The Tomb (1)

"Huuuuh...."

I sat cross-legged, deep in meditation.

As I cultivated my mana alone, Iphril's voice suddenly came to mind.

-Tiberian, if there are a hundred mages in this world, there are a hundred ways to cultivate. They may share a broad framework, but in the details, each must find their own path.

The mana heart grew and changed like a living being.

It held infinite potential for variation based on each individual's training method.

I gradually modified the Origin of All Things to forge my own mana heart.

Of course, it would have been impossible without Hierniorn's help.

[I've been wandering all over this place so much that now I could navigate it with my eyes closed! Tch!]

'That's why I always say thanks, right?'

[Thanks with words only!]

'Do that again and no mana for you today.'

[This body merely meant that knowing the castle's every nook and cranny has been most beneficial.... Especially the library view, so poetic.... Ever fresh....]

The cultivation method I devised involved etching circuits into a spherical mana heart and gradually expanding its structure.

To modern mages, it would seem utterly mad.

'Most distribute mana across multiple circuits to accumulate it, but I'm just pouring everything into one like rolling a snowball.'

In truth, it was the opposite.

My mana heart wasn't a mere lump—it was like a towering building, layered floor by floor.

Each new layer dramatically boosted its power: a three-dimensional structure.

It was designed to maximize the strengths of my Transcendental Eye.

'With the Transcendental Eye, I can pierce through every magical process. So even a complex mana heart poses no issue.'

On the contrary, the more intricate the structure, the more explosively my magic's power would grow.

Like slowly erecting a colossal fortress, I was crafting a mana heart no one else could replicate.

It would ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠take over a year to reach the next stage.

From Stage 4 onward, training time would likely skyrocket exponentially.

I couldn't afford to waste time like that—I'd need to procure another suitable elixir.

[Impress your grandfather well, and he might cough up something again. Why not try acting cute?]

"......"

I ignored it, of course.

Elixirs could wait.

But what happened right after was too big to ignore with closed eyes.

"Kirian!"

The door burst open, and a girl dashed into the room.

I cracked one eye open and spoke.

"Out."

"No way!"

"I'm busy."

"You don't even know what I brought!"

It was Libiel Kirchheis, now a 13-year-old girl after five years.

She and I had grown close.

Beyond the mana oath, we'd spent no small time training swordsmanship and magic under the same instructors.

"See? Know what this is?"

"Grandfather's decree."

"Huh? How'd you know...?"

"It was inevitable. How could I not? Idiot."

"Idiot? To your big sis?!"

After her father Tornil Kirchheis was exiled north, Libiel became a ghost in the family.

I was still treated as the 'young master shut in his room,' so staying distant would have been weirder.

Though her bratty temper didn't exactly endear her more.

[Orphaned brats leaning on each other—nothing wrong with that.]

'Hiern, your beak's crooked, but let's get the words straight. I've never leaned on her. If anything, I helped the frail little thing when she stumbled.'

[Hmmm. This body sees it differently. Heh heh heh....]

Anyway, I snatched the letter from Libiel's hand.

Tearing open the envelope stamped with the family head's seal revealed bold handwriting.

The contents read thus:

An order to enter the Tomb of Books and Swords.

The back page was packed with rules for inside the tomb, but no need to check them one by one.

I knew them all already.

Finally, the time has come.

I murmured inwardly, pocketing the decree.

But I felt a piercing stare.

"Hey, Kirian. Y'know..."

"Nope, no."

"Hey! How do you know what I'm gonna say?!"

"Obvious. You want to be my guardian, right?"

"Huh? How...?"

"Your eyes screamed it just now. Idiot."

"To your big sis again?!"

"Anyway, no."

"......"

Every participant needed one guardian.

Someone to protect them inside the tomb and assist partially.

Libiel volunteered for the role.

But I refused flat-out.

The girl scowled, hands on hips.

"Then who? You got nobody!"

"Nobody? Why think that?"

"Well..."

"'Cause I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠got no parents?"

"Ahem."

Even the bratty Libiel couldn't say it outright and averted her gaze with a fake cough.

But she didn't give up easily.

"I've been in there—looks simple, but scoring high is brutal. To aim for a top academy, you gotta risk it!"

"So?"

"One slip, and you're seriously hurt! Kids die sometimes!"

"......"

"So you need a mage who can cast Rescue without delay behind you. Trust your big sis."

Libiel could strut because she'd gone through it last year.

The kid scored well enough for a solid academy.

Absolutism academy—one of the top three most promising.

[Absolutism's magic is explosive, its swordsmanship radical. In a word, a domineering school.]

A reliable talent blooming—perfect guardian material.

But I had no intention of taking the test ordinarily.

So I refused again.

"I already picked my guardian."

"Who? Not Sir Lamoff? Trainers can't be guardians, y'know."

"I know. Who it is? Secret."

"Why secret? Tell me!"

"No."

Libiel's face fell.

"You don't trust me that much? I'm hurt. After all our time together... Can't you trust me just once?"

Now appealing to pity.

But I didn't bite.

"Drop it. Nothing else? Out."

"Kirian!"

"Out, I said."

At my eviction order, Libiel scowled fiercely and spun away.

Her stomping exit reeked of hurt feelings.

But this was non-negotiable.

I'm aiming high enough to choose my academy freely. That means risks—and she'd be in danger too.

[Mm, this body agrees.]

Hierniorn nodded too.

[The more the participant covets, the harder the tomb's trials become. Talented or not, can't drag a mere kid as guardian.]

So I needed someone else.

Moments later, I called that person in.

"You called, young master?"

"Jenice, come with me as my guardian."

"......Pardon?"

Jenice, the nanny who'd raised me like her own for twelve years.

She was my choice.

* * *

Creeeak.

The training room door opened.

Bastion Lamoff, by the window, turned with a faint smile toward his visitor.

"Long time no see, Sir Leonir."

"Same as ever, Bastion."

The entering man shed his black robe, muttering.

Sharp features like a young Rohbark Kirchheis.

Leonir Kirchheis, the family's eldest son.

Childhood friends with Discipline Captain Bastion.

"Sit."

"Was gonna anyway. The road from the south was hell. Damn Red Cartel..."

Leonir strode in and sank into the sofa.

Then pulled a long bundle from his coat and plunked it on the table.

"Here, the staff you wanted. Top-grade, carved from unicorn horn. Don't forget—it needs a name to activate."

"Thank you, Sir Leonir."

"But surely not for you?"

Valuable artifact, but mismatched for Bastion's hulking frame.

Bastion: 7-star knight, 5-star mage.

Hard to picture a melee magic swordsman with a dainty wand.

"Why? Can't I have a staff?"

"Not that, but a unicorn horn wand? You're no kid."

Bastion chuckled at Leonir's mutter.

"A gift for young master Kirian. After five harsh years as his trainer, a small token of praise."

"......Praise? Funny hearing that from you."

"He's special."

Leonir tilted his head.

"Hmm, that special? But as Demiph's son..."

"Very different from Sir Demiph."

"How so?"

Bastion pondered before answering.

"Fierce tenacity. Source unknown."

His tone held unexpected pity.

Leonir just smirked.

"You don't know—Demiph had tenacity too. Exploded in the worst way."

"Anyway, exceptional. Frankly, the greatest talent among any kin I've seen."

"......That much?"

"Yes. That's why the family head watches him."

"Interesting. Was gonna show face and head south. Guess I'll spectate the Tomb of Books and Swords after all?"

Leonir leaned back, muttering.

Then noticed Bastion staring intently.

"What?"

"Actually, one more request."

"Was? Meaning no more? What was it?"

"I planned to ask you to be young master Kirian's guardian in the tomb tonight."

"Guardian...?"

Leonir scowled.

He loathed the tomb ritual—skipped spectating.

Burned badly as a child.

Focused on sword since toddling, he barely scraped through.

As heir, poor score—not a fond memory.

"Magic matters most there. What use am I as guardian?"

"Truthfully, young master Kirian could take first without one."

"......Mocking me?"

"Never. I just thought, since you cherished his father—your little brother—you might do the same for his son."

Leonir's face hardened.

His lost brother's face surfaced.

Demiph Kirchheis.

"Bastion, he's dead. Why give my heart to a kid I've never met?"

"No forcing it. Hearts don't bend to will."

"Heh. Teacher life softened you..."

"Can't deny that. Grown quite fond, honestly."

Bastion replied shamelessly; Leonir huffed a laugh.

"Finish your tale. You wanted me as guardian? Then what?"

"Someone beat me to it. Young master chose his nanny."

"Huh? A mere nanny?"

"Yes."

Bastion's eyes deepened, nodding.

Surprisingly, not reckless.

"That nanny was brought from her maiden home by the late Lady Ophelia. You might recall—her family wasn't ordinary."

"......!"

Kirian's maternal side, Demiph's in-laws.

Leonir recalled, nodding.

"The Dark Sword's 'Rnab'? Right?"

"Yes. Lady Ophelia hailed from Rnab, held 5-star knight rank."

"Right, rare dark-element lady knight. So the nanny trained in dark sword arts? Kid saw through her and picked her?"

"Who knows......"

Bastion trailed off vaguely, glancing back.

The tomb would open soon.

Having fulfilled his trainer duties, the captain eyed his potential future lord and spoke again.

"Sir Leonir, one proposal."

"What?"

"If young master Kirian takes first in the Tomb of Books and Swords, and it impresses you—"

Leonir finished it.

"Fine. If that miracle happens, I'll step in for Kirian. Can't refuse you anyway. Satisfied?"

"Thank you."

"Save it. He won't catch my eye, Bastion."

Cold, firm certainty.

The ritual daunted even heir Leonir.

Collateral kin and grandchildren came hyper-prepared with massive backing.

A virtual orphan like Kirian surpassing them? Unthinkable.

Yet Bastion still smiled.

"Then it's a promise, Sir Leonir."

"......?"

As if Kirian had already claimed first.