Soaring Wolves (1)
A few days later, the mansion was bustling from early morning.
The maid Misha filled a bucket with water and made her way toward the main house cellar.
It had been a very long time since she last went down to the underground storeroom—not since she had scrubbed away those gruesome bloodstains two years ago.
"I've brought the water."
"Leave it there, then go back up and fetch the men. Tell them it's the baron's order to haul all of this out and throw it away."
"Yes, ma'am."
Several other maids were already hard at work cleaning below. The baron's command had been clear: make the place so spotless that they need not be ashamed to receive a guest there.
There was only one reason for it.
Roy had asked that the cellar be given over to him as his laboratory.
The maids knew nothing of that. They simply obeyed the orders that came from above.
At first the baron had opposed Roy's request to turn the cellar into a laboratory.
That it had once held corpses was one reason, but the greater one was the hidden chamber. The concealed stone door opened only in response to the bloodline, and he had fretted that Roy might touch it by chance and expose the family's secret.
Of course, without the use of mana even a blood relative would provoke no reaction—but Roy had said he intended to practice enchantment magic there. Chance was a fearsome thing.
Yet the Dragon's Breath was already gone, and the baron still suspected that whoever had stolen it was still alive. If the secret had already reached someone outside the family, what further reason was there to keep it hidden?
That was how the baron reasoned.
Of course, the decisive factor was that Roy's persuasion had convinced him.
First: the place had originally stored arms and armor, so there was nowhere more suitable within the mansion for Roy to keep the weapons he would enchant—or those he had already finished. He could have completed them elsewhere and brought them in, but walking about the house carrying weapons would hardly look proper.
Second: for the sake of security, a place that could stay out of people's sight was best. In that sense the underground storeroom was ideal. Solid stone on every side, no windows, and only a single entrance made controlling who came and went extremely easy.
Third: the passage down to the cellar opened from the very center of the main house. At a glance that seemed a serious problem—everyone would see who went below. But that was precisely the advantage. From outside one could observe every visitor. If only those the baron permitted were allowed down, the household staff would naturally become excellent watchers.
For Roy, who had much to hide, that last point was less than ideal—but as a means of persuading the baron it was not bad at all. Roy had originally asked for a separate laboratory outside the mansion; from the baron's perspective it was far more reassuring to keep the boy within his own grasp, and so in the end he had no choice but to grant him the cellar.
Following her seniors' orders, Misha climbed the stairs again to summon the men who would move the old weapons.
When she reached the central parlor on the first floor of the main house, someone called her name.
"Misha."
It was none other than Roy.
"Y-Young Master."
"Why are you stuttering? And it seems as if you've been avoiding me lately."
"I-I would never do such a thing."
"Is that so? Never mind, then. Carry on."
Roy walked straight past her. Misha's face flushed scarlet in an instant.
Hngh...
There was a particular reason Misha had been dodging the boy of late.
Roy kept summoning her to his room. And whenever she entered that room, she always ended up seeing blood.
It went like this.
"Misha. Just bear with it a little."
"Ah... yes?"
"I won't hurt you. It'll only sting for a moment."
"Yes...?"
"And this has to stay an absolute secret, understand?"
Comfortable enough with her now, Roy used casual speech only with Misha among all the servants. She had been called to his room without any idea why, ordered to hold out one hand and not move. Then he had drawn a sharp blade across the back of that hand.
"Eek!"
"It's all right, it's all right."
Misha could not even bring herself to say it hurt; she only teared up.
"Young Master Roy... why are you doing this to me..."
"Stop making a fuss and just wait. Leave everything to me and put your mind at ease."
While she stood quietly waiting, the boy held her hand, closed both eyes, and remained like that for a long time. Roy was still only a young master who had just completed his baptism, yet the face he wore with his eyes so calmly shut held a strange allure beyond description.
He had given her gifts and treated her especially well, so she had been fond of him—but she had never dreamed he would torment her like this. Just like Young Master Jerry's little brother after all... she was thinking, blood will tell—when suddenly a mysterious ring of light appeared and a small blessing settled over the hand the boy held. The wound that had been bleeding only moments before, and the pain with it, vanished as if they had never been.
"Huh? What? This is..."
"It's magic from the northern continent that I just learned from Master Geren. You're not to breathe a word of it to anyone. If you do, next time I'll cut off Misha's right arm and see whether it will reattach."
Roy had meant it as a joke, but Misha took him at his word and was thoroughly frightened. The boy she had watched all this time was not the sort to take back anything he had once said—aside from certain jokes. She nodded vigorously.
"Don't worry... I'll never tell a soul."
In truth Roy had known since two years ago, when he asked her to keep watch at the cabin, that Misha could keep her mouth shut. That was why he had used her to test holy-attribute magic. But if she realized he was merely mimicking the prayers of the temple, even a girl who knew little of magic would likely grow suspicious. So he had performed the experiment with Silent Casting and lied that it was northern magic learned from Geren.
Still—it actually works?
When the high priest of the temple had suddenly come looking for him at the mansion, Roy had wondered what on earth the man wanted. I can even use holy magic... what exactly is this body?
The priest's report that some of the mana drawn at the recent baptism had contained a holy attribute had startled even Roy, reincarnated memories and all. Holy magic was the complete opposite of every other elemental school—more extreme for a mage than fire and ice. So this is what they mean by talent.
He accepted it soon enough, and felt deep satisfaction at having been born gifted this time, unlike his previous life. After all the hardship of that existence, it almost seemed a god's mercy that this one should be easier. Maybe it's because the baptism was so recent... to think the day would come when I'd praise the gods.
"Um... Young Master Roy?"
"Ah! Let me say it again—I trust you, Misha. You're one of the very few people in this mansion I trust most. Right?"
Seeing the boy flash a bright, open smile that showed his teeth, Misha had no idea what to do. Her gaze wandered helplessly. But that was only the first time. After the same thing had been repeated three times, she had no choice but to do her best to stay out of Roy's sight. There was no telling what experiment he would try on her next.
"Whew. Looks like he isn't going to call me to his room today."
Finally relieved, Misha went off to fetch the men as her seniors had ordered.
A few days later, visitors arrived at the mansion.
They were the families of the weapons-shop and general-goods store that Roy had asked to be summoned. They had been called without explanation and were thoroughly flustered. They knew it was thanks to their children, who had been baptized alongside Roy, but they had expected any invitation would wait until his birthday; this was far too sudden.
"We present ourselves before the lord."
"Welcome, all of you."
What Roy had wanted was simply to meet the shopkeepers themselves—yet the throng that poured in startled the baron and Roy more than anyone.
"The rest of you may enjoy some refreshments here. We will speak separately. You two, come with me."
When the baron suddenly ushered only the shopkeepers into his study, the two men grew very uneasy. They wondered whether they had committed some offense. But seeing Roy enter with them put them somewhat at ease, and the conversation proceeded.
"There. I've done as you asked."
"Thank you."
"You don't mind if I remain and watch?"
"Of course not."
Before the baron's eyes, Roy opened the discussion with the shopkeepers.
"I've called you here for no other reason than to make a business proposal to the two of you."
Hearing such words from the lord's son—a boy the same age as their late-born children—astonished both merchants. But Roy had not yet spoken the part that would truly stun them.
"Do either of you happen to remember the enchanted daggers that appeared two years ago and then vanished?"
"Yes. I bought them myself and resold them, so I remember them well."
That was the answer of Cokes, whose family had run a weapons shop for generations. Roy went straight to the point.
"I'm curious why, even though those daggers looked so shabby, you went so far as to make leather sheaths for them before selling. Whose idea was that?"
Cokes wanted to ask how the boy knew such a thing, but he was in no position to; he answered the question quietly.
"It was my own thought. Not out of greed—simply the natural idea that came to mind if one wished to leave the greatest profit. Magical weapons are rare treasures one usually finds only in ancient dungeons; you cannot judge them by appearance alone. Reality, however, is less kind. People pay for style as much as for performance. If there is any way to soften even a little the disadvantage of a poor exterior, of course one should take it. And given how sharp those daggers were, the practical need for sheaths was there as well."
"And so you made an excessive profit."
"I do not consider it excessive at all. If those daggers were sold today, their scarcity alone would fetch twice the price."
"Is that so? Then you were foolish and took a loss at the time."
"Exactly. Looking back, I feel thoroughly ashamed of myself for never thinking to learn who the seller was and merely waiting for him to return."
Roy judged the man before him to be reasonably honest.
"What would you do if you could receive a steady supply of those weapons?"
"Pardon? ... Ah—of course I would sell them for the highest price I could get."
"If the supply were stable the scarcity value would fall. How would you set the price then?"
"I do not set prices as I please. The market does. If demand is high they rise; if not, they fall. Right now there is no supply at all, only rumors, so the price is climbing without a ceiling. And lately monsters have been appearing all over the territory..."
Cokes trailed off, glancing at the baron. He still could not understand why he was explaining such things to the lord's son.
"It seems acceptable enough."
That was Roy speaking to the baron.
"Indeed. I see no great problem either. Go and fetch Geren."
"Yes, Father."
Roy went out at once to call Geren. A short while later Geren appeared before them as the maker of those very weapons, and what followed was not Roy's business presentation but Geren's.