Terms of the Deal (6)
No matter how brilliantly the boy outstripped common sense, the mere mention that seven-year-old Roy meant to draw a sword sent everyone watching into sudden, sharp tension.
Nothing came of it. The blade was simply laid at the center of the magic circle, and that was all.
What a magnificent sword. Centuries since it was forged, and still in this condition…
Roy smacked his lips with open longing, then took the item Marek had brought at his request.
A clear glass vial of mana solution. Not the cloudy brew he had made before, yet still just shy of intermediate grade—frustratingly so. Even so, it was the finest solution he could produce under his present circumstances.
Starting from the edge of the blade and working down to the hilt and the tip, Roy coated every surface of the sword with the mana solution.
The baron had a mountain of questions he wanted to fire off at once, but for the moment he held his tongue and simply watched. A promise was a promise. His expression, however, made it brutally clear that if the sword came to any harm, there would be no forgiveness.
"Hoo…"
"Don't tell me that's all?"
"No, Father. From this point on, please don't interrupt me. I need to concentrate. You'll only get to see this once."
Every gaze locked onto him again.
Roy began to chant. It was not the spell that summoned a magic pen. That magic, at least, was something he could never reveal—even to the baron. Which was why he had prepared a pre-drawn magic circle in advance.
As his chant stretched on, the solution that had dripped onto the parchment beneath the sword began to glow. It stirred like living slime, flooding the entire magic circle on the floor. Then, as though something were drawing it in, the solution was absorbed along the outer ring of the circle.
"Ohh…"
"Shh. Did you not hear him say to be quiet?"
"…"
The three men held their breath, watching the small boy kneeling on the floor as he worked his magic.
In no time the solution had vanished without a trace. In the blink of an eye, the intricate magic circle drawn on the parchment rose into the air as pure light, spinning wildly—then shrank in a sudden flash and was sucked into the center of the blade.
A high, ringing keeng echoed through every mind present.
"Hoo… First stage successful. Next…"
Marek kept his mouth shut, eyes gone wide as saucers, while Geren and the baron stood with their jaws hanging open.
"This is where it really starts."
Roy paid no attention to the stares around him. Every scrap of his focus was fixed on the enchantment already underway. This was nothing like reinforcing a dagger. What he was attempting now was no child's play—it was genuine weapon-enhancement magic in full.
Improved mana sensitivity. Automatic restoration upon breakage. Enhanced durability of performance. Weatherproofing. Damage resistance. Lightening. External mana shielding…
The unbroken cascade of spells left the three watching men past mere astonishment; they looked as if they were witnessing something beyond the natural order of the world.
"And finally… encryption!"
At Roy's last chant, the countless magic circles and runes that had been drawn into the sword burst free again, intertwining in midair in dizzying complexity—then, as if nothing had ever happened, slipped back into the blade and vanished.
"Wh… what in the world did you just do?"
"Well now. I'm impressed, young master. Is this the magic sword you spoke of?"
"Magic sword?"
"Ah—did His Lordship not know? Young master Roy said he would demonstrate enchanting a weapon today… He told me as much, at least."
The baron turned to Roy, who was braced on both hands against the floor, catching his breath.
"You answer."
"That's right. I just finished applying reinforcement magic to your sword, Father—to Triumph. Be careful with it until you get used to the feel. This blade is rather sharp now."
Roy smiled with complete, unabashed confidence.
The baron studied that face for a moment, then picked up his beloved sword from the now-blank parchment where the magic circle had once been drawn.
"I have used this sword for a full fifteen years, and you tell me I will cut myself with it?!"
"But you've never handled a reinforced blade before."
"So this is what you meant to show me today? That you could reinforce it?"
Roy puffed out his chest with pride.
"Exactly. The edge should be razor-keen by now. Why not head straight to the training grounds and try it on a practice dummy?"
"The sun has already set."
"That doesn't matter. I'll cast Lighting magic beside you."
"Hmm…"
The baron stared hard at the edge of the blade for a long moment.
"Fine. Let's go."
"Feels lighter than before, somehow."
"Not only the weight—the strength of the blade itself should have increased dramatically. And—"
"Enough. I'll know once I use it myself."
In the early-evening training grounds, lit bright by Roy's Lighting magic, the baron drew the sword.
"Hah!"
He settled into his stance, stepped forward, and at the same instant cut a long diagonal stroke through the air. Only several seconds after the blade had passed did the practice dummy, cleanly severed in two, topple sideways.
"Hoh… Remarkable."
"That isn't even the half of it."
"No. I've seen enough already."
Roy bristled.
This man—there's still more!
"Please, channel mana into the sword."
It was no great task. At Roy's earnest urging, the baron sent mana flowing into the weapon in his hand. Almost at once the entire blade flushed a deep, vivid red.
"Th-this is…"
The faces of everyone watching filled with greater shock than at any moment so far. Roy, by contrast, was beaming.
It's far too early to be this astonished. I haven't even unveiled the real business proposal yet.
Time, place, wielder, and target might all change the outcome, but when it came to the raw power of a single strike, nothing in the world could match magic.
And yet people still used swords, spears, and bows—even high nobles with vast reserves of mana, even knights of royal blood.
The greatest reason was simple: casting magic demanded intense concentration and the time to recite a spell. A sword needed only to be drawn and swung. True mastery required years of brutal training, of course—but the same was true of magic.
Mana was not reserved for magic alone. It could quicken the body or unleash strength far beyond ordinary limits. And once a warrior reached a certain height, wrapping a weapon in mana produced an effect much like reinforcing one's own flesh.
In a broader sense, what I just did—enchanting a weapon with magic—belongs to the same family of techniques.
Roy had asked the baron to channel mana into the sword because the magic he had laid upon it amplified its effects by feeding on mana. There was no need to flood the entire blade just now; there was no enemy standing before them.
But the baron, a man who had lived by the sword for years, did exactly what came naturally—he sheathed the whole blade in mana. Any other knight would have done the same. Only Roy, who had never properly trained in martial arts in this life or the last, failed to predict it.
"Mmm…"
As the baron covered the sword in mana, the red light that had bloomed along the edge flared wider, as if in fury. Spectators who had drifted over for a look at the training grounds swallowed hard and grew tense.
Roy spoke up.
"Concentrating mana that heavily is genuinely dangerous."
"Too much? At this level?"
"Ordinarily, perhaps not—but right now the sword is reinforced by the magic I placed on it. Your strikes may reach farther than you expect. The power goes without saying."
The baron brought the blazing red blade up before his face and studied it closely. He did not look as though he could make sense of what he saw.
Similar to aura, yet somehow different.
He could only regard it with quiet wonder.
"Everyone, fall back behind me. I intend to test this properly."
Geren and Marek moved at once to stand in front of Roy. Both men knew precisely who their first duty was to protect. Roy, however, was less than pleased.
"Excuse me—I can't see, Teacher."
"Ah. Forgive me."
Meanwhile the baron approached one of the still-intact practice dummies. He showed no intention of holding back. Before he was a lord, he was a man with a sword in his hand.
He took the same stance he had used when he swung without mana—only this time he stood roughly a full step farther away. From that distance, no stretch of the arm would ever bring the blade into contact with the dummy.
But… it will reach.
The sword cut through the air. Just as before, the dummy fell in two clean halves.
While everyone stared in astonishment, the baron suddenly turned and strode off—not toward another dummy, but toward the stone wall that enclosed the manor grounds beyond them.
"Cutting straw dummies that offer no resistance tells me nothing," he muttered, settling into his stance once more before the wall.
Surely not…
The baron's sword swung again. Along the path of the blade, the wall split cleanly open. No cracks spidered out from the cut; only the precise line the sword had traveled was sliced through, long and deep.
For a long moment, no one spoke—not the watchers, and not the baron himself.
The sword itself was unmarked.