Chapter 362
Chapter 362
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 362
Chapter Title: How to Survive as the Second Son of a Magical Noble Family
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The mage lifted his head. As the light faded, the contours of his face gradually came into view. He brushed back the long strands of hair obscuring his vision, gripped his staff tightly, and stared straight ahead.
“…….”
Mecklenburg stared at him in a daze, feeling the blood trickling down to the floor. It was a chilling sight. Even the irises were the same color as his skin, and for some reason, the pupils were nowhere to be seen. How could human eyes be pure white? Were the irises transparent, just like the light emanating from him? No. If the irises truly held no pigment at all and were perfectly clear, those eyes should have been red, not white. Yes, just like...
The blood-red eyes that had stared straight at him flashed through his mind. Then, the day Mecklenburg had first encountered Nikolaus Ernst's divine power flickered across his thoughts. The divine power he had witnessed from him was something he would never forget in his lifetime. He couldn't say whether this light could match that power, but as it overlapped with the clear, intense glow that evoked Nikolaus's own, those pure white eyes instead appeared like a symbol of sanctity.
Holiness and terror were separated by a mere hair's breadth. And so, in the face of the overwhelming dread gripping his heart, Mecklenburg sensed it instinctively. That purity was artificial.
The Prime Minister turned to the diocesan archbishop with a voice as cold as ice.
“Even if you've passed inspection, warping into the imperial palace without permission is impossible.”
“Indeed.”
The Brandenburg diocesan archbishop replied slowly.
“'Technically' impossible, that is. The empire's pinnacle of technology has been concentrated here, after all. Even I couldn't warp here from outside, nor could anyone else.”
“Explain the circumstances. You've endangered security. Diplomatic envoys or not, we can investigate you right here on the spot.”
“Wasn't the security already breached long ago, rather than us compromising it? Or—”
The Brandenburg diocesan archbishop steepled his fingers and forced a smile onto his wrinkled face.
“—do you not believe there could exist a mage capable of surpassing intact security?”
“…….”
A single mage, who looked barely into his teens, had freely set foot in a nation's imperial palace. The Lion of the Covenant—a term borrowed to refer to Jehovah—suggested there was far more to him than that. With a single step, he could stand at the heart of the Mirror Room that the Prussian army had reached after millennia, or plant Pleroma's banner in the Kremlin. If he had lived in the turbulent Middle Ages, the Crusaders would have reclaimed Jerusalem, and Hagia Sophia would still stand as an Eastern Orthodox cathedral to this day. Was that speculation excessive? With power that neutralized any security, who could call it excessive? Even in the 98th Batch A-Class that Mecklenburg himself belonged to, there was a talent who could warp at will without coordinates, but that individual could bypass door wards easily yet couldn't set foot in a place blanketed entirely in security magic. This was different. Everyone already knew it, not just Mecklenburg. The diocesan archbishop scanned all their faces before speaking.
“Are there any reports of rampages within the empire right now? I'd like to demonstrate his abilities.”
“…….”
The Prime Minister stared silently at the archbishop before gesturing to his aide. The aide hurried out of the room to send a telegram and returned with the response.
“Near Brandenburg's Cecilienhof, at 189:231:238, there's a Class 3 rampager. 98th Batch B-Class has been dispatched to suppress it.”
The archbishop nodded in satisfaction and sought the Prime Minister's approval. The Prime Minister spoke.
“We grant permission, on the premise that no harm comes to our citizens.”
“Please move there.”
No sooner had the archbishop spoken than the white-haired mage struck the floor with his staff and vanished from the spot. The archbishop swept his hand through the air, and an image swirled into being above the center of the table. It was a view from someone's perspective, but it was obvious whose without being told. The stunned faces of his 98th Batch B-Class comrades came into view. The viewpoint's owner absorbed their attacks head-on while advancing slowly. As the rampager charging excitedly from afar barreled straight into view, a white hand wreathed in light rose from below.
It touched the vitriol.
Boom—
A gust of wind roared.
[—Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.]
A dissonant, floating chant faintly spread. In an instant, the vitriol where he had placed his hand vanished, revealing an unconscious person. The moment the rampager collapsed, the mage reappeared here.
“…….”
Silence fell. The Brandenburg diocesan archbishop spoke in a gravelly, deliberate voice.
“Until our true prophet comes of age, we surrender all authority within the empire to him. May you understand how much we Pleroma are willing to sacrifice for the German Empire.”
No one spoke. It no longer mattered that everyone was acting cautiously because none had experience in such an abnormal diplomatic situation. Right now, no one could afford to speak rashly, no matter who they were.
'Handing over the Lion of the Covenant...?'
Why? He didn't know exactly what the Lion of the Covenant was or what abilities it possessed, but wasn't it undoubtedly an essential figure in their soteriology? Yet here they were, offering to hand their prophet over to us. For the sake of gaining the empire's trust, would they bear such a burden? Unbidden, Mecklenburg's gaze drifted to the seat where Nikolaus Ernst had sat. A pride-stinging thought flashed through his mind.
'...If it were Ascanien...'
He would have grasped this situation instantly. With the judgment Ascanien had shown in headquarters and Brandenburg, in Corbianno. With Nikolaus Ernst's intelligence network. It burned inside him. It hurt, but surely he would have found the answer.
The Prime Minister turned to the mage and spoke.
“What is this one's name?”
It was unlikely they'd reveal his true name, but they needed to identify his family and trace his lineage. For instance, the Brandenburg diocesan archbishop had introduced himself earlier as Lili Levenro, and the Levenro surname belonged to a noble house with lands in Schleswig-Holstein and Mecklenburg. If he hadn't lied, descendants sharing Pleroma's genes or mana would be living on Schleswig-Holstein soil.
“Mikhail Vladimirovich Ismailov.”
“…….”
Someone found in Russia.
Moreover, with a name like that, they had likely given it to him themselves. They would claim that, in seeking the 'New Covenant,' they hadn't named Ismailov themselves, but considering he had come this far in Pleroma's hands, there was no way he had been born with such a name.
The archbishop continued nonchalantly.
“The reason we requested Excellency Ascanien's presence today is related to this, but it's a shame we can't greet him personally. If the empire is inclined to accept our goodwill, we hope Excellency Ascanien will take charge of Prophet Ismailov.”
“I'd like to know the reason.”
“He is the only one in the empire who can deal with Prophet Ismailov.”
“I asked for the reason.”
“How dare ones like you presume to face the prophet?”
As the rhetoric unique to madmen emerged, the Prime Minister turned away with a rigidly hardened expression. Their insidious intent to drive a wedge between Ascanien—who had saved millions of citizens—and the government was already clear to us. It stung, but Ascanien had long transcended ordinary men like Mecklenburg himself. Could anyone deny that of one who had saved millions? Without Ascanien, millions across this land would already be buried, and Mecklenburg himself would be interred in his family plot in Strelitz by now. The ministers and Prime Minister here would all have been reduced to Penthalon dust. He hadn't been able to accept it at first, but now he did. Everyone knew the empire owed a debt to the second son Ascanien. At the very least, Mecklenburg knew the student was Nikolaus, the mage who had swiftly dealt with Pleroma from the moment they began rampaging—and soon, everyone would. Would cheap tricks claiming such an innocent, justice-near paragon was like us hold sway?
'And.'
Mecklenburg eyed the aged mage standing before him with concern. The Prime Minister was unable to decide right now. Before the opportunity to seize Pleroma's heart—their prophet—what was the right choice? Even if Pleroma's claims were false, it benefited them to have the talent; even locking Mikhail Ismailov away in some manor unused would do no harm, as it weakened Pleroma's forces.
But the issue was that this offer could be a trap. Who could guarantee what abilities the 'Lion of the Covenant' truly had, or whether it would bring our ruin? To politicians like them, who trusted no one, the proposal looked like the devil's temptation. Yet they couldn't simply discard it, for if such a being remained with Pleroma, it would surely threaten the citizens and the empire's safety.
'...Accepting for now and binding him with all sorts of spells is probably best.'
They would need physical restrictions to prevent information from leaking through him. How to restrain someone who could move anywhere, whether restraints would even work—it was something to consider, but for now, treating him as a hostage was fitting. Wouldn't Ascanien have judged the same? Mecklenburg swallowed as he listened to the Prime Minister.
“Why hand over such an important figure as a hostage to us?”
“We and the empire are one body. Isn't this how diplomacy works?”
Mecklenburg shook his head at the archbishop. This wasn't diplomacy. It involved gauging the opponent's strength and devising strategies to extract as much as possible—not handing everything over. Same race, so they could afford to give? Nonsense. There had to be a clear reason they wanted to hand their prophet to us. Even if paranoid, he had to believe that.
“However, we cannot surrender the prophet to the empire forever, so on the day he comes of age, we will take him back.”
“…….”
“On that day, the empire may erase every memory he has accumulated here. We have no intention of thwarting even our final means of proving our sincerity. Moreover, we can covenant that we have placed no spells on our prophet to extract imperial secrets.”
“A covenant spell is not to be invoked lightly.”
“We are well aware. It would be regrettable if it seemed our Pleroma leadership was resorting to crude tactics anyone could see through just to steal imperial intelligence. As you know, aren't you all already harboring the same suspicions about our proposal?”
If everyone shares the suspicion, the suspected party can't act honestly on it. True enough. The Prime Minister stared at the archbishop for a long while before casting a soundproofing spell and turning to Farnese's mage.
“Excellency Farnese, we need your divine power now.”
“Is it worthwhile for me to step in?”
“Before formally requesting aid from the Holy See, let's simply interrogate them to confirm if their words are true and safe.”
Farnese shook his head with a smile.
“I apologize, but my abilities cannot interfere with Ismailov's mind.”
At those words, Ismailov—who had been staring straight ahead—turned his eyes toward Farnese. Mecklenburg momentarily doubted his own memory. Hadn't they cast a soundproofing spell?
Everyone watched the first reaction from the Pleroma called the Lion of the Covenant. Farnese met Ismailov's gaze with a smile and continued.
“I know it's presumptuous as an imperial subject, but allow me one word. No divine power mage in the empire will be able to read Ismailov's mind. I advise reconsidering acceptance.”
* * *
“So that's how it happened.”
Mecklenburg nodded at my words. He let out a long breath and lowered his voice.
“So, Excellency Ascanien, you must be more cautious than anyone. Pleroma places greater faith in the scandal from your childhood than anything else.”
Right now, I was in a Bavarian hospital, and the negotiations had wrapped up thirty minutes ago. Strangely, Leo had restored my hearing, dragged Narke away, and my other friends hadn't arrived yet. Mecklenburg alone had come to see me, sitting by my side and recounting everything that had transpired since I collapsed.
“Understood. It's touching to see Senior worrying needlessly.”
“Needlessly?!”
Ignoring his protest, I waved it off.
“So, what happened next? The negotiations couldn't have ended there.”
Moreover, with a soundproofing spell up, how had Mikhail Ismailov turned toward Narke? At my question, Mecklenburg's expression darkened again as he spoke.
“I told them up to where Excellency Farnese advised the Prime Minister against accepting.”
“Yes.”
“Mikhail Ismailov objected to Excellency Farnese. 'Can't you read me?' That's what he said.”
“…….”
Can't you read me... I rolled my eyes and nodded slowly.
“What did Narke say?”