Magic Expo

Imperial Palace Library. I am organizing records on the manor house.

The description consists of just those two lines. Everything below is diagrams of magic circles and formulas. It's a magical interpretation and breakdown of the mana's density and phenomena inside the manor house.

Any competent mage would understand it well enough.

"Librarian. Store this as well."

"Yes."

Librarian Rexil placed my records on the library shelf. He chuckled lowly as he spoke.

"…I'm glad the commotion was resolved peacefully."

"The manor house, you mean."

"Yes."

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠manor house still sits in the palace's rear garden. The souls of Igiris and Dikailen remain there as well.

"Whether it's truly fortunate remains to be seen. A cradle of souls is dangerous. The souls of the dead must not linger in the world of the living."

"That's beyond my humble understanding."

"Consider it mutterings to myself."

For reference, the remnants of the Altar—including Syrio and Jeilun—are imprisoned in the palace's underground dungeon. It was truly the dignity of Archmage Adrienne; they offered no real resistance.

However, since the manor house itself wasn't a quest, there was no special reward.

Of course, the gains were undeniable. I had obtained Dikailen's Art Magic.

A tome bound with mana. Dikailen was a mage who reached the pinnacle of the 'refinement' lineage. His artifacts transcend art, coveted as treasures by nobles across the continent.

Thus, even with Understanding, acquiring it is difficult for me now. Deculein's lineage talents are limited to 'manipulation' after all….

But that's old news.

I tore the Additional Lineage Selection Ticket. I immediately selected the 'refinement' lineage.

"…."

Nothing happened.

Perhaps because refinement and manipulation are similar lineages. No searing pain or enlightening surge—just a single system message.

At that moment, someone strode up and sat before me.

"But, Professor."

It's Ifrin.

She cast Silence as she spoke.

"So, that means Her Majesty's imperial body was sculpted directly by that 'self-proclaimed god,' right?"

Having heard the full story from Dikailen in the manor house, she's brimming with curiosity.

I don't know why Dikailen told her of all people.

"Is Her Majesty's intense hatred for Altiegue connected to that?"

"Instinctual loathing."

"Pardon?"

"Even if Her Majesty's flesh was crafted by that 'god,' she is not him. She is a distinct soul."

This situation could be seen as one of the main quest's countless branches. A particularly special one at that.

In most main quests, the god crafts his own body and descends into it as a vessel. But once the branch diverges, adaptation is necessary.

"In other words, for Her Majesty to survive, she must shatter him. The Mieolji expedition and suppression of Altiegue are extensions of that—and manifestations of survival instinct."

"Hmm… I get Mieolji, but why Altiegue? Not every one of them is pure evil. There are tons of criminals among imperial citizens too."

"Because of Altiegue's religion. Like the Altar, they worship a god from the Divine Era. They even share the prophecy of his descent."

"…Ah."

Ifrin nodded. She grinned mischievously and rummaged in her pocket.

"Right! Professor, look at this."

She proudly presented an application form.

"I got permission to join the Emperor's Guard. Just fill this out and submit, and I'm in, says Knight Delik. Her Majesty wants me to join too."

Hehehe!

She beams at me like she's won the lottery.

"…."

I silently took the form.

And then.

"…Huh?!"

Rip—! I tore it.

Panicked, Ifrin reached out, but whoosh—! I burned it to ash.

"Nooo! Why, why do this again?!"

"This isn't a group for the likes of you."

"…What?"

To the scowling girl, I said,

"War will break out. The Guard will kill children, women, elders."

"…."

"Ifrin, can you do that?"

Her lips curled inward. What a ridiculous face.

"Of course I'll do it gladly. I've killed too many already, come too far to turn back. Whining about morals to spare a few is pure hypocrisy itself. However."

I eyed the dark iron floating over Ifrin's shoulder. The dark iron I'd given her was now fully dyed in her ashen hue.

It no longer heeds my commands.

"You are not, Ifrin."

Ifrin's eyes trembled faintly.

"You are not a mage who kills people."

"…."

She bowed her head silently.

She scratched her lush scalp, then cleared her throat awkwardly.

"Well… Oh right!"

As if remembering something, she handed me a crystal orb.

"Take this. I figured out how to use that pocket watch?"

A wooden pocket watch. Clutching it, she explained.

"It's linked to that crystal orb and mine. So keep that orb for at least three years. Absolutely, three years."

"Why three years?"

"Crystal orb lifespan."

"You bought a cheap one."

"I'm broke, anyway!"

Ifrin placed her crystal orb atop the pocket watch.

"Huuuu…."

Under my watch, she took a deep breath and infused mana into the watch. Ashen mana seeped inside.

Soon.

"…Can you hear me?"

Ifrin's voice transmitted through the crystal orb.

But my orb didn't relay it back. Instead.

"Gah—!"

Ifrin screamed. She convulsed, foaming at the mouth.

I nodded.

"I understand. But the side effects are severe."

"…It's especially bad with you, Professor. Normal people can just chat with some mana drain."

"Then you should have gotten rich. Stocks."

"…."

Then Ifrin's eyes widened slowly. Her mouth gaped blankly. Her nostrils flared like trumpets.

The face of someone gaining all the world's enlightenment in that instant.

Exasperated, I asked,

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"…You never once thought of that?"

"No… Uh… I'll be going!"

She bolted up and dashed off. Heeheehehe—laughing like a maniac, hopping as she went.

I shook my head at her retreating figure.

And reopened Art Magic.

Dikailen's table of contents was devilish from the first page.

[1. Organic Circuits Explored from the Origin of Demons, Alive and Moving.]

…Barely a week after the great incident—'the Empire was attacked'—before the shock faded.

Emperor Sophien officially acknowledged the Altar's existence. She declared them enemies of the Empire.

The Altar, once dismissed as shadowy cultists, had surfaced.

In the aftermath, gas chambers in Altiegue detention camps across the Empire rushed to completion. Hatred for Altiegue and the Altar boiled over among nobles and commoners alike.

"Whoa. Big trouble. War's gonna break out."

At Gerec's words, Al Ross—reading the paper—yawned hugely and set it down.

"Yeah."

"More importantly, what about that thing you supplied?"

"The doll?"

"Yeah. The one the god's supposed to enter."

"Dunno. I made it, delivered it."

Al Ross crafted the god's flesh with utmost sincerity. As a master of dollcraft, he produced a flawless masterpiece and handed it to the Altar.

"Maybe they didn't like it. Or haven't gotten the 'lubricant' yet. Who knows. Anyway, I'm fixing it."

If the god tried dominating the continent through that body, Al Ross would bear great blame. That's why he formed an adventuring party.

"…But why hole up in this underground city?"

Gerec smirked.

As he said, Al Ross set the party's base in Yuren Kingdom's 'underground city.'

"Better than Floating Island."

Yuren is strangely divided: aboveground is a skyline of skyscrapers, a wonderland; underground, mechanical and mystical like dwarven design.

An artificial sun shines from noon to 3 PM, after all.

"Everything's cheap, piracy's legal."

Al Ross smirked, pointing to books on the desk.

Tomes worth hundreds of thousands of elne each, copyrights utterly ignored. Floating Island would faint, but oh well.

This is the infamous Ashes Heap.

The tower scorns it as a cursed volcano, but it's a 'nation' nestled in Yuren's mountain dormant volcano, with its own chaotic order and rules.

Copyrights? Kept or ignored as they please.

"Hey, Al Ross, you know? Deculein's coming to Yuren. Might see him."

"Deculein in Yuren?"

Al Ross furrowed his brow.

"For that thing you're entering. The Magic Expo. He's coming to spectate."

Magic Expo. A literal expo.

Floating Island's magic tech descends to the continent; nations and towers showcase achievements, compare; even nameless mages can exhibit and gain sponsorship—a ladder from rags to riches.

This year, hosted in Yuren. Al Ross entered seeking patronage.

"…Hm. Need to prepare then."

"Prepare what?"

"He won't move for nothing. Must've heard something."

Jingle—

The party door opened. Gerec and Al Ross turned.

"Customers?"

Three figures, clearly not from Ashes Heap. They strode up and slammed—! a poster down.

"Wanted. Catch 'em before the expo, ten million elne reward."

Obviously tightening security pre-expo….

Glancing at the portrait, Al Ross nodded with a smile.

"Know 'em?"

"Yeah."

"…You do?"

"Yep."

Al Ross knew. This face, and its 'assembly method.'

"That's a doll I made. Guess the Altar's been using it."

No matter the continent's chaos, Floating Island remains unshaken. Unmoved. Unblinking.

The Magic Expo exemplifies it. Empire be damned; once scheduled, it proceeds. The tower too.

The myriad magic experiments on this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠university field now will all be expo entries.

"What do you think of ours?!"

As a major event recognized by towers continent-wide, even Imperial University Tower's Ifrin enters as a team.

"It's a propulsion craft!"

She's clutching stock certificates in one hand—putting my advice to work.

"Ride it to fly. Commercialize, and boom. No runway needed?!"

Ifrin's team built a propulsion craft. Mana stone-powered. Board it, and it flies like a plane.

She's demonstrating and asking my score.

"Um… What do you think? Is it good?"

Rellin asked cautiously. I shook my head.

"Abysmal."

"What?! Where?!"

Ifrin's eyes bulged. Julie and Maho on her team too.

"No safety measures first. And…."

I kicked the mana stone engine.

Bang—!

It shattered pathetically.

"Wouldn't survive a bird strike."

I scoffed disdainfully and passed, but other professors eyed me. I told them,

"No need to watch me. Nominally under me now, but I'll drop her if ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠she falls short."

Only then did the professors chime in.

Where it failed, succeeded. Ifrin sassed back, got yelled at by Rellin.

"If you know so much, be the professor! Huh?! A mere assistant?!"

Proper dynamic.

Better to grow as mages through scolding and advice than cower or fawn in Deculein's shadow or light.

"…?"

Then, someone called from the tower's shadow.

Faint voice, yet clear in my ear.

"What is it?"

The red-furred munchkin nestled in my arms, tickling my nose with her tail.

"The expo?"

"Any special reason?"