained spellcaster—or at least didn't have the help of one—they were locked out of an entire world of convenience.

This limitation had severely stunted the growth of magic in the world. After all, when only a small group of people pushed the boundaries of a field—and when the results of their work couldn't be applied to everyday life—progress inevitably slowed to a crawl. It became a stagnant cycle, one where magical research looped endlessly in on itself without reaching the broader population.

Edward wanted to change that. In fact, breaking this deadlock had always been one of his biggest goals. But he knew that he alone wasn't enough to overturn the system. Even with the invention of the magic video recorder and the imaging crystal—tools that allowed ordinary people to indirectly enjoy the benefits of magic—those inventions still weren't a true solution. At their core, both devices still depended on magical energy. If you didn't have magic power, you couldn't activate or maintain them.

That was the key problem. How could normal people ever access magic, or at least use it like a utility? Not even Edward had an answer to that question—nor did any alchemist in history. And without a way to bridge that gap, Magitech Alchemy as a discipline remained a fringe, near-dead field. It never gained enough traction to rise into mainstream magical academia.

Still, Edward didn't believe his inventions were meaningless. Quite the opposite. Compared to the endless stream of failed Magitechs that had come before, the magic video recorder and imaging crystal represented a turning point—a concrete difference.

In the past, magitech alchemists—already rare to begin with—often created tools like staffs that could cast fireball spells or rings that slowly absorbed ambient mana. But the problem was simple: mages didn't need them. A staff that shot fireballs was pointless when you could just cast the spell yourself. A ring that gathered mana was redundant when you already had better, faster ways of channeling your power.

That's why Magitech Alchemy had always been seen as a black hole for research funds and time. No matter how many resources were poured into it, it never produced anything that justified the investment. That is, until Edward's creations came along.

Unlike those earlier tools, the magic video recorder and the imaging crystal did something that mages couldn't do on their own. A mage could hurl fireballs, fly, or reshape stone with magic, but they couldn't capture a moving image in real time, reproduce sound with perfect clarity, or project it for an audience. These tools offered a capability entirely outside the domain of traditional spellcasting.

That, Edward believed, was the true reason they had the potential to change the world—not just the world of entertainment or storytelling, but the entire structure of magical research and society.

If his vision succeeded, it wouldn't just elevate his inventions. It would drag the entire field of Magitech Alchemy out of the shadows and into the core of magical science. A discipline once dismissed as impractical or irrelevant would now be seen as essential. That alone was enough to keep him moving forward, no matter how uncertain the road ahead seemed.

Lost in thought, Edward returned to the castle. He hadn't even sat down before he sensed something strange. A subtle ripple of magical energy pulsed through the air—faint, but unmistakable.

Edward blinked, immediately snapping out of his thoughts.

Someone was approaching.

Without wasting a second, he walked straight to the front entrance. As he opened the door, the familiar sight of a tall, robed figure came into view—someone he had met not long ago.

It was Roy, the Chief Court Mage under Grand Duke Viktor, one of the top mages in the Empire.

Roy stood politely with both hands behind his back, posture straight and calm as ever.

Before Edward could speak, Roy reached into his robes and produced a sealed envelope. "Baron Durin," he said formally, "this is something I was instructed to deliver to you. It comes from Administrator Hohenheim himself."

Edward's eyes narrowed. For a brief second, his mind went blank. Then he quickly took the envelope, carefully breaking the seal.

Inside was a single piece of paper.

But Edward knew exactly what it meant even before reading the details.

It was an invitation—to the Grand Arcane Assembly of the Mage Tower.

Even without any further explanation, the weight behind that piece of paper was immense. Every mage in the Empire—and beyond—knew what this meant.

The Grand Arcane Assembly wasn't just a scholarly conference. It was the highest academic event in the magical world. The equivalent of the Nobel Prize, and perhaps even more prestigious, considering the influence it had.

In this world, every time the Grand Assembly was held, it triggered sweeping changes across the magical community. New theories were tested, old doctrines were revised, and bold new visions were debated by the sharpest minds of the age. Sometimes, entire magical disciplines were born—or buried—within those halls.