Operations Begin
Deputy butler Boodle watched the scene beyond the window and thought of the second son, Jerry.
Jerry was twelve this year, and it would not be long before he was sent to the kingdom’s Knight Academy. The children of the Greenhilt family had walked this path for generations, and the baron’s eldest son, Eric, was already enrolled there.
The Knight Academy was an elite institution that admitted only the sons and daughters of titled high nobility. It taught swordsmanship and other martial arts, magic, and even mounted combat—everything a knight of the kingdom, and a noble, was expected to master. Theory and the liberal arts were part of the curriculum as well. Princes and princesses passed through its halls, making it a vast stage on which one could forge the connections that would shape a life.
Yet Jerry’s present state left Boodle deeply uneasy about the boy’s future. A baron’s blood might let a man swagger about inside a barony, but the moment he stepped into the Knight Academy he would find himself ranked beneath the children of royalty and the great houses. He came from a small frontier fief, and he was a second son—not the heir with a clear path to the family headship.
Boodle had never once heard of a second, third, or fourth son who failed to build proper connections at the academy and still managed to live well afterward. Without those ties, victory in the succession struggle was impossible; the ones cast aside either drowned themselves in drink and women or vanished into quiet obscurity simply to stay alive. That was the custom.
And now, with enrollment right around the corner, Jerry had caused enough trouble to earn himself confinement. From Boodle’s seat the worries stacked as high as mountains. The boy might not be his own blood, but he had been Boodle’s pupil once.
“That’s a cold spell?”
“It would seem so. This Geren fellow comes from a northern kingdom; ice magic is likely his specialty.”
Jerry, peering out the window, started in surprise. He had never seen ice shaped like that in his life. The only ice he knew was the thin skim that formed on the creek on the very coldest winter days. In the southern reaches of the Steel Kingdom, people who could command cold magic were vanishingly rare.
“But how did the youngest pull that off?”
“If you ask me, Young Master Roy has a talent for—”
“Talent? Don’t make me laugh. It’s just a difference in teachers, isn’t it? Tell me, Boodle—can you cast magic like that?”
“I have lived my entire life in this place. As you well know, Young Master Jerry, most people here specialize in fire.”
“So can you cast it or not?!”
“I could manage an imitation, but nothing close to what that man Geren can do.”
“See? I was right. Teacher difference.”
Boodle found himself at a loss for words.
“Answer me! It’s because you’re incompetent, isn’t it? Why did Father hire such an outstanding instructor only for those two?”
“That would be because I have reached the age of retirement—”
“Shut up, you useless old man.”
Boodle pressed his lips tight. Jerry’s barbs no longer cut deep; he had grown far too used to them. What truly troubled him was the thought of that same temper walking into the Knight Academy and causing some disaster among the children of high nobility.
“If you wish it, I will speak to the baron myself. Even for the few days remaining before you leave for the academy, I can ask that Master Geren be assigned as your tutor as well.”
“Tch.”
I want this to be over. Once again Boodle felt, with painful clarity, that the time for his retirement had truly come.
On the night of the first magic lesson, Roy locked his door firmly, lay down on the bed, and stretched a hand toward the ceiling. At once he began to gather mana.
Is this a lot for my age?
He had used a fair amount during the lesson, yet his mana still showed no sign of bottoming out; the fact filled him with quiet satisfaction. More than that, the knowledge that he would keep growing made him almost smug.
If I’d shown off any more, people would have come from every direction just to gawk at the magic prodigy. This is exactly the right amount.
Running wild from the very beginning would only cause trouble.
“Still, I should at least get a clear sense of the maximum.”
There was a world of difference between a vague feeling and actually spending every drop to measure the true capacity. So Roy set about wringing out every last scrap of mana he possessed to learn the size of his vessel. And there was another reason: the fastest way to enlarge that vessel during the growth years was to empty it completely, then rest properly afterward.
“Hmm… I’d like to try other spells, but today isn’t the day for that. Let’s just review what I learned. That was the first time I’ve ever cast a cold spell, after all.”
Before long a large chunk of ice had formed on Roy’s palm.
“This is something else. At only five years old I’ve already surpassed the mana pool I had in my previous life…”
Joy and a bitter aftertaste rose together. Just one change of bloodline, and the gap was this vast—what did that even mean?
“Well then. One more.”
There was no use lamenting now; he had neither the means nor the method to return to the past.
Even if I could go back, it’s not as though I’d become an emperor or a hero…
If he still dreamed of becoming a sage, he could simply start dreaming again from this moment. Wasn’t that actually delightful? A vessel incomparable to his previous life, plus the existence of that extraordinary elixir called Dragon’s Breath.
How far can I grow with this body?
Ice formed on his left hand as well, matching the right.
“Two at once—no problem at all.”
Yes. Smile. Only growth lay ahead; what greater joy could there be? He was five years old—just five. Time was abundant, and the future stretched wide and bright.
“Good, good. Now this!”
The two masses of ice began to spin rapidly, feeding on the mana pouring from his palms. Their shapes shifted, and soon a sharp spear of ice took form above his right hand while a broad hemispherical shield of ice swelled above his left.
Ice Spear and Ice Shield—dual casting with the spell formulas omitted. Two cold spells he remembered from his previous life assembled themselves swiftly inside his mind.
“As expected… dual casting with abbreviated formulas is still too much.”
The higher-tier magic drained his mana at a frightening pace. Cut off from their supply, both constructs shattered into fragments that scattered through the room and slowly vanished. Completely emptied, Roy flopped onto the bed in a sprawl and stared up at the ceiling.
“I… will become the strongest mage… This time it’s possible…”
His eyelids grew heavy. He had spent every drop of mana, and he had not even taken a nap that day. He rolled the blanket around himself, hugged it tight, and fell asleep shivering. The cold magic had dropped the room’s temperature sharply.
“Achoo!”
The next day.
From breakfast onward Roy showed such a sudden collapse in condition that he was ordered to absolute bed rest for the entire day. He insisted he was fine, but inside the manor the baron’s word was absolute.
“Why?! Roy gets better faster when I’m there!”
“Absolutely not, Lady Anna. Young Master Roy may have a cold, so the lord has ordered that you are not to approach him under any circumstances.”
“No! No! I’m going to Roy!”
The moment word spread that Roy had been confined on suspicion of a cold, no one fretted more than Anna. That very morning she had been sulking because Roy alone could use magic she still could not, yet the news that her only little brother was ill flipped her mood in an instant.
“Anna. You needn’t worry so much. A few days’ rest and Roy will be fine. Greenhilt blood does not yield to something as trivial as a cold.”
“That’s right. If you go to him now you’ll catch it too, and then Roy will only be sadder, won’t he?”
“……”
In the end it was the baron and his wife who blocked the girl. She threw such a tantrum that the servants alone could not restrain her.
“Roy…”
Anna ached to see him at once, but to a small girl her two parents were walls she could not climb. In short, tantrums simply did not work on them. If she pushed too far and angered her father, she might find herself locked in her room every day with outdoor privileges revoked—just like her second brother.
“I just want to play with him…”
Stuck between wanting and not daring, the stress piled high. And nothing burned stress away quite like moving her body.
“Teacher, hurry.”
“Yes…”
The one forced to face a thoroughly stressed Anna turned out to be Geren. Having judged the first magic lesson a success, the baron had provided the man with quarters inside the manor. In a world where room and board cost a fortune, the offer of everything free had made Geren snatch the proposal without a second thought.
It was not, however, entirely free. Outside the scheduled lessons he still had to deal with the children.
What’s the harm in a little extra?
He could come and go freely whenever he was not teaching; spending leftover time with the kids should not be difficult.
…Or so Geren had believed, until regret arrived.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
The young lady who meant to work out her stress by swinging a wooden sword somehow possessed stamina that had exploded in the few days since the first sword lesson. She tormented Geren without rest for a full hour.
“Hah… hah… hah…”
“You should rest now, Lady Anna.”
“No. More.”
“Absolutely not. Give me the sword.”
Geren forcibly took the wooden sword from her hands.
What is it with the children of this house…
Blood stained the grip. He quickly caught Anna’s hands and checked them.
“Ow…”
“This is bad. Does it hurt?”
Anna shook her head quietly.
“At this rate today’s lesson seems impossible…”
“No. We have to have the lesson. Otherwise I’ll fall behind Roy.”
“What? But—”
“My hands don’t hurt.”
Tears glittered at the corners of her eyes, yet she clenched her jaw and insisted to the end. Geren could only click his tongue. Anna’s stubbornness was legendary inside the manor—second to none—and Geren, not yet fully recognized as a proper teacher, had no idea how to handle it.
Word eventually reached the baron. The words that came out of the father’s mouth left Geren even more bewildered.
“Children grow by doing things like that. She couldn’t master her own temper, so she must take responsibility herself.”
“B-but she can’t possibly have a sword lesson with hands like that.”
“Hmm… Then make it a magic lesson today. Yesterday she looked thoroughly envious of Roy. She won’t want to lag behind, so she’ll work hard.”
And so the lesson proceeded as scheduled—only the subject changed from sword to magic.
Meanwhile, under temporary confinement, Roy was already putting a certain plan into motion inside his room.
“Did you bring it?”
“Yes… everything, for now.”
“How much did you manage to gather in total?”
Standing before Roy was none other than Marek—Roy’s exclusive servant, only just released from his own confinement.
“First, hand over every coin you have.”