The Block That Would Not Break
"How dare you spout such nonsense in my presence."
"You're the one who started it."
"When I said I wanted to wipe everything out, I meant it. And weren't you the one who chimed in, saying you shared that sentiment?"
"I was. And it still holds. Watching the Demon Realm crumble would be my heart's desire."
At Death's sneering tone, Rayegar regarded him in silence for a moment. He had dismissed it as idle bluster at first, but the more he listened, the more it began to sound like earnest conviction.
"Do you have many enemies in the Demon Realm, then? Are you on the run for your life, hiding out here?"
"You seem terribly curious about me. I'll have to decline your interest."
"Treating surveillance as a compliment. Demons really are wired wrong."
"In any case, I take it our business is concluded?"
"For today, at least."
Rayegar had, in effect, been ambushed. He had come to intimidate them into quietly returning to the Demon Realm, only to be blindsided by a binding contract. He resolved that within a few days he would comb through every remaining clause and unearth some flaw to turn the whole board over.
"I trust I won't have to see your faces for as long as possible."
"If only that were up to you."
"...Ignorance is one thing, but watching that is genuinely hard to endure."
Rayegar found the situation utterly beyond comprehension—a freshly born Lower Spirit being shooed about with 'hey, hey' like a stray dog.
"How can you just stand there and let that happen?"
"Sometimes it's kind of cute, actually."
"You have remarkably peculiar tastes."
"Since this seems likely to get tiresome, what do you say we leave the barrier up for a while?"
"Nothing would please me more."
For the first time, the two of them agreed on something. The party concerned would never know it, but they owed everything to Tempesta.
While Death was sparring with Rayegar, inside the manor Ian was unburdening himself to Bayul.
"The truth is, everything the Chairman said was accurate. His Grace did indeed order me to follow him."
"...So it's true my father asked you to keep watch on the Chairman?"
"Yes. I know it comes as a shock, but there was a reason."
Of course there was. His father was not a man who moved without cause—least of all when it came to a friend's father.
"I heard about it through Sadad as well: after Jared was expelled, a large portion of the Academy's donations dried up."
"The donations?"
"Academies like Carrington run for the most part on contributions from nobles and magnates. But with Jared's expulsion, Duke Hector was furious, and those who belong to his faction—or aspire to—had no choice but to withdraw their patronage."
"In short, the Academy suddenly found itself starved for funds."
The news came out of nowhere, and it left Bayul unsettled. Somehow it felt as though everything was his fault all over again, and regret gnawed at him.
"I expected as much, at first."
"...Pardon?"
"The startled Chancellor apparently went to the Chairman to pour out his troubles. With the Academy on the verge of collapse overnight, he wasn't exactly in his right mind either."
Ah—so that was that time...
He remembered once running into the Chancellor at the Chairman's estate, together with his friends. The man had seemed startled by something, hadn't even returned their greetings, and had scurried off in a fluster.
"But then the Chairman simply put up an enormous sum. The exact figure was never disclosed, only that it was enough to run the Academy for years without a care."
"That must have been a staggering amount."
"And that's the problem."
"That's a problem? Why?"
"Because no one knows where the money came from."
Unknown origins?
"Eli told me once. Said the Chairman is so absurdly rich that idling his life away is his specialty."
"Perhaps so, back when he was still in business. But he engages in no income-generating activity whatsoever now. When he purchased his estate in the Carrington city limits, he paid in full, in cash—and again, there is no way to trace where such funds came from."
"...Couldn't it just be money he's had from before?"
"Every fortune has a source, my lord. All the more so for the vast sums the Chairman supposedly produced out of thin air."
"......"
"I can well imagine what you must be thinking, my lord. His Grace shared that very concern, which is why he ordered me to exercise special caution—being that this is Eli's father. Though judging by today, it seems you'd already caught on."
"I have..."
"If I may add one thing: His Grace occupies a position where any hint of suspicion must be investigated, however small. So I hope you will try to understand."
"Of course I do. I was only thinking about what on earth I should say to Eli..."
Having heard all this, he couldn't possibly say nothing to the boy. However much he hated it, the man was still Eli's father.
The same father Eli swore he despised—yet who couldn't bring himself to throw away the fountain pen bearing the Chairman's name. Bayul had seen him use it now and again while studying for exams or taking notes in class.
It was possible he simply carried it around without a thought, but knowing Eli's temperament, that seemed unlikely.
Hatred is the opposite of love, yet at times the two run in proportion. However much Eli claimed to loathe the man, perhaps some small feeling toward his father lingered beneath.
It was a serious matter involving a vast sum of money, so it seemed better to be open about it.
"I will send a letter to Hamilton. Since you gave your word, my lord, we'll have to call off the chasers as well."
"The Chairman is a mage."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I didn't mention it before because it didn't seem particularly important, but I suppose it's time. I haven't seen it with my own eyes either—this, too, came from Eli."
So that's why the chasers were all discovered.
Only now did the whole thing click into place. They had handpicked men of considerable skill for the job, and Bayul had already been wondering how on earth they'd been found out.
Everything had come to this because the man was a mage. It was an unbearably hollow conclusion. The shock was doubled because none of the intelligence gathered so far had breathed a word of it.
"According to Eli, his skill is extraordinary. I suspect he's a mage of quite a high circle."
"He does carry an unusual presence about him."
It was Ian's first time seeing the Chairman today. The man had been far more handsome than rumored, glib of tongue, with eyes whose depths could not be read.
Unapproachable was perhaps the word for it. The moment their gazes met, a chill would sometimes crawl up his spine without warning.
Concealing even his abilities—there's something deeply off about that man.
That Ian had faced him and sensed no magic at all meant the man must be masking his power through magic itself. Which in turn meant he was, at minimum, a mage of the Sixth Circle or beyond.
"Ah, and one more thing. The reason I flatly refused the Chairman today is that I was trained to do so. Acknowledging anything in that moment could have led to trouble. I apologize for bringing disgrace upon His Grace."
"It was no fault of yours, Sir Ian. I understand completely."
Bayul would have done the same. In that moment, silence had been the best answer.
"I'll go write that letter now. If I hurry, it should make the afternoon train without difficulty."
"Thank you, Sir Ian. I ought to start unpacking myself."
Tempesta came bursting into the room mere moments after Ian left, beside himself with excitement. Whether from anger or something else, tears welled in his huge eyes as he raised his voice.
"What's wrong, Tempesta? What happened?"
"...What?"
His already chubby cheeks puffed out in two bulging mounds. He felt sorry for the crying child, but even in moments like this, Tempesta was simply too adorable. Aidan's phrase—fatally cute—floated unbidden to mind.
"Start by telling me calmly. What is this about?"
Tempesta was tossing out flagrantly dangerous declarations, but that was simply who he was. Bayul didn't find it strange in the least.
"Ah, did you?"
He'd had no idea, busy as he'd been talking with Sir Ian. Upon arriving in Carrington, Innocent and Shame had scattered at once in search of their spirit stones, and Spinel had followed after them. He'd assumed Tempesta had gone along too, but apparently not.
"Then you heard everything they said? Did you come to report it like before?"
"Hm? Why not?"
Tempesta's voice wavered on the edge of tears—clearly, thinking back on it, it had genuinely irritated him. Hot-tempered to a fault, yet seen like this, he was still a very young child indeed.
A strange barrier, though? What kind of barrier?
"Death did?"
Well... he probably could, actually.
What could he say to Tempesta to stop the tears and soothe him?
Bayul began to wrestle with the problem in earnest.
Death, for his part, had no wish for Tempesta to overhear his private conversation. And Death would hardly be ignorant of the fact that if Tempesta heard it, Bayul would too.
He had asked to speak outside, away from Rayegar's ears—meaning he had no intention of revealing it to Bayul either.
He could almost understand. When he hadn't known Death's true nature, perhaps—but even now, the idea that the Chairman knew the demon brothers for what they were felt deeply strange. As though some enormous secret lay buried there.
"...Me?"
Of course he'd remember the things that suited him, crisp as new coin.
"But Rita would be scarier than me, honestly."
"You didn't know? These days, Rita sits at the very top of the pecking order in this house!"
Rita herself seemed oblivious to the fact, but in Bayul's estimation, it was so. She was the iron-willed girl who ran rings around those three terrifying demon brothers. Thank goodness she was his personal maid and not Death's.
Which meant he couldn't even ask her to scold Death on his behalf. Perhaps out of sheer injustice, the boy's face grew steadily more tragic.
"Whatever you do, don't show yourself in front of Rita. She'd faint from fright."
Just then, their business apparently concluded, Death and Amon sauntered back into the manor.
"There you are. Where's the Chairman?"
Rayegar, who had gone out with them, was nowhere to be seen.
"Don't tell me he's already left?"
"He has. He said he had pressing business."
"He might have said goodbye, at least..."
An odd unease settled over Bayul, the feeling of something slipping past him half-glimpsed.
"You're curious what your relationship with that man is, aren't you?"
"I'd be lying if I said no."
Bayul didn't deny Amon's question. Part of it was that they were demons, but Rayegar was also Eli's adoptive father. If the man truly was a demon as Bayul suspected, it would explain why Eli had always hated demons so fiercely.
"Might he be one of your kind, then?"
"...My kind?"
"Yes."
"You suspect him of being a demon?"
"Is he not?"
"Absolutely not."
Death scrunched his face in pronounced distaste, as though the mere thought were offensive.
"He is no demon. We simply crossed paths in the human realm long ago over some matter. It was resolved, but the memories were unpleasant for both sides, so we let it slip our minds naturally. And then, as it happens, we met again here."
"A remarkably curious coincidence. Do you know he's a mage?"
"Of course. His skill is truly exceptional."
"Exceptional, my foot. Anyone could do that much!"
Apparently unwilling to endure Amon's praise of Rayegar, Death cut in bluntly. Bayul had noticed it earlier as well—the man clearly could not stand Rayegar.
"Well, in any case, I'm relieved he isn't a demon. I was wracking my brain over how I'd even begin to handle it if my friend's father turned out to be one."
At last, a measure of relief.
If he wasn't a demon, then naturally he must be human—or so Bayul reasoned.
"My lord, your meal is ready!"
Rita, who had been clattering away in the kitchen with ingredients she'd carried all the way from Hamilton, finally finished cooking and called out for Bayul. His stomach was just beginning to rumble.
"Shall we go eat, then?"
"I need to wash this filthy mood off, quickly."
And for that, nothing in the world worked better than Rita's cooking. With Death in the lead, Bayul and Amon headed straight for the dining room.
Tempesta came trailing after them, whimpering all the way.