The Court Archmage
The grey-white sword of the hero Tuvalu, carried out of the dungeon by the Black Eagle Owl Mercenary Corps, was, quite literally, a treasure. A rare blade forged of meteoric iron. The appraisal team of Rehinburg's auction house—the most trusted on the continent—confirmed beyond doubt that it was Tuvalu's sword. The mercenary corps had half-dared to hope, and once they confirmed it was real, they gleefully anticipated a fat bonus.
When Tuvalu's sword went up for auction, it sold for a staggering 3,700 gold. The reserve estimate had been under 2,000, but two avid collectors with a taste for rare treasures set the bidding ablaze, and the price ended up leaping more than a thousand gold higher.
Thanks to that, the noblewoman recovered several times her investment even after taxes and fees were deducted. It was such a spectacular success that it became the story on every investor's lips.
Flush with her windfall, she paid the expedition party several times their agreed wages as if tossing them a gratuity, bonus included. Yurik, originally promised 2 gold, received 4. A considerable sum for a single commission.
"Any interest in joining our mercenary corps? I'd see to it that you got 1 gold a month as base pay. Commission fees on top of that, naturally."
Lecadi, the corps leader who had arranged Yurik's payment, was eager to recruit him formally. With this handsome young wizard alone, he felt certain he could grow the corps far larger in the years to come.
Yurik, of course, had no intention of joining a mercenary band. Dungeon exploration was undeniably fascinating work, but he had no wish to make it his trade.
"I'm sorry. I still have so much I need to do."
"No need to apologize."
He had made the offer, but Lecadi hadn't truly expected to hold onto him. His mercenary corps was far too small a cage for a talent like this.
"Thank you for everything. I learned a great deal."
"And we owe you our lives. When the water started rising, even I couldn't see a hand in front of my face for a moment there."
"We were simply lucky."
"Luck only finds those who are prepared. If you hadn't been studying that marble statue so closely, no such luck would have come your way."
Yurik shared a parting handshake with the corps leader and left the building.
With his purse finally full, he no longer needed to count out every last coin.
*I'd love to research Mage Tithon someday.*
Yurik gazed down quietly at his right index finger. A mass of mana that modern magic could not explain had unmistakably taken residence there. He could still recall that vivid pain as though it were yesterday.
*It must be Word Magic. …Which would make it Tithon's spell, wouldn't it?*
He had concluded that the creator of the dungeon was very likely the ancient mage Tithon. If so, then the Word Magic steeped in a previous era must have been Tithon's as well.
Yurik tried to learn more about the ancient mage Tithon, but the information was pitifully scarce. In the days since his return from the dungeon, he had pored over history books, only to find nothing on Tithon beyond a single terse passage.
Hero Tithon, together with Hero Tuvalu, vanquished the demonkin. He was a great mage.
The chronicles of heroes were typically passed down by word of mouth for generations before some historian set them to paper. Aside from the tiniest handful, most heroes remained unknown even in name. Tithon was fortunate only in that Tuvalu, the hero who stood beside him, appeared somewhat more often in the surviving records.
Yurik wandered a full loop through the city and made his way back to the inn. The old innkeeper, who was scrubbing away at his brass fittings, looked up at him as he sat at the counter and ordered a beer, and mentioned that a visitor had come asking for him.
"For me?"
"Said they were from the castle. Asked me to pass this along to you. You haven't been out there stirring up trouble, have you?"
The innkeeper handed Yurik a sealed envelope bearing an insignia. He downed his beer in one go, went straight up to his room on the second floor, and tore it open. It was a letter from the Court Mage's Office of the Count's castle, requesting the honor of his visit.
Some time ago, he had sent the Court Mage's Office a transcription of the rubbings he had taken from the monuments and the coffin he found in the dungeon. He had done it in the hope that the words might be of some small help to the descendants of the forgotten heroes.
*Could it be about the dungeon?*
A dungeon where heroes lay buried—they must have needed information relating to it. Naturally, Yurik was willing to grant the request.
The next day, Yurik set out for the Count's castle the moment dawn broke. The security checks were strict, but fortunately the Court Mage's Office issued him a pass without delay. As an outsider holding only a temporary pass, he was assigned an escort of one guard.
Thus, entering a palace for the first time in his life, Yurik was staggered by its splendor and grandeur. Then, true to his nature, a wizard's curiosity seized him—how on earth had they managed to build such a thing?
Following his guide, he made his way toward the Court Mage's Office deep within the palace.
*…As expected.*
Given that this was where the mages of the city gathered, the mana in the air grew steadily denser as he approached the Court Mage's Office.
And among it all, he felt a mana as thick and heavy as the Great Mother's. There was no mistaking whose it was.
The Court Archmage himself.
"Here we are."
Yurik produced his pass and showed it to the guards. One of them checked it and pushed the door open for him, as if to say go on in. The guards at the checkpoint would wait at the entrance until he came out.
The Court Mage's Office was less an office than a library. Bookshelves packed both walls from floor to ceiling, crammed with countless volumes and parchment scrolls. Some of them, with no shelf space left, lay heaped in tiered piles in the corners.
Yurik walked in over a carpet so plush it swallowed the soles of his feet. One of the Court Mages seated at a U-shaped desk asked what had brought him here. Yurik presented the letter he had received the day before and explained the reason for his visit.
"I'm the one who sent in the writing from the heroes' monuments and coffin."
"Ah, yes, of course. Go on inside. He is waiting for you."
"…By 'he,' you mean…?"
"The Court Archmage."
—!
Yurik walked toward the inner chamber.
Then he knocked twice.
- Enter.
A voice deep and weighty with years.
At the granted permission, Yurik took hold of the door handle, turned it carefully, and opened the door.
And he saw the man seated before the desk.
……!
The instant the door swung open, an intense, concentrated mana pressed down upon Yurik's entire body.
The Court Archmage was a demonkin who possessed mana as dense as the Great Mother's!
…Just how many years had this man been accumulating mana within his body?
Yurik did his utmost to calm his pounding heart as he closed the door behind him. Then he approached the desk slowly, bowed his head slightly, and introduced himself.
"My name is Yurik. I received a letter yesterday saying you wished to see me."
Demonkin and humans were said to be enemies—but this one was an exception. Just as there were humans who betrayed humanity, there were demonkin who betrayed their own kind. The Court Archmage was precisely such a demonkin.
The Court Archmage had been studying Yurik intently from the moment he stepped into the room. As though trying to see through every corner of him, down to the last hidden detail.
"So it's you from that day. The one whose eyes met mine in the inspection procession."
Yurik, too, remembered it vividly—how, on his first day in Rehinburg, his gaze had crossed with the Court Archmage's during the procession.
"That's right."
"…A remarkable human, you are. To maintain that state. That is no technique granted to just anyone."
The Court Archmage had observed the mana coursing through Yurik's body moving along a particular circuit. To run that fiendishly long and intricate circuit without pause was beyond the reach of ordinary technique.
Through it, Yurik was forcibly raising the density of the mana accumulating in his own body. Something that might send mana spiraling out of control at the slightest misstep—something even the demonkin would not dare attempt—this human was doing as casually as breathing.
An understanding of circuits, mastery over his own mana, and boldness besides. A mage of rare caliber—that was the judgment the Court Archmage passed on him.
"I'm honored by your high regard."
"And… it seems you've gained something new since then. Something you didn't have that day."
"…I'm sorry?"
At that very moment, Yurik felt his right index finger grow hot. Startled, he clutched it with his left hand.
What on earth was—
"To think I'd lay eyes on that thing again."
And then the words that followed made Yurik's eyes fly wide open.
"So it is Tithon's legacy."
He had said the name without a shred of doubt. Tithon—the very one Yurik had been searching for.
"How… how do you know that?"
"I saw it once, a very long time ago."
Yurik drew up his mana to calm his index finger. But the heat in it refused to subside so easily.
Watching him struggle, the Court Archmage lifted the corner of his mouth. Then he rose from his seat and gestured for Yurik to take the reception sofa.
As Yurik sat down, the demonkin settled into the seat across from him.
"I've been trying to look into Tithon myself, but no information remains anywhere."
"The mages of that age refused to leave records of themselves. They believed their own writings could become a weakness. Tithon would have been no different."
"Then does Your Excellency the Court Archmage know about Mage Tithon?"
At the question, the Court Archmage studied Yurik's face for a long, long moment before he answered.
"Tithon was my human disciple."