A Late Afternoon Hunt
Late afternoon. The sun had tilted markedly toward the west. Carlson sat in the coachman's seat, and inside the carriage were only Enet and Isaac. Isaac merely alternated between his book and the view out the window, saying little to Enet. Being alone with him felt awkward and uncomfortable for her. He might have saved her life, but the class divide was too vast for her to overcome. Noble and maid. A single word from Isaac could strip her of everything—even her life—and she'd have no grounds to protest. Yet here he was, handing her an absurd opportunity. Teaching her magic, keeping her close, treating her with surprising familiarity. Any of the other flighty maids would have jumped at it, but Enet knew better. There was no such thing as a free gift in this world. Which left her wondering what price this kindness would demand.
To make matters worse, the whispers around her kept twisting his intentions into something suspicious.
—That sudden holiday order today? Bet it was the young master who pulled strings. Just to spend time alone with you without raising eyebrows.
Clara, buzzing with excitement over the holiday, had planted that ridiculous notion in Enet's head.
—Why would Young Master Isaac do that?
—'Cause he likes you, obviously.
Enet had calmed herself by deciding he just needed someone reliable to attend him. She prided herself on her deft hands as a maid, after all. But the sixteen-year-old girl couldn't shake the nonsense her friends kept feeding her.
"……."
Whatever. Isaac either gazed out the carriage window or turned the pages of his book. No words, no expressions. He looked lost in deep thought. Watching him, Enet could hardly believe he was only twelve. He appeared about her age, yet carried an aura that was utterly unapproachable. Boys her age had that clumsy, brash energy, but Isaac showed none of it. If anything, there was a strange weight to him. Too subtle to dismiss as mere nobility—like carrying a crushing burden without letting it show….
—You sly thing, always going on about Young Master Isaac whenever you get the chance. Snap out of it. It's just a kid noble's whim.
Suddenly, Enet recalled Roza's words, another friend. She'd denied it every time, but looking at him now, it didn't sound so wrong. How could she not think about the handsome young noble boy fussing over her? She couldn't claim with a straight face that she harbored no hopes at all.
"Ah……."
"Hm?"
Isaac glanced over at Enet's embarrassed sigh.
"It's nothing."
She bowed her head. They hadn't been riding long, but she already felt mentally drained.
"If you're tired, say so. I'll have us stop."
"It's not that……."
"Not that? Then what?"
"I was just wondering what book has you so absorbed."
Enet feigned curiosity to deflect. She feared he'd see right through her thoughts and feelings.
"This? Something I want to experiment with." Isaac turned the book to show her. "What… is that?"
"Anatomy."
"Ana… tomy?"
"Yeah. The study of a body's internal structure through dissection of cadavers. This is a cross-section of a human head."
"Th-that's… blasphemy!"
Enet's voice trembled faintly.
"The old church thinks so. Humans are God's creations, made in his image and all that. The Papal Court forbids it."
"But why study something like…."
"It's interesting."
"Inte… resting?"
"Yeah. Want to know more?"
"……If it's not a bother, young master."
Enet nodded reluctantly. But she regretted it soon enough.
"……Apparently, humans have this pineal gland in the brain, shaped like a pinecone. Mages channel their will through it to manipulate mana. So, is there a way to sever that connection between the pineal and mana? Sure, you could knock someone out with a physical blow to the brain or use something like Dimegtrium…."
As if he'd been waiting for the chance, Isaac launched into a nonstop explanation.
"……But if there's something like a 'will signal' that the natural world can receive through some sense, then that hypothesis falls apart. Linking it to the spirit realm doesn't work either—that's a whole different world. So unless mana is a substance created by some absolute being's intent, or not intelligent at all. Like water, it flows, evaporates, freezes in cycles…."
Isaac's eyes sparkled as he talked magic. He'd had no one to discuss it with openly. Playing the wastrel meant hiding his knowledge. Yonas had tutors, and the count was too busy with affairs for casual chats. Isaac had been parched for magical conversation. Nearly half a century devoted to it. Love it or hate it, magic was his life—and the key to saving his house. But as he went on, Enet's eyes glazed over. This chance confirmed it for her: she wasn't that into magic. She was just an ordinary commoner maid. Isaac had said she had talent, and becoming a mage meant a better life than scrubbing floors—that was the hook.
"Enet, you listening?"
"Y-yes! I am!"
"That's what got me thinking. If the world is a mana field and the caster resonates through the pineal gland, couldn't the reverse work too?"
"……."
Enet tried to follow patiently. But eventually, her awareness faded. She was dozing off.
Thud!
How much time passed? The carriage jolted violently. Bumps were normal, but this was excessive—her butt spent more time in the air than on the seat.
"……Y-young master? This isn't the main road."
Enet peered out the window. They'd veered off into thick underbrush. A narrow path existed, but it was too tight for a carriage.
"Awake now? We're on track."
"S-sorry, young master. It's been ages since I rode this long… I nodded off without realizing…."
"No big deal. It wasn't exactly thrilling stuff."
Isaac sounded a bit curt but didn't scold her.
"If it's not rude, may I ask where we're headed?"
Back at Black Goose Village, when she'd asked, Isaac hadn't answered. Just said it was somewhere a bit farther and that he needed her.
"Oh, right, didn't mention. Too many ears in Black Goose. We're heading to Baylden."
"……Baylden?"
Enet blinked. Baylden—a forested region at Binvelt's southern tip, bordering the Black Forest. Lowlands pooled into wetlands, thick with willows. Also called the Gray Woods, it lay between monster-haunted Black Forest and human settlements.
"Yeah."
"Why there?"
"We'll overnight."
"But there's no inn in Baylden. Just a few huts for woodcutters and charcoal burners."
"That's why we're camping."
"Huh?"
"Thought I'd do some hunting."
Plip-plop—
Rain began drumming on the carriage roof, right on cue.
"Perfect."
Isaac muttered.
A rainy night. The covered wagon raced down muddy roads. Hooded men with faces masked rode inside. No idle chatter broke the silence.
Screech—screech—
A lantern swung relentlessly from the carriage corner. Beltran von Buehtner stared into the gloom, staff clutched to his chest. Cold raindrops riding the wind set his nerves on edge.
Goethe's vassal, Baron von Buehtner. Beltran was the second son. With an able eldest, there was no room for him. Tucked at Goethe's southern fringe, Buehtner wasn't flush like Goethe. No investments for a spare like him. His brother entered the academy on a scholarship; at fifteen, Beltran couldn't even afford tuition. Like Goethe, Buehtner was barred from trade and arms buildup. Milder climes and fertile soil kept them afloat on tenant taxes—but not enough for Beltran. He was a low noble proving himself. That's why he joined Akanlaufer, the anonymous hunters.
Beltran had confidence. No peer his age matched him. Even his brother, two years older and academy-seated, never beat him in magic duels. Not once.
"What?"
Suddenly, someone spoke. The wagon slowed, then halted.
"Carriage ahead, stopped."
"Carriage?"
"Noble markings, but no horses. Wheel's busted, looks like."
The driver grimaced in annoyance.
That instant—
"Watch out!"
Beltran shouted, sensing wrongness. Alien mana. His staff flashed.
Thud!
Something hit his barrier and dropped.
"Ice?"
Too smooth for hail—perfect spheres. Useless for killing even on vitals.
"Why use something like…."
Mid-question, Beltran felt off. The other Akanlaufer should have reacted. But silence reigned, as if no attack came.
"Hey."
He nudged the man beside him. No response.
"Oi."
Slump—thud!
The man toppled limply. Still breathing, luckily.
"……!"
Beltran realized: everyone else was out cold. Their heads lolled the same way—the direction the projectiles struck.
"No way."
He eyed the melting ice orb on the floor, mana spent. Alone now, his senses sharpened.
Drip—drip—drip—
Rain hammered the waxed roof, sounds crystal clear. His heart raced. Cold sweat beaded on hands and brow; mouth parched. Tension churned his gut.
Then—footsteps rushing their way. Beltran cast phase-shift magic, flinging the lantern far. Darkness fell; the approach sharpened. His mana sense peaked. The foe surged with power, likely circling behind for close kill. No killing intent, but he couldn't wait.
Skilled opponent. Prep magic, and they'd detect him. Beltran crept aft. The moment a shadow appeared—
Crack!
He smashed the staff into their head. The figure flopped into muddy puddles.
Fwoosh—
Beltran lit a fire spell to check. Must be a crafty veteran to drop six mages so easily.
But the flames revealed…
"A girl?"
Neatly braided chestnut hair, small pointed nose. She looked his age. Beltran reeled.
"What the…."
Who was she? Why? How at that age—precise frost and phase magic? Questions swirled.
Crack!
Another dull thud through the rain. Not his staff—his own skull.
"Damn."
Carlson sighed softly, pommel-bashing the last Akanlaufer.
"Enet okay?"
Isaac arrived late.
"Seems so, young master."
Carlson replied, then asked:
"Shall I kill them?"