Tenacious Battle (4)
Lia noticed the Altar's stirring purely thanks to the quest.
Main Quest: Altar (1)
No matter how low-ranking their forces may be, no matter how shattered their organization still is, they cannot be ignored. All of them are a kind of chimera, having transplanted beast blood vessels into their own bodies.
The moment Lia received the quest alert, she gathered everyone inside the barrier. There wasn't a second to waste.
"...Ah!"
Lia clung to the barrier like a barnacle, peering down at the Altar horde finally making their appearance.
The fanatical cult handling the latter half of the main quest.
The lingering ghost of the ancient theocratic era, the evil of the age crying out for the continent's doom.
Of course, they'd see themselves as justice, but the greatest evil in any world where people live has always been, without exception, the justice that believes only itself is right.
Ruuuuuumble...
Demonic energy poured from the Altar mages. A force hundreds of times rougher, fiercer, and more vicious than mana swirled in like a vortex.
"Th-those guys!"
Lia tried to shout a warning, but Deculein stopped her with a look of utter disdain.
"No need for such clamor."
"Wha?!"
"'Tis nothing of note."
Nothing of note, my ass!
Lia was frustrated. This professor's stubbornness really never changed...
Kwaaaaa—!
Their demonic energy boiled and condensed. All of it focusing into a single point of extreme pressure and heat.
Lia sensed a chill from that demonic energy.
Not far off—the premonition of death.
"No...!"
She tried to yell.
Plop—
The demonic energy over there vanished. Well, traces remained at least. Powerless smoke, like gunpowder soaked in rain, wafted faintly.
"Pfft."
A small scoff reached her ears.
"...?"
Lia turned to Deculein with a baffled look.
"Hahaha—"
He burst into laughter. Not a huge laugh, but for Deculein, it was practically manic cackling.
"..."
The Altar group across the way seemed momentarily flustered too.
Only for a moment, truly.
They rallied their demonic energy again, deploying a magic ritual. And Deculein watched them steadily.
Crackle—!
Sparks flew in the air.
Not just once.
Crack—! Crackle—!
Sparks chaining one after another.
Like flicking an electric prod on and off, or mosquitoes frying on an electric swatter—zap zap zap—zap zap zap—!
How many minutes did that tedious scene drag on?
Lost in thought, Lia realized belatedly.
Mana Interference Battle.
Mana battles usually meant destructive clashes of spells, so this utterly static standoff might not fit the term.
But Lia knew.
That crackle-crackle wasn't anything else—it could only be explained one way.
What was happening now—no, what Deculein was doing—was the instantaneous calculation and dismantling of magic.
Computing the ritual's formulas and circuits faster than the caster, disrupting the spell's completion.
Mana interference.
Textbook-wise, it fell under "mana battle."
But it was almost always heavily favored toward the defender—the one interfering with the spell—making it practically impossible in real fights.
The defender had to intuit, through sheer theory, the attacker's spell type, lineage, formula, circuit, logic, combinations—all those countless possibilities—in a split second, then unleash mana to shatter the ritual's core.
Crackle—!
Crack—!
Thus, this mana battle was a scene no ordinary mage could pull off.
But Lia had seen it once before. A scenario with a similar moment.
Archmage Demakan.
His debut. Dismantling every ritual from warring mage factions, showcasing the dignity of an archmage.
But how could Deculein...
"Ah! Demonic energy!"
Lia blurted it out. She even sniffed—sniff sniff. Their demonic energy was rippling at the barrier's base.
Deculein—and Yukline's—defining trait was demonic energy.
A bloodline that pathologically loathed demons, most threatening when facing them.
A special house that transcended its own limits the moment it absorbed demonic energy.
So, perhaps.
Did Deculein wield an instinctive, animalistic sense even against demon-fueled magic? Seeing it laced with demonic energy, he instantly pierced and dismantled it...
"Demonic energy? Ah, you mean the Yukline bloodline."
Ihelm chimed in from the side, smirking at Deculein.
"Makes sense. Yukline does have that tradition. They get stronger against demon-like scum, or so they say."
Not tradition—fact. Lia shot Ihelm a glance and turned back to Deculein.
That's when realization dawned.
Deculein was the villain. Not multifaceted, flatter than anyone on this continent. No room for redemption or enlightenment.
...That "scenario Deculein" notion—or prejudice—had kept her from thinking it till now.
But if Deculein turned to their side?
If they could at least use him for good?
Against demonic energy, he was near-invincible.
No—look at him now.
Crack—crackle—crackle—!
The wild sparks were dying down. The Altar mages' demonic energy was spent.
"Already over?"
In other words.
Deculein wasn't just near-invincible against demonic energy.
"Indeed. 'Twas my error to expect anything from vermin like you, who have forsaken humanity and cannot even claim to be insects."
—He might be invincible.
"...Not the slightest amusement. Deranged lunatics. Less than clowns—mere trash. With such idiotic magic systems, you dare challenge whom...?"
Of course, absorbing demonic energy made him far more savage than usual.
"Your trash talk is top-tier too, Professor."
Deculein glanced her way.
"...Hmph. Ahem! Enough! Where do you lot find the gall?!"
Lia chimed in, lowering her gaze.
The imperial palace's grand hall. Silence settled over the ornate, weighty seat of majesty.
The whole world seemed drained to monochrome, vitality lacking, as drizzling rain darkened the ministers' hearts.
"...Had we not forced preparations."
Today's council was for reports and state affairs.
Sophien shook her head at documents from across the continent.
"The empire's fall would not have been hyperbole."
The ministers fell silent. Especially those like Romelock, who had opposed Deculein's winter prediction—heads bowed till their necks might snap.
It was certain now.
This winter was the harshest in imperial history.
"Your Majesty. Might we not send palace knight support to the hardest-hit territories first? And Yukline Trading Company supplies in abundance—"
"I shall heed none of you."
Sophien silenced them.
"Based on these reports and the situation, I myself shall decide the form, extent, and placement of relief and aid."
These damned ministers—save a few—would surely decide aid by their hometowns, friends' houses, such nonsense.
"Your Majesty. However..."
Romelock slithered toward rebellion again.
"Your Majesty!"
Beyond the open doors, palace knight Gawain and court mage Georg appeared.
Too panicked and aghast to scold the interruption.
"Your Majesty! Disaster strikes!"
Gawain and Georg prostrated. Sophien sighed.
"Speak."
"Knight Gawain here. No matter how I pondered, last night's mana disturbance felt off, so I inspected the palace gardens and inner walls. And!"
Rising, Gawain showed a torn robe scrap. Sophien knew at a glance.
Rohakan's deliberate trace.
"Found this robe shred caught on a grate. Suspicious, so I asked Mage Georg to analyze it...!"
"An intruder in the palace now?!"
Romelock scowled. Gawain nodded gravely.
"Yes. But more gravely—no time for that, Mage Georg?!"
"Yes, Your Majesty. The robe was fresh; someone's mana lingered. Just in case, I compared it to criminal mana samples in palace custody..."
Gulp. Georg swallowed, scanning the hall. Ministers blank-faced, but the bombshell to come terrified him.
"...It was Rohakan."
Eyes bulged. Most ministers groaned near-screams. Romelock, tied to Rohakan, paled and trembled.
Gawain said,
"...Your Majesty. Rohakan infiltrated the palace."
Sophien nodded calmly. These late reporters had spotted it quick this time.
Gawain and Georg's combo was sharp.
"Your Majesty. What shall we do? Announce a massive manhunt, bolster palace defenses—"
"Leave it be. No need to add palace chaos to the continent's crisis."
Sophien cut Gawain off. Romelock bowed.
"But, Your Majesty! If truly Rohakan, he might exploit this chaos to—"
"Romelock, would you utter blasphemy on mere fancy? I fall not to Rohakan's ilk."
Sophien rose. Words wearied her now.
"Yet a mage merits mage-opposition."
Rohakan. He claimed his end neared, but crimes didn't vanish. Nor would he seek pardon on such grounds.
Thus, he'd left this scrap.
"Once this audience ends, entrust it to Deculein. He's kindly left cloth; preserve it well, attach an adventurer mage versed in tracking spells, and he'll handle it."
With that, Sophien exited. Knights and servants trailed.
Reaching her chambers, she glared at piled papers and reports, then lay on the bed.
"..."
Staring blankly at the ceiling.
Recalling Rohakan's words to her.
Words undreamt in her century-plus life.
"...Are all who walk with me doomed to unhappiness?"
Those with me are unhappy?
When I myself have lived a life riddled with misery.
You, who've never died hundreds of times. You, untouched by a life of death and pain.
"Art thou listening?"
Sophien smirked at the snow globe on the table.
"...Kairon."
Silly to brood after centuries, but she voiced it once.
"Do I make people unhappy?"
...Yet.
Fact or lie, Rohakan's words.
The future he spoke to me won't come true, just by his telling.
"...Love him? I? Nay. Predestined feelings exist not in this world."
Sophien knew best.
Hundreds of regressions, yet no day repeated. Her tiniest acts as Sophien sparked vast changes.
Thus, Rohakan's nonsense— even if true—could be averted...
Tap tap—tap tap—
A signal at the window. Sophien rose and peered down.
"Ah! Greetings to Your Exalted Majesty!"
An adventurer in the garden looked up, grinning, holding a letter.
"Emperor~ A letter from Professor Deculein."
Northern Recorak, night.
Under a star-studded canopy, I stand watch.
Snore... snore...
Ifrin sleeps on the barrier floor; Ruina and Ihelm play some card game.
The calm before the storm.
Perhaps the last respite.
I checked Great Tiger Robe's specs too.
Treasure ⊃ Robe
◆ Info
: Supreme robe of great tiger leather.
: All effects enhanced by Midas' Hand.
◆ Special Effects
: Advanced Magic Resistance
: Advanced Physical Resistance
: Advanced Tiger Aura
[Midas' Hand: Level 4]
Magic and physical resistance are common, but advanced is special. Advanced usually graces million-elne armor; this mere robe defies that.
And above all, Tiger Aura.
This near-magical option—
"Professor Deculein~?"
The voice I sought. I turn wordlessly.
Ganesha.
"We're heading out now~ May we go?"
Leo and Lia flanked her.
I shake my head. Ganesha smiles sweetly.
"So~? What's your plan?"
"...I, Deculein von Grahan Yukline, propose a mission to Red Garnet adventurers."
"Ah~ Was wondering when. We don't work free~"
I hand her the checkbook from my breast pocket. Her eyes widen, turning to elne signs.
"Oh my! This much~?!"
"H-how much?"
"Me too, me too!"
Lia and Leo gawked at the digits.
To their fuss, I asked elsewhere.
"Achieved your goal in Mieolji?"
They'd shuttled between barrier and Mieolji repeatedly.
Searching for something, likely.
"Heard you visited the hospital too. Eyeing the herbalist's herbs."
"..."
Ganesha pocketed the check silently.
I asked bluntly.
"That mongrel injured?"
The trio stiffened. Lia pouted, glaring.
...That face is hard to bear.
I turned to Ganesha. She said,
"...Isn't 'mongrel' for beasts~?"
"Ganesha. I'm restraining my wrath. Be grateful I haven't loosed men to hunt and slaughter him."
"..."
Heat edged my tone. Ganesha looked away, scratching her nape, coughing.
"Ahem. Fine~ Yes. Well, Professor, you buried all those Altiegue with a whiff of demonic energy. Karos... er, the kid's hurt a bit. But we'll heal him. This money's all for that."
"..."
"So, could you cut us some slack~?"
Her twintails bobbed. I eyed Ganesha, Leo, Lia in turn, then nodded.
"No slack to give."
Whiiiish—
Cold wind tousled my hair. Robe hem fluttered. In that chill, I spoke.
"Fail to heal him, and I'll stake all to kill him. Same now. If he appears before me, I'll slay him without fail."
"..."
The trio tensed slightly, but Ganesha nodded first.
"Yessir~ Then, prepping the mission~"
Ganesha descended the barrier. Leo followed.
And...
Lia lingered, eyes on me.
Meeting them, I said,
"You—"
"Scram."
"...Yessir."
Lia leaped down hastily. I watched her back, shook my head, and drew the book from my pocket.
History of the Imperial House
Reading page by page, steeling for the imminent final battle, calming my mind.
...Recorak's air bites endlessly cold; the fragile night persists with me.