Torbin
Joseph was deep in a fire-magic grimoire when, elsewhere in the castle, someone was watching his new residence with a steadily souring temper.
So that bastard really hunted down a demonic beast? Without a single casualty?
The thought belonged to Zalier, who until recently had been the only mage of Valois Castle. He had never once doubted that Joseph would fail. After all, Zalier himself had failed to subjugate the northern demonic beast. He had poured every spell he possessed into the creature, and all he'd managed was a scratch across its hide.
In fairness, the comparison was a little unjust. His specialty had always been artifact crafting, not combat. Even so, Zalier was still the mage of Valois Castle, and he was quite certain he was far more capable than some nobody whose name he'd never even heard.
Where the hell did that bastard even come from?
But Joseph had slain the beast with almost insulting ease, and afterward he had settled right into the castle. Zalier watched it happen and trembled with unease. The old saying about a rolling stone driving out the one already planted in the ground — that was how Joseph looked to him. A son of a bitch circling his post, waiting to snatch it.
He already took my grimoire. What's next? Becoming the castle's only mage?
Joseph had no such ambitions whatsoever, but Zalier had no way of knowing that. In the end, desperation drove him to hatch a plan.
"So. Why did you call me all the way out here?"
Zalier's laboratory. Across from him sat a middle-aged man, waiting for an answer. His hair was half gone to white, and deep lines were carved into his face. Torbin. He watched Zalier with growing impatience as the mage sat there, lost in thought, staring at him.
What the hell is this about.
Torbin was a former mercenary. He'd been good enough in his day to make a name for himself, and lucky enough to live long enough to retire. The problem was that he'd never kicked the spending habits of his fighting years, and money was always short. The only thing he'd ever learned was how to use a blade, and neither farming nor garrison life suited his temperament. These days he made his living collecting protection money in the back alleys of Valois Castle.
"Torbin. I'm trying to do you a favor."
Zalier's voice was low, the tone of a man bestowing charity.
Bullshit...
Torbin spat the word inwardly. Mages were always like this. So drunk on their own preciousness that he'd never met one who could talk like a normal human being. Anyone else putting on airs like that would have had their throat cut on the spot — but they were mages, so it wasn't that simple, which was exactly why he preferred to avoid the whole breed whenever he could. This particular old mage was one he preferred to avoid even more than the rest. Most of the jobs the man handed out left a bad taste in the mouth. Robbing a merchant who'd refused to do business with him was the baseline. Last time, he'd commissioned a killing because he didn't like the look in someone's eyes.
If it weren't for the money, I'd walk right past him like everybody else...
If Zalier's pay hadn't been so fat, Torbin would have steered clear of him the way everyone else did.
"...Do I have to kill someone again?"
Zalier nodded.
"I want you to kill a man."
"Who?"
"Some third-rate mage."
As he said it, Zalier drew a pouch from his robes. It was large and heavy — clearly not a trivial sum. Torbin, however, did not look at it. At the word mage, his brow had given a sharp twitch.
"A mage... You don't mean the one the whole castle's been talking about."
"That's right. Just cut his throat. I'll take care of the rest."
Torbin stared at him, incredulous at how casually the man said it.
"...Do you even hear yourself right now? You're telling me to go kill a mage who hunted a demonic beast without taking a single casualty?"
The mage Joseph. There wasn't a soul in Valois Castle who didn't know the name. In a matter of days, without so much as a scratch, he had slain a demonic beast and won Viscount Folmers's favor. There were even rumors that he might shift the entire course of the war. And here was Zalier, talking about murdering a man like that as if he were sending Torbin out to rough up some back-alley thug.
Or maybe that's exactly why he wants him dead.
Zalier had failed that hunt himself. The whole castle had watched him lead a column of soldiers out the gates with great ceremony; there was no pretending otherwise. He was afraid Joseph was going to take his place. He would never admit it out loud, but you didn't need him to.
"...I'm sorry, but I don't think I can take this one."
That was one thing. This was another. Torbin was not enough of a fool to throw his life away for a little extra coin. It wasn't as if he'd never fought a mage. But those had been nobodies. He did not fancy his chances against a proper Combat Mage.
Zalier's face crumpled.
"You want to get thrown out of this castle?"
"You can threaten me all you like. Some jobs just aren't worth it. Who the hell walks up to a Combat Mage alone and puts a blade to his throat for a handful of coin?"
Torbin put some iron in his voice and refused. Zalier clicked his tongue and produced another pouch from further inside his robes. It was roughly the same size as the first. He'd clearly expected the refusal.
"Even if you stacked silver to the ceiling—"
"It's all gold."
At the word gold, Torbin's eyes went wide. He glanced at Zalier's face, then eased one of the pouches open. It was packed to the brim with gold coin.
...Holy shit.
His pupils trembled. This was enough for an old man like him to live without a single worry until the day he died. No — it was more than enough. It was overflowing.
Zalier watched him and went on.
"Finish the job, and I'll put you in a decent post on top of that."
"A decent post meaning...?"
"There's a vacant tax collector's seat out on the eastern frontier of the territory."
"You're offering me a collector's post?"
"For a mage of my standing, arranging something like that is hardly difficult."
Torbin swallowed. Two pouches of gold, and tax collection rights besides... That was enough to drink and idle like a madman until he went to his grave. In effect, he was being asked to bet the rest of his life on killing a single mage.
"You don't want to keep living like this forever, do you?"
"..."
Of course he didn't. Torbin's tastes had always been expensive, and money had always been short.
He was silent for a while. Then, slowly, he opened his mouth.
"...That mage is living in the castle right now, isn't he?"
"There's a war on. The castle's nearly empty. I'll show you the way to his room."
"Well, hell..."
Torbin clicked his tongue, then tucked both pouches of gold into his coat. His fingers drifted to the dagger sheath at his hip, and he gave it a slow, idle stroke.
"...Looks like I'd better put an edge on my blade."
A small fire burned quietly in the brazier at the center of the laboratory, popping now and then in the hush.
Focus.
Heat crawled over his skin. A bead of sweat traced a line from his cheek down to his jaw. Joseph sat with that warmth against him, gathering fire mana in his core, stacking it higher and higher inside himself.
He let the breath out slowly and opened his eyes. Then he pushed the window wide. Below the laboratory, the soldiers' training ground spread into view. Joseph took up the staff he had leaned nearby and swept it once through the air.
A mana orb rose into being — no, it had swollen far past anything that still deserved to be called an orb. He poured more mana into it, and it ballooned until it was the size of his own torso.
He flicked the staff again. The orb shot out through the open window, sailing far across the yard, and hung in the air above the training ground. Then he spoke the words.
"Flame Bite."
⟨ Flame Bite ⟩
The orb flashed once — then burst, flinging fire in every direction, a sudden bloom of flame like a firework going off in midair.
"Hah."
A smile tugged at the corner of Joseph's mouth. The raw heat of it was in a different league from Fire.
Finally... finally, this is real magic.
Not the clumsy half-spells he'd been making do with until now. Actual magic. Where Fire had done little more than kindle a small flame, this was a spell that could deal real damage.
Flame Bite instantaneously spreads fierce flame across a wide area, incinerating everything in all directions.
A perfect upgrade of Fire. Power, range, speed — there wasn't a single thing lacking.
Joseph formed another mana orb and sent it out the window the same way.
"Flame Road."
⟨ Flame Road ⟩
He spoke the new incantation, but the orb did not become fire. It flickered, its shape collapsing in on itself, and then it simply faded away. At the same instant, a sharp ache bit into his skull.
"Damn it..."
Joseph clicked his tongue, watching the mana scatter into empty air. The spell had failed. Unlike Flame Bite, Flame Road had a far lower success rate than he'd expected. It wasn't a shortage of fire mana, the way it had been with Fire. The incantation seemed to demand a precise ratio of fire mana to ordinary mana, and nothing less would do. He'd been trying it now and then ever since he'd found the spell in the book, and he wasn't getting much better at it.
It probably takes a real knack...
He suspected the real problem was that his capacity as a mage was still too low. The ratio wasn't something you could hold in theory. You had to drill it into the body until it lived in the muscle.
The headache stretched on. He pressed his fingers to his temple, then reached into his coat and drew out the gem that had been restoring his mana.
"...It's done for, after all."
The stone in his palm was barely flickering. Looking closer, he found a hairline crack running across its surface.
It must have broken during the hunt.
He remembered how freely he'd thrown magic around against the demonic beast. He'd had so few spells to work with then that the only real option had been to use the gem and pour out orbs as fast as he could make them.
I won't be able to lean on that anymore...
He'd never imagined the gem would last forever. Still, now that he actually couldn't use it, the loss stung more than he wanted to admit.
At least I've been given time to train. That's something.
From here on, he would have to work out how to fight without it.
Not fighting at all would be best, of course.
A knock sounded at the laboratory door.
"Yes?"
Joseph rose from the sofa as he answered. The door opened, and a servant came in carrying a meal.
"Ah — thank you."
"...Ah. N-no, it's nothing."
At Joseph's courtesy, the servant ducked his head in a flustered bow. The tremor in his voice was impossible to miss.
"..."
There was something Joseph had noticed since coming to the castle. The servants here were terrified of mages — far more than they had any reason to be. The only mage Valois Castle had ever kept was that old man, Zalier...
What has he been doing to them, that they're this afraid of mages?
The man looked as if he expected to die on the spot. It was an unsettling thing to sit across from — even though the scene unfolding in front of Joseph was one he had dreamed about: a servant laying out a proper meal for him.
He started to say something, then closed his mouth again. The servant spread the dishes on the table in a frantic hurry, bowed once more, and fled the laboratory as if the room itself were on fire.
They're not going to attack me first because they're scared, are they?
Joseph put a bite of the well-laid meal in his mouth and let out a hollow little laugh. Who in their right mind would attack a mage staying in the castle at the viscount's invitation? The idea itself was absurd.