Though I Shout (5)
“I-I just wanted to figure out what kind of magic was cast on it…….”
“Die!”
Liam slammed a fist into the gut of the mage who had caused the trouble. Watching the whole mess, Meister let out a sigh and spoke.
“Fine. The robe’s one thing. But you really didn’t lay a hand on the customer? From where I’m standing, it looks like you’re still in the middle of doing exactly that.”
“…This is an examination the customer requested.”
At Liam’s words, Meister looked at me. Roughly asking whether that was true.
I closed my eyes and gave a slight nod. It wasn’t a firm enough affirmation for a proper nod, but Meister would catch the meaning from my eyes alone.
“…All right. I’m convinced.”
The misunderstanding that wasn’t quite a misunderstanding resolved itself in that moment.
“More importantly, how do you know the custom—”
“Workshop customer.”
“…Right.”
“Enough. You. Give me the coat.”
“The coat……?”
The Hero’s party still hadn’t grasped the situation, and Meister demanding the coat from me only left them more bewildered.
Their gazes all gathered on me, full of doubt that I would actually hand it over.
Whoosh.
But Meister and I already had a deal.
“Come over here when you’re done. Don’t hand the robe off to anyone else.”
I tossed him the coat that had somehow returned without my noticing. Looks like the plan to seal its return function and observe it had failed.
Thud.
Anyway, Meister—who had stormed in like a tempest—stormed right back out the same way.
The people left behind wore the hollow faces of those who had just suffered a calamity—and it wasn’t entirely wrong. If this counted as a calamity, then yes, they had suffered one.
“…Um, Demon Knight. Do you know that person?”
“Th-that Demon Knight. Did you meet him knowing who he was……?”
Separately, Meister really did seem to have some serious clout.
I had already guessed as much from the fact that even Karl, a Sage, didn’t treat him casually… but he could act like that toward Liam, another Sage, and still not get reined in.
“Is the examination finished.”
Well, it didn’t matter. The more capable Meister was, the better for me.
“Ah, there’s still some left.”
“Then do it.”
I ignored the Hero’s party as much as possible and urged the mages to finish the examination.
The dazed Sages and mages suddenly scrambled back to work.
Just because you use magic doesn’t mean results appear without a process. It simply shortens things far more than doing it without magic.
Thus Karl and Meister endured a stretch of patience while waiting for the experiment’s conclusion.
In the meantime, each of them filled the hours with their own work to avoid wasting time.
“You’re still clinging to that stuff?”
While Meister was fiddling with his personal project, Sage Karl tossed the remark out casually.
Meister’s hands paused for a moment.
“Yes. I’m still clinging to ‘that stuff.’”
Sage Karl was helpful in many ways, but he made a poor confidant. Meister reminded himself of that fact anew and clenched his fist.
“I don’t understand what you see in it.”
Yet it didn’t turn into anger. He had already learned long ago that he would never receive understanding from others.
So rather than taking a wound, he let it wash over him with calm detachment—along with the vow that someday he would open those darkened eyes of theirs.
“More than that, what even is this…? I can’t see its essence.”
“Your fancy magic can’t do it either?”
“Yeah. What about your side?”
“It vanishes before any reaction shows up. How am I supposed to know?”
“What. So that thing you worship is useless in the end too.”
At the Sage’s words, Meister bit down hard on his lip. He wanted to argue back, but for now he had nothing to say.
After all, mages were people who competed with results, and he still hadn’t produced a single decent work. Nine full years had already passed since he took on the honor of the name Meister.
Clack-clack-clack.
Even in resignation, that fact still made his blood heat up for no good reason. He put more force into the piece he had been handling.
“Why not just give up.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Honestly, nine years is a lot of waste. Spreading magic to the masses? That’s impossible. So……”.
“A mage talking about impossibility first? That’s not very Sage-like. Should I tell Grandfather?”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Oh, how astonishing. So the word ‘impossible’ has some secret meaning the rest of the world doesn’t know. Shall I share it with everyone right away?”
“You really have no manners.”
A mage lecturing someone else about manners was pretty funny in itself.
Meister flipped him the middle finger and then took his hands off the piece. The object—whose purpose was still completely unclear—was densely engraved with formulas.
“Ha. If your research ever succeeds, I’ll walk the entire outer perimeter of the Magic Tower on my knees.”
“I’m not sure what benefit I get from Sage Karl crawling around the Magic Tower on his knees, but fine. No downside for me, so I’ll take the promise.”
Even if only out of spite, he would succeed.
He prayed for success again and again inside his head and held his hand out to Karl.
In theory, for the formula to activate smoothly, a tiny bit of mana had to be injected at the very first moment.
“Blow some mana into it.”
“You have no shame.”
“Then give me the coat.”
“You really have no damn shame!”
At Meister’s threat, Karl yelped and snatched the object away.
“Here.”
He returned it almost immediately. Just blowing mana into it didn’t take long.
Of course, for Meister—who possessed not a single scrap of mana beyond the absolute minimum every human was born with—it was something forever impossible.
“Good……”.
At any rate, the priming mana had been poured in.
Now all that remained was to check whether it worked properly or not.
“……”.
“……”.
For a while, only the silent object filled Karl and Meister’s vision.
“…The mana doesn’t seem to be gathering, does it.”
“Yeah.”
He had no ability to sense or manipulate mana himself, but he did have an item that displayed its flow.
Even through those glasses, nothing showed. With Karl’s confirmation on top of that, it was certain.
“Looks like a failure, doesn’t it?”
Yes. This was a failure.
“Damn it!”
He had been sure this time would work! Meister flung the object in his hand to the floor.
It was the two thousand two hundred and fiftieth failure.
“Told you it wouldn’t work.”
“Shut up.”
“Unless you bring in expensive catalysts, there’s no way something made of common materials like that would succeed.”
“I said shut up.”
He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to hear any of it.
Gritting his teeth, he barely managed to cool the heat rising in his head. It was a familiar task, but it never got any easier.
The one crouching on the floor raked both hands through his hair.
“…Even just the function of gathering mana on its own only barely works if you pour rare materials into it without holding back.”
“I’m going to snatch that coat before you close your mouth. Just close it.”
“……”.
Meister brushed his bangs back, then swept the loose hair at the nape of his neck as well, and caught his breath. “Ah, it vanished,” Karl muttered from behind. Apparently the coat had disappeared.
“Aah, this is so irritating. Do I have to keep it next to that guy and experiment?”
Well. Maybe so.
Meister only agreed weakly inside his head. Nine years of stubborn clinging didn’t make the effort that returned no answers any less exhausting.
Especially right after a failure.
“Aren’t you going to go get the coat back?”
“Go yourself.”
“…You sulking?”
“And what if I am.”
Still, he had to pick himself up again. The dream he had cradled the day he realized he would never be able to use magic for the rest of his life—he couldn’t abandon it like this.
Meister steeled himself and picked the discarded object back up. Then he pulled a cigarette from an inner pocket and stuck it between his lips, wanting to loosen the tightness in his chest.
“You lunatic! Don’t smoke in the lab!”
Sage Karl nearly screamed.
“Ah, so petty.”
“Go outside and smoke!”
“Fine.”
Well, it wasn’t that he didn’t understand the feeling. He just didn’t feel like being considerate.
Creeeak.
Anyway, Meister left at a leisurely pace with the cigarette still clenched in his teeth. His destination was the terrace connected to the corridor.
“What are you looking at. Eyes down.”
At his appearance, the mages passing through the corridor turned pale and hurriedly cleared out of the way.
Even setting aside how viciously strong Meister’s cigarettes were, getting caught at the wrong moment would teach you exactly why his nickname was “Mad Dog.”
“Fire. Now.”
Of course, some unlucky soul got grabbed and had to serve as a temporary lighter. The moment the cigarette was lit, the person fled.
“Um, sir. How on earth did you end up connected to someone like that…….”
“Why did you give him the coat earlier?”
That aside, there were also people here who didn’t know why everyone was running from Meister.
“Sir.”
“Demon Knight!”
The man with Karl’s robe draped over his shoulders approached from the far end of the corridor, trailing a chatter of followers.
He wasn’t exactly heading straight for Meister, but because the terrace was open, they spotted each other midway.
“You’ve got some colorful companions.”
“No.”
The knight who carried a demon, the Hero’s party trailing after him, and the half-mage Grandmaster Craftsman who couldn’t use magic all stood at the boundary between terrace and corridor.
“Suit yourself.”
I only wondered for a second why Meister was crouching in the corridor before I spotted what was in his mouth and my lips twitched.
Smoking in front of someone who had only barely quit after age twenty-seven. How considerate.
“What are you looking at?”
Separately, Meister seemed a little sharper than usual? His tone felt oddly prickly. Or maybe I was just imagining it.
“Mm… good to meet you, at any rate. It’s an honor to see a Grandmaster Craftsman.”
“…Yeah, well. Hello.”
With a flavor of rudeness different from mine, Meister answered lightly and kept smoking.
Cough, sniff. The cigarette smoke must have been a first for the Inquisitor beside me; she coughed and stepped back.
“So, did you have business with me?”
“Ah, well. There is something I wanted to discuss regarding the previous commission.”
“Ah, so you were the client.”
Apparently even he couldn’t keep puffing away right in front of the actual client.
Meister stubbed the half-finished cigarette out on his own robe, then stood. Tough as nails.
“First, could you show me the commission form.”
“Here it is.”
“Good.”
To confirm it really was the commission, the Archmage handed over a scroll-like paper. Meister carefully unrolled it and spoke.
“You go inside first. The coat’s disappeared again anyway.”
I had been wondering if I needed to keep standing around awkwardly out here, so that worked out. A little disappointing that the coat had vanished again so soon, though.
“Confirmed.”
More than that, if this kept happening, would I have to just stay nearby on standby from now on? That sounded boring. If I got really bored I could always read a book… but still, it was a waste of time. And I couldn’t even earn money.
“Wait. Don’t go in yet, Demon Knight. There’s still something you need to hear as well.”
But the Archmage stopped me just as I was heading for the lab. I wondered what was left that was worth holding me back.
Ah, or was it that? Matching schedules?
“Mm, ah. This was it. The other party is over there?”
“That’s right.”
Judging by the reaction, that didn’t seem to be the reason.
I looked at Meister, who had suddenly pointed at me, then at the commission form in his hand. From this angle the writing wasn’t visible. That made the situation even harder to grasp.
“Well, fine.”
What is it, what is it. Don’t be so stingy and keep it between yourselves—tell me too.
“…It’s about your equipment.”
Fortunately, before my eyebrows could sharpen any further, the Archmage explained. That explanation was startling in its own way.
Why was equipment coming up here?
“A magic that filters Holy Power has been developed. If you wear an item enchanted with it, fighting should become considerably easier for you. At the very least, the damage from the Inquisitor’s attacks would be reduced.”
Ah, so it wasn’t about my existing gear—it was about new equipment they wanted to gift me. And it would have Holy Power filtering magic on it?
…How and when did they even develop a magic like that? Filtering Holy Power brings zero benefits to anyone who isn’t a demon or a demon worshiper.
“However, to craft the piece we need to take your body measurements. Mm, since Meister has accepted the production commission……”.
“I’ll be the one measuring. Every part we need.”
But what reason would the Archmage have to make something for a demon’s sake? In the end this… this magic… was for me.
I had no idea when he had started preparing it, but while I was withdrawing consideration to put distance between myself and them, the Archmage had been preparing something like this.
“Please don’t refuse it.”
And so my chest stung all the more.
Am I… allowed to accept this? Am I allowed to wear gear that reduces Holy damage—the very thing I’m weak against?
“This is, well. Nothing more than an investment so that you… so that you can fight more easily.”
And what are you going to do if I become your enemy?
“Demon Knight?”
Investment. Nice word. The kind of word that only comes up between people doing business.
But… the way I saw it, this wasn’t an investment. The Archmage’s attitude when he said it so casually—anyone could tell that wasn’t what he meant—and the consequences it would bring both said otherwise.
If I wore Holy Power filtering gear, my daily life would become more comfortable, but if the worst ever happened, preparing against me would become that much harder.
And there was no way the Archmage didn’t know the thought that had just crossed my mind.
In the end, knowing full well, the Archmage had still offered me a gift under a plausible pretext. It was clear consideration.
…A kindness that should never have been shown.
“Is that an excuse to hide your pity?”
I pressed down hard on the tightness in my throat and clenched my fist. Crunch. The gauntleted right hand made a grinding sound.
“Or are you simply being a fool?”
I had braced myself for the Inquisitor and Deathbringer never giving up. They were ignorant, and young.
That was exactly why their blind faith could swell so enormous.
“…Demon Knight.”
“Last chance, mage.”
But even blind faith has its limits.
The more you learn, the deeper your understanding grows, the more your eyes inevitably open and your ears clear and you correct yourself—that is the blind faith of those who are still growing.
“Do not cross the line.”
But the trust of the old is small yet heavy, and precisely because it is so hard to form, it does not change easily either. All the more so when it has been forged by piercing through the caution that long experience and years have given them.
“Never.”
And so, and so, it cannot be.
Archmage—even you cannot do this.
“Wait—”
Because in the end I’m only human too. If someone tries to protect me even knowing everything, I start wanting to lean on them.