A Most Honorable Death
Watching Adol's soul writhe in torment, Ayres realized what the being before him was. There was only one creature that would approach him while weaving magic so thoroughly unpleasant.
"A warlock of the Red Cross. How did you get here?"
"Sharp of you. I like that. We always linger nearby to ensure our client's satisfaction. Humans are so greedy—once is never enough!"
"Don't tell me… you were inside the estate?"
The warlock gave no answer. Those who dealt in magic did not lie easily; they believed that words themselves held power. There were times they simply kept silent, and this was one of them.
"Did you kill Adol?"
"When the soul is parted from the body, that is generally called death."
Adol's soul shuddered inside the crystal orb.
"We staged it as a suicide, so you needn't worry. Heheheh!"
"You imbecile—what the hell are you laughing about?!"
Ayres, who only moments before had been rigid with fear, suddenly bellowed. The warlock's eyes flew wide.
"If you're going to help me, then help me properly! Why the hell did you kill my right-hand man?!"
"Isn't having a subordinate take all the blame the most perfect method?"
"You moron. Do you think everyone else's brains are just decoration? If Adol suddenly kills himself, the suspicions tying him to me will only get louder!"
"Well. That can't be helped."
"You bastards who only ever use your heads for black magic… All you had to do was grab the Red Scrolls from Sir Adol's office and vanish! Then Father would search the place, find nothing, and I would have had room to strike back!"
"Hmm. I hadn't thought that far."
The warlock admitted the mistake as if it were nothing. What was he supposed to do about someone already dead?
Ayres, however, was thinking something else entirely.
If they were staying near me this whole time… then they knew Sir Adol had urged me to keep the Red Cross at a distance. This was a deliberate elimination.
Talk of the Red Cross had only ever taken place inside the office. If they knew anyway, they must have had some means of eavesdropping on what was said within those walls.
"From now on, I'll consult you first."
"You lunatic. You think there's going to be a next time?"
"Of course… You want the lordship. We want ancient magic. And you came looking for us, did you not?"
They even know about the existence of ancient magic.
He was almost curious how far they had burrowed into the family.
"You could have just stolen it. After sneaking in this far, you're playing innocent?"
"…We cannot enter Frox's laboratory. I don't know what magic he used, but we couldn't break through it."
"Hahaha! That's Lord Frox for you!"
A sneer curled at the corner of Ayres's mouth. The warlock seemed to take offense; the whites of his large eyes flushed a vivid, bloody red.
"I know what you're thinking, but black magic has always required an environment and a sacrifice! With those, we can smash Frox's magic whenever we please! Do not underestimate Lord Ascaron's magic!!"
So they've got an inferiority complex too. Trash.
Whatever he thought, Ayres soothed the man with a few well-placed words. Perhaps because he was unhinged, there was something faintly childish about him.
"So. How do you intend to help me?"
"We'll devour your little brother's soul as well."
Ayres had already resolved once to remove Ereb. The first decision was the hard one; a second would be as easy as turning over his hand.
Even so, he shook his head.
"That's stupid. There were plenty of ways to take him out in this house. Do you really not know why I didn't?"
"I'm not talking about assassination. That would concentrate every suspicion on the client, which wouldn't do at all."
"Then what?"
"Didn't I just tell you? In black magic, creating the environment is of the utmost importance…"
Heheheh…
"You're going to start a war? With whom?"
"Heh heh. Hasn't the opponent already been decided?"
Watching the warlock's oily smile, Ayres found his own expression growing interested.
They mean to pit Krombell against us? This… this could paint a rather nice picture…
Ereb would die on the battlefield, and he himself would step forward to save Ahental in its hour of crisis. If they used the Red Cross's magic, even Krombell's Sword Master would be no problem.
It was the moment their interests locked into perfect alignment.
Viscount Poild, who had come as the working diplomat, despaired at the situation that had landed on him.
This goddamn… Of all times, House Ahental had to produce a Sword Master now!
The original plan had gone up in smoke. On top of that, Alan Aster was chatting away with Viscount Ahental as if they were old friends, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. When the man they'd brought along to negotiate was carrying on like that, Poild couldn't help thinking this entire envoy mission was well and truly fucked.
Now the only thing he could rely on was his own silver tongue. If he went back empty-handed, the violent Count Krombell would not leave him in one piece. And if he also delivered the news that House Ahental had produced a Sword Master, his head and body would be parted by the Count's own hands.
Poild reminded himself of his objective with grim clarity.
I just need to walk away with the Einhartz Mana Cultivation Method. No need to overcomplicate it.
And he had a glimmer of hope besides. He had expected to face Viscount Ahental himself, but the family's working representative turned out to be some other-race fellow.
"I'm Messi. A pleasure to meet you."
"A pleasure. Viscount Poild. Messi… so you're the one they call the Saint of the Foreign Race."
At least that's a relief. A two-bit healer as the working representative? What on earth is Viscount Ahental thinking?
He turned it over in his mind, then presented his first offer in a calm, even tone.
"The ransom for Lord Rowin and the five knights, combined with compensation, at fifty gold per head. How about it?"
"I assume that's a joke. You haven't separately assessed damages for the fire, and you're pricing a knight's ransom the same as the heir's?"
Right. Even against an easy opponent, that was never going to fly.
He hadn't expected it to work from the start. Poild revised the offer with an easy, practiced smoothness.
"Very well. Then we'll set Lord Rowin's ransom at a hundred gold."
"Still a refusal. No damage compensation has been made at all."
"You do realize we priced the knights' ransoms quite high, don't you?"
"The knights currently in custody would be rather disappointed to hear that. Fifty gold, considered a generous price?"
A subtle war of nerves stretched on. But this was Poild's ploy—he wanted it to look as though they were preoccupied solely with recovering Rowin and securing their people. He dragged the talks out, stalling, and when he judged that both sides appeared visibly worn down, he played his trump card.
"Fine. Then how about this? We'll set the ransom for Lord Rowin and the five knights, combined with damage compensation, at seven hundred gold. In addition, we'll attach three hundred residents of Krombell territory to the reconstruction work for the fire. In exchange, you transfer to us the Einhartz Mana Cultivation Method that Lord Rowin had intended to purchase. This whole affair happened because our heir wanted it, after all. Our envoy needs to save some face—we'd appreciate your cooperation."
"Hmm…"
As Messi scratched his chin in thought, Poild smiled inwardly.
He can't refuse this. Seven hundred gold, plus laborers sent over. What would this other-race know? It's more than double the opening offer—he'll snatch it up…
"I refuse."
…?
When Messi cut him down without the slightest hesitation, it was Poild who was left flustered.
"Haha… are you joking? How can you refuse this? Are you looking for a fight?"
"A negotiation is something you agree to when the terms match. If they don't, you don't. The terms are absurd, so I'm refusing."
"Absurd?! Then what was all that pondering just now?!"
"I was wondering why the other party kept presenting such ridiculous conditions."
A vein stood out on Poild's forehead.
"You think talking is all it takes… Seven hundred gold plus manpower—that's an enormous offer!"
Providing one's own territory residents to another domain was a sight only seen when one side had committed a rather grave wrong. By doing so, Krombell could demonstrate to everyone watching that House Ahental had received a proper apology. And seven hundred gold was more than sufficient as ransom and fire compensation. Poild had every right to have a fit.
But there was no world in which Messi would accept it.
"Ha. This man… he's been barking up the wrong tree this whole time."
When Messi looked at him with that crooked, assessing gaze, Poild carefully considered what he might have missed.
Don't tell me…
One unpleasant possibility surfaced.
"Viscount Poild. We're trying to deal with House Krombell in good faith… are you going to keep this up?"
Messi spoke as though deeply disappointed.
"What…"
"The Einhartz Mana Cultivation Method."
The moment that name left his mouth, Poild's expression curdled.
"I hear your family has the latter volume…?"
The instant he heard those words, Poild knew this negotiation was truly, irretrievably ruined.
There were two reasons Messi had bothered to sit in on this negotiation.
The first, as noted before, was that when it came to publicly displaying House Ahental's strength against a Sword Master, two escorts made a better showing than three. The second was to scan Alan Aster with Heal.
If Alan Aster had learned another portion of the Einhartz Mana Cultivation Method, the entire direction of talks with House Krombell would have to change.
Unfortunately, Alan Aster did not appear to have learned the latter volume of the Einhartz Mana Cultivation Method.
Well… they did say he was a monstrously talented Sword Master. Someone like that wouldn't bother studying a half-complete cultivation method.
He was said to have a temperament more interested in amusement than anything else. True to that reputation, the toxins accumulated in his body were at a serious level. Even Messi was startled as he treated him with sacred Heal.
He reached Sword Master in this condition…?
The aptitude was astonishing. Messi thought of the deceased Raude.
Sir Ramang said it, didn't he… that Raude had the makings of a Sword Master.
That had meant if he kept training steadily, he would reach Sword Master around Messi's present age. Even that was talent enough to call remarkable.
Set beside the Sword Master sitting in front of him, however, it was a different story entirely. Messi found himself wanting to put it this way:
This man… would have reached Sword Master no matter what path he walked.
And that man's physical information was flowing into Messi's own body. Even sitting in the negotiation hall, he could feel himself changing, little by little. He felt his vision shifting. Simply looking at powerhouses like Alan Aster and Bacillus brought new insights flashing through him like sparks.
Perhaps outstanding aptitude in the sword comes down to how deeply one comprehends the relationship between the body and mana…
Until now he had treated training the body and training mana as separate disciplines, as if they were two things practiced apart. Looking closer, that was not the case at all.
Messi felt a peculiar stirring. This was the omen of advancing beyond the Brave Stage toward Lavish.
Though Messi had only recently taken up the sword, Alan Aster's aptitude was already drawing him one stage higher. It was monstrous talent. Messi himself had been born with a gift that made him no small presence—but Alan Aster's foundation was innate, written into him from the start.
If someone with this kind of talent learned the Einhartz Mana Cultivation Method…
House Krombell would surely give Alan Aster the first opportunity to learn it once they completed the method. Then that man would truly have nothing left to fear. They must never give him that chance.
Knowing Alan Aster's monstrous aptitude made the gravity of the situation even clearer. He could even understand why Poild was trying so hard to cajole Viscount Ahental.
The moment it was revealed that they knew of the latter volume of the Einhartz Mana Cultivation Method, Poild conveyed a sincere apology to Viscount Ahental.
"The Count sent us with even this situation in mind. Of course, we apologize for entering negotiations while pretending otherwise."
"Isn't that the nature of negotiation? If you were going to naively lay every card on the table and speak with nothing but honesty, there wouldn't be any need for a seat like this."
"Thank you for understanding."
"So I'd like to hear what conditions the Count actually had in mind. I do hope this time it isn't something preposterous."
At the viscount's words, Poild's face grew serious.
"In fact, the reason we wanted a one-on-one discussion was in case of something like this. What Count Krombell has in mind is a marriage alliance."
"…What?"
The condition was startling enough that Viscount Ahental's reply came out short. After all, the only unmarried bloodline in House Ahental now was Erena.
"It's embarrassing to explain our family circumstances, but the current heir, Lord Rowin, will step down from that position. They intend to elevate the youngest young master of the house—and that gentleman has no partner."
"His age?"
"Three years younger than Lady Erena."
"Hah. So you'll pair Erena with House Krombell's fifteen-year-old heir, and in exchange we hand over the Einhartz Mana Cultivation Method."
"…Precisely. And they have pledged it. Regardless of whether Lady Erena's child is a girl or a boy, that child will succeed. They even spoke of royal notarization."
The viscount and Messi could feel, in that offer, just how desperately Count Krombell wanted the Einhartz Mana Cultivation Method. Give us the future of House Krombell—so hand over the cultivation method right now.
And what that degree of obsession meant was unmistakable.
If refused, they will obtain it by any means necessary.
How they answered this condition would change the family's future with a clarity that was almost brutal.
"We have a Sword Master now as well. I imagine you made this proposal without knowing that?"
When the viscount asked, it was Alan Aster who answered.
"Speaking not as an envoy, but as my brother's younger sibling… even so, the result would not change. As you know, Viscount… my brother is that kind of man."
Perhaps because he felt a genuine goodwill toward Viscount Ahental, Alan Aster made it unmistakably clear that he did not want to fight.
"Please make a careful choice, Viscount. You know that if our two houses go to war, the scars would be no small thing."
"…I understand."
The viscount rose from his seat and withdrew. It meant this was not a matter to be decided on the spot.
Messi, following behind him, found his own mind growing busier by the second.