Afterparty 1
After emerging from the top floor of the Sage's Tower, Licht felt as though something had changed. It wasn't anything clear-cut like his circles increasing or gaining some profound enlightenment. Licht was still at the 5th Circle, and his swordsmanship was merely inching toward the level he'd known in his past life. Yet something had changed. The reason he'd been able to return to the past. And with his path forward now set, his mind felt endlessly clear.
He would head north. The notion of losing to an Executioner never even crossed his mind. The pocket watch handed to him by the Great Sage was still clutched in Licht's hand, but it wasn't something he could use just yet. 'Time Magic.' It was far too advanced for Licht to wield at this point. The simple silver pocket watch brimmed with a power he'd never sensed in his entire life. But it meant nothing—for the current Licht, at least, it was no more and no less than an ordinary timepiece. Even so, he carried it preciously in his bosom. Not now, perhaps, but the day would come when he could use it.
"So...."
Licht gazed at the silver-haired girl seated across from him.
"You're really not going?"
The customary banquet held after Cervito concluded.
"Do I have to?"
"You're the winner—what happens if you don't show?" Aila shot back in a voice thick with disbelief.
Licht was currently in Schult Markersy's office at the mage tower. He hadn't yet begun the follow-up investigation into the mage kidnapping. He'd planned to dive right in after exiting the Sage's Tower, but Schult had vehemently talked him out of it. Count Fredericksen had said he'd compile all the materials gathered so far and deliver them soon—just wait a little. With the postscript to absolutely attend the banquet coming up.
He hadn't asked why the message came through Schult specifically. It made sense; summoning him to the lord's castle every time would be a hassle, so using someone close like Schult was practical. Licht let it be.
"Vito said it's been too long since he last saw your face—he wants to catch up."
"...Vito?"
"Yeah. And that redhead too. She didn't show it, but she seemed pretty curious."
"......"
Vito Verni. Even for Licht, who rarely committed names to memory, it was one of the few he hadn't forgotten. The man had pierced through his realm in a single glance—that had left an impression. But he wasn't calling the other one by name. Elia, if memory served. Her red hair had been particularly striking.
'More than that, she's totally unfazed.'
Even after Licht had snatched victory from her, Aila seemed utterly unbothered. She would have won otherwise, yet here she was.
'There's always next year.'
There was a next time. That was probably it. Barring any special circumstances, she'd claim victory in next year's Cervito. And by then, Licht wouldn't be in El Sion anymore. Reminding himself of that left a bitter aftertaste. He'd already grown attached to this city, it seemed.
"No need to feel burdened. It's called a banquet, but it's more like a casual afterparty. Nothing like the Barbalte family's galas—you'd be embarrassed to compare. Just some nobles from other countries, the faction elders, and a few direct disciples. They say a few congratulatory words and ask how you've been."
"......"
"Even His Excellency the Count said to come. You really gonna skip it?"
"No clothes."
"A robe would do."
"Don't have that robe either."
"What about the one from last time?"
"...Probably back at the family."
Would Sebrik and Lena have packed it? Licht didn't know. They couldn't haul everything from the annex, so they'd packed light. The formal uniform from the last banquet might be among it—or not. Above all, he just didn't feel like going. Nobles threw these things for every contrived reason, but Licht had no connection to them. The few times he'd been forced to attend left only bad memories. Donning masks, spouting insincere words, and fake smiles—it was something Licht simply couldn't stomach. What a joke, calling it a venue for socializing.
As Licht's expression soured, Aila added as if to placate him.
"The others are coming too."
"Others?"
"The direct disciples from the three major factions. You know, the ones who competed in Cervito. They all wanna talk to you."
Licht recalled the other 4th Circle mages listed on the bracket. Young mages raised as prized jewels of prestigious houses, acknowledged for their talent and taken under the wings of the three factions' elders. It wasn't just about talent; it was a precious chance to forge ties with those powerful families. Plenty would be itching over not getting an invite.
"...A hassle."
But Licht's response remained the same.
"...Just nod through the ritual congratulations. No need to force conversation. The Count will be there anyway—think of it as meeting him once."
This time, even Licht had no retort.
'I do need to meet him.'
Licht knew nothing of El Sion's slum ecosystem. Starting an investigation would mean combing every corner, wasting tons of time. Even a scrap of a lead from the Count would make things far smoother.
'Mercenaries have their limits anyway.'
Even famous ones were just Sword Runners at best, with Sword Users few and far between. If those guys put their minds to it, digging up a mercenary's background was child's play. Turning the entire slum against him for a few coins was too risky. Survival came first, after all. The investigation would stall out.
That was likely why the Count had accepted Licht's proposal. He was leaving El Sion soon and had the power to flip the slums upside down. Far cleaner than mobilizing guards on mere suspicion.
'Need to settle things with Sebrik and Lena too.'
Whether as Fredericksen retainers or guests, as long as their safety was guaranteed.
'Guess I have to go.'
He didn't care what the elders said anyway. Just endure some hollow congratulations and chat with the kids a bit—what was the big deal? Licht never saw them as peers. His body might be young, but his mind was twenty-eight, weathered by every trial life could throw. He might feel like a kid sometimes, but friends? That was a stretch.
As he fiddled with the pocket watch in his bosom and made up his mind—
"So, you've decided?"
Suddenly, the magic circle in the corner of the office glowed, and an old mage appeared.
"You're not still throwing a tantrum about skipping, are you?"
His usual robe. But his hair and beard looked a bit tidied up. Licht glanced between Aila and Schult, then sighed.
"I'll head home for a bit."
"The banquet's soon—where to now?"
"To check if I have something to wear."
"Forget that. Come with me instead. I'll buy you a decent robe."
"No need."
If the uniform from last time was there, he'd wear it. If not, he'd go as neatly as possible. As a great noble house, even his casual clothes had class. He wouldn't stand out awkwardly. Licht stepped onto the magic circle Schult had just emerged from.
"Don't be too late."
"......"
"And that pocket watch you have... mind lending it for a bit? Nothing major—just a bit of curiosity. A little investigation...."
Licht poured mana into the circle at his feet. His vision began to go white.
"Tch, didn't even finish talking."
Before space warped, he heard Schult click his tongue softly. Licht thought to himself.
'Tonight.'
They hadn't called him just for celebrations. Once the party was in full swing, they'd pull him aside with something to say. Once he secured assurances for Sebrik and Lena's safety, he'd move immediately. Tonight, blood would spill.
***
At the Fredericksen lord's castle in the heart of El Sion, people gradually filled the banquet hall as time passed. Renowned nobles from foreign lands, elders from El Sion's factions, and their direct disciples.
"This year feels a bit different from last."
"After this Cervito, can you blame it? Especially with Palenia Holy Kingdom's Executioner getting involved."
"Heard Count Fredericksen's digging into it hard."
"Didn't they send an envoy? Are they really gearing up for war with the Holy Kingdom?"
As always, the nobles gossiped animatedly with their acquaintances about recent events. The future moves of El Sion and Palenia dominated the chatter.
"You hear? The boy who killed that excommunicated Executioner went to the top floor of the Sage's Tower...."
"His wish must've gone through. Must've been fierce opposition in the council."
"If he's joining the Count, that's small potatoes."
"Not confirmed yet. Worth a poke...."
The tale of the boy who'd slain an Executioner single-handedly was another hot topic. Some nobles, still reluctant, kept glancing at the door.
"I can't accept it. Schult Markersy must've pulled some trick!"
But not all the talk was positive. An elder from the Brave faction in a red robe bellowed loudly, as if on purpose. When other nobles turned, the elder beside him tried to rein him in.
"Elder Lucio, 'trick'? Mind your dignity."
"Dignity be damned. Elder Lenz, didn't you vote yes in the council? Same with Barte's council head Jerwin. They must've colluded with that Schult bastard. No other way it'd pass so easily!"
"What a temper...."
"We can't let this slide. He's just a seventeen-year-old brat!"
"I get it, but pipe down. What's the point of griping now that the Count's decided?"
"Elder Ran, even you...!"
Lucio, face flushed red, thumped his chest in frustration, but no one reacted. They knew his hot-blooded nature all too well.
"Talent? He's overflowing with it. More than anyone should at that age."
"Elder Nadia, you too...?"
"Over half the council elders approved, plus the Count's firm will. What more do you need?"
"It's not about qualifications. Precedent's been set! And entering the top floor—he doesn't have the—"
"He already did. And came out fine, from what I hear."
"Wh-what?"
Lucio's face went slack. Ran muttered as if to himself.
"5th Circle, and he went in and out unscathed?"
"Not impossible."
"At seventeen? Come on."
"Killing an Executioner was possible too?"
"...Touché."
Ran nodded as if convinced. Lucio, still ranting red-faced from the side, had long been tuned out.
"So, is he coming?"
"Said he is, but...."
And in one corner of the banquet hall, a girl in a blue robe asked Aila.
While their mentors conversed, the disciples chattered among themselves. All young mages in their early twenties.
Elia said with a dissatisfied look.
"I should've won that."
"You went down in one hit."
"That was... carelessness! Letting an outsider into the Sage's Tower doesn't even make sense."
"Water under the bridge. When's Licht showing? Haven't seen him at the library lately."
Vito glanced at the banquet hall door. The only ones not here yet were Count Fredericksen and a few others.
The girl who'd spoken first asked Vito.
"You two know each other?"
"Friends."
"Is it true he came out of the top floor unscathed?"
"Probably bluffing. Guy's not even a proper mage."
A sharp-featured boy who'd been listening snapped back.
"What, jealous?"
"Pure magic? I could take him."
"Really? Then you could solo a Palenia Executioner too."
"Well, that's...."
The sharp-featured boy shut his mouth like a clam.
"It's about time."
Someone said. And indeed, the wait didn't last long. Soon, the doors slowly opened.
"The lord of El Sion and master of the great Fredericksen Count family, His Excellency Count Samuel Fredericksen!"
The chatter cut off in an instant. As if on cue, everyone turned. A man with ash-gray hair strode in with refined grace. Soft features. But the aura he exuded was anything but. It compelled heads to bow involuntarily. Behind him followed the Fredericksen heir, the 7th Circle oddball mage, and escort wizards.
And.
Thud.
A boy appeared at the Count's side.