The Society of the Dead Mages (2)
Kriel stroked his chin. So it's the Abyss Prevention Society. Mages were known to study just about everything, but to think there was one perfectly suited to his needs.
While Rwevin rummaged through the scattered bundles of letters in his study, Kriel and Orishin waited outside the room. At Rwevin's request to hold on a moment, Kriel had agreed and leaned against the wall, striking a pose like a painting. Not the flattering kind of "picture-perfect looks," but more like a still life—devoid of any vitality.
The silence hung faintly, broken only by Rwevin's footsteps and the rustle of paper. Unable to bear the boredom, Orishin spoke up in a low voice.
[Come to think of it, that door leads to the place that Colin guy—the mage—was after, right?]
Kriel was about to say, "We agreed to keep quiet around others, remember?"—referring to the incident where Rwevin had mistaken Orishin's chatter for a spirit-summoning spell—but then realized the "other person" was right behind the door. He opened his mouth.
"Probably. It's the inquisitor mage's study, after all. Everything from confidential documents like the lord's one-year plan or the city's barrier maintenance status to personal research materials would be gathered there."
[You're awfully calm about it. It's the endpoint of a secret plot to overthrow the city—aren't you curious?]
"Ah. I've seen a mage's study a few times before."
Kriel did have some fantasies about mages. More precisely, about every job except Dark Knight. Among them, mages—and knights, excluding Dark Knights—held a slightly special place.
Magic. The hallmark of fantasy. Dive into the genre, and you'd inevitably encounter a mage. From the gray-robed wizard who turned white leading an expedition party, to the headmaster of a British magic school. That enigmatic sage image was deeply etched in Kriel's mind.
But.
"The mages I've met... well, they weren't great at tidying up."
[Uh... the mage you were planning to visit once you got to the Empire?]
Kriel nodded. It was the mage from Ket County he'd met while bouncing around as a mercenary. Spending time in the territory had burned away much of his awe and mystique toward mages.
"The room was a total mess. I tried to clean it up a bit, and he flipped out like..."
Kriel remembered Rwevin was behind the door. Tuon, reaching the same conclusion, hummed with thought waves.
[My lord. A true knight must uphold dignity at all times.]
"Yeah, got it. Anyway, mages hate others touching their studies. It wasn't just reluctance to let people in—they seemed averse to anyone even seeing inside."
Kriel recalled the excuses from the Ket territory mage. To outsiders, it might look messy, but it was actually a delicate arrangement reflecting each mage's personal aesthetics and sensibilities.
Glancing through the door earlier, Rwevin's study had seemed impeccably neat—unlike that mage—but Kriel chalked it up to personal differences.
"No need to be rude to someone helping us. A little curiosity goes a long way."
Orishin tilted his head. The mages he knew did hesitate to show their studies, but they never kept the most crucial research materials in the "visible" lab anyway. Kriel's description of the mage's reaction felt overly extreme.
While Orishin headbanged in curiosity, Rwevin opened the door.
"Phew, found it!"
In his hand was an antique-style envelope sealed with wax. The wax seal gave the impression that this Abyss Prevention Society was quite wealthy.
[Ho?]
Orishin sensed more. The wax wasn't just stamped—it formed a magic circle seal. It protected the letter and left traces if opened improperly. Compressing such intricate magic into a tiny seal. Considering most recipients were mages, it was a flashy display of skill to pique interest—a clever marketing ploy.
Orishin upgraded his assessment of the Abyss Prevention Society.
Rwevin opened the envelope without a letter knife. Inside was boilerplate text inviting renowned mages to the upcoming assembly on a certain month and day.
"This was originally an invitation for me, but if I write you a letter of authorization, you should be able to attend as well, sir."
"My thanks."
Kriel shed his earlier casual air like a lie, embodying the grave dignity of a knight.
Rwevin swiftly penned the authorization and handed it over with the invitation.
"The venue is in Argentlam Duchy this time. It's a fair distance, but the roads are well-maintained, so you shouldn't have trouble arriving on time."
Kriel bowed in gratitude and promptly left the gateway city. His departure was as sudden as his arrival—no interest in honors or praise for slaying the abyss spawn.
***
In truth, Kriel hadn't planned to leave so abruptly. He'd slain the abyss spawn and reached some verbal agreement with the family, so he figured he'd rest a day or two more. Humans always wanted to stop when traveling, sit when stopped, and lie down once seated, right?
What disrupted Kriel's rest was Tuon.
Back in his room, pondering "How much should I eat at this 'abyss-subjugation victory banquet' tonight without seeming greedy?", Kriel faced an unexpected question.
"But my lord. Is lounging like that really fine?"
Tuon was polishing the greatsword and horn dagger, looking somewhat displeased. She disliked him using swords other than herself, but even more so him tarnishing his honor with a shabby appearance. That odd rationale led to her "help."
Kriel had permitted her humanization gladly, as it reduced his daily chores—though only in private, away from prying eyes. Secretly pleased to have a squire, he questioned the remark.
"Huh? Why not?"
"The journey to the duchy."
"It's not that urgent. Resting a day or two won't make me late."
"The mage said it takes only a few days from here."
"You know it well. So when resting, rest fully—"
"But isn't that on a knight's terms?"
It was sudden verbal assault. How could a sword hurl such insolence at her lord—"Are you even a knight?"
Before Kriel recovered from the shock, Tuon continued.
"Think about it. The inquisitor mage surely has a horse or mount. A church Champion of that caliber would get a warhorse from the order."
Kriel nearly retorted, "So Dark Knights aren't knights?" but held his tongue. Proper Dark Knights were knights. They could dominate a hellhound or infernal drake and ride it.
But Kriel wasn't. He had no mount, no intention of taming a beast, and no offers to ride one.
"Yet my lord has no horse."
Orishin protested, [Hey, what about me?!] but Tuon didn't yield. "A headless horse can run, but can a legless one?" The brutal logic sent Orishin yelling [Stop the violence!] and fleeing into his sword.
"To make the assembly on time, shouldn't we hurry?"
Annoyingly right. Kriel bid farewell to the roasting pork over the campfire and hit the road in haste.
The guard captain and Rwevin hurriedly offered a pouch of silver coins, but he took only one, leaving the rest in his assigned room.
Orishin asked curiously.
[Just one coin? Not all or none—that's half-assed, isn't it?]
"Ah, you don't get it. This is 'marketing.'"
Knights who performed good deeds (mostly bloody incidents targeting abyss spawn) and vanished without reward were common since ancient times. But none left taking exactly one coin—be it copper or gold—except him.
Kriel expounded on differentiation and image dominance over other knights.
"One coin. The Knight of the Single Leaf. Sounds cool, right?"
[Hm. It's got romance, sure. So your reputation?]
Rumors of a wandering knight who took one coin to fight injustice had spread somewhat. But before that, his ragged appearance made far more people think "shady."
Kriel dodged the answer.