The Letter (1)
Dire news came flying into House Armance.
Cause of death: a duel. House Armance flew into a fury at that utterly preposterous report.
Even if he had long since fallen from the line of succession, he was still a noble who bore the Armance name. Setting aside the fact that he had lived like a complete degenerate, remaining silent on this affair would mean driving the house's prestige straight into the dirt.
There was, however, one problem.
The Armance County's territory lay in the central Empire. In short, dispatching a large force to the fortress city of Roben required the Northern Grand Duke's authorization.
Tap. Tap.
Count Armance sat in his office, drumming his fingers against the desk. The steady rhythm was thick with agitation. If he did not send his knights this very instant, he was certain the two culprits would flee.
Lancelot… to repay kindness with a grudge like this.
When he had first heard the news, the Count had doubted his own ears. Lancelot had turned his back on the family and killed Martis. Rumor had it that Lancelot had merely delivered the finishing blow, but a detail like that meant nothing to the Count.
A crash sounded from beyond the door.
"C-Count!"
"The Grand Ducal House—has word arrived from the Grand Ducal House?"
Count Armance shot to his feet. The moment he had received word of Martis's death, he had sent a letter to the Grand Duke. The two houses had been on cordial terms since the distant past; he had been certain his request would be granted.
"Th-that's…!"
The retainer who had rushed into the office thrust a letter into the Count's hands.
The Count snatched it open. His face twisted more with every passing second. His hands trembled violently as he read, and Count Armance could not begin to grasp what on earth was happening.
First — House Armance shall not interfere in an honorable knight's duel.
Second — Count Armance shall not defile the honor of the dead.
Third — Count Armance shall not take private vengeance upon Frey or Lancelot du Armand.
An ultimatum?
He was so flabbergasted he couldn't even speak. Wasn't House Armance the victim in this affair, by anyone's measure? And yet he, the father of the fallen, was being told to sit still?
He dropped into his chair.
"How—how can there be a situation this goddamn absurd."
His face haggard, the Count lifted his trembling hands and read the paper through once more, slowly.
Maria Theresia von Britzhardt.
The sender was the Mad Dog Killing Star—no, the Mad Sword Killing Star. What that meant was simple. If he made a move, her blade would turn toward House Armance.
"You there."
"Yes, Count! Shall I dispatch the knight order at once?!"
"No. No. Tell them to… stand down. Disarm every last unit."
"…Pardon?"
Averting his gaze from his subordinate, Count Armance chewed on his rage. He had run up against a problem that admitted only the most ruthlessly practical of answers.
That was simple common sense.
The reason being… that among those who had opposed her, not a single one still had a head on their shoulders.
"Water."
A trickle poured into the cup.
"Curtains."
The drapes hissed open.
"A massage."
"I never said I'd give you a massage."
"Didn't you? You're stricter than I thought."
Lancelot clenched his jaw. He'd volunteered to look after me just yesterday, and he was already making a face about it. What was I supposed to do with that?
"Get some rest. I'll bring you something to eat."
"Right. You know I don't eat if there's no meat, yeah?"
"I—I know."
Good-natured Lancelot answered brightly. He left the room with a bright face—no, a red one.
"I'm bored out of my mind."
Left alone, I muttered to myself.
Two days had passed since the fight with Martis and the five knights who followed him. Fortunately, the sword wounds and the internal injuries had healed overnight, as if they'd been washed clean. The problem was my overall condition. Because of that, even collecting the combat pay had to be put off.
Was it the expanded sensory perception? My head felt heavy, and my body wouldn't move the way I wanted it to. It was like wearing layer upon layer of clothes so thick I could barely walk.
Even the Church said they couldn't find a cause.
This was a world where medicine was not merely primitive but downright barbaric. I'd naturally gone to the Church, but the recovery priests had nothing to offer except that they didn't know why.
Which means there's a reason I don't know about.
I turned the thought over and shifted my gaze out the window. Beyond the central district, young children were running about, laughing.
…
Seen like this, it really was a peaceful world. So long as you ignored the ones nursing grand dreams of ending it.
A creak.
…?
Just as the breeze slipping through the window started to weigh down my eyelids, the sound of someone climbing the hotel stairs reached my ears. It was a noise so faint I never would have caught it before—but I could feel it now, thanks to the expanded senses.
Another creak.
Lancelot?
The footsteps coming up the stairs were unusually light. There were no other guests staying on the second floor to begin with. Most likely, as I'd guessed, it was Lancelot coming back with a meat dish.
Creak, creak.
The light footsteps traveled down the corridor. Then their owner stopped in front of my room.
Knock, knock.
"What's with the knocking. Come in."
I shook my head. Lancelot's rigidity was almost admirable. I hadn't expected him to knock just to bring me a meal.
A click. The door creaked open. I watched it swing slowly inward, already lining up some pointless complaint.
And then.
"…Huh?"
The person standing in the doorway was not Lancelot. Dazzling blonde hair, blue eyes. A woman in light traveling clothes—thin, by Northern standards.
"How is your body?"
The woman who asked was Maria Theresia von Britzhardt. The Grand Ducal Princess herself.
She stepped into the room as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Is there anywhere that troubles you?"
"Ah—better than I expected, actually. Aside from the part where my body won't move."
What are you doing here? would have been a fair question, but I simply gave a quiet answer. Considering how wary I'd been of Maria in the past, this was considerable progress.
She must have come because she has something to say.
I'd decided that the Grand Ducal Princess of the North was a more reasonable person than I'd thought, and the reason was simple. It was because of the sacred treasure of Britzhardt she had given me before.
…It sounded a bit mercenary, but that was what a Legendary-grade item was. An object whose mere existence could plant trust.
In any case.
"I see."
Maria answered softly and sat in the chair beside the bed. Then she looked at me, unblinking. There seemed to be no emotion at all in that gaze, as if it could see straight through to the heart.
"It seems you have undergone a rather interesting change."
She tilted her head, reached out, and caught my wrist. Then she closed her eyes and turned it over in her fingers.
"Sir Frey. Have you not felt a sudden, crushing fatigue of late?"
Sir Frey. I thought it an oddly stiff form of address, and nodded.
"Yes. My body feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. And my head… it aches, or it doesn't. A strange feeling."
"It would seem my prediction was correct. What you are experiencing now is a bizarre phenomenon no one has ever undergone."
…A bizarre phenomenon?
Maria recited, with complete confidence, a diagnosis the priests themselves hadn't known. Before I realized it, every nerve I had was drawn toward her.
"The martial studies of the Western Continent are rather crude in places. I will therefore borrow the language of the Eastern Continent to explain."
"I don't mind."
"The cause of your present symptoms is the 'enlightenment' you underwent several days ago."
"…The enlightenment is the cause?"
"Do you know of the Conception and Governing Meridians? Of the Life-and-Death Gate? For a martial artist, they are trials that must be passed in order to soar to greater heights."
I nodded in silence as her explanation continued.
The Conception and Governing Meridians and the Life-and-Death Gate each referred to different energy channels. They were the places where mana—inner energy—circulated with the greatest delicacy and force, the meridians every martial artist dreamed of forcing open.
…There were even those who turned to demonic arts just to pierce the Conception and Governing Meridians. That was how far people would go.
"You opened the Conception and Governing Meridians and the Life-and-Death Gate at the same time."
"What?"
"I mean it quite literally. The fact that you are alive at this moment is a matter close to a miracle."
At that low voice, goosebumps prickled along my arms.
I really… almost died?
A martial artist who forced open the Conception and Governing Meridians unlocked the middle dantian. One who forced open the Life-and-Death Gate unlocked the upper dantian, and only then could be called a true master—one who had surpassed the Peak realm.
For reference, in the world of Silvering, forcing open the meridians carried enormous risk. Even renowned prodigies died in numbers too great to count, all under the name of qi deviation.
"To be so exceptional that it brings you to the brink of death. It is something close to a blessing from the heavens—and a curse besides."
"…Then what about my body right now?"
Maria nodded at my cautious voice.
"It is akin to a sea that has been drained of water. Filling a emptied sea takes a very long time. A full recovery will likely require more than three months."
"A treatment—is there no treatment that could get me better as fast as possible?"
I looked at Maria, holding down my impatience as best I could. That same emotionless gaze, the one that seemed to pierce through the heart, was still fixed on me.
"There is. You would need to consume a spiritual elixir—a blessing of the gods, wrought by heaven itself."
…Goddamn it. My face couldn't help but darken at once.
A spiritual elixir. A spiritual elixir, of all things.
Spiritual elixirs were things you couldn't obtain no matter how you tried. I didn't have a single coin in my pocket at the moment, which meant taking one was, for all practical purposes, impossible.
She reached out.
"As it happens, I am quite fortunate. I have in my possession a spiritual pellet ground from Thousand-Year Fo-ti. I will give it to you."
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