A New Venture

How far a knight climbed through the realms depended, to a punishing degree, on talent, mana affinity, and the caliber of one's mana cultivation method.

Among the Ahental Knights, the man who had taken the longest to rise from the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Brave Stage to Lavish was Ramang. It had taken him ten years.

Messi, by contrast, had spoken of ten days. Everyone in the room nearly jumped out of their skin.

He ought to say something that actually makes sense...

His realm rose in ten days?

Suspicion, anticipation, and a thread of fear — a tangle of conflicting feelings turned toward Messi.

"Is that even possible?"

Even the viscount looked as though he could not quite believe it. He himself had come up through the Ahental Knights, and he stood at the entry of Lavish. He knew full well how brutally hard it was to reach that realm.

And yet Messi had named ten days. It was the kind of claim a knight might take as an insult, so the viscount hoped — joke or not — that it was not one.

"I only mention it in the hope it might be of some small help to you. Lavish is..."

"The process of finding the equilibrium between body and mana, is it not?"

When Messi supplied the answer, the viscount nodded, visibly surprised.

Anyone can recite the words. Whether he's truly grasped it is another matter.

If the mark of Brillant was a fine gathering of mana around the blade, scattered like a cluster of stars, then the mark of Lavish was this: body and energy finding their balance, resonating, and releasing that powerful force as Sword Intent.

"Will you try?"

"I will. Seeing it firsthand will be the surest proof."

Steel whispered from the sheath. Messi drew his sword, and the people around him stepped back. Ereb was among them, looking thoroughly bewildered. That Messi had reached Lavish — a realm Ereb himself had yet to attain — was astonishing, and at the same time, almost impossible to believe.

Don't worry.

Acknowledging Kkyu's cheer, Messi felt the boundary line caught beneath his feet.

It was a presence he had first become aware of while scanning Alan Aster. That line was commonly called the omen of a realm breakthrough — and to perceive it, then leap across it into the next stage with one's own power, was the breakthrough every knight longed for.

He had meant to attempt this alone. Doing it before an audience made him uneasy, but he slowly turned his awareness inward.

Lavish is the realm that arrives of its own accord, once the body has been forged through the Savage Stage and mana has been accumulated through the Brave Stage, until the two fall into balance and enlightenment comes naturally.

But my energy and my body are wildly out of balance.

His physical ability had developed to an overwhelming degree. He had absorbed Enzo Muete's physical data, and his recent training with Grotein was already showing results.

But his mana?

Lately, thanks to the Crombell Mana Cultivation Method, it had been accumulating far faster. He received training resources every day, and he had a constitution that took to mana well. He had gathered a good six months' worth.

It still was not nearly enough. In terms of actual time, he had trained a little over a month. Reaching Lavish — a realm that demanded the balance of energy and body be complete — was, on paper, impossible.

If my talent were ordinary, taking in Enzo Muete would have made the climb even longer than most.

But Alan Aster's talent offset that. That monstrous gift had let him see the problem in his present state with perfect clarity, and had artificially accelerated the enlightenment that would have come naturally once energy and body fell into balance.

If they're out of balance, I'll just put them in balance.

He had long since learned how to use a body pushed to its limits by Enzo Muete. He could make even the finest adjustments. If the power was too much, he simply regulated it. He loosened the tension and poured his focus into minute control.

His mana was insufficient, so he fired every last drop of it through his mana circuits as if detonating it from within, forcing the shortfall to match. The mana circuits, thickened and toughened by Enzo Muete, made that reckless act possible.

At last, body and mana resonated.

A low, rolling hum filled the air.

Energy and flesh, the two of them, fell into a balance deep enough to influence one another, and became one. A single thread of intent rode the sword without the slightest obstruction.

Now.

He swung. Everything Messi had established as his meaning of the sword poured into the weapon.

The blade sheared through empty air with a sound like a bursting pouch. Two more strokes followed in succession. The people watching felt as though the sharp wind grazing their faces might actually cut them.

"...!"

This was a world apart, in both keenness and force, from the sword Messi had shown at the Squire test. This was the sword of Lavish — possible only when Sword Intent was carried in the blade.

When the sudden chill that had swept the room settled, surprise was written on every face.

"He really has... grown another stage in that short a time."

It had been three simple swings, and yet everyone recognized it.

"To actually imbue Sword Intent in ten days..."

"Was the Einhartz Mana Cultivation Method this effective?"

Most of the retainers present were former Ahental Knights. Most of them had reached Lavish themselves, and they had the eyes to know that the sword Messi had swung was the real thing.

Astonishment left the room quiet.

This is kind of awkward. If a light cluster had appeared the way it does with Brillant, it might have looked more impressive.

Regardless, he had accomplished what he had set out to do.

Messi sheathed his sword and tried not to let the drained, mana-empty weakness show.

"As you have seen, I can now imbue Sword Intent. Of course, this may be the product of my own talent and House Ahental's support... but if I had to name the greatest change in so short a time, I would say it was learning the Einhartz Mana Cultivation Method."

The viscount and the retainers had no choice but to accept his words. They had seen it with their own eyes.

And then the worry set in.

What if that threatening cultivation method — which could do this even in its incomplete half — were perfected by House Crombell? And what if, afterward, just as the First Young Master had said, Crombell ignored every noble pretext, every point of honor, every royal certification, and attacked Ahental?

The crisis that worst-case scenario implied felt suddenly, uncommonly large. Messi had shown them with their own eyes.

"It is dangerous..."

Someone's mutter spoke for everyone in the room.

But fierce opposition remained. Baron Denver, Baron Engaldar, and Baron Llorente — the three whose territories lay closest to Crombell's domain. If war broke out, those three fiefs would obviously become the first battlefield.

"Do you all want ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a war so badly? Crombell has no reason to throw away its honor as a noble house, public opinion, and its relationship with the royal court just to strike us."

"A war with Crombell is the end if we lose, and even if we win, there's nothing left. If we make peace, the combined influence of both houses would easily place us among the Five Fingers of the Asiris Kingdom. Why on earth would we drink poison?"

"Lady Erena will have to find a match eventually, will she not? The other party is House Crombell, a count's family, and they are even guaranteeing the succession. I cannot understand why we would let an opportunity like this slip away."

Their arguments had merit as well.

The viscount wrestled with it. The final choice had to be his. He was the one who led Ahental.

He asked Ereb one last time.

"Ereb. Why do you oppose this?"

Ereb hemmed and hawed, then answered not as a participant in the council, but as a brother.

"...Isn't it obvious?"

"Hm?"

"Until now, Erena has lived a life where she couldn't go anywhere unless someone pushed her. A spouse is someone you push and pull with for a lifetime. I at least wanted to give her the chance to choose that partner herself."

"I see..."

The viscount had been swept up in the situation and forgotten. His second son had not.

Viscount Ahental bowed his head, ashamed as a father.

"Call Erena."

Summoned by the viscount, Erena appeared — and to everyone's surprise, she walked in on her own two legs.

She looked unsteady, of course, and after only a few steps she sank into her wheelchair. But still.

"I heard the family is in a difficult situation. I'm working hard and keeping my spirits up like this, so please, all of you, hang in there too."

Was this what a modern idol was like? I'm hanging in there, so you hang in there too — that sort of cheer. The surprising part was that it actually worked.

"What a kind heart she has."

"Kh-hhk, my lady. How did she grow up so well..."

Come to think of it, these men had been at Erena's side from the day she was born. A bit like uncle-fans who had looked after a third-rate girl group from the very beginning.

"Erena. I called you to this meeting because I have something to ask you."

Even after opening that way, the viscount worked his lips for a long time and could not continue.

Erena smiled as if to say it was all right.

"Father. It's fine. I was born a daughter of a noble house, and I've seen a great deal by now. What are you hesitating for?"

"Count Crombell has proposed a marriage alliance."

"...Oh my. That is a surprise."

He'd been told to speak, and he'd dropped it on her with no warning at all. The two houses had never gotten along, so Erena, too, looked as though she hadn't imagined this.

But she soon smiled and nodded.

"Please do as you see fit, Father."

"...Are you all right with that?"

"Of course I'm not all right with it. I'm a member of House Ahental. There's no reason I'd be fond of Crombell."

"Th-that's not what I meant... I meant, this would be a political marriage. Are you not opposed to that?"

The viscount stammered, flustered, and Erena let out a long sigh and spoke with spirit.

"Honestly, Father. I'm not a five-year-old. I was born a daughter of a noble house. Did you think I'd lived this long without considering something like that?"

She was so matter-of-fact that the room was taken aback.

Yes. This is the daughter I raised.

The viscount closed his eyes.

On the day of Erena's first social debut, the child had come home having overheard people's gossip. When the viscount grieved at what his daughter had endured, it was the daughter who comforted him.

Perhaps because of her body, she had matured earlier than her years.

Erena has suffered enough... Perhaps she has already lived through a lifetime's worth of pain in advance.

What were the odds his daughter would go to House Crombell and live happily?

If Crombell kept every promise, it would be a decent life. As the lady of the house, she would settle in with the support of the previous family head and the backing of House Ahental. The succession would not be a concern.

But if Crombell broke the pledges and the royal certification? His daughter's life would be steeped in misery.

I was so blinded by safety and profit that I was about to gamble with my daughter's life.

The hesitation vanished from Viscount Ahental's eyes.

His eldest son's cold judgment. The potential of the Einhartz Mana Cultivation Method that Sir Messi had demonstrated. The family happiness his second son had put first. And his own daughter, who had always been so thoughtful.

The reason they had to fight had become clear.

The viscount's presence changed. Every retainer in the room sensed that he had made his decision.

After a heavy silence, he opened his mouth.

"Some three hundred years ago, our ancestor fought for the founding of the Asiris royal house. It was not a fight of swords and spears and shields, but as a merchant he alone poured out money like blood and sustained a long struggle."

"I have always wondered. Why did the first family head choose that path? He had succeeded as a merchant. The fortune he had already amassed would have been enough for a prosperous life. With a little luck, House Ahental would have thundered down to this day as the Ahental Merchant Group. People would have named the Ahental Merchant Group, not the Huang Merchant Group. So why did he abandon the easy road and take the hard one?"

It was a question no one had ever considered. The retainers sank into thought. Messi, who did not know the history, kept his mouth shut.

Someone spoke.

"Because the Perion royal family was unjust."

"Of course the Perion royal family was rotten. The taxes were insane, and the people wept. But is that a reason for the Ahental Merchant Group to move? We ate well and lived well, and every merchant house called the rebelling Count Asiris mad and turned their backs! So why did we move?"

When no one found an answer and the room fell silent, Viscount Ahental murmured quietly.

It was an answer that struck the back of the head of everyone who had been expecting some grand cause.

"The Perion royals and nobles spent like mad, and they bought a great many jewels and luxuries from the Ahental Merchant Group. But the lifeblood of the people is not infinite. Someday it would run dry, and the day would come when jewels and luxuries meant nothing. To protect the family trade and keep the business alive, they started a new venture. That is the true nature of the struggle."

"Do you know why I am telling you this?"

Ereb answered at once.

"It seems you intend to start a new... venture."

"Correct. We must start a new venture. We are not going to war. What remains after a war is ash and poverty — but what we are doing is business."

House Ahental had lived as nobles for three hundred years, but they had not forgotten the house culture and the roots that had begun as merchants.

The retainers' roots, too, were the officers who had once led the Ahental Merchant Group. They were merchants at the core. Because of that, they had never been fully recognized as true nobles in aristocratic society, and they had been stuck as second-class contributors to the founding — but they did not feel shame or disgust at those roots. They were people who took pride in them.

The viscount's words, stirring those roots, kindled a heat in the eyes of retainers and knights alike.

Two days passed.

In a tent erected before the City ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of Ahental, Alan Aster sat waiting and read a letter. The seal of House Ahental was stamped upon it.

"...So the viscount has decided to fight after all."

He looked at the knight who had brought the letter and asked. It was Ramang.

"Yes. His Lordship's will is firm."

"I have no wish to harm him."

"His Lordship was sorry as well, thinking of you, sir."

It had been a brief meeting, but he had felt a personal pull. In any other situation, they might have been friends.

As he sat with that regret, Ramang continued.

"And we have brought your nephew as well."

"Rowin? I thought the negotiations had fallen through."

"His Lordship was concerned that Sir Alan Aster would lose face returning empty-handed."

"...!"

"Pay whatever ransom and compensation you wish, and take him. However, as Ahental has its own position to consider, the five knights will be dealt with according to territorial law."

"...Whatever I wish? Hahaha!"

Alan Aster laughed until tears nearly came.

What a magnificent man. I almost want to be like him...

Alan Aster, too, had once dreamed of becoming a family head. He had imagined, many times, what he would look like as Count Crombell.

Viscount Ahental was the family head he had dreamed of being. That, more than anything, was probably why he felt such a human attraction to the man.

It was from that moment that Alan Aster opened with something unexpected.

"I will be heading back starting now."

"...?"

"Whenever I pass through a city with a decent pleasure quarter, I expect I'll stop at every last one."

"Pardon?"

"There should be about six or seven. Denver in particular — I hear the quality there is outstanding."

"What do you mean..."

"If I really live it up, it should take me about three weeks to reach Crombell."

"...!"

Only then did Ramang understand what Alan Aster meant.

He was going to buy them time to prepare.

And Alan Aster was not finished.

"The envoy announcing the war should arrive in Ahental in about a month. They'll set out the moment I report."

"Th-that would be so, yes."

"My brother will move his troops at the same time he sends the envoy. And on the day the envoy arrives, he will immediately strike the nearest territories in a war of speed."

They would declare war and push in at the same time. From the day the letter was received, the war would already have begun — a dirty move, but one that, in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠terms of pretext, was not a problem.

"Are you... allowed to tell us that?"

"Am I? Hahaha!"

Alan Aster rose lightly to his feet. It was a signal that he would no longer converse with a knight of a hostile house.

But the look on his face as he left the tent was the look of a man who had set something down — unburdened, and at ease.