Not a Treasure, but a Calamity
Duke Craitan was remarkably calm when he offered to bring out the family heirloom—a relic that had never once been revealed to the world—all for Lefonya's sake.
"I have already received permission from the Imperial Palace. ...I am somewhat concerned since it lacks a master and cannot be controlled, but there has never been any trouble thus far, so displaying it briefly should be fine."
Why would a family heirloom require imperial permission? And what did he mean by a master and control? Was an heirloom really something that needed managing and restraining?
What on earth was House Craitan's heirloom?
"I haven't laid eyes on it since I was very young myself," the Duke continued. "It is extraordinarily dangerous and peculiar, which is why it has been hidden away so thoroughly."
Lefonya knew. Having scoured every shadowy corner of the estate in search of it, she knew better than anyone.
"Ponya. Now that you have become a child of our house, you should see it at least once. I had intended to wait until you were a bit older since it could still be dangerous, but..."
Duke Craitan raised a hand. At his gesture, the butler, servants, and knights hauled in a colossal chest.
Is that... the heirloom?
The chest was gargantuan, large enough to crowd an entire side of the dining hall. With five-year-old Lefonya's meager strength, hauling it off to make an escape would be an utter impossibility.
Did they make it so heavy and oversized just to ensure no one could ever steal it?
A thief had to be able to carry their plunder. With a crate that massive, you would be caught at the main gates before taking ten paces.
Stealing it alone was out of the question from the very beginning.
Duke Craitan rose from his seat, approached the chest, and heaved open the massive lid.
"Ponya."
The Duke beckoned her closer. He was going to show her what lay within. Lefonya trotted over with hurried, pattering steps.
"Huh?"
Inside the colossal chest that had taken several grown men to lug in with visible strain, there sat a tiny box no larger than Lefonya's palm.
"What's this?" Lefonya asked, thoroughly bewildered. Wasn't this packaging absurdly overblown?
Right at that moment—
...Mas... ter...
Huh?
Lefonya's head whipped around as a faint murmur brushed against her ears. But everyone else remained fixated entirely on the chest.
What was that just now?
Had she misheard? Lefonya turned her gaze back toward the open chest.
"Felence."
At the Duke's summons, Felence stepped forward, scooped Lefonya into one arm with effortless ease, and retreated a good distance back.
"Mm?" What was going on all of a sudden?
"Watch closely, Fluffball. I was scared out of my wits the first time, so try not to jump."
Felence put as much distance between them and the chest as the dining hall allowed. Lefonya tilted her head, glancing between the box and the Duke with a puzzled gaze.
Duke Craitan pulled on a pair of gloves forged as magic tools. Reaching deep inside the massive chest, he clicked open the tiny box.
FWOOOOSH! CRACK-BOOOM!!
In an instant, the interior of the chest erupted into flames, and a towering pillar of fire shot upward like a roaring inferno. Even from across the hall, blistering heat slammed into her face.
"Gasp!"
Lefonya drew in a sharp, startled breath. Felence patted her back gently, as though he had anticipated her exact reaction.
"It's all right, Ponya. It's a specially crafted chest, so neither the flames nor the explosions can ever leak past it. All you'll feel is a little heat."
Flames? Explosions?!
Lefonya stared blankly at the roaring pillar of fire writhing inside the chest. The Duke watched the inferno up close for a silent moment, then reached out and shut the box.
Click.
With that surprisingly gentle sound, the towering column of fire vanished into thin air. The scorching heat that had pressed against her skin melted away just as quickly.
Although he had been wearing enchanted magic gloves, the Duke's hands were charred coal-black. Only after the butler stepped up with practiced familiarity and poured a prepared healing potion over them did the blackened skin return to normal.
What in the world did I just see?
The Duke turned toward Lefonya, who was still staring dumbstruck at the chest.
"Ponya. This is House Craitan's heirloom."
"...What?"
How was that an heirloom?! That wasn't a family treasure—that was an apocalyptic disaster!
"To be precise, it is a Fire Demon that House Craitan monitors and keeps contained under the guise of an heirloom."
Lefonya's eyes wavered violently.
"Unless you are its recognized master, reaching out a hand will instantly incinerate not only your entire body, but everything around you in the blink of an eye. For now, it remains sealed inside a metal bracelet. Yet even sealed within the bracelet and placed inside the warding box, it remains unstable—hence the extra precaution of a chest fashioned from mana stones."
"Is it... some kind of spirit?"
"A spirit? No. It is closer to a curse."
Despair settled heavily over Lefonya's face.
So the heirloom they ordered me to steal... was a thing like this?!
House Craitan, the Guardian of the Empire. The stalwart shield that defended the realm. Their renown had endured for centuries. To uphold that legacy, anyone who wished to become the head of House Craitan was required, at a baseline, to be an Aura Master.
A patriarch capable of wielding aura.
And the secret heirloom that no outsider knew of was managed solely by the patriarch. Which meant, in truth, only an Aura Master possessed the strength to keep the heirloom under control.
An heirloom that demanded constant suppression from the head of the house. Looking back, what could have been more absurd than that phrasing? What sort of gemstone or gilded trinket required constant suppression?
There's no way I could have ever handled this from the start.
What would have happened if the Duke hadn't shown it to her? What if she had wandered the manor aimlessly, stumbled upon the suspicious chest by some stroke of luck, and recklessly opened it to lay her hands on the heirloom?
I would have died right on the spot.
Without even a chance to react, she would have gone up in flames and vanished into a handful of cinders.
Did Pope Pretes know?
Lefonya recalled the day she received the mission. The Pope had commanded her to bring back Craitan's heirloom. He had told her that the means and methods did not matter, and promised that once she completed this final mission, he would never interfere in her life again. Had he given her the task knowing from the beginning that it was impossible?
Felence studied Lefonya's rigid, pale face and rubbed her back soothingly.
"Fluffball, don't worry. They say not a single accident has happened since it was locked in that chest. You don't need to be so scared."
He seemed to assume she was trembling from shock at the fire.
The warm hand smoothing down her back made the despair and fury crawling up her throat vanish in a heartbeat.
Is it because he's an Aura User?
Was that why his presence wiped away her anxiety so easily? Lefonya wasn't an Aura User, so she couldn't know for sure.
The Pope probably didn't know either. If he had, he wouldn't have picked me; he would've chosen one of the boys with sheer physical power.
None of that mattered anymore. What mattered was that the Pope had branded her a traitor and was actively trying to slaughter her. If she could, she wanted to haul that entire chest straight to the Pope and watch him writhe in agony as he burned.
Still... thank goodness it's a disaster instead of an actual treasure.
She had been plagued with worry over what to do if it turned out to be a priceless heirloom passed down through generations. But since it was a walking calamity rather than a treasure, stealing it later wouldn't actually harm House Craitan.
What sort of expression would the Pope make when he discovered that the Craitan heirloom was an uncontrollable Fire Demon that only answered to its chosen master?
Just imagining it is exhilarating.
To make that happen, she couldn't afford to be disowned until she cleared up the misunderstanding with the Pope and delivered the Fire Demon to his doorstep. She had to become an even cuter, more flawless, and utterly indispensable five-year-old lady.
And this heirloom could not be revealed to the world right now. If word got out, whatever sibling operative the Pope sent next would try to steal it by any means necessary.
I can't let that happen. Right now, I'm the guardian of the heirloom.
Lefonya, temporary protector of the family heirloom, steeled herself with solemn resolve.
"I don't wanna show off the heirloom at a party we host! It'll look like the heirloom is the main character instead of me!"
It was completely unreasonable obstinacy.
"You don't want to?"
"I think it'd be much better to go to the succession party! Let's save throwing our own social party for later!"
"Ponya."
"The heirloom is too scary and dangerous!" Lefonya acted as terrified as she could manage. "Can't we save the heirloom reveal for later and just show my face at the succession celebration instead?"
"Hmm."
"And besides, I'm curious about the succession party! I wanna go see it!"
No one dared object to Lefonya's opinion. Even if anyone had wanted to, a single glare from Duke Craitan would have crushed them into silence.
In the end, the heirloom was returned to its hiding place, and it was decided that Lefonya would attend the succession celebration at the Villemon Duchy.
Great. Just now, I was the very picture of an adorable five-year-old lady.
Flawless. Lefonya clenched her tiny fists and gave a resolute nod.
The day of the Villemon Duchy's succession celebration arrived.
After Lefonya sent her RSVP confirming attendance, the Villemon Duchy had dispatched invitations far and wide across high society. Perhaps because it celebrated the succession of the youngest Duke in imperial history, the invited nobles packed the venue without a single absence.
"I thought the Villemon Duchy always kept their succession celebrations modest and within the family. This time seems quite different."
"It is the succession of the youngest duke in history, after all. Perhaps that warrants the exception."
"I heard that, ahem, the new young lady will be attending today as well."
"House Craitan's? Yes, I heard. From what I gather, Duke Villemon sent the very first invitation exclusively to the Craitan young lady."
"Were Duke Villemon and the Craitan young lady close in age?"
"Presumably. But did House Craitan truly locate their lost daughter?"
"They say she's adopted. The child is five years old, while the real daughter passed away over a decade ago. The ages don't align in the slightest."
"My goodness. He should have simply sponsored an orphan until his grief eased. It seems he still clings to lingering attachments for the real daughter who died."
"A stroke of pure luck for the fake who got adopted, then."
"Still, by all accounts, the second young master dotes on her terribly."
"Haha! Surely that's just an empty rumor? Is there anyone here unfamiliar with the second young master's temperament? He is hardly the type of man to tolerate such a farce."
"Quite true. Duke Craitan might adopt a child out of longing for his departed daughter, but the second young master would never stand for it."
The nobles gossiped behind fluttering fans, their lips curled in amused smiles. The prospect of witnessing the youngest Duke's succession was exciting enough, but the chance to lay eyes on the rumored young lady sent their anticipation soaring even higher.
Just then, the gatekeeper's booming voice rang out across the ballroom.
"His Grace, Duke Craitan! The Young Master, Felence Craitan! The Young Lady, Lefonya Craitan, entering!"
Every head turned with eager excitement. The grand double doors swung wide, and three figures stepped into the hall.
"Whoaaa!"
And a tiny, pattering, utterly adorable gasp filled the grand hall.