Chapter 110
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 110
Chapter Title: Preliminary Work (4)
Federback opened his eyes.
The magical thread connected to the small white bird had snapped.
"Still, I can only control it for a short time."
Even so, this was fairly impressive progress.
Being able to issue direct orders to Sanchyo in the distant capital was incredibly convenient.
No need for complicated code systems, no fear of letters being intercepted en route—it was reassuring in every way.
"I'll need to accumulate even more mana. To handle familiars more smoothly..."
The reason he'd planted Sanchyo in the capital was to sow chaos in the rear.
To counter the Berserkir Marquis House's ambitions toward the North, he needed a pawn operating on the front lines.
That first pawn wouldn't be Sanchyo...
'Ridjo, the Murder Ghost of District 9. She'll be the one.'
Federback pictured Ridjo in his mind.
He didn't remember her appearance from before his regression all that well.
A ragged nun's habit, a face stained with blood, people scattered like ground mincemeat...
Only vague, superficial impressions drifted through his thoughts.
'But her combat prowess was undeniably real.'
The one thing he remembered crystal clear was Ridjo's power.
As he reminisced about the past, Federback reorganized his future plans.
Right then.
Knock knock knock—
The sound of knocking from beyond the door broke Federback's reverie.
He opened it to find a familiar face.
Rorschach, dressed in her formal attire.
But she wasn't alone today.
Sir Dvorak stood before Federback's door, of all people.
He too was clad in a pristine uniform, unlike during training.
Rorschach spoke.
"Young Master Federback. The Patriarch summons you."
As Federback turned with a questioning look, Sir Dvorak smiled faintly and continued.
"It seems he wishes to discuss matters regarding the elevation to marquis. And, as a bonus, he plans to reveal one of the house's secrets..."
The promotion from count to marquis was currently under Rorschach's direct command.
Thanks to Sir Dvorak, who had watched over House Meursault for so long, she had thoroughly vetted the justifications and conditions required.
And now, it was time to discuss the results.
"What might this family secret be?"
"Best to hear it straight from the Patriarch himself. It'll be far clearer that way."
Sir Dvorak added with a smile.
"Of course, it's nothing bad. Quite the opposite—something excellent. You can look forward to it. This old knight will say no more. The rest is the Patriarch's joy."
If this solemn old knight was speaking this way, there had to be something real to it.
"Understood. I'll go hear it from Father directly."
Federback took the lead, heading toward the patriarch's office with his two retainers in tow.
It looked like a night full of discussions ahead.
The patriarch's office in House Meursault had its own distinctive aura.
A restrained grandeur, frugal yet never lacking in dignity.
The stone walls and fireplace, bronze candelabras, taxidermied bear and wolf heads, and the sturdy oak desk at the center—all bore the gentle wear of time.
Atop the desk sat quill pens and inkwells, a few leather-bound tomes, and flickering candles.
Beyond them sat a gray-bearded middle-aged man.
Soleil Meursault.
He gazed toward the door and smiled warmly.
"Your realm has risen once more."
Federback stood there.
"I had a small enlightenment. Thanks to the secret sword manual."
"Even mastering the secret arts, reaching the late 4th Circle at your age defies reason. You're nearly on par with me now. Ha ha, truly. Should I rejoice or feel shame as your inadequate father? Planning to rewrite human history altogether?"
Soleil let out an exclamation as he sensed Federback's energy.
Meanwhile, Sir Dvorak and Rorschach followed Federback into the office.
Sir Dvorak marveled at the mountain of letters piled on Soleil's desk.
"Word of the marquis elevation preparations must have spread across the entire North already. So many congratulatory telegrams."
"Read 'congratulatory telegrams' as 'marriage proposals,'"
Rorschach chimed in.
Federback tilted his head.
Marriage proposals? Here?
Soleil cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Marriage proposals are flooding in for the grown adults of House Meursault. Yours and Cardina's were always plentiful, but... suddenly, they're pouring in for me too..."
"......"
Federback scratched his cheek with a finger.
Come to think of it, it had been quite some time since Father Soleil became a widower.
From other prestigious houses' perspectives, Soleil not remarrying—or even taking a concubine—was the oddity.
Was it the firelight from the hearth? Soleil's face flushed slightly red.
Federback spoke up.
"It doesn't bother me. Father, you should live your own life."
"Hey now, what sort of talk is this all of a sudden..."
"I'd rather see you live as an individual than merely as a father. It's much the same as what I said before."
"......"
Soleil fell silent at Federback's calm voice.
They'd had a similar conversation once before.
'If you gained great power, Father—what would you do?'
'Great power? Ha ha ha—what level?'
'Power to slay the Demon King alone, without allies.'
'......!'
That day's exchange had etched deep ripples into Soleil's heart.
Perhaps breaking through the 5th Circle's wall owed as much to the resonance from that talk as to the secret sword manual.
'I don't know why you're asking, but... I'd pass that power to you all. My reaching 4th Circle was thanks to bloodline. But no matter my efforts, I couldn't surpass 5th. That defeat, inferiority, torment—it was unbearable. I wandered much in my youth. I don't want you enduring that sorrow...'
'What I'm curious about is your ambition not as "Father," but as "Meursault."'
'As one Meursault, not father... Then, I'd go slay the Demon King.'
'......!'
'The world thinks the Demon King gone. I don't. His seed grows somewhere, soon to revive. The surging monsters prove it.'
'......'
'A long winter approaches, unending. I want to uproot it.'
Soleil rose from his seat.
"Son. Hearing your words that day, I too made a new vow—as one Meursault, no, as a single knight."
"......"
"Follow me. I have something to show you."
Soleil beckoned Federback.
Sir Dvorak, Soleil's closest confidant, and Rorschach, Federback's own, trailed behind.
Soleil led them to an underground passage at the farthest outskirts of Meursault Castle.
It had once been the site of the house's forge.
Stepping into the vast cavern at the end of the dim subterranean tunnel, Federback froze in surprise.
"......This is?"
The surface forge facilities had been relocated underground.
On an unimaginable scale, dwarfing the original!
Sir Dvorak, following, seemed to know already, but not Rorschach.
"My word."
Federback felt much the same as Rorschach.
Amid tangled rock and earth, precisely placed timbers and steel beams.
The massive central furnace spewed crimson light, dyeing the cavern bloody red.
The soot-blackened stone walls and ceiling spoke of nonstop operation.
Bellows steadily melted iron; flames roared fiercely.
Dozens of smiths sweated profusely around them, hammering away.
Their dripping sweat mingled with oil vapors, birthing thick, humid steam.
Rorschach cried out.
"No wonder! No matter how much I searched, master smiths were impossible to find! They were all gathered here!"
"Father. This is..."
Federback turned.
Soleil strode forward confidently.
The smiths barely reacted to his arrival.
"Greetings, Patriarch."
"Indeed. You all work tirelessly."
Soleil visited often, clearly.
Soon, he halted before a narrow table at the forge's deepest recess.
Atop the slender table lay something emitting a dark crimson glow.
"......"
"......!"
Federback stared silently; Rorschach covered her mouth with both hands.
There rested a thick, long, colossal spear.
As if a giant's veins had been plucked out, twisted like cords, then straightened.
Its tip formed razor-sharp double edges, spiraled in a torque begging to impale anything in reach.
Over ten meters long, it gleamed with a bloody luster—not metallic, but like flayed organic hide.
From tip to shaft, twisted folds evoked centuries of stratified time.
Too excessive for a mere spear.
Too long, too thick, too vast, too heavy.
......To pierce what?
......To inflict how much agony?
......From what colossal hatred was this torment born?
Federback and Rorschach gazed long at this monstrous spear, questioning if human hands could wield it.
Destruction, malice, chaos, hatred—all melted into its sheen.
This spear's name was.
"Behold. This is Lemegeton Killer."
......Uttered not by Federback, but by Soleil.