Sword of Fate 2
Dim sky at dawn. Licht left the annex thirty minutes earlier than promised. The early morning breeze was chilly. Even after passing through the dark forest path onto the main road, not a soul was in sight. It felt as if the entire Barbalte estate was asleep.
The white bird perched in his hand chirped incessantly. Walking alone down the center of the empty road toward the main gate, he spotted two figures standing before an ornate carriage at the entrance.
Two of them? He recognized one, but not the other. They seemed to recognize him too, as she spoke up when he drew near.
"Hey, Licht. You're out earlier than I thought. Figured you'd dawdle."
Aila said it with a note of surprise. Licht replied, "I keep my promises. Didn't you say to be out by six?"
"Yeah. Should've said five then. You know I've been waiting because of you?"
"Waiting?"
She wore the same pure white robe as last time. White fabric embroidered with golden thread, the hexagram emblem in place above it all. The bird, which had been chirping away, spotted its owner and flew from Licht's hand to her shoulder, landing with familiar ease. She stroked it gently.
"Got here around five. So you've kept me waiting thirty minutes."
"......"
"You could act a little sorry?"
Aila asked with a playful expression. Licht thought, Why the hell are you complaining when I came early? Why stand out here in this cold wind when there's a carriage? But he didn't say it aloud. She'd come all the way here by carriage while he could've been lounging in bed at the manor. A bit of griping was fair enough.
"...You jerk. Couldn't even pretend to be grateful?"
"Who's the guy next to you?"
"Hey, don't change the subject."
Beside the pouting Aila stood a tall, lean man in a deep navy robe. The emblem embroidered on it matched hers, the difference being the robe's color and the absence of the hexagram.
Barte's faction. Over half the Pavria family's retainers hailed from Barte's faction, giving it immense prestige across the southern continent, including Arhen Kingdom.
A 5th Circle powerhouse. Licht could tell at a glance. At 6th Circle, you'd be a renowned leader of a major faction. High 5th Circle mages were rare enough to count on one hand anywhere—and unlike Aila's unstable entry-level 5th Circle, this man's mana felt solidly stable.
"Whatever. My fault for expecting anything."
She nodded toward him, and the silent man finally spoke. "It's been a while, Young Master. I'm Aren Pavria, Lady Aila's dedicated mage. Last time we met was at the royal banquet seven years ago, wasn't it?"
"The royal banquet?"
"Yes. The one celebrating the crown prince's twentieth birthday. You and the lady were the same age then—ten, I believe. You've changed so much I didn't recognize you at first."
Aren smiled warmly. Licht dredged up old memories. Aren. Aren Pavria. Vaguely familiar. It had been seven years for him, but seventeen for Licht—practically ancient history. Especially since banquets held no fond memories.
"It's been over seven years, so it's no wonder you don't remember. We only exchanged brief greetings anyway."
"I see."
"Whoa, you actually know how to use polite speech...."
"I know when to."
Aila eyed Licht with renewed interest. He didn't speak down to everyone indiscriminately. He used respect with those who deserved it, like Aren now. With Aila, it was because she bulldozed ahead regardless of his intentions.
Eyeing the ornate carriage, Licht noted the two sturdy horses and coachman up front. "We going or not?"
"...Yeah. Get in already."
Aila yanked open the carriage door. Aren met Licht's gaze and gave a small wry smile.
The carriage interior was as lavish and spacious as the exterior. Golden threads wove intricate patterns across the walls. Running a hand over them, Licht inwardly clicked his tongue.
Magic formulas. Every one of those dense golden lines was a spell inscription. This wasn't a carriage anymore—it was a walking magic artifact. How much gold had they poured into it? The Pavria family's wealth was legendary in the kingdom, and it hit home now.
"It's a long ride to Alpen. Won't get there till late afternoon."
With everyone aboard, the coachman urged the horses forward slowly. Through the small window, dark scenery slid past. Red tinges were creeping into the dusky sky.
Aila, full of questions, asked again. "So, how've you been?"
"How've I been?"
"It's been less than a week. You cause trouble everywhere, so I figured something happened."
"......"
Things had happened, sure. But Licht saw no need to share.
"You... something did happen."
"Nothing."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Hmph... whatever."
Aila eyed him suspiciously for a while before letting it drop. Licht kept staring out the window.
"About this secret auction."
Now they were getting to it. Licht straightened up.
"Wait, before that. How'd you even know about the Alpen secret auction house?"
"Heard about it."
"From who?"
"......"
"Do you know details, or just heard it in passing?"
"Just that it's in District 1. Nothing else."
Aila looked incredulous. Demanding he snag a sword from Alpen's secret auction without knowing the basics? Fair enough.
"Then you don't know much about the Alpen secret auction house?"
Aren spoke up. Licht nodded slightly.
"Allow me to explain, then." Aren glanced at Aila beside him. She said nothing—an unspoken approval. He continued. "The Alpen secret auction house is in the royal capital's District 1. You knew that much, right?"
"Yes."
"Its official name is Artaale, commonly called Artal. Do you know the host?"
Licht shook his head. He knew zilch beyond location and name.
"The host of Alpen's secret auction—Artaale—is a man named Melberk. Surely you've heard of him, Young Master. Or perhaps his moniker 'Golden King' rings more familiar."
Golden King Melberk. Arhen Kingdom's top merchant magnate. Even Licht, no info hound, had heard the name a few times. Every good entering the palace passed through his hands. A mere commoner wielding power rivaling central nobles said it all.
Aren went on. "Artal is directly run by Golden King Melberk. Anything truly valuable funnels there. What hits the open market is all the stuff he's already vetted at Artal. He controls distribution around Alpen entirely."
"So valuables go to Artal, scraps to the streets?"
"Exactly. Thus, every item there is priceless. No discrimination—weapons like cold arms, magic tools, artifacts, elixirs, ancient relics, you name it."
Aren explained smoothly. Innate talent or Barte's training? Probably the former.
"And participants are all extraordinary. Nobles from famed houses, central palace aristocrats, or big-shot tycoons. Artal's prime spot in District 1 says it."
"Lots of customers."
"Quick on the uptake. Yes. Buying up the priciest central District 1 block for an auction house proves it. Neighbors are palace nobles, tycoons, or heirs from prominent families ascending to the capital."
"More like an overly gaudy mansion than an auction house, though. Looks like a prime minister's pad."
Aila chimed in, taking over. "Everyone in District 1's been to Artal at least once out of curiosity. They screen at the gate, but..."
"Can get in?"
Licht's question drew a snort from Aila. "They'd bow to our carriage alone and open the gates. Don't worry about it. Anyway, this time's different..."
"Spit it out."
"An ancient relic's up for bid. Heard it myself—solid intel. Super powerful magic artifact. Folks with connections already know. Means fiercer competition than usual."
She acted like she'd dropped a bombshell. Licht's reaction? Meh.
Ancient relic? Rare from old ruins, sure. But not always useful. Plenty of junk from sites. And crucially, he was here for a sword, not some magic trinket.
No enthusiasm? Aila frowned. "Why the deadpan?"
"...Nothing."
"Everything at Artal's verified. Ancient relics pop up plenty—magic artifacts especially, demand's insane."
"The sword?"
Not important. Licht cut in. Aila, expecting it, sighed. "Ugh... Cold arms like swords show up sometimes. One special one's this time."
"What is—"
"Solarilium."
"......"
"A longsword forged entirely from solarilium. Not confirmed, though. So... don't get hopes up. Even if it appears, no guarantee you snag it."
Despite her warning, Licht's heart raced. Excitement. Pure solarilium. Bail's sword was called lunarium alloy, but barely over 30%. And he was Barbalte firstborn's knight from the kingdom's top martial house. Solarilium and lunarium were that precious. Pure-forged weapons? Rare as Abel's personal blade. If true, the price? Unthinkable.
Won't get it. Still, lingering hope. Staring blankly into space, she handed him a white mask.
"What's this?"
"Mask. Prepared one for you just in case... Planning to go like that?"
Aila scanned his outfit. Less young noble, more mercenary. Rough black cloak clashing with her robe—no hood up.
"Why the mask?"
"Secret auction and all. Mostly for show."
Two more masks lay in a corner. Licht pressed. "That robe screams who you are. Mask pointless."
"True. Pure formality. Artal folks don't hide identities—they flaunt 'em. Everyone knows everyone. You'll see—carriages parked with house crests bold as brass."
"You too."
"When else to flaunt?"
Licht glanced out. Sky now fully blue.
"Nap. Long ride."
"...Thanks."
"Yeah... Huh? What'd you say?"
"Sleeping."
"Wait. Didn't hear right. Say again."
"No."
Pavria main house to Barbalte took nearly a day. Detouring here cost her serious time. Ignoring her chatter, Licht leaned back. Scenery drifting by lulled him; eyes closed naturally.
"...Jerk. Total ass. One more honest thanks wouldn't kill you."
Her final words faded as consciousness slipped away.
***
"Awake, sir?"
First sight upon opening eyes: Aren watching him.
Didn't sleep, huh. Made sense. Aila's dedicated mage—de facto guard. Always alert. No sleep for that reason.
"Lady seemed exhausted. Left yesterday, so understandable."
Aila slept soundly nearby, breathing steady. Sun was setting outside.
"How long was I out?"
"Nearly twelve hours straight. Didn't stir, so hesitated to wake you."
Aren smiled. Gentle face and soft voice inspired trust.
Built-up fatigue. Nonstop training lately. Lingering Bail aftermath too. Didn't expect over twelve hours. Felt razor-sharp now.
"Almost there. Just entered District 1."
Scenery stretched elegantly. Streets his past-life self never saw. No war ruins, no despairing faces. Well-kept roads, occasional passersby in fine clothes, bright expressions. Nobles, likely. Gliding past grand mansions, the carriage halted.
Artaale. Alpen secret auction house in royal capital District 1. Gate guards saw the carriage and stepped aside. Pavria crest was guarantee enough—no further checks.
Carriage advanced a bit more, then stopped. Horses whinnied. Knock knock.
"Here, milord."
"Mm..."
Coachman knocked. Aila, rubbing eyes sleepily, mumbled. "...Aren."
"We've arrived, Lady. Time to disembark."
"Yeah..."
Still groggy, she stepped down dreamily. Aren supported her. Licht exited last.
The sight stole his words.
"A marvel, isn't it? Golden King poured unimaginable sums over five years. Nothing in the capital compares."
True. Vast grounds fronted an extravagantly opulent mansion. Carriages lined one side; the garden sprawled in matching splendor.
"Bidding today?"
"Of course. That ancient artifact..."
"Heh. Competition just grew. I had my eye on it."
"Just one? Look at those crests... Wait, that one—is it...?"
"Pavria?"
A few noble-looking folk strolled the garden. Licht quickly donned the white mask—Aila and Aren already had theirs on.
Checking her pocket watch amid the entering crowd, Aila said, "Over thirty minutes left. Let's head in. Nothing to do here."
"This way, Young Master."
Aila and Aren led; Licht followed. Eyes locked on immediately. Barte's emblem on their robes drew them like magnets.
"Barte's?"
"White robe with hexagram..."
"Whoa. Honored guest."
"Wasn't she here two years back? After that 'item'..."
"Makes sense. Even non-mages would kill for it. Heard she's eyeing 5th Circle."
"Who's the tagalong? Entourage?"
"Merc scum crawling in?"
Masked whispers. No names, but appearances gave them away. Aila and Aren ignored, accustomed. Some openly badmouthed Licht.
Crowd parted naturally. They entered the mansion easily. Over-the-top interior splendor. Crossing to the open grand doors, darkness enveloped them suddenly.
"Identity check."
A woman, likely attendant, approached. Aila pulled something from her bosom.
"...Apologies. VIP seats for you."
Up to the 2nd-floor "VIP seats," the auction house sprawled below. Soft lights bathed the wide stage. Licht asked, "What was that?"
"What? Oh, this?" Aila held out her item. "Just a token. Artal treats all official entrants equal—no house prestige allowed. Well... a few like me have VIP tokens."
She pocketed it. With auction nearing, VIP area for select guests was mostly full.
"That one's empty."
Aren pointed. VIP lived up—spacious, wide seat gaps unlike below. Sitting, something squirmed from Aila's bosom: the white bird.
"Repi. Stay inside quietly."
Repi obeyed, vanishing into her robe. Licht said incredulously, "Where'd it go? In your pocket?"
"Always with me. It delivered your message too. Smarter than most birds."
"Looks it."
Licht faced front. Darkness everywhere; stage lights the only source, dim enough to obscure faces. Staring idly at the glow while waiting—
"Pardon, milady. You look familiar... Ah, it is you!"
Two youths approached Aila unnoticed.
"Ah... Young Master. Long time."
"Haha, likewise, milady. That one beside in the robe..."
"What you think."
"Barte's! Pleasure, sir. First since two years ago? Seem even stronger."
"Thanks."
"Not flattery—truly. Aura's different too."
"Introduce me already. Feeling left out."
One tall and fit, the other hulking and fleshy. Half-masks covering just eyes and nose bridge—flashier than Licht's plain white.
Chit-chat flowed; masks or no, they knew each other. Licht tuned out. Aila was Pavria direct daughter, "Snow White" elite among Arhen's ladies. Social butterfly, naturally.
Her tone shifted—politer, warmer than with him.
"Anyway... who's that at the end?"
The tall youth in half-mask asked.
"Entourage? Nah..."
The porker trailed off. Outfit screamed misfit for VIP. Cloak worn threadbare from travel; plain longsword on lap, no frills—street forge bargain-bin stuff.
Tall one tsked. "Tch. That getup, that junk sword. Merc trash? Really with you?"
"Knows which end's sharp? Sword's a yawn. Provincial lordling, maybe. Made it up here, though."
"Local bigwig swinging weight? Home tiger, sure—but this is Artal. Frog in a well."
Tall and porker volleyed barbs. Aila chilled, glancing over.
"......"
Licht idly stroked his sheath—familiar motion. To others, dodging their vibe; not Aila.
Oh. Cold sweat. She looked up at the yapping duo. "Young Master."
"So... uh, milady? Perfect timing. Ditch the trash, join us? Empty seats if he goes."
"There..."
"Great idea. Clear him out—"
No time for her words. Licht's adjacent seat empty—room for two if ousted. They bantered as if he were already gone.
"Ah..."
Too late. Short sigh escaped her. Chills up her spine; glancing opposite, Licht's hand now gripped hilt, not sheath.