The City of Mages
The City of Mages
He first sensed a wrongness within the city.
Aslan had just accepted some food from Fay—she had been gathering handouts and drinks with both hands—eaten enough to settle his stomach, and handed the rest back when his Luck stirred.
What is it, then?
The reaction itself was barely there. If his Luck had been even slightly lower, he would not have caught it.
But Aslan's Luck was a flat 10. He had reached the point where he could glimpse the future through sheer individual ability, over and over. Nothing escaped him now, no matter how faint.
But why did it react?
The problem was the location.
He stood in the City of Mages—the same city a priest had torn half to rubble not long ago.
Magic had rebuilt it swiftly, and the streets had reclaimed their vitality, as if nothing had happened.
That did not mean security had slackened. New guards had been conscripted. New mages, too.
Even now, a turn of his head showed him vigilant patrols through his right eye.
In a place with this many watching eyes and this many soldiers, would anyone truly be hostile to him?
And even if someone were, would they actually try to attack?
There was no chance his Luck had misfired.
And considering the price on his head, the threat itself was not strange. He was the Master of Combat, after all—the prize the War God had coveted for an age.
What grated on him was that no visible threat presented itself. He was scanning the surroundings with a faint frown when Fay, walking ahead, turned back to look at him.
Her hair slipped across her cheek as she tilted her head. The Elf's naturally limpid frame seemed to drift faintly in the light.
"What's wrong?"
An innocent expression. Fay, the Elf girl who needed neither food nor sleep yet imitated ordinary human life out of admiration.
There was no world in which she harbored murderous intent toward him. He trusted her loyalty and her adoration absolutely.
So what, then? He smiled gently and shook his head. Fay studied him for a moment, then stepped closer and took his hand.
Firm, gentle pressure worked into his palm. Aslan blinked at her—she had started massaging his hand without a word.
Sudden, hard to read, but he understood: this was her way of offering comfort.
Back when they had first traveled together, he had just lost Rowena and had often been struggling.
And whenever he was struggling, Fay would fret over how to soothe him—until she had settled on massages.
Ever since, whenever he looked weary, she would start kneading his hands or his neck and shoulders, sometimes even his face, without any preamble at all.
The face had seemed rather less than innocent, but he had never wanted to point that out and make things awkward, so he had always laughed it off.
And the massages had continued right to the present. Now, mistaking his dazed reaction for pain, she was kneading his hand again. He watched for a moment, then reached out with his free hand and gently ruffled her hair.
"I'm fine. It's just..."
How to explain this? He rolled his eyes, searching for the words.
First, he needed to work out who was shadowing him.
He thought for a moment, realized he would not get there by simply following the immediate context, and reassembled the situation from scratch.
He and Fay were walking. Mid-stride, his Luck had triggered.
It had not reacted strongly. Given that Luck's intensity scaled with the threat, this was not life-or-death.
But his Luck had only flickered, and even his heightened senses could not locate the source.
Narrowing down who in this city was capable of that yielded a short list.
And a very clear motive.
He paused. Fay, looking up at him with wide eyes, made to resume her handiwork. He let out a soft laugh and shook his head.
"Someone's watching."
Fay cocked her head. A lock of hair slipped across her cheek, and without blinking, she swept the surroundings with a glance.
Angie would have openly spun around and given them away. Fay was sharper. Aslan pitched his voice so their observer would not catch it.
"Either an Evil God's gaze or a mage. A mage good enough to fool even your senses and mine."
A skilled mage. At the implication, Fay bit back a smile—not her usual girlish mask, but something older.
"Interesting."
Aslan answered with his own quiet smile and a nod.
He could guess roughly why and who was watching, but he preferred to hear it directly. He exchanged a look with Fay.
Her eyes flickered as she parsed the meaning, then she returned a small smile. He spoke—
Loud enough that the people nearby turned their heads a little.
"Fay, since we don't know the City of Mages well, why don't we go ask about the best spots? The mayor should be in her office about now."
"Oh, I like that idea! Let's invite her to dinner, too!"
The cheerful reply made his Luck stir. A light flutter of air, and the two of them started walking toward the mayor's office.
The gaze followed. Now Luck responded as if the watcher had stopped bothering to hide. The reaction did not fade all the way to Anna Heleminus's manor, and by the time they reached the office door, it had sharpened to its peak.
The intent was nearly absent—persistent, but not intense. Finding the door unlocked, Aslan pushed it open swiftly.
At the same moment, something clattered behind the desk.
Crash!
Beyond the creaking door, Anna Heleminus lay sprawled on the floor, trembling faintly.
No need for further evidence. Any excuse she could offer would be incoherent nonsense. Aslan folded his arms and smiled slightly. Behind him, Fay giggled.
"H-how did you know...?"
To her credit, Anna did not bother with denials.
A single question, worth more than a hundred excuses. Aslan smiled and rubbed his chin.
"I guessed."
"...Pardon?"
"Mages are good at grasping reality and reshaping it with their mana. Their field of vision is narrow. Holding multiple images in their head beyond a single phenomenon is difficult. It's a weakness most mages share, and I thought you'd share it, Lady Anna."
Anna rose from the floor with a faint tremor in her eyes. She rubbed her stiff back and sank into her chair.
"I figured if we announced we were going to the mayor's office, you'd either realize you'd been caught or decide you couldn't afford to be caught, and you'd rush here. If it were me, I'd have said I was away on business and shown up belatedly."
In short, she had given herself away. The woman's pupils quivered. Fay's giggling made her enjoyment plain.
Was she feeling wronged? Anna stared at Fay with a dazed expression for a moment, then lifted the corners of her mouth.
Anna, with her powerful maternal instincts, could not scold a girl who was laughing at her own disgrace. She simply rubbed her back and let out a heavy, self-mocking sigh.
"So, why were you watching us?"
Aslan stepped into the office. Fay followed and kicked the door shut behind her.
The moment he was inside, Anna hesitated briefly, then flicked her wrist.
Mana spilled from the gesture and coiled around the room—soundproofing, intrusion prevention, layers of anti-eavesdropping magic that Aslan recognized immediately.
That was unexpected. He had assumed she simply wanted to see Fay again.
He stopped at an uncertain distance, and the woman looked at him.
The emotion in her eyes was mostly worry.
"...Your arm. It's healed."
Worry about his arm? Aslan did not think so. He blinked instead of answering. The woman frowned, her green irises flickering with light, as if she was hesitating.
"I heard you used Equalization. Is that right?"
Equalization.
Aslan could not answer easily.
Using Equalization for healing was not exactly standard.
Equalization was a spell with a notoriously high failure rate, and the risks on failure were considerable.
"...Let me ask again."
It was a spell mainly used for maintaining test subjects. Almost never on humans.
With only two exceptions.
"My student... are you acquainted with Anton?"
The Master of Magic, Anton. And the Master of Combat, Aslan.
At the name, Aslan's expression turned complicated—not quite a smile, not quite embarrassment.
It was, so to speak, undeniable proof.
In the entire history of Geladrion, only two people had ever used Equalization for recovery purposes.
And, in fact, Aslan had met the Master of Magic. Fought beside him. Tried to kill him, too.
Recalling that Anton had died roughly five times in the process, "acquainted" was putting it gently.
Aslan hesitated, looking at Anna's grave expression—the deep concern with which she regarded him, as if she was worried for him.
"This Anton you mentioned..."
"Uses a crossbow. Mastered the Transmutation and Manifestation schools. In his seventies. Keeps a cat. Often wears a mask."
No denying it. That was him exactly. Anna pressed her fingers to her brow at Aslan's twisted expression.
The sigh that followed was not directed at Aslan. Probably at Anton, somewhere far away.
With that sigh, she turned her gaze back to him and asked—
"Is Anton well?"
A soft voice thick with gentle worry. Nothing like the madness she had shown when he had refused her first proposal, when he had told her he would not help resurrect her daughter.
It was strange, seeing her characteristic maternal instinct directed at a man in his seventies, but this was her true nature. Aslan understood that now.
She was the type who could not abandon her student. He smiled wryly and answered.
"When I last saw him, he'd just blown himself up along with five Warrior Monks. So he's probably still alive."
Words that would make most people faint. But the woman knew Anton well—better than Aslan did, perhaps.
So she let out a breath of relief.
"He still uses that spell often, I see. Whether I should call it a comfort that he hasn't changed...."
"He always said it was the most efficient method. He'll stick with it unless something more efficient comes along."
"That's just like him. Then where is he? Perhaps in this city...?"
Her eyes brightened with something like hope. Aslan shook his head.
"He lives in a magic tower northeast of the War God's Battlefield Fortress."
Disappointment was plain on her face.
It was quickly redirected at Fay. Fay, catching the obsession lingering in Anna's gaze, glanced at Aslan.
She gave the box she held behind her back a little shake. Aslan nodded.
Fay feigned a moment of hesitation, then smiled and held out the box.
Shoes.
As the lid came off, Anna's eyes widened.
"Anna gave Fay shoes, so Fay's giving Anna shoes too!"
Fay approached and handed them over. Anna took the shoes and stared, dumbfounded, at Fay first, then at Aslan.
The emotion on her face, in summary, was astonishment.
"When did you...?"
Astonishment that Fay had bought these right under her surveillance and her gaze.
Fay answered with a smug look.
"Fay is an Elf."
As if that explained everything, she put her hands on her hips and lifted her chin.
Anna stared at the shoes, dazed. They were ornate boots, clearly expensive, and exactly her size.
When she raised her head again, Fay added—
"Thank you for watching over Fay!"
A bright smile. Even if it was a performance, it was childlike and guileless.
The woman broke into tears.
Anna pulled Fay into an embrace, weeping. Fay—who had seen both the foreshadowing and the outcome—did not shy away. She simply patted Anna's back as the woman clung to her and sobbed.
"Fay... live with me, won't you...."
"No. Fay is going with Aslan. Anna lives here!"
At Fay's beaming reply, Anna offered no retort. Only regret.