Chapter 109
Chapter 109
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 109
Chapter Title: Mutual Understanding
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Wesley sat with her legs crossed, gazing up at the ceiling.
Hundreds of spirits floated about the lofty dome, emitting light. Blending with the dim surroundings, it felt like peering into a miniature universe. She toyed with her long nails before calling for her aide.
“Bareto.”
“Yes, Lady Wesley.”
“Why don’t you clear away those reports?”
Even at her words, the aide stood unmoving with the documents in hand. Instead, he approached with an expression as if he’d heard an amusing joke.
“Weren’t you waiting for them?”
On the surface, it was a report on inviting necromancers from various nations to conduct academic experiments. Necromancy-advanced countries weren’t on good terms, so it included the intent to create a venue for peaceful negotiations.
“The necromancers are a riot, too. Back home, they’re dying to kill each other, but once gathered, the research results keep pouring in.”
“It’s the great Bariel Empire. They know trouble would brew if they caused a scene at the venue of peace.”
Wesley muttered indifferently as she skimmed through the report.
“Besides, aren’t they the ones who’ve sold their souls for academic pursuits? They must be having a grand time among themselves.”
She tapped the report’s title with her finger. It was the research section themed [Limits of Necromancy]. Results of necromancy on plants, dead beasts, and even live beasts were densely documented. Spanning hundreds of pages.
The aide, who had been watching quietly, added an explanation.
“Necromancy varies distinctly by race, so if cooperation goes well, it could birth a whole new level of power. Doesn’t seem like it’ll take long—shall we submit an official report to the Grand Council?”
“Do it. The old folks must be getting curious by now.”
It was, after all, an official project run by the Magic Department. Once Wesley stamped her seal of approval, another set of documents was placed on the desk.
“And additionally, results from research on the living.”
Rustle.
This was top-secret even within the Magic Department. It was Wesley’s personal matter, as the head. She set the seal aside and reverently turned the pages one by one. Disappointment rose in Wesley’s eyes as she swiftly scanned the text.
Thwack!
“How is it no different from years ago?”
“My apologies. The difference between dead and living is clear, but they say the ritual distorts the moment the spell is cast.”
“Aren’t we pouring money into pinpointing that exact issue?”
As Wesley irritably tossed the report aside, the aide cautiously suggested. Rather than pouring water into a leaky jar, maybe replace the jar itself.
“Lady Wesley, how about delving deeper into mind control magic instead of necromancy? No matter that he’s Second Prince Gail, he wouldn’t have received the full Imperial Palace Blessing. Being the son of a concubine, not the queen.”
“Bareto! Realize what you just said.”
The Imperial Palace Blessing. It was an unknown power originating from Bariel’s founding myth. Recorded in the creation legend, and those who’d witnessed its effects were documented in history.
‘Those who inherit the imperial glory are immune to mind control by magic.’
A blessing from the gods to prevent the nation’s fate from being swayed by magical trickery. Though “imperial glory” allowed for interpretations, most took it to mean the emperor and imperial family.
“And do you not know Gail?”
“My apologies.”
Wesley knew. Though lovers with Gail, their hearts were vastly different in size. She felt it painfully clear that Gail didn’t hold her in the same regard as she did him—trusting, following, loving.
Her sharp intuition had once whispered:
‘If Gail ascends the throne, will he really marry me?’
“He’s meticulous enough not to remove the Mana Sealing Stone even in the bedroom. He’s surely erected some other shield against mind control magic.”
Not just Gail, but Prince Marib and even the ailing emperor would be immune to mind control magic.
That’s why she’d sought detours, eventually reaching necromancy. So similar to mind control, yet perhaps more suited to a blind, absolute bond.
“Anyway, enough nonsense. Squeeze the necromancers harder. The ceremony’s almost here, and there’s not a shred of progress.”
“I shall correct myself.”
“If I threaten to cut their funding, they’d shape up and work harder. Tsk. Pathetic lot.”
Wesley pulled out a mana cigarette to soothe her frustration. The spirits drifting along the ceiling approached, conjuring a small flame.
“Exhale.”
She gently stroked a spirit in thanks, then turned her head. She found herself ridiculous for going to such lengths to hold onto Gail, and hated him to death for making her this way.
“Where’s Gail?”
“Shall I contact him?”
“…No. Forget it.”
If she didn’t reach out first, his calls grew exceedingly rare. Wesley tapped ash into the ashtray and roughly flipped through the remaining reports.
“By the way, this Ian fellow.”
“Yes, Lady Wesley.”
“He’ll arrive at the capital soon, right?”
“With the New Year’s gathering confirmed, yes.”
“To come from Bratz to here, doesn’t he pass through Karenna territory?”
Karenna. Where Astana’s kin, who’d rejected her experiment proposal and fled, had hidden. Necromancers inherently had dark, insidious sides, so most had gladly accepted her offer and continued research to this day. But not them—they opposed to the end.
So, she’d made sure they couldn’t return home.
“King Astana’s pathetic, too. Believing the exile tale at face value.”
“There was a massive earthquake then, so they likely had no spare attention.”
Wesley chewed her mana cigarette, recalling years past. The memory had faded, but the uproar lingered.
‘Gail’s so quick on the uptake. He’d suspect if he heard we’re researching on live subjects.’
So what choice was there?
Kill them. Silence them forever in death, handle it so no secrets leaked. The aide roused his lost-in-thought superior and piled on more documents.
“Lady Wesley. Next report.”
“Ahh. Really, you’re ruining the taste of my mana cigarette.”
“No helping it. With the New Year’s gathering approaching, there’s much to approve. This is on truth serum, and this is the Magic Department’s internal meeting report on Ian.”
“Did they say where they want to pull him in?”
“Everyone seemed reluctant.”
“Of course. It’s obvious he’s Prince Marib’s puppet.”
The Magic Department housed numerous subdivisions. First priority was testing if Ian was truly a mana user, but...
“Still, prepare to accept a new recruit. God knows how long it’s been.”
Wesley chuckled self-mockingly as she closed the documents. At the same time, the spirits flying about the ceiling dimmed their light and slowly melted into the darkness.
* * *
“What the—? All dead? By Wesley?”
Berik had leaned his upper body over the table, fully immersed. Hasha thumped the floor with his tail, snapping irritably.
-Not Wesley, her underlings who came and wrecked everything!
At first, the necromancers—somewhat familiar faces—tried persuading the grandmother and Hasha. Pledging huge sums of money, saying necromancers’ status and authority would rise with ongoing research, that it’d greatly aid impoverished Astana, and so on.
The main draw was cozying up to Wesley at Bariel’s power center, though.
-The grandmother paid the price for refusal, and I paid for defying truth.
‘This one’s still young?’
‘Kid, wanna come with us?’
‘No child test subjects yet? Shall we try necromancy on him? See if it takes well.’
Berik, listening quietly, rummaged in his pocket. He eyed Ian meaningfully—what is it?—and pulled out a bread scrap scraped from the warehouse. Clicking his tongue, he tossed it to Hasha.
Thud!
“Poor mutt. Eat up and hang in there.”
-Treating me like a dog?!
Arf! As Hasha snapped again, Berik glared in disbelief. No matter how you sliced it, the two were like water and oil.
Ian broke off bread pieces one by one and fed them to Hasha.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
“This puny thing knows no gratitude, no manners, nothing? Crazy.”
“Berik, you lecturing on manners? That’s a shock.”
“Hey! I’m human at least!”
As the bread neared, Hasha’s nostrils flared. He’d scavenged mountains and fields, but nothing suited his once-human palate. Ian gestured it was fine, and Hasha gulped it down without hesitation.
“You raised this dog?”
-Yeah. That day, the only life left in the house was ‘Ruki,’ but the ritual went wrong, turning him like this. Luckily, the necromancers thought I failed to take power and died—dumped something unknown in the well and left.
They’d killed everyone involved with the Astana outsider. Since they caused it, their own kind came investigating, naturally. Ian lightly clicked his tongue at the Magic Department’s graver-than-expected deeds.
-My body, under necromancy, became undead. From the day it clawed out of the grave, I kept watch so it couldn’t wander. Then one day, it met bandits in the forest. From then, my body moved on its own, against my will.
No barking or tugging pant legs helped. As a forbidden product, no guesses allowed. Ian frowned and asked again.
“Did those guys intentionally take the body?”
-Didn’t seem so. They panicked at first, too. If the village caught on, guards would come. So they killed me twice.
No emotion colored Hasha’s testimony. He’d watched fists rain on his corpse-body, swords pierce it.
-Realizing it wouldn’t stay dead, they took the corpse. Some time later, they figured out using rituals through my body. Each time an undead spawned, I awakened an inner eye.
That’s how he’d seen through the inn’s undead. More complex, thornier than thought. Hasha nudged Ian’s side with his moist, blunt snout.
-So I need someone—anyone—to dispose of my corpse.
He’d approached Berik in the forest for that reason. Their long caravan screamed not ordinary folk. Plus, he knew bandits nearby targeted Ian’s carriage.
-Help me.
Hasha pleaded with resolute voice. Berik, hearing it, popped a bread scrap in his mouth with indifference.
“Sheesh, seems I’m the one doing the heavy lifting, look at the treatment.”
Ian smiled faintly, stroking the dog’s head. Less help, more aligned interests.
“Then you know where the bandits are now?”
Hasha seeks the corpse, Ian the carriage. Plus, sole survivor of Wesley’s atrocities.
The dog flared his nostrils again and nodded vigorously.
-Of course. I’ve got the nose of a hound now.