Archmage Merna (2)
Jay had believed in his own talent with absolute, unyielding conviction.
Even as an illegitimate son, he had received better treatment than any legitimate heir, and no one dared treat him lightly—all because of that brilliant gift. Yet here, before his very eyes, that talent had been utterly denied. Worse still, she had declared him no different from his father, a man he secretly despised. To have his entire existence rejected so casually tore away the last shreds of his sanity.
"Ignorance is a terrifying thing," Merna murmured.
With those words, the towering pillar of fire dwindled in an instant, shrinking until it rested harmlessly in the palm of her hand like a flickering ember.
"Losing one's temper at the truly ignorant isn't very adult, after all. Especially toward such a wretched little brat."
Hearing that, the butler and Jaylen exhaled long, tremulous sighs of relief. We survived, they both thought. At least for now.
"However... I was never particularly mature to begin with."
Thick, verdant vines erupted from the stone floor in a heartbeat, wrapping tightly around Jaylen's limbs and pinning him fast.
"Besides, I've never had much patience for noble scum like you."
"Eek! W-Wait! Please!!"
"Now, now, don't look so terrified. I only intend to impart a little pain. Though, of course... it might prove agonizing enough to kill you."
Merna's voice was smooth, velvety, and seductive, but to Jaylen's ears, it carried only pure, unadulterated horror.
"Even for someone like me, tormenting a child leaves a bad taste in the mouth. Since this is all the fault of your beloved son, you shall pay the price in his stead."
"P-Please!! S-Spare me just this once!!"
Despite Jaylen's frantic, pitiful pleas, Merna lowered the swirling flame hovering above her palm directly toward his abdomen.
"Hiiieek! P-Please! Take—take him instead! Take the boy!!"
As the scream tore from his throat, Jaylen's eyes instinctively darted toward his son.
No matter how much affection he had lavished on the boy, nothing mattered more than his own skin. A son was, after all, merely an instrument for his own success—a pawn to be sacrificed at a moment's notice if it meant saving his own life.
"Oh? Your precious, darling son?" Merna purred, leaning in until her breath brushed his ear. "You might survive this as a full-grown man, but who knows what would become of a fragile little boy?"
"..."
Jaylen offered no answer, but his gaze remained fixed greedily on Jay.
"Pfft! How pathetic. Truly unsightly." Merna sneered at his wretched display, extinguishing the flame with a dismissive flick of her wrist. "I've lost what little interest I had."
Without a shred of lingering attachment, she turned her back on House Hynek. Her thoughts were already far away, longing only to reach the forest and pursue her original purpose.
Behind her in the grand hall, only three souls remained: the butler, paralyzed with dread and holding his breath; Jay, staring at his hands in hollow despair that his magic had failed to leave even a scratch; and Jaylen, bound in choking vines, drowning in his own humiliation.
So that is what becomes of a noble who prattles on about family prestige and bloodlines?
Walking beneath the canopy of trees, Merna turned the encounter over in her mind.
Archmage Merna Wintreia. Having devoted countless years to the solitary pursuit of magic—so long that the passage of time had lost its meaning—she found herself wrestling with an unfamiliar dilemma.
Throughout her life, she had cared for nothing save the advancement of her own craft. Family, friendship, camaraderie—she had cast them all aside without a backward glance. Nor did she harbor any regret or longing for what she had discarded. She preferred wandering alone above all else, living entirely by her own whims. Belonging to nowhere and roaming freely across the world was the very essence of her existence, and the discovery of novel magic and forgotten lore was her sole joy and purpose. Keeping mortal attachments around her would have been nothing more than an impediment to the path ahead.
And so, she had never strayed from that course. She had chased magic, and magic alone.
Yet recent encounters had begun to cast strange ripples across that tranquil pond of certainty.
The disciple of a former comrade's disciple. The descendant of an old acquaintance. And the indelible marks they had left upon the world of magic.
Inherited, connected, enduring. That was one of the foundational truths of magic she had learned long ago. What, then, of herself? She had already contributed vastly to the arcane arts, and her influence would ripple far into the future. But what lay beyond that? She could not live forever, nor did she possess any desire for eternal existence.
Whatever she left behind would eventually be improved upon, overshadowed, or forgotten. Such was the fate of her past companions' achievements as well. Yet their legacies were continuously rewritten and carried into the future by those who inherited their wills.
Was that not the ultimate nature of magic? Merna found herself reconsidering what she might leave behind. She thought of taking an apprentice—a notion she had once despised and rejected, convinced it would only hinder her own advancement.
Driven by those lingering doubts, she had invoked Prophecy Magic—a spell she had cast only once before in her life, having previously dismissed it as utterly dull. Yet following its guidance to this place had yielded only disappointment and cynicism.
Even a noble whose entire creed revolves around lineage turns out to be such a pathetic creature. Is there truly any worth in taking a disciple?
Wading through her disillusionment, Merna settled her mind once more.
As I thought. An apprentice is utterly meaningless to me.
She needed only to pursue her own magic. There was no reason to waste thought on anything else. She would return to her true self, and to her original purpose.
Spirits!
The alternative path she had discovered upon reaching the pinnacle of mortal magic. The primal wellspring of mana in this world, and the key that could elevate her into an entirely new dimension of arcane mastery. Merna had wandered through lands thick with ambient mana in search of them, and this very forest happened to be one of those sacred domains.
In the first place, that prophecy was merely an excuse to stop by on my way here.
With her priorities restored, Merna stepped deliberately toward the dense concentration of flame that hinted at the presence of a spirit.
"Mm~ This should be plenty."
Watching Eron pull items from his pack one after another, Abel let out a heavy sigh.
"Haah... Must you truly go, Young Master?"
"Hm? Didn't you tell me I should get some fresh air?"
"I meant a gentle walk through the gardens or around the estate grounds, not venturing into a place like that."
"Come on, what's the difference? A walk's a walk."
It's always like this, Abel thought.
It was a routine they had played out dozens of times before. Knowing precisely where the argument would lead, Abel skipped the pointless middle steps entirely.
"You must not leave my side under any circumstances."
"Yeah, yeah, of course! I'll stick to you like glue. Don't worry about a thing. Mm-hm!"
He's entirely planning to bolt the first chance he gets.
As Eron's personal maid, Abel already felt a deep pang of regret for ever indulging his request. She naturally felt sympathy for his harsh circumstances as the household's shunned child. On top of that, she owed him an irredeemable debt of gratitude. That was why she had yielded when he asked to visit the forest's edge.
She had thought sticking to the perimeter would be harmless enough. With everyone in the mansion frantic over the Archmage's impending arrival, it seemed like an opportune moment to let him step outside for a breath of fresh air. As long as she kept a watchful eye on him, what could go wrong?
Or so she had believed—right up until Eron began unzipping his pack and emptying its contents.
Magic tools designed to enhance resistance against fire. One by one, artifacts lifted straight from the family vault emerged into the light.
Abel did not bother asking how he had procured them. She was well aware that he had pilfered items from the vault on several past occasions, almost certainly with the aid of maids sympathetic to his plight. The storehouse was overflowing with magical relics Jaylen had hoarded in his younger years, so many that Jaylen himself had lost count of the inventory. While discovery would spell trouble, it posed no threat so long as no one went out of their way to inform the master.
The true problem lay in his intent. These tools made his goal unmistakably clear: he intended to march straight into the heart of the forest. Staring at the relics, Abel felt a prickle of unease.
"All right! Hurry up and pour some mana into these."
At those words, Abel thought she had found her way out.
Magic tools were largely designed to assist lesser mages, but even the simplest device required a baseline trickle of mana to function. Regrettably, lacking a single speck of mana within his body, Eron could not activate them on his own. If she refused to supply the energy, he would have no choice but to abandon the venture. No matter how desperate he was to explore the forest, Eron was not fool enough to stride into blazing heat unprotected.
I must put my foot down here, she reasoned.
"Young Master. That is—"
Wait. No.
Would Eron truly give up just because she refused? Perhaps the Eron of the past would have, but not the boy who had clawed his way back from the brink of death. He was not someone who conceded easily anymore.
Then what would happen? Lena?
In that fleeting second, her daughter's name flashed through her mind.
Lena Crombell. Her beloved child, whom Eron had saved from disaster. Ever since that day, Lena had followed Eron with unquestioning, absolute devotion, regardless of what he asked of her.
What if Lena returned a week from now? Eron would undoubtedly coax her into coming along, and Lena would leap at the chance to obey. She would actively deploy her gifts to aid him. Her spatial magic had grown well beyond Abel's expectations; slipping past the estate's guards and whisking Eron deep into the forest would be child's play for her.
Too dangerous. Far too dangerous. If it must be done, it should be under my watch.
Lena's spatial magic was undeniably extraordinary, but she had yet to master any other branch of sorcery. When confronted with the unexpected, she still lacked the versatility to react properly.
It's far safer if I accompany him myself.
Having reached that grim resolution, Abel addressed him once more.
"Young Master?"
"Hm? What is it?"
"You are aware that, at present, I am the only one here who can charge these tools with mana, correct?"
"Well, yeah. That's why I'm asking you."
"I will be infusing only the barest sliver of mana into them."
Grasping Eron firmly by the shoulder, Abel fixed him with a stare brimming with unyielding resolve.
"Magic tools don't need much mana to work in the first pl—"
"I mean substantially less than that. Surely you grasp my meaning, Young Master?"
A faint smile curved her lips, but there was not a trace of warmth in it.
Eron deciphered her unspoken warning in an instant.
"S-So... I have to stay glued right beside you?"
"Precisely. And you must keep that promise."
"Y-Yes, ma'am!"
Whoa, she scared the life out of me. What is with this terrifying pressure?
Faced with the chilling aura radiating from his head maid, polite honorifics slipped from his lips before he could stop himself.
With the tools infused with just enough mana to function, the two stepped side by side into the depths of the forest.