Outing. (2)
I entered Rohakan's vineyard. Pushing through the tangled worldlines with sheer mental fortitude. Without the Resilience I'd acquired previously, it would have been a considerable ordeal.
"You've come."
At last, I reached a cabin somewhere in the vineyard. A blue summer sky and blazing sunlight. Rohakan sat on the spacious porch, waving.
"Come sit."
His face was even younger than when I'd killed him—still a young man.
"Ho... indeed. You've changed a great deal."
I approached him.
"This should be enough to teach you."
And so, the lesson began.
Rohakan wasted no time on preambles or chit-chat.
"First, observe."
He drew a ritual formula in the air. A simple yet immense magic circle—utterly familiar to me.
"This is your Telekinesis, aye?"
The Telekinesis etched into my Iron Man body.
Rohakan grasped it at a glance.
"Yes."
"What a mad thing to do... carving an entire magic ritual into your own body. Didn't it hurt?"
"Mere pain."
Rohakan chuckled softly.
"Aye. You've imprinted magic rituals directly onto your flesh, exponentially amplifying the function, output, and efficiency of your spells. No ordinary mage—or even a decent knight—would dream of attempting it."
A method possible only for Deculein in this world, thanks to the Iron Man trait and my unique mental fortitude.
"Every time you cast, the circuits must overheat. Your blood vessels could burn away from the blaze... Well, the mere fact you're alive proves it's viable."
Then Rohakan arbitrarily modified the Telekinesis in the air. The ritual and circle warped ambiguously. Dozens of bizarre new circuits branched out. They intertwined, forming an unidentified geometry.
I examined it with Understanding.
Rohakan asked.
"What do you make of it?"
"...Inefficient."
"Is it now?"
Inefficient.
The three pillars of modern magic efficiency: shortest, optimal, peak.
Keep spell circuits as short as possible: shortest.
Minimize mana consumption: optimal.
Maximize output while adhering to the above: peak.
"It violates every single pillar. Looks like cheap trash."
"Hohoho. Aye, to a regular mage, maybe. No, they wouldn't even grasp it. That sometimes, inefficiency breeds true greatness."
"Is that so."
"Aye. This ritual ain't scientific, mathematical, or efficient. It's purely magical. Hard for a rational mind like yours to swallow."
I looked again.
But no matter how I scrutinized it, it remained a chaotic mess.
Rohakan said.
"With this, your Telekinesis could manipulate phenomena themselves."
"Phenomena."
"Aye. Like controlling the particles floating in this air. Or energy—gravity, especially."
I nodded.
Controlling particles or gravity with Telekinesis. Incredibly appealing, immensely powerful—
"That's amateur hour."
Rohakan cut me off. I turned to him.
"Deculein. The essence of Telekinesis is the concept of control."
"..."
Correct. The formal definition: controlling targets without physical contact.
"But focus on that concept. When you control something, who knows where the limits of that something lie?"
Rohakan grinned. I furrowed my brow slightly.
"If you're suggesting some sentimental nonsense like controlling human hearts—"
"Hahaha. No spell can sway a person's heart. But haven't you ever pondered this? That your Telekinesis could control all things dynamic and static. Even halting the entire world. Manipulating the concept itself."
"Impossible."
I shook my head. Rohakan clicked his tongue.
"Lad. You think there's impossible in magic? The moment you cling to notions, you stagnate in rigid molds. Loosen up a bit."
Splash—
A bucket of water dumped over my head. Soaked bangs dripped, tickling my eyebrows.
"..."
"Kuhahaha! Aye, that's the spirit."
"..."
"Kuhuhu... ahem. Anyway."
Rohakan composed himself gravely.
"That's the first lesson. Go home and at least try to comprehend the ritual I gave you."
I rose. The ritual was already stored in my mind.
"Then I'll take my leave."
"...Aye. Oh, and beware the Voice. Seems the erosion is about to begin."
"Understood."
I nodded.
Nothing surprising. The main quest, Voice, was still within expected parameters...
More importantly.
Walking the path out of the vineyard, I mulled over Rohakan's words.
The sole teaching was this bizarre ritual etched in my mind—endlessly inefficient and complex. Engraving it fully into my body might take another half-year.
"Worth pondering."
If only for the knowledge and advice—
—Deculein! Catch!
Before I could turn, a gnarled old staff flew at me from the sky.
I caught it one-handed.
—No use for it anymore.
"..."
Its name: Murkan's World Tree Staff.
An immense treasure. The world's pinnacle staff.
I silently regarded Rohakan.
—Take it.
World Tree staff in one hand, my original cane in the other.
I understood his intent and nodded.
"Yes. I'll deliver it, though whether she'll accept is another matter."
—...
This pinnacle staff didn't suit me. Such power devours user and talent alike—not to mention the insane restriction: mana quality grade 2 or higher.
Requires talent like Adrienne's at minimum. Rohakan wouldn't give his staff to her, so naturally, the other candidate:
Sophien.
—...Aye. Don't say it's from me—call it spoils of war.
"Yes. As you wish."
Rohakan waved faintly.
—See you again.
"Should've said you're a freshman."
Back at the university cafe, Blue Melody.
Yeriel laughed at Ahan across from her.
"...No, our oversight."
"Oversight my foot. Foreign freshman might not know the one-drink rule. Semester hasn't even started. I pegged you as 2nd or 3rd years."
"Thank you for your consideration."
"Yeah. That one's your lady, huh?"
Yeriel pointed to the grass nearby. Sophien—no, Soliyet—stood there amid stray cats.
"Where'd these strays come from?"
Soliyet stood impassively; the cats fawned at her feet.
A bizarre sight.
Affection-starved cats and an indifferent human. Usually the reverse.
"So aloof. Could pet 'em once."
"...Yes."
As Yeriel sipped coffee, glancing at Soliyet,
Yeriel's eyes widened; Ahan looked at her.
"Pardon? What did you say?"
"No, I said nothing. But you heard it too, right?"
"Yes. 'Ignore that guy'... "
Undeniable now.
Ihelm's voice.
Yeriel, scanning around, realized the voices emanated from their table.
Childish voices, topic suggesting quite some time ago.
Past voices.
"...What the hell."
Baffled by the inexplicable, Yeriel swallowed casually.
"Erosion of the Voice."
A voice explaining the phenomenon.
Yeriel whipped around, startled. Soliyet approached, hands behind back.
Yeriel said.
"Voice erosion?"
"Indeed. Past voices mingling with the present. Conversations from figures of old, eroding into this spot."
"...How do you know that?"
Suspicion was Yeriel's virtue; her eyes narrowed.
Soliyet smirked.
"Such resonances and echoes will persist awhile."
"No, how do you know?"
"Well..."
But her relaxed expression froze at the next words.
The erosion ceased.
"How do you know. Business major, right?"
Yeriel asked a third time.
To her frustrated face, Soliyet merely extended a hand.
"A pleasure meeting you. We'll cross paths again."
"...Huh? Oh... sure."
Yeriel took it reflexively.
Unbeknownst, she'd shaken hands with the emperor.
"Farewell."
Soliyet turned with Ahan; as they did, Ahan whispered.
"Forgive the lady's rudeness, but... was that erosion truly real...?"
"It is. The devil's doing, via the Voice concept."
"..."
Ahan's face screamed disbelief. To her, Sophien said.
"Ahan. Request the Intelligence Bureau investigate Deculein's past."
"...Pardon?"
Stunned by the abrupt order, Ahan blinked, then smiled faintly.
"Ah~"
Adding knowingly.
"You say that, but you're upset he visited the vineyard... "
"Have you lost your mind."
"My apologies."
"...It's beneficial for Deculein if I feign suspicion."
She'd permitted the vineyard visit, but pretending suspicion was necessary. Otherwise, eunuchs and ministers would riot: Interrogate Deculein's motives!
"Moreover... I'm curious about that bastard Deculein's past."
Never before cared about anyone's history.
Lately—no, Deculein's origins piqued her interest oddly.
Not because of the recent erosion—"No need to meet the princess"—or such drivel.
"Understood."
"Yes. I'll do so immediately upon return."
"Also."
Sophien eyed Ahan again. Mischievously smiling, she added.
"After Gepfried, the empire's guardian knight... It's time to fill that vacancy."
I returned to the tower late at night. Ifrin had waited in my office, dozing off instantly.
Snore— snore—
Pillow on desk, dead to the world—but eerily so. That bizarre death variable she'd emitted lingered.
Yet in my prime state, she'd never best me.
...Not yet.
Scribble— scribble—
I transcribed Rohakan's ritual onto magic paper.
Pen flying, recalling his words: Halting the entire world.
Pondering Telekinesis's core concept—
"Yaaawwwn—!"
—An elephantine yawn echoed.
Ifrin.
Outside, dawn broke; my paper brimmed with the ritual.
"Yawn..."
Ifrin yawned again, checking her pocket watch. Grimacing discontentedly.
"Professor. Tonight at Loteo Hall, freshman exam orientation or whatever—you know, right?"
"I know."
"...Work done?"
"Done."
I stood. Ifrin stretched neck and shoulders, looking up.
"Hey, Professor. When you're out on 'external activities,' can't you take me? You always leave me sleepless—no, you do it on purpose, right? Tormenting me—"
"Deliver a letter to the palace. A gift for Her Majesty."
Her grumbling halted; she froze, tense.
"...T-Today? The palace?"
She feared the palace excessively. Peasant upbringing?
"Yes."
Wednesday. Lecture day.
But palace visits required prior notice, gift or no.
"Y-Yes, yes! Written notice first. Oh, and... today's paper."
Ifrin handed The Journal.
Its headline heralded the devil's prelude in earnest.
......
Empire's northernmost, Recor Dak.
Julie set down the paper. Sylvia across shrugged.
Julie said.
"Likely the Voice's waves."
Her chest bore a medal; complexion healthy. Thanks to Deculein's departure north.
"Yeah. The Voice is assimilating with this world."
"No direct harm yet, but we must resolve before victims arise."
"Yeah."
Sylvia's curt replies were now familiar. Her subtle hostility too.
"..."
Julie pondered gravely.
Post-Deculein, she'd advanced steadily here in Recor Dak. Become renowned.
Knights flocked north to duel her pure swordsmanship.
Her record: 99 wins, 0 losses.
Not a single defeat.
Her awakening fame spanned the continent.
"Knight Julie!"
Door burst open with a shout.
Sylvia glared disdainfully; Julie blinked.
"Reyli, what now?"
"H-His Imperial Majesty!"
"His Majesty?!"
She bolted up—crash! Desk hit knee, pens scattered, ignored.
Hand to heart, eyes on Reyli.
Thump-thump— thump-thump—
"Has summoned you!"
"Me?!"
"Yes!"
"Why? Does he need my strength against these Voice waves?!"
"Dunno, but hurry! Pack! Lifetime chance! Reason doesn't matter!"
"Got it!"
Julie donned tiger-hide armor, grabbed corner bundle.
"Hurry! Formal attire! Gift for Majesty!"
"Got it!"
"Maybe a ball—pack other clothes, not armor!"
"No other clothes! What now!"
"Ugh! Buy one! Got money?!"
"Yes! How much?!"
"Everything! Best quality! Accessories too!"
"B-But save money? I have stocks—"
"Knight! Snap out!"
"Got it!"
Sylvia watched their frantic packing with pity.