Thank You
“What happened?”
“Enet’s talent is just that exceptional. She picks things up in no time.”
“And she’s already mastered the ancient language in that short time?”
Even the count, who rarely betrayed any emotion, couldn’t hide his surprise this time. It was subtle, of course—just a faint shift in expression—but that alone was enough to delight Isaac.
“No. She can’t even read or write the common tongue, let alone the ancient language.”
“Then how?”
“That’s why her talent is so exceptional.”
Isaac quipped playfully. He didn’t mention that he’d borrowed from the theories of the future Jacob Rakan. Revealing that now would only sow chaos in Goethe—not to mention the entire kingdom.
“Will you permit it now? Enet may not win, but as my proxy, she’ll deliver solid results.”
“And you’ll become a laughingstock.”
“I’m already a laughingstock as it is. I couldn’t care less.”
“Have you forgotten you’re a Goethe?”
“Precious few in the territory even see me that way. No need to worry.”
“……Since I gave my word, I permit it.”
The count spoke with evident unease.
“Thank you.”
“Go now. Your proxy looks like she’ll collapse any second.”
As the count said, Enet’s face had drained to a sickly blue. Part of it was from overexerting herself with magic, but the main culprit was the mana radiating from the count. For someone like Enet, who had only just awakened her mana sensitivity, simply being near the count’s mana was an overwhelming burden. Once she knew what it was, the count became an existence that crushed her merely by being there—especially since she hadn’t even formed her first circle.
“Then we’ll take our leave. Enet.”
Enet offered the count a formal bow before following Isaac out of the study.
“Father.”
Isaac suddenly halted on his way out.
“What is it?”
“……Never mind. I’ll tell you later.”
“You’ve got a lot of ‘laters’ piling up.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Isaac gave an awkward laugh.
Have you ever tried putting a frog or a lizard in a drinking glass? Easy enough. But have you ever tried putting a dragon in one? That’s a catastrophe. The dragon would rage at the insolence of lowly humans meddling where they don’t belong, shattering the glass and laying waste to everything around it.
A contract with a spirit works the same way. Attempt one beyond your station, and not only will your vessel shatter, but the spirit’s wrath will sweep up everything nearby.
And that was the tragedy looming over the upcoming tournament.
The spirit stone Violet had inherited from the Plour family. It was the heirloom of the republic’s greatest spirit mage—a sanctuary slumbering with a top-tier spirit. An eternity of rest, stretching back who-knew-how-long. The one who disturbed it was no vessel grand enough for a spirit king, nor did she hold any true understanding or reverence for one.
“You’re really saying that’ll happen? You think so too, old man?”
At Isaac’s words, Violet turned to Benders in disbelief.
“It’s not impossible.”
Benders grunted thoughtfully.
“Vivi, that spirit stone you got from your adoptive mother is one of a kind on the entire continent—at least as far as I know. Damn few even know it exists. If word got out, who knows what chaos it’d unleash. It’s priceless, plain and simple.”
“How did Boatmer get his hands on it, then……?”
“Only one possibility. There was a traitor in the Plour family.”
“……”
Violet clenched her fists at Benders’s conclusion.
“It’s a spirit king’s spirit stone, no less. Something like that should never see the light of day. You can’t buy it, sell it, or even know about it.”
“Hold on. A spirit king’s spirit stone?”
Isaac couldn’t believe his ears.
“……You didn’t know?”
Benders looked puzzled.
“Of course not. I figured it was some high-ranking spirit from the famed Plour spirit lineage—that’s as far as I went.”
“Ahem.”
Benders glanced at Violet.
“It’s fine. I was going to tell him anyway.”
Violet sighed.
“And you put something like that up as collateral to the marquis?”
“He didn’t know its true value. At least until Baisman needed it, I figured he wouldn’t do anything stupid.”
Only then did Isaac piece it all together. Why the great hall in the manor had been so utterly devastated. Why so many had died or been injured there. Why his father had suddenly weakened after that incident. And why war had been inevitable.
He’d been too young back then. Knew nothing, tormented by his unique constitution, nursing nothing but resentment toward the world. He hadn’t even considered the dire straits his family faced. On the day of the tournament, he’d just wallowed in self-pity in his room.
“Why would Boatmer Viscount start all this?”
“To seize the North.”
“What?”
Violet thought she’d misheard.
“He needs a pretext to replace the main line with the branch family. With the black market closed, discontent among the branch and vassals is at a peak. Resentment toward your father must be sky-high by now.”
“And if the spirit king rampages on top of that…… Good lord.”
Benders, quick on the uptake, grasped Isaac’s implication.
“The nobles and officials at the tournament—their children too—dead or gravely injured. Boatmer will pin it all on your father’s incompetence.”
“It’ll go that far?”
“That’s not the end of it. War will break out.”
“Just expose the Boatmers as culprits.”
“That’s part of Boatmer’s calculus too. Even with evidence, the royals will hesitate to intervene directly. He’ll declare a domain war, claiming the gods will judge the truth. Evidence or no, he’ll manufacture a reason for war.”
“Isn’t that…… a bit far-fetched?”
Isaac gazed out the window. Everything he’d said had actually happened. In the future—or rather, his past. Blind rage had poured exactly where Boatmer aimed: straight at Goethe.
“So, who’s the one awakening the spirit king with that stone?”
“Not the Boatmers, at least. Schrader says they’re not even attending the tournament.”
“The branch family’s the same. They hold a banquet with the marquis every year around now, but not a peep this time.”
Isaac and Benders answered Violet’s question in turn.
“They’ll play innocent, then swoop in at the perfect moment—once the vassals are furious and the branch is fully prepared.”
“So who does end up with the spirit stone?”
“No idea.”
“……”
Violet’s face fell at Isaac’s reply.
“Then we shouldn’t just sit here—we need to head to Boatmer and take it back!”
“How?”
“Any way we can!”
“Take on three hundred elite soldiers and eleven knights solo? Or talk that sly bastard into handing it over?”
“Then what do you suggest?”
Violet glared at Isaac, her expression hardening.
“Wait.”
“Until when?”
“The tournament.”
“That’ll be too late!”
“Not if we time it right.”
“Is that why you dragged yourself here at the crack of dawn?”
Violet’s thick hair stirred faintly in the breeze. It was a gentle gust, but Isaac sensed the sharp edge of anger within—like it could slice him if he wasn’t careful.
“Violet. There’s a kid I want to introduce you to.”
“Introduce me?”
“Yeah. But first, some people we need to meet.”
Isaac and Violet boarded a carriage bound for the city cemetery. In the distance, dozens of able-bodied men gathered. They dismounted.
“Whew—”
“First time I’ve seen you tense.”
Violet eyed Isaac curiously. He’d faced down great houses’ forces and gangs defying his will without a flicker of emotion—taking over a hundred lives like it was nothing. Not as a boy, but as whatever had worn a boy’s skin. Yet now, Isaac looked uneasy.
“They died because of me.”
“Strictly speaking, no. There was a clash with the Nears gang at the inn. When Pallichi wouldn’t back him up, Jang stormed out in a huff and got ambushed by the great house soldiers.”
“Doesn’t that bother you?”
“It’s not that it doesn’t bother me—it’s that I can’t let it, if I want to survive.”
“……Either way, using the Baismen as bait without their consent was on me. Least I can do is show my face.”
Violet still didn’t get it. She hadn’t wanted this life, but the past few years had been rife with stabbings, looting, murder. Sometimes sacrifices were necessary. If it kept the group alive, that was that. Isaac couldn’t be ignorant of it—not after assassinating Mayor Baris, pressuring the marquis, uncovering House of Mercy’s secrets, and wiping out great houses and gangs.
Thud. Thud.
“……”
The Baismen stared silently at Isaac and Violet’s approach. Most were expressionless. Some swigged rum; others puffed cigarettes. They simply parted to let them pass as they drew near.
“Fancy that—the young master himself all the way out here.”
Pallichi sat on a corner of the graveyard. He did nothing but gaze at the distant ridgeline.
“I came to apologize.”
“Apologize? For what?”
“For using you all as bait without your consent. And that led to this guy’s death.”
Isaac nodded toward the fresh mound.
“Heh heh, ha ha ha ha!”
Pallichi burst into sudden laughter, the other Baismen joining in.
“What’s so funny?”
“Ha ha ha—never thought I’d live to hear a kingdom noble apologize.”
Pallichi groaned as he rose, still far from healed. A comrade steadied him.
“Death’s been our friend since we picked up swords. Sometimes we welcome it, sometimes hate it, sometimes fear it. A real friend, right?”
“……”
“All we hope is that when we finally clasp that friend’s hand, the road we’ve walked wasn’t for nothing. And Jang’s road? Not bad at all. He took eight of those bastards with him. We couldn’t even scratch one. Turned those great house grunts into pin cushions and still dropped eight. That day, Jang was the best of us.”
Thump—Pallichi’s thick hand landed on Isaac’s shoulder.
“Thank you. Whatever your intent, we finished the job with just one casualty and no other losses.”
Clang, clang. The Baismen drew their blades and stabbed them into the earth, then bowed to Isaac—showing respect in unarmed surrender.