The Arme Empire
“If you’d like to hear more, I’ll invite you to my workshop.”
After thinking it over, Lawrence soon nodded.
It would take time for the smell to clear out of the workshop.
Until then, listening to Number 14’s stories sounded like a good way to spend the time.
And, as a bonus, he might even get some information about the magic tower.
“I’d be glad to accept your invitation.”
“A wise choice.”
Lawrence followed Number 14 back to the workshop.
“Unlock.”
A small activation word rang out.
Was it some kind of spell?
The mana gathered to a single point and opened the locked door.
From the threshold itself, the workshop was already piled high with books.
Bookcases crammed full of wooden slips and volumes.
Documents, so many there was nowhere left to put them, sprawled across the floor.
A narrow chair and desk that could barely seat one person.
And on the bed, books reigned as though they were the real owner of the place.
For a room meant for eating, sleeping, and research all at once, it was as filthy as could be.
He hadn’t inspected every corner, but the overall structure looked exactly like Number 13’s workshop.
“Well, I’m sorry about this. You’ll have to bear with me for a moment. I wasn’t prepared to receive a guest...”
Number 14 shoved the papers piled on the floor up onto the bookshelf at random.
After making just enough room, he brought over a chair, then sat down on the bed.
“Now. Where should I begin?”
“Could you start by telling me what kind of nation the Arme Empire was? Shamefully, this is the first time I’ve heard anything about the Arme Empire, and it came from your mouth today.”
“What’s there to be ashamed of? Ignorance is no sin. What’s truly shameful is knowing one’s ignorant and refusing to learn.”
After falling into thought with a faint hum, Number 14 opened his mouth again.
“What kind of nation was the Arme Empire... Honestly, I’ve studied the empire for decades, and there are only a few things I can say with certainty. How the Arme Empire was founded, the names of its emperors through the generations. The only thing old documents can really show us is that the entire continent once lay beneath the rule of the Arme Empire.”
“That’s hard to believe. If what you’re saying is true, then the continent must once have been unified under the name of the Arme Empire.”
“That’s right. The Arme Empire did exist. It was the one and only nation to spread its roots across the whole continent.”
His tone was certain.
“I’ve never heard of it. If a real empire like that existed, shouldn’t its name have been known somehow?”
“Exactly. That’s what makes it so interesting. Scholars who study the Arme Empire say this: it is the history of a blank space. They say the records were all erased because there were stories that must never be passed down to later generations.”
As though he had been waiting for Lawrence’s question, he went on.
“I don’t know what exactly happened in that era. But it is certain that the Arme Empire existed, and that it was an ancient nation that enjoyed a brilliant civilization. Magic lay behind the empire’s dazzling prosperity. Or perhaps there was something even greater than magic working alongside it. Then, one day, the empire vanished from the world overnight.”
“Vanished?”
“Collapsed. And without leaving so much as a trace.”
“...”
An empire that had ruled the entire continent had fallen in a single night?
“It sounds like I’m listening to a myth, not history.”
“It’s only natural to think that. It’s a story almost no different from myth, after all. An ancient empire with a civilization far beyond anything we have now was destroyed overnight. So who could have done such a thing? The northerners beyond Saint Wall? Or monsters?”
“I’ve heard the savage northerners are uncivilized. Even so, I don’t think monsters, no matter how strong, could wipe out a great empire in a single night.”
“No. Neither of those can be the answer. If there truly was a being with power like that, it would have to be something straight out of legend, like a dragon or the goddess worshipped by the Holy Cross Order.”
For a moment, Veles came to mind.
The last dragon, who had set out on a long journey from Dragon Valley.
If anyone had possessed such power, it might have been Veles, the one praised as the Lord of Wind.
Long before the material world and the spirit world were divided, Veles had spoken of an age of gods.
“The truth can’t be known. Everyone who lived in that era is dead now, and its brilliant history has vanished into the dust.”
There was no definitive answer.
What remained was only a bottomless question.
Yet Number 14 looked oddly pleased.
“What matters isn’t who did it. What matters is that the Arme Empire existed, and that a flourishing empire disappeared overnight. Fortunately, all across the continent there remain objects and places that hint at the empire’s shape.”
“What are they?”
As though telling him not to hurry, he let the question hang for a moment before saying, “The holy sites of the Holy Cross Order.”
“Holy sites? You mean those holy sites?”
He hadn’t expected that to come up here.
“Sounds absurd, doesn’t it? The holy-site theory for the Arme Empire is one of the more skeptical ideas even among us scholars. But I think it’s the most promising hypothesis. There are still many holy sites across the continent that haven’t been discovered, and the moment one is found, it falls into the Church’s hands. Rumor has it they even have a special force assigned to that work. No one knows what happens in those holy sites except the Holy See.”
The Celestials of the Holy See.
What Number 14 was referring to was an Inquisitor like Yerina.
“The Holy Cross Order has been entrusted by every nation with authority over the holy sites. It’s a kind of unwritten rule. The only ones outside that arrangement are the northerners, with whom conversation barely counts as conversation to begin with, and the Kingdom of Sultaniya, where the faith of the sea spirits has taken root. So scholars go north beyond Saint Wall or head for the Kingdom of Sultaniya. Of course, most die along the way, but knowledge, stained red with blood, continues faithfully on to the next generation.”
“Then you’re saying the holy sites protected by the Church are the legacy of the Arme Empire?”
“At the very least, it’s a strong possibility. I haven’t seen one with my own eyes, so I can’t say for sure. Besides, the Church doesn’t exactly get along with us mages, does it? You can’t exactly expect them to show off a newly discovered holy site to us.”
As though genuinely disappointed, Number 14 clicked his tongue.
“Aren’t you curious? The magic left behind by the Arme Empire is still being studied by countless mages. Among it are grimoires, which can quite literally drive an unprepared mage mad. Such immense magic, such an advanced civilization, and the Arme Empire that achieved it all was destroyed by whom, exactly? Why did it have to fall? What happened that day, and why were even the records erased? That is the Arme Empire I have devoted my entire life to researching.”
Lawrence rested his chin on his hand.
Whether it was interesting or not was beside the point.
The story of the Arme Empire as Number 14 had researched it was fascinating.
“Even with my limited understanding, I can see how impressive your research is. If you reported the progress you’ve made so far to the magic tower, they’d likely make good use of you. Is there some reason you don’t?”
“Hahaha. That’s a lovely thing to say. What I just told you is something any student at the Royal Academy would know.”
“Everyone knows it?”
“Yes. Maybe not in any exact detail, but they all know an empire like that once existed. They just don’t dig any deeper. Why do you think that is?”
After a brief pause, Lawrence answered, “Because the records disappeared?”
“That could be one reason. But it’s not a complete answer.”
Regret gathered at the corners of his wrinkled eyes.
“These days, mages focus on the practical use of magic, not on stale history. Which noble would pour a fortune into sponsoring research on a history like this? You’d be lucky if they didn’t just badger you to study one more spell that could help them win a territorial war.”
Lawrence remembered the assignment the magic tower had given him.
The practical uses of Water magic. Number 14 had said so.
What the tower wanted was for him to report on how to kill people more efficiently, on how to use Water offensively.
The research he pursued and the research the tower wanted were aimed in entirely different directions.
“I think what people value differs from person to person.”
“Number 13. You really are unusually thoughtful for a mage these days. If everyone in the world were like you, I wouldn’t be rotting away in a workshop like this. But other people aren’t like that. Look around you. Most lives are nothing but moths living hand to mouth for the day. There are plenty who couldn’t even tell you the name of the king who rules their country. How many, really, do you think would care about an ancient empire?”
“...”
Lawrence couldn’t answer right away.
Number 14’s comparison struck too close to home.
The boy who had once wandered the back alleys had been the same.
What did the king who ruled the kingdom have to do with me?
To the orphaned children, the person who gave them food for the day was king and country both.
“I know that well enough myself. I’m an adult now. I understand very clearly that this is reality.”
“Then why do you keep researching it?”
No one was watching.
It wasn’t the kind of research that would bring recognition.
It wasn’t something a noble would sponsor.
And yet, why insist on it?
“Are you asking a mage why he learns magic?”
Number 14 asked back, sounding genuinely puzzled.
“What? But this is magic...”
“The essence of magic is knowledge. And knowledge means understanding the world. Even if my flesh rots and returns to dust, the knowledge I have researched will never disappear. Isn’t that enough? That knowledge is the proof that I lived in this world.”
For a moment, Number 14 seemed as vast as a great mountain.
His eyes, flickering with an odd light, shone with unwavering conviction.
Only then did Lawrence finally understand.
Number 14 was a mage too.
A mage could never escape the phantom of mystery.
That unfillable thirst.
Lawrence understood it.
Because he was a mage too.
* * *
Lawrence cleaned Number 13’s workshop until the smell had finally lifted.
Using the cleaning tools stored in the warehouse, he carefully scrubbed away every stain.
But no matter how hard he worked the wet cloth over the floor, the mold-like shadow refused to go away.
The upper floor was still manageable.
The real problem was the basement in the warehouse.
When he opened the iron door, the smell of rot wafted up at once.
Lawrence went down to the basement and lit a torch.
Light pushed back the darkness below.
The basement of the workshop was larger than he had expected.
Rusty iron bars and iron doors.
The two divided rooms were empty.
The basement, thick with a stench that went beyond mere foulness and bordered on poison, called a prison to mind.
It was obvious what had been kept there.
The slaves handled by the workshop district.
There was no way the mage would have shared a room with them, so they must have been crammed down here instead.
“...”
After extinguishing the torch, Lawrence left the basement behind.
The nausea rising in his throat made it impossible to stay there any longer.
Of course, setting aside his personal feelings, it was a good place to practice magic.
He wouldn’t have to worry about anyone else’s gaze.
Nor would there be any risk of hurting someone if he used a powerful spell.
If he studied theory upstairs and practiced magic below with a focus on practical training, he might be able to make noticeable progress.
By the time he finished cleaning, the sun had already gone down.
It was too late to make a trip down to the village and back.
So he had no choice but to use the street stalls in the workshop district.
The prices were a little higher than in the village, but it was convenient not to have to go far from the workshop.
He gave some of the ingredients to Number 14 as a gift.
Evidently not expecting to receive anything real, the man clasped Lawrence’s hand and thanked him over and over again.
“Ohhh. Thank you, truly. I really mean it. I was practically living on thin porridge these days, and I thought I’d die of it. If there’s ever anything I can help you with, just call on me. I’ll earn my keep.”
It would have been a lie to say it wasn’t pitiful.
There was something desperate and sincere in his trembling hand.
From now on, they would be neighbors.
It didn’t seem like a bad idea to buy him a meal now and then.
One way or another, he was a mage who had spent a long time in the workshop district.
He would likely know a great deal that could help Lawrence, who had only just moved into the workshop.
After finishing dinner, Lawrence placed the two grimoires on the desk.
He did not take out the Key of the Spirit World he had tucked into one side of his bag.
It wasn’t time to open a grimoire yet.
If it were stolen now, that would be the end of it.
This was not Rombamel.
Even if someone traced the trail left behind by the Key of the Spirit World, if the culprit were a mage, the matter could snowball into something serious.
Maybe it would be better to hide it somewhere.
After glancing around the workshop for a moment, Lawrence headed down to the basement.
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