Ian's Prediction Was Spot On
Ian's prediction had been right on the money. Inglían had zero interest in anything except the Belenca right in front of him. Who gave a damn about what was happening around him when a heavily armored knight was charging straight at him? So he hadn't even registered Ian deploying Umbrakinesis, let alone Inglían blasting it away with his photokinesis.
"Such a thing happened?"
"..."
Ian clicked his tongue at Inglían's feigned surprise, as if it were someone else's business. Already got dementia or what? In truth, it was just his attention being scattered.
"Heh. Your skills are truly impressive."
Ian figured Inglían was just buttering him up again, but the man was dead serious. Mages capable of assessing a situation as swiftly and accurately as Ian, then deploying the most appropriate spell, were exceedingly rare. In most cases, mages operated from the safety of the rear, under knightly protection, calmly channeling their magic. With their minds focused on communing with the mysteries, they had no spare attention for the chaos around them. Even the most brilliant grand mages often faltered and failed to perform when directly threatened.
But Ian was different. Even amid the rapidly shifting battlefield, he stayed cool-headed, deploying the right spells at the right moments to turn the tide.
Because he's still young? Youth made everything quicker. It was simple common sense. Whether it was innate talent or the blessings of youth, Inglían couldn't say. What he knew for sure was that Ian was one hell of a mage. A magic college professor could vouch for that.
"You learned your magic from Eredis, right?"
"What's your relationship with my master?"
"Nothing too grand. We've just crossed paths a few times at the college."
Inglían downplayed it as "a few times," but Ian doubted it was that casual. Neither was young; even a handful of meetings a year would add up to dozens over a decade. They'd probably debated or collaborated.
"You haven't joined a school yet..."
"No. I haven't joined any school."
A school was, simply put, a research group. Take Eredis—she was active in the Pyrokinesis school. These groups formed on the belief that exploring mysteries together beat going solo. Joining brought perks: funding, specialized magical dialects unique to the school, spells developed by members. Beyond a certain level, joining was practically mandatory.
But for a less experienced mage like Ian, wandering the world and probing various mysteries took priority. You'd grind away at the mysteries until you hit a wall, then join a school. Joining too early meant struggling to catch up to others' achievements.
"If you ever want to join one, come find me in Dranheim anytime."
Magic schools dotted the continent like hobby clubs—easy to form, easy to disband. But Dranheim Magic College's schools were different; the generous funding kept them stable. Money talked. The catch? Obligations as a college affiliate. For a wandering mage like Ian, the college was just one option among many.
"With your current skills, you'd have no trouble joining any school."
"You mean Aerokinesis or Geokinesis?"
"Exactly. Umbrakinesis too. No, especially Umbrakinesis—you'd be welcomed with open arms."
The darkness mystery Ian wielded was rare; few could even hear its voice, let alone enter the school. A mage trusted by it? Instant shoo-in for an Umbrakinesis school.
"Eh, I'll think about it."
Unlike Inglían's enthusiastic pitch for the college, Ian had no strong feelings either way. Magic was a practical discipline. Reading books and debating didn't guarantee growth. The real path was direct experience: sensing, grasping, familiarizing with the mysteries. The funding was tempting, sure... but he could earn plenty with his skills now. Eredis had told him the same—don't rush to college; roam and experience mysteries first. He'd go if the chance arose, but it wasn't high priority.
"Very well. I'll look forward to debating under the college vineyards someday."
Inglían smiled warmly at the young mage. Yeah, a cozy, quiet magic college might feel stifling to youth. Travel would be the thrill now. He sincerely hoped Ian would climb higher. One day, deep discussions at the college.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
"Now we just need to deal with the baron..."
And sure enough, Inglían's right arm was smashed. Belenca's handiwork. With a simple splint on his arm, he surprisingly wasn't in agony. "As long as I don't move it much, the pain's manageable."
"You okay?"
"Of course. Back in my youth, I wandered the world probing mysteries too. A busted limb? Happened plenty."
Fair enough. Ian nodded. Mages had that frail image, but constant travel made them surprisingly tough. Walking, at least, they could handle.
"Glad it's not too bad."
Lucy flashed an elegant smile. Honestly, Ian jumped every time she pulled that off. Her natural beauty made the noble cosplay convincing. The problem was her mouth ruining it...
"Ah, Baroness."
Inglían bowed to Lucy. "Thank you for treating me as a prisoner."
"No need. Just noble duty."
"In the name of the Imperial Magic College, I vow to pay my ransom."
By invoking the college, he meant: if I stiff you, collect from them. Lucy forgave his tomb-robbing—for a ransom including apology fees. He hadn't led the raid, so it was feasible. Even mages caught red-handed grave-robbing could face summary execution. But executing a college professor? No upside, potential backlash, and his ransom would refill her war-depleted coffers.
"Ian. If Professor Inglían tries any magic, block him."
Ian tilted his head at Lucy's whisper. "He'd really try?"
He thought she feared an escape. Nope.
"If he racks up merits, we'd have to cut his ransom!"
"..."
Like with Belenca, she worried about merit-based discounts. Thorough where it counted—her wallet. Knowing her finances, Ian went along.
"Inglían, no magic in the baron fight..."
"Ah. The fight?"
Inglían spouted nonsense. "The baron's long gone by now."
"...Gone?"
Ian was dumbfounded, but it was true. Belenca had scoured the underground, but the Mud Baron and his lackey had vanished like smoke.
"Gone. Where the hell?"
Inglían shrugged. "Underground complexes always have multiple paths. One collapse and you're trapped."
"But this is a tomb."
"Why do you think he's called baron? Dug an escape route right after entering. Reopened a sealed side path post-construction."
Ian was impressed. What a capable bastard. Proving "Mud Baron" no empty title, he'd excavated a workers' sealed bypass into an emergency exit. Tomb-raider savvy.
"Ian. Found this."
Belenca handed over a leather scrap, presumably the baron's. In ancient script:
[I will surely repay this humiliation!]
"..."
"What? Ian? What’s it say?"
Ian, lacking the guts to translate, passed it to the priest. It pissed Lucy off, but just that.
"This way."
Inglían led them to Talian Baron's sarcophagus. Ironic for an intruder, but he was the only one who'd actually been here. Records existed, but maps weren't reality.
Inscriptions unknown to Ian adorned the door.
"Know what this says?"
"No. You, Inglían?"
"No clue. Must be how to open it..."
Inglían squinted. Days of research, zero progress. College profs might crack it, but solo? Stuck.
Ian had no bright ideas. Magical circle for Geokinesis quake? Door opens, but buried alive. Mysteries weren't delicate.
"No worries. The baroness will open the way."
Ian stepped aside at the priest's words. Right, if Lucy took charge.
Lucy strode up proudly, then yelled: "Ian! What do I do now?"
"..."
Lucy, why ask me? Shockingly (not really), she didn't know. Par for the course. Worse, neither did her priest.
"Why won't it open?"
"Well..."
The priest sweated, flipping documents. "It says bringing Talian blood to the door prompts the fairy's greeting to open it..."
"What's the fairy's greeting?"
"N-not written..."
"..."
Dead end. Priest panicked, Lucy blanked, Inglían burned with challenge. "Don't worry! I'll solve the riddle!"
"Inglían, stay put."
Words aside, Ian huddled with him. Can't leave empty-handed now.
"Tried calling my earth mystery, but the Fairy Queen blocked it beforehand."
"Pre-arranged?"
"Yeah. Ignored my plea. Tried others..."
Blah blah. As Ian and Inglían chatted, Lucy got bored. Everyone busy, standing alone awkward. She met Belenca's eyes, looked away—still awkward. Bored, she spotted shapes on the door.
"Huh?"
Familiar phrase.
"Ian! Hint maybe?"
"Which..."
Ian realized: the riddle text they'd discussed. Lucy, zoning out again...
"Looks like a hint, but no idea."
"I do?"
"???"
Ian blinked. Lucy knew something?!
No lie. Calmly tracing the script, she recited singsong:
"[I will remember our friendship with you forever.]"
Rumble...
The door groaned open as she read.
"Lucy, you really are Talian."
"What’s that mean?!"
Priest's record spot-on: Talian blood needed. Only they knew the handed-down fairy phrase.
"Fairy tongue. Don't know the meaning. Dad taught me, I learned."
"What’s it mean?"
"Dunno? 'Open sesame' or something?"
They cautiously entered. No traps. But unnatural stone pile atop the baron's sarcophagus.
As Lucy approached, Ian yanked her back. Inglían shouted: "Don't touch!"
"Huh? But..."
"That's... the Fairy Queen's tomb."
"What?"
The dainty mound atop the coffin held the Fairy Queen herself. Ian and Inglían sensed the enigmatic guardian power. Touch it? Bad juju.
Lucy, confused: "But why's the Fairy Queen's tomb... on the baron's coffin?"
Quiet Belenca: "So no one desecrates his body."
"..."
"That's why she built hers on top."