Margrave Biswald (1)
"I'll be waiting, little one."
"So in the end, I just need to increase my mana capacity and summon you again?"
"It is time to part. The gap is growing narrower by the moment. Still, to have held on this long... not bad for a mere infant. Effort deserves praise. Shall I give you a gift before the opening closes completely? Come closer, little one."
The moment the invitation left its lips, the figure with the golden eyes vanished from Roy's sight.
"What the...?"
The dimensional rift had already shrunk to the size of Roy's head. It looked ready to vanish at any second.
Just what is on the other side of that gap?
Curiosity burned in him, yet he never let his guard drop. He only meant to steal one last glance into the world beyond.
That was when something suddenly thrust through the opening.
An arm and hand—belonging to some presence—shot straight at Roy's face. Straight for his eyes.
"Aaaargh!"
It was so fast he could do nothing but take the blow. Agony beyond description flooded him.
"......?"
Then, in an instant, the pain vanished as cleanly as if it had never existed. Whatever had lunged through the hole was gone without a trace.
Roy carefully touched the skin around his eyes, checking for damage.
"What the hell was that just now?"
The voice returned, sounding more distant this time.
"That was my eye. It will devour a great deal of mana, but it is extremely useful. When you pull me out of here next time, simply return it then, little one. Farewell..."
The faint final words scattered and vanished along with the tear in the air.
Silence reclaimed the underground chamber.
"An eye? That monster's eye?"
Roy hurriedly felt around his own eyes again. He could sense no difference at all. He desperately wanted a mirror for a proper look.
"Ugh..."
Only then did the surrounding environment crash back into focus. He wanted nothing more than to leave this place of rotting corpses behind. It was time to get out.
Unlike Geren, who had yet to regain consciousness, Anna had managed to come around with the help of potions and the priests. That recovery lasted only moments; the moment she learned of Roy's disappearance, she collapsed again, breaking every heart around her.
Everyone believed Roy had been kidnapped by Boodle or the large masked man. In that atmosphere, his sudden return felt like a miracle.
Anna, who had refused food and drink while lying sick in bed, bolted barefoot the instant she heard her son had reappeared—noble etiquette be damned. The moment she saw the little boy she had borne, she clutched him tight and dissolved into tears, refusing to let go. Where had he been? Was he hurt? Was he hungry? The questions tumbled out without end.
Damn it. I just want to check my eyes in a mirror.
Outwardly Roy remained perfectly calm. Yet watching Anna fall apart because of him made something twist painfully in his chest. He had never been a cold-blooded man in his previous life either, but his hatred of his lowly bloodline had already driven a wedge between him and his parents by the time he came of age. He had made them rich later, true enough.
To feel a parent-child bond I never understood back then... Well, a few years ago I was still nursing at her breast. Though I drank far more from the wet nurse.
Roy hastily shook his head. Having every memory of infancy intact was proving inconvenient.
A faint ache in the chest, however, was not enough to push the desire to examine his new ability into the background. First he needed to escape this situation.
"So where on earth have you been all this time?"
"I'm sleepy."
"Oh, my poor baby, you haven't even slept? Then you must rest at once."
Being little really is useful sometimes.
With only a few words, Roy neatly wriggled free of the awkward moment.
Only after a maid had scrubbed him clean and dressed him did Roy finally return to his room. He went straight to the mirror.
That suspicious golden-eyed spirit had spoken of gifts and eyes. Now it was time for a thorough inspection.
I'm not even sure it was a spirit to begin with.
Judging by Anna and the others' reactions, Roy already knew his eyes looked no different from usual. The reflection in the mirror confirmed it. What remained was to test them while channeling mana.
He first cast an ordinary spell. Nothing changed in his eyes. What did startle him was that, even after performing that enormous summoning magic, he still had mana to spare. His lips kept twitching upward until he caught his own expression in the glass and hastily schooled his face.
Next he tried concentrating mana into his eyes. Standing before the mirror, he forced power into them and watched. At first there was no change. Then, once a certain threshold of mana gathered, a transformation began. His irises began to glow a brilliant gold.
The effect! What's the actual effect?
That was what mattered. He hurriedly drew the curtains, shutting out the sunlight. In the darkness he saw nothing at all—only the golden eyes gleaming eerily back at him from the mirror.
What am I even supposed to use this for?
Then he looked down at his own body.
What... is this?
It was astonishing. A steady current flowed through his arms, legs, and torso. Roy understood at once what he was sensing. This was the flow of mana itself.
Roy immediately summoned Marek. He was the softest target available.
"Young Master, I am so relieved you are unharmed. Everyone poured their very souls into searching for—"
"Marek. Turn around and stay like that."
"Pardon?"
"I said turn around. And do not move until I give you permission. Do not look this way under any circumstances."
"Ah... yes, sir."
Marek gazed at his young master—completely unchanged despite everything that had happened—and felt a complicated tangle of emotions. Was he supposed to be happy about this?
What suspicious scheme is he hatching this time...
Marek's feelings were irrelevant. Roy once more poured mana into his eyes and swept his gaze over Marek's entire body from head to toe.
Oh!
At once he began to sense the flow of mana coursing through Marek's body. It was not something he saw visually; he simply knew it, as if someone had forcibly jammed the information straight into his brain.
But the mana consumption...
Already drained from massive earlier expenditures and heavy with accumulated fatigue, Roy could not hold out long. He collapsed into sleep as if he had fainted.
Victoria Castle, Biswald territory.
Victoria Castle was an ancient fortress the Biswald family had used as their seat of power for generations.
Days earlier, Baron Greenhilt had left his own lands on horseback rather than by carriage and had reached Victoria Castle faster than anyone. Arriving early, however, did nothing to speed up the work itself.
This time Margrave Biswald had summoned every lord in the southern kingdom who held a fief of any significant size. The conference would begin only after every last one of them arrived.
"Tomorrow's meeting has been postponed by one day. A banquet will be held this evening, however. Should you require anything, simply call and I will send maids."
Those were the words of the margrave's attendant who had come to the guest chamber allotted to the baron.
"I wasted two whole days waiting just so the damned meeting could finally start, and now you're telling me there's a banquet?"
"I am merely conveying His Excellency's words."
"Yes, well... fine, I understand."
The baron, already irritated at having to wait for the other lords after arriving first, nearly exploded when he learned the conference had been delayed and a banquet suddenly arranged. He needed to return to his territory as soon as possible to see off his second son, who would soon depart for the capital.
What was the point of postponing an important meeting only to throw a feast? On top of that, every private audience he had requested with the margrave had been refused. Socializing with the other lords was equally difficult; most of those gathered from the southern kingdom were vassals of Margrave Biswald. Whether by the margrave's order or simple self-preservation, the majority regarded Baron Greenhilt with open distaste.
Of course he could guess why the margrave was treating him this way. This was the first summons Baron Greenhilt had attended in five years. Looking back, the meetings he had actually attended had been empty affairs—occasions for the margrave to flaunt his power or to discuss marriages for his children, nothing of substance. So the baron had invented one excuse after another and stayed away.
Noble society, however, was not a world where excuses worked forever. Especially when dealing with a superior of higher rank: once you received a concession, you were expected to pay a corresponding price the next time. That was simply how the game was played. Baron Greenhilt had piled up an enormous debt of favors against Margrave Biswald, the dominant power of the southern Steel Kingdom. That debt had finally returned as an inescapable shackle, forcing him to answer the summons even in the midst of his busiest season.
Yet he had never dreamed the margrave would resort to such petty methods of torment.
If this is the worst of the harassment, I suppose I should count myself lucky...
Even then, the baron still knew nothing of what was unfolding at his own mansion. And he certainly never imagined that the first person to deliver that news would be Margrave Biswald himself—the very man who could scarcely wait to tear him apart.