Distortion (2)
The auction proceeded remarkably smoothly. The lowest winning bid was ten imperial gold coins per gold coin, while the highest reached thirty. No, one bid even hit a hundred, which at thirty imperial gold coins each would total three thousand coins. That was enough to maintain a small knight order of about ten men for several years. Just where was all that money coming from? If this wasn’t an economic miracle, what was? I was dragging gold coins that had slumbered in noble vaults for half a lifetime back into the world, letting them see the light of day and exercise their true value.
“The price jumps sharply whenever a certificate personally signed by Lucia appears.”
“Oh my, is that so? If I’d known, I would have written one for every single item.”
I had employed a few minor tricks of my own, but of course I shamelessly pretended in front of Peter that I had never intended any such thing. Naturally, someone of Peter’s caliber had probably already noticed. The truth was that I had deliberately written those handwritten letters of authentication for only a select few items.
Nothing felt better than when things went exactly according to plan. With that pleasant thought, I relaxed in my seat, occasionally exchanging quiet words with Peter, when—
“Lucia. Something’s wrong.”
Ziegfried had risen from his seat and practically dragged Yulia over to us. He spoke in a low, urgent voice.
What? What could possibly be wrong?
“It is strange. How can anyone pay thirty imperial gold coins for a single gold coin? Wow, did you see that? It just went up to thirty-two.”
It really was strange. Even with my handwritten certificate of authenticity, the prices made no sense. Had everyone here lost their minds? Of course, part of it was undoubtedly their desire to build closer ties with me. After paying that much, how could I possibly ignore them? If they were willing to spend that kind of “friendship fee,” the least I could do was treat them with special care and meet with them more often. Still… this was excessive.
“No, can’t you feel it?”
“Feel what, Ziegfried? No matter how much of a hero you are, you cannot behave this way in a place like this. Can’t you see that you’re alarming Lucia?”
I had assumed Zieg must have sensed something else, but Peter cut in with clear displeasure, even stretching out his arm to stand between us. The atmosphere had grown strangely tense. Was this… a love triangle? No, surely not. He was probably just annoyed that his partner was being interrupted while he was trying to maintain proper decorum. As if the Hero and the Crown Prince would fight over me, of all people.
“We need to leave right now, Lucia. Something—something is coming.”
“Hero, no matter who you are, do you really think this kind of stubborn behavior will be tolerated anytime you please? Even if you dislike that I became Lucia’s partner, if you keep acting like this…”
“That’s not what I mean! Well, it’s not entirely wrong, but still! Anyway! The situation right now is— We really have to get out of here!”
True to his age, once cornered, Ziegfried’s stubbornness came roaring out. No, this wouldn’t do. The Hero who held ten percent of the Iron Alliance shares—and had delegated their voting rights to me—could not afford to show this kind of behavior in public.
“Calm down, Zieg. Tell me what you’re feeling.”
In moments like this, it was better to acknowledge that there might be something only Zieg could sense—something no one else could feel—and step forward. That way, later on I could reference his words and cover for him by saying I hadn’t noticed it at first but now that he mentioned it, I could feel it too. No matter how much of a hero he was, if he claimed to be the only one who felt it, people would naturally grow suspicious. But if the Saintess claimed she felt it as well, then the narrative would shift to something only the Hero and the Saintess could perceive. The weight of that interpretation would be far greater.
“There’s no time to explain. It’s growing bigger by the second— Ah! It’s here, it’s here!”
In this theater being used as an auction house, students were forbidden from carrying weapons regardless of status. The sole exception was the young man standing before us—the Hero. That didn’t mean the other nobles had come completely defenseless, however. Some were mages who had little need for physical weapons, and more importantly, each noble had been allowed to bring one personal guard inside the auction hall. Nearly all of those guards carried two swords at their waists.
“What’s the Hero doing?”
“The Hero drew his sword!”
The moment Ziegfried drew his blade, he channeled the Hero’s mana into it. The edge began to glow with a soft golden light, making it impossible not to notice. As all eyes turned toward him and the guards reflexively half-drew their own weapons, hesitating on whether to fully unsheathe them—
“Everyone, get back!”
Suddenly. Quite literally, a void tore open in midair. It looked like a crudely rendered 3D sphere had popped into an otherwise perfectly crafted background. The instant I thought, That’s a door. An entrance.
“Ugh!”
A chill raced across my entire body. Reflexively, I drew on every ounce of divine power I could muster and unleashed a miracle I had only practiced a few times and never actually used before—one that wasn’t healing. The Church commonly called it the Miracle of Protection. It granted both physical and magical defense.
And right in front of it, a sticky black fluid came pouring out.
“Kyaaaaaah!”
Someone’s piercing scream rang out, and the entire hall descended into pandemonium. Guards who had only half-drawn their swords now fully unsheathed them and charged forward. Other guards screamed and fled. Nobles snatched swords from nearby guards. Others simply panicked and began running for their lives.
In the midst of it all, the sticky black liquid that had just burst forth began to take shape, transforming into a monster. The first monster I had ever seen was an orc.
“Hup!”
Clang!
The Hero’s sword collided with the glaive the orc had thrust forward. Thanks to the quality of the weapons, the golden blade bit halfway into the glaive’s edge, but the weapon’s thickness prevented a clean cut. Even so, I doubted Zieg would lose a contest of strength. The orc stood nearly two meters tall with bulging muscles, but this was a world of magic and mana.
Still, if he got tied down here, more monsters were already pouring out of the voids and taking form. We would soon be overwhelmed by sheer numbers.
“Die, monster!”
Peter, the Crown Prince, caught the sword a royal guard had thrown him—scabbard and all—drew it in one smooth motion, and thrust it straight through the orc’s solar plexus. The immediate threat was neutralized.
“Eh? Uh? Huh?”
“Yulia! Snap out of it! We need to get away from this spot first! Zieg! Peter! I’m counting on you two to cover us!”
Honestly, I had no idea what to do next either. But seeing Yulia completely frozen, I knew I had to do something. I released divine power in a pure, meaningless burst of brilliant light, grabbed her, and scanned for an escape route.
As I looked around—
“One, two, three, four, five…”
“Get a hold of yourselves! Everyone, draw your weapons! Mages! Saintess! Form up around the Saintess! Circular formation centered on the Saintess! Circular formation!”
Although this academy resembled a medieval university more than a typical fantasy one, it fortunately offered instruction in martial techniques and magic under the broader category of combat studies. Many students who took those courses also studied military tactics.
Even as crude black spheres popped out near every exit, trapping us, their minds sharpened instantly. They formed ranks in the blink of an eye. Ah, so that’s why every military manual emphasizes leaving at least one escape route even when surrounding the enemy. It was a rather odd thought to have in the middle of a crisis.
Even a cornered rat will bite a cat.
“That thing! Have you seen it before?!”
“No! But let’s try anyway!”
I still had no idea what those things were. Some kind of gate? The monsters weren’t simply popping out—they flowed out as sticky black liquid before taking shape. Was that the right way to describe it? But that was a question for later. As the combat instructor at the academy had emphasized—while I had been more focused on networking and fighting over Iron Alliance shares—I had still listened. When battle is right in front of you, you must set aside any thoughts unrelated to the fight.
Ziegfried, who had far more experience than I did, took the lead and swung his sword. Unless I was mistaken, some of the brilliant golden divine power I was radiating was being drawn into his blade like it was being absorbed.
“Haaah!”
Clanggg!
A sound like two glass bowls striking each other without either breaking rang throughout the theater. The crudely rendered black sphere began filling with golden light from the inside, and soon its surface glowed with a pale yellow hue. Then it became a jagged black mass riddled with irregular golden cracks, as if it were a volcanic bomb containing something luminous within. And then—it exploded. Or rather, it burst apart. Perhaps “shattered” was the more accurate description.
Peter, who had witnessed it at point-blank range, couldn’t hide his shock at how abruptly and explosively it had happened.
“O-one of them is gone!”
“Hold the line! The Hero will take care of them!”
Until that moment, our formation had been barely holding together on the vague, almost despairing notion of “we just have to endure what we learned.” But the moment they gained a concrete goal—hold out until the Hero destroys those things—the formation transformed into a true battle array.
“Lucia? Now…”
“It’s fine! Zieg! You can do it! Peter! Get a grip! You hold the highest status here! Command the people! Make sure Zieg can reach those black things safely!”
“Ah, y-yes! Of course, of course! Everyone! Support the Hero! When the Hero advances, briefly protrude forward, then regroup when he returns!”
In terms of pure status, Yulia should have been the one giving orders. But she was clutching my left hand with both of hers so tightly that her fingers had turned white, trembling pitifully. She was in no condition to do anything. She didn’t even seem capable of casting the few spells she had learned. Of course, I had no intention of blaming her. Setting aside the fact that she had completely curled into a ball—the ultimate introvert—roughly half the girls here were in a similar state, and many of them could use magic. If anything, Yulia was the average one. I was the oddity.
“The Saintess’s power stands with me!”
Oh god, why would you shout something like that?
While orcs, goblins, and kobolds kept pouring endlessly out of the spheres, and even though magic cast directly at the spheres had no effect, hearing someone shout that while looking at me made my face burn with embarrassment. Still, I didn’t forget to focus my divine power on Ziegfried instead of simply radiating it outward. His sword, now absorbing nearly half of it, glowed brilliantly with golden light.
“Evil-Cleaving Strike!”
Whether it was just a shout or an actual skill name, the moment he cried out and swung his sword horizontally, the golden divine power scattered and truly “cleaved” several monsters apart in an instant. Even then, my divine power continued to pour into the Hero’s sword. Ziegfried dashed forward almost as if flying through the gaps created by the monsters that had been instantly cut down.
“Good! Let’s keep this up!”
Someone shouted something that sounded like the beginning of a sermon about how losing faith meant death. Even if it didn’t match perfectly, the formation adapted organically to Ziegfried’s movements with a fluidity that could only be called excellent. Much of that was thanks to the nobles and the auction house guards, but at this rate, it seemed we would overcome the crisis without too much trouble.
That was when it happened.
“Eh? Ehhh?”
From the three remaining voids, black liquid several times greater in volume than before surged out like a waterfall.