Nest 2
"Vishark School?"
A school he'd heard of once before. As Licht racked his brain at Schult's words, he suddenly remembered where he'd encountered the name Vishark School.
It was before Evan's investiture ceremony, when the son of the tailor in Britten who'd fitted his uniform had mentioned being from El Sion's Vishark School.
'His name was Olf.'
Schult continued.
"It's a fairly sizable school, as schools go. They specialize in wind magic and wear green robes—that's their signature. Never heard of them?"
Licht shook his head.
"I suppose not. Well, even if they have a name in El Sion, folks without an interest in magic might not know them. There are countless schools based there, and most people only know Barte's, maybe Brave and Burneck at best."
He wasn't wrong. Licht himself only knew the three great schools among those based in El Sion.
'Guess that comment wasn't so out of place after all.'
While Olf the tailor had been taking his measurements for the uniform, he'd suddenly asked if Vishark School was famous. Licht had said yes.
'He must have talent.'
He'd thought it was a white lie, but apparently not. Olf hadn't seemed particularly gifted or from a wealthy background—no powerful backers there. At the very least, sending his son to El Sion with a fortune hadn't been a waste.
As Licht fell silent, Schult placed the bracket sheet he held onto the table.
"The Cherbito preliminaries are basically the round of 64. You'll see from this bracket."
Sixty-four entrants.
"Think that's a lot? It's been cut down quite a bit. Over a thousand applied. And considering the finalists are all solid 3rd Circle mages who've built up real proficiency—not fresh ones at that. Though we exclude direct disciples of the elders or those with their recommendations."
Licht hadn't gone through the qualifiers. He'd received Schult's recommendation letter.
Direct disciples of the three great schools' elders were mostly at the 4th Circle, so they skipped qualifiers too. It could be called favoritism, but hardly anyone objected. It was a long-standing tradition, and the schools' influence was immense.
'Elders' direct disciples make sense... but recommendations are another story.'
Being a direct disciple of an elder meant you'd already been vetted. Recommendations were different. Even a mage short of 3rd Circle could skip straight to the finals. Even if elders only issued one each, it was excessive privilege.
Seeing Licht deep in thought, Schult spoke as if he knew all about it.
"Don't worry about it. Elders rarely give recommendations. Even to kids from families sponsoring them. Hand one to a mediocre talent, and it tanks your own reputation. Who'd take that risk?"
"......"
"That's why I wrote one for you. Hadn't seen anyone worth it till then. The other elders are the same. So put that trivia aside."
Tap tap.
Schult drummed his fingers on the bracket.
"Starts first week of May. Not much time left. Days one and two have 32 matches each, day three has 16, day four has 8."
"Finals on the seventh."
"Right. And I've marked the 4th Circle and above. Not to say be careful—just crush them thoroughly."
As promised, several names stood out amid the densely packed bracket. Licht recognized three: Elia Firvio, Vito Berni. And the sole 5th Circle mage, Aila Pavria.
"Only nine?"
Just nine marked amid sixty-four names.
Schult nodded.
"Not every elder takes disciples. Plus, the age limit's strict. Over twenty-five, and you can't even enter."
Many disciples were under fifteen or over twenty-five.
"You know one, right? Your young master's exclusive mage."
"If you mean Aren Gong."
"Heh, you do know how to show respect. 'Gong,' huh."
"......"
"He's a disciple of Elder Nadia Pares. We used to research together, but seven years ago he won Cherbito and suddenly became a retainer of House Pavria."
Licht had never heard that.
Schult grinned and added, "We had a huge falling out over it. Didn't fully cut ties, though. Reconciled? Still seems frosty to me."
Licht folded the paper on the table and tucked it into his pocket. He'd heard what he needed, and the chit-chat was dragging—no reason to stay.
Seeing this, Schult clicked his tongue.
"You brat. I go out of my way to look out for you, and now that you're done, you're off?"
"I've been grateful all along."
"Tch, shameless liar, not even a drop of spit for it. Anyway, your first-round opponent, Alex Bayar—he's nothing special. Uses some wind magic, but that's by their standards."
Licht rose. He gave a slight bow and turned to leave.
"Oh, right."
As if it had just occurred to him, Schult called out to his back.
"Heard about the mage disappearances lately? Another one vanished in the mid-district yesterday. You know about it?"
Licht turned his head, body still facing forward.
"The intervals are shortening. Be careful, even if it's unlikely. You never know."
"Is Count Fredericksen taking no action?"
The direct disciple of Elder Burneck from the central library. He'd heard it from Vito once.
If even Schult—a Barte's elder and 7th Circle grand mage—was mentioning it, things were serious. What was the lord, Count Fredericksen, doing?
"Investigations started over a month ago. Problem is, they're ghosts—no leads."
Schult answered Licht's question with a grave look.
"He's at a crossroads. Stirring panic right before Cherbito would just unsettle the citizens. But if no leads turn up... he'll have to decide. I figure it'll be right after the finals."
With that, Schult leaned back on the sofa. That was truly all.
Licht watched him a moment, then stepped onto the magic circle. A pure white glow enveloped him.
***
"Can't remember the last time I came to El Sion. Truth be told, I wasn't eager, but orders are orders."
A carriage emblazoned with House Pavria's crest. Inside, Aren let out a long sigh.
Across from him sat Sebrik, the illegitimate young master's attendant, and Lena.
"Not eager? What do you mean, Aren-nim?"
The girl opposite asked. Aren reflexively chuckled at her boldness.
House Pavria's illegitimate young lady's exclusive mage. A genius from Barte's School who'd reached 5th Circle in her twenties. Most tensed up around him or put on airs to curry favor.
But this girl was different.
'Lena, was it?'
No distance at all. She seemed effortlessly affable, without a sharp edge. Despite the clear status gap, her prying questions and lively reactions were oddly refreshing.
'She's cute.'
Big, clear eyes. Hair down to her shoulders. Undeniably adorable. A few more years, and she'd steal hearts left and right.
The old butler beside her seemed uncomfortable with her casualness toward Aren, grunting softly. But Aren answered every one of Lena's questions.
A man who turned endlessly kind to a pretty woman—that was Aren Pavria.
"Had a huge fight with my master when I left the school. Still not on great terms, so meeting's awkward."
Aren smiled as he replied.
Lena tilted her head, puzzled.
"Just make up?"
"...I'd like that."
"It'll work out! You're so kind, Aren-nim. Clearing up misunderstandings will be easy!"
This girl must have a flower garden for brains. But Aren didn't mind.
The conversation flowed on. Then, abruptly, the carriage halted.
Neigh!
"We're here!"
The coachman shouted through the window. A multi-family residence in the mid-district. They'd aimed for Barte's main gate, but a guard who'd recognized Aren during inspection relayed new directions.
'Using the family prestige for this...'
But that thought soon faded.
"Whoa...."
"This is...."
Lena gasped in awe as Aren murmured softly beside her.
Stepping out, they faced a cozy house with a front yard. Butterflies flitted over the well-kept lawn. Laundry hung in one corner, adding to the homey feel rather than clutter.
It felt lived-in.
'Bought a house like this in the mid-district? Even renting, does the young master have that kind of money?'
Glancing aside, even the old butler—who'd only come under threat of being fetched otherwise—looked equally stunned. He knew El Sion's housing was exorbitant, even without exact prices.
Aren cleared his throat.
"Ahem. Let's head in. Any later, and we'll catch hell."
"Ah, yeah! Dawdle more, and we'll get an earful from the young master."
"Mm...."
The three entered the house. Four stories tall. They climbed to the top floor and knocked on the door the guard had indicated. Footsteps soon followed, and it opened.
"Aren Gong, long time. Sebrik, Lena."
It was a boy Aren knew well. Barbalte's illegitimate young master. Or former one—Licht Sientia.
"Young master. I hope you've been well?"
Aren greeted with a smile. Lena and Sebrik chimed in behind him.
"Young master, it's been ages!"
"Young master. Your sudden summons caught us off guard. And this house..."
Then—
"Aren, you here?"
A girl popped out from behind Licht. Aren's face twisted at the sight.
Hard to keep emotions in check. Memories of getting reamed by the Pavria family head did that.
Aren muttered in the lowest voice imaginable.
"Miss...."
"Uh, huh?"
Slam!
The door shut. Aren's grumbling lasted a while.
They left as night fell.
***
"Way nicer than I expected! I figured you'd grabbed some tiny room, young master."
"I see."
Days passed. Lena spoke while clearing the dishes she'd just used. Sebrik sat at the table. The house was too small for him to find chores.
Smaller than the old annex, sure—but far grander than he or Lena had imagined.
Mysterious where it'd come from.
"Young master said not to worry, but...."
"Mm... that's been bothering me too. No way the young master had cash to splash."
While packing up the annex and sneaking out, Sebrik had pocketed money from the head butler. A hefty sum from their usual funds. But Licht? He'd stubbornly refused even what Sebrik tried to give him.
No clue where his money came from.
But if Licht said not to worry, they couldn't pry.
"Speaking of, where'd the young master go?"
"Out. Said he'd swing his sword in the yard."
"Oh, right—he's entering some magic tournament."
"Cherbito. I've heard of El Sion's magic tourney, but outsiders can't even participate...."
Sebrik trailed off. What connections did he have?
He recalled Pavria's illegitimate young lady from earlier. Borrowing strength from a direct disciple of a Barte's elder? Plausible.
"Then I'll go too!"
Clink.
Lena, having stowed all the plates and utensils in the cabinet, declared abruptly.
"Go where?"
"Outside. He's training in the yard, right?"
Since first catching Licht practicing swordplay, Lena had stealthily watched whenever he swung his blade.
'Young master has no idea!'
Of course, Licht knew. No way could she—a non-knight, non-mage—evade his senses.
But since he hadn't scolded her after, Lena was fully confident.
Sebrik sighed at the sight.
"Sigh... Lena. No. Didn't he chew you out last time?"
"It's fine. Haven't been caught since."
With that, Lena flung open the door and dashed out. Sebrik sighed again and followed.
Night in El Sion was quiet. Unlike the central district's blaze of lights, the mid-district house lay in serene hush.
Families with kids turned in early. Few public facilities beyond nearby Heyna School factored in.
And in the silent yard, Lena and Sebrik both let out soft exclamations, as if on cue.
"Wow...."
"Heavens...."
It was sword dance.
The blade danced wherever his hand led. A brilliant white glow atop the golden blade outshone even the moonlight.
Fluidly, sometimes fiercely. Unseen swordsmanship unfolded along pristine white trails in the air.
The night breeze swept over the slashing edge like a late wind.
Arhen Kingdom's formal swordsmanship, Palenia Holy Kingdom's Execution Sword, Girga Kingdom's sandstorm whirlwind blades.
And Orkin Imperial Shyrta.
"Ha...."
Licht exhaled long after the final form. The Ascension Sword slashed horizontally, then dropped low. The white glow on the blade faded, then blazed fiercely amid rising mana currents.
5th Circle.
The precursor to a mana blade.
The night before Cherbito's preliminaries.