The Baron's Gift (2)
The banquet that followed the gift presentation unfolded in a thoroughly warm and congenial atmosphere.
Though today was indeed Roy's birthday, the true reason for arranging such a gathering—its essential purpose—lay a little elsewhere.
It was a pretext for the lord to display his influence while drawing together those nobles who wished to grow closer to him.
In other words, there was no further need for Roy to do anything particular here.
No one is going to try flattering or intimidating a seven-year-old, after all.
The only remaining formality, if it could be called that, was to show a small performance before the assembled nobles.
In the spring, Anna gave everyone quite a surprise.
Another way of looking at a "performance" was as a demonstration of skill.
That is, a chance to display one's abilities before the nobility.
Anna had dazzled them that day with astonishing magic and swordsmanship, and for a time her name had circulated frequently among the nearby houses.
But now all of that talk had vanished.
After all, when her younger brother—one year her junior—was said to have felled a massive ogre, who would keep talking about the sister?
As most of the nobles were finishing their meals, the baron approached Roy.
"Roy!"
"Yes?"
The baron's voice boomed with deliberate volume. He was speaking so that the other nobles could hear every word.
"The distinguished guests who have taken the trouble to come and celebrate your birthday have heard the tale of how you brought down an ogre, and they wish to see your skill for themselves. What do you say?"
"I was fortunate when I defeated the ogre. But for the many who have come on my behalf, I shall demonstrate the magic I have learned—however unpolished it may still be."
"Very well. Prepare yourself and come out to the training ground."
"Yes."
It had all been arranged beforehand. Other noble houses did the same, and Anna had done exactly this in the spring.
Roy had been too young to attend Anna's birthday banquet, but he had heard the full account from many mouths and knew the procedure by heart.
Yet as though he had been waiting for precisely this moment, the man named Benjamin spoke up, a thin smile curling his lips.
"If we are going to do that, why not make it more interesting? My son James is here as well. Let the two boys compete. There is a difference in age, of course, but even my own son could never hope to face a vicious monster like an ogre. I would like him to learn how wide the world truly is. What do you say, Sir Clive?"
The man's tone, too, was aimed less at the baron than at the listening nobles.
If a mere seven-year-old had truly slain an ogre, there would be no backing down now.
A number of those who found Benjamin's words persuasive turned sharp eyes upon the baron.
There is an innate difference in mana talent, so how can he...?
Though they dared not intervene, the collateral lines of House Greenhilt and the lesser nobles of the territory all regarded Benjamin's conduct with open distaste.
It was blatant, malicious bullying, plain for anyone to see.
But the wolves who had attended this gathering thought differently.
Roy's skill was genuine—and not merely a matter of vast mana reserves. He responded to time and place with an array of elemental magics so varied and apt that none could match him.
However formidable the Margrave's bloodline might prove, the idea that Roy could lose to a child of similar age was simply unimaginable to them.
Under every gaze, the baron left the decision to his son.
"What will you do?"
"I have no objection. Even if I lose, I will only blame my own lack of skill."
To the onlookers, both the baron who entrusted such a choice to so young a son and the boy who accepted the challenge so boldly were startling sights.
"Haha! So the tale of the ogre was no empty rumor after all. Is this not something to look forward to?"
Those who met Benjamin's eyes hurriedly chimed in.
"Indeed it is. Thanks to you, my lord, we shall enjoy a fine spectacle."
"I am eager as well. I have long heard that young Master James was born with a gift for magic. How very exciting. Hahaha."
And so the greatest attraction of the evening was arranged.
Roy and James finished their preparations and soon appeared at the center of the training ground.
Standing upon the training ground were two boys and one man: Roy, James, and Geren.
Geren's presence had been a separate request of the nobles. As a man whose name had recently been rising in renown, they believed he would judge with impartiality.
Even if he was Roy's teacher, they reasoned, he would never tarnish his own reputation by taking sides in such a setting. And if he did, the nobles would simply gain another amusing story—either outcome suited them.
The banquet hall lay on the third floor of the main building, so most of the spectators watched the training ground from the windows above. A few had come down with wine glasses in hand, though they stayed close to the building rather than entering the ground itself.
It was a magical contest; too near an approach might interfere.
"Then allow me to explain the rules!"
The format was this: one would demonstrate a single spell, after which the other would present a different one. They would take turns displaying distinct magics until one could no longer produce a new spell and thus lost.
After all, no one intended to set the boys to battering each other with dangerous magic. The goal was not to kill anyone.
Geren first demonstrated an ice spell himself—another request from the audience.
It established a baseline: only magic of higher completion than what he had shown would be counted.
"Very well, begin. You may chant simultaneously if you wish; otherwise this will take far too long."
Roy yielded the first move to James. He needed only to hear the opening words of the chant to choose a different spell.
One after another the boys' magics were revealed, and the spectators' cheers rose in varied tones. Whenever Roy cast ice magic, praise for Geren circulated freely.
"With such an outstanding teacher, of course the boy can use such fine frost spells at so tender an age."
"I hear that when Lady Sissel—the baron's second wife—gives birth, he is to serve as that child's teacher as well."
"Ah, then bringing him into our household will be difficult."
All watched the training ground, tongues clicking in admiration at both boys' skill.
Yet two people found the sight deeply displeasing: Benjamin Biswald and his wife.
The couple conversed as they observed Roy and their son.
"Astonishing. He has already passed twenty spells. Do you truly believe a child that age can memorize so many?"
"Indeed. He is quite the remarkable boy. Looking at James's face, he already seems to sense defeat. Poor thing."
"That is not all. How can so young a child possess such vast mana...? Is that boy truly the baron's son?"
"Sissel assures me there is no doubt. The resemblance is clear. Though she did mention he once suffered a mutant seizure as a small child."
"Tsk. It seems I shall have to revise the entire plan."
Benjamin drained the wine in his hand in several long gulps and hurried down to the first floor.
Roy was greatly surprised by James.
At so young an age the boy's mana reserves were immense. The sheer number of spells he could cast was equally impressive.
We have already passed thirty... Bloodline really does make the difference, does it?
He was torn. Should he quietly concede here? The baron had urged caution, after all.
Defeating a child of the Margrave's blood would surely enrage both the boy and Benjamin himself.
At first Roy had worried the other boy might pick a fight. Yet after observing him for three days, he found James was not an ill-mannered child at all.
It was so unexpected I was surprised in the opposite direction.
Even so, simply admitting defeat in this moment felt awkward. The story of the ogre might be overturned overnight and branded a lie—which would stain both his own honor and the baron's.
Roy glanced sideways at Geren, sending a look that said, It would be nice if we could stop at a draw, but it made no impression whatsoever.
Then a sudden murmur rose among the spectators. Roy hurriedly turned back to James.
The boy stood pale and silent where he was. It did not look like mana exhaustion; rather, no further spell came to mind.
Pride kept him from declaring defeat, yet the awkward, frozen posture looked so pitiful it was almost pitiable.
"Ah... I—I cannot recall any more magic."
Every eye rounded and shifted toward Roy.
The first to concede had been seven-year-old Roy.
The wolves among the audience were especially startled. He had not even shown the magic that felled the ogre or the spell that had burned a tree to cinders—and yet he claimed to remember no more?
That was an obvious lie, and their tongues itched with the urge to say so.
Next to be stunned was the despondent James himself. He had already felt the certainty of his own defeat; when Roy suddenly surrendered first, the boy was left speechless.
Honestly, he was grateful. Under the eyes of so many nobles he had been on the brink of utter humiliation, and the worst had been averted.
Of course it wounded his pride to lose with the magic he had trusted, yet gratitude remained gratitude.
"I, too, can recall no further magic."
"Then let us call this contest a draw. Haha! Everyone—a great round of applause for these two gifted boys!"
Under Geren's somewhat clumsy mediation, the spectators clapped quietly.
In truth, everyone knew. They knew who had truly lost, and that Roy had halted mid-chant.
Yet no one present intended to press the point. Their opponent was of the Margrave's bloodline. Not a single person here possessed greater mana than Benjamin Biswald. Why stir up unnecessary trouble?
At that moment the rear door of the main building opened and a figure emerged.
It was none other than Benjamin.
"Well, well. Remarkable indeed. The claim that he felled an ogre at that age was no empty boast. Still, a draw feels a little unsatisfying when so many are watching. Since we have come this far, why not have them compete in swordsmanship as well?"
His words hung in the air. For a long moment, no one responded.