The devil was not the sort of devil to hold a grudge. Not long after being made into a magic staff, he had already stopped taking the whole business to heart, and sometimes he even thought it had done him good — being held in his master's hand felt strange and unfree, but at least he would never be used as cannon fodder on dangerous missions again. Put that way, he was actually a great deal safer now.
As a devil with no grand ambitions, all he wanted was to keep his own life and enjoy the Mage World's endless supply of novelties.
The Spire had issued three pieces of mission equipment.
The first was a space anchor, which kept low-level Mages from being blown away by ether storms in the void. The second was a scroll of high-grade magic able to penetrate a crystal wall system; once the exploration Mage located an other plane, the scroll's power would help him slip inside. The third was an information recorder: after gathering enough intelligence, the exploration Mage could connect to the Magic Net and send it back.
All three were support equipment. Not one of them enhanced combat power.
"Master, the Spire Mages are a little stingy, aren't they? They didn't give you a single life-saving trinket, and you're going out there to risk your neck. I don't even know if five percent of the take is worth it." In the laboratory, the devil watched several hundred Adams pace back and forth, gave a shudder, and shuffled over to Adam's side to say his piece.
