Chapter 44
Chapter 44
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 44
Chapter Title: Daylong Ritual (3)
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The worn-out black iron sword had at some point transformed into a sleek La Mancha. Ronan swung his blade at the shadow barreling right up to him. Not wildly, but tracing the streams of water flowing through the empty air.
Seruk.
The shadow cleaved in half. Chwaaak! Darkness erupted like spurting blood, drenching his face.
"■■…!"
"What?!"
Ronan's eyes widened. Even he, the one who had unleashed the strike, hadn't anticipated this outcome. The bisected shadow tumbled to either side of him.
'What was that just now….'
It was a slash far faster and more powerful than anything he could normally muster. The blade, riding that bizarre flow, shot forward like a galleon with the wind at its back.
He swung at the empty air again, but that same sensation didn't return. The unidentified currents flickered in and out of existence across his field of vision.
'I'll have to check it out later.' With that thought, Ronan lowered his gaze. The severed shadow writhed at his feet. He stomped it flat and demanded,
"Why'd you pull that crap?"
No answer came. The shadow began to scatter like ashes billowing in the breeze. Ronan spat on the ground and muttered irritably.
"Well… I didn't expect you'd spill so easily."
The entire vista filling his sight was disintegrating. Watching his fingertips crumble to powder, Ronan closed his eyes. His head spun wildly—he'd clearly lost too much blood.
In his blurring consciousness, the shadow's voice rang out.
"■■ ■■ ■■■■. Ronan."
"What?!"
Ronan snapped his eyes open. The blue sky was gone without a trace, replaced by a dim indoor chamber. The dry air reeked of musty paper and old ink.
"…Where's this?"
Squinting, he made out lettering on the distant ceiling. It was Sepharaccio, Secret's office. But every light that normally illuminated the study had been extinguished.
'Burglars hit the place…?'
Ronan rose slowly, hand drifting to his sword hilt. His muscles thrummed with tension from the recent fierce battle. Then a voice spoke from behind him.
"Enjoy the trip?"
"Shit, you scared me."
Ronan whipped his head around. Secret was nowhere in sight; instead, a stern-faced old man sat at the desk. A lone candle beside him bathed the elder's features in crimson light.
The round-spectacled old man scribbled furiously on paper with a fountain pen. Ronan clocked that he wore the same robes as Secret. He exhaled in relief and let go of the hilt.
"Phew… Night already, huh."
"Indeed. A long Daylong Ritual."
"Why're all the lights out? Where's Erzsebet?"
"Shhh… Over there."
Secret pressed a finger to his lips and jerked his chin backward. Ronan turned to see Erzsebet curled asleep on the sofa, blanket tucked around her. She'd clearly been out for a good while.
"Mm… Wuum…"
She chomped industriously on a lock of hair that had slipped into her mouth. Secret rose and tugged the slipped blanket up to her neck.
"She could've left first but stubbornly insisted on waiting. Without her, I couldn't have started the ritual right away. Treat her to something tasty later."
"Yeah, I will."
Ronan nodded. His head throbbed like a hangover. He scrubbed his dry face and eyed Secret again.
"How long was I out?"
"Sun'll rise soon."
"Damn, slept forever."
Ronan cursed. He'd spent nearly a full day in that mental realm. Secret slid his glasses up onto his forehead.
"Fortunate nonetheless. The Daylong Ritual succeeded."
"For real?"
"Aye. Take a look."
Secret pointed at the study floor—the spot where Ronan had lain amid the magic circles.
The three chalk-drawn circles had all blackened completely. Secret explained they'd absorbed the curse leaking from his body.
"Must've been rough, but you pulled through. Thanks. You screamed bloody murder a few times. Cried, even. Common during the rite, but it worried me all the same."
"…I cried?"
Ronan frantically rubbed his eyes. His puffy under-eyes were still damp. Had he thrown tantrums out here every time he lost it in there?
"Goddamn… embarrassing."
He sighed at the ceiling, then faced Secret again. Plenty he wanted to say, but one thing came first. Steadying himself, Ronan spoke.
"Thanks, Professor. Seriously."
"No thanks needed. Just untied another knot, as usual."
"So what restriction got lifted, exactly?"
"Hm… You'd sense it best yourself. Nothing different from normal?"
"Different? …Ah."
Come to think of it, his eyes no longer itched. Ronan mentioned that, plus the weird flows he'd glimpsed in the mental world. Secret smiled warmly.
"Hoho, looks like you can see mana now."
"That squirming stuff was mana?"
"Aye. Can't recall the distant past clearly… but my first time sensing it, I perceived mana the same way. Congratulations."
Secret explained that as mana affinity grew, he'd see it broader and clearer. Ronan nodded, eyeing the ripples around the professor.
'That final blow—must've tapped mana unconsciously.'
He replayed cleaving the shadow. Mana should've parted under his blade; instead, it lent power.
He grasped no precise mechanism. But it felt akin to sawing with the grain—effortless. Ronan ventured that guess.
'Good it worked out.'
Ronan grinned. Seeing mana—not just spells or aura—would change everything, battles aside.
Nine curses lingered, sure, but victory was victory. Secret tossed a sudden question.
"By the way, Ronan—what'd you see in there?"
"Pardon?"
"Your mental world. Bet the lead-up wasn't smooth."
"Yeah… It's long, but… well…"
Ronan recounted it step by step: the forgotten willow, silent Numbton. Meeting child-Iril and his unremembered mother.
"Hoo… The restriction manifested as your old hometown? Fascinating…"
Secret jotted every syllable. Midway through Ronan's family encounter tale:
"Hold on—you saw yourself as a newborn?"
"Yeah? So?"
"Huh…? Mistook someone else? Or imagined it?"
"Nah, I can tell. Definitely me."
Secret's brows shot up. He groaned like he'd spotted a fatal flaw in his own invention.
"What's up?"
"Unprecedented. Curse-born mental worlds vary wildly, but share one trait: the wanderer—the cursed soul—is the protagonist."
Typically, says Secret, nightmarish unrealities swarm the victim. Curses stem from malice, after all.
Yet Ronan spied babbling infant-himself. The vistas felt eerily real, serene—no malice, no surrealism. He wasn't the lead.
"Been thinking… Less mental world, more someone else's memories. Go on."
Secret resumed scribbling. Ronan hesitated, then pressed on in a heavier tone. No point hiding—no solution there.
"And… I saw Father."
"Father?"
"Yeah. Didn't glimpse his face… but context screamed it: my old man. The curse I slashed? Him. The caster? Him."
Ronan detailed the grotesque shadow presumed paternal. Secret's face grew stonier as the tale dragged.
"So—you couldn't see his face, hear his voice, but felt his emotions crystal clear? And witnessed shadow-Dad cursing newborn-you?"
"Spot on."
"Hm… No prior Father memories at all, right?"
"Zero. Mom was fuzzy, but this? Whole other beast."
Recalling shadow-form or voice spiked headaches. Like his brain's Father-file had been lobotomized.
Oddly, he'd never pondered parents' absence. His "childhood" memories began post-them.
Surely quizzed Iril sometime—no such recall. Secret spoke.
"Hm. From what we've got… your memories got sealed."
"Memories sealed?"
"Aye. Fits your symptoms. If Dad cursed you, makes sense—he sealed 'em to wipe his identity and the curse-fact."
Iril too? Ronan probed.
"Then the willow, Mom, baby-me…"
"Likely your sealed bits tangled with Dad's memories in the curse, manifesting. Curse-casting and sealing transferred some of his recall to you. Memory magic does that often."
"…Why though?"
"Beats me. Hard plumbing the mind of a guy hexing his kid with ten curses."
Setting aside the pen, Secret added,
"Nor do I care to."
Ronan gave a bitter smile. First Daylong Ritual wrapped. Secret noted the two unlocked restrictions tied to mana.
"Unlock these two alone, you'll wield and sense mana like anyone. I'll reach out post-research."
"Thanks. Heading out."
"Good work."
Secret snapped fingers skyward. Study lamps blazed to life. Eyelids fluttering, Erzsebet stretched awake.
"Mm… Done?"
"Yep. Thanks for sticking around."
"Hehe, now you owe me one, Lord Ronan…"
Erzsebet's low chuckle lingered. Seemed her aim: lodge a heartfelt debt. Then her chomped hair-strand dropped to her chest.
"Eh…?"
Clumps of indigo locks glistened damply. Her face crimsoned at the sight.
"W-Wait. Th-this is, uh…!"
"No biggie. I drool in my sleep too."
"Not that kinda fluid! You—"
"Erzsebet. Know the exit? Mana's tapped; can't open the door."
"Huh?"
As she geared to retort, Secret cut in perfectly timed. Composure snapping back, Erzsebet nodded haughtily.
"Duh. Why I waited."
"Mana holding?"
"Ha."
Hollow-laughing, she stalked to the shelves wordless. Yanked ten tomes from the wall rack. Chanted at the gaps:
"Delphirim. Lunazie. Kashypa."
-Kugugugu…
The shelf grated backward. Ronan scowled at the revealed narrow passage.
"Place is a real bitch."
"Why students dodge my meets."
Past the bare corridor loomed inky black. Door swinging wide, Erzsebet beamed triumphant.
"See?"
"Top-tier as ever, Erzsebet. Valedictorian craft."
"Hehe, pleasure, Professor Secret. Catch you next class."
Praise beaming her grin wide. Ronan swore he sussed her handling.
Hand-in-hand like arrival, they plunged the hall. Greeting-turn, Ronan's eyes bugged.
"Your body…"
"Hm? Ah, sunrise."
Secret smirked at his shrunken hand. Form dwindling, clothes engulfing. Floppy sleeves waved farewell.
Glancing back mid-stride, Secret was fully boyish. Childish voice piped,
"See ya."
Darkness thickened—then light flooded. No cabin; Ronan and Erzsebet stood Phileon Grand Plaza's heart. Hands parting, Ronan barked a laugh.
"Willful bastard to the last."
"Decent showing. Heard one kid splashed lake-mid."
"No shit."
Deep breath: crisp dawn air lung-filled. Sun crested jagged spires.
In plaza-bathing dawn-glow, Ronan spied mana rippling like waves.
"Big debt, Erzsebet. Thanks."
"Happy to help. Oh—got my brooch safe?"
"Right, that."
Forgotten entirely. Inner-pocket rummage yielded the gleaming pin—entrance-ceremony untouched since. Eye-smiling at it,
"Hehe, always on you? No need baby it; Acalusia welcomes you anytime, Lord Ronan."
"Nah, just busy-forgot."
"Hide not. Lion's invite ain't casual. Eager for castle day."
Voice burned with utter surety. Erzsebet ironclad: he'd join Acalusia.
Time flown since offer. Mid-future-plot, she wheeled.
"Gonna bounce. Hi's to Sis Adeshan."
"Will do."
"Debt too—don't forget."
Eye-smile and quip trailing, she vanished. First vibe sour, but decent kid maybe.
Ronan trekked mana-jumbled awkwardscape to dorms.
Cita snoozed bed-curled. Mind's eye on innards'-writhing runes, Ronan muttered,
"Nine to go…"
Eyes drooped insistent. Mercy: Hunting intro afternoon.
Face-plunged in Cita-feathers, sleep took him. Eyelid-black swirled crimson-blue mana…
-Clop… clop… clop… clop…
Ronan barely asleep, a carriage rolled Phileon west gate.
Opulent six-white-horse landau. Rear emblazoned: knight trampling dragon. Sleepy grounds it slow-traversed.
"Halt."
Destination hit, coachman reined. Halting beside: Navardoje Hall, Ronan's digs majestic.
"Here, sir."
Door flung; tall middle-aged stepped deliberate. Layered finery, slate locks, trimmed mustache striking.
Sharp scan of dorm; uneasy mutter,
"…Holed up here, eh."
"Kept distance awhile, Duke. Well, I trust?"
Air before him rent; bearded elder popped. Locks-to-neck beard wind-whipped. Face known, Duke nodded.
"Fine, Kratir. Magic's ever loftier."
"Hoho, Duke's gravitas matching. Schlieffen thrives."
"Naturally. But Phileon's stature ill-served by these shacks. Grancia funds expansions?"
Principal Kratir beard-stroked smile—no words. Declined.
Duke lip-curled vexed, stilled. Visit no welfare audit.
"Grateful indulgence. Weekends slammed."
"Known. Seat weighs heavy."
"Not position-pity. Meet now?"
"Hm, fetch him? Lad's diligent—likely roused."
"Nah. I'll climb."
Duke strode. Waist: ornate longsword—Doron masterwork, chill-infused Pale Lord.