Goddess Descent (2)
In a small room where blood fell in steady drops—plop, plop—Ivan Ritter von Diabolo was reading an ancient tome. The red-haired knight studied the characters from a long-lost civilization with the same racing heartbeat a boy might show while devouring a heroic epic. Then he frowned, as if the commotion outside had finally reached him.
〈…Whoever you are, you’re still moving.〉
Diabolo had already sensed the hand of someone trying to drive him into a corner. Not knowing his opponent’s identity wasn’t much of a problem. Intrigue always began by narrowing down the list of suspects, and Diabolo was intimately familiar with the game. Before setting his plan in motion he had meticulously investigated anyone who might interfere. Yet among every candidate he could imagine, none possessed the speed, audacity—or willingness to dance along the razor’s edge of outright crime—that this shadow had displayed.
In other words, the iron silhouette looming behind him now belonged to an outsider.
〈I’ve spent my life mocking perfectionists while sprinting down the road to success, yet here I am watching my most basic plan collapse. How long has it been since that last happened?〉
He slipped a bookmark between the pages of the book he had read dozens of times, then rose to his feet. In the narrow chamber, a figure writhed in the gray space between human and corpse.
〈…Kill… me…〉
〈I’m afraid I can’t do that, my lord.〉
Even though the man he had once called master now begged for death in a pitiful voice, Diabolo’s face showed less emotion than he had displayed while reading. Only the faintest flicker crossed his features.
〈Discrimination runs deep. Yet why is it that when people choose to oppress someone, they never imagine they might one day face retaliation from that very person?〉
—Crunch!
He seized the lord’s white hair with the weary indifference of a man bored beyond measure.
〈While Romania was organizing a new magical framework with rune magic and spreading that knowledge across the world through the mages’ guild… people like me, from Ulster, were forced to endure their deep-rooted loathing. This is my revenge.〉
Despite the heavy weight of his words, Diabolo’s expression remained eerily calm. The lord of Renapolis, having heard the speech several times already, offered no reaction.
〈—That is the official reason I will give if I fail. Well, unlike the times I told it as a joke, the moment has come when I must treat the possibility of failure with complete seriousness.〉
Diabolo let out a long, heartfelt sigh. The plan’s minimum requirements had been met, yet this was still failure. Ivan Ritter von Diabolo could no longer remain a mere victim. Which meant that securing future funds would become extremely difficult. Forcing the half-collapsed plan forward was still possible, but he could not avoid being branded the mastermind.
Yet the one driving him into this corner was undoubtedly a person of equal resolve and intellect. If they had struck again after he had already lowered his guard this far, they would have prepared a merciless finishing blow.
Between total failure and half-success, the choice was obvious.
Can’t be helped.
Avoiding both the hanging lord and the magic circle beneath him, Diabolo tossed the book into the air. A shadow-like distortion appeared midair and swallowed the ancient volume whole. The tome that generations of Romanian emperors had hunted for centuries vanished once more into darkness.
The lord of Renapolis twisted his suspended body, watching Diabolo’s retreating back.
〈Ah… ugh…〉
〈There’s no need to hurry. Not much time remains. Four bloodlines of the Senate’s founders have gathered. You, my lord, will occupy one of the seats.〉
After speaking indifferently to the white-haired lord, Diabolo filled a wine glass from a potion bottle. Though the plan’s perfection had crumbled, they would still flock to the center the moment it activated. People bound by duty and responsibility always behaved that way.
—Splash.
Diabolo poured the Elixir he had just poured into the glass onto the floor. Even as the situation spiraled toward catastrophe and the stench of failure grew thicker, a crooked smile formed on his lips as he imagined the coming chaos. The nape of his neck, visible as he drank the high-grade Elixir, was covered in scars that looked as though insects had gnawed them raw.
Back at the mansion I changed clothes while staring at the Elixir I had left on the table. Nearly everything I’d stolen from the auction house had been tossed into the lord’s estate, but I’d kept a few exceptions.
I can’t just hand my Elixir over to that bastard.
The items I returned had to be chosen with care. If I put the Elixir or the greatsword back, Diabolo—who would surely detect the GPS signal—would rejoice at receiving free treasure. And if someone else stole it in the meantime, my secret money would vanish. That was only a secondary concern, of course. The real problem was that if the original owner—me—came under suspicion with a sneering “Hey! Aren’t you that phantom thief?” it would be game over.
Ideally I wanted to make Diabolo look obsessed with the Elixir so everyone would assume He must have used it the moment he stole it, but things had gone too far for that now.
If only it had rolled the way we originally planned, we would have had an even bigger advantage.
I clicked my tongue behind the mask. From the nobles’ perspective, it was only natural to wonder what on earth was inside that mansion that would make someone willingly swallow tens of billions in losses and mobilize troops. But if they discovered that some of the stolen goods had turned up in Diabolo’s estate?
—This son of a bitch staged the whole thing!
—Those phantom thief bitches are his spies too?!
—No wonder he spent money like water trying to bring the auction to Renapolis!
It was the most logical conclusion.
That bastard’s desperate desire to buy the Elixir will be on full display for every guest on the fourth day. The heavy security around the mansion will be obvious to anyone who goes to interrogate the lord.
Purchase obsession. Abnormally tight internal security. Stolen goods discovered on the premises. Three clear pieces of circumstantial and physical evidence would ignite the nobles’ fury, and no matter how events unfolded, the mansion’s defenses would inevitably loosen.
After that it would be smooth sailing. The moment Veronica made contact with Tirsi, escape would be as easy as lying down and eating rice cakes.
You Romanian bumpkins. Ever heard of spatial teleportation?
That was roughly the operation we had built.
Regretting the past won’t change anything.
Since I had seen through the opponent’s scheme, I should consider it a successful counter-blow. Still, if I hadn’t identified the true nature of that greatsword with my Odin’s Eye, we would have been the ones screwed. Diabolo’s strategy and skill were so outstanding that I couldn’t dismiss the danger even as a joke.
Anyway, after finishing my preparations to appear as Yesugei, I slipped out of the mansion without being seen and headed out early in the morning to meet Primor’s escort.
“Hello. No matter when I see you, that build of yours is impressive.”
When I reached the appointed spot, she was already waiting even though I was ten minutes early. The dirt beneath where the female bandit sat showed clear signs that she had been there for quite a while.
“With a frame like that, I’d love to know your secret for hiding so well.”
“Even if a tiger comes chasing over the mountain, ordinary people rarely notice, don’t they? In any case, my apologies for being late.”
The female bandit waved her hand as if to say there was no need for such politeness.
“It’s fine. We left the lord’s mansion this morning too. We came straight here after leaving.”
“…You left? Did the lord permit it?”
“How could he stop us if we decided to go? If what you said is true, Diabolo is a complete madman. We couldn’t just sit around beside someone like that.”
She shrugged, then seemed to notice my worry and added, “Oh, we didn’t completely leave the mansion, so don’t worry. There’s still the matter with that Tirsi person, so we’re out under the excuse of an outing.”
I nodded at her explanation. It was slightly surprising that Primor would allow such behavior, but not shocking. According to the information Catherine had gathered, Primor really was unrelated to the Armaal bloodline.
—That Primor Armaal person’s family?
A prominent emerging noble house. The chance that an emerging noble would have any connection to the founding Senate families was zero percent.
Their family histories differ by hundreds of years at minimum.
When the original Senate families founded the Senate, Primor’s ancestors were probably tilling some field somewhere. The reliability of the information was beyond doubt; the nobles, inflamed by the auction theft, had loosened their tongues.
Of course, it’s possible one of her distant ancestors came from the Armaal line.
But without a DNA test, the odds of satisfying the conditions through some great-grandson’s great-grandson were slim. It wasn’t some ridiculous case of atavism. Mendel would be weeping in hell.
“Wouldn’t those people have no idea that we’re suspicious of them? Even if the madam only looked slightly unwell they’d rush over with the finest potions.”
“Potions? You didn’t actually drink any, did you?”
“Are you insane? Of course I brought ones I bought separately. Who knows what they might have mixed in.”
I nodded vaguely. Even Diabolo wouldn’t want pointless chaos like Primor’s death before achieving his own goals, but one could never be too careful.
Still, it seems Primor has developed health problems too.
The sheltered daughter of a noble house had cut off her own finger and gone through a massive ordeal. That was more than enough reason for her condition to worsen.
“…If she appears to be in poor health, wouldn’t it be better to show her to a priest?”
“She says she’ll receive treatment once she returns to the family. If Henry were here he could have guessed just from her complexion… Those Janus Order bastards are completely useless when it comes to healing.”
The female bandit muttered to herself. I heard it clearly, but it sounded like a private complaint and contained nothing worth pressing, so I let it pass. In this world, wounds could be healed easily if one had money, but potion abuse existed and not every injury could be cured perfectly. Unless one went all the way back to ancient civilizations, of course.
While thinking that, I noticed the female bandit staring fixedly at my face—beneath the mask.
“Is there something on my face?”
“…No. I was just wondering if the burns don’t hurt while you’re wearing that mask.”
Burns? Where had this come from all of a sudden?
Ah.
I remembered that I had once used transformation magic to create burn scars in order to hide my face. Copying someone else’s exact appearance with transformation magic was difficult for me, so I had resorted to that makeshift solution.
Deciding it wasn’t a big deal, I shook my head.
“Patience and self-discipline are also part of a martial artist’s virtues. Pay it no mind. More importantly… how did the task I asked of you go?”
Had she succeeded in locating Tirsi? Even though I tried not to get my hopes up, my slight tension must have shown, because the female bandit’s expression hardened as she answered.
“Speaking only of the result… I’m sorry. I couldn’t make direct contact with the person you’re looking for.”
“…I see.”
I exhaled shortly, trying not to show disappointment. The female bandit quickly added an explanation.
“It’s embarrassing after I boasted so confidently, but there’s a reason.”
“A reason?”
“Yes. At first I couldn’t believe it or understand it either. The inside of that annex is impossibly cold.”
Cold? Even with the mask on, she must have sensed me frowning, because she lowered her voice.
“I initially thought it was a barrier, but after sending bugs three or four more times I realized the truth. Even when I poured the sun’s yang energy into them with the dung-beetle brooch, the insects lost their strength the moment they entered the annex.”
“They die?”
“Hibernation would be more accurate. But if it’s cold enough to pierce the mana heat of the dung-beetle brooch, we on the outside should have noticed. According to that mage friend of ours you know, it’s magical cold.”
The first person that came to mind was naturally Tirsi. But no matter how powerful an ice mage she was, she wasn’t the type to live inside an ice palace.
What did it mean that the annex was filled with cold?
I looked up at the sky to organize my thoughts—and my mouth fell open, my mind going blank.
“That’s not all. The view through the bugs is complicated, but when I looked inside the annex by borrowing their sight, it looked exactly like a tree of light was growing there.”
“…Like that?”
“What?”
The female bandit followed the direction I pointed, then made the exact same dumbfounded expression as if she were my reflection in a mirror.
A colossal tree of white light stretched across the sky of Renapolis.