Chapter 34
Chapter 34
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 34
Chapter Title: Madman: Begerton Antares (4)
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The doctor's gaze, filled with fascination, continued to scan the research materials in his hand.
Rustle.
His eyes flicked quickly to the top of the next page as he turned it.
"—They exist as laws and take form as disciplines."
Laws. Order. And discipline.
Bartov's research relentlessly emphasized these concepts.
Begerton narrowed his eyes as he examined the leader's research journal.
The leader Bartov must have discovered something before setting out on his pilgrimage.
Swoosh.
Begerton read on with a hollow smile.
"—Here, I record a portion of the great laws I have glimpsed."
"One. The library of illusions—."
Thud.
The words spilling from the doctor's lips cut off abruptly.
Yet he merely stared at the research materials with a hollow chuckle.
At the bottom of the journal in Begerton Antares's hand, there was a clear ink smudge.
The next letters he had been about to read were completely smeared beyond recognition.
It seemed impossible to make out any further text.
"As expected of the leader. His record-keeping is a total mess."
Muttering complaints, the doctor flipped to the next page of the journal.
Rustle.
The following page was no different from the previous one.
If anything, it was even worse.
That was because the next page of the research journal was torn out.
Rustle, rustle.
The doctor's hand kept turning the pages.
The next one.
And the one after that.
The subsequent pages were in much the same state as the earlier ones.
Ink smears obliterating the text.
Or completely torn away, making the content unverifiable.
Or cut off mid-sentence, impossible to properly identify.
These issues repeated endlessly.
Hoo.
Letting out a short sigh, the doctor placed the research materials on the desk before him.
"That guy probably has all the info in his head, so he doesn't need to worry about it."
In his view, the leader of the Magic Engine Research Society was a genius and an eccentric.
A man with arrogance to match his abilities.
No matter how his documents had been damaged, it wasn't all that surprising for such a leader.
Tap, tap.
As he drummed his fingers on the table where the materials lay, the doctor's eyes fixed once more on the leader's name.
"Well... gathering the journals the leader left behind doesn't sound like a bad idea."
For now, he set aside the name of the wizard who had departed on pilgrimage, pushing it quietly to the corner of his mind.
The damaged materials were no longer of any use to him.
Instead, the situation called for collecting new ones.
"Personally, I've taken an interest in the leader's research."
Doctor Begerton Antares.
He began to harbor expectations in his chest for the researcher whose name lay before him.
What secrets would delight the doctor?
They were sure to become a source of future enjoyment.
* * * * * *
At the topmost floor of Celestia, a garden prepared solely for me awaited.
A massive tree stood tall, with a pristine white tea table set beneath it.
This was the place where I usually spent time alone.
Of course, members of the Secret Society whom I had invited would occasionally visit to meet me.
"Continue. Creighton."
And today, Creighton, the chief mage of the Magic Corps, had arrived at my invitation.
Combat mage Creighton Lukbart.
Matching his sturdy, mature appearance, he was one of the few who had wandered the Empire for many years.
As such, he was well-versed in the state of affairs across the continent, including the Empire.
At the very least, he could explain to me how the outside world operated.
"Since you've been sealed here for quite some time, Lord Johan, you probably haven't heard of the current continent's 'Seven Peaks.'"
"The Seven Peaks..."
Creighton, seasoned by years of experience, periodically briefed me on the continental situation.
Updating the knowledge of an archmage sealed away for centuries—
That seemed to be how Creighton viewed his reports to me.
However, the information Creighton provided was undeniably useful to me.
Whether I directed the Secret Society's members from within or ventured out myself, information was essential in either case.
"The Seven Peaks refers to the seven strongest individuals on the current continent, whose superiority is impossible to determine."
For that reason, I was listening to Creighton today as well, hearing about the continent's powers.
Ahem, hmm.
Whether his throat was dry or he simply wanted to down the beer before him, Creighton took a swig and continued his explanation of the Seven Peaks with a serious gaze.
"The Seven Peaks of the current continent are names that rise in people's conversations not by the factions they belong to or their scale, but purely by individual strength."
"Well, that figures."
"A prime example is the leader of the Polar Magic Research Society that the doctor belongs to—Pilgrim Bartov."
I sipped my green tea and quietly listened to Creighton.
—The Seven Peaks.
This was the worldly knowledge Creighton had decided to explain to me today.
He began recounting the tales of the seven superhumans who greatly influenced the continent's situation.
"There are seven superhumans called the Seven Peaks in total. And their names are—"
Creighton began listing the names of the Seven Peaks in order.
Leader of the Polar Magic Research Society—Pilgrim Bartov.
Lord of the Mobile Fortress Laplazia—Corios Vaclier.
Sword Saint of the White Order—Leon Byrunt.
Foremost of the Eight Sword Society—Sword Ghost Raparia.
Leader of the Leoblant Brotherhood—Isaac Leoblant.
Captain of the Astio Empire's Black Lion Knights—Savior Sword Klein Adenov.
Alliance Leader of the Erbar Confederation—Great Chieftain Partlinger.
Thus, these seven were collectively known across the continent as the Seven Peaks.
"They're spread across a more diverse array of factions than I expected."
"In a sense, it reflects the instability of the Empire's situation. Excluding Pilgrim Bartov, every one of them is eager to exert influence externally."
I pondered Creighton's words.
I had heard about these individuals considered powerhouses even on the current continent.
Considering the data I received from Lua, the magic levels at each magic tower weren't particularly high.
Yet here were mages called the strongest, surpassing even those towers—
Their existence led me to one possibility.
"Most of them are likely connected to ancient magic."
"I think so too. Acquiring lost secret magics and growing stronger is the dream of most mages."
"......"
"Even the leader of the Magic Engine Research Society must have secretly acquired no small number of spells. The lord of the mobile fortress is probably the same."
Ultimately, Creighton's point boiled down to one thing.
To continuously acquire higher-level magic, contact with various continental factions was necessary.
Especially the factions tied to the Seven Peaks likely held more ancient magic than ordinary magic towers.
Thus, long-term contact with those factions could not be ruled out—
That was the conclusion of this discussion.
"Not a bad perspective. It also underscores the need for armed forces that can be wielded without being beholden to any specific faction in the long term."
I looked at the middle-aged mage standing before me.
Creighton was a mage focused more on combat than research.
As such, his preferences leaned toward combat spells useful for firepower projection.
However, the scope where I could utilize Creighton was limited to the Empire's north.
He was a mage of the Empire's Magic Corps, and his ability to project my influence extended only that far.
To engage with diverse factions, I would need to prepare means for that as well.
"I'll have to speak with the doctor separately soon. You did well today, Creighton."
"It's nothing. Compared to the magic you've bestowed upon me, Lord Johan, this is mere trivial knowledge."
"Go on down. I'll summon you if there's more."
Today, too, I dismissed Creighton, who had brought me news of the outside factions.
Step, step.
He descended the library stairs straight toward the first-floor dining hall.
Beyond where Creighton had vanished.
Alone in the garden once more, I gazed at the scenery and sank into thought.
"I need to periodically recruit more members. But I should think carefully about how to screen them."
With the Secret Society's form continuing to evolve.
I could no longer expect a loose gathering through random summons as before.
It might be time for different methods.
And devising those methods would become another task on my plate.
* * * * * *
The Cartio Archipelago in the Empire's south.
On the windy seaside shore stood two men and women with swords at their waists.
They were mercenaries belonging to a mercenary group called the Eight Sword Society.
Mercenaries of the Eight Sword Society all shared the tradition of wearing black mufflers that covered their mouths.
It was the symbol proving their membership in the Eight Sword Society.
The two mercenaries, mufflers in place, gazed leisurely at the sea before them.
"Priella. Did you hear about that?"
Of the two mercenaries, the girl called Priella turned to her senior who had addressed her.
The Seventh Seat of the Eight Sword Society, Locke Ortia.
He had joined the Eight Sword Society a few years before Priella.
Among the society, he was one with skills comparable to Priella, who held a lowly seat.
Even so, his status as a seasoned mercenary was undeniable.
The swordsmen of the Eight Sword Society tended to have short lifespans.
Due to the nature of a mercenary group, they were frequently thrown into perilous jobs.
Surviving in the Eight Sword Society for several years alone proved Locke an excellent swordsman.
"What's it about, Senior Locke?"
Priella returned a flat response to her senior who had spoken to her.
A formal question devoid of emotion.
In response, Locke eagerly shared the story with her, as if he had been waiting.
"Raparia's gone off to fight the brotherhood's leader."
The tale from Locke's lips.
It concerned the foremost of the Eight Sword Society, Sword Ghost Raparia.
Having heard Locke's story, Priella directed an indifferent gaze at him.
Nod.
Then she opened her mouth, her voice curt and gruff.
"It was bound to happen eventually. Everyone knew where the brotherhood was getting their elf slaves from."
"Exactly. No one's as gung-ho about slave trading as the brotherhood."
The Leoblant Brotherhood.
Their main business was slave trading and operating black markets.
As such, the origins of the slaves they brought in had long been whispered among people.
Ongoing incursions into the Great Forest.
In that context, it was inevitable that the patience of Raparia, the Eight Sword Society's leader born with sharply pointed ears, would reach its limit.
"Aren't you curious? Whether Isaac Leoblant, the so-called genius, can defeat the Sword Ghost who's swung her blade for a millennium."
Had he long anticipated this clash between the two?
Locke voiced his eager anticipation to Priella with an excited tone.
But Priella merely stared at him with her usual impassive face.
Eighth Seat—Priella Atria.
To her, everything in this world appeared in shades of ash.
People, jewels, stories—all much the same.
"Who knows. Even the barbarian great chieftain would struggle against Raparia."
In that ashen world, the only path illuminating Priella's way was the way of the sword.
Thus, she pursued only the traces of the blade.
The pure white trail etched before her in childhood by a certain elf—
That alone remained her sole glimmer.