Chapter 6. Value (1)
The great Kirchheis.
Five hundred years ago, the strongest family that birthed the Holy Hero Ulfrik.
Already renowned for swordsmanship and a prestigious house of magic and martial arts, their prestige soared to the heavens after ending the wars.
Now even the royal families of various nations lived in their shadow, making the title "Prestigious House at the Pinnacle" anything but exaggerated.
But the Kirchheis did not dominate the entire world.
—Red Cartel.
The organization of "Red Ghosts" that emerged after the war with the Demon King.
Lurking in the underbelly of society, they were infamous for hunting knights and mages.
They stole life force from their prey and converted it into Blood Qi, their unique source of power—
Thus, bloodkin active on the front lines always faced the risk of losing their lives.
The Tomb of Books and Swords was a place prepared for them.
A holy site preserving the knowledge and insights accumulated by the family's mages and knights over their lifetimes.
In essence, it was the true secret vault housing the very essence of the family.
Hmm.
In my newly spacious and comfortable room, I scratched the side of my head as I listened to the explanation.
The more Hierniorn spoke, the stranger it felt.
They gathered research to pass down to posterity but only open it once a year? And even then, only with the family head's permission? That's contradictory.
In the era of expeditions, it had been the opposite.
Back when everyone shared knowledge to combat the Demon King and his demon legions.
The current mindset was hard for me to grasp.
Now that the wars had ended, each family's knowledge was treated like precious property, leading to the creation of the Tomb of Books and Swords.
A sort of knowledge vault.
Fine, whatever. Has the tomb ever been completely looted?
I nodded at the proud response.
But I had a more important question.
So, what do we have to do once we're inside?
The task for children entering the Tomb of Books and Swords.
A simple answer came.
What kind of trial?
Who's overseeing the trial?
True to their descent from the Allmaster, the Kirchheis raised children in both magic and swordsmanship simultaneously.
Thus, every child needed a master as an apprentice mage and knight candidate, and the Tomb of Books and Swords was the gateway.
In other words, it determined one's future.
What happens to top performers?
I see.
They got three chances total. Fail all, and permanent expulsion from the family.
Rohbark singling me out for training was profoundly meaningful.
He'd seen potential in me as an infant and intended to watch personally.
What do you mean?
But the voice carried a gloomy undertone.
I chuckled.
Why? Worried I'll abandon spirit arts?
A valid concern.
If the family atmosphere still nurtured spirits even a little, I wouldn't have needed to contract Hierniorn.
But I had other plans.
Don't worry. I won't join Extremism. I'll choose my own path.
Following someone else's path might make growth easy and swift.
But where was the limit?
Probably capping at that person's level, or slightly above.
Not enough.
My goal loomed far higher.
To defeat Ulfrik the Demon King, I needed to climb even higher—via a completely different path.
One I blazed myself.
That's up to me.
A concrete growth plan.
Something to ponder before entering the Tomb of Books and Swords.
Hierniorn flapped its wings and nodded.
True enough.
At least until age twelve, I'd receive proper care.
I also needed to optimize my Mana Heart during that time.
Mages refined their Mana Hearts more efficiently the younger they were.
One drawback, though.
If only I could secure a separate mana supply source.
The mana depletion during Mana Heart cultivation.
No elixirs to replenish it quickly was regrettable.
Sending Hierniorn back to infiltrate the vault yielded nothing.
Security had tightened; couldn't even reach the herb storage.
The returnee clacked its beak in complaint.
Sheesh. Anyone hearing that would think I'm some junkie.
For now, I'd diligently train mana daily without skips.
At age seven, they assigned a "tutor" for basics, usually a capable relative or close associate.
Once my father Demif returned, I'd get one too.
I'll request someone good-natured. No need to learn basics anyway.
Then, about three years later—
Hierniorn appeared in a flap.
The air felt off.
Even without straining, maids' whispers reached me.
"Is it true? Lord Demif passed away?"
"I heard so. Pallbearers took the body to the underground vault. Funeral soon!"
Demif Kirchheis, my biological father and the family head's youngest son.
A chilling rumor of his death abroad.
* * *
"We will begin the funeral for Demif Kirchheis. Please rise."
I'd attended countless funerals.
Including my father's.
I'd handled the deaths of my closest ones myself.
So Demif's funeral—a man I'd never even seen...
Honestly, no emotions at all.
I stood in the funeral hall in an ill-fitting suit.
Demif's brothers were all active elsewhere; none attended.
Only the deceased's father, Rohbark, stood expressionless.
In the silence, piercing gazes stabbed.
—The shut-in young master.
The bloodkin's nickname for me.
From shuttling only between bedroom and training room.
Some speculated I secluded due to issues.
No issues, but I let it be.
I'd drawn enough attention already.
Proving my worth to Rohbark sufficed; other eyes were risky.
My quiet life shed those gazes mercifully.
Also thanks to a direct-line girl prodigy in magic.
A genius girl who forged her own Mana Heart at age five.
The news rocked Kirchheis Castle, stealing all spotlight.
That nameless cousin sister...
Yeah?
Truthfully, little interest.
My mind was occupied elsewhere.
If Demif's dead, what about my tutor?
Officially, I was still a kid ignorant of magic.
Tutor assignment meant basic magic lessons, then gradual reveal of skills.
But the very Demif to summon the tutor died and returned.
What now?
Hierniorn seemed stumped too.
Then, a chill prickled my nape.
What?
I whipped around, but the gaze vanished into the crowd.
Jenice approached from the front, oblivious.
"Young master, they'll close the casket soon. Time for final goodbyes with Father. Got it?"
"……."
"Young master Kirian?"
"Got it."
The unidentified gaze clung persistently, dangerously.
Like a sniper locked on.
But no overt presence now.
Soon, the officiating priest stepped down.
"We close the casket now. Family, please bid final farewells."
"Come on, young master."
I took Jenice's hand and approached.
The gaze on my back followed.
Without turning rashly, I dispatched Hierniorn.
The guardian spirit returned swiftly.
Not a direct-line Kirchheis, at least.
Many external guests attended; likely one of them.
Any outsider who'd take interest in me?
Deep in thought, I neared Demif's casket.
Misreading my expression, Jenice sighed and patted my small back.
"Young master, don't be too sad. Where there's meeting, there's parting."
…Parting from someone I'd never met.
Anyway, holding Jenice's hand, I peered inside.
A young man's corpse lay buried amid vibrant flowers.
Platinum hair identical to mine, strikingly similar features.
Undeniable blood proof.
But I frowned.
No, it's not.
Not that. That's no real corpse.
No corpse qi gathering on the dead.
Not a speck of yin mana condensing on the deceased.
A fact caught by my Transcendental Eye.
Undoubtedly a finely crafted wax doll in the casket.
Why a fake funeral?
Glancing at Rohbark revealed nothing.
The elder waved briskly.
"Seal the casket."
"Yes, family head."
It shut and nailed in seconds.
Too hasty.
Hierniorn leaped up then.
The watcher from afar approached.
Middle-aged, eyepatch over right eye, as heard.
She offered Rohbark a handshake.
"Long time, Warlock. First since Benziog Fortress."
Rohbark's eyes flickered as hands clasped.
"Asena Mazel. It's you."
The hall murmured.
Unfamiliar name; I just tilted my head.
Jenice beside me whispered urgently.
"Young master, impress her! The "One-Eyed Merchant Giant" is here."
"What's that?"
"Wandering caravan boss, master of the "Appraisal" spell for valuing people!"