Will You Grant Permission?
“Come in, Baron.”
“Viscount.”
Baron Buechner nodded lightly as he stepped into Viscount Boatmer’s office.
“Have a seat.”
The viscount gestured to the chair. It was an ornate piece with floral and leaf carvings on the thickly cushioned backrest. Yet the baron felt no comfort settling into it.
Viscount Boatmer was a collateral branch of the Goetes and a northern magnate. By contrast, Baron Buechner was merely a vassal of the Goetes. Under normal circumstances, there was no reason for a vassal baron to be on close terms with a viscount.
But the viscount had been buying the crops from Buechner’s territory at generous prices, which put the baron in a better position than the other vassals. Thanks to that, his tax revenues were higher than most. It had even allowed him to send his eldest son to the Royal Academy.
So he couldn’t ignore the viscount’s summons.
“I heard your eldest, Bruno, enrolled at the Royal Academy on a scholarship.”
“It’s all thanks to you, Viscount.”
“I merely bought the grain at a fair price.”
“You’ve been exceedingly generous with our situation.”
“That’s because the crops from your lands are of such high quality.”
The viscount smiled warmly. The baron’s expression, however, soured. He knew of the Boatmer family’s ambitions and their grudge against the Goetes. He’d heard there had been fierce succession struggles generations back.
“But you must have your worries.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“The tournament is upon us soon. Your eldest is adapting well at the Royal Academy, but what of your second son?”
“That’s a family matter. I appreciate your concern, but I’ll handle it myself.”
“Ah, if I’ve offended you, I apologize. That wasn’t my intent. I only wish to strengthen the trust between us with a small token of goodwill.”
“Stop beating around the bush and get to the point.”
“It’s nothing grand.”
The viscount placed a palm-sized box on the desk.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
The baron glanced at the viscount before lifting the lid. It was a stone. But no ordinary one.
“This is……”
“A mid-grade spirit stone.”
“A spirit stone?”
The baron’s eyes widened. It was a treasure beyond measure. Spirit stones weren’t something money alone could buy. They were heirlooms passed down in spirit-affiliated families, embodiments of their very identity—no family would sell one unless facing extinction. Even if an ownerless one surfaced, it could fetch astronomical sums at auction or spark shadowy intrigues and even wars.
It was something the baron couldn’t acquire in a lifetime of earnings.
“Why give something so precious…… to me?”
His voice trembled slightly, greed and wariness rising in equal measure.
“I’m not giving it. I’m lending it. Baron Buechner, I’m a sharp calculator.”
The viscount shifted in his seat as he spoke.
“Your finances must be stretched thin just covering tuition at the Royal Academy. It was likely the best choice from your perspective. But a father’s heart doesn’t work that way. Your second son weighs on you.”
“……”
The baron couldn’t deny it. In raw magical talent, his second son Beltran far outshone Bruno. Sending the eldest to the academy had been to uphold primogeniture and family order.
“I maintain close ties with the Akanlaufer mercenary band. Escort services are as vital to trade as profit itself. That’s how I learned of your second son. Word is he’s made quite the splash. Their captain called him a pearl in the mud.”
The baron knew Beltran had joined a magical mercenary band. It was the natural path—for anyone but the heir who inherited everything, self-reliance was key.
“About my second son……?”
“Your second son, Beltran, isn’t it?”
“……Yes.”
“This is both a gesture of my sincerity to you and an investment in a talented youth.”
“Why Beltran and not one of your own children?”
“I know my own offspring well. They’re hopeless as mages. Baron, I may be a noble, but my soul is that of a merchant. I don’t make losing investments. Not even in my own flesh and blood.”
“……What do you want?”
Baron Buechner swallowed hard. There was no such thing as a favor without strings. What price could match this?
“I simply want young Buechner to shine at the tournament—to unleash his full potential.”
“Unleash his full potential means……”
“Victory, naturally. That’s all I ask.”
The viscount replied as if it were obvious, before the baron could finish.
“And what do you gain from that, Viscount?”
“The independence of the vassals.”
“Independence……?”
The baron murmured the unfamiliar word.
“The Goetes’ authority stems from the count’s magical prestige. We need to chip away at that.”
“But no family has ever bested the Goetes in the tournament’s history.”
“This year’s different. The Goetes’ first prince is a cripple, and the second is just nine, barely awakening to magic. Beltran has a real shot.”
“Even if Beltran wins, who’s to say the Goetes’ second prince won’t become a great mage someday?”
“We’re not talking distant futures. Vassals need a spark, a motive to unite. You’ve received the marquis’s letter by now.”
“……”
The baron bit his dry lips. He knew the contents well. The count’s martial enforcement had shut down the black market. Over a hundred from great houses and gangs alike had been massacred.
“The black market was our lifeline, wasn’t it?”
“……”
The viscount was right. It was how vassals eked by—funneling local specialties through back channels. And now even that was sealed by the count.
“The count is too rigid and unyielding to consider those beneath him.”
“I received a letter from the count too. He plans to petition the royals through inspectors. No more shield tax, permission for commerce and military buildup.”
“You truly believe that’ll work? After a century of bans?”
“The count doesn’t make empty promises.”
“That’s exactly why you’ve been tamed.”
“……”
The baron frowned. The words were insolent, but irrefutable.
“Beltran’s victory will awaken the vassals’ dormant spirit of agency. A challenge to the Goetes’ authority, a blow to their prestige.”
“What use is that beyond stirring unrest?”
“Courage. And unity.”
“……?”
“His win will show vassals they’re not so different from the Goetes. They’ll gain courage, find their voice, unite for a common cause. Petition the crown together. Break the chains of sin bound by the Goete name.”
“……”
The viscount smiled at the baron’s grave expression. In truth, from Count Goethe’s view, this was tantamount to treason. Yet the baron remained seated. The viscount had struck precisely at his desires.
“But you just said the century-old bans won’t lift.”
“For the Goetes, no. But what sin have you vassals committed? Withdraw loyalty from the count, pledge it to the king. Escape the Goetes’ shadow, leave a better legacy for your heirs.”
“Is that…… even possible?”
The viscount’s words sounded so sweet they raised gooseflesh on the baron’s skin.
“I’m with the council faction. The count’s royalist. If his faction weakens, not just me—every council member in the royal court will pressure the king by any means.”
“All this starts with Beltran’s victory?”
“Precisely. A golden opportunity for Beltran, an indispensable one for your house.”
The viscount nodded.
It didn’t take long for the baron to be convinced.
“……Very well. I’ll do it.”
“A wise choice, Baron. I’ll lend the spirit stone on tournament day. It’s far too precious, you understand.”
“Of course.”
The baron lingered, eyes glued to the spirit stone, before finally leaving the office.
Once he was gone, a hooded, masked figure emerged like ink blooming in clear water.
The viscount, unsurprised, asked, “This is top-grade, right?”
“Yes. The Plour family heirloom spirit stone. Procedures confirmed.”
“Proceed with the awakening ritual.”
“With just a handful of mana to rouse the furious spirit. Understood. But we won’t complete it. Beltran must do that.”
“I’ll remember.”
The figure vanished like smoke.
“This’ll be quite the spectacle.”
The viscount’s smile deepened.
Two weeks had passed since Isaac declared his ambition to make Goethe the mages’ holy land.
That day, the count realized his son was still just a child. A child dreaming impossible dreams, refusing to accept the impossible. Seeing Isaac’s childlike side gladdened him, yet filled him with worry.
Isaac was in earnest. When he summoned the purple flames, his face brimmed with conviction. An achievement even the count hadn’t matched at twelve.
Astonishing, yet deeply unsettling.
The blue flowers of the central garden bloomed profusely every day since Isaac’s return from Binvelt.
Isaac hadn’t overcome his unique constitution. Manifesting magic without circles was near-miraculous, but no one knew when or how severely the mana rampage might strike next. Months without incident meant nothing—it struck without warning or rhythm. An accident waiting to happen.
And that triumph might breed arrogance, turning to poison.
Thus, as father before count and count before father, he wrestled with the dilemma: clip his wings before the world’s walls crushed them, or let him soar and watch the inevitable fall from greater heights?
His conclusion was singular: demand proof from Isaac.
If Enet could manifest complete magic within a month, he’d let her represent Isaac in the tournament. She’d learn the world and people didn’t bend to one’s will, grounding her in reality.
But if……
Whoosh!
Enet quietly ignited a flame before the count. Sweat beaded on her brow from the intensity of her focus. Magic without incantation.
Isaac smiled.
“Will you now grant permission?”
If Isaac proved himself……
The count couldn’t bar his son’s path. It would mean the boy couldn’t be contained by the fences he’d built.