Dreaming Again (2)
"Mana fills this world, even if the eye cannot see it. It would hardly be an exaggeration to say the world itself is made of mana. Every breath you draw, the air you take in — people, animals, plants, even these walls — all of them hold mana within."
"I know. I've read it in books."
"Yes. But weeds and stones cannot cast magic."
What is this man even trying to get at, dragging it out like this?
Roy had no choice but to nod with careful diligence at every word the Baron spoke.
"That is because the concentration of mana differs. As for what concentration means..."
The Baron started to elaborate, then saw Roy nod and dropped the explanation.
From that moment on, the Baron's words came faster. He had decided Roy's comprehension far exceeded what he had expected.
What followed was essentially that places where mana gathered existed all across the world — something Roy already knew.
"In such places, monsters may flock together and form a dungeon, or it may become a paradise for beasts and plants. I've also heard that in some of them the boundary between dimensions thins, and spirits or mystical beasts are found."
"Is that where Dragon's Breath is formed?"
The Baron nodded slowly.
"I have never seen it myself, but it sounds plausible enough. Still, not just anyone can find such a place, and approaching one is harder still. Whether a deep dungeon or a spirit's dwelling, discovering it is no guarantee that Dragon's Breath will form there."
"It must be terribly expensive and rare, then."
"Far rarer and more precious than you can imagine. There have even been wars between nations over it. Which is precisely why you are still too young to know of such things."
"......"
Roy stared straight into the Baron's eyes.
There's still something he's hiding.
The Baron's meaning was clear enough: Dragon's Breath formed only by chance in dangerous places, its value was beyond imagination, and Roy should put any foolish notions out of his head.
But Roy's thoughts ran differently.
In Geren's stories, there had been commoners who drank it by chance and gained mana that surpassed the nobility. That did not line up with the Baron's account.
Which means there's some other way to obtain it...
The Baron, looking into Roy's eyes, swallowed a deep sigh. There was a truth he could not yet bring himself to speak to a child who had barely turned five.
That Dragon's Breath lay in the underground vault of this very baronial house.
And that only the next Baron of the line was permitted to drink it.
How old is Eric this year again?
Eric was the name of the Greenhilt family's eldest son. He was fourteen this year — nearly old enough for his coming-of-age ceremony next year. The second son, Jerry Greenhilt, was twelve. By the time Roy reached adulthood, both brothers would be well past twenty.
No matter how brilliant the boy might be, the Baron could not throw a five-year-old youngest son into a contest for the succession against his older brothers.
Better he never knows at all.
At present, only three people in the family knew of the Dragon's Breath: the Baron himself as head of the house, his father who had held the title before him, and the elder brother who had once lost the succession struggle to him and been driven out.
Brother's greed ran too deep.
Competition for the glory of the house could be allowed — but tragedy must be prevented. The Baron renewed the vow in his heart.
He would reveal the Breath only to the next head of the house.
"Um... Father."
Roy opened his tightly shut mouth again, speaking to the man still locked in silent resolve. The Baron felt an unbidden pang of guilt toward his youngest. He held exactly what his son wanted in his own hands, yet could not tell him — and had never even considered including the boy in the race for it.
"Yes. What else do you want to know?"
"Um... Father, have you ever drunk Dragon's Breath yourself?"
"What!?"
The sudden question left the Baron unable to hide his flash of panic.
There it is.
Seeing the Baron's face, Roy cheered inwardly. He had to take care that no smile touched his expression.
If even the Baron could get his hands on it, then it isn't impossible for me. Money? Power? Whatever it takes — I will claim it. I swear it.
"What a strange thing to ask, Roy. It's late. Get some rest."
"Yes, Father."
Once Cliv Greenhilt, Baron of the Greenhilt lands, had left the room completely, Roy pulled the blanket over his head lest any sound leak out — and celebrated at the top of his lungs.
"Yes! At last... at last, my wish—!"
There were precious things money alone could not buy. But money, in sufficient quantity, could move people and power just as readily. And when it came to making money, Roy was confident.
If the Baron had found and drunk it, that meant wealth and authority on the Baron's level could secure it.
Whatever he paid, I can earn ten times that amount.
Roy began laying his plans at once. It was impossible for now — but the moment he was old enough to go out on his own, he could put them into motion. He had done it before in another life. Skipping the trial and error would only make it faster.
Money is one thing, but first I need someone I can trust — someone I can set free to act as I need.
From that day forward, the maids' opinion of Roy turned on its head: from the small, quiet, introverted genius of a young master to a talkative little lord who loved to play and chatter.
As Roy understood it, children in the Greenhilt barony — and throughout this kingdom — received a baptism at the temple when they turned seven. And to a lord's child who had been baptized, a personal attendant was assigned: a step out from under a nursemaid's care, and into the standing of a proper noble in their own right.
In the early years those attendants mostly ran small errands; later they grew into something closer to a professional steward. They were, in their own way, carefully chosen talent. And if the master they served became the next head of the house? Custom held that the attendant rose with them to become the family's chief steward.
For that reason the Greenhilt family had, generation after generation, preferred to fill the post not with commoners but with those of noble blood — however thin the name. The first choice was a distant collateral branch sharing the family's blood, a third or fourth child; failing that, a carefully screened lesser noble.
One might wonder who would willingly serve as another noble's attendant after being born noble themselves — yet the chance to enter a lord's household made the competition fierce enough. In the Greenhilt house, for example, the chief steward could act in the Baron's stead during his absence and command the rest of the staff. The authority was immense. Not just anyone could hold the post, and not just anyone was chosen.
"Roy. I've heard you've been going around talking to everyone lately."
"Yes, Father. There was a great deal I was curious about."
The Baron already knew, but he wanted to hear the answer from Roy himself. It was not a test for lies.
"So. Why have you come here? You haven't been taking books from my study much of late."
Roy's visits to the study had dropped off sharply. Meanwhile the Baron had been hearing reports that the boy was even striking up conversations with the maids at their laundry — and finding it all rather odd.
"Very well. What have you been asking—"
"Father. I have a request."
Their words overlapped. Roy pretended not to have heard the Baron's question; the Baron, for his part, grew intensely curious about the first demand his youngest son had ever made of him.
"All right. What is it?"
"Please assign me an attendant."
"What?"
"An attendant. I was told one is assigned at seven. But I already have a private tutor who is to begin when I turn seven, so..."
The Baron almost contradicted him at once, then held his tongue.
I can hardly explain the affairs of adults to a five-year-old.
"Very well. Let me hear your reason. Your nursemaid still sees to everything you need. So why?"
"I am not a baby anymore."
The Baron barely managed to choke down the laugh that tried to burst out. In his eyes his son looked thoroughly endearing. For some time now the boy had been showing sides of himself no one had ever seen, which had been a little worrying — but this, at least, was pure childhood, and it put him at ease.
Still, as head of the house and as lord of the territory, he could not simply show that fondness openly.
"Ahem. Yes. I understand that you are no longer a baby. But you are still five years old. Your elder brothers both received attendants only after turning seven, and Anna is older than you and still has none. What reason do I have to grant you special treatment alone?"
It's going to happen eventually — would it kill him to give it a little early?
Roy was irritated inside, but he had no choice except to coax if he wanted the Baron's permission. He could have laid out his grand design and asked for leave to pursue it — but he did not. If he revealed the full extent of his abilities now, the future might be set on a course he did not want at all.
So he had thought of something else.
"I have heard that the territory's finances are tight of late."
"What?"
He had already finished gathering information through his talks with the maids.
"I also know that you paid a great deal for Anna's education and mine."
The Baron's face turned sharply bitter.
"You know it very well, then. And knowing all that, you still come to me demanding an attendant?"
"Yes. Because my request will not cost a single coin."
"And why is that? Do you understand how much expense and time go into selecting even one attendant?"
Roy answered with a bright, sunny smile.
"I heard that Brother Jerry's attendant was replaced not long ago. And I understand the one who was replaced has not yet been dismissed. That person will do for me."