Audience with the Tower Master

Rombel groaned as he regained consciousness.

He rubbed his chin, lost in thought for a moment, then unleashed a string of curses at Elbridge.

"What the hell? Why'd you hit me out of nowhere?"

Elbridge let out a sigh. It would have been cleaner if Rombel had lost his memory.

But no such convenient thing happened.

"There was a reason even you would agree with."

"Let's hear it."

"The moment I woke up, your face was less than a hand's breadth from mine."

"And?"

"Me holding you quietly, or me punching you. Which situation would annoy you more?"

"Well... Hmm."

Rombel nearly let himself be convinced, but then his face twisted into a scowl.

"Talk sense. Why should I get hit when it wasn't even my fault?"

"How is it not your fault? You climbed into my bed."

"Elbridge. That's not your bed—it's mine. I finished work, came back to my room, and there you were, sprawled out asleep in it. I was going to smack you awake but settled for just pulling the pillow out from under you... Wait. Why am I even explaining this?"

Rombel, who had been muttering nonstop, suddenly wore a serious expression.

"Anyway, you usually ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sleep like the dead. Why the sudden change today?"

"I had an old dream."

"Old? From two hundred years ago?"

"Yes. A dream from when I was young, before I became a paladin."

A subtle spark of interest flickered across Rombel's face. Even Marcus, who had been polishing a sword he never used, paused to listen.

"Now that I think about it, I've never heard your old stories... How did you end up becoming a paladin? Did demons kill your family?"

The question might have sounded rude at first glance, but by the standards of the old paladins, it was perfectly ordinary. In those days, few paladins hadn't lost family to demons or monstrous beasts.

"I don't really know."

"You don't know?"

"I haven't seen my family since I was a child."

"For someone who doesn't know, you sure seem to hate demons a lot."

"It's not so much that I hate them... It was a situation where I had to."

Marcus couldn't quite grasp what that answer meant. Rombel, however, understood immediately.

"You were sold?"

"Yes. My mother sold me."

It was an era filled with people who became paladins out of deep resentment. But not everyone could succeed, and even those who did usually died quickly. Paladins were always in short supply.

When people were lacking, you had to go out and find them yourself. The orders would pay orphanages a modest sum and take the children.

By modern standards it was reprehensible, but back then it was different. It wasn't a bad deal for either the orphanage operators or the children being sold.

The ability to sell a child to an order was the strongest possible incentive for adults to take in orphans who had nowhere else to go. Better to be rescued by adults, raised in an orphanage, and then sold than to die helplessly in a burned-out city with no one to help.

It wasn't only orphanages. Impoverished parents frequently pretended to be orphanage staff to sell their own children. The orders couldn't tell the difference between real orphanage workers and biological parents, so everyone simply looked the other way. But that was the kind of era it was.

Children, parents, and orders—all of them needed such transactions.

"I had two younger siblings, and my older sister had trouble with her legs. In the end, I was the one who went to the order. Before she sold me, my mother hugged me tight and made me promise to say that I hated demons... I hugged her back. That was the dream."

Marcus wore a look of pity.

"...That's a heartbreaking story."

"I never thought of it that way. Every paladin had a story, and mine wasn't particularly bad by comparison."

"Even so, your hostility toward demons always seemed incredibly fierce."

"Any child who didn't show hatred and hostility toward demons was sent back. The fee was taken back too, of course... So I had to wear the expression of someone who hated demons every single day. Hatred was simply a duty a child like me had to bear."

But such shallow hatred was only necessary at the beginning. Anyone who actually fought demons lost a great deal. Loss brought deeper anger and hatred, so there was no longer any need to force it.

Rombel made a displeased face.

"Still, your parents went too far."

"Why?"

"No matter what, they should have gone to a different order. Selling you to the Rusty Shield Order of all places?"

Elbridge laughed.

"I wasn't part of the Rusty Shield Order from the start. After many twists and turns, that's where I ended up."

"Did you ever go looking for your family afterward?"

"No. I never did."

"Why not?"

"If they were living happily without me, I'd feel somehow bitter. If they weren't living happily, I'd feel sad. So I never learned how long my family lived after that."

"That's a strange reason."

"People's hearts work that way."

Rombel and Marcus stretched lazily, then returned to their tasks. Rombel examined some unfamiliar blueprint with great care while Marcus polished the unused sword until it gleamed.

Watching them, a single thought rose in Elbridge's mind.

Why had he dreamed a dream he hadn't had in so long—and why now, of all times?

Is it because of the oracle?

Before fighting the demon, the Goddess of the Rusty Shield had told him to fight demons but not to hate them. It was a difficult command to understand no matter how many times he thought about it, so Elbridge offered a prayer.

"Goddess. Are you listening?"

But no oracle came.

After the demon was sealed underground, the mages' attitudes toward Elbridge and Marcus changed beyond recognition.

"...It feels strangely uncomfortable."

"You'll get used to it."

Only a few days earlier the mages had treated Elbridge and Marcus like they were invisible—or like Rombel's lackeys. Now they openly displayed interest, curiosity, and respect.

This was true not only for Elbridge, who had sealed the demon, but even for Marcus, who had done relatively little.

In the mages' eyes, Marcus was no longer some mediocre mercenary but a skilled expert who simply hadn't revealed his full power yet.

The quick-witted Marcus felt the heavy weight of their expectations.

"People's anticipation is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠too much to bear..."

"You don't need to pay it any mind."

Elbridge also learned one interesting fact: his name was actually better ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠known in the central continent than in his hometown of eastern Soleneon.

"Sir Elbridge. Do you have any connection to the Silent Knight, Sir Elbridge?"

"He is my distant ancestor."

There were many possible reasons. Unlike people in the eastern continent, those in the central regions did not dismiss demons as mere absurd legends. There were also many record-loving mages, so ancient documents were less likely to be forgotten.

Yet even the mages' interest was nothing compared to that of the knights. While the mages simply showed curiosity, the knights wanted to test their skills against Elbridge directly.

They came in all kinds. Some sought sparring matches out of simple interest, others wanted to gauge the power of demons through Elbridge's strength, and still others wished to defeat him and claim the honor he held...

"Could you please grant me a single sparring match?"

"I'm afraid that's not possible."

Of course Elbridge refused every request. If he accepted even once, five times as many knights would surely come seeking the same.

While he was hiding away—half by choice, half by necessity—the person they had been waiting for finally arrived.

An elderly female mage. The vice-master of the Central Magic Tower.

She spoke with a warm, welcoming attitude.

"You said you came to see the Tower Master, correct?"

"Yes."

"Please follow me."

They had heard the Central Magic Tower Master resided on the tower's highest floor. Yet instead of leading them up the stairs, the vice-master took them toward the center of the tower.

"Is there another staircase in the center?" Marcus asked quietly.

Rombel answered with a boastful air.

"No. At the center of the Central Magic Tower is an elevator."

"What's an elevator?"

"A device that lets you travel between the upper and lower floors without using stairs. It consumes a great deal of magical power to operate, so only those of sufficiently high rank may ride it."

"It seems you've ridden it before, Mr. Rombel."

"Twice, back in the old days. Once going up, once coming down..."

The elevator was a cylinder about the size of a small room. When the four of them stepped inside, a low humming sound filled the air, followed by a strange floating sensation.

The vice-master and Rombel remained calm, but Elbridge and Marcus tensed, unused to the unfamiliar feeling.

Soon the elevator doors opened by themselves.

Ssssk—

The first thing they saw was a short corridor. What truly captured their eyes, however, was the small glass window set into the wall.

Through it stretched the view from the highest floor of the Central Magic Tower.

Both Marcus and Elbridge gasped openly in wonder.

"Whoa..."

People spent their entire lives at roughly the same eye level. They might occasionally climb onto a roof or a tree, but standing at such heights was rare.

Yet now Elbridge and Marcus were looking down at the vast world all at once. The central hill of Soleneon felt entirely different from the view of the city from the moon village. After all, the clouds lay beneath them.

"I still remember the first day I came up to the top floor," the vice-master said, waiting patiently while Elbridge and Marcus drank in the sight.

Marcus, who had been staring in awe for a long time, suddenly began to cry.

"I... I must have succeeded. I thought I'd live and die like a stray dog. To think I'd rise higher than birds, above the clouds... I have no regrets now. None at all."

Marcus couldn't stop sobbing. While the vice-master gently patted his back, Elbridge found himself caught by a different thought.

I wonder if my prayers would reach the Goddess better from here?

He offered a small prayer.

"Goddess. Goddess. Can you hear my prayer?"

By the time Elbridge finished whispering with the Goddess of the Rusty Shield, Marcus had stopped crying.

The vice-master opened the door to the Tower Master's chamber at the end of the short corridor just a crack.

"Please go in."

Elbridge's group stepped inside.

The chamber was not as spacious as they had expected. Given that it sat at the narrowing peak of the tower, that was only natural.

Across from them sat a man whose age was impossible to guess. His hair was pure white like an elder's, yet his skin was smooth and unwrinkled like a young man's. His features suggested someone in their forties or fifties, but his eyes were deep and somber, like an ancient tree that had stood for a thousand years.

Every member of the party tensed.

The one who was once a god of heaven but descended to the mortal realm. The Master of the Central Magic Tower...

The Tower Master glanced at them, then gestured toward the luxurious chairs placed opposite him. Exactly three chairs had been prepared.

Once the three were seated, the Central Magic Tower Master spoke.

"Rombel. It has been a long time. How many years?"

"About thirty, I believe."

"I see... And the other two. You assisted with the sealing? My thanks."

Elbridge felt a quiet sense of relief. He had worried that someone who had descended from heaven might be arrogant and overbearing, but the man began with gratitude. He seemed more reasonable than expected.

"You said you had business with me. What brings you here?"

Instead of answering, Elbridge asked a question of his own.

"First, there is something I wish to ask. The demon that was underground—what exactly was that?"

"...It was an experiment to seal a demon using only the power of mages. There was a problem this time, but the next attempt should go smoothly."

Elbridge was taken aback.

"Wait. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠You're saying you intend to unseal the demon again?"

"Yes. Since it was not a complete success, we must experiment again. This is how our Central Magic Tower prepares for the coming turmoil. This is not a matter for outsiders to debate, so refrain from comment."

"But..."

"I will observe next time myself, so there should be no major issues."

Having said this, the Central Magic Tower Master asked again, his tone slightly stiff.

"In any case, what reason brings you to see me?"

Rombel answered first.

"I want to know what is necessary to become a god."

Elbridge spoke as well.

"I wish to know what became of the paladin who ascended to heaven two hundred years ago and became a god—Sir Leonhardt of the Rusty Shield Order."

The Central Magic Tower Master thought for a long time before replying.

"I will tell you in advance, Elbridge. I cannot answer your question."

Elbridge had half-expected such a response, yet the frustration was still difficult to bear.

"Is it because of the heavenly laws forbidding the careless disclosure of information about other gods? But you are no longer a god of heaven, Tower Master..."

The Central Magic Tower Master shook his head.

"There is a more important reason."

"What is it?"

"I do not know who Leonhardt is."

Elbridge found the statement deeply significant. It felt as though some enormous secret had surrounded Leonhardt's ascension from the very beginning.

But when the Central Magic Tower Master added one more powerless remark, Elbridge's thoughts changed completely.

"I have no close gods, so I cannot tell you news about the others..."