Disappearance (1)
“Huff, huff.”
Isaac was running. And endlessly reciting incantations in his mind.
"O traveler who embarks on the journey."
"Can you stand alone before the infinite, solitary and alone?"
"A lonely world where only mana and you exist."
"You, come to know yourself."
"Let go of your thoughts."
"Abandon the perspectives etched into your life."
"Break free from the leash of the past."
"Become yourself."
⟨ Axioms of Solitude ⟩
Embracing deep despair, suffocating gloom, and dizzying remoteness. Words he repeated to himself. In the profound darkness of the underground, to keep from going mad, to soothe himself. They were axioms he had created.
It wasn't the verses themselves that mattered, but the words, phrases, clauses, and sentences he had recited for nearly half a century. The comfort and reassurance they brought. And in that state of no-mind, Isaac could focus solely on the flow of mana.
His body felt like it would collapse at any moment, but his mind was more at ease than ever.
In the past week, a change had come to Isaac's vessel. The three mana circulation paths had increased by one, becoming four. His vessel had stabilized that much more, and the number of spells he could cast simultaneously had risen from three to four.
This was partly thanks to pushing himself to the limit against the winter spiders. But it was also because he had been diligently running lately.
Casting magic required understanding, calculation, and sensation. It was an incredibly tedious task. It drained mental strength.
Mental strength and physical strength were one and the same. When the body crumbled, so did the mind. Nothing felt worth doing; one only craved comfort. No hardship seemed bearable. That meant losing one's dignity as a mage.
A mage who thirsted for knowledge and pursued truth would endure any suffering—even lay down their life—for it.
“Huff, huff.”
The world was merely an illusion of the mind. Infinite mana always urged one to venture beyond that world. Thus, the realm a mage sought was always far away. A distant, shining blue point. An unattainable remoteness.
Possibility and impossibility held no meaning. Could one keep running down that path? Without going mad, without giving up, could one endure?
That was the only way for a mage to survive. Otherwise, death came in some form. By one's own hand in helplessness and insignificance. As a living corpse with a dead soul. Or in the clutches of an enemy, lost to futility in battle.
Death, one way or another.
You couldn't tell if a surviving soldier was a good one, an excellent one, or a coward. But a surviving mage was a good mage. An excellent mage.
That was why Isaac needed unbreakable mental fortitude. And robust physical strength.
Isaac was drenched in sweat like rain. His heart pounded as if it would burst. His vision blurred, his head spun.
Eventually, he collapsed to the ground soon after, catching his breath. As he stopped running, the cold wind chilled his sweat, bringing on chills.
He was about to head back to his room to wash up when—
“Good morning, young master.”
Schrader entered. Behind him stood a middle-aged man.
“Good day, young master.”
The man wore glasses and a silk hat. He was the family physician assigned to Isaac by Count Goethe.
“How are you feeling today?”
“Fine.”
“I saw you running early in the morning. Any discomfort?”
“None.”
“Let me check your face.”
The doctor examined the whites of Isaac's eyes, his oral condition, his pulse, and so on.
“No excessive rapid heartbeat, chest tightness, or difficulty breathing?”
“……None.”
The physician appointed by the count was the most renowned in the neighboring Oton territory. Unfortunately, he knew less about Isaac's condition than Isaac himself did. He relied merely on fragmentary medical knowledge passed down from previous eras.
“No major issues apparent. In fact, you seem healthier than before. The medicine must be working. Then, we should switch to a different one now.”
The doctor nodded, drawing his own conclusions. Isaac felt frustrated but didn't pretend to know better. For now, he was just a 12-year-old. Playing the overwhelmed young master role suited him fine. It would make handling what was to come easier.
“This is a potion called Panacea, which stabilizes mana flow.”
The doctor opened his wooden case. “It's not as potent as an elixir, but consistent use will yield gradual effects.”
The lattice wooden frame was packed with potion bottles filled with liquids of various colors. Among them, he handed over three vials glowing crimson.
Panacea, huh. Father always made sure I had the good stuff.
Panacea meant "cure-all" in the common tongue. To some, it was an aphrodisiac; to soldiers, a stimulant. It was an item the wealthy or commanders before a war bought at great expense.
It stabilized mana flow, enhancing bodily functions. In truth, it wasn't stabilization—it boosted mana flow. The misunderstanding arose from translating the ancient term for "making flow smooth" as "stabilization" in the common tongue.
In Isaac's original body, it would have acted as poison, accelerating the rampage of his already fierce mana flow and hastening the vessel's rupture.
“Thanks for your care. I'll make sure to take it.”
But for the current Isaac, it was an apt catalyst. With the rune stone promoting new mana circuits, Panacea would aid in creating more by increasing mana velocity.
“I'll see you next month. Stay well.”
“Alright. You've worked hard.”
After seeing off the doctor, Schrader remained in the room, standing silently.
“Something to say?”
“You're quite polite today.”
“Hm?”
“You always flew into a rage. Thanks to that, all the top physicians in the direct territories refused to be your doctor. This one came all the way from Oton.”
“……So? Should I have thrown a fit?”
“What wind's blowing today?”
“Who knows. Must be a good mood.”
Isaac shrugged nonchalantly.
“…….”
Schrader stared at him wordlessly.
“What else?”
“You've been running in the garden every dawn lately. Any reason?”
“Just. Running clears my head.”
“That's all?”
“Every single one who reached the ranks of 5th class or higher trained their body.”
“…….”
Schrader's eyes narrowed.
“To ground oneself in reality and draw the infinite into the phenomenal world, you need a body. Even a mage is centered on flesh in the end. Mana is inanimate, but the phenomena it creates are akin to living things. They arise, grow, and perish atop reality. The body that nurtures that mana should at least befit the task.”
Isaac gazed out the window as he spoke. Snow was falling before he knew it. In the north, snow was tiresome, but this gentle fall amid an intact world felt profoundly peaceful.
It's unbelievable, even now.
Those he cherished were all alive. He had been given another chance to save them. Perhaps sentimental drivel from a man over seventy. To Isaac, this trivial moment felt miraculous.
“Something's changed about you.”
Schrader's usually oblivious eyes fixed on Isaac with evident interest.
“It's true. All the Black Goose Village children have fully recovered.”
The family physician said upon entering the study. He had stopped by Black Goose Village on his way and checked their conditions.
“No trace of pneumonia?”
“Yes. A couple had mild colds, but nothing serious.”
“Certain?”
Schrader removed his monocle and polished the lens with a cloth.
“Certain. Unless the medicine I studied for over a decade at the college is wrong.”
“Understood. Good work. Here's payment for the house calls to the Black Goose children, travel expenses, and a little extra from me.”
Schrader handed over a thick coin pouch.
“Thank you, sir.”
“You may go.”
After the doctor left, Schrader took up a quill and wrote on blank parchment. It was a letter to Count Goethe at Winterband, one of the northern frontier fortresses.
The eldest young master has completely cured the pneumonia of the Black Goose Village children. All verification procedures are complete. Given the young master's unique constitution, it will likely remain difficult for him to use magic in the future, but the path of a scholar or alchemist seems promising, I cautiously venture. Fortunately, he appears to have regained his motivation. He seems to be diligently pursuing magic as well…
This should ease His Excellency's worries.
As Schrader rolled the parchment and melted wax to affix his seal—
Someone knocked on the study door.
“Come in.”
It was the red-haired maid.
“Roza? You again.”
Schrader sighed.
“Enet hasn't returned from Bernsi for two days.”
“She ran away. That's all?”
“Clara, maybe, but Enet's diligent and kind.”
“Happens all the time. No one enjoys menial work in a manor like this in winter.”
Her face was ashen, but Schrader remained indifferent.
“Can't you at least investigate a little? All three vanished on the way back from Bern!”
“As I said before, no manpower to spare for unconfirmed matters. I've told you repeatedly, Roza—you're kindhearted. But too nosy.”
“But…!”
“Focus on Young Master Isaac. That's your job. Leave now.”
Schrader issued the dismissal in a stern tone.
“See? Clara, fine, but Enet disappearing makes no sense. She's worked without a single day off for three years.”
“She has to, for her father's medicine money.”
The matter of the missing maid Enet buzzed endlessly among the maids.
It wasn't uncommon at Goethe Manor for maids or manservants to vanish without a trace. The weather was brutally cold, sunny days rare, and snow or rain frequent. Laborers always risked frostbite, and the weak often fell to pneumonia. Though a frontier fortress existed, bandits and monsters slipped through bypass routes often enough. It was hardly a place one could call livable, even generously.
“Must be sick of nursing her sick father. Maybe ran off with a guy she fancied?”
A manservant carrying flour sacks to the kitchen said.
“Watch your mouth, Bill!”
“What'd I say?”
The manservant shrugged and neatly stacked goods in the storeroom.
“Anyway, isn't it weird? Three gone in the last two months, all after trips to Bernsi.”
“Bandits lingering nearby?”
“Two months ago was when the forces gathered for monster subjugation also routed the bandits.”
“Some left over?”
“If Hilde, Clara, and Enet were all kidnapped by bandits…”
“My take? Black magic.”
One manservant, listening to the maids, stretched his back and pulled a pipe from his trouser leg. He deftly stuffed dried tobacco into the chamber and lit it with a candle.
“That's the master's tobacco!”
“So? A bit won't show.”
“So, black magic?”
“Yeah. Magic comes in all kinds, right? Doesn't fall from the sky. There's a price. And this is a magic family? The young master's in bad shape. Put yourself in the master's shoes. Knows magic, family member's sick. Wouldn't you try anything with magic?”
The manservant puffed on his pipe.
“You mean the missing girls were all sacrificed alive… Eek.”
“Isolde, mind your words. And Bill—if you keep spreading weird rumors, I won't stay quiet.”
The red-haired maid, who had been silently listening, snapped.
“What'll you do? Could be true.”
“Master's not like that. He even took in a criminal like you.”
“Ha, listen to you. Thinks she's something 'cause Gisela likes her?”
The manservant puffed up, glaring down at the red-haired maid.
“Young master's kind too. He left all our service to Hans so we wouldn't be troubled.”
“Nah. Wasn't sickness. He was just a clueless kid before, so he was nice. But he'll show his noble colors soon enough.”
“Fascinating story.”
“Eek.”
The maids froze at the sudden clear, boyish voice.
“Right? Sounds plausible, kid. But I don't recognize the voice.”
The manservant turned, assuming it was one of the manor boys. But there stood a gray-haired, refined-faced boy. Isaac, with a sharply edged expression.
“Gasp.”
“Yeah. Quite plausible. Care to elaborate, Bill?”
Isaac asked the manservant. He was more interested in the other remarks than the insults directed at him. He had his suspicions.