Words That Endure

About a week had passed since the promise.

In that time, I had gathered consonants and vowels to build the word permanent, and only today, with the groundwork finally complete, did I attempt the combination.

The moment I mastered it, I set out to prove the effect at once, using the teacup in my room for the experiment.

Yet for some reason, the moment the permanently-sealed cup hit the floor, it shattered into pieces all the same.

If a state were to continue infinitely, then surely it shouldn't be disturbed by outside impacts. That much seemed logical.

Suspecting I'd tangled myself in a conceptual misunderstanding, the next day I applied permanent to an object made of iron and deliberately induced corrosion instead.

So that's it.

It didn't corrode.

In a word, using permanent meant the object's state of preservation became infinite. Which meant that for an artifact, the magic stone's power would never drain — it could sustain itself indefinitely.

But an external impact beyond its durability would still shatter it, and……

What a dilemma.

After turning the problem over for a while, I looked at the consonants and vowels I had left and attempted a different combination — one that might break through this impasse. Honestly, thinking it over, it was the simplest answer available. Which was exactly why it worried me.

If an object couldn't withstand an impact, then why not simply reinforce it until it could?

So I reached out, gripped an iron fragment in my hand, and channeled the power of my Lingual Magic into reinforce.

So why did a reinforcement system with no failure rate feel so strangely alien?

More than that, the fact that I could specify the target tier in advance made me swallow my astonishment.

Naturally, I had applied the final tier — seven.

Doesn't look any different?

I turned the fragment over in my hands, studying what was, after all, just a scrap of ordinary iron, then tried to bend it once using the principle of a lever. When it refused to yield so much as a hair's breadth, I had no trouble grasping what a rise in hardness through reinforcement actually meant.

The object kept its original inherent properties — only its raw strength increased.

……Incredible.

Even if the sword had become a primitive weapon in my old world, here it was the representative weapon of the age — and its durability and cutting power naturally existed in inverse proportion. Push the cutting power too high, and durability crumbled. Obsess over durability instead, and the edge dulled. Every blade on the market was a negotiated compromise between the two. But if one could forcibly raise a sword's strength through reinforcement — even a blade that chased extreme cutting power to the exclusion of all else — then every smithy with its masterful metallurgy would find itself out of a job.

First, I should go see Father.

I wanted to know what this level of hardness actually meant against those who had reached the realm of Aura Master.

Crack!

Contrary to my expectations, when Father's mana-laden hands seized the iron fragment and squeezed, it pulverized into a handful of sand-like grains.

"……"

So against power outside all standards, it really meant nothing. But Father, far from being dismissive, let out a murmur of peculiar admiration after a moment of silence. And no wonder — the concept of reinforcement wasn't limited to swords alone.

Maybe I'll scout out an independent sales channel later……

I wasn't the Emperor yet, so I had no authority to move the imperial budget at my own discretion. If I needed personal funds, I'd have to earn them myself. And if all I wanted was pocket change — well, wouldn't it work to apply reinforcement to ornamental swords of beautiful design, pairing aesthetics with practicality, and sell them at a premium? That was my thinking, for now.

Four days later.

Intent on securing personal funds, I asked Father to arrange a meeting with the Prime Minister.

"Mass distribution ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is absolutely out of the question, Your Highness."

"I thought as much. So you agree?"

"You are the one who will become the next Emperor, and a man in that position must not rob his own people of their livelihood. Monopolizing something that had only ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pooled at the top is one matter — but monopolize what has already flowed down to the people, and you merely tighten the noose around their necks. It wouldn't be only the blacksmiths who suffered, either; the merchants entangled with them in the distribution chain would take no small losses as well. The standing you'd damage would far outweigh the coin you'd gain. It would hardly serve ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Your Highness's interests."

Shown only a brief sample, the Prime Minister had visibly swallowed his astonishment — yet he delivered the very same verdict I'd reached: mass distribution was impossible. But that judgment applied strictly to mass distribution, he pressed, and continued.

"A limited release instead…… and if you use an auction, I'd say it's a rather sound approach. Of course, to preserve that scarcity value, Your Highness must never afterward imbue the power of the Dragon Tongue into any other weapon. The worth of being one-of-a-kind does considerable work all on its own."

"……"

"As you suggested, pursuing practicality in a lavishly designed ornamental sword should command real demand. Even for a total layman, recognizing at a glance that a blade is something out of the ordinary carries a romance all its own."

"An auction, then…… what form would it take, exactly?"

"When an item is too rare to price, smaller merchants will request proxies among the great merchant houses through the merchant associations, adjust the settlement ratios, and open an auction market by inviting the nobility. In this case, I'd recommend limiting the buyers to the great magnates — there'd be justification for it, after all."

Justification, indeed.

After the execution of the rebels, the Empire's great magnates numbered exactly twelve. That day, I had chosen not to dig deeply into the transgressions they and their vassal nobles had confessed — apart from the Neutral Faction. An auction held as the price of my silence could reasonably be called a forced sale.

Which meant twelve swords would fit the bill perfectly.

"Understood."

On this front, deferring entirely to the Prime Minister was the wiser course. Naturally — his resources and cunning would surpass mine regardless.

"First, I suggest we commission a single sword to present to His Majesty. Once that blade is bestowed upon Sir Brand and the knighting is made public record, it grants him respectable honor in the process — which allows the magnates to save face as well."

"Yes. I'll keep that in mind."

"Then shall we draw up the contract?"

The sight of him insisting on proper compensation for his work as my agent was the picture of a pure-blooded merchant. I appreciated that he didn't dismiss me for being a child — but the way he took it all so seriously left me feeling a little off-balance.

"You haven't asked me a single real question, Prime Minister."

"Did you expect me to dismiss you for being young?"

"……"

"I became a great merchant at eighteen, and that very year I opened an auction and sold myself as a man. The one who won that bid was His Majesty, as he is now. Climbing from that day to this seat, every soul who sneered at me as a green pup has either fallen out of the game entirely or works beneath me now. What does the age of a man who moves money matter? Money itself has no age."

So Father and he had that kind of history. I gave a small breath of admiration and signed the contract.

The commissioning cost for the workshop was, it stated, to be deducted from the total sales — only natural, since I had no liquid capital at the moment and the Prime Minister would be fronting the payment on my behalf. After that, the total proceeds would be settled at a seven-to-three ratio. But since he was the one who personally ran the collection of taxes, it would effectively come out six-to-four.

"Your Highness's total settlement will be issued as a certificate from the Lander Merchant Guild, which I operate. Whenever you need it, you may withdraw any sum at any of our branches, so please don't worry."

"Thank you."

"Then I'll deliver the designs to you shortly."

"Very well."

With the arrangements settled, I parted ways with the Prime Minister and made my way toward Aria's room. It was rather late, so she'd surely finished her duties and returned already. Sure enough, when I knocked and opened the door, there she was — eating dinner without me.

It would've been nice if she'd saved my portion too, but perhaps hoping for such neighborly kindness was still asking too much.

"Where are you going?"

"To get food."

"It's right there."

Following the idle point of her finger, I turned my head — and my eyes landed on my dinner, covered over so it wouldn't go cold. When I looked up at her in the face of what could only be called a leap forward in consideration, she shot back a sharp glance as if to say, don't read into it.

"I already ate. Clean up my portion along with yours."

With that, Aria turned her back and walked out. I shrugged, picked up my spoon, and dug in. She was probably off to bathe now that dinner was done, so I didn't bother asking where she was headed.

"Welcome back."

Slam!

"?"

But right after that, the single word ringing through the room flustered me beyond all reason. For an instant I thought I'd misheard and spun my head around — but the door was already shut, and all I could do was quietly blink, twice.

Two days later, a report on the designs arrived.

The workshop handling the commission was Flarris — a famous, comprehensive craft house. The painters attached to it had certainly earned their reputation: thirteen swords, including the one to be presented to Father, each radiating a different charm. Practicality had been cast aside entirely, it seemed, in favor of beauty alone — the artwork depicting each blade paired with its scabbard was exquisitely delicate and lovely.

The twelve swords slated for auction drew their motifs from the birthstones of the first through twelfth months, and I liked that they were neither too obscure nor too jarring. The Prime Minister had added a note inviting me to voice any complaints, but I saw no need.

Wow……

A month later, when all thirteen swords stood finished before my eyes, I could do nothing but offer silent praise. It was no exaggeration to say the designs had been realized flawlessly. They say a sword is a knight's second lover — and at this level, I could see why.

"Each sword came to fourteen million Penny."

"……"

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

Roughly twenty million won in my old world's currency. Of course, that included not just the materials but the name value of Flarris Workshop itself. Still, for results like these, I had no complaints.

"Then we'll leave the finishing touches to Your Highness."

I nodded at the Prime Minister's words, and over the course of thirteen days, imbued each sword in turn with a reinforcement carrying the power of my Lingual Magic. Then, naturally, I sought out Father to present the completed blades.

"You mean for me to choose one of these?"

"No, Your Majesty. The sword meant for you is the one placed at the very front."

"So this is what you and Rohen were about……"

Perhaps because he had gripped a sword from childhood and risen to the realm of Aura Master, a rare emotion seeped into Father's eyes — greed.

"A magnificent exterior…… heavy with ornament, yet the cutting power has been maximized — and whatever shortfall remained has been covered by the Dragon Tongue."

When he drew the blade from its scabbard and beheld that vivid edge, Father swallowed hard. His gaze was that of a man stealing a glance at a beautiful woman's bare skin.

"Does it bear a name?"

"His Highness named it Quasar…… though we wondered if it would please you."

Unlike the other twelve, the sword presented to Father was adorned almost entirely in gold. And so, taking after the brightest phenomenon of all — the final moment of a dying star — it had been christened Quasar.

"Whether I like it or not…… this sword must be bestowed upon Sir Brand regardless, no? My regret lies in exactly that."

"You'll rarely go about without carrying a blade anyway, Your Majesty."

"That tongue of yours…… Very well, I understand. We'll set a date, make it public, and bestow this sword upon Sir Brand."

With Father's word given, I sought out Sir Brand that same day to give him advance notice — that the Emperor would be granting him a new sword.

"You're not pleased?"

"……Mm. The sword I carry now has been with me my whole life since I was knighted. I earned the money with my own two hands and had it custom-made. Even if His Majesty grants me a new blade, I doubt I'll use it until this one can no longer be used at all."

"Quite the attachment."

"She's like a wife to me. Can't very well cheat on her, can I?"

Watching Sir Brand stroke his sword as though it were precious beyond measure, I felt I was seeing an unexpected side of him. A man who never turned a woman away and never held one back — and yet, to his own sword, the very picture of a devoted husband.

But that image of mine shattered on the day Father bestowed Quasar upon him. Because not a single day had passed before his old blade — his companion of long years — had vanished from his hip, and Quasar sat in its place.

……Honestly. Perhaps the right man for an affair or two.

But as marriage material, it was in that moment I understood he was truly, hopelessly unfit.