Drug-Eating Genius Mage (Fanfic)

Sitting on the bed, Asmon contemplated his next move. What does one need to survive in a world where you know nothing? His primary objective was already clear: he needed money. But before he could earn it, several problems needed to be solved. "No matter how I think about it… earning money legally is impossible."

In this world, Asmon was nothing more than an illegal immigrant without proper identification. He had no idea if there was any way to become a legitimate citizen here; even if there were, it would require time and money—luxuries he couldn't afford when he might not even have enough for tomorrow's lodging.

Thus, his options were severely limited. Even though Asmon was barely managing to cover his food expenses, his mind worked overtime, devising clever ideas and practical plans. He knew that even if he couldn't operate completely within the law, there were countless ways to earn money—as long as he stayed within the bounds of basic ethics. With his magic, it wouldn't be too hard to track down the lowlife criminals lurking in the city's underbelly and relieve them of their cash. "Right now, that's the best plan," he murmured to himself.

It wouldn't give him a steady income, but it was enough to get immediate funds. With that decision made, Asmon sprang from the bed. After all, to catch fish, you must first head to the water. Gathering his belongings from the bed, he left the room, paid for his stay at the front desk, and stepped out into the daylight.

Avoiding the harsh, direct sunlight, he hurried into the shade. His head spun and his breath came in short gasps, but Asmon fought the urge to light another cigarette. "I have to hold on," he told himself. Smoking now would only speed up the breakdown of his already fragile body—and once the side effects kicked in, his time would be even shorter. If possible, he needed to avoid smoking and keep his wits about him.

Watching hundreds of people milling about in the shade, he scanned the crowd. He hadn't decided where to go yet, but a faint inner voice urged, "That way." Amid the busy downtown, his innate magical talent picked up a faint, sticky trail of magic—one that reeked of the dark arts used by criminals who preyed on the weak. It was the kind of magic that lingered in the shadows, and it felt like home to Asmon.

Following that trace, he soon found himself in a chaotic district—a sprawling maze of nightclubs, gambling dens, street vendors, and abandoned construction sites. In one corner, a battered sign reading "Zone 49" lay discarded. Neon signs and garish lights blazed around him, while a nauseating mix of overpowering perfumes and acrid smoke filled the air. Even in broad daylight, deep shadows cloaked the area, and people avoided making eye contact. Though far removed from the bustling center of Valkan, Asmon wasn't surprised.

Just as flies swarm around money, this place buzzed with it. Even back in his old world, such scenes were common. Here, people maintained a cool indifference—deliberately keeping their distance and not caring about anyone else. Occasionally, small groups huddled in dark corners for hushed talks, but for the most part, everyone simply slipped into some obscure building.

There was no shortage of ways for Asmon to eavesdrop, and he intended to do just that. Settling into a quiet corner of the street, he focused his magical energy on his ears. Even without formal training, the process came naturally. In an instant, his hearing became extraordinarily sharp, and he began absorbing every sound around him. Leaning against a brick wall, he listened intently to the murmurs inside a nearby building.

"...They're looking for a lobbying agency for the 17th Development District construction project, to split an 80/20 deal."

"Did you hear? An engineer from Palmers' new AI disarmament project went missing. They'll probably hire a replacement soon."

"I want to pull some strings with a local druid about the greenbelt reduction plan—maybe even smuggle out one of the T9 endangered species."

Dangerous and lucrative conversations buzzed around him, but Asmon wasn't looking to get tangled up in anything too complicated. He let the unfamiliar terms wash over him, widening his focus to capture every bit of street talk.

In moments, his magical senses expanded, and he absorbed all the ambient sounds—from street chatter to the distant hum of sewers. Even though it had been less than a week since he first learned to use his magic, his control over it already far exceeded his normal senses. He ignored discussions that seemed too dangerous or convoluted, occasionally encountering areas sealed off by magical barriers that blocked his energy—but he paid them no mind.

What he needed was a simple, clean score—something lucrative yet low-risk that he could exploit in the urban jungle, far from prying law enforcement. Then, as his magical senses led him to a damp, narrow alleyway, a voice crackled in his ear. "I told you to bring the stolen money quickly. Can't you hear me?"

"...Got it," someone replied softly. With his eyes suddenly alight, Asmon quickened his pace. He entered a dank, unnamed back alley where water trickled along the cracked pavement and smog belched from hidden ventilation ducts among abandoned factories.

There, he saw two men mercilessly kicking a man who lay crumpled on the ground.

Thud! Thud!

"…What did I say?" one of the attackers snarled.

The leader, fumbling with his cigarette, lit it with a trembling hand. "I told you that if you pulled this off, there'd be no problem. But why, after hoarding all that cash, are you complaining that it's lost, huh?"

"Th-th-that's not a lie… He really, really disappeared on the way…"

BLOOP!!

The older man, his face now bloodied, jerked his head around sharply at the accusation. Unable to contain his anger, the man who had been kicking started flailing his arms, while another nearby shook his head in disbelief. "There's no hope. We need to combine the money he's taken—if we're going to cover this month's installments…"

"Phew, phew… This is the third time. I swear that little runt won't let this slide next time."

"Let's do this." A grim atmosphere hung in the air as the men prepared to settle their score, unaware that Asmon, hidden in the shadows, was absorbing every word.

The man's eyes gleamed dangerously. "Let's take one of them out and sell his organs," he snarled.

His companion grinned slyly. "I like your style."

Both of them fixed their gaze on the man lying on the ground. The older man's face turned ashen, and with a guttural, agonized scream—"Ugh—! Ah-ah-ah!"—he began convulsing violently.

Suddenly, Asmon emerged from behind them, a cigarette dangling casually from his mouth.

"Hmm," he murmured. Electric blue currents arced from both his hands. "That spell works perfectly," he observed. Though it was merely a basic "Bolt" spell, it was more than enough to knock two men unconscious. Ignoring the vacant stare of the man before him, Asmon began rifling through the fallen men's belongings.