The Auction House (1)
Clifford sat at his desk in the headmaster's office, peering through his monocle at a magic journal.
Luid's accomplishments sprawled across the front page in enormous print, with the subheading declaring A New Paradigm Presented.
"Heh heh. What a grandiose title."
"You personally requested the interview, Headmaster. What are you talking about?"
Phoenicia set down her teacup as she spoke. Clifford tilted his monocle up and looked her over with a sharp eye.
"All I did was offer an idea. Just an idea."
"...When the headmaster of the Academy makes a suggestion, it's not really a suggestion."
"Tsk. What has journalism come to, bending the knee to power like this?"
For all his grumbling, he was already reading the article for the fourth time. Praise practically dripped from every line — The establishment of a revolutionary new magical theory, and on and on.
But there was nothing of substance. Not a single detailed account of how, exactly, the magic worked. Luid had refused to publish. Because of him, the Academy's prestige was rising and its coffers would follow — a fine thing for a headmaster, but as a fellow mage, Clifford couldn't help feeling it was an utter waste.
"And what does the next headmaster think?"
"Of Young Master Luid's magic?"
"Yes."
"...I think it's a monumental achievement. He turned a school of magic nobody used — one that was all but abandoned — into something genuinely useful."
Phoenicia nodded along obediently, then continued. "The long casting time is certainly a drawback, but among 5th Tier spells I believe it has the greatest destructive power. Its range leaves a little to be desired, though..."
"You fool of a woman!"
"Kyaa! Why are you screaming at me?!"
Clifford's eyes hardened.
"Is that magic worth no more to you than that?"
"...Then perhaps the great Archmage Clifford would care to enlighten me."
"The true meaning of this magic lies not in its destruction."
Clifford set the newspaper down and spoke with fervor.
"There has never been a precise way to measure a mage's caliber. We have Tiers, yes, but from the 5th Tier onward the gaps are so vast that finer division became impossible."
Reaching the 5th Tier from the 1st took nowhere near as long as clawing from the 5th to the 6th.
"Think on it. How many fools have died pointlessly over the years, dueling over which of us is the better mage?"
And so, even among two mages both nominally at the 5th Tier, one would insist, "I've practiced five years longer than you, so I am clearly superior," while the other would sneer, "Five more years and you'd have hit the 6th Tier, idiot."
What happened when the two met? A magic duel. And a mage's pride was a brittle, unbending thing — many had died in pointless duels rather than bow their heads.
"But look at this magic! Mana capacity, mana control, spellcraft, concentration, composure! Every quality a mage needs, all bound up in a single spell!"
"Surely you don't mean..."
Phoenicia's eyes went wide at a possibility she had never even considered.
"Headmaster — are you saying this magic could be used to rank mages against one another?"
"Of course I am! And you think it stops at the 5th Tier? It would hold true up to the 11th — no, all the way to the 13th!"
Clifford himself was a mage capable of wielding magic up to the 11th Tier. Past the 10th, one earned the title of Archmage.
The 13th Tier, however, belonged to the great Archmage Delin alone. Even now, not a single mage alive could cast any spell that reached it.
"What frustrates mages most is never knowing where they currently stand. How close am I to the next Tier? Am I progressing at all? Every mage has asked themselves that at least once. But with this spell, they could finally see exactly how far they've come."
Am I doing well right now? Have I improved since yesterday? Or have I actually gotten worse?
Phoenicia spoke, a little flustered. "Now that I hear it out loud... yes, I suppose that's true."
"Which is why this is a revolution. A revolution! And yet... it won't be made public. What a shame."
Clifford seemed to muse over something for a moment, then his eyes gleamed and he turned to Phoenicia.
"What became of the crystal orbs? There are five in total, yes?"
Phoenicia nodded. She stepped out briefly and returned with the orbs cradled in her arms, setting all five down on the table.
"How many copies would you like to make?"
Copying a crystal orb by pressing a fresh orb against the original was called "splitting," but each successive copy lost clarity — ten copies per orb was the hard limit.
"Split them? Idiotic. Absolutely idiotic. Why on earth would you split them?"
"...Then I won't? Do you have any idea how many people want one?"
"That's exactly why the number must stay small."
"...I'm sorry, what?"
Phoenicia could not follow.
"We release one per year. No more."
Clifford unfolded the newspaper again.
"But why...?"
She still couldn't make sense of it. "If so many people need them, shouldn't we split them as much as possible, even at reduced quality?"
"Which do you think is worth more — five of something in the whole world, or five hundred?"
"B-but for this lecture of Young Master Luid's, even five hundred would be worth it!"
"Hmph. The price of a thing is not determined by its worth alone."
Clifford folded the paper shut and cast a preservation spell over the orbs.
"How much do you suppose these will fetch?"
"...I'd guess one could ask a million gold?"
"A minimum of ten million."
The corner of Clifford's mouth curled into a sly smile.
"I— excuse me?"
Her eyes went round at a price ten times her estimate. Fifty million gold was the Academy's entire annual operating budget.
"I will stake my word on it. At this auction, they will sell for ten million gold or more. And when we sell the orbs again next year, we'll fetch an even higher price."
Both of Clifford's eyes were dyed with absolute certainty.
Luid lay sprawled on the grass at Delin's Lake, using the lawn as a bed and staring up at the sky.
I have to go pick up the orb, but that sounds like such a pain.
The lecture had wrapped up without incident. Well... there had been a few minor disputes, but none of them had anything to do with him.
All that remained was to safely receive Rach's Orb and destroy it. Once that was settled, he'd have at least a year of peace.
"Haaahm."
Luid let out a long, lazy yawn. Beside him, Hershey lay stretched out as well.
"So peaceful," she murmured.
"Isn't it?"
The scattered breeze tousled their hair. Hershey pulled a notebook out from her coat and began flipping through it. Just seeing the densely packed notes put her mind at ease.
Luid glanced over. "What could you possibly have written that much about?"
"Everything you said, Luid. All of it."
"...All of it?"
"I have this habit — if there's a theory I don't understand, I absolutely have to pin it down before I move on."
Even as she spoke, Hershey seemed lost in the pages. Luid gave her a sidelong look.
"You work hard, Hershey."
He remembered it — even amid that utter chaos, she had kept her eyes glued to the board, scribbling away without pause. ...Though Hershey was clearly not entirely normal herself. She had her own stubborn, my-way-or-the-highway streak.
"Of course I do! House Minerva is built on effort."
There was a quiet pride in her voice. "That's why I'm going to hold on to the top spot. No matter what."
Luid found himself suddenly curious. "What's got you working so hard for it, anyway?"
"...The succession. It's razor-thin right now, my position. I can't afford a single misstep."
Come to think of it, he remembered how the original novel had described Justin toppling her — the clash of David and Goliath, it called it. A commoner smashing the heir of a great noble house had been hailed as a miracle.
Luid's eyes deepened for a moment. She was never a Goliath. She only made herself look like one.
In the end, she was just a girl living as carefully as she could to protect her own place in the world.
"Speaking of which... Windsor doesn't have succession struggles, does it?"
Somehow Hershey knows more about my own family than I do.
"How could I possibly know that? Well... I was curious about it long ago, so I did look into it."
Hershey turned her face slightly away, fiddling with her bangs for no particular reason.
"No. No succession struggles."
"...I'm jealous. In House Minerva, it's a wonder we don't eat each other alive. Honestly, I understand why you're so close to Lady Amelia."
Noble inheritance battles were every bit as vicious as the imperial court's. Noble houses typically raised four or five children, and under imperial law the succession was never guaranteed to the eldest — the head of the family simply marked their chosen heir by their own judgment.
Some said the empire had risen so far precisely because it rewarded merit over birthright. Thanks to that, nobles here lived lives drenched in bloodshed, day in and day out.
Thank goodness I was born a Windsor.
Luid felt it anew.
"By the way, Luid — you have another sibling besides Lady Amelia, right?"
"Yeah."
Curiosity lit Hershey's face. "From what I understand, that person is the true heir. If she was passed over for Lady Amelia, she must be someone extraordinarily capable."
Amelia's presence here nominally involved the succession test as well, but hers was closer to a matter of self-proving and a coming-of-age rite. Windsor's true heir had already long been decided.
Luid's thoughts drifted briefly to his eldest sister — Irene Windsor. Merely thinking of her brought a cold sweat.
"Capable is one word for it."
"Tell me more! I'm dying to know. Is she stronger than Lady Amelia?"
Luid couldn't say for certain. Because Irene Windsor's swordsmanship was One-Strike Sure-Kill. If Amelia could withstand that single exchange, she'd win. Whether that was even possible, though —
"Hard to say... I've never seen Ame fight with her heart in it, for one thing. And I've never seen Big Sis swing her sword more than twice. Ame loses in a single exchange, every time."
"Wh-what?!"
Hershey's eyes went round as saucers.
"She's that strong?"
"Being heir suits her just fine."
"Wow, Windsor really is something else. ...What's her personality like, though? Dignified, like Lady Amelia?"
Dignified?
Luid narrowed his eyes. This was not a joke he could laugh off.
"She's a lunatic."
"...I'm sorry?"
"A complete lunatic."
Hershey was flustered. She had never once heard Luid use such coarse words.
"A lunatic...?"
"Whatever you're imagining right now, it's worse than that."
Luid shook his head slowly. The most dangerous thing in the North had never been the ferocious monsters, nor the bone-freezing cold.
It was his eldest sister, Irene Windsor.
She didn't go out of her way to torment anyone, exactly. It was just... she was closer to a natural disaster than a person.
"......!"
Then, something sharp flickered across Luid's senses.
He sprang up in an instant, drawing his staff from within his coat.
"Aegis."
It was the most powerful barrier spell he knew.
"Luid...?"
Four layers of massive protective shields bloomed in front of his staff.
And in that very instant —
KA-KRA-KRACK—!
A golden-haired woman came hurtling in, striking at nearly the speed of light. Her blade met the barrier in a spray of sparks.
Luid bit his lip and poured more power into his mana. Hershey simply crumpled to the ground.
Luid was being driven back, barrier and all.
Pop. Cra-crack—
One layer of his barrier shattered. Then another.
The sword was drawing closer and closer to his brow.
CLANG!
The last layer. Even if it broke, his inner barrier would keep him safe — but Hershey would get hurt.
Luid clenched his teeth and shouted.
"Big Sis......!"
At the sound of his strangled voice, the sudden assailant withdrew her blade.
Luid glared at her.
She was smiling — lips curling gently upward, the very picture of warmth. A smile so serene it was hard to believe she had been attacking a moment ago.
But her eyes were not smiling at all.
There was exactly one woman in this world who smiled that terrifyingly. The heir of House Windsor — Luid's eldest sister.
Irene Windsor.
She spoke in a voice soft as spring.
"Your reaction speed has slipped a little, Lui."