A Pretext to Kill

"Just how… how did you even get your hands on this?"

The magician of House Ahental asked the question as if his soul had left his body. He didn't need to be told. One look was enough to know the ancient magical documents were genuine.

"Ereb. The boy brought them back."

"I'd heard he'd returned, but… you don't mean he recovered these from the Forest of Resentment?"

The magician had assumed that if Ereb had come home, it meant he had given up on the Forest of Resentment and turned around. The place was infamous for a reason.

"Incredible! That's the region even the Woodcutters abandoned, isn't it?"

More precisely, it was the ruins that had forced the retreat—but few people knew the full story. The Viscount, who was one of those few, simply nodded, content to let the details stay vague.

The five family magicians handled the ancient magical documents as gingerly as if they were cradling newborn chicks, utterly at a loss for what to do with themselves.

"Can you read it?"

"This? We don't even know what language it is. All we can do is make inferences ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from the symbols and the illustrations."

"I'm told it's Yagran."

"What? Who said that—the Second Young Master?"

"No. The outlander Ereb brought back. He claims he can interpret about ten percent of it. What do you make of that?"

The five of them looked at one another, then shouted in perfect unison, as if they had become a single mind.

"That's extraordinary!!"

"Yes… I agree. Whether it's ten percent or a mere fraction, the fact that he can read any of it at all is remarkable. He says it's a language from two thousand years ago."

"Here—this matches!"

One of the magicians hurriedly fetched a book of his own, flipped it open, and held it out. It appeared to be a volume on ancient languages, and the entry was on the Yagran Language.

"It's listed as a secret tongue used among alchemists. I inherited this from my master… I believe the book itself is about two hundred years old. According to the text, the last officially recorded speaker died in a war sixty years ago, so…"

"So aside from that outlander, the language is truly extinct."

"My lord, you must not let that man slip away. He possesses a truly extraordinary gift!"

"As magnificent as these ancient magical documents are, without him they're nothing but paper."

"Paper?! That's an insult to ancient magic itself! I was already agonizing over whether someone like me even had the right to touch these…"

The magicians were panting now, their breathing grown ragged. The Viscount couldn't help a wry smile.

"As it happens, I've already sent word to Frox through Ayres. I thought he might be able to decipher it."

"If it's the Great Magician, then certainly!"

"Congratulations, my lord! For the Second Young Master to have accomplished something of this magnitude!"

"Celebrate, and celebrate again! It seems House Ahental is destined to flourish even further in your generation!"

"The Second Young Master has always been valiant—he takes after you, my lord!"

It was rare for magicians, as a breed, to heap praise like this. That meant they were sincere—and at the praise of his son, the Viscount of Ahental grinned like a hopelessly doting father.

"Hahaha! Look at you lot. And here I thought you were no good at flattery."

"Heh heh! He's the spitting image of you in your youth, my lord."

"Haha. Ereb does take after me a bit, doesn't he."

When the eldest magician tossed out the joke, the Viscount was only too happy to agree.

Ayres stood outside, listening to the laughter spilling from his father's study. His face no longer held the beauty it once had. It looked cold. Almost cruel.

He pushed off the wall and began walking, his movements measured. Before long, he addressed the knight who had fallen in beside him.

"Chase. From this moment, I want you gathering everything you can on the outlander called Messi. We're going to have to get rid of him."

"You'll need a justification, of course."

Ayres nodded at Chase's words.

"Within the hour, summon to my office the men I planted among those who went to the Forest of Resentment."

Ayres sat in his office, facing six knights.

There should have been nine. Three were dead. Only six had returned. He asked Hulan.

"Laud is dead?"

"Yes… I believe Sir Ramang was the one who killed him."

"I know Sir Ramang's skill—he's called the perpetual Lavish. And you're telling me Vlado and Ken died with him?"

"…Yes."

"The Red Scrolls? Did they use them?"

"I believe they did."

"And even then, Laud, Ken, and Vlado died? Do you expect me to believe that?"

The circumstances suggested these six had turned, using the other three as sacrificial lambs.

"It's the truth! Y-you have to believe us. Messi must have pulled something."

That outlander again?

The name kept cropping up, and it grated on Ayres. Who the hell was this man, anyway?

It had been the same a short while ago, when he'd summoned the spies he'd planted among the servants.

"What exactly did he do?"

"We don't know the details ourselves, but… he walks the Forest of Resentment like it's his own front yard. Given that only Ramang and Messi came back alive… he must have done something."

"And what were the rest of you doing all that time?"

Ayres looked at the six of them with open distaste.

"We were watching for an opening! But they say that in the Forest of Resentment, any bleeding triggers a monster wave… We couldn't just attack the Second Young Master."

These worthless pieces of trash… Then you should have thrown your lives away to get it done!

The fury boiled inside him, but Ayres couldn't bring himself to say it aloud. It would have been the same as asking why they hadn't died. Betrayal only held if you could promise a better future.

"Pathetic… Hand over the Red Scrolls you took. They're wasted on the likes of you."

"…Yes."

Wearing the most pitiful expressions they could muster, the six men drew the Red Scrolls from their coats.

They still have the Red Scrolls. That means they weren't found out. These men still have their uses.

The Red Scrolls were excellent evidence that the Red Cross Magic College had been involved. Knowing Ereb's temperament, he would have run straight to their father with them, denouncing the First Young Master as the culprit who had allied with the Red Cross.

Of course, there was no evidence linking Ayres himself to the Red Cross. Denying it wouldn't have been difficult. At best, these six could testify—but they were all Ereb's companions of seventeen years. They were in no position to serve as objective witnesses.

"…Put them away. I'll give you another chance."

"R-really? Thank you!"

Hulan dropped to his knees in a deep bow, and the other five followed suit.

"Tell me everything you know about this Messi."

"Yes. We first encountered him when we arrived at Benuda Village…"

Hulan and the other five took turns recounting what had happened there. The near-brawl between the knights and the mercenary group. The passage through the Ant Tunnels. Their arrival at the fortress…

The peculiar thing was how briefly they glossed over what had happened inside the ruins.

"Hmph…"

Listening to the six ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of them, Ayres signaled to the man standing in the corner of the room.

Sir Adol Prime, the Cavalry Commander, was Ramang's opposite in every respect. Meeting Ayres's gaze, he nodded. The account matched what the servant-spies had said.

"Then the most important question. Is he truly a prince of the outlanders?"

In truth, from the Viscount of Ahental's perspective, whether Messi was a prince or not hardly mattered. As long as Messi was the only one who could interpret the ancient language, he was a card too valuable to discard.

But for the First Young Master, it had to be otherwise. Only if he wasn't a prince would there be a justification to kill him.

Ayres had no intention of sitting quietly and watching the ancient magic be deciphered. If Ereb were allowed to claim a feat of that magnitude, cracks would form in the tower of achievement Ayres had spent his whole life building.

The outlander Ereb had brought back. The ancient magic Ereb had recovered. On top of that, even Frox—their father's close friend—would be unable to contain his admiration for Ereb's dazzling accomplishment.

And if, at last, a magic tower were raised in the territory…

In the eyes of every soul in the domain, it would stand as a monument to the Second Young Master Ereb's achievement. Every morning, as they went about their work, the people of the territory would look up at that tower and marvel.

Every time the magic tower advanced the territory, every time magicians and scholars flocked in, every time the people's household fortunes grew, they would think those things.

And what of Father's vassal nobles, who cared for nothing but wealth? If Ereb were given charge of a magic tower that generated regular, substantial revenue, they would reach for him instead.

Just imagining it is infuriating…

Rather than let that come to pass, it would be better to kill the outlander and seal his mouth for good. Father would rage and rebuke him, yes—but that was still preferable to the ancient magic being researched and a magic tower being raised.

That was how valuable the ancient magic Ereb had brought back truly was—valuable enough to make Ayres feel threatened. And Messi was the obstacle that had suddenly rolled into his path.

I just need a justification. If I can prove he used a false identity to insult the nobility, the vassals and my mother's family will shield me even after I kill him. And the title conferment ceremony is coming soon… my transgression will be buried in no time. This is the countship our ancestors have coveted for generations, after all.

They had been honored retainers who had helped found the kingdom, yet because they were merchants they had been relegated to second-class honors, and the first family head had received only a viscountcy. In the years since, they had enjoyed power that ranked among the greatest—the honor of a founding house, vast wealth, enormous influence—and still that slight had remained the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠family's bitterest regret.

He was the one who would finally achieve it. He was confident he could bury anything.

For that, these men needed to give him useful information. Ayres stared hard at the six knights, waiting.

And then… the answer he wanted arrived.

"Absolutely not."

"You're certain?"

"I can swear it on the honor of our house. He is absolutely not."

"That contradicts what the servants said… They claim they heard rumors that this Messi truly is a prince of the outlanders. I was told that the power of benediction, as well as exceptional healing, are hallmarks of the royal bloodline?"

"Rumors are just rumors. And how would a blessing ability and healing prove he's royalty?"

At Hulan's cheeky reply, Ayres smiled, clearly pleased.

"You're right. Rumors are just rumors. And you have grounds to say he isn't?"

"The Village Chief of Benuda Village will testify—if paid—that Messi has lived there as a resident for the past three years. Ayla, leader of the Red Fox Mercenary Group, will testify that he was nothing more than a village hunter. And of course, we will testify as well."

Ayres was satisfied. Internally, his estimation of these men rose a notch.

"Good. I'm satisfied. From now on, I will guarantee your futures."

"Thank you, First Young Master!"

"Chase, you heard all that? The Village Chief of Benuda Village and the leader of the Red Fox Mercenary Group. Investigate everyone around them thoroughly as well."

Chase, who had been standing beside Adol, bowed and left the room. Ayres then turned to Adol, who remained.

"Sir Adol. I don't think it would be wise to let idle rumors keep circulating."

Adol Prime shook his head as well and left the room.

Watching this, the six spies felt a chill run down their spines.

It wasn't because Ayres had decided to dispose of every last servant.

It was because they had heard from Messi, two hours earlier, that this was exactly how things would unfold.

Hulan and Ohens of the Ahental Knights, along with four others, had been enjoying themselves at the banquet when they were summoned by Ramang to the knight commander's office.

But the ones waiting for them were Ereb and Messi. Only then did the six of them realize that their grouping consisted entirely of men with a record.

Hulan dropped to his knees at once, and the other five followed in unison. They understood the situation.

"S-Second Young Master! Please, forgive us!"

"What the hell are you doing?"

"W-well… didn't you call us here separately to punish us?"

In truth, the six of them had been privately dreading that this day would come. The Ereb they knew didn't have a shred of forgiveness in him. They'd felt uneasy from the moment he'd said he would cover for them.

They'd come from drinking heavily at the banquet, and with their emotions running high, tears leaked from their eyes.

"Stop talking nonsense and get up. Ugh. You reek of booze."

At a glance from Messi, Ereb even put on a show of helping each of them to their feet, one by one, easing their fears.

"Then… why did you call for us?"

"Did you enjoy the banquet?"

"Yes. We heard the Second Young Master went out of his way for us."

"That's right. The servants are holding a banquet of their own in another hall right now. And I've been spreading different rumors to the knights and the servants."

"I'm too dull to understand what that means."

"What do you think it means? I'm rooting out traitors. We've got to clean house first, don't we?"

At Ereb's words, the six men's faces went ashen.

"Th-there are more besides us!?"

"Heh. Don't look so shocked. I don't think there are any more on the knights' side. Messi?"

He looked to Messi for confirmation, and Messi nodded.

"Think about it. If there were hidden spies beyond you six, why would they have kept you in the dark? For the job to succeed, spies need to know who the other spies are. That's the only way you raise your odds even a little."

"Th-that makes sense."

The men with a history of betrayal understood Messi's logic and conceded, however reluctantly. In fact, the First Young Master had summoned Laud, Ken, and Vlado in addition to these six and made them known to one another. It was a job with too many variables—he'd wanted them to pool their strength and see it through.

"So you think the remaining spies are among the servants… Why call us, then?"

Ohens asked, curious. Messi grinned.

"While we clean out the traitors on the inside, we thought we'd plant a few spies of our own. It's not fair that we're always the ones suffering because of spies, is it?"

"…How is that even possible?"

Watching Messi hand the Red Scrolls back to them, Hulan tilted his head.

It was the same thing all six of them said, having walked out of Ayres's office alive.