Chapter 15
Chapter 15
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 14
Chapter Title: A Boring Day Off
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It started as nothing more than a fragment of trivial small talk.
As always, after the spine-chilling meeting finally wrapped up and the Minister was the first to depart, John tossed out a casual remark to help dilute the lingering fear in the air.
"Come to think of it, I ran into the Minister at the magic tool department store by sheer chance during my last vacation."
"The magic tool department store?"
"...I simply cannot picture the two of you in such a place at all."
As expected, his colleagues latched onto the Minister-related bait in an instant. John chuckled at their reaction and continued his story.
"Well, it was my first time visiting there too, but it turned out to be surprisingly fun. I even had the chance to meet the Minister's little sister while we were there."
"Ah, you mean that formidable person they call the Ice Devil?"
"Wasn't the miraculous blanket the Minister gave us all made by her hand?"
At Valdemar Bazet's comment that he still used it every single night to great effect, the others nodded in solemn agreement, calling it a truly fine piece of work.
"Yeah, that's exactly right. After that encounter, the Minister let us stick around together until it was time for his private appointment with her, so we browsed all sorts of magic tools. And it was actually quite enjoyable."
It was meant merely as a light topic to ease the heavy mood, but Christina—who had been quietly listening to John's story, which had somehow turned into subtle boasting—chimed in with a knowing tone.
"The Minister off the clock is incredibly and surprisingly kind. It's great, of course. The usual Minister is fine too, but I guess it's that immense gap in personality that makes it all the more appealing? He even buys snacks to the point where I'm worried about packing on the pounds—"
"Heh."
"...What was the meaning of that, Celine? Why exactly are you laughing?"
Celine had let out an inadvertent, soft chuckle while sorting the meeting materials. Christina shot her a sharp glare, and Celine apologized with a mask of impeccable politeness.
"My deepest apologies, Christina. I had absolutely no intention of mocking your fond little memory. It's just..."
"Just what?"
"...Seeing you so profoundly delighted over some trivial snacks struck me as oddly and remarkably adorable."
A grinding crunch escaped Christina's mouth, echoing ominously through the conference room.
A tension entirely different from the professional meeting now hung heavily in the air.
"If you're saying that with such confidence, then you must've gone out with the Minister at some point too, right Celine?"
"Gone out? We even went shopping at the bustling market together."
"What did you just say?!"
In truth, they'd only done it once, but Celine deliberately phrased it with just enough calculated ambiguity to imply it was a routine occurrence.
While Christina reeled from the sudden shock, Celine landed an even heavier and more devastating follow-up blow.
"And just the other day, the Minister and I enjoyed a lovely, private dinner—just the two of us alone."
"D-Dinner?!"
This time, it wasn't just Christina; every single person in the room was left utterly stunned.
It had been ten long years since Erwin Barrmut became Minister, and he'd never once shared a private meal with anyone from the Intelligence Department.
"Hmph! It was probably just some cheap street stall anyway!"
"It was held at the Golden Griffin."
"G-G-Golden... Griffin!?"
The shockwave hit the conference room with the force of a massive tidal wave.
Without exception—agents, operatives, and Owl members—pupils dilated to the size of saucers, eyes nearly bulging from their sockets in disbelief. Even John, who had initiated the conversation, stood there slack-jawed, his mouth agape as if his jaw had come unhinged.
And for good reason. The Golden Griffin was one of the top three ultra-ultra-ultra-ultra-ultra-luxury restaurants in the entire capital.
Its exquisite dishes, crafted from rare ingredients imported from every corner of the continent, were said to taste divine. Its first-class service had even won over the hearts of royalty.
"Y-You can't even secure a place like that with just money...?"
"Don't be ridiculous. Have you already forgotten exactly who the Minister is?"
"I mean... that's not what I intended to..."
Christina floundered amid psychological damage far beyond her limits, but Celine pressed on undeterred, gazing into the distance with a wistful look as she reminisced.
"That night was truly and breathtakingly splendid. Dining amid the gentle, haunting music from Armstrong Mans made it all the more special."
"Armstrong Mans? To hear them perform live, you have to pay scalpers at least ten times the face value..."
It was a hollow, desperate mutter from Alexander Lanzink, who fancied himself something of a true music aficionado.
"What about the drinks? Did you share any wine?"
"We did. I'm no expert, but I think the vintage was Winosus, 25-year-old?"
"Winosus!? And a 25-year-old bottle at that?!"
Sergei Azar—whose androgynous looks belied the heart of a hardcore drinker—looked to be on the very verge of tears.
"That is beyond words. Were there any other celebrities there?"
"None. The Minister rented out the entire place, so it was just the two of us. I have no idea what it's like normally."
"...Rented out the entire... Golden Griffin...?"
John and Valdemar Bazet sank into their seats in unison.
The other agents and operatives weren't much better off. Christina was now completely beyond the power of speech.
"Well then, I'll be off. I have lunch scheduled with the Minister."
Having laid the conference room to absolute waste with her words, Celine gathered the sorted materials and stood, leaving without a backward glance at her dumbfounded colleagues staring blankly into the void.
Heading home cheerfully after work, I was suddenly ambushed by my sister—who had been waiting without a word—and dragged off to dinner.
Apparently, her research on the magic tool in development had finally wrapped up, leaving her with abundant free time until the next project was assigned.
If she's that idle, I'd love to tell her to go find a nice guy, but I know she won't listen, so I decided to ask about something I'd been curious about for a while.
"Asero Kerk?! Of course I know of her, but I never imagined you'd bring up that name, brother!"
I hadn't either. If it weren't for that crazy woman who broke into my house uninvited before, I probably wouldn't have bothered asking.
"What kind of woman is she exactly?"
"If you had to name the strongest mage in history, she'd be on every shortlist! It's a shame she lived over a thousand years ago!"
"Do you want to discuss magic with her?"
"No! I want to fight her and see who is truly stronger—me or that legendary woman!"
That figured, knowing my sister.
In any case, what my sister—an active and brilliant mage—knew didn't seem much different from what I already knew.
While we were on the topic, I figured I'd ask about one other thing that had been nagging at me.
"Just hypothetical: if there were a mage living beyond the human lifespan limit, could you guess what method they might have used?"
Angela's knife paused mid-cut on her succulent steak.
"Brother? Mind if I ask what prompted that specific question and why?"
"It is pure intellectual curiosity."
"Sigh... I figured you'd say that. But that's actually a really dangerous question to ask!"
Eh, really? Was it something I truly shouldn't have asked?
"At the conversational level, it's not a huge issue! But immortality is the ultimate, forbidden taboo among mages!"
"Why is that?"
"Because it is fundamentally dangerous!"
Fair enough. If everyone could achieve immortality, it'd be chaotic in all sorts of terrifying ways.
"So, is there no discussing the methods?"
"Not exactly! Like I said, casual talk is fine—and since you're the one asking, there's no problem at all!"
In other words, it doesn't matter because you're too dumb to actually get it.
It made me so sad I could nearly cry.
"So? What methods are there?"
"Honestly, there are tons you could try! Way too many to even list. But the success rate for most is a 99.9% failure!"
So, about a 0.1% success odds.
That doesn't seem bad?
Seems almost doable?
"What is the most representative method?"
"Hmm. Probably soul transference! In simple terms, swapping bodies!"
"Swapping bodies?"
The closer the new body to the original, the higher the success rate, but even if successful, there was nearly a 100% chance of severe memory or ego damage—that was Angela's explanation.
"The soul-body relationship, especially souls themselves, is forbidden, uncharted territory! At least among cases I know, I've never heard of a true success."
So some people had actually tried it.
Anyway, that settled the matter for me.
That woman who broke into my room was definitely, undeniably insane.
With my curiosity finally sated, I set aside any further interest in the witch and continued dinner with Angela.
After the meal, I watched a play at the troupe she'd reserved seats for before finally being released to head home.
But the next day, upon arriving at the Intelligence Department headquarters, I heard some truly shocking news.
"Christina is injured and currently in the hospital?"
Wait, she was even capable of getting hurt?
'I messed up. I messed up, messed up, messed up, messed up!'
Lying in her hospital bed, Christina covered her face with her hands and sobbed uncontrollably.
The wound itself didn't hurt. It wasn't life-threatening, nor had she been hit anywhere vital or debilitating.
So why exactly was Christina crying?
Because she'd disappointed the Minister, of course.
'They weren't even that strong! Normally, I could've beaten them while blindfolded! Why? Why did this happen?!'
Last night, a battle had broken out in the capital between Owl and a group of unknown assailants.
The attackers had boldly targeted the Imperial Intelligence Department—no, the Minister's office itself. But Owl detected the intruders and slaughtered them all on the spot.
All except one, whom they'd deliberately spared and captured for intelligence purposes.
However, Christina had taken a wound in the process.
Her mind had been elsewhere during the heat of battle.
'I'll be discarded! Unlike Celine, once I'm useless to the Minister, he'll throw me away!'
She regretted it. She despaired. But more than that, she was absolutely terrified.
Her mind, forged as an assassin since childhood, crumbled at the mere thought of being abandoned by the Minister.
The Minister showed no mercy to the incompetent.
He wouldn't give a second chance to a pathetic assassin who'd let her mind wander mid-battle and gotten her gut pierced.
That fact plunged Christina into deeper despair than anything else she had ever known.
'I can't live like this. I can't go on if the Minister abandons me!'
In that dark moment, she resolved to die.
She couldn't move yet, but the instant she could—even a little—she'd end it somehow.
Jump out the window, ram a knife down her own throat—whatever it took, she would die.
As she steeled her resolve amid sobs over never seeing the Minister again...
The door slid open with a rattle, and someone stepped inside.
"Mi-Minister?!"