The Sun Is Hot, the Sky Is High, and the Greenery Is Lush - 4
The Crassius Logistics Center has closed for good.
Thankfully it was not a failed operation that forced the doors shut. After throwing manpower after manpower into the work, they had managed to store every last gift that poured in from every corner of the continent. A successful conclusion, yet not one I ever wished to repeat. May no such catastrophe ever happen again.
"You've all worked hard. You were already busy with Tower duties, yet you still helped with a private matter of ours. That deserves proper reward."
So I offered the customary words of thanks and compensation before the rather haggard mages. Honestly, the gifts these people themselves had sent were hardly few, so it felt a bit like reaping what they had sown—but putting high-caliber talent to work for free was a sure way to invite gossip. Things like The Minister of the Inspectorate Ministry is throwing his weight around because he has the Tower Master behind him. If that kind of talk took root among the mages, it would become a headache.
A headache for them, of course, not for me. If Trixie ever heard such rumors, a wave of generational change would probably sweep through mage society. The problem being that it would not be voluntary.
"Not at all, Your Excellency. The Tower Master's marriage is as good as a festival for every mage. We merely lent our humble hands to that celebration—how could we accept payment?"
When I began distributing the pouches of silver, the mage speaking for the group waved his hands in polite refusal.
Perfect. Exactly the reaction I wanted. If the husband of the Tower Master they so respected treated them roughly, resentment would be inevitable. But if he offered fair compensation, they would be the ones forced to bow their heads first.
"Even wedding guests who simply grace the seats with their presence are treated to a meal. How could I send the junior scholars who actually lent a hand home empty-handed? If you truly care for the Tower Master, don't make a fuss—just take it."
So I ignored the mage's demurral and pressed the pouch into his hands. It had only been ceremonial refusal anyway.
"Then we shall accept with gratitude."
Naturally there was no second refusal. Pride at having aided the Tower Master they revered, plus real compensation in their hands—turning it down would have been the stranger thing.
My work was finished, but Trixie was still hard at it.
"You're still writing?"
"There are as many letters as there are mage organizations on the continent, so it can't be helped. At least the smaller groups sent under joint names, so I don't have to answer every single one."
She smiled, yet her hands never stopped moving. I carefully took the chair opposite her.
Receiving a gift meant sending at least a note of thanks—that was basic courtesy. Even a corrupt official who pocketed bribes still bothered to reply to the giver. Trixie, elder and giant of the magical world, could hardly remain silent.
While I had been running myself ragged as logistics-center director, she had been personally composing replies—to every mage organization that had sent wedding gifts.
"They'll all be over the moon. Handwriting from the Magic Lord is treasure enough."
"Heh. You're embarrassing me. I'm just fobbing them off with letters instead of proper returns."
I snorted at that. A letter's value depended entirely on whose letter it was—
"Which is why I've been adding a little advice to each one as well."
?
The unexpected remark made my hand freeze while pouring tea.
A little advice in every letter? Advice from none other than the Magic Lord?
Is it really 'little'?
I found myself staring at the letters she had finished. Beyond the simple thanks, there were indeed unintelligible formulas and diagrams. Looking closer, the greeting took only two or three lines; the rest of the space was filled with that material.
"The name of the group or the gift they sent usually tells me what they're researching. Writing down a personal opinion or a bit of experience on that research is a decent way to show sincerity, don't you think?"
"That…"
I started to answer, then shut my mouth again.
Treasure, all right.
Earlier I had said it as a joke; now the joke had become reality. Those letters truly were treasures.
For mages, simply seeing Trixie or receiving the smallest scrap of instruction was already an honor. But advice that went far beyond a scrap—advice on the very field they had staked their lives upon? Collapsing in tears of gratitude on the spot would not have been strange.
Like receiving a Bible signed by the Pope himself.
The comparison was a little off, but the feeling was probably something like that. Or not.
"True enough."
I set the slightly muddled feeling aside and continued naturally. It felt more like grace than a mere expression of sincerity, but I let it pass.
"What about those letters over there, then?"
I gently changed the subject.
Beside the finished replies sat another stack. They carried the same words of thanks, yet none of Trixie's "little advice."
Perhaps those groups simply had no research topic? No, that was impossible. An organization without a research topic was just a social club.
"Ah, these children."
Following my gaze, Trixie gave a soft nod.
"Good ideas, plenty of passion—but their direction has gone a little astray. I sorted them out separately. For these ones, I think it would be better to write proper papers and send those instead."
"…"
The utterly casual way she dropped that bombshell made me close my mouth once more.
If news soon spreads of some group achieving a breakthrough, I'll know exactly who it was…
Watching Karl drink his tea with that dazed expression, I let a small smile slip out.
I know perfectly well. A simple thank-you would have been more than enough; there was no need to add advice, and certainly no need to go so far as writing papers for them. Magical achievement is something one earns through personal torment and exploration—not something handed down unilaterally by another.
Yet somehow my hands moved of their own accord. I turned the eyes of children who could not see the decisive card, and corrected the footsteps of those who had lost their way.
Strange. In more than a hundred years I had never done such a thing.
Because back then I did not know Karl—so of course?
The previous hundred years had been a hundred years lived alone. A century in which I never opened my heart to anyone, never received love from anyone. That may be why I treated others so coolly.
But now I am loved and I love in return. Perhaps the room that has opened in my heart, the warmth I have learned, is what makes me act differently.
Thanks to you, the magical world will advance.
I nearly laughed. Because of you I have changed; if the magical world progresses, that too will be thanks to you.
I never expected it would come to this.
Even I find it astonishing. When I first met Karl, I never imagined I would come to love this child.
I had only been curious. They said he was the strong one who had defeated the heaven-defying rebel threatening the Empire; the Duke of Victory praised and cherished him so highly; the mages who had served in the war spoke of his almost unnatural recovery ability. I thought only that he was a unique specimen, and that researching his blood would yield fine results.
That was all the meeting was meant to be. In my long, long life, Karl too would simply be a connection that brushed past and vanished.
"Your Grace. If it is not too forward, may I ask just one thing?"
"Speak."
"What sort of research will my blood be used for?"
When I requested that he provide blood, that was what Karl had said.
"I intend to create a new potion based on your regenerative power. I cannot be certain, but if the research succeeds, something far surpassing existing performance should emerge."
"I see."
As a mage and researcher, telling a collaborator the truth was only proper. When I spoke without concealment, Karl simply nodded, calm as ever.
"So I can contribute to saving lives rather than taking them."
With a somewhat bitter expression.
An unexpected reaction. Those who had agreed to cooperate with my research usually showed interest in the reward, excitement at forming a connection with me, or simple joy at being able to help. Karl only confirmed the compensation for his blood as a formality; none of the usual responses appeared.
That was why a faint interest took root. Even with combat experience, a youth not yet twenty—and one living a life of enviable privilege as heir to an Imperial Count—should not have looked like that.
And so I learned what he had endured in the war. That he had lost people he regarded as family, and returned alone.
At first I felt pity. I too had lost my parents around the age of twenty. Parents and comrades may not be the same, yet the shock of losing those one holds dear knows no hierarchy.
Afterwards I felt admiration. At that age I had wailed and fallen apart, unable to forget those who left so suddenly, living like a wreck. Karl showed no such wavering and pressed steadily forward. As the new chief of the Audit Department, he cleanly erased the Second Prince's faction.
I may have begun to hold him in my heart from then on.
You who stood before choices similar to mine yet took a different path. Unlike me, who closed the door of my heart and kept others at a distance, you willingly walked forward with others.
And yet you still could not forget old bonds, lingering long at the graves.
Once I thought well of him, I saw only the good.
I raised a hand to hide the smile that rose unbidden. It was the first time I had taken interest in someone, the first time I had looked upon anyone with such favor.
Perhaps that was why I wanted to see Karl even once more, to speak to him even once more. Alone, I nurtured my fondness for him until it grew lush and strong.
At some point I realized the emotion was no longer simple fondness, yet I restrained myself by recalling the gulf of race and lifespan. I forced it down by remembering what had befallen my parents.
Then, miraculously, a means of overcoming that gulf appeared.
And so we arrived here.
Of course I do not know whether Karl will choose that miraculous means. I too may meet the same end as my mother.
Even so, it is all right. Just as Mother worried for the child she would leave behind yet never regretted loving Father, I too will never regret having met Karl.
"Trixie, the ink is blotting."
"Ah."
At Karl's voice I hastily lowered my gaze. At some point my hand had stopped, the pen tip pressing the same spot.
"I'll have to rewrite this one."
"Lucky it was a letter you'd barely started."
At those words I smiled again.
The smile simply came of its own accord.