Terms of the Deal (2)
No matter that he was a nobleman's son and the heir of a territory, gold coins were not the sort of money a mere seven-year-old could simply lay his hands on.
Until now the baron had never given Roy so much as a copper in allowance, and he was nearly driven mad with curiosity as to how the boy had come by such a sum.
"Where did you get this?"
"I earned it."
"You? How?"
"That is a secret."
"……"
"Are you curious?"
"Are you mocking me?"
"This secret is rather expensive. You will have to offer me something of equal value before I can tell you."
"If I truly want to know, do you think I could not find out?"
"If you want to know, you will have to grant my request. That is the condition of the deal."
The baron fixed Roy with a sharp stare—then suddenly threw back his head and roared with laughter.
It had been a joke, a threat meant to cow him, yet the boy did not yield an inch and met his father's eyes with shameless calm. The baron found his son thoroughly, endearingly amusing.
"Very well. I will not stoop to prying behind your back. Bring me the list of children you wish to invite. I will send people to sound out their parents. If they consent, so will I. Is that enough?"
"It is not enough."
"What!?"
"You must also raise Master Geren's salary. Only then will he have any incentive to work. His present wage covers teaching Anna and me, so Father should continue paying that as before. The cost of teaching the other children I will cover myself. However—you must first give me the money you would have paid him."
The idea that the cost of educating one's own children was naturally the father's burden left the baron momentarily speechless. Still, he decided to hear Roy out to the end.
"You impudent little rascal. Do you even know how much Geren is paid?"
"Not exactly. But more than Marek, I would imagine."
"And why, pray, must you receive that money only to hand it over again yourself?"
Roy answered as if the question were the most obvious thing in the world.
"When I am recruiting the talent I need, is there any reason I should limit myself only to children my own age? I consider the teacher an excellent talent as well."
The baron burst into another round of hearty laughter. When he finally recovered, his eyes sharpened once more.
"You mean to make Geren your man? Do you truly believe simply handing him his wages will accomplish that? He will know perfectly well that the money ultimately comes from my purse."
"That remains to be seen. I intend to cover the other children's expenses from the start, and before long I mean to pay every last coin myself. I cannot promise how long it will take."
The baron thought for a long while in silence. Then he spoke.
"Fine. Let us set that aside for now. Tell me this: what exactly did you do to come by that money—and with such confidence that you can even shoulder Geren's salary going forward?"
Roy drew a deep breath before answering.
"I am sorry, but even if I explained it in words, you would find it difficult to understand. And you would not believe me."
"Something a seven-year-old understands, yet I—the lord of this land—cannot?"
The baron showed not the slightest offense. If anything, he seemed intrigued by whatever answer might leave the child's mouth, and he pressed the conversation onward.
"That is not what I mean. There are many things in this world far easier to grasp by seeing or experiencing them firsthand than by hearing them described."
"In other words, you mean to show me? How you make money?"
"Not quite. All I need is for Father to lend me, for a short while, the sword you always carry."
For the first time the baron's face twisted sharply. His voice dropped lower and heavier than it had been all day.
"Roy. Do you even know what that sword is?"
It was a terrifying look—one he had never once turned upon his son. Seeing it, Roy felt his heart clench tight.
Well… I expected this would not be easy…
Was asking to borrow a sword really something that warranted such fury?
"However clever you may be, a sword is a tool forged to cut people down—"
Whatever had set him off, the baron launched into a full sermon. But Roy had no intention of yielding.
He had known from the start that this would be difficult. Everything he had said to the baron so far was merely the prologue to the far greater story he was weaving. He could not let it end before it had even begun.
"And as for this particular blade—"
The sword the baron always carried. "Always" did not mean he used it often; it meant that whenever he left the house, it hung at his hip without fail.
No magic was enchanted upon it, yet the ornamentation of the hilt and the craftsmanship of the scabbard alone were enough to draw gasps of admiration. It was a masterpiece of a sword—and to Roy, it was an object that made his mouth water.
But he was not so foolish as to steal the baron's cherished blade and slap enchantments on it behind his back. Rather, he meant to turn that near-obsessive attachment to his own advantage.
"…and so the meaning this sword holds for our house is as follows—"
Just as the baron was now endlessly expounding, the blade was no less a family heirloom than the secret underground chamber—passed down through generations of house heads.
Long ago, an ancestor who had won glory in war and received a barony from the king had been granted this sword as well.
Its name: the Sword of Victory—Triumph.
To commemorate the legend, the greatest blacksmith of the kingdom in that age had forged only twelve such blades. Of those twelve, the second now rested in the baron's keeping.
"Do not dare covet this sword without the resolve to match it! To hold this blade is to declare yourself lord of the domain. Do you understand?"
The baron was practically spraying spit as he spoke, but Roy already knew the broad strokes; he had heard them beforehand from the elderly stewards of the manor.
"I understand perfectly. But I am not asking you to give me the sword—only to lend it for a short while…"
"Do you imagine the sword that is the symbol of a lord is something one simply lends out?"
This man just called his own son 'someone else.'
"Only for a very brief moment."
"Absolutely not! I wondered how you had earned that money—did you throw a tantrum somewhere and then claim the proceeds as your own earnings?"
"……"
Roy judged that speaking now would only make matters worse, and so he let a pause settle.
The baron seemed less truly enraged than determined to seize the moment as a teaching opportunity; his mouth never stopped moving.
"Furthermore! Even if it were some other sword, I would never entrust a mere seven-year-old with a blade. And you—I hear you neglect your sword training and bury yourself in books in some corner of the house. Why are you trying to lay hands on a dangerous live weapon?"
Roy offered no answer to the question, and instead proposed another approach.
"Then what if we did this instead? Not borrowing the sword—simply allowing me to look at it for a moment. If Father is right beside me watching, you can stop me the instant I try anything dangerous."
"What?"
"All I need is a very brief chance to examine the sword."
That, at least, was no great hardship. He need only stand nearby and ensure the child did not cut himself on the edge.
Yet after the impassioned lecture he had just delivered, the words of consent refused to leave the baron's mouth.
"Is that not acceptable?"
"……It is acceptable."
The baron forced the answer out as though wringing it from a throat that did not want to speak.
"Then I will take that as settled."
"What? Not right this moment?"
"No. I need time to prepare as well. I still have to show you how I earned the money. A deal is a deal."
"Hmm… so only on the day I allow you to examine the sword will you show me how you made that money?"
"Correct."
"……"
The baron clearly wanted to know at once. But a deal was a deal. With his son standing firm like this, he could hardly throw a tantrum and demand an immediate answer.
"When would suit you?"
"Ten days at the outside will be plenty. I will prepare as quickly as I can."
"Very well. We will speak then. If you keep your promise, I will keep every one of mine as well."
"That suits me fine."
"If we are finished, you may go."
The baron began rummaging through the papers on his desk, clearly intending to resume his work. But Roy did not leave.
"Why are you still standing there?"
"Our conversation is not finished."
"The deal is concluded."
"This time it is not a deal—it is a request."
"Another request? Did you not already call the last one a request?"
Roy scratched his cheek a little awkwardly.
"My birthday is coming up soon, is it not? I would like to add a few people of my choosing to the guest list."
For a lord's child, a seventh birthday carried a special weight.
It was the first birthday on which a formal party was held and guests were invited. No matter how noble one's blood, only after the baptism was one permitted to appear in society—an ancient tradition observed throughout the kingdom and most of the continent.
Roy's sister Anna had been born in spring, so her grand birthday celebration had been held not at seven but at eight, in the spring after her baptism. Vassal houses of the Greenhilt line—the minor lords of the surrounding lands—had attended in person, and even lords of neighboring territories who could not come themselves had sent retainers bearing gifts.
The authority to issue invitations to that party belonged to the baron and baroness. And now Roy was asking to set one foot into that privilege.
The baron began to wonder, with growing suspicion, exactly what this little boy was plotting.
"Hah… Fine. Speak."
"First, in addition to the children of the collateral branches who were baptized with me—the armorer's son and the general store's daughter. Those are the ones I mentioned earlier, the ones I want to raise early. And especially—I want to invite the parents of those two commoner households to my birthday as well."
"That gathering is a social occasion for nobles. Best leave the commoners out."
"That will not do. If you insist, then at least permit me to summon them separately to my rooms."
The baron studied Roy through narrowed eyes.
"Why? The children I can understand—but why on earth do you want the parents there?"
"I will tell you the reason when I examine Triumph. Or rather—you will come to understand it naturally."
"……"
A short while later, Roy left the baron's study.
Both the guest list for the birthday party and the list of children to be brought into the manor for lessons had been deferred for ten days. But that was no great problem. Neither matter was urgent; he could take his time and begin by winning the baron's heart.
If I want to truly astonish the baron, I will need to raise the quality of the mana solution first…
Impressing the baron was important—but more than that, enchanting a legendary sword was something he had not done in a very long time. He could not afford to waste this opportunity on anything mediocre.
After all, who was he?
In his previous life he had been the greatest—and the only—enchanter of the empire.
His mana reserves had been too meager for him to stand out as a mage, but this field was another matter entirely. It was Roy's original specialty, the craft that was uniquely his.