A Bonanza, Huh (4)
A Saint, they said.
Could it be that the impossible being the Pope had spoken of had actually appeared? And of all places, in the Saintess's own family?
The Head of House furrowed his brow.
"Noted. Your reason is understood, and the answer is no. That place kills anyone who isn't a Saintess candidate the moment they set foot inside. Tell the men of Eschua not to waste their breath on pointless power games over it."
Besides, if he opened the vault for a mere boy, the Holy See would cling to the precedent with maddening persistence.
"There will be no exceptions—"
And that was the exact moment it happened.
BOOM!
A magic beast the size of a house came hurtling out of nowhere and slammed into the ground right in front of them.
As the knights gaped in astonishment—
"Let him. There's no reason not to."
"!"
A silver-haired woman who looked to be in her late twenties strode toward them, brushing the dust from her hands.
A peerless beauty so breathtaking it was impossible to believe she was human. This was Melissa, the Matriarch of House Eschua.
"Isaac, was it? Turning a magic beast into a totem at that age—my, the sprout's still green, and look what it's already grown. I can't in good conscience take that chance away from him."
"!"
"And while we're opening the doors anyway, throw in every Saint candidate in the country."
The knight started at her words.
"But then a child of another house might carry off the greatest treasure in the vault. Are you certain that's acceptable?"
"Hmm. At this point, I'd almost prefer someone finally did. The greatest Saintesses in history, each one more formidable than the last—and not a single one of them ever managed to bring it out."
For an instant, the Matriarch's eyes looked desolate, almost sorrowful. Then they turned into something monstrous.
"If we had that thing, we might finally track down the Skeleton Demon King and kill him in one blow."
"!"
"Which means we'll need to dangle a reward large enough to make them try."
The knight went pale.
"Th-then surely you don't mean—!"
"Spread the word. To whichever child brings it out, I will grant a reward even the Pope could never offer."
"!"
"And the hereditary holy relic of the Saintess, passed down through the generations of Eschua."
"Furthermore, I will personally take charge of their instruction and teach them the family's secret arts."
"Matriarch!"
"Tell them everything will be given without reserve."
"Good heavens—every single Saint candidate, summoned to one place?"
Isaac rolled his eyes.
Something had, apparently, gotten very badly out of hand.
The chamberlain was practically shouting with excitement.
"That means everyone from the Papal house on down to the children of the other Five Great Houses will be coming!"
"As if that were all. Every Saint candidate who's existed in name only all this time will be gathering in one place."
"Even His Majesty the Emperor has promised his full support."
"The whole populace is abuzz with anticipation, my lord!"
The Doljabi had ballooned into a festival on a national scale.
At this point it wasn't a first-birthday ceremony at all anymore. It was, for all intents and purposes, a Saint selection tournament.
Which, of course, was wonderful news for Isaac.
Why, you ask?
[With so many people entering the vault at once, won't the attention be scattered, my master?]
Isaac snickered at Whisper's words. Kuk-kuk.
Yes! That's exactly it!
What Isaac had his eye on was not some filthy holy relic—what he wanted was the Remains of the Skeleton Demon King.
But no matter how he played it, if he marched straight toward the Remains the moment he entered, everyone would stare at him like he'd grown a second head.
What if, on the other hand, he had competition?
With a crowd going in together, the eyes split a dozen ways—making it far easier to slip away and recover the body.
And as for identifying the finest relic?
Would children who'd barely lived a year or two recognize quality—or would he, who'd spent centuries wrassling with the divine faction over every trinket in existence?
I grab the very best, get acknowledged as the Saint, seize back my own body, and reclaim my power. That's the plan!
With the Skeleton Demon King's Remains, he could recover a staggering amount of strength.
Sure, they'd warned him the vault was dangerous enough to cost him his life, but really.
It's a room where toddlers play Doljabi. How dangerous could it possibly—
"I hear the demons that were captured are guarding the interior, my lord."
Ohhh. So that's why they said it was lethal without holy power—there are demon gatekeepers.
But demons were still, well. Demons.
Demon gatekeepers, versus a former-and-current Demon King? These mooks didn't even rank, did they?
Granted, anything above the 7th Tier would be a bit of a stretch at his current stage—but no high-tier demon worth its salt would stoop to playing doorman anyway.
Anything 6th Tier or below, one blast of Intimidation and—
"I hear there is an 8th-Tier demon inside as well, my lord."
"......"
You son of a— why is an 8th-Tier high demon playing gatekeeper in a toddler's playroom?!
Which one was it? Who the hell was in there?
Was that why there'd been casualties?
But it was fine. It was fine.
If anything, demons were easier to sense—and therefore easier to avoid.
Tune out the small fry, grab the Remains, and done—
"I hear a 9th-Tier dragon is also guarding the interior, my lord."
SON OF A—!
Why are you perverted freaks holding a Doljabi in a place like that?!
He could hardly blame the warning, though. Dragons were a savage higher species that humans had no business touching.
Did they genuinely believe a nursing infant could survive in there?
And at the root of it all, Isaac's history with dragons was the absolute worst.
There were many reasons, but chief among them—
"That skeleton swindled the dragon hatchlings!"
"What did you sell to the little ones?!"
"I never liked that bony bastard's face from the start!"
He was, in short, a wanted criminal in dragon territory.
He'd also scammed the dragon elder who came to execute him into sleeping for all eternity, but regardless—the relationship was not good.
And above all, a dragon might sense what his soul truly was.
Still, dangerous or not, it remained an opportunity beyond compare.
In fact, Rillai—the uncle who'd brought Isaac to his room—had been singing its praises.
"The Holy See has no intention of acknowledging you as a Saint candidate anyway, Isaac."
Yeah. Probably not.
That bishop had already been spouting nonsense about the Saint being chosen and settled.
"But once you've been through the vault, they won't be able to look down on you again."
"That's right, my lord! Whatever treasure you bring back—"
"Slay the demon within! Isaac!"
"N-no, my lord. The task is not to defeat the gatekeeper. You're meant to bring back a treas—"
"The treasure can wait! Kill the demon and prove your strength!"
"My lord, you must bring back the treasure—!!"
The servants floundered, but Rillai was not entirely unprepared, either.
"Now, Isaac! Remember the shape of this sword! The blood to destroy the Skeleton Demon King flows in your veins, so bring back the holy sword! And with it, you smash that monster's skull to pieces!"
Holy sword, my ass!
I'll smash YOUR skull to pieces.
Isaac pressed a hand to his forehead.
Understandable, perhaps—Rillai had spread out scripture after scripture for his "vault-entry training," and Isaac had been staring at them for a while now.
'Damn it. This is psychological torture.'
Leaving aside the blood pressure spike from page after page of Skeleton-Demon-King slander, the hymns and holy verses did carry genuine power in their words—a deadly poison to any demon.
'Surely I don't have to keep reading this??'
[And yet you cannot exactly cast magic inside a priest's den, can you, my master?]
...Fair point.
'Damn it. The moment I know how to move holy power, mastering holy arts takes me five minutes.'
To a Demon King, holy power and mana were ultimately the same thing—the only difference lay in which direction you bent the current.
What to do? Could he learn to wield holy arts without reading the scripture?
And that was the very moment it happened.
"Young Master Rillai! You called for me!"
"!"
A young beauty who looked to be in her late teens appeared. Judging from her youthful face and her attire, she seemed to be a knight of House Eschua.
"You asked for holy power training, yes?"
"Right. You're the training instructor, aren't you? I'm entrusting Isaac to you."
At that, the knight looked at Isaac in disbelief.
"If this is Isaac, then surely—you don't mean SHE is that—!"
Rillai turned to the knight—his own nanny's daughter, a woman he'd grown up beside.
"I do. And forgive the suddenness, Asili, but I want you to look after this child from now on. You're the only one I can trust at the moment."
The moment the words sank in, the knight's gaze hardened into steel.
"I will serve and protect Lord Isaac with my very life."
Isaac nodded along, satisfied.
So this high-tier knight is my nanny, is that it. Then what's the "holy power training" about?
"It's enough if Isaac can reach the level of feeling the holy power within objects. Then instinct alone will guide him to grab the strongest treasure. Think he can manage?"
"He can."
Again—what is the "holy power training"?
But that was the very instant.
FLASH!
"!"
The moment Asili laid a hand on his back, Isaac jerked in shock.
[GYAAAH! You cursed holy knight! How DARE you inject something into my master's sacred body!]
Whisper, being made of mana, foamed at the mouth against the onrushing holy power. Isaac, for his part, only blinked his round eyes.
'This is holy power activation!'
A technique to directly move holy power and awaken the senses to it.
The maidservants watched in surprise.
"This forcibly heightens the senses until one can feel holy power, doesn't it? Isn't it far too much strain for young Lord Isaac?"
"It's fine. It's Asili's specialty, and the real training hasn't even started yet."
IT HASN'T EVEN STARTED?!
“Dah-yah-yah-yah! (Jackpot! Jackpot, baby!)”
Isaac crowed with triumph.
The only reason he'd agreed to sit through theory lectures in the first place was that he didn't know how to move holy power. Give him the feel of it, and the rest was instant.
Holy arts?
Show him once, and he could copy almost anything. Why?
<Steal the techniques of others in order to survive.>
His Survival Origin came with a technique-analysis trait, after all.
So come on then, capable and handsome uncle of mine.
Holy power's handled—now show me the holy arts!
This was a genius holy knight whom a 6th-Tier knight commander trusted without question. Rillai's workplace was crawling with 7th-Tier-and-up talent. Surely someone could show him a high-tier art?
"Right. I suppose the first holy art I teach you should be an offensive one."
"Wh-what?! Not a defensive art, my lord?"
"To destroy the Skeleton Demon King, offense is everything. Against that monster, nothing but attack is any luxury at all."
Correct!
THAT'S the one!
The best offense is the best defense!
So hurry up and show me more!
The instant I learn an offensive holy art, I'm carving through YOUR skull first, uncle—
"It would be too much strain on the child, so let's stop here for today."
ARGH! NO!
"Ah, look at the time. I have training of my own to get to. Let's put the little one down for a nap soon, hm?"
"Yes, my lord."
NO! Stop right there!
Show me first and THEN go!
But Rillai simply scooped Isaac up and tucked him into bed.
"Ah—this is dangerous, so I'll be taking it."
He even pried the transformed Shadow Lich straight out of the boy's tiny fist.
"The first totem Isaac ever made, and a rare one at that. Keep it displayed in the finest spot in the house."
"Yes, my lord."
HEY! I need that to resurrect it! You can't just TAKE it!
Trade it for the rattle and go, you—!
"Sleep well now, little one. Be a good boy until the Doljabi in a few days."
ARGH! You know what, forget holy arts—I'll just use magic and kill you!
Fury flared in Isaac's eyes—but a moment later, he curled his lips upward, as if to say it didn't matter.
Fine. Fine.
Actually, if every last one of them cleared out, it was a gift.
'Escape from here. Head for the annex.'
He'd been planning to go absorb the piled-up magic cores there anyway.
'If I'm facing dragons or demons in the vault, I'll need the magic cores.'
And then—
The instant the last servant filed out and his uncle finally shut the door behind him, Isaac bolted upright out of the bed and came crawling, pat-pat-pat, toward it.
Isaac stared up at the great door and grinned.
Sure, the door was closed—but one measly door handle? Just manifest Whisper and turn it—
Click.
...Click?
Isaac's brow furrowed as he tried to open it.
...Cli-i-ick?
[He's locked the door, my master. Your dear uncle.]
YOU BASTARD!!!
You lock the door on your way OUT?!
Isaac's tiny fists trembled with murderous intent.
"Dah-ya! (Open.)"
[The lock is on the outside, and it's sealed with a holy art. I cannot manifest.]
What do I care?! BREAK IT, you—!
[They would swarm in thinking the estate was under attack, my master.]
UGH, damn it all!
Isaac scrunched up his face.
And that wasn't even the whole problem.
Think about it: this was a duke's estate. In a word, it was obscenely, ridiculously vast—which meant the annex was disgustingly far away.
How long would it take on an infant's stubby legs?
'Levitation magic needs at least 5th Tier.'
Unless some other mode of transport presented itself—
And that was the very moment.
CLICK!
"!"
The closed door swung open.
For a heartbeat he thought his uncle had come back—but the face standing there was entirely unexpected.
"Huh. So THIS is the rival they've been on about? This little bastard?"
The corners of Isaac's mouth curled up on their own.
Shuri Eshua.
A direct descendant of House Eschua, he had recently received some deeply unpleasant news.
"There's ANOTHER Saint candidate besides me?"
The men of Eschua.
Most of them, upon coming of age, were married off through political alliances; those who couldn't stomach it trained to become holy knights, and the vast majority capped out at the 3rd Tier. No wonder they were dismissed as a bloodline with nothing going for it but good genes.
But Shuri Eshua was different.
Among the boys of Eschua, Shuri had been singularly brilliant, raised on a steady diet of the word "genius."
He'd crossed into the 3rd Tier at age three—an age when most couldn't reach it until fifteen—and now, at five, he was eyeing the 4th.
And just recently, his Stigmata had manifested, and hadn't his father beamed with pride, declaring his candidacy for Saint all but guaranteed?
So he'd believed the Papal throne would one day be his.
'The Saintess's son, they say?'
And Uncle Rillai had carried him in, of all things, presenting him as a Saint candidate?
Shuri was extremely displeased.
What displeased him even more was the news that the servants intended to enshrine a totem made by that diaper-wearing infant.
In the best display case in the house—the one the Head of himself looked upon!
And so he'd confiscated it.
A totem. From a toddler. Please. I can't even make one myself—what business does a suckling brat have producing one?
It was obviously a gift from Uncle Rillai, who'd lost his mind over demon-king-slaying preparations. No other possibility.
Displeased with absolutely everything, Shuri had thus come marching over with the totem in hand, to meet his suckling cousin face to face.
To meet him and establish the pecking order, once and for all—
No. Wait.
Wouldn't the brat make a useful practice dummy for holy arts, cycling attack and healing on repeat? He can't complain, he can't even talk yet.
And so, smiling, Shuri pushed open the door to the nursery.
When it opened, an infant even younger than he'd expected was sitting frozen mid-pose, trying to open the door himself.
He had no idea why the brat was crouched at the door like that, but it didn't matter.
"Huh. So THIS is the rival they've been on about? This little bastard?"
"Dah-ya?"
"You little—PUKOHK—!!!!"
Before Shuri could even finish opening his mouth, he was knocked flat off his feet.
THUD!
The infant had no idea who this was.
But Isaac, who had hurled the Golden Rattle and smashed it straight into the stranger's face at point-blank range, snorted with laughter.
"Ttu-ah-ya, dah-ya! (Found it. My vroom-vroom.)"