The Conditions of Travel

Seven years had passed.

I was fifteen now. In my previous life ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that would have been the age when adolescence and full-blown middle-school syndrome collided and sent a person spinning in every direction, but I had been mentally mature for a long time already.

It felt like only yesterday that I had been an eight-year-old child, yet after seven years I had grown into something that could reasonably be called a young lady. Snow-white hair that brushed my waist, pink eyes that glowed with a soft inner light. Where my chest had once been completely flat, there was now a modest but unmistakable volume, and I had grown tall enough to brush against one hundred sixty centimeters. The baby fat that had lingered until I was eight had melted away, leaving a small, refined face and long, perfectly proportioned limbs that matched it. The beauty I had once customized so carefully in 2D graphics—too exquisite for the game engine to fully capture—was finally blooming in the real world as my body matured.

“Hmm. I really never get tired of looking at myself.”

Maybe that was why I could spend dozens of minutes a day in front of the mirror and still not grow bored of my own face. I sometimes wondered whether I had reached the advanced stages of princess syndrome, but I wasn’t going around bragging about my looks to other people. I was simply privately satisfied, so I decided it wasn’t a problem.

Of course, appearance was not the only thing that had changed in seven years.

My magic had grown so far beyond what I possessed at eight that comparison felt almost insulting. As if to prove it, a translucent window rose before my eyes the moment I thought the words.

Status window.

My mana circuit, once only lower-middle grade, had climbed past middle grade and reached mid-upper. With it, my level had risen from a mere twenty-eight past fifty and all the way to fifty-eight. Where I had once liberated only fire, seven years of steadily consuming elemental elixirs from Father—plus the additional ones Camilla slipped me whenever I visited the palace—had finally unlocked every element. Light and darkness understanding still lagged because the corresponding elixirs were hard to obtain, but the fire I had always used now sat at ninety-nine percent, and the other three classical elements all exceeded seventy.

“I still don’t know why fire stopped at ninety-nine percent…”

That was the one thing that refused to make sense. In the game I had reached one hundred without effort; here the number had sat frozen at ninety-nine for years, and I could only stare at it in mild bafflement.

“Still, it’s not like there’s some enormous gap between ninety-nine and one hundred, so it’ll be fine.”

If the difference was not overwhelming and the only real problem was a vague sense of unease, time would sort it out. I let my gaze drop from the attributes to the final skill—True Name Release—and its duration.

“Thirty seconds…”

It had taken seven years to grow from five and a half seconds to thirty point seven. The thought that I could now freely wield even a fraction of my original power for half a minute filled me with quiet emotion.

“The side effects are brutal, but thirty seconds is finally enough to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠use as an emergency trump card when things get desperate.”

True Name Release was an absurdly powerful skill. For a brief window it restored everything I still needed years to reclaim—Level 100, a special-grade mana circuit, full mana capacity, and one-hundred-percent understanding of every element. The price, however, was far steeper than I had first imagined.

I first tested the skill about five years ago, the day its duration finally crossed ten seconds. Wanting a proper evaluation, I snuck into Father’s private training hall and activated it. The moment the time ran out I abandoned every scrap of aristocratic composure and howled like a child.

“…It hurt so badly I thought I was going to die.”

The skill ended, and an overwhelming wave of weakness crashed over me together with a full-body cramp so vicious it felt as if every muscle were being wrung dry. Only then did I understand what “limited by the body’s limit point” truly meant: the skill would keep pouring power into me until my flesh was on the verge of shattering.

An equivalent exchange—my original power returned for a few heartbeats, paid for with pain that brought me to the edge of death.

“And of course I chose the soundproof training hall, so I spent hours crawling across the floor until I could think straight again…”

I had blacked out from the aftershock, and even after I woke the agony lingered for hours more. It took a full half-day for the aftereffects to fade completely. At least there was no lasting mental trauma; I felt no instinctive terror at the thought of using the skill again. Still, the memory of that pain made my teeth chatter even now.

“…I’ll save it strictly as a last resort.”

That was the plan. The only problem was that I already had one occasion coming up where I might need that last resort. The thought made me bite my lower lip out of habit.

I was about to sink deeper into contemplation when a knock dragged my drifting awareness back to the surface.

Knock, knock, knock—

“Miss? Dinner is ready.”

“Ah, I’ll be right there.”

I answered the maid at once and rose from my seat. Today I turned fifteen in this world. Today the letter of recommendation from the Magic Tower had arrived.

“All right. Let’s go.”

Tonight’s dinner would be more important than any meal I had ever shared with my family.

Clink—

The soft, orderly sound of cutlery filled the dining room. Dinner proceeded inside a silence that was quiet but never awkward. From the head of the table Edgar raised his eyes and surveyed his family.

Four people sat with him tonight. Gaen and Elia, who shared almost every meal, were present as usual. So was Sheryl, who had taken a rare leave from her duties as a direct mage of the Magic Tower and come home for a short rest. Even Henry had managed to join them—recently accepted as a royal court mage and already racking up accomplishments.

It’s been a long time since the whole family sat down together like this.

Perhaps it was because the new year had just begun, but the sight of both Sheryl and Henry—usually too busy for family dinners—seated at the same table drew an unbidden smile from Edgar. He continued eating for a while, simply enjoying the moment, until the topic he had planned to raise tonight returned to him. He set down his utensils.

“Ah, that reminds me, Elia. The Magic Tower’s letter of recommendation arrived for you yesterday, didn’t it?”

“Yes, Father. It came yesterday.”

Elia swallowed her food and nodded. The rest of the family’s eyes turned toward her as well. Edgar added his own gaze to the weight of their attention and asked,

“Hmm… The entrance ceremony is in February, so it will be upon us soon. Is there anything you need? I can prepare most things, but if there’s something personal you want, you’d best tell me now.”

He intended to supply everything required for enrollment at the Magic Tower, yet he could not know what Elia herself might privately desire. So he asked. The answer that came back was one neither he nor anyone else at the table had expected.

“Father, I’m not going to enroll at the Magic Tower.”

“Yes, whatever you need—wait. What did you just say?”

The reply had been so natural that Edgar had almost continued the conversation as though she were simply requesting an item. The content, however, made him doubt his ears. His expression hardened. Gaen, Sheryl, and Henry wore the same blank look of people who could not quite believe what they had just heard.

Yet the girl under all their stares remained perfectly calm, her gaze steady and clear. As though she had prepared the words long in advance, she spoke with quiet composure.

“I know. Anyone born into House Marenard is expected to enter the Magic Tower at fifteen and graduate from it. My brother did. My sister did. But no matter how I look at it, there’s more to learn outside the Tower than inside it.”

“Elia, that means—”

“Yes. Exactly. I intend to travel.”

“Absolutely not.”

The word travel had barely left her lips before Edgar refused. The reason was simple: she was still a child, and he could not bear the thought of her in danger.

“You have no idea how terrifying the outside world is, Elia. This continent is full of dangers you don’t even know exist.”

The continent was vast, and peril lurked in every corner—both the obvious kind and the kind that remained hidden. Sending Elia out into that world was something Edgar could never allow. In his eyes she was still a child; in truth she was a fifteen-year-old who had not yet reached adulthood. Yes, she possessed talent and skill far beyond her years, but what mattered most to him was that she was his daughter and still a child.

“I will not allow it. Never.”

“But Father, I at least want to let the talent I was born with bloom. And five years spent idling inside the Magic Tower is far too long for that.”

“You still have plenty of time. There’s no need to rush.”

It was true. At fifteen she had years ahead of her. With her gift she would almost certainly reach full bloom well before fifty. Elia, however, had no intention of waiting that long. She opened her mouth again.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

“You’re keeping me here because the outside is dangerous, right? Because you don’t know what might happen to me out there.”

“Exactly. Outside is a place where anything can happen at any moment. Wandering around without the proper protection of the family is asking for disaster. And lately the Void Cult and other underworld groups have been growing more active.”

“But you travel alone all the time, Father. You even went all the way to the north recently ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠while hiding your identity.”

“I have the strength to do so. You are strong as well, Elia, but… not yet. It’s still far too early for you to roam freely.”

That was a lie, and he knew it. At her current level Elia could already survive on her own. Even if she fell into danger she had more than enough skill to protect herself. Edgar simply refused to acknowledge the fact, clinging instead to the claim that she had not yet surpassed him. It was the only excuse he had left that could still hold her back.

Elia, however, smiled as though she had been waiting for exactly those words.

“Then may I take that to mean that if I possess strength greater than yours, I would be free to go outside?”

“What?”

He had never imagined she would say such a thing. The question slipped out before he could stop it. Elia, who had clearly anticipated every step of this conversation, simply continued in the same calm, measured tone.

“If I defeat you, Father, you’ll let me travel. Isn’t that right?”

She intended to surpass Edgar Marenard—one of the five great mages of the continent—and prove it right here.