Traces (1)

······In the far north of the continent, beyond the reach of both the Empire and the kingdoms, lies a mountain range called Verhert.

At an elevation of 3,500 meters, it is home to around a thousand permanent residents—the mages known as the "Elders."

Verhert is the nexus of all magical academies across the continent, the institution that gathers their collective will, ratifies group actions, and passes resolutions.

Resolutions adopted by Verhert carry authority that even the mages of the Floating Island must heed, but "conclaves" are exceedingly rare, occurring only once every few decades.

─ ······A conclave.

One day in April, the Elders sensed with their very skin that it was approaching.

─We must do so.

Deep in the enveloping darkness at Verhert's peak, a meeting was underway in the Elders' hall.

─Demons have already appeared in the Darkness Mountain ······.

Magical arts were invented from the dawn of time as secret techniques to slay demons.

Thus, even Verhert, which shuns worldly affairs, makes strict exceptions for demons.

─Has the roster been prepared?

─The new blood will require some deliberation, but attendance from the twelve houses is confirmed.

The conclave's attendees consist of the twelve traditional magical houses—Ilayde, Yukline, Bran, Beorad, Rewind, and the others—plus eight rising stars selected based on achievements over the past decade.

No house would refuse a summons to a Verhert conclave, where mere attendance is an honor for the family.

─Ilayde and Yukline have clashed fiercely in the past.

This concern came from the greatest authority in Verhert, the Grand Elder Djekdan.

─An old matter. They've already reached some accord.

─A mere surface agreement ······.

Djekdan let out a low sigh.

─Of course. But Gilteon has undoubtedly become more dangerous.

─We can only hope the tides in the strait remain calm.

Gilteon of Ilayde had once been an uncontrollable blaze of mana.

A torch of ambition that burned eternally. Djekdan still remembered Gilteon's refusal to let go of that mad obsession.

─Gilteon has a child who surpasses him. His grand ambitions now belong to that heir. He would never do anything to harm the boy.

This, too, rang true.

The flames that once threatened to devour the world had eventually died down, and he had birthed a radiance even brighter than his own.

Gilteon was fire, and Sylvia was light.

─ ······So be it. For the rising stars, consult the addicts on the Floating Island.

All twelve Elders bowed their heads at Djekdan's words.

─Yes. Once the Floating Island selects the eight houses, we shall dispatch the transmission papers.

On that day, Verhert's will would be conveyed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to magic towers and mage houses across the nation. Simultaneously, a spectacular procession of high-ranking mages from across the continent would set forth.

However, the postscript on every transmission paper they sent always read as follows.

The reason for this would soon become clear.

About ten days later, the items won at auction in Loten began arriving.

Following Ganesha's advice, I purchased two top-grade mana-engineered vaults and divided the goods between the main house and annex. I also summoned Professor Rellin from the university tower and his assistant mages to reinforce the estate's defenses.

This should prevent any theft.

"As for what I can use myself ······."

Among the haul, two artifacts not destined for the vaults now rested in my hands.

Both were relic-grade treasures any mage would covet.

A ring that aids blood circulation and mana recovery.

It also offers a tiny boost to all magic power—"a minuscule amount" typically means 1% to 3% in such descriptions.

A necklace designed to hold mana—like a backup battery, in simple terms.

It absorbs 300 from my body's mana reserves and functions as a secondary source.

300 might sound modest, but in the game system, mana capacity is an utterly, profoundly critical stat, and such items are exceedingly rare.

Even with my Iron Man trait, I can't dream of switching to knight without more mana.

These two treasures would serve as my equipment from today onward. My Aesthetic Sense confirmed their designs were elegantly luxurious.

But.

The most important item of all ······.

I swallowed a sigh and examined the problem child.

A lustrous winter hue, white and blue radiance in a mystical metal. Unrefined and crudely shaped, yet its very existence was akin to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠magic—the Frost Stone.

"It won't budge."

Forty million elne, and no matter how much psychokinesis I pour into it, not a twitch.

Not because it's unrefined, too large, or my magic too low-grade.

The mana within this metal simply resists my magic.

In this state, even after refining, smelting, and forging, I'd never control it in my lifetime.

"What to do ······."

Too expensive even in the game for more than a glance, no solutions came to mind.

As I glared at it in futile contemplation—

A passage from some library book suddenly surfaced.

─A fine sword requires taming. The knight swings the blade to tame it. That process is called communion.

Communion.

As a mage, I've never wielded a sword. But if "taming" means understanding the sword itself—

Then.

I fixed my Understanding gaze upon the Frost Stone. Mere sight insufficient, I placed my hand on it.

A cold heat prickled my palm—two properties that could never coexist by common sense.

But I sought not this paradoxical nature, atomic structure, or material value.

Rather, a profound, essential understanding transcending matter. Transcendent insight beyond reason, a trance-like communion ······.

"······!"

A searing pain like lightning struck my eyes. Crackle—the hand on the stone scorched. Clutching one eye socket, I peered at the Frost Stone.

It appeared unchanged.

Yet I felt it in my body. Confirmed by the naked eye.

Two thousand consumed for 0.1%.

Considering my daily ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠usable mana exceeds ten thousand with recovery, fully understanding this metal would take at least a year.

No need for 100%—50%, even 40% might make control far easier, but until then, mana steel remains my best option.

······One more routine added.

I gave a wry smile and stowed the Frost Stone in the vault.

Then I slipped on Superb's Ring and donned the Ancient Relic Necklace.

Curiously—

"Hm?"

The accessories' aura and hue against my skin had transformed into something even more antique and refined.

The "resonates with high-grade artworks" effect manifesting.

I'd thought it the second-most useless trait after Prodigy.

Not practical, but not bad either.

I donned my jacket and prepared for work.

My routine as a professor is exceedingly diligent.

Upon arriving, I analyze papers in my office, still bearing the morning training's aftereffects. At noon, I take the car to a restaurant for lunch.

Afterward, back at the tower to prepare Week 4 lectures.

Alternating between Allen's notes and various texts, pondering what and how to teach—soon it's 5 p.m.

"······Midterms will be theory-based."

I nodded from my chair.

Today, I'd finalized the exam framework, assignments, and report topics.

The difficulty would be hellish.

"Hmph."

Amusing.

Exceedingly amusing.

Tormenting the students.

Imagining the mages writhing over the problems brought an inexplicable satisfaction—until my eyes fell on the notepad atop my desk, souring my mood slightly.

Death Anniversary.

Not Deculein's parents'.

This was the anniversary of his fiancée before Julie.

A setting I'd known for ages—no surprise.

Once, at the social party Flowers of the New Year, when I first met Ganesha.

She'd mentioned it.

······Because of the new engagement, perhaps.

Deculein had a fiancée before Julie, and as the "out-of-game" creator, I knew her full story all too well.

One late night in a world now distant,

During a crunch session with nearly the entire team,

In a break discussing Easter eggs,

Yuarra had a brilliant idea and added a minor detail to Deculein.

His first fiancée.

"Three days from now ······."

Perhaps the sole trace left for me to remember her in this world.

What mischievous Easter egg prank did you leave?

What made you smile so innocently?

To revive my memories and honor you, I will go there.

Knock knock—

A knock. I opened the door with psychokinesis.

It was Allen.

"Professor. Countess Phairden has arr— urk."

Allen, mid-introduction, was shoved aside by a hulking figure behind him and fell on his rear.

"Ah. Sorry about that. My frame's too big. You alright?"

"Y-yes, yeees. I'm fine ······."

Allen bowed deeply and scurried out. Zeit watched him go, eyebrow twitching.

"That one's your subordinate?"

I nodded.

"Yes. Assistant professor."

"Hm. Is that so? Seems a bit... ambiguous."

Zeit muttered oddly, arms crossed.

I checked the clock.

5:15 p.m. Still hours until our 7 p.m. appointment.

"We still have time before the appointed hour."

Zeit grinned.

"Ah~ The place we're going is so famous, I couldn't wait. Plus, hitch a ride in your car."

As expected—this man wants a car as dowry.

Fon Meshel, one of the Empire's top restaurants.

Its fame is such that it supplies the Emperor; even high nobles struggle for evening reservations ······.

Yet here we were, in a private room on the second floor.

"A- u-"

Julie kept squirming.

Like a baby babbling now and then.

"Buu-"

To her, who only ever wore armor, the dress was shackles worse than handcuffs. Accessories chafed, the fabric squeezed her muscles.

"······Are you alright?"

Yuseffin, watching her wriggle like a cute larva, asked.

"Yes. I'm fine."

Julie smiled bitterly.

"Doesn't look fine."

"I'm fine."

Yuseffin pouted, chin in hand. Then arched a brow.

"······Liar."

"I can endure it."

"Not the outfit—the seat. The marriage."

"Pardon?"

"You don't want to marry."

Her blunt question left Julie speechless.

"······I'm fine."

She shook her shadowed head.

Yuseffin grinned mischievously.

"If you hate it that much, want big sis to tell you a way out?"

"A way?"

As Julie tilted her head innocently, Yuseffin whispered in her ear, voice tiny.

─Just marry him and kill him. Then the Yukline house is yours.

Like a serpent's tongue licking her ear.

Chills raced over her skin.

Julie's eyes flew wide in horror. Her plumpened face glared at Yuseffin.

An outrage she could never have imagined.

"S-sis! How could you say—"

"Joking, joking."

Yuseffin giggled, poking Julie's shoulder.

"Jokes should be proper ones!"

Julie shoved her hand away. Not enough—she swung a fist-hammer. She couldn't quite land it, flailing instead.

"I just hate seeing my precious sister waste her life on that man. Don't be too mad."

"Quiet! Who jokes like that?! That's not a joke—it's blasphemy!"

"Hm~ Like I just did?"

"You, you really—think that's a joke?!"

Bang bang.

Julie, face crimson in fury, pounded the innocent table. Yuseffin repeated sorry-sorry—then.

The private room door opened.

A clean fragrance wafted in first. An elegant air that shifted the mood in an instant.

Followed by the man in question.

Yuseffin beheld him and unwittingly let out an "ooh." His looks and style were exceptionally alluring today.

"Must've drawn quite the stares on the first floor."

Yuseffin smiled brightly. He gave no real reply. Just a cursory glance, a nod, and took his seat.

Next, Zeit squeezed through the door, occupying space for two. Spotting Yuseffin, he tilted his head.

"Hm. Yuseffin, you here too?"

"Dressing up my little sis, so I tagged along. Whaddya think, big bro?"

Zeit eyed Julie's dress and gaped.

She who loved armor to death, in a dress for the first time in over a decade.

"Ah~ No wonder she looks so radiant. Lady Julie. Suits you perfectly."

Zeit grinned proudly at Deculein. As he'd said, Yuseffin's handiwork had elevated Julie to another level.

"Julie's my sister, but stunning. And you—same gender, but damn handsome."

Deculein said nothing, eyes only on Julie. She met his gaze. Neither blinked first, like a pride duel.

In that locked stare, Zeit turned away, chuckling to himself.