The Worth of Ancient Magic
"Ancient magic, you say...?"
The viscount murmured the words as if he could scarcely believe them.
Ayres cut into their conversation, a touch too hastily.
"Haha, Father. Ereb looks quite exhausted. Why not send him in to rest early?"
"You stay out of this. I want to hear more."
The First Young Master's expression soured.
Ereb held out two documents recovered from the ruins to Viscount Ahental. They were covered in an unknown language, formulas, diagrams, and magic circles. Even at a glance, they were far from ordinary. Anyone who grasped their contents would have been struck dumb.
One was a fragment of Genesis Sorcery related to the creation of Enzo Muerte. The other was material on ancient magic that the knights had uncovered during their search.
Viscount Ahental stared down at the unreadable pages for a long while. He tapped his fingers against the tea table, turning the matter over in his mind, then looked up at Messi.
"How much of this can you decipher?"
"About one-tenth, I would say."
"One-tenth... one-tenth."
With the princess's knowledge, a complete translation would have been possible — but Messi had other purposes in mind, and so he had cut the figure down to a tenth.
"Do you at least know what kind of magic it is?"
"Well now."
Messi smiled, the expression loaded with meaning. The viscount's brow furrowed, catching on that smile.
"What is that supposed to mean? That you don't know?"
"You seem quite curious. It appears you understand the value of ancient magic rather well."
"...Of course I do. The Magic Towers were each founded upon a different strain of ancient magic, after all. It is the very foundation upon which a magician may devote their life. You think that would come cheap?"
Through his close friend Frox, Viscount Ahental had accumulated a considerable background in magic — far more than the average noble. That was why he understood the worth of ancient magic so well. Even if the spell in question were nothing more than a cantrip to light and extinguish a flame, the formulas contained within it, the very approach to handling mana circuits, would surpass anything of the present age.
If it truly is an ancient grimoire, we could raise an entirely new Magic Tower within our territory. It would also be the chance to finally draw Frox into the viscounty.
The viscount's mind spun at a fever pitch. The picture was already taking shape. First, lure in his friend the Great Magician — a man notoriously difficult to pry from his chair — on the strength of the ancient magic, then found a new school of magecraft together. The House of Ahental's capital would be the principal investment in raising the Tower, and the Tower's influence would rest entirely in his family's hands.
Research materials, monster byproducts, and ores would all pass through the House of Ahental on their way in. Magical goods, research findings, and grimoires would all pass through the House of Ahental on their way out. The fortune and the influence that would bloom from that arrangement were beyond words.
And that was not all. Once a Magic Tower stood, magicians would flock to its surroundings. A new wind would surely blow through the city of Ahental. The territory was already commercially prosperous — but if a population tied to magic were to settle here as well...
The viscount trembled at the vastness of that blueprint.
But Messi's next words reminded him that there was something he needed to address first.
"For a man who understands its value so well... you ask as if you were simply collecting something you'd left in storage."
It might have sounded insolent at first hearing, but it did not strike the viscount as insolence. It was, in fact, the truth. He had been too stiff until now. The cards in the other man's hand were nothing so ordinary.
"What did you just say?"
The viscount himself remained still. It was the viscountess beside him who flared up.
"How dare you — the likes of an other-race...!"
"I'm afraid I cannot let that remark pass, my lady."
Messi did not lose an ounce of composure. If anything, he lifted his chin and spoke with unshakable dignity.
The words were polite, yet they carried authority. He would overlook it this once as a slip — but there would be no such consideration a second time. There was a pressure in the way he spoke, as if he already held them by the throat, and the viscountess found her mouth snapping shut. Looking at Messi's bearing, she could almost believe she had committed some grave offense.
Come to think of it... Roan isn't saying a word either.
Roan was Viscount Ahental's given name. Without meaning to, she glanced at her eldest son, Ayres. When Ayres gave a slight shake of his head, she decided to withdraw.
"My wife has given offense. She has spent too long within these walls and knows little of the world. Allow me to apologize in her place. No — I shall offer my apology. Sir Messi."
Even the register of his speech had risen. Messi nodded, apparently satisfied. Only now did it feel as though they sat across from each other at a table of equals.
"I accept the apology. I did not come all this way to make enemies of you, after all. As I said at the city gates... I have long heard of the House of Ahental's prosperity. I came bearing admiration for it. I would ask that you not think ill of me for that."
"Understood. And thank you. Being able to translate even a tenth of an ancient grimoire is a great boon to this house. That tenth will become the foundation from which the rest may be deduced."
"Haha. To reconstruct the Yagran Language — unused for at least two thousand years — you will need a great deal of my help."
There was a leisure in Messi's voice, and it had its reasons. It did not come across as arrogance. His role was that of an other-race prince who would bow when the moment called for it, yet never once laid down the dignity of royalty. That, the viscount found, was rather to his liking.
"Is there something you desire, Sir Messi? Name it, and I shall see it provided."
"What I desire..."
Ayres did not miss the opening. He stepped forward.
"Father. Would it not startle a man to be asked what he needs all of a sudden? I shall take the time to remain at Sir Messi's side and take full responsibility for seeing that he wants for nothing."
The intent behind it was painfully obvious.
Messi smiled and addressed the viscount.
"The work related to the ancient magic will be done together with this young master. After all, the exploration of the ruins within the Forest of Resentment was his achievement. I would ask that this point be made unmistakably clear within the house."
"And as for who supports me at my side, I would prefer this young master as well. We traveled together, after all... I am more at ease with him. Would it not be less of a burden to speak up when something is amiss?"
Ayres's face darkened once more.
He didn't show his face when the table was being laid, and now he wants to stick his spoon in?
The reasoning was sound, and the viscount agreed.
"That would be best. Ereb, see to it."
"Yes, Father."
Even as the situation began to revolve around him, Messi never lost sight of the essential point. Everything he was doing now was solely to make Ereb the head of the house. And with Ereb as his foothold, he would bring the House of Ahental's influence under his own feet.
"As for what I need most at the moment... rest, I think. This is the first time I have traveled so far..."
"Of course. The fatigue of a long road will have settled in... We will have no shortage of time to talk going forward. Grotein, show Sir Messi to his quarters."
Messi allowed himself a sly, unhurried ease. The viscount, for his part, must have been burning to know what magic it was — yet he showed not a trace of impatience. It was already in his hands. There was no need to lose his composure. A man who hid his face and took a loss in the bargain was no man at all. It was, Messi thought, a bearing worthy of the head of the House of Ahental.
The moment Messi and Ereb left the drawing room with Grotein leading the way, the viscountess — who had been sitting still — turned on a dime.
"Roan! Do you mean to bring that creature into this house?"
"My dear, ancient magic holds a value far beyond what you imagine. And that man is the one who can make that value shine."
"He's already inside the inner keep. Why not have the retainers put him to the question? You think the likes of him could endure torture?"
"Enough. Do you believe information extracted under torture can be trusted? A great deal of capital will be poured into interpreting and researching this ancient magic... and every last bit of it begins with what comes out of that man's mouth. If that foundation is rotten, we will have spent a fortune for nothing and lost a great deal of time besides."
The viscountess bit her lip, venomous. In all her life, the times her will had not been done could be counted on one hand. Just now, another had been added to that count.
"Then... leave everything in Ayres's hands. That boy Ereb only knows how to play at being a knight. He doesn't know a thing beyond that, does he?"
"Did we not just settle that? You want me to reverse it again? And Sir Messi himself said he is more at ease with Ereb. What would you have me do?"
Another one added to the count.
Whether the viscountess trembled with rage or not, the viscount was already busy setting his plans in motion.
"Ayres, summon every magician of the house. Have them assembled in my study within two hours. In the meantime, prepare a letter to Frox at once. That fellow will come flying the moment he hears even the first syllable of 'ancient magic.'"
"Yes, Father."
His close friend, the Great Magician Frox, had set up a laboratory of his own. He had refused an invitation to the Ahental Territory with the offer of a Magic Tower raised in his name. He had refused an invitation to serve as a house magician as well.
Frox... even you will not be able to resist taking this bait.
Guided by Grotein, they arrived at the guest quarters. Ereb had trailed after him the whole way.
"What's with that anxious look? It doesn't suit you, young master."
"Didn't you come on a little too strong with Father?"
"I did not. If anything, it would have been strange for someone who has lived as a prince to take a low posture. Winning the territory's people over was an exception — I needed their goodwill at once... but the cards I hold are hardly ordinary ones."
Well, if it were me...
Ereb nodded, as if he understood. There was no chance he had failed to picture the same blueprint that had taken shape in Viscount Ahental's mind. If Messi had not been his own man, Ereb would have tried to pull him in even if it meant promising a king's ransom.
"So, what's the plan from here?"
"Everything I know about the House of Ahental is what you have told me, young master. I will observe while I stay here. And I will solidify my position while I do it."
He needed to see it with his own eyes. The house's power structure, its web of relationships, the interests tangled through it all. Not dead information passed along by someone else — living intelligence, stored in his own head. Only by knowing that could he open a path for the young master to win this battlefield.
"Do that. Now that Father has given you a guest room, no one in the house will dare treat you carelessly. It means you've been recognized as a guest."
"Good. Then let us move to the next stage."
Ereb tilted his head. Hadn't Messi said mere seconds ago that he would rest and accumulate information?
"Should we not do a little internal housekeeping of our own, the way Ayla did? I think it is time we scattered some bait."
"Internal housekeeping? So you think there are more traitors."
"There certainly are."
They had only just met, but Messi had already taken Ayres's measure. He was a ruthless controller — the kind of man who would calculate even the date and hour of Ereb's return in order to stage a performance. A man like that would have used every means at his disposal to keep the young master's every move within his sight.
"What kind of bait are you planning to throw?"
"Heh. The tastiest bait of all is standing right in front of you, young master. The one variable the First Young Master has not been able to account for."
"Heh! You're right about that."
Messi could say it with certainty. The moment the First Young Master left the drawing room, he would have his people gathering every scrap of information on Messi. A dislike of variables meant a perfectionist's temperament. And nothing irritated a man like that more than something he did not understand.
On top of that, Messi had been brought in by Ereb — and had even expanded Ereb's influence. Anyone who was not a fool would have sensed that something existed between the two of them. And Messi had, in part, behaved that way on purpose, making it obvious.
The original plan had been to sit quietly in the background as an other-race healer invited by the young master, watch the situation unfold, and slowly reveal his own colors. But he had understood the moment he arrived. Ereb's standing was far worse than he had expected.
The head of the house loved his children, but he was a man skilled in political calculation. The viscountess, for reasons Messi did not yet know, stood with the First Young Master. And neither the people of the territory nor the house retainers even considered a successor other than the First Young Master.
And even in a situation like this, he still hasn't abandoned his ambition.
An ordinary man, pushed this far, would have given up the dream and sought a path of his own. But Ereb had not let go of becoming the head of the house. He had thrashed his way toward the Forest of Resentment as if he had nothing left to lose. That decision had not been wrong. In the end, it had brought him Messi.
"Young master. It is a painful thing to doubt the knights and attendants who have been with you all this time... but you will need to plant different information about me with each of them. Nothing spreads a rumor faster than a drinking party, so let us prepare separate banquets for the knights and the attendants. There is a perfectly decent pretext, is there not? The young master's consideration — a gesture of consolation for subordinates who have endured so much."
He baited the hook with a poisoned lure and cast his line.