A Mountain of Beating Hearts
"Up for auction now is a juvenile Deimos, the very creature that serves as the main ingredient for the famous Nether Whale! We'll start the bidding at one hundred gold!"
The auctioneer's cry was met with a cloud of jeers from the crowd that had swarmed in like storm clouds.
"Why don't you mention it's an empty husk missing the most important part, its heart?"
"It can't even be used as a Nether Whale. Who's going to pay a hundred gold for that?"
"Yeah, yeah."
Just then, someone raised a hand.
"One hundred gold."
Forget the heckling — hands shot up one after another in its wake.
"One ten."
"One twenty!"
As the price climbed steeply, Simon was still waiting for Benya's answer. His question had been whether a Deimos could be used as a skeleton, and she was deep in thought, eyes closed in earnest concentration.
"Well, it's unprecedented, I'll say that. Ignoring the perfect success formula of the Nether Whale and stripping it down to bones to make a skeleton out of it... Hmm."
"It can't be helped, since they took the all-important heart."
He mused that if it had been a fully intact juvenile Deimos, the price would have soared into the tens of thousands of gold.
"That said—"
She slowly opened her eyes.
"A skeleton version of Deimos? I think it's worth a try."
"That's good enough for me."
Simon readied himself to enter the bidding.
"What would you say the market price is?"
"At least two thousand gold?"
She answered without a moment's hesitation.
"If you're the one buying it, I can cover about half, on the condition that everything besides the bones — the byproducts — goes to our Vanilla."
"Really? Yes! Let's do it that way, then!"
"Mm. But do you have that kind of money on you, a thousand gold or more?"
Simon nodded. He had the two thousand gold he'd received from Princess Molly as payment for the recent mission assessment.
"Two ninety!"
"Three hundred!"
The price had already reached three hundred gold, and the auctioneer stepped in.
"From this point forward, we'll raise the increments to fifty gold. Do I hear three hundred and fifty—"
"One thousand gold."
The room fell so silent you could have heard a pin drop. Simon had raised his arm and joined the auction.
"...Who's that?"
"He just skipped straight to the big number."
"Some high noble's son?"
"Looks loaded."
If he already knew the market price was two thousand gold, there was no need to waste time. He planned to go straight for the kill, brush the stragglers aside, and run the price up to two thousand.
Sure enough, another hand went up.
"Ahem — one thousand fifty."
"One thousand three hundred."
"Ahem! One thousand three hundred fifty."
"One thousand six hundred."
The moment Simon parried in quick succession, the face of the man who'd called thirteen fifty froze solid. A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"That thing's got an owner already."
"Poison, that one. Keep bidding all you want, he'll just keep matching."
"Why not go in for one more?"
"And what if he calls one sixty-five and I fold right there?"
Amid the murmuring, Simon fixed his gaze on that man — his only remaining rival. A slightly flustered man and Simon, wearing an utterly calm expression, locked eyes. And Simon felt the man's will crumple.
"One thousand six hundred gold! No further bids?"
The auctioneer looked a little taken aback. He, too, had been hoping the price would climb higher, but the fervor had cooled far faster than expected. After dragging it out a few more times, he finally declared:
"Sold — for one thousand six hundred gold!"
Nice!
Simon felt like the corners of his mouth might split his face in two. It had been pure luck. He'd expected the other side to push higher, but apparently the man had other things he wanted to buy besides the Deimos.
Split with Vanilla, that came to eight hundred gold. He'd saved a considerable sum — even after paying in full, he still had twelve hundred gold in hand.
Before long, the crowd that had swarmed the auction like storm clouds dispersed just as quickly, leaving only Simon and Benya behind.
Benya was speaking to someone through a communication crystal.
"Our people will be at the warehouse soon to move the goods," she said. "We'll do the dissection there, give it some basic treatment, and then inscribe the Summon Skeleton magic circle right away. I'll cover the cost as a service — for you two."
"Thank you, Senior!"
Simon said, spitting out an internal cheer of delight.
"You're my club's direct junior. Of course I should look out for you this much. In return, when first-years start coming under you later, you'd better spoil them too, hmm?"
"Yes, of course!"
Naturally, Ballot Port had its share of warehouses and businesses run by Vanilla as well. Benya said she'd go check on the situation and left, and it was agreed that the auction house would keep the goods safely stored until Vanilla took possession.
I've got time to kill.
His mood lifted, Simon decided to browse the market a while longer on his own. He still had plenty of money left, and the thought that having money meant he could actually own the things here made everything fascinating to him.
Simon decided to venture deeper into the market.
Oh! So this is where they were!
He belatedly found a stall selling a complete, well-preserved set of Polloran bones. The condition was excellent, and the bone count was right, too.
Why is it that you only spot things like this after you've already bought something?
He briefly considered picking it up as Plan B in case the Deimos skeleton failed, but that felt like excessive spending. Having nearly fallen into an impulse purchase, Simon reluctantly tore himself away and walked on.
Countless fish-shaped monsters were displayed in ice cases. There was a giant octopus monstrosity, and something that looked like a sea crocodile. At first, the sight had stirred a visceral revulsion in him, but thinking of them as simply undead made him feel a little better.
There was far more to see than he'd expected. The longer he looked, the more interesting the place became, and the thought that he was becoming a true necromancer stirred a strange feeling in Simon.
Wow, this is fun. But—
Simon, who had been wandering in a daze, glanced around.
Where am I?
At some point, the people had all but vanished. It seemed he'd wandered too deep into the market.
Simon calmly surveyed his surroundings, then moved toward an alley. The moment he set his foot down on a certain spot—
a reek of blood suddenly thrust itself into his face.
He'd assumed his nose had gone at least partially numb since arriving here, but the stench was so foul it felt like his nostrils had been blasted wide open.
My head's spinning.
Since this was technically a fish market that sold goods to customers, the hygiene here wasn't anywhere near that bad. And yet the farther he walked, the thicker the smell of blood became.
That's the source of the stench.
A building that looked like a warehouse. Its old door hung open.
...
Something about it looked dangerous. So Simon intended to simply walk past. But the moment he tried to obey his reason, his instincts appeared and egged him on.
Something was definitely happening in there.
Could he really live without looking?
What if it haunted him every night from now on?
He'd regret walking past this for the rest of his life.
All he had to do was peek through the open door and come right back out.
It was strange. Drawn by some inexplicable, powerful sensation, Simon moved as though possessed by a ghost. His nose felt like it would fall off, but his footsteps kept dragging him into the warehouse.
And there, inside that warehouse—
"...!"
He saw the mountain.
Ugh!
Simon dropped to one knee right there and retched. They were hearts. A truly countless number of hearts, piled into a mountain. A magic circle was spread across the floor, and though they must have been extracted long ago, the hearts were still beating — thump, thump — as if alive.
What the hell is this? Why just hearts, and so many of them—
No matter how insane necromancers were said to be, this was not a normal picture by any stretch.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Just then, footsteps sounded right outside the warehouse. Simon's mind snapped awake at last, hauling him out of his mental blackout.
"You've secured an excellent heart."
"Yes. Running into the Nether Whale juvenile here was pure luck."
Two men's voices. The footsteps drew steadily closer. Simon scrambled to hide. A moment later, he heard the men's footsteps stop.
"The door's open."
"Ah, I left it open briefly when I went to fetch you. It's warded with Perception Barrier Magic anyway."
"No harm done, but be more careful from now on."
"Haha! Who would ever come all the way back here?"
Presently, two men in hooded robes stepped inside.
Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!
Simon was pressed flat against the ceiling near the entrance in a shroud of Jet-Black. One glance backward and upward from them and he'd be caught — the thought alone sent his heart hammering wildly.
If he were discovered, no "I took a wrong turn" excuse would ever suffice. The one mercy was that the smell of blood was so overpowering, and the warehouse interior was so saturated with Jet-Black, that even if these men were necromancers, they had no way of detecting him.
"Let's do a final check on the goods."
The man who appeared to be the subordinate carefully opened a case. Simon could see a heart resting inside a glass container.
Piece by piece, the information he'd gathered finally clicked into place.
So they're the ones who bought the Nether Whale and extracted its heart.
Just then, the man in charge of the warehouse pulled back his hood. Brown hair spilled out, and glinting glasses came into view.
The moment Simon recognized him, he nearly screamed out loud.
Pr-Professor Walter?
Why was he here?
"Condition confirmed."
Walter said, adjusting his glasses.
"And the plan in preparation?"
"Proceeding smoothly. We will be ready well before the deadline."
The two began talking back and forth, and Simon, terrified out of his wits, listened to every word without missing a syllable.
"Allow me to explain, Lord Judah."
Judah. There it was again. That name. The name engraved on the fountain pen Walter treasured.
From everything Simon had observed, Walter made a habit of carrying that fountain pen in his breast pocket everywhere he went, no matter what he wore. When Simon had first met him in Langestin, Walter had claimed the pen was an inheritance from someone else. And yet there was no mistaking it — that man had just called Walter "Judah" to his face.
Professor Walter lied to me.
But that name wasn't the problem right now. Judah. Judah. It kept nagging at him, that name. He was sure he'd seen it somewhere before, but the memory was frustratingly faint.
Just then, heavy footsteps sounded outside and yet another person entered. A woman this time.
"Lord Judah. Count Caron has arrived."
"We leave now."
Walter pulled his hood up and set off. The two walked out of the warehouse, and the door closed behind them.
"..."
Now only Simon and Walter's subordinate remained in the warehouse.
Simon took stock of the situation by the light of a single flickering mana bulb that looked ready to die at any second. The man had overturned a crate to sit on like a chair and was tending to the magic circle that maintained the hearts.
What do I do?
He could use the Legion Commander's power or bring out Prince and manage something, but he didn't want Walter to find out that anyone had even entered this warehouse in the first place.
Still clinging to the ceiling, Simon tensed his trembling legs, pressed his back fully against it, and raised both arms. His target: the largest heart over there. He would draw a new magic circle onto it, remotely.
Hah... this is brutal.
Holding this position alone was insanely difficult, and on top of that, he had to inscribe a magic circle from a distance.
Plop. Drip.
In an instant, his forehead was soaked. A bead of sweat slid down and fell to the floor below. To Simon it felt deafening, but thankfully the man didn't notice in the slightest — he was even humming a tune as he repaired the circle.
P-please, don't sweat.
The more he thought it, the tenser he became, and the sweat drenched Simon's hair through and through. He couldn't sweat too much, he couldn't forget he was clinging to the ceiling, and in this state he still had to draw a magic circle from far away.
Focus. Focus.
What Simon was drawing was a defective magic circle. One with no effect at all — smeared over with layer upon layer of failed formulas, the kind that would shatter on its own the moment it activated. He'd never imagined a day would come when he'd make one on purpose, but that day was today.
Now!
Simon triggered the circle. A piercing screech like fingernails raked across a blackboard began to reverberate through the entire warehouse.
"H-wha—! What the— what is that?!"
The man repairing the circle jolted to his feet. Then came a splurch! from the heart Simon had inscribed, and blood began gushing out in streams.
"What went wrong?!"
The man seemed convinced that he had made some mistake while repairing the circle. Panicking, he scrambled to adjust his formulas, terrified that the other hearts might be damaged too.
Now's my chance.
Before the hideous noise could cut off, Simon nimbly descended from the ceiling and moved to the door. With a soft creak, he eased it open — bracing himself to be caught — but the defective circle's racket was so intense, and the man so consumed by mental shock, that he didn't notice a thing. He seemed too absorbed in tearing the circle apart and reworking it.
Simon slipped out and shut the door behind him. Then he ran.
"Haah! Huk! Haah!"
Sweat streamed down him, and his mouth tasted of bile. His heart pounded fit to burst. Simon wanted nothing more than to get out of this place, right now.
"Oh, there you are!"
How long had he run? At last, he spotted the auction hall where it had all taken place — and standing in front of it, Benya, looking for him.
"You wouldn't come, so I was getting worried! Where did you go?"
The sight of Benya's face calmed him only belatedly, and he felt tears welling up. Simon forced his hood down over his face with one hand, hiding it deep, and panted for breath a few times.
"Let's go. Quickly. Senior."
"Huh? Wh—"
"To that Vanilla warehouse. The one where they'll do the work. Quickly, please."
"O-okay. We have to take a carriage a little ways from here. You all right with that?"
Simon nodded, catching his breath.
"Yes."
Right now, there was only one thought left in his head: get out of here.