Petronia

The massive stack of books Camilla had gathered from the lich's laboratory and research rooms.

Reading through them had boosted my Magi-tech Engineer proficiency.

It wasn't just about crafting items—gaining knowledge on magical applications seemed helpful too.

Books on every damn subject.

They seemed useless at first glance, but the variety was impressive.

Even black magic had its own systematic research and practitioners, apparently.

"Apostle, reading such things will corrupt your mind. Best to steer clear."

I hadn't taken my eyes off the books once on the way to the magic market in Petron.

The problem was the black magic tomes.

Petra looked uneasy about it.

"You have to understand your enemy's thinking to counter them easily. This is just like scouting the foe."

"As expected! My thinking was too narrow. I've learned something new today, Apostle."

"That doesn't mean you should read them. What if it accelerates your undeification or something?"

Petra had been eyeing the books curiously at my words.

She shuddered and turned away.

Honest reaction.

These items are kinda iffy, though...

The lich's labs and workshops had yielded tools of every conceivable kind.

Among them, the standout was the Crown of the Dead.

A genuine Unique item.

Being Unique made it even more ambiguous.

Too many overlapping abilities if I used it, and I wasn't sure I even needed it.

Plus, anyone could tell it was black magic-related at a glance.

The reversed mana circuits and the sleazy aura of the mana itself screamed it.

Pull it out anywhere by mistake, and I'd be branded a black mage with no defense.

Maybe try enhancing it?

I wondered what it'd be like mixed with other materials.

But it didn't really appeal.

Enhancing it here wouldn't make it useful to me anyway.

As my thoughts deepened on the items, Lena tapped my shoulder.

"Theo-nim! Look over there! That's Petronia, the city with the magic market!"

It was nearly the size of Asterium.

Rumors said it had a magic academy for training mages, and the scale lived up to it.

Thanks to the academy, the Petron second-hand magic market thrived.

Merchants flocked here for the trade.

Like a hub city? Definitely bustling.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

The line just to enter stretched endlessly.

But as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠we neared Petronia, I could feel Petra fidgeting.

"Petra, what's wrong? Madness rising? Any side effects?"

Undeath fills you with hatred for the living.

Petra's undeification had reached 49%.

Maybe the sudden crowd was triggering something.

"N-no, it's not that... Hm."

She was even stammering, so something definitely bothered her.

Camilla seized the moment, popping out of my shadow to tease.

"The moment the fake undead turns real! I've been waiting for this! Master! Now's your chance! Chance!"

Camilla was a whirlwind the instant she emerged.

She lurked in shadows just to poke at Petra whenever possible.

Petra shot back swiftly at Camilla's words.

"That's not it, Apostle. Truth is, this is where I was active... I'm a bit scared. What if my condition gets exposed and brings shame to you..."

"What? Holy knights have assigned territories? Don't they roam around?"

"N-not in that sense... This is my birthplace."

As Petronia's walls came into view, Petra pulled her black warhorse to a halt.

She continued calmly after a moment.

"My father is Peitan Crosia, head of Petronia's council."

Peitan Crosia.

Lena reacted first, as if she knew the name already.

She looked shocked.

"The Iron Judge is your father? Really? The runaway daughter... is you, Petra?"

"You knew?"

"Of course! Who hasn't heard of the Iron Judge and his daughter story... Well, maybe not."

Lena pivoted, glancing at me.

I had no clue, naturally.

Never heard it while trailing the slave trader.

I'd spent most of that time holed up reading books.

"So, who's that? Someone famous?"

Petronia had a unique noble council governance, per Lena's explanation.

That fostered the academy and booming commerce.

Peitan Crosia led that council—Petra's father.

"But why'd you become a holy knight?"

"It was the will of Seras..."

"Theo-nim! Council power isn't hereditary. Especially for Petra... becoming heir would've been tough."

Lena explained before Petra could invoke Seras.

Hereditary rule was tricky; Petra likely faced political marriage or being a power pawn.

So she turned to faith.

And became a holy knight in the process.

"Ahem, not quite. My brother supports Father steadfastly, so I left with peace of mind."

"Sigh, tough enough without succession issues, but rivals too? Must've been rough, Petra. No wonder your name echoes the city. How'd I miss this?"

"It's not that... Anyway, that's why I'm worried."

I got the gist of Petra's concern.

So I pulled an iron mask from my deep ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠space backpack and handed it over.

The one I'd used before, slightly modified.

"Just make sure no one recognizes you."

She wore the Last Magic Armor and rode a black warhorse.

Holy knight traits were mostly erased.

Her signature decolorized white hair would be hidden by the iron mask.

And its plain design wouldn't pinpoint her.

Petra donned the mask.

It matched the Last Magic Armor perfectly.

"Oh! This should work! Haha, as expected of the Apostle!"

Petra laughed at such a simple fix.

She must've agonized the whole way here.

But Camilla was oddly quiet.

She could've teased Petra ten times over, yet she stared at the ground.

"Camilla?"

"Y-yes? Yes, Master?"

"What's with you?"

"W-why me? He-het!"

"You're too quiet."

Camilla avoided my eyes.

Waiting silently, she finally muttered reluctantly.

"W-we're not... meeting the Iron Judge, right? He-het!"

"Not like I can just meet him on a whim. You...?"

"No way! I only failed once! Oops!"

She clapped a hand over her mouth at the slip.

Ridiculous, but I let it slide.

I remembered Camilla's first encounter.

She was innocent now, but dredging up old wounds seemed pointless.

"Anyway, no danger? No grudges...?"

"Of course not! I don't leave grudges—I'm the one who settles them! He-het! Don't worry!"

"Fine, whatever. Let's go."

Camilla seemed suspicious.

But her confidence suggested no major issues.

Plus, big city.

No reason for a bigwig like that to meet us.

Unless something special happened.

I warned Baron Sellevan not to pull any stunts this time... Should be fine.

Learned from the Count Arno mess—I'd reined him in tight.

No repeats.

Chatting away, Petronia's guards appeared ahead.

Guards in iron armor etched with a few mana circuits eyed our group.

1st-class level magic blueprints, but high utility.

Any magic helps, so more is better.

Commercial city for sure—guards even use magic items?

Intriguing.

Even Count Arno's Asterium didn't go this far.

Something different here.

The wall's mana cannons didn't trigger the system, though.

Standard design, no modifications.

Were Arno's mana cannons special?

Count Arno with his mobile magic cannon unit came to mind.

Then a guard spoke.

"Illegal items mean summary execution. Got it?"

Illegal items?

Of course we had them.

Tons, even.

The lich's research materials flashed in my mind at the guard's question.

My deep space backpack brimmed with black magic tools.

But no worries.

I'd handed them to Camilla beforehand; she stashed them in her shadow.

"No, of course not. And here's our ID."

The ID certified by Baron Sellevan himself as a mage, with his magic signature.

They waved us through quickly.

Seemed more procedures normally, but the solid ID smoothed it.

"Alright, then..."

Just as we finished and approached the gate.

A voice stopped us.

"You there! Black-haired fellow! Wait, wait a moment!"

Turning, I saw a man huffing toward us.

He was short.

But thick-built.

Middle-aged, with forearms nearly as thick as Lena's waist.

Yet he wore glasses packed with mana circuits, ill-suited to his bulk.

"My god! It's real? Double core ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with two magic stones? And this shape reduces user fatigue too. Beautiful... What magic produces this effect?"

He rushed up and muttered at the black warhorse, ignoring my gaze.

"Speed three times a normal horse? More? Ancient relic...? No, no. Smells freshly forged. But the magic level isn't that high? How...?"

The man repeatedly adjusted his glasses, engrossed in inspecting the warhorse.

Odd fellow, but I couldn't act rashly.

The mana circuits visible to me and Lena on this man.

At least 4th-class.