The Society of Dead Mages (1)
It was an atmosphere too difficult to put into words. The interrogator mage, cradling his brother's face as tears streamed down his cheeks. Tuon kept her mouth shut, pretending to be nothing more than an ordinary sword, as if trying to ignore the scene. Even Orishin could only manage a faint whisper.
[Um... the face does look kinda similar.]
Yeah, damn it. I know.
The interrogator mage and the severed head he held were right in front of me. If this were a stage, I'd be front-row center.
The head had skin derived from wyvern hide—pale bluish scales that made it hard to pass for human—but aside from the skin, its overall features were strikingly similar to the interrogator mage's. If I had to pick a difference, it was the ears. The ones on the severed head were sharply pointed, evoking elves, while the mage's were softly rounded.
Half-elf? Looked like some complicated family drama.
After shedding a torrent of tears, the interrogator mage gently set the head down on the table. I shot a glance at the border guard commander, trying to signal, What the hell do we do in a situation like this? But he'd already slipped away from this awkward scene with impeccable stealth, making not a sound.
They say the true mettle of imperial commanders shines in retreat—and damn if he wasn't a master at vanishing himself.
The interrogator mage turned back from the head and approached me slowly, bowing his head.
"...My brother has caused you trouble."
I chose my words carefully. Even if he was abyss-tainted scum, mouthing off in front of his grieving kin could tank my honor stat straight to hell—hardly knightly behavior.
"I'm sorry it turned out this way."
"No, it's my fault. If I'd found my brother sooner and set him on the right path, none of this heartbreak would have befallen the city's people..."
The interrogator mage tried to sound composed, but the thick sorrow in his voice was unmistakable.
"Thank you again for stopping him before he could rack up more sins. I am Lrweain Lir."
[Lir? That's the name of an imperial fairy noble house.]
Orishin whispered telepathically, just for me. Sure enough, I recalled the current imperial prime minister bore the Lir name too.
"Lir—as in the lineage tracing back to ancient fairies?"
"Ah, yes. I'm just a distant branch, barely qualified to use the surname."
Taking this as some kind of cue, Lrweain bowed lower and spilled his family history in a disjointed ramble.
A humble offshoot of an imperial noble house descended from ancient elves. Twins born of human-elf union. Unlike Lrweain, who received no such blood blessings, his brother had inherited strong elven traits. That explained the ear difference.
Lrweain's talents were versatile but unremarkable; his brother, Colin, was hailed a prodigy.
"But Colin... he grew lazy with effort. Eventually, his magic hit a plateau."
[Oh boy. I can see the beginning and end— the middle writes itself. This is gonna leave a bad taste.]
Inferiority from reversed fortunes. Colin ran away from the family at some point, while Lrweain wandered in search, honing his skills until he became the gateway city's interrogator mage.
I recalled Colin boasting of a "way to infiltrate the gateway city's heart."
Forging a family seal letter to lure his brother home, then stabbing him in the back with a comrade's help. Plus their twin physiology. Colin's plan was obvious.
Kill Lrweain, impersonate him. Exhibit Lrweain's corpse as proof of the "fallen brother's" wyvern chaos. If it worked, he'd swallow the interrogator mage position whole.
What a half-baked scheme.
[Huh? Why? Seems feasible enough to me.]
Orishin questioned, reading my thoughts. From a spirit's view, it might seem novel.
The interrogator mage job demands social skills. Sure, disguise the wyvern skin and ears with magic—but could a shut-in abyss-hanger handle it? It's a position advising the lord directly, basically a core city official.
[Oh. Yeah...]
Could he manage the networks the real mage maintained? Format reports right? Rub elbows with everyone under the lord? No way a guy wasting time with the abyss pulls that off.
[You're brutally harsh on the abyss sometimes, you know.]
Can't be helped. How could I like the damn abyss that saddled me with useless skills?
Lrweain, mid-ramble about his brother's old kindnesses, let out an "Ah" and lifted his head again.
"My apologies. I've troubled an esteemed guest. I hear you're the Champion of the Eve Kaha Church."
"That's right. Heading from the Holy Kingdom to the Empire."
"To the Empire? You, a Champion?"
Doubt flickered in Lrweain's eyes, still mourning his family's fall. At this juncture, the Holy Kingdom had no reason to dispatch a Champion to the Empire.
No need to play mysterious and stir suspicion. I revealed part of the truth.
"Seeking counsel from the Magic Tower. It's about a certain curse—something needing analysis from both priestly and broader perspectives."
"If it's not too rude, might I ask what it is?"
Ah. Right—he's an interrogator mage.
***
Lrweain received a single horned dagger from the pale-haired man. A blade said to house a spirit.
"Hm? Is something wrong with the spirit?"
"A massive problem..."
The man muttered darkly. Lrweain couldn't shake the feeling it reeked of the abyss, but he shook his head, dismissing the thought.
Abyss-like for a holy knight? Blasphemy of the highest order. Besides, if Sir Kriel were truly abyssal, how could the Church grant him Champion status? And Colin—Kriel had executed the wicked plot without aiding it, proving his innocence.
Lrweain tried to banish the lingering image of Colin's face from his mind's eye. Justice served to the fallen.
As he wrestled with his thoughts, Kriel's voice cut off. Had he been reciting some incantation? As Kriel finished whispering, a unicorn spirit burst from the horned dagger.
Not an artificial spirit forged for the weapon, but one that had possessed it. He'd heard from the border commander, but it was still bizarre. Most nature spirits kept distance from gods and civilization alike, no?
[May the dead wash away their sins beneath the raven's wings.]
Lrweain was inwardly startled by the spirit's courteous greeting—especially invoking divine grace, rare for one aloof to mortal affairs. No wonder the Champion carried it. A sacred sword equivalent for the Church?
The wickedly curved blade and chilling edge were unconventional for a holy relic, but Lrweain found it perfectly fitting for Eve Kaha's order. They weren't wronged by the image.
Their reputation preceded them: reaping skulls with red flails on battlefields. A grim church from the start—a creepy sword suited them fine. And since the Saintess herself had forged it, "holy sword" wasn't entirely off.
"My thanks for the blessing. Has something happened to the spirit?"
"It's corrupted by the abyss."
"Pardon?"
"The spirit. Tainted by the abyss. I've temporarily purified it, but the root remains. That's why I'm seeking a way to cleanse it completely."
Shocking news. The abyss reaching a Church-managed holy sword? Lrweain's expression darkened.
The Holy Kingdom's sacred blade defiled. This gateway city, quiet for decades, attacked. Reports from under the lord recalled imperial anomalies everywhere.
Perhaps it's all one grand abyssal scheme...)
Lrweain eyed the horned dagger with grave concern. If an abyssal demon orchestrated these events, this blade was its spearhead.
But instinct aside, he couldn't act on it now. His expertise lay in city barriers and water magic for logistics—not risky abyss research. Maybe that's why Colin fell to it: to prove he could master what his brother feared.
Shaking off idle thoughts, Lrweain returned the dagger to Kriel.
"Forgive my bluntness, but I doubt I can help with this."
"No worries. Abyss research risks heresy charges anyway."
"But I can introduce you to those who might. Will you follow?"
Lrweain headed to his study. Among the countless academy invitations received under the lord, there had surely been one for the Abyss Extermination Society.