The Skeleton King's Follower (2)

In a nutshell, that was a spell for summoning the Skeleton King. Well, if spells for summoning demons existed, then Demon King summoning circles naturally existed as well.

Humans used such magic to summon demons and bind them through contracts, while demonkind used it to borrow the strength of beings above their own station.

And the supreme peak of them all—the Demon King himself?

As the highest of symbols, everyone and their grandmother had wanted to call on him. The rumor went that would-be summoners desperate to lay eyes on the Skeleton King even once had been crawling out of the woodwork—and that was precisely why so many Demon King summoning spells of every conceivable kind existed.

Frankly, he should have counted himself lucky it stopped at magic.

Even the holy arts had them.

Apparently, since the Skeleton King happened to be a skeleton, some geniuses had concluded you only needed to tweak a standard skeleton-summoning circle a little. The result: he had been invoked beyond all reason and decency.

But did anyone truly believe that was enough to call the Skeleton King? They hadn't come within a hair of his feet. The Saintess had called for him diligently too, granted—and he had chewed her efforts up and spat them right back out.

Besides, most of those spells had never worked properly in the first place. Too many fakes—deliberately spread around, in fact, to discourage people from poking their noses where they didn't belong.

There had been exactly one spell truly capable of calling him: a summoning spell he had crafted himself, long ago.

"…Young Lord Eshua?"

"…Your Highness?"

Shit, what even is this situation? Isaac and the Crown Prince were both wearing equally dumbfounded expressions.

Isaac gave the summoning circle he'd just appeared in a cautious pat.

I've looked at it over and over, and there's no mistake. It's that circle.

In other words, the original summoning spell he himself had created in the old days. Made out of pity for the lesser skeletons getting pounded on by priests—it was meant to be called upon only in direst emergency.

The problem was that none of those blockheads had the brains to memorize it properly.

Of course, the spell was potent enough to yank him across the continent, but it had an activation condition built in precisely to keep it from being abused.

It had been written in the tongue of the low-ranking skeletons, so without considerable zeal even deciphering it was difficult, and for a human to succeed at casting it should have been outright impossible.

And that wasn't all.

You're telling me. He'd never imagined the Saint's body and his soul would be stuck together this tightly.

Wait, is that actually a good thing?

It had taught him something useful, but right now there were far more pressing matters.

"…Your Highness, what brings you to a place like this…"

"…"

"Are you… on patrol…?"

He'd said patrol, but patrol, his foot.

Isaac stared at the Crown Prince, genuinely awed.

His position—dead center of the summoning circle. No matter how you looked at it, that was a summoner's posture.

That this brat was the Skeleton King's spy inside the Imperial Palace—even a puppy raised in the Papal Court could spot it!

Sure enough, the Crown Prince himself seemed mortified, frozen stiff in a rare display of panic.

But what could anyone do? The Crown Prince of the Holy Empire had just been caught trying to summon a demon—on Holy Empire soil. When his own future hung in the balance, how could his brain not short-circuit?

Isaac rose from his seat like an old man with aching joints.

"Oh dear, oh dear, Your Highness. Please, carry on with what you were doing. I saw nothing at all."

"Wait."

…Yeah, no way he just lets me walk off, huh?

He's totally about to cut the witness's throat, isn't he?!

"Why were you the one to come out of it?"

THAT'S what matters to you?! You little—!

Isaac could only gape at the Crown Prince.

You're the one who got caught casting Skeleton King summoning magic! The thing in danger here is YOUR neck!

But Whisper, sounding as though he understood the prince's feelings perfectly, remarked:

Damn it! I don't get it either!

Isaac could only regard the Crown Prince with disbelief. As the very creator of this spell, he understood it better than anyone.

It was tuned for demons—a spell far too demanding for humans.

Casting it required commanding the skeleton tongue, a language humans could barely comprehend, and even ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reciting it without a single error, a human's body would fail under the strain. Success simply was not in the cards.

Don't tell me this guy has non-human blood mixed in?

Well, partly he had let his guard down, thinking the spell might not even work now that he'd reincarnated in a human body—but honestly, that was beside the point.

This was magic he had taught to his skeletons—a spell of demonkind. A spell for calling upon a being higher than oneself.

Exactly! There's no way some human who hates the Skeleton King could make it work!

Gah! Fine! An ordinary follower, maybe! The problem is that this particular one is the Crown Prince of the Holy Empire, damn it!

But regardless, the Crown Prince was still eyeing Isaac with unconvinced scrutiny.

"…Why did you come out of it?"

"…You're mistaken, Your Highness. I wasn't summoned. I fell out of a tree."

"There are no trees here."

"Then I suppose I sprouted out of the ground."

"…Do you hear yourself?"

"Do YOU hear yourself, claiming the Crown Prince is a follower of the Skeleton King?"

"…"

"…"

The two fell silent at the same moment.

Just then, a voice came searching for Isaac.

"Isaac! Where the hell are you! Where'd this brat vanish to all of a sudden!"

At Shuri's voice ringing out from the distance, the Crown Prince finally pressed a hand to his forehead in defeat.

"Let's… move somewhere else first. Then we'll talk."

The Crown Prince Palace.

The two had relocated to speak in private, but the Crown Prince did nothing but stare at Isaac, unblinking.

At length, Whisper murmured:

And then, a familiar mental voice reached him.

Shavnak.

Apparently, the moment Isaac had vanished, Shavnak had covertly followed and slipped into the Crown Prince Palace. Judging by the presence at the edge of his senses, the demon was clinging to the window right this moment, seeping killing intent.

By the way, 'Joe,' we're on the third floor here.

What do you imagine people would think?

Admirable, but no. If I'm going to devour this country, the Crown Prince is essential.

After all, even if Crown Prince Chablis vanished, the Empress's son would simply become the next Crown Prince. And the Empress's son? He'd join hands with the Pope—which would be a disaster for Isaac.

Besides, there was something far more pressing on his mind.

It's been a while since that activated. The Survival Origin.

The Survival Origin measured those who brought benefit great enough to aid one's survival—and, on the other hand, those who posed a threat grave enough to endanger it.

This reaction, no matter how I look at it, is the former.

Only three beings had ever triggered that reaction: Rillai, the head of the Blue Faith, and the Emperor.

Compared to the Emperor back then, this glow was so blinding his features were all but invisible.

Could it be that the Origin's power I felt from the Emperor back then was actually pointing to the Crown Prince?

Well, "Skeleton King summoning" did pique his interest a little, but this was a serious business matter. To reap the profit, you strike first.

"Would it not be simpler for me to pretend I saw nothing?"

From the standpoint of a Crown Prince who held power and authority, he would sooner erase the witness than be dragged around by one.

But this one can't kill me carelessly.

He was an Eshua. And the Eshuas? Once they latched onto someone, they were perverts—no, men of tenacious obsession—who would chase them to the very end of Hell.

Knowing his uncle, the search would be as thorough as locusts stripping a field. His grandfather—well, whether the old man would actually move for a grandson's sake was an open question—but if a direct descendant of House Eshua died under mysterious circumstances within the Imperial Palace? The old man would not sit still. And if he came out hunting for the culprit, it would be the Crown Prince's own head that ached.

More to the point, this was the Crown Prince famed throughout for his brilliance. He would have already read Isaac's situation and intentions.

From the Crown Prince's position—his weakness seized—he had every right to be displeased and anxious. And yet, from earlier, the man's attention seemed fixed somewhere else entirely.

"…Why did you come out of it?"

Is your mind COMPLETELY occupied with that, you lunatic?!

Well. I mean, I do get it.

How shattering would it have to be, for a man to fixate not on the fact that he'd been caught red-handed, but on this?

…No. Maybe that's not it either.

Isaac's gaze swept briefly over the interior of the Crown Prince's room.

It didn't seem to be a room he used often, but scattered here and there were items relating to the Skeleton King. The Skeleton King's magic tools. Grimoires analyzing him. Grimoires for summoning him. Even a Skeleton King doll.

What was more, in the "Skeleton King Execution Edition" merchandise, the guillotine had been removed and only the Skeleton King himself, plucked out, was preserved.

…This is a hardcore devotee.

He had no idea why.

There ought to be some reason the Crown Prince ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of the Holy Empire would worship the Skeleton King, but at the moment Isaac couldn't begin to guess it.

In the end, Isaac sighed.

"More importantly, Your Highness—you got caught by a priest of the Papal Court. Do you not grasp your situation?"

"Why did you come out of it?"

Ugh, this brat doesn't listen to a single word.

But looking into the Crown Prince's eyes, it didn't seem like an attempt to press an advantage. He looked genuinely curious—or rather, expectant.

Yes. It was the face of a man who had spent countless ages failing to summon the Skeleton King and had finally, at long last, witnessed the first thing even remotely resembling a successful summoning.

"Don't tell me… you are the Skeleton King…"

"Like hell I am?!"

Isaac cried out as though seized by a fit, then pressed on.

"I consumed the Skeleton King's flesh, remember? That's… that's why I was summoned. Reacting to the circle, I mean. As proof, even now the pit of my stomach where I ate his bones burns so hot it's driving me mad."

At those words, the Crown Prince's expression visibly soured into a sulk.

"I see."

Why are you DISAPPOINTED?!

"Your Highness… forgive my rudeness, but are you interested in the Skeleton King?"

"This room belongs to my sister."

"…Pardon?"

"The Imperial Princess is obsessed with the Skeleton King. I merely attempted the summoning to investigate whether the object of her obsession was someone worth taking an interest in."

…Seriously?

But Isaac, deciding this was a good turn of events, said:

"Then I have a proposal for you. I'll overlook what I saw in here—so in exchange, keep what happened to me hidden. Neither of us benefits from looking bad before the Papal Court, do we?"

"Well, true enough. Neither you nor I are the sort humans look kindly upon for wielding mana."

"Yes. That's right, yes—wait. Mana?"

Isaac wondered if he'd misheard, but the Crown Prince only tilted his head as if it were obvious.

"You are a mage, are you not?"

"…Excuse me??"

The Crown Prince tilted his head further still.

"Ten years ago, did you not use mana to deal with a bishop?"

At those words, Isaac went cold inside.

The royal eyes!

The incident ten years ago—the time he'd been abducted by his nanny and Rillai had come for him. The bishop had tried to kill him, and Isaac had dealt with the man using his rattle.

At the same time, Isaac stared at the Crown Prince in genuine astonishment.

This guy was born with that eye, and a strong one at that.

The imperial family carried the blood of the Divine Dragon, granting them eyes that could distinguish demonkind.

Call it "demon-distinguishing eyes" all you liked—in truth it was a form of magic eye, a rare gift that not even spellcraft could reproduce.

Exactly. If he had that eye, even the magic I never finished could be completed.

But he hadn't been careless enough to get caught using mana.

Isaac's gaze turned frosty.

"You mean you can sense mana—or even a Magic Core—from me?"

"No. From you I can sense nothing at all. Your defenses are simply too absolute. Perhaps it is because you are a Saint."

"Then why do you claim I used mana?"

"Tell me you are the Skeleton King, and I shall explain."

"Not interested. I'm going home."

Isaac rose without a flicker of hesitation, and the Crown Prince sighed, as if conceding the point.

"…Because the dragon's blood runs so strong in me, I can interpret to some degree the speech of beasts and of those who cannot speak."

…What? Those who can't speak?

"The babbling of infants is among them."

Isaac's face froze for a long moment.

Babbling. BABBLING?!

And with that, his suckling-infant days came flooding back.

Don't tell me that bastard understood everything I gurgled back then—in real time?!

Sure enough, the Crown Prince spoke.

"I didn't catch the details, but I knew you despised that bishop intensely. Which, for the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠imperial family, was rather convenient."

"!"

"And even setting that aside, to me and to my father the Emperor, you were something of a salvation."

"Salvation?"

"You understand the meaning your hair color and mine carry, I trust."

As if he could not.

They meant precisely opposite things.

If Isaac's hair color marked one blessed by the gods, the Crown Prince's marked the accursed.

"The entire Papal Court denied it and tore it down. Not content with slandering my mother, they finally drove her to her death. That bishop was connected to that business as well."

Isaac conceded the point. Now that he thought of it, the Crown Prince's mother, the late Imperial Consort, had died when he was still a child. And that had been entangled with the Pope?

If the Pope's people killed his mother, he really would want to sweep them all out root and branch.

Why the imperial family and the Pope's house hated each other so deeply was now abundantly clear. And, come to think of it, why the Emperor had been so fond of him back then, too.

So that's why he showered me with Golden Rattles back then.

"In any case—someone with that hair color dealt with the bishop for us. One blessed by the gods denied a bishop—no, denied by extension the Pope himself."

Uh… he was just annoying, so I hit him.

"I remain grateful for that, even now. And yet…"

…And yet?

"…Are you truly not the Skeleton King?"

This guy… he's relentless.