Verhert. (3)
······The hawk's vision was limited, so she couldn't grasp the entire sequence of events.
However, Deculein had killed the knight, and the knight had plummeted off the cliff.
To be precise, the guard knight had tried to kill Deculein first, and Deculein had slain him in self-defense.
No—Deculein had clearly tried to spare the knight, so the knight had killed himself.
······Sylvia had witnessed every scene with her own eyes. She had taken in every word of their conversation.
Sylvia closed her eyes and gazed at the spot where Deculein stood.
The endless sheer cliff. Deculein stood alone on that dizzying precipice. The mere fact that he hadn't fallen was a miracle.
Now, in just half a day, the conference would begin.
Could he make it from there to Verhert?
At that moment, Deculein looked up at the sky. Startled, Sylvia hurriedly recalled her hawk.
In any case, with the blizzard intensifying, further observation was impossible.
More importantly, the hawk might get hurt.
This child was her first creation, so she would cherish and keep it with her for a long time. When its magic stone ran out of mana, she would recharge it.
"Come back."
Sylvia said that and opened her eyes.
Once more, the scenery of Verhert came into view.
"Oh! Sylvia?"
She let out a sigh and turned around—only to bump into someone.
They were the people from the kingdom that Syrio had mentioned.
"There you are~ We were really looking for you~!"
"The rookie mage of the year. It's an honor to see you in person!"
"I am from the Kingdom of Leok, of the 'Judra' family······."
"······."
Their overly enthusiastic reactions made Sylvia uncomfortable.
* * *
Meanwhile, at the express train tracks, a high-ranking official was receiving salutes from the platform staff.
"An honor, Vice Director!"
Public Security Vice Director Lilia Premien.
She had been camping in the northern mountains by chance when she heard about the train terrorist attack and rushed to the scene as vice director of public security.
"An explosion and assault?"
"Yes. It's common on the way to Verhert. Compensation? They'll pay ten times over in Verhert. No big deal."
The staff member who seemed to be in charge replied. Premien glanced down at the base of the cliff and asked again.
"Casualties?"
"Not confirmed yet, but as of now, Professor Deculein and a knight named Veron are missing. Detailed eyewitness accounts from that gentleman······."
Premien looked in the direction the staff pointed. There was a nameless blond mustached man and Allen. Allen appeared to be lying on the tracks asleep, while only the man was talking.
"Yes. The mage and knight saved me, but when I came to, the entire train had already fallen below. Probably a second wave of assassins······."
Premien approached and pointed to the camera hanging around the man's neck.
"May I see that?"
"Pardon? Oh, yes. But this is how I make my living—"
"I'll return it shortly."
"Ah, yes."
The man developed the film on the spot. Premien stared at the few sheets and fell silent for a moment.
"······Hah?"
It was a hollow laugh.
Magic film captured 1-2 seconds before and after the shot like a video.
In the photos, the train was floating in midair. The caster was naturally Deculein, and Premien knew the nature of that magic.
Telekinesis.
Deculein had lifted the train with telekinesis.
Utterly calmly, as if simply reading a book.
With the leisure of wielding a mere pencil.
As Premien admired the photos, she received a transmission from 'somewhere'—from 'someone'.
A mana signal pricked at her lower back.
Premien stood still and interpreted the signal.
> Knight Veron is dead.
> Veron seems to have been instigated by someone to try to kill Deculein.
> Chief Professor Deculein survived.
"······Hm."
Premien let out a small sigh.
She knew Knight Veron.
He was from the same clan, Altiegue.
Though he was quite unhinged, he was somewhat admirable in his own way.
It was bitter.
And at the same time, a relief.
He was a ticking time bomb like Rohalak, bound to cause trouble someday.
"What do you think of the photos? I took them myself, but it was an incredible sight. I'm a magic analyst too, so if I may presume to evaluate Professor Deculein's prowess—"
"Enough."
That was when Premien handed the photos back to the man.
"······G-Ghost!"
One of the staff screamed. Premien looked over.
Someone who hadn't been there moments ago now stood on the tracks.
She recognized him at a glance.
Chief Professor Deculein.
No one had seen how he climbed up. He simply stood there alone. Wordlessly, he looked down at the cliff from which he had ascended.
······He was contemplating his limits.
Despite training his telekinesis to death, it couldn't pierce a knight's aura blade.
Mages without enough mana were this powerless.
Choices and focus—such half-hearted efforts couldn't overcome innate superiority.
He had felt the clear wall.
Emptiness washed over him.
Without that mysterious help, the one crushed at the base of this cliff would have been himself······.
"Chief Professor."
Premien approached him and spoke.
"Your assistant is safe over there."
Deculein looked at Allen on the tracks.
"No issues, I presume."
"Yes. That is correct."
That was all. He turned to Premien.
Premien suddenly thought his face was damn handsome.
"What time is it now."
"3:30."
"······Six hours remaining."
He seemed to be weighing his chances of attending the conference.
However, climbing this cliff without a train would take at least a day, considering a mage's poor stamina.
"Chief Professor. Formally speaking, what happened to your escort knight."
"······Dead."
"Due to the assault."
The professor hesitated briefly before nodding.
"Yes. Professor, if I may—could you clear these tracks."
At those words, Deculein tilted his head and looked down at Premien.
With the arrogant gaze unique to nobles, as if addressing an inferior.
Premien felt a surge of irritation but swallowed it forcibly.
"If you clear just the tracks, I will summon a train by authority."
Clear the tracks before the blizzard worsened, call a stopped train, and somehow increase the odds of attending the conference.
In other words—it benefits you, Professor. So why glare at me like that. Makes me want to gouge them out······.
"Better than walking—"
"No."
Premien shut her mouth and clicked her tongue.
Of course. He had a natural talent for annoying people.
"······Step aside."
In truth, however, Deculein was already utterly exhausted. He had no mana left for more magic.
His exterior was too pristine compared to his ragged interior, leading Premien to misunderstand.
"······Yes."
Premien bowed her head slightly. She stepped away from Deculein and grabbed a staff member.
"Hey. He won't help, so clear the tracks before more snow falls."
"Yes, understood."
"······One more thing. Is this train the only way to Verhert."
"No. A bit farther, but there are land and sea routes on the other side."
"Hm······?"
As she chatted with the staff, Premien sensed something off and turned around.
Gone.
Deculein had already vanished.
"Haste."
He must have decided scaling the cliff with auxiliary magic was better than clearing tracks.
With the fierce winds here, borrowing elemental power made it feasible······.
"Just how much mana does that guy have."
His prowess exceeded imagination.
No—utterly different from the reports.
Preventing the train derailment with telekinesis, repelling dozens of assassins,
Facing Veron and defeating him, safely ascending the cliff, even advanced magic like Haste······ What ocean of mana capacity was that?
Premien clicked her tongue.
"Nngh······"
The assistant woke up late. Premien approached.
She asked the dazed assistant looking around.
"Your name."
"Pardon? Oh, I, where is this······."
"Your professor already left."
"······."
Allen teared up. Premien furrowed her brow and added.
"Not to the afterlife, but to the Verhert conference. So, your name."
"Ah, yes! Phew. Yeees, I am Allen."
Premien jotted down the spelling familiarly.
She showed him the notebook.
"Spelling correct?"
Allen nodded.
"Yes. That's right."
"Age."
"Twenty-four. But as your assistant, I need to hurry······."
"You'll be late anyway. Wait for the next train."
* * *
Current time: 9:30 PM
The Verhert conference was set for "the hour when stars gather"—9:53 PM—so only 23 minutes remained until start.
Sylvia strolled the path to Hall 4 of Verhert.
"······."
As rumored, Hall 4's corridors were complex. The passage split left and right: family heads like Gilteon to the right, assistants to the left.
Due to the "blood coagulation" issue with blood relations.
"Sylvia, how's life at the university tower?"
"You should try dating sometime. Broadens your horizons."
As she walked, they kept talking to her from the side.
Sylvia gave curt replies.
"Yes."
Like moths to brilliant light, this hassle was inevitable and familiar. It was because she possessed the "aptitude of an archmage" transcending mere promise.
"Oh, right. But the Yukline head still hasn't arrived."
Sylvia perked up her ears. It was "Penha," assistant to the kingdom's magic family "Billion."
"If that Yukline drops out······ that'd be a huge scandal."
"Scandal? I saw it coming. The current head's capabilities are far below his ancestors. Achievements stalled three years ago. Rumors say his talent's nothing special."
This time, from "Jailun," assistant to the empire's "Rewind" family.
Sylvia's lips twitched, but she said nothing.
Mediocrity envies genius, genius recognizes genius. Deculein's talent fell short of mine, but not to be dismissed by you lot.
"Ah, that's the place."
Chattering as they walked, they finally stood before the elder hall's doors.
The elder hall was a grand temple. Carved from the entire mountaintop, it resembled the abode of ancient giants.
Kiiiiiik—
As they approached, the doors opened as if waiting. The nineteen assistants entered tensely.
The vast conference room.
Spacious enough for four hundred—ten times forty—around the huge round table, the nineteen family heads were already seated.
Only one empty seat—Yukline's.
Sylvia stood beside Gilteon, who smiled at her. The assistants who had pestered her took their family seats.
Dong— Dong— Dong— Dong— Dong—
The five vibrations signaled the time.
9:50 PM.
Three minutes left.
Sylvia felt a bitterness.
As expected, he can't make it.
—Before the conference begins.
Suddenly, a tremendous voice shook the room. The condensed mana, the majestic resonance made Sylvia's heart lurch.
—I offer my deepest thanks to those who have answered the summons.
Djechdan at the head seat.
The most likely candidate for archmage, yet he had withdrawn from the world—a legend.
He sat on the grand elder's throne. Detached from the round table, uniquely veiled in darkness.
Djechdan could not see the family tables, nor could the heads see him.
Sylvia felt immense pressure just looking at him.
Was that the realm one needed to challenge for archmage?
······Impressive.
—I shall begin the roll call.
Djechdan's voice echoed through. Like solemn drumbeats, it tingled through their bodies.
—Gilteon of Ilayde.
"Gilteon, head of Ilayde, honored to answer Verhert's call."
Gilteon spoke leisurely. Sylvia felt pride in her father's dignity.
—Betan of Beorad.
"Betan, sixth head of Beorad, bows to the grand elder."
Djechdan called various families, and magic families like Judra, Rewind, Billion responded with mottos reflecting their lineage.
······But at one point.
—Deculein of Yukline.
When Djechdan called his name.
Silence—the only one—descended on the elder hall.
—Deculein of Yukline has not yet arrived.
Djechdan spoke from the darkness.
All swallowed without reply. An inexplicable tension rose from the depths of their consciousness.
Yukline's disqualification.
Unexpected, yet anticipated.
Recalling Deculein's arrogance toward other families, his insolent days relying on magic lineage prestige.
Deculein's fall was desired by nearly everyone present.
—As Yukline head Deculein appears not to have arrived, if he fails to appear after three calls, he shall be deemed non-compliant.
Djechdan's solemn authority weighed on the table.
Ihelm, head of Rewind, smirked secretly. Once Deculein's friend, now his foe dubbed "rotten cheese."
—Yukline shall be excluded from the traditional twelve magic families.
His mana-infused voice resonated loftily, vibrating the table.
Sylvia glanced at the massive clock on the elder hall ceiling.
53 minutes had passed.
—Deculein, head of Yukline.
If Deculein failed to appear after these three calls.
Yukline, never once omitted from the traditional twelve since Verhert's founding.
Would be disqualified after 200 years.
What a disgrace for a magic noble house.
—Deculein, head of Yukline.
Sylvia looked around. Some stifled laughs, some laughed openly, her father was expressionless.
No one worried for him.
To Sylvia, Deculein seemed to have lived his life poorly.
It was pitiable.
—Deculein, head of······.
Just as the final third call was about to end.
Kigigigik······.
A harsh scraping of stone rang out. Greatly startled, Sylvia looked over.
The conference room's great doors cracked open at an angle, blizzard surging in through the gap.
—······.
Djechdan's mouth stopped.
All eyes turned there.
The late arrival was covered head to toe in snow.
His suit was torn in places, hair disheveled wildly.
Like a monster returned alive from hell. A feral wildness utterly unlike his usual pristine self.
Sylvia unconsciously clenched her fist.
Not flashy, but profoundly impressive entrance. No one spoke a word gazing at him.
—Deculein, is that you.
Djechdan asked. Deculein silently scanned the room. His blue eyes fixed on the round table.
Those laughing stopped. Those hoping for disqualification averted their gazes.
—Deculein. I require an answer.
Djechdan said again.
Deculein belatedly straightened his clothes. He adjusted the torn suit, slicked back his snow-wet hair neatly.
With that alone, he became his original self once more.
"······Yes."
Deculein said.
"I, Deculein."
He strode into the conference room, uttering his name.
Particularly insolent, brazen gait today.
"······von Grahan Yukline."
The table's gazes followed him.
Only Gilteon bowed his head and smiled quietly.
"The head of Yukline has arrived here."
Not bowing, not answering the call—just declaring his presence.
Utterly arrogant motto.
Some heads pursed lips or clicked tongues in displeasure. Some immature assistants gaped, mesmerized by his looks and presence.
"I regret arriving late due to an incident that required attending."
—You are not late. Take your seat.
He walked to Yukline's seat and sat.
Sylvia felt a strange sensation.
The round table had no head seat.
Yet from his entrance, all weight seemed to tilt toward him.
However, as your assistant has not arrived, your speaking rights are limited to three until mid-recess.
He looked at those avoiding his eyes. Seeking the cause of this fiasco, his anger burned clear.
"······Acknowledged."
Deculein said, inclining his head slightly.
He lacked even the energy for words. Mana depleted, this mad dash had consumed his stamina.
He had exceeded even the limits of Iron Man.
The only reason he maintained consciousness was his unique personality.
—Compose yourself, Deculein.
The heavy atmosphere around him was mistaken for fury by all. Even Ihelm, who always sniped at him, straightened subtly.
After all, Yukline was the continent's top magic family. Snide society talk aside, no need for suspicion in such an incident.
—With all traditional twelve families and rising eight arrived, I declare the Verhert assembly begun.
The conference began in that silence.