The Sphere Appears
While Blow was still struck dumb by the buildings that had appeared out of nowhere—
Far to the southwest of the Marderos Continent, near Chert Village of the beastkin.
The people of Caipol were in the grip of midwinter, puffing white breath into the cold, and yet everyone in this place wore nothing thicker than summer cloth. The beastkin representatives had taken their places on a low hill overlooking a green plain, together with Baron Christopher, lord of Cypress, with whom they were on friendly terms, and were waiting for someone.
“Cesare. Have the tomatoes gone into Caipol?”
“Yes, my lord. They departed from Eastpol, and should arrive tomorrow or the day after.”
“Good.”
“When Viscount Bruno of Eastpol heard that it was a matter for Young Master Blow, he extended every convenience.”
“...There does seem to be something to it. I ought to stop by there myself on the way up this time.”
“Yes. I will arrange the schedule to match.”
Christopher nodded in lieu of an answer and lifted the teacup from the camp table. Seated beside him, Tekun Cherohun—Cunsai’s father—pressed his palms together and offered a bow.
“Baron, allow me to thank you once again. For receiving our guests alongside us as well.”
“I came out of my own self-interest. Don’t praise me too highly.”
“Of course. She is a person of real presence.”
“Well, naturally.”
Christopher was nodding at that when one of the beastkin, lowering a spyglass from the horizon, shouted so that everyone could hear.
“Here they come!”
Dust rose far in the distance. At the very front rode Rachel Campbell, horse and armor black from mane to helm, the enormous black greatsword that was her symbol slung across her back. Behind her streaming orange hair came knights in white plate stamped with the golden eagle of the Imperial Knight Academy, and knights in black plate bearing the crest of House Campbell.
“So that is Rachel Campbell...”
Even a provincial lord, far from the Imperial Capital, knew that name well. Watching her cut across the plain, Christopher swallowed dry.
“Baron, we should head down.”
“Right.”
The closer they drew, the thicker the reek of blood that rolled in, and Christopher had to work to keep his expression in check.
They said she rode straight from a battle with magical beasts. So it was true.
He cleared his throat and approached Rachel with Tekun. Sophia, Rachel’s adjutant, sprang down from her horse and offered him a salute.
“Baron Christopher.”
“The adjutant, I take it.”
“Yes. I am Sophia Grayhound. And this is Lady Rachel Campbell.”
“You have had a long journey. My lady.”
“Not at all. This seems a rather fine place to have come.”
“You mean...”
“The view is very easy on the eyes. The weather is good, too. Isn’t it, Sophia?”
“Yes.”
Rachel, who had dismounted at some point and now stood at her side, turned a bright smile on Christopher. In the meantime a beastkin child came carefully toward her, carrying a wreath woven of white flowers.
Silence drew out. Rachel lowered herself onto one knee before the child.
A daughter of one of the Four Great Houses, kneeling to a commoner?
Christopher had even stopped breathing as he watched. Somewhere in that stillness the wreath had been set upon Rachel’s head. She stroked the child’s hair and spoke gently.
“Thank you.”
“M-my lady, you’re really, really amazing!”
“I am, a little.”
She rose with a playful shrug and cast her gaze toward Tekun and Christopher, who stood staring.
“A friend of mine said that if I came here, I would be treated to delicious food. Is that true?”
“Yes. We have been preparing for several days so that every knight may eat their fill.”
“Preparing for days. Now I feel a little guilty.”
“Not at all! We have also heated water, so the company may wash.”
“Oh ho.”
Even while Rachel stroked her chin, the knights behind her did not move so much as an inch, as if they had been struck by petrification magic. She looked them over, lifted the corner of her mouth, and nodded to Sophia.
“You all worked hard on this expedition! Rest easy, every one of you!”
“Waaaaah!!!!”
“Rachel! Rachel!”
Rachel raised a hand in answer to the cheers pouring out. After that the knights were guided off and began to scatter in every direction. Tekun approached her as she traded a few words with Sophia, pressed his hands together, and spoke with care.
“My lady, shall we arrange a bath before the meal?”
“That would be pleasant as well. But I am far too hungry. I would rather eat first.”
“I will have it ready at once! Then please step inside that tent.”
“A fine idea. My legs were a bit sore, truth be told.”
“P-pardon?”
“I’m joking.”
Quiet laughter rose at her playful tone. The tension in them eased, if only a little, and Rachel went in among them. When she took the seat of honor, Christopher, Tekun, and several others sat down before her.
“My lady, might I, Tekun Cherohun, ask a single question?”
“As many as you like.”
“The friend you mentioned earlier—that would be...”
“Mm-hm. Blow Deblique. Come to think of it, I seem to owe you all, and the Baron, a fair debt.”
“A d-debt?”
“Yes. Thanks to you, every day in Caipol has been sweet.”
“Ah. You speak of the sugar?”
“Yes! They’re putting it to very good use at Hills, I saw. I even managed to get a donut once. Quite decent.”
“Thank you!”
“I’d like to have that donut at least once more while I’m staying here, if I may. Would that be all right?”
“I will have them prepared at once! My lady, I have never once had the honor of meeting him. What sort of person is Young Master Blow?”
Rachel let out a short laugh at that, stroked her chin, and whipped her head toward Sophia, standing at her side.
“A veeery interesting fellow. Isn’t he, Sophia?”
“He is.”
She had launched into her impressions of Blow at unusual length, for her, when a short young woman—armor sitting on her as if it refused to fit—stepped into the tent, approached with care, and whispered.
“There is something I must report.”
“Hm. Now?”
At that, everyone inside the tent rose. Rachel waved them back and shrugged.
“It’s all right!”
“No need for all of you to go to the trouble of standing on my account. See to the meal.”
“Yes!”
Rachel stepped outside with Sophia, rolling a stiff shoulder, and put a question to the communications mage who had come to report.
“What’s the matter, Minaret?”
“The palace has sent word that there will be no triumphal procession this time.”
“No triumph?”
Rachel clicked her tongue. Sophia, beside her, narrowed her eyes and asked as if she could not believe it.
“Minaret, you did make a proper report to the palace? We took two high-grade magical beasts this time.”
“I reported without fail. And that the awarding of merits would also be conducted in abbreviated form.”
Her voice grew smaller the longer she spoke, and Sophia swallowed a sigh. Rachel, who had been watching her steadily, tapped her at the waist and spoke.
“Sophia, do you hunt magical beasts because you want a parade? I’d just as soon say this works out.”
“It is not that. But...”
“But?”
“It feels somewhat too harsh. Even granting that our side is composed mainly of commoner cadets, the vice president’s side is granted a triumphal procession for taking a single mid-grade beast.”
“If we mean to surpass them for one mid-grade, we would have to take three high-grades.”
“Even so, it feels like too much. The knights worked truly hard this time, did they not?”
“It’s simply that I’m lacking. Rokan and I will hold a banquet of our own. Tell them not to fret over it.”
“You, lacking? That is truly unthinkable...!”
Sophia bit her lower lip, unable to finish. Rachel looked at her for a moment, then patted her shoulder.
“You worked hard on this expedition too. Rest and refit this winter, and we’ll prepare better for next year.”
“Yes.”
“Minaret, you rest as well. For the next few days I’ll go to the village and handle the communications.”
“You are not resting either, Captain. How could I...”
“Me? I’ll eat, and then rest a little at night. That’s plenty.”
Rachel scratched lightly at the back of her neck. The reason she was sitting down to a meal without so much as washing, even after the expedition was done, was precisely this: tasks had piled up waiting to be handled. Sophia, watching her smile the way she always did, drew a breath and offered a salute once more.
“I apologize. I believe I spoke of something needless.”
“No. Let’s go in. Something smells good.”
Rachel smiled as she said it. Sophia, composed again, went into the tent with her.
The sky over Chert Village, meeting a December evening, was deepening to red.
The morning after the auction, in the basement of Whittaker Hall.
The chamber that would serve as a temporary testing ground for the Spirit of Space had not a single pillar in it—flat under a high ceiling. Against emergency, high-grade magic stones meant to amplify spells had been set in a triangle, and at the center of the magic circle drawn with those stones as its points, the place where Blow would stand was marked.
Before the circle stood Mnevoir and Lisleia, both wearing grave expressions. Lisleia looked at the array, let out an enormous yawn, and spoke to her disciple in a thoroughly unimpressed tone.
“Think we’ll be able to pull this Spirit of Space out today?”
“We will know once we try.”
“Even if it comes out—they stopped it at the level of an academy student. It can’t amount to much. Right, kid?”
“Yes.”
Lisleia stroked Herbena’s violet hair as if she were something cute. At Lisleia’s request, Herbena was standing by as an assistant, together with Christina. The Lunaria Orthodox Church and the Magic Bureau, both now deeply involved in the matter, had each placed one observer near the circle. For the Bureau, that observer was Gethier Ropert, one of those responsible for the present affair, sitting rigid in his seat.
Seeing him tremble in that peculiar way, Lisleia snorted and spoke.
“Ropert. I hear you went to Hills over the weekend.”
“Yes! My younger cousin asked that we dine there.”
“Did it suit your mouth?”
“Th-the seasoning was not strong, so it was agreeable.”
“Is that so? I liked it because they salted it properly. Isn’t it your tongue that’s strange, Ropert?”
“No. The seasoning truly suited me.”
“You certain?”
Lisleia narrowed her eyes and snapped the words at him. Under that piercing presence Gethier swallowed dry and barely managed an answer.
“It truly did.”
“I’m joking, brat. So easy to rattle.”
“Haha. Young Master Blow will be here shortly, so you might ask him as well.”
As if he had been waiting for precisely those words, Blow opened the door and stepped into the testing ground with Jane. He offered greetings one by one, beginning with Lisleia. At the sight of his face, a smile Herbena could not hide spread across her lips.
“Lady Lisleia.”
“Right on the dot? You want to die?”
“Next time I will arrive with time to spare.”
“If there is a next time. The experiment will be conducted inside that magic circle. You’re a fourth-year, more or less, so an explanation of about this length should do, shouldn’t it?”
“Yes. May I step in now?”
“Change first.”
As the words left her, Christina was already holding out a change of clothes.
“Hey. Ropert over there says the seasoning at your restaurant is mild. What’s that about?”
“I set it a little differently from person to person.”
“That was the first time you ever saw me.”
“Yes.”
“So you’re saying I looked like someone who eats things salty?”
At Lisleia’s sharp glare, Blow glanced sidelong at Jane beside him, cleared his throat, and answered.
“A little...?”
“Honest, I’ll give you that. And her, beside you—your right hand?”
“Yes.”
“The face tells me enough.”
Jane, wound tight because an experiment was an experiment, startled and ducked her head. Lisleia let out a short laugh, sighed, and pointed toward the circle.
“Go on and change. It’s about time.”
“Yes.”
“As you’re aware, it will sting a little.”
“I am prepared.”
“If the sphere comes out today, I’ll make it sting exactly to that strength. On the mark.”
“That is welcome news.”
With that, Blow started walking. Jane’s gaze came into his eyes—she was searching his face with her lower lip caught between her teeth. Instead of speaking, he patted her shoulder. Seeing it, Herbena hurried over and caught his sleeve.
“Young Master, I—I will be watching, I promise!”
“If the future archmage is the one watching, even I can rest easy.”
“Hahaha! Hey—archmage? You think just anyone gets to be one?”
It was none other than Lisleia who said it, and so neither Blow nor Herbena had a word of rebuttal. Even so, a little room to breathe had returned to his face, the tension eased.
A short while later, changed and standing inside the magic circle drawn in black, Blow drew a deep breath. Lisleia ran her eyes quickly over the circle, nodded, and spoke.
“To start, we go at about half the value Mnevoir measured.”
“Yes.”
“After that I’ll raise the strength according to how you respond. If the sphere doesn’t come out, that isn’t a bad result either. It would mean the trigger might be something else.”
“It isn’t bad?”
“Hmm. Now that I think about it, maybe it is. Let’s try, and think afterward.”
With that, she extended a hand toward the circle. The circle flared blue, and chains wrought of mana came forth and bound his entire body.
“Kh...”
Under the crushing pressure Blow fought to steady his breath. Once she confirmed the magic had taken properly, Lisleia snapped the fingers of her other hand. Before him materialized a gray statue of a goddess, towering well past his own height. Its hands were clasped, its head bowed, and tears stood gathered at the corners of its eyes.
This doesn’t look like it will hurt much.
But that thought—
⟨ Sting. ⟩
—was wiped clean away the instant the tear, falling with Lisleia’s word, touched Blow’s forehead.
“Ghk...”
Violent pain wound from his head through his whole body, and a groan slipped out of him despite himself.
“Taking it up one.”
Lisleia’s voice reached him muffled, as if heard from underwater. At the next droplet, Blow felt it in his flesh: the mana that had already been burning away was consumed entirely, annihilated. If there was a Mana Pond within him, it felt as though someone were scraping it out with a spoon.
He was forcing himself not to let the pain show when Jane and Herbena bit down hard on their lower lips and clutched one another. A droplet struck his forehead again. Blow’s head jerked up—and fell.
And then only silence hung inside the testing ground.
“Checking his condition—”
“Wait.”
In the very instant Lisleia caught Mnevoir by the sleeve, the empty air above Blow’s head warped before the eyes of everyone in the testing ground. Breathing ceased. The observer from the church was just rising from his seat in naked fear when—