Finding the Spirit Stone (1)
Plour. Unusually for that family, the head was a young woman. She had sent her husband ahead first amid the revolutionary fervor of the previous year. Yet the revolutionaries never felt the void left by Plour's lord. Countess Plour was a spiritist far superior to her late husband.
In the end, the revolutionaries toppled the old regime. They declared citizenship and enacted a constitution. Countess Plour entered the constitutional assembly as a delegate. By then, she was no longer referred to as Lady Plour, but as Countess Plour.
When the constitutional monarchy was introduced, the citizens believed the world they dreamed of had arrived. It was a delusion. The radicals, mainly from the citizen and laborer classes, demanded fundamental social change. The result was the execution of the king and extreme market policies.
The radical leaders preached social justice, insisting that anyone opposing the revolution must be eliminated. The masses sided with the radicals. After all, citizens and laborers formed the absolute majority. The moderates, centered on nobles and wealthy merchants, splintered into factions. Some joined the radicals, others fled the republic in disgust, some rose in rebellion against them, and still others accepted their purge to protect the revolution.
Countess Plour fell into the last category. The spirit contracted to her could have defended her, sparked a rebellion, or fled. But she did none of that. She calmly offered her neck. Rumor had it that when the countess's head fell beneath the guillotine, rain poured down on Belluar, the republic's capital, for three straight days. Bardic poets called it the tears of the spirits and composed songs about it.
This was the extent of what The History of Spirits said about the Plour family. Isaac had read it much later, when he had sealed himself underground. But long before that, he had encountered something involving the Plour family.
If his memory was correct, one of his vassals would use a Spirit Stone handed down through the Plour family at the upcoming tournament. And in the worst possible way.
"I don't even know what the damn thing is."
The marquis spoke to Isaac, who had come seeking him, with a sullen expression. Unaware that Isaac was the one who had turned Bernsi upside down, the marquis looked thoroughly annoyed.
"Once, the captain of Akanlaufer came with Baldarin's intendant. Not to rebel against your father, mind you. There was trouble in the sewers, and we needed Akanlaufer's mages. That's when the captain fellow started sniffing around my vault, saying he felt some strange aura."
"Was the Spirit Stone inside?"
"It was. He said he'd do or procure anything for me if I handed over that stone."
"Why didn't you?"
"Baisman was far more useful than Akanlaufer back then. And cheaper to maintain."
The marquis sipped brandy from a crystal glass as he spoke. These days, he couldn't last a moment without drink. Bernsi, which had seemed within his grasp, now felt impossibly distant. Along with the wealth he had held.
To such a man, the count regularly sent expensive brandy. It was a warning. A reminder that the count was always watching. Fortunately or unfortunately, the brandy suited the marquis's taste perfectly.
"Where's the Spirit Stone now?"
"Gone to the Akanlaufer captain. Bunch of useless idiots. They couldn't even arrive on time, got robbed by some bandits, and won't even return it. Not that I have a way to retaliate now."
The marquis grumbled. It had been Isaac, not bandits, who stopped Akanlaufer, but Isaac held his tongue.
"Do you know anything about the captain himself?"
"Nothing. Always wore a mask."
"No guesses?"
"Judging by his voice, he wasn't young. But his gait suggested he wasn't old either."
"What about his destination?"
"No idea."
The marquis shook his head.
"You really don't know?"
"Even if I did, what could a young lordling like you do about it?"
The marquis narrowed his eyes at Isaac.
"I'd persuade him."
"How?"
"Somehow. Father's orders. We made a promise to Violet, after all. Goethe doesn't break promises."
"Hmph, what an honorable house. A band of fugitives, at best."
Thud— The marquis slammed his glass on the desk.
"And what about that traitor bitch?"
"I don't know who you mean."
"Who else? The whore leading those fugitives."
"If you mean Violet, she's doing well."
"...Fucking cunt."
The marquis hurled his glass at the wall. Crash! It shattered. The remaining vodka clung to the wallpaper and trickled down, shards of glass scattering everywhere.
"Looks like you really don't know anything. Then I'll be off."
As if he couldn't care less whether Isaac left or stayed, the marquis slumped back into his chair.
"Ah, when are you returning to the royal court?"
Isaac asked, turning back.
"What does a young lordling care?"
"I know the circumstances of your departure. I'm the eldest son of Goethe, after all."
"The count's looser-lipped than I thought."
"A lesson learned. Are you confident you can persuade the royals?"
Persuading the royals meant revoking the shield tax on Goethe, allowing military buildup and commerce. There was one indispensable figure for that.
"Not your concern."
"Confident about the Second Prince?"
Bang! The marquis pounded the desk.
"Get out."
"I hope you return alive. Only if you persuade the royals can Goethe prosper. Tell the Second Prince that Goethe is in your grasp. Might ease his mind a bit."
"I said get out!"
The marquis shot to his feet, glaring at Isaac.
"Then."
Isaac nodded curtly and left the council chamber. He could hear the marquis's ragged breathing until he was fully out.
Misfortune starts now, Marquis, Isaac thought grimly as he exited the building. He had persuaded his father to spare the marquis, but Isaac wanted him dead just as much. Keeping him alive was purely for utility.
"Young master."
The guards bowed to Isaac. They wore expressions hoping he'd just pass by. A wastrel in the manor, a mana bomb ready to explode in the city.
Isaac had been visiting the council building frequently lately to discuss city planning with Benders. No one welcomed him, though. Even Benders was realizing how picky and cunning the boy was the more they talked.
"Mayor Benders, I'm here."
"Haa."
Benders sighed at Isaac bursting into the office without knocking. He sat on a chair piled high with cushions, rubbing his forehead in frustration. The cushions rose slightly above the armrests—just enough for his seated height to reach the desk with his elbows.
"What now? I told you the Azer Mountain iron ore and smiths will take two more months."
"Can't it be any faster?"
"Yes, yes, yes, yes!"
Benders's voice rose with each word. With Isaac hounding him daily, polite responses were impossible.
"No, it can't! Didn't you hear what happened three days ago? Over a hundred and thirty houses! More than a hundred from great families and gangs wiped out overnight! Who's going to clean that up? Who's facing the grieving families' wrath?"
"You will. You're the mayor."
Isaac replied nonchalantly.
"Rikel's son is dead. Half of Karadon's family died, the other half crippled. See this? Petitions full of resentment and rage from them. They say if you want to restore order, purge all the Baismen."
Benders shook the stacks of fiber paper and parchment on the desk.
"Really? Funny. From what I heard, Baisman never swung a sword."
"Do you think I don't know Vivi's abilities? What were you thinking, pulling that stunt?"
"No idea what you're talking about."
Isaac matched Benders's lowered voice with innocent nonchalance.
"This isn't something to take lightly. If word spreads to other cities, no great merchants will come to Bernsi. The city league might demand explanations."
"That's your delusion, Mayor Benders."
Isaac placed both hands on the desk and looked down at him.
"You think this city is big because merchants like you staked claims, played noble as great families, dared eye a border count's city. You think that's your ability, your authority. You see yourselves as big shots."
"I'm talking reality. Yes, without the black market, we and Bernsi wouldn't have grown. Without Goethe evading royal checks, this black market wouldn't have thrived. But do you know the rich and officials in nearby cities who took bribes from those great families? We can ignore them, but they won't ignore us."
"That's another delusion."
"Pardon?"
Benders blinked in confusion.
"Think Goethe can't handle that much?"
"Mm."
"So when trouble comes, don't panic—pass it to Father."
"To the count? If I do that, my head's the one rolling. I can't take responsibility if local skirmishes escalate."
"The opposite."
"What do you...?"
"What else? They're itching for an excuse to nab just one."
Goethe's position had shrunk over the past century, its reputation in freefall. Most of its wars clustered at the northern fortress, Winterband. The fortress itself was reachable only over treacherous mountains and cliffs, so few knew what happened there, and fewer returned alive. Survivors shunned recounting it—nightmares they never wanted to relive. Thus, Goethe's prestige faded from memory. No one spread tales to uphold it. The count wanted it that way; flaunting it would only heighten royal suspicion. Now, Goethe was seen as a border house barely maintaining its line. Its elector status was nominal too, with the kingdom's throne under imperial sway.
"So. When it happens, hit back. Don't fret in your seat—make others covet it."
"...Don't you think I'd like to?"
Benders sighed after mulling Isaac's words.
"If you're worried about Violet, no need. Goethe will protect her."
"..."
Benders fell silent, his secret concern exposed. To him, Violet was like a daughter. Yet half the over-a-hundred corpses bore spirit-inflicted wounds clearly from her. The other half, mysterious projectiles like what killed Baris. Either way, with Violet involved, it had to be hushed.
"You know, your hair seems thinner?"
Isaac changed the subject.
"Just the hair? My beard's thinning too."
"Oh? Sacrificing for the city's revival—admirable. Work harder. Then I might get that Azer iron and smiths sooner. We need to sow rye in Binvelt by autumn."
"Is that why you came all this way? To turn my guts inside out?"
Benders narrowed his eyes.
"Right, something to ask."
"What now?"
"The great families' black market ledgers—you have them?"
"...We do."
Benders scratched his chin. No point hiding it now.
"Then lists of collateral kin and vassals using the black market too?"
"Probably. Only big deals are logged."
"Can I see now?"
"Must it be now? I explained why I'm busy."
"Yes."
"Aigoo, damn it."
Benders practically leaped from his chair, groaning.
"Damn it. Gotta swap the desk and chair."
He grumbled, waddled to the fireplace, and reached inside. Still summer, it was empty. Rumble—
"Oh."
As Benders tinkered, the bookshelf beside it slid aside. But the mechanism was faulty; it jammed halfway. Too narrow for a person.
"Fucking secret device. Poured so much money in, and it shakes every idle moment. Ungh—won't help?"
Benders strained against the shelf.
"Hm."
Isaac gave it a light push with one hand. Thud—it slammed into the wall. Thanks to the strength from the wolf king's Rune Stone.
"Huff, huff—that power? Be a knight. Thought your unique constitution barred magic."
"Planning to. ...Quite a lot."
The secret room wasn't spacious. Had to be discreet. But even in the cramped space, ledgers filled it densely.
"Records from the past ten years," Benders said.