Mlnébeur Morgan
The day after the staff dinner, at the Nyx Inn.
Blow, who had slept poorly, was out of bed and writing in his notebook when Jane, freshly awake, took a seat in front of him and studied his face.
"Young Master, you're up?"
"You got up early because of the trip today?"
"No. But, Young Master, you don't look well. Is the hangover still lingering?"
"Does it look that way? No, I'm fine. I just had a really awful dream last night, I think."
"Was it something from the other world? Or did that sphere—"
Jane, whose worry for him had grown sharp of late, examined his face with care and checked the state of his mana as well. Even so, he could hardly tell her that the nightmare had been about what happened at the very monastery they were heading to. He gave her a small smile to show he was all right, and spoke lightly.
"Don't worry. Once we're on the road, I'll be fine in no time."
"…All right."
"Let's have something good for lunch."
"Sounds good. When Melo wakes up, I'll ask her what she wants."
"You think about it too. Stop just eating whatever everyone else is having."
"Actually, there is one dish I've been curious about."
Jane glanced around to make sure no one was nearby, then stepped lightly up to him and whispered in his ear.
"Fried chicken."
"What?"
It had been so long since he'd heard those words that Blow simply stared at her, and she nodded once more, as if to confirm he had heard her right.
"Ah. You saw it in the notebook last time."
"The description was incredibly detailed. You could be a writer, you know."
"It really is outrageously good. Unfortunately, I don't think I can recreate it exactly here."
Blow clicked his tongue, unable to hide his regret, and Jane shrugged.
"If Melo sees it, there'll be trouble, so you'd better keep it well hidden."
"Guess I should."
Even now, Blow was setting down in his notebook whatever he could remember of the world he had lived in. The bad memories far outnumbered the good, so putting them in order was never easy. Whenever the emotional toll grew too heavy, he would turn to the back pages—partly to clear his head—and write about the dishes he had eaten there. He recorded the recipes as he knew them, and described the flavors in as much detail as he could. Nostalgia was part of it, but he also believed the notes might prove useful someday. Among them, the hymn to chicken on the fourth page seemed to have caught Jane's interest rather strongly.
"You read it carefully, huh? This is a little embarrassing."
"There was a lot of interesting stuff in there… Would it be all right if I looked again sometime?"
"I'll make you a separate notebook with things worth reading. Odds and ends from that other world."
"I don't particularly mind either way."
"What's the point of reading more unhappy stories?"
"Because you're not like that anymore."
With that Jane smiled softly, then rose and headed for the stairs. With every step, the white hair she had neatly tied up swayed.
"Melo hasn't come down, so I'll go wake her."
"Yeah. We should head out soon."
After Jane went upstairs, Blow finished his preparations by checking one last time that he hadn't left anything behind.
Some time later they set out, and at a stop along the way they ate the salmon steak Jane had wanted. For dessert, each of them popped a maple-syrup hard candy into their mouth. It must have been quite good, because Melo's eyes were sparkling.
"It's so goood!!"
"Is it?"
"Yeees! It's so, so good!! I wanna keep eating and eating!"
"Then your teeth will rot. One a day."
"Hah—I already ate two."
"That's serious. At this rate, Melo, every tooth you've got will be rotten by tomorrow."
"R-really?"
Melo looked up at Hans with mournful eyes. Finding it adorable, Hans let out a soft laugh and answered gently.
"Melo, the Young Master was teasing. Just brush your teeth well later."
"And if I don't brush well?"
"Then you really might have to have them all pulled."
"I-I'll brush them well…"
Watching that bright, innocent face, Blow found himself thinking of the many children who would be waiting at the monastery. Arriving empty-handed didn't sit right with him. He took out his wallet again and went back into the shop.
"Shopkeeper."
"Yes! Is there something else you need?"
"Wrap up six bags of candy."
"Six!? Ah—understood! Shall I include what you purchased earlier as well?"
"Can you keep them from sticking together? Oh, and give me a jar of the syrup separately, too."
"Yes! Right away!"
Jane, who had followed him in, looked up at him with a puzzled expression.
"Are you going to eat them yourself, Young Master?"
"No. They're for the kids at the monastery."
"Oh, really? That's… that would be wonderful."
Smiling more brightly than ever, Jane happily accepted the bags the shopkeeper held out.
Back in the carriage, they watched the peaceful scenery roll past like a panorama and finally felt as though they were truly on a journey. Melo, drinking in the passing landscape, turned to Jane.
"Jane! Have you been to Roten before?"
"Mm."
"Why?"
"Just… a long time ago. Want a candy? I've got some left."
"Mm-hm! But the Young Master said only one a day…"
Blow nodded at Melo, who was watching him for a cue.
"It's the first day, so I'll let it slide."
"Really?"
"But that's the last one."
"Th-then I'll eat it at dinner later!"
Melo hurriedly tucked the candy she had taken out back away. Jane stroked her head as if she might die of cuteness, and just then Hans, gazing out the window, murmured so they could hear.
"Any moment now… the lake ought to come into view."
Having left that morning, they were already near the entrance to the Roten region, their destination. Roten was a resort city northeast of Caipol, famed for its hot springs and its lake, a place where many people from the imperial capital of Serdia came to unwind. It was also home to Paulos Monastery, currently one of the most renowned monasteries of the Lunaria Orthodox Church.
Paulos was where Marta, known as the Barefoot Saintess, had received her revelation, and where Abbot Francis, famed for his piety, resided. Rather than splendid or grand, it gave off a quiet, humble air—the kind of place where simply walking seemed to lift one's spirits.
Blow chuckled at Hans, who kept glancing out the window, eagerly awaiting the lake.
"You let the monastery know ahead of time, right?"
"Yes, I did. They seemed quite glad to hear from us."
"…No way. You told them we'd stay about two days?"
"Yes, I did. The monastery sits so high up that the view is truly beautiful. It's a shame we can't stay longer."
"Then you stay on a bit and join us when we head back down to Caipol."
"I'm sorry, Young Master."
"Why?"
"At a monastery… you're supposed to work a little, aren't you?"
"It'll be better than the inn."
"Well, that's obvious…"
Hans subtly avoided his eyes. As he had said, every visitor to Paulos Monastery was expected to help with the work, at least a little. The rule—meant to teach the value of sweat, and gratitude for what one already possessed—applied equally to royalty, nobility, the middle class, and commoners.
Then, as if something had just occurred to him, Hans fiddled with his most treasured hat, his face bright with excitement.
"I hope I can receive a blessing from the Saintess."
"Hm?"
"Saintess Marta. They say her holy power is incredible."
"…Is that so?"
"A friend of mine received the Saintess's blessing, and he says his business has been doing even better since."
Hans spoke in a thoroughly excited voice. Blow answered awkwardly and turned his gaze out the window.
"If the Saintess is there, perhaps you should have one of your things blessed as well, Young Master. Your notebook seems perfect."
"…I think I'm fine."
Watching that lukewarm reaction, Hans's eyes suddenly widened, as if something had come to him.
"Come to think of it, you've met the Saintess before, haven't you, Young Master? I believe you were at the monastery back then."
"Yeah."
"R-really!"
"…I saw her every day, back then."
Saintess Marta. Widely known to the world as the Barefoot Saintess, she had been, only a few years ago, merely one of the countless orphans at the monastery—so many you could trip over them. Because of her physical condition, the boys her age had played a great many childish pranks on her. Yet even through those mischievous tricks, Marta never once grew angry. She was always calm and composed, never so much as creasing her expression. Back then she had been the first to take on the dirtiest work, and so she was the one who best embodied the monastery's spirit: that everyone must work.
So when Blow Deblique heard that she had received a revelation, he had nodded as if it were only natural. And the Marta of today had become a saintess in the truest sense—one who always placed herself in the lowest place, and who commanded the respect of countless people. Even thinking of her again, she had been a girl like a vast sea.
Blow pictured her face and let out a sigh deep enough to sink the earth. Hans, knowing nothing of what lay in his heart, gaped in envy.
"You really met the Saintess! I'm jealous!"
"Nothing to be jealous of. She was just plain back then."
"I really hope the Saintess is at the monastery. Even when the Church tells her to live in the capital, she insists on staying there."
"You could hand her a fortune and she'd still be like that."
Just then Jane, who had been watching Melo, joined their conversation.
"If the Saintess is there, Miss Megan might be a little disappointed too."
"Why?"
"She's quietly quite devout."
"Really? I didn't know."
"I am a bit sorry, actually. It would have been nice if Miss Megan had come with us."
"Jane, are you really sorry? You're awkward around her. Listen to you—still speaking so formally."
Instead of answering, Jane laughed a short, broken ha-ha and recalled how seriously Megan had declared, on the night of the dinner, that she would not be going to Roten.
"It was funny, seeing her say it so seriously yesterday…"
"She says being alone is her vacation. I can respect that well enough."
"Honestly, I was a little surprised you didn't say much about it, Young Master."
"What, did you think I'd drag her along by force?"
Jane sealed her mouth again at that, and Blow burst into a chuckle.
"Like she said, someone has to watch the inn. If anything, I'm grateful."
"Surely nothing will happen?"
For an instant, as Blow thought back over the weeks since they had come up to Caipol, a faint unease flickered through him.
…It did feel as though something might happen.
But there was no need to say the thought aloud, so he answered Jane in a tone that suggested he wasn't worried at all.
"There won't be."
"Don't you think she's regretting it by now? Choosing the inn over the hot springs…"
"But look at it the other way, and it might be the wisest choice. Travel fatigue is a real thing."
As they were saying this, Melo's cry of wonder rang brightly through the carriage.
"Whoa, the lake!!"
And sure enough, just as she said, a vast blue lake lay between the russet mountains of early winter, filling their eyes.
The lake was called Lake Laje. It was the lake that symbolized the Roten region, visible the moment one entered, and around it spread vineyards of astonishing size, turning with autumn color. In an openness one could hardly feel in Caipol, everyone seemed to smile, their moods lifted.
"Whoaa! It's so clear! Young Master, the lake is really clear!!"
"Yeah? On Saturday let's go down by the lake for a bit. Do some fishing, take a boat out."
"Really! I'm so excited. I've never been fishing before."
Having spent her whole life in Blanya, and inside a kitchen, Melo was probably encountering most things for the first time. Whether from anticipation or not, she had even clasped her hands as she looked outside, and the others watched her, smiling quietly, savoring a moment of peace.
While they were busy admiring the lake, at Caipol Magic School—
Hervena, on her way with Skadi to find Mlnébeur, was somewhat flustered by the looks from friends, seniors, and juniors alike. Everyone seemed to be watching her with strange smiles tinged with mischief.
"Why is everyone looking at me like that?"
"Hm?"
"It feels… different from before."
"…Are you seriously asking because you don't know?"
Seeing Hervena blink with a genuinely baffled expression, Skadi too began to wear a strange, mischievous smile. Uneasy now, Hervena—uncharacteristically stumbling over her words—asked her,
"W-what is it?"
"The kids who saw you hugging Blow……"
The moment she heard that, Hervena's face flared hot, and she quickly clapped a hand over Skadi's mouth.
"Please shut that mouth!!"
She kept hold of her for quite a while, and only after Skadi had nodded about six more times, as if to say she understood, did Hervena lower her hand.
"You're the one who asked me to tell you why."
"D-don't say that in front of me. Never again, got it?"
When the beet-red Hervena said this, Skadi looked at her and giggled.
"It's not like there's anything between you two. What's the big deal?"
"……"
"It'll die down soon enough, won't it?"
"Haa."
"But what was it you said back then? 'Young Mashter, I wanchu riiight beside me…'"
Hervena's expression turned murderous, and she began summoning a violet magic circle in her right hand, with a ferocity that could bring down a mountain. Skadi couldn't even finish the sentence, and had no choice but to press her hands together in apology.
"Sorry. Anyway, Hervena, are you close with Professor Mlnébeur?"
"If we pass each other, I greet her. About that much?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, we do see her in class."
"But about Professor Mlnébeur—once we're upperclassmen, do we have to see her more often?"
"Probably? Spirits matter more the higher the year. Still, the seniors seem to like Professor Mlnébeur quite a bit."
Skadi's expression stiffened a little as they talked. She rubbed her chin once and sighed.
"Hmm… Really? This is bad."
"Why?"
"I fall asleep every time. During spirit class…"
"You do know you're supposed to be awake in class, right?"
"Look."
At that moment Skadi's spirit was summoned. It took the form of an egg about half the size of a fist—a geometric spirit, and thus one of the lower ranks. The moment Hervena saw it, she could only nod in understanding.
"It kind of resembles the Young Master's spirit, in a way."
"The scale is completely different, isn't it? There are quite a few geometric ones. As you know."
"True. I think I've seen a few more. Senior Peche had some kind of cube…"
"Ram someone with a corner and that could work. I'd rather have gotten a cone or something."
Hervena burst out laughing at the nonsense. Talking like that, they arrived before they knew it at Mlnébeur's laboratory.
An assistant emerged from the forest of papers—generously speaking, spread out; less generously, a mess—and greeted them with a bright face. Of course, the dark circles under her eyes were too deep to hide.
A short while later Mlnébeur, having confirmed they had arrived, ground out her cigarette the moment she saw them and threw the window open.
"You're here?"
Black hair long enough to reach her waist, her already deep dark circles grown a shade darker still, Mlnébeur offered them a greeting.
"Yes. Hello."
"Sit comfortably. Want some coffee?"
"Yes."
Almost as soon as they answered, cups were set before them. Mlnébeur picked up her own at once and spoke.
"You're both busy, aren't you? Let's get straight to the point."
"Yes."
"It's nothing else. As you know, I called you because of Blow's Spirit of Space."
"Ah—you mean that White Sphere?"
"Yes. From now on, that's what we'll be calling it. The White Sphere."
She downed more than half her coffee—steam rising pure white—in a single swallow, then opened a mouth that looked heavy.
"What I'm about to say… I'd prefer that only the two of you know it. You were the ones actually up on the dueling ground that day."
"Yes?"
"We've concluded that we ought to hear from those of you who found the courage to go up there. You're also likely to find out anyway, and if possible, I'd like a little help from you as well."
Mlnébeur's expression was set, as if she were about to say something far from ordinary. Skadi and Hervena had expected today to be nothing more than a simple confirmation of the facts, so tension settled naturally into their shoulders.