The Letter (3)

Magic.

The mysteries of magic boasted a far greater versatility than most people imagined. It could ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠command fire and ice to scatter death across a wide swath of land — and in daily life, it could just as easily furnish you with cold water and hot.

...What kind of prank is this supposed to be?

So which category did the magic that had just unfolded belong to? It was the sort of thing a wizard drunk on his own aesthetic might pull as a joke. Open a letter and light comes pouring out? I wasn't particularly offended, but I couldn't help being baffled.

"M-magic..."

"This is the first time I've ever seen magic this close."

"We got lucky. Pretty amazing, huh?"

The mercenaries inside the guild couldn't help clicking their tongues in awe. They didn't seem to understand what the burst of light actually meant, and they kept pouring out admiration.

Translate the look in their eyes and it would have read, loud and clear: I want to be friends! I had never been in the habit of making acquaintances, so I hurried out of the building.

I stopped walking at the fountain in the heart of Roben. The snow-white fountain stirred up a gentle spray, driven by the power of a magic tool. Leaving the children at their energetic play behind me, I settled myself at the fountain's edge and sat down. Then, slowly and carefully, I began to read the letter.

What was written in the letter was thoroughly ordinary. A greeting steeped in the concern of a friend, and an earnest plea not to take part in the northern campaign.

"The timing... this letter's pretty old, isn't it?"

Contrary to what the letter said, the war had ended not long ago. The Grand Duke of the North's victory parade had been only a few days prior, which meant this letter should have arrived quite some time back.

I carefully slipped the letter back into its envelope. Then something remarkable happened. Just as light had burst forth the instant I opened it, a single tongue of flame leapt from the letter once more.

"...?"

The flame wove through the air as if it possessed a will of its own, forming letters. Presently the magic's power began to write the next line.

The sender had apparently enclosed a magical device along with the mail. Judging by the situation, this Ariel person — the sender — was clearly expressing her intent. Like a text message on a modern cell phone.

"...You're coming to find me?"

It was the kind of statement that could only draw a thoroughly mixed reaction. I didn't even know who Ariel was, or what she was to me. And now she was coming to find me? I couldn't help feeling put on the spot.

The next day, Lancelot and I walked through the commercial district. Madam Armang, who had been suffering from pneumonia, was receiving treatment at the church. Naturally, that left us with time on our hands.

"Thanks for yesterday. I never imagined I'd be out cold for a whole day."

"Hmph. It is nothing. All I did was watch the room."

I snorted. Lancelot's blunt reply drew a laugh out of me before I could stop it. Nothing, my ass. When I'd woken from that deep sleep, this guy had looked thoroughly exhausted. And he wanted to call that nothing?

"Hey, Lancelot. You got money?"

"...And what is that supposed to mean? Do you intend to extort my money?"

That was Lancelot, all right. The moment the word money came up, the look in his eyes changed.

"No. I just got curious about how your wallet's doing."

"Well enough. However, my source of income is gone, so I will not be living as I once did."

"Yeah, I figured."

That was why I'd pulled Lancelot out of the church in the first place. With the knight order's pay and Almans's support both cut off, the road ahead would be bleak. So I figured I'd use yesterday as an excuse to give him a small gift.

"What's the most urgent thing you need right now?"

"...Why are you asking me that?"

"I asked because I was curious. What, I can't even ask that?"

Lancelot's voice was dodging the question so strangely that I found myself grumbling. Seriously, could a person have any less tact?

"If I must say... what I need most is holy water."

"...Holy water?"

"Yes. Mother's recovery is slower than expected. They said the illness accumulated over long years is interfering with the treatment."

Lancelot's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠face, as he spoke those heavy words, was darker than I'd ever seen it. The guilt of having turned his back on his mother for so long was written plainly across him, binding him tight.

"Let's go."

"What? Go where?"

"The church. Don't they usually sell holy water there? I'm going to buy some High-Grade Holy Water — the kind the high-ranking priests brew."

"W-what are you talking about? Frey, you have been broke for so long I think your sense of money has gone numb... Holy water is expensive. An ordinary person could go their entire life without ever laying eyes on the stuff."

Lancelot's brow furrowed as he spoke, as if he were trying to talk sense into me.

Holy water? I knew perfectly well it was expensive. As the higher-tier counterpart to a potion that restored vitality, it boasted the steepest price of any consumable short of a true elixir.

But.

"So?"

"What?"

"How much could it possibly cost?"

I said it with complete confidence. The combat pay I'd collected from the mercenary guild had far exceeded anything I could have imagined. It was the price of a life, after all. If anything, it would have been stranger for the sum to be small.

That was how ridiculous it was — when I opened the pouch in my hotel room, I had nearly shouted Long live His Majesty the Emperor! without thinking.

"You... just what kind of person are you..."

Lancelot's face was a picture of disbelief; he couldn't even finish the sentence. Clearly, the idea that I would just up and buy him holy water had never crossed his mind.

"It's fine."

I slipped a hand into my coat and smiled, satisfied, at the weight of the thick pouch. After the tremendous growth I'd undergone yesterday, spending a few bottles of holy water didn't feel like a waste of money at all.

"I'm loaded."

Lancelot's face lit up at once. Only then did a bright light of genuine respect settle over his features.

Upon arriving at the church, I headed straight for the consultation room. A consultation, just to buy a single bottle of holy water? It felt like walking into a dermatologist's office back on modern Earth.

And in that consultation room, the priest said something that hit me like a brick.

"Pardon? What did you just say?"

"I have said that, due to the recent war, the price of holy water has soared."

The infinitely benevolent priest continued without a shred of shame, holding a document out to me.

"Do you see? Compared to before the war, the price of holy water has risen by approximately seven hundred percent."

I had overlooked it for a moment. War, at its core, was that something between tragedy and farce, waged with money and steel. Naturally, staggering sums were consumed for the sake of war, and it was no strange thing for the price of a consumable like holy water to shoot through the roof.

"The item you wish to purchase is... High-Grade Holy Water, and the amount is as follows."

The priest pointed to a corner of the document and looked at me with transparent eyes. How to put it... there wasn't even a speck of malice in that gaze. It was a terrifying look, like that of a madman with perfectly clear eyes.

"I'll take... one."

The thought This is a bit much, isn't it? crossed my mind for a very, very brief instant. But spilled water can't be gathered back up. I went through with the purchase as planned. Money? It mattered. But there were countless things in this world more important than money.

"Understood. I shall step away for a moment; please wait a little while."

"Yes."

With that, the priest left. Alone in the consultation room, I found myself rummaging through my coin pouch for no particular reason.

Another day passed. I woke in the hotel as usual, rubbed my eyes, and drew back the curtains. Bright light flooded the room at once.

"I should probably wrap up this hotel living one of these days."

I muttered it to myself and thought back on yesterday. The price of holy water — High-Grade Holy Water, no less — had utterly transcended my common sense.

Well... it wasn't as if I'd gotten nothing in return. Even I could see that Lancelot's mother, Madam Armang, had improved dramatically.

"Money. Damn money."

I muttered it like a man who'd had enough and shook my head. Thanks to the High-Grade Holy Water I'd bought yesterday, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I'd burned through nine-tenths of my combat pay. The sum had been, quite literally, beyond imagination.

That was when it happened. A knock sounded suddenly at the door of my room.

Lancelot? I trudged over and opened it without a second thought.

"Hm?"

But something was off. There was nobody on the other side of the door. For a moment I wondered if I'd imagined it... but an object at my feet proved I hadn't misheard.

"...?"

What lay at my feet was a small pouch made of fine silk. I bent down to pick it up, and a clink-clatter immediately rang through the hallway. Without a word, I undid the pouch's seal and checked the contents. It was packed full of yellowish coins.

"What is this?"