Succeeding the Family Head - 2

For so brief a message, it carried a great deal of meaning. I picked up the vial enclosed with it and gave it a shake; a transparent liquid swayed gently inside.

I had anticipated something like this, but I never imagined she would truly reach out and lay hands on Father. Had it succeeded, I would have found myself in a difficult position in more ways than one.

There would have been ways to deal with it, no doubt, but if I'd had to bring Father down as well — with time that could have gone toward everything else... well, it would have been quite the struggle.

It was a scenario I had warned Renald about long ago. Even ranked as the least likely of all possibilities, if Yuria moved first and claimed the seat of Family Head ahead of me, everything would become a headache. Of course, now that this vial had found its way into my hands, that outcome was no longer possible.

That didn't mean I intended to let my guard down. All I had done was shut down the worst-case scenario. The vial had been smuggled out in secret, so it couldn't even serve as evidence — it was nothing more than a danger nipped in the bud.

What this affair did confirm was that Yuria had grown genuinely desperate. I would come to learn the reason soon enough; for now, it told me that nothing had gone ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the way she intended while I was away.

By now, word that I had set out for the Central region must have reached her. What thoughts would she entertain, and what judgment would she render? For now, it was time to watch and wait. My countermeasures would shift with Yuria's movements, and perhaps the day I left this Moon Tower would be decided by them as well.

I had returned from the South, but my return to the ducal mansion remained on hold. Renald's letter had contained far more than that single short line — a full account of everything Yuria had been doing, and even the reason I couldn't head to the ducal mansion just yet.

Impure motives, was it? I hadn't thought they would spit out such words even knowing I had ties to the imperial family. Why Keitel wasn't lending his voice to these accusations, I couldn't quite say. Perhaps, at this point in time, he simply had no reason to kill me. But then — why insist on killing me a year from now?

Every time Keitel had killed me, the pretext was always bound up with treason, so I had assumed he would make use of this. Yet the imperial side knew of the rumors and still refused to take them up. Mirajane, for her part, dismissed the whole thing as nonsense. With the Princess staking out that position, there was little I could do for the moment. Even with the nobles howling themselves hoarse, evidence would only come to light if I myself made a move.

That was why I hadn't headed for the ducal mansion. If and when I did... it would likely be after everything had been brought to a successful close. Going there now would be walking straight into the tiger's maw. Unless and until I was certain, there was no need to set foot in Yuria's stronghold.

Renald's capabilities had caught me off guard. The only reason I had never thought to put him to use before was that no situation had truly called for it, but in this life I was reappraising the man quite substantially. I hadn't known he would prove this useful. Should I call it a lucky catch?

Renald knew perfectly well what I had done, of course. What I genuinely hadn't known was whether those misdeeds would prove just as effective when spun in a slightly different direction — and as it turned out, things were proceeding far more smoothly than expected, owing no small debt to his help.

That I commanded even a modest base of support within the ducal mansion was thanks to the rumors Renald had spread preemptively. Because of that, my reputation had improved by a wide margin. Where once I had been nothing but a frail, hapless young master good for nothing at all, the verdict now was merely that I had gotten better than before.

If I became Family Head, a reputation like that would snag at my ankles — but I intended to lay the groundwork well before then. Spreading ugly rumors about Yuria while burnishing my own name was simply the obvious play. I had no intention of claiming the headship fair and square. Legitimacy needed securing, yes, but that was an outcome, nothing more. Nor did I intend to become ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a monster the way Yuria had. Who would follow with any sincerity a man who climbed his throne over a trail of corpses?

I tucked Renald's letter into my breast pocket, rose quietly from my seat, and made my preparations. From her standpoint, I might well look cowardly — but that was Yuria's problem, not mine.

I hadn't gathered relics from the South for nothing. With Keitel's backing, the situation would improve beyond comparison — of that much I was certain. The imperial family, the North, the Church. With the support of those three powers behind me, how could I possibly be short of justification now? Once the fight began, it would be Yuria's side that found itself pressed for time. So my task was to prepare before the battle ever started. And to fight a battle I was guaranteed to win, I would need to meet the Crown Prince first.

My steps felt light as I walked out of the Moon Tower. The opening skirmish, perhaps, was beginning right now.

"So — this is the relic you brought back from the South?"

Arwen murmured the words as she accepted the small, orb-shaped relic from my hand. Her legs, dangling off the edge of the chair, swung idly back and forth; then she adjusted her glasses, and her eyes narrowed to slits.

I had brought one item from the list of relics she'd sent me, but it seemed right to show her this one first. There was always the chance it held some function I knew nothing about — and the last thing I needed was an item that would interfere with killing Keitel later. Even if such a function existed, I might find a way to overcome it, but then again, nothing beat asking an expert.

Arwen turned the relic over this way and that, then shrugged and rested her hand on the table. The moment her flowing mana touched it, a small flame blazed to life with a faint glow.

"It's reacting clearly enough — no doubt about it, this is an Evil Dragon relic. And with this shape, it's most likely an eye."

"As long as I didn't grab the wrong one, it should do."

"From what ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I've read, it's a relic that neutralizes mana-based attacks. I'm not sure you should be handing this one over."

"I went looking for it precisely because of that. I just have to avoid using mana — that's all there is to it."

Neutralizing mana did not mean severing it altogether. Even if I channeled mana through my blade, all it would cancel out was the sword aura. I had attained the very pinnacle through the sword itself — the notion that I couldn't kill Keitel merely because I couldn't use mana was absurd.

And suppose my mana was neutralized and the kill failed anyway? Then it would simply mean I had never been able to kill him alone to begin with. As long as I held a sword, there was no one I could not cut down. Even against Berod or Adele, the act of cutting them down was possible.

Keitel's martial prowess was less formidable than one might think. Above average, certainly — but that meant he was not beyond the current me. Handing over a relic like this would make one thing unmistakably clear: I intended him no harm. No one plotting a murder, by any reasonable standard, hands over such a thing.

Arwen nodded, apparently satisfied. As for why Keitel needed the relics at all — that lay in the Evil Dragon's malice. When I asked about it, Arwen, who had been leafing through a stack of papers, spoke up carefully.

"The surefire way to extract the malice is to destroy the relic, but research into drawing it out intact has probably made progress by now. It only took me a few days to find that much, so unless everyone over there is a fool, they'll have dug up at least as much."

"So he means to use the relics as relics, and harvest the malice separately?"

"The Evil Dragon's malice fundamentally induces destructive impulses. Think of it as a kind of adrenaline — does that help? It works much like adrenaline, but since the user stays comparatively level-headed, you might call it a strictly superior version."

I tilted my head at the word level-headed, then began to grasp what she meant. The impulse took hold, but never fully consumed you. Which was, if anything, the more dangerous state — reckless, impulsive action leaves openings, but with reason still seated at the helm, all that remains is the heightened ability itself.

Factor in the power the malice inherently carried, and the very idea of wielding it was a dangerous one. No one knew what drawing on the malice might do to the Evil Dragon itself.

Arwen studied me for a long moment, then her lips parted, quiet and hesitant.

"He may be trying to make use of the Evil Dragon itself. If it comes to resurrection, that's a problem — but I can't pin it down with any certainty yet. For now, handing over the relic comes first."

"Is the Evil Dragon's resurrection even possible?"

"...Hard to say. It's never been something I've had occasion to consider, so I'd need to run the calculations based on how the malice's influence behaves."

Arwen couldn't answer that one easily. The conclusion I knew, for now, was impossible.

The seal on the Evil Dragon might well loosen as the ages passed, but a seal laid by a goddess's own hand coming undone? The odds were vanishingly small. And even if he did harness the malice, he would be drawing it from a single relic — one, not the whole. Whether that could have any real effect, even Arwen herself couldn't say.

What I could do right now was deliver the relic into Keitel's hands. Through him I would anchor the imperial family's support more firmly — and then, beyond that, make my bid for the seat of Family Head. Whatever worries the future held, the present mattered more.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

The possibility of the Evil Dragon's resurrection? Of course it deserved consideration — but there was nothing more foolish than grinding to a halt over a possibility so close to pure fantasy.

Running those calculations was Arwen's business. When I passed over her payment for this job, her shoulders gave a visible flinch.

"This is... quite a lot more than I expected?"

"It's difficult work, after all. And I'll be needing a great deal more information going forward."

Renald alone wasn't enough. There had been ample time to uncover Yuria's movements and her deeds, but even so, I needed to press harder.

Staring at the box brimming with gold coins, Arwen swallowed audibly, then carefully gathered it into her arms. I knew all too well how meagerly she lived. How much could one possibly earn selling potions out of a general goods store? However poor my own standing within the ducal mansion, money had never been the problem. This much I could afford to pay.

"So — what is it you need from me, then? Shall I continue the research on the Evil Dragon?"

"No. This time, I'd like you to keep watch on Yuria Taylor for a while."

"Asking me to 'keep watch' on someone sounds an awful lot like asking me to spy on them."

"Aren't you the most confident one for the job? I'd think surveillance would be easier than digging up intelligence."

Arwen gave a wry little laugh, but the confidence steeped in her eyes was impossible to miss. When it came to magic of illusions and space, she stood beyond anyone. If Arwen fed me the information Renald couldn't guarantee, then at the very least I would never again be struck down while knowing nothing.

It was time to move. The next few days would likely keep me running — but I felt not the slightest urge to complain. If anything, I was rather looking forward to it.

How would Yuria respond? And when every last scheme of hers was dismantled — when even the goal she had chased her entire life slipped through her fingers — what face would she make then? That was the moment I anticipated above all others.

Yuria and downfall — what a poorly matched pairing of words, I thought. And it was all the more amusing that I would be the one to forge that future.