Child Rearing Journal of the Strongest Wiseman～About My Daughter Being the Cutest in the World～

Well, this is how I celebrated my second birthday, and my daughter grew up enough to be said to be a girl about twelve years old.

It's about time this one was more hesitant to take a bath with me.

Additionally, the magical talent that blossomed the other day is also growing well.

Beginning with the magic of "Flying," "Water Polo," "Transparency," "Recovery," and other simple magic could be chanted.

That was my niece, said Illis Seymour, the master.

In fact, her magical talent is quite something, and this would make it easy to pass the Lengrad School of Magic talent test.

When this happens, the problem is the written test.

Fiona has only been alive for two years now.

Its body should be inferior to its knowledge, even if it is a girl, if its spirit is young. And above all, there was an overwhelming lack of experience and time.

But Fiona also solves the problem lightly.

She scored a hundred out of 100 on the Lean Grad School of Sorcery test admission issue I collected.

Or maybe the most extraordinary part of her is the contents of that brain.

Master said,

"If you're intelligent and intelligent, you look like a monkey when we meet. Fiona's brilliance."

It was.

My master would have meant to be sarcastic, but I wasn't hurt.

No, it was more of a pleasure. Parents are creatures whose cheeks loosen when they praise their daughters at all times. The oxen gave birth to eagles. Best compliment ever.

"Conversely, you can't stand out like me with only magical talent."

"So is that. You wanted her to be a magic librarian."

"Or maybe a research position at the Institute of Magic. My daughter could sweep away the concepts of pre-epochal alchemy and separate alchemy from science."

"Is that what you're talking about? That philosophy that alchemy should be easy to reproduce even without magic"

"Exactly. Sorcerers are not the only ones benefiting from witchcraft, creating a time when even villagers walking around there can benefit from witchcraft. That's my dream."

"An age where everyone manipulates fire easily and everyone can fly easily. Hopefully someday, we'll lose our jobs."

That's what the master says and laughs at.

Indeed, that's the world I dreamed of. Sorcery ceases to be an instrument of war and becomes a symbol of peace.

Or driven by science and chemistry to become a useless long object.

I've been doing research for a thousand years to create those times.

"Maybe my daughter will inherit that ideal."

The master leaks so emotionally, but did not go on with the words any further.

There is a separation between me and my master on this point.

I wanted a world where there was no need for magic one day.

Meanwhile, the master wanted a world where magic and the world reconciled.

It was the master who chose the path to make the world better by magic. There's no way I can fit the story.

However, it was common that we were thinking about Fiona's future with each other.

She offered a single letter from the valley of her breasts without further widening the debate.

"We finally have a fake ID."

When she says so, she gives it to me.

I got it. I just look through.

There, Fiona's name and birth certificate were written.

Nationality is the Neue Miladin Empire. It comes from civilians.

The mother's column had an X mark, and the father's column had my name.

"How dare you forge it?"

"Don't lick this Iris Seymour. He is a court magician with the title of Great Sage. I can forge as many documents as I want."

When she says so, she brags against her big breasts, but I point out a serious problem.

I poked at her mistake, pointing to a certain spot on the paperwork.

"... you know, I think Fiona's name should stay the same, but isn't it unsavory that my name stays the same?

"Why not?

"No, 'cause I'm going to Lengrad to get out of the hands of the Empire, right? If the name stays the same, it won't taste good."

By the way, the name remained the same, but the nationality and origin had changed. The date of birth has also been changed.

In order to become a teacher in a magic school, a magician who graduated from a magic school in a small country is described.

However, that's why the same name was a good place to drop one hand.

Pointing that out, the witch said this in a cool voice.

"Oh, my God, is that so? Never mind, there are 50,000 magicians in this world named Kate, etc. Fortunately, Kite the Thousand Years Sage was a magician in a drawer cage, so she has little knowledge of herself. There will be no such thing as an empire that can match its name to its face. Not to mention your neighbor Lengrad."

"Hmm, indeed."

My drawcage is pretty good. Something thorough, even to the master, Iris, that only fits once every few decades.

I left the buyout to the city and the presentation of the research results mostly to Chloe, so I might be able to count with one hand, such as a person who can actually match my name with my face.

"It's not more suspicious to go through the name as it is than to force Fiona to confuse herself by using a pseudonym here. That's what I judged."

"And you may be right about that."

"Bloody witches always make the right choices."

She returns that in a good mood, but when she clears up her ID issues, she has uttered even more outrageous words.

"Oh, by the way, I took care of the mansion you lived in. Illis Seymour's apprentice, Kite, died as a result of an explosion under study. Studies failed and bombed to death, putting an end to that shitty long life. That's how I delivered it to the Sorcery Society."

The problem, by the way, is what came out after that word.

It was after I said, "Thank you for your trouble."

"Oh, that took a lot of work. I've actually blown the mansion to pieces of dust, and I've been looking for a corpse that looks like it, so it's not easy to forge at all."

That's what she said.

When I heard that word, I screamed unexpectedly.

"Hey, did you blow up the mansion?!? And get the body ready."

"You can't be dead on the paperwork without actually blowing it up. If they don't find the body, they'll treat him like he's missing."

"But still morally..."

"Don't worry. It's the body of a sinner who finished his sentence. That's not familiar either. The bodies that blew up were carefully collected and buried."

Incidentally, the incense that came out of the sorcerers and master's disciples belonging to the sorcery society was apparently a sparrow tear.

"I don't have a choice. You're a bad sorcerer."

She laughed that way, but I couldn't.

Hey, what's up? The master asks why he gives such a look.

"I'm just giving you the look of a pathetic apprentice who was bombed of his mansion without any permission and burned down with research results and precious books. It's an extremely average, natural expression."

In contrast, she insists that she has no choice.

He said that if we don't actually blow up the mansion, and if we don't blow up the research results and books, the investigators who visited the mansion to investigate might suspect it.

…………

I didn't get any more protested expressions because it's true, but anyway, I'm officially speechless now.

In contrast, the master says:

"Look, you've become a father. I transferred him from a research idiot close to being unemployed to a prestigious school of witchcraft teacher. No sardine is to be thanked and criticized."

That's what she said, but she still stopped thinking about the mansion she had lived in for years, and the research results, and the collection of books over the course of nearly a thousand years.

Damn, I've got a hell of a teacher.

I thought so, but when I got the papers, I asked her to shake my hand.

The master who sees the hand looks suspicious.

"What's that hand?

A witch who frankly states what she thought.

"It's a goodbye greeting. You'll never be able to meet Lengrad as easily as you've ever been."

"I see, indeed. Plus your pulling cage skills are muscular. It was decades ago."

"Now we won't be seeing each other for that long, but still, it doesn't mean we'll see each other every day as before"

"Right. Liengrad is far away. Not if you use the magic of metastasis, but I'm busy. You shouldn't feel comfortable seeing me even though I don't need you."

"But my aunt has to see my niece's face once in a while."

When I argue so, she laughs mockingly, "Right," again.

I was curious about that smile, so I asked her.

Why do you look like that?

She gave me back her immediate and simple thoughts about it.

"But there are words," she said, "but my niece also feels bad about it. I thought he was just a noisy creature, such as a kid, but this past year, I lived with Fiona and thought. It's not that bad to live with a child."

It was a word that didn't look like a witch, but I agreed to that, too.

Like a bloody witch and a woman feared in the world reading pictures, telling stories and teaching studies to Fiona, she told the story of the immense impact Fiona had on others.

In fact, it was also my daughter's smile that soaked her in an obnoxious mood and changed my consciousness, which she had been pulling away for hundreds of years.

To protect that smile, I grabbed the paperwork my teacher had prepared and headed to Lengrad.