A Distant Acquaintance on the Snowy Peak
David looked far too happy for his own good, and that alone was enough to irritate anyone watching. Every time the snow fell, he fell right into it. Every time it stopped, he stopped too. The Hamilcar way of life suited him perfectly.
In truth, saying he had adapted well was an understatement. Damien, Pythia, and I had been living in perfect harmony in the temple before David arrived. But he was from another world entirely. Before we knew it, he had made friends with every temple in the district—near, far, front, back, it did not matter. He had them all wrapped around his little finger.
Of course, the timing was perfect. The temples at the Grand Hall were all desperate to win favor with the gods, and my dear brother David was showered with kindness and goodwill without even trying. Naturally, they also tried to pry information from me, or from the next heir of Hamilcar, Damien, or from the Saint, Pythia.
As a result, David and I spent a great deal of time together. Soon, without any connection to me, he fell completely head over heels for the gentle noble boy that he was. Everyone wanted to be around him. Right now, David was always with the priests of the Temple of Ares and Justice. Those priests had trained in ancient martial arts passed down for thousands of years, and David sparred with them every single day, laughing the whole time.
When David was not around, the priests of Ares and Justice who passed me by were usually the tall, grim-faced men who looked like they had never smiled a day in their lives. But with David they looked like nothing more than late-teens boys gossiping in the corner of a market.
“Don’t you ever want to go over there and play?”
I asked Damien with a teasing lilt. He snorted. “I hate the smell of sweat.”
The words carried a knight’s instinctive dislike for mages. According to David, Damien was ranked first in combat magic among the young mages. He loved to brag about his knowledge, but most of the stories he told David about Damien probably came from Bertrand. David and Bertrand were close, after all. Twelve years old and already called the greatest combat mage. I really could not understand why.
Being called the greatest combat mage meant you had used the arts enough to stand at the top, right? Damien was only twelve. How long had he been fighting with magic?
“David said you’re amazing. That you’re the greatest mage in combat.”
We were doing the dishes. I would scrub the soot from the pots with ash, then scrape off the burned-on food with sand, and hand them over. Damien would rinse them with herb water, drop them into the broth, and I would finish scrubbing. Once everything was done, he would carry the pots out into the sunlight and set them aside. Only then were they truly clean again.
When he first saw my method, Damien made a stunned face. These days, though, he helped with every step without being asked. The boy was truly kind and gentle. Not even the fact that I had killed people or that I was an assassin of the highest rank could stop him from shining. It was a flaw I could overlook.
“Have you ever been to a battlefield?”
Damien answered reluctantly. “I’m from Hamilcar.”
“Since when?”
“Nine.”
“Even then you already had the title of Eternal?”
“No. Back then I was only a Blessing.”
“Did killing people scare you or disgust you?”
I had hoped for a casual answer, but it was too hard to ask. Damien stared at me for a long moment. He emptied the herb water, hammered a wooden tub into the wall, and answered with a troubled face. “It was scarier when Hamilcars were killed. When they were hurt but refused to die and screamed… that was worse. So, instead, I just…”
He stopped there, but I could guess the rest. He had probably poured every ounce of magic into wiping out every enemy rather than watch a Hamilcar suffer. I understood. I did not like killing people either. I had never spilled blood if I could avoid it. But when the lives of my family and the lives of others were on the line, I would not hesitate. I would carry the guilt for the rest of my life if it meant even one of my people stayed safer.
Just as I would choose the lives of the people of Danier over those of other districts. I was a daughter of Danier, after all. The same way Damien was a son of Hamilcar.
“You did well.”
Damien was reaching for the door when he turned to look at me. His violet eyes moved over me, measuring something I could not quite read. He wanted to know if I was being sincere. I told him firmly once more. “You really did well.”
Even a nine-year-old with talent had to fight in a world where enemies had to be killed. Damien had done his absolute best. Honestly, it had been more than his best. I stared at him as if I were sealing a “well done” stamp on his eyes, then walked through the door he had opened.
David thought about it every day. “Is this okay?”
But every day was so pleasant that he simply could not bring himself to do what had to be done. If the mission had involved someone else, he would have raced across the continent without rest. But the person he had to bring was Arian, and since the day he realized what sin he had committed against his own sister, he had never once beaten her. Winning against someone who had learned from defeat was hard enough. Against Arian, it was almost impossible. Convincing her was out of the question. The only method left was to force her. And he could not decide whether he was brave enough to do so. Every day he clung to Damien Hamilcar and sparred with him in hopes the mage would drop his guard. But Damien was as unyielding as the walls of Hamilcar itself. There was not a single opening. David could not win no matter how hard he tried. So he had started sparring with the priests of Ares and Justice instead. Their way of fighting with sacred power was fresh and full of lessons. David’s skill improved with every passing day. Yet the more he learned, the clearer it became that he did not possess the ability to deal with Damien without a fight. David did not dislike Damien. The priests were pleasant. Living with Arian’s food and Pythia’s calm presence had become almost perfect. Pythia was the most beautiful woman David had ever met, and she had never once frightened him. It was a rare case indeed for someone who had grown up watching his mother Louise and his sister Arian conclude that beauty was dangerous. Danier was peaceful. There was no way to take Arian. There was no way to deal with Damien Hamilcar. In this hopeless situation, David kept whispering “I am trying” while living the most leisurely days imaginable. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, the truth was that his recent life was almost enough to drive Arian crazy with happiness. Too happy. Was that really the problem?
“What business could the ghosts of the Magic Tower possibly have at the Grand Hall?”
David ran into two mages at the entrance of the Grand Hall. Isabel Confino had reached the foot of Mount of Light and declared she would rest for two days. Raymond had seen her pale face the moment she looked up at the mountain and realized she had no intention of climbing. Isabel Confino had always been the same since the day she arrived in Hamilcar. A Tower Lord who was already seventy, her magic rivaled the legends of Eternal mages, and her outward appearance and temperament were as haughty as royalty. Yet when you looked closer, you understood she had never learned the true ways of the world. She clung to pride and avoided anything she did not understand or feared. She had never experienced the ordinary pains of growing older and had become an adult while still a child. Now she was desperately acting like one. In any case, Isabel was the Lord of the Magic Tower. No one could move her once she had declared she would not ascend the mountain. The two disciples sent by her orders climbed Mount of Light. They were following the Tower Lord’s wish to bring Damien despite the Count of Hamilcar’s letter demanding they leave him behind. They had protected their bodies with magic, but even so, they had used so much mana and strength that they barely reached the Grand Hall. There, standing before them, was a tall boy in loose clothes, sword at his waist. A cold wind whipped around him. Without a word he drew the long sword at his side and asked, “What business could the ghosts of the Magic Tower possibly have at the Grand Hall?” then stepped on the ground before he even heard the answer.