Disappearance (2)
“Place both hands on your chest, over your heart. Then breathe in deeply... and out.”
Isaac gave the instructions calmly, and Enet complied.
“Relax. Breathe in deeply, and out. Imagine the fresh air gathering not in your lungs, but in your heart.”
“......”
Enet had heard all sorts of bizarre stories from Clara and Hilde about how nobles made love in outlandish ways. So what kind of method was this? What was Isaac planning? Her mind raced with wild fantasies.
“Focus, Enet.”
“Ah, yes.”
Enet flinched at Isaac's prompting.
“Do you feel something gathering in your heart?”
“I... I don't know.”
“No rush. Slowly, calmly—sense it.”
Not even knowing what this was for, Enet focused on Isaac's voice. Gradually, the stray thoughts filling her head scattered with each exhale. As her inhales and exhales grew longer and deeper, her mind quieted. It felt hazy, like drifting into sleep, yet her awareness remained sharp. She was clearly in the same room as Isaac, but it was as if she were utterly alone, completely isolated. That sense of isolation made her feel smaller and smaller.
She wasn't on Isaac's bed or in his bedroom anymore. Just darkness. An endless expanse without boundaries, somewhere boundless. A peaceful yet lonely emotion welled up. She realized it then—in this vast darkness, she was alone. Utterly, completely alone.
And that exaltation began to squeeze her heart with a dull ache.
“Enet, do you feel it? Something gathering in your heart.”
Isaac's voice echoed through the pitch-black darkness.
“......Yes. I feel it.”
“Move what's gathered there. Let it flow out through your fingertips.”
“How?”
“You already know.”
“Pardon?”
Enet was startled for a moment. She felt the exaltation pooled in her heart slipping away through her arms.
“Imagine your body as a waterway. Your fingertips are a dam holding the water back for a moment.”
Following Isaac's voice, she soon felt a tingling in her right fingertips.
“Now, open your eyes and look at your hand.”
“Eek—!”
Enet bolted upright. She nearly screamed.
“Y-Young Master.”
Her fingertips were faintly glowing.
“Here.”
“Pardon?”
Enet blinked in confusion at the handkerchief Isaac held out.
“Wipe it off.”
“Ah.”
Only then did Enet notice the moisture trickling down her cheek. Her eyes were brimming with tears. She hadn't thought anything sad, yet here she was, crying.
“Why am I......”
“My arm hurts.”
Enet wiped at her tears furiously with the back of her hand, but they wouldn't stop. In the end, she had to use the handkerchief Isaac offered.
“That's part of the Infinite that mages talk about.”
“Mages?”
“The higher your level, the vaster that space will feel, and the smaller you'll feel in it.”
“Pardon?”
“Mages sense the Infinite differently. Some despair, some feel emptiness, some sorrow, some go mad, some even want to die. Their own existence feels so utterly insignificant.”
“I don't understand what you're saying......”
What Isaac said was clearly in the common tongue, but Enet couldn't comprehend it.
“You just gathered mana in your hand, Enet. I'm going to make you a mage.”
“Pardon? Don't joke, Young Master. I'm just a maid......”
“A mere maid can't move mana at will. Let alone make it visible to the naked eye.”
Enet looked into Isaac's eyes. He was dead serious.
“You're serious?”
“Why else would I call you here?”
Her heart, which had finally calmed, pounded fiercely again. Her feelings for Isaac—whether affection or something else—had been wavering, but what she discovered now was greed. Greed for magic, for becoming something better.
“......Why me?”
“Because it's you.”
Isaac answered curtly, omitting much. In his previous life, her words had saved him once. She had talent, and he needed a reliable proxy. No need to explain all that now. But the implications in his concise reply left room for countless interpretations, confusing Enet. Her flushed cheeks betrayed it.
“Feel proud. At the Royal Academy, students who succeeded in gathering mana in just two hours got special one-on-one tutoring from professors.”
“Two hours? Has that much time passed already?”
To Enet, it had felt like a mere ten or twenty minutes of dozing off.
Knock knock.
Someone rapped on the door.
“Young Master. It's Carlson.”
“Wait a moment. Enet.”
Isaac spoke to Carlson outside, then turned to Enet.
“Ah.”
Enet, who had been sitting dazed on the bed, finally blushed. She realized he must have badly misunderstood.
She hurriedly donned her maid uniform.
“......I'll take my leave now.”
“Don't forget that sensation you felt today. That's what opens the door to the next step.”
“Yes. I'll remember.”
Enet bowed haphazardly and left the bedroom.
“Come in.”
“What did you do to that maid?”
Carlson glanced in the direction Enet had gone before entering.
“Hm?”
“She didn't look well. I get why you'd act like a spoiled brat, but turning everyone against you isn't wise. Especially that maid—she's been actively defending you against the gossip.”
“Don't worry. I'm treating her well. So, what's up?”
Isaac chuckled softly. Carlson must have been quietly concerned.
“Wolfgang and Hermann. Madam's children are missing.”
“They didn't just wander off without a word?”
“It's been over two days. Ten- and nine-year-olds vanishing in the city for that long isn't common.”
“Two days, huh? Fair point.”
Isaac nodded and glanced at Enet. Madam Randolf had burst in babbling incoherently the moment she entered. Her face was ashen, lips bluish, covered in cold sweat.
Isaac listened intently to her story and summed it up in one sentence.
“So, the kids who went to do laundry two days ago disappeared?”
“......Yes.”
Madam Randolf replied in a voice drained of all life, as if she'd poured out her very soul.
“The guards won't lift a finger, and no witnesses have seen them.”
“......Yes. Please help us, Young Master.”
At the desperate plea, Isaac's response was to grab a fresh bottle of wine from a corner stash. He uncorked it and poured a glass.
“Care for one? It's not the ale from your inn, but it has its own flavor. It'll help you calm down.”
“......”
Madam Randolf stared blankly at Isaac and shook her head.
“I get that you need help. But why come to me instead of my father?”
“When you came to the inn, I recognized you at once. You were discussing something important with Carlson.”
“You pretended not to know?”
“Yes. I didn't want to trouble you.”
Madam Randolf, having collected herself, answered Isaac's question.
“My husband—Ralph—trusted Carlson next only to the Count at Winterband. He said Carlson was cold but incredibly skilled. I thought anyone Carlson followed must have that kind of power.”
“That doesn't make me stronger than Father.”
“The Count...... can't move for political reasons.”
“......”
Isaac fell silent at Madam Randolf's words. It made sense. A fitting judgment from the wife of Winterband's former company commander.
The Goethe Count couldn't interfere in Bernsi affairs. It could be twisted into meddling in royal-forbidden merchant dealings. Even if she petitioned the Count to find her children, it would only trouble him.
But Isaac was different. He bore the Goethe name but didn't represent them. For Madam Randolf, he was currently the most powerful and trustworthy option.
Unfortunately, it wasn't a good time to help her. He'd assassinated Baris, the marquis was on the move, and he needed to respond quickly depending on which side Baisman took. Helping her could introduce unwanted variables.
“What do you think?”
Isaac's gaze shifted to Carlson. After all, it was Carlson who owed Randolf a debt.
“Madam Randolf, understand that I have no choice but to say this.”
Carlson took a deep breath and spoke.
“By your account, it's already been two days and half a day since Wolfgang and Hermann vanished. By the time we arrive in Bernsi and start searching in earnest, it'll be three days. Whatever happened to the boys, after that much time......”
His words were cold. But anyone with a shred of reason left had to admit he was right.
Bernsi was born from merchants, its guards paid by the merchant guild. Duty and responsibility were hard to find there. Vagrants and gangs gathered in the city, a large black market thrived, and murders and kidnappings were commonplace south of the city and by the sewers.
Of course, Madam Randolf's inn was in the safer north, but if her children had strayed from there even slightly, anything could have happened.
“I... I know. Still, please, Carlson. For the comrade Ralph trusted, at least find their...... bodies. Just the bodies.”
“We will. I swear it. But...... not now.”
Carlson averted his eyes as he replied.
When he'd clashed with the holy knights to thwart the bishop's scheme, Carlson hadn't shown his full strength. That overexertion led to Randolf's death. He bore responsibility for it. At the very least, he felt guilt.
But that guilt didn't supersede his purpose. Letting emotions sway him was a luxury he couldn't afford.
The reason Carlson stayed here. The reason he remained by Isaac's side. It was to kill the man who massacred his family—a kingdom noble with three hundred elite soldiers and eleven knights. Carlson couldn't face him alone. Even Isaac had no way to approach him yet.
So Goethe needed to solidify its position, and Isaac needed to build power.
“We're at a critical juncture now. Searching for Wolfgang and Hermann would split our manpower and risk botching what must be done.”
Carlson spoke dryly, forcing detachment. The shadow on Madam Randolf's face deepened. He looked away.
“Fine? Then we'll go without you.”
Isaac, who had been resting his chin in thought, spoke up.
“Bill and I can look. Madam, is the carriage ready?”
“Yes, but......”
“Then let's hurry. It might not be too late yet.”
A spark of hope and confusion flickered in Madam Randolf's despair-filled eyes.
“But Carlson said it's a critical time......”
“It is. But talking about 'critical times' while failing to protect kids our age? Kinda lame, don't you think?”
Isaac scratched his head. It wasn't something a twelve-year-old reeking of booze should say.
“This isn't the time for emotions. It could......”
“Carlson. Do I look emotional to you?”
Isaac cut him off coldly. Carlson couldn't meet Isaac's gaze as boldly as usual.
“Let's be honest. Look me in the eye and answer. You want to help, right?”
“......”
“You want to help too.”
“......”
“You're not a good guy. But you're not a bad one either. Just like me.”
Isaac stood and pulled Madam Randolf up.
“Get up. Time to find your kids.”
Isaac strode out of the chamber. Madam Randolf glanced at Carlson, then staggered after him.
“......Another one of these situations.”
Carlson muttered. When Isaac had been thrown in prison for insubordination. When he'd thwarted Bishop Lebonius's plot. When he'd dueled Bessimer in Binvelt. When Bessimer faced the wolf king. When he'd announced Baris's assassination.
Each time, Carlson had clashed with his common sense, doubting. Yet Isaac always shattered it.
Would it be the same this time? As always, Isaac's eyes burned with conviction.
“Hoo.”
Carlson let out a light sigh and followed Isaac.