The Mage of the Ashes (1)
"We've arrived, Professor."
Oscar, who had been gazing out at the same scenery as the driver, gave a nod. "Thank you for your trouble. Please take the carriage back to Shilin."
"I'm sorry—what? Then how will you get back, Professor?"
"I'll take a stagecoach."
There was no telling how long this work would take, and he couldn't keep the man stranded in a place this dangerous.
Having seen the driver off, Oscar turned his gaze toward the fortress ahead.
The Red Citadel.
Even in his past life, he'd heard so much about its grandeur that his ears practically ached from it. The final bastion guarding the Empire's border—and an undefeated legend that orcs had never once breached in all of history. The entire fortress was built from the red loess that could only be found in the Western Desert, and its sheer intimidation factor was no joke.
So that's where Lloyd is.
Swallowing hard, Oscar approached, but the soldiers made no move to stop him. Apparently, the results of the inspection he'd undergone earlier had been shared all around.
Once he passed through the citadel's entrance, the interior struck him as emptier than he'd expected. There were hardly any notable buildings. Instead, hundreds of barracks, large and small, were arranged with remarkable orderliness.
Just then, a young soldier approached and saluted. "At your service! Would you be Professor Oscar Crucian, visiting from the White Tower, sir?"
"That's correct."
"Thank you for confirming, sir! Then I'll escort you to the Commander!"
Impeccably drilled, the young man led the way with brisk, precise steps. As Oscar followed, he took stock of the soldiers sitting outside the barracks, watching him pass.
Definitely a lot of Red Tower mages here.
That said, it wasn't mages alone. War was never a game you could win with a single branch of arms.
...Interesting.
To the left of the central barracks stood only mages; to the right, only knights. Which meant factions existed within this fortress, plain as day.
Of all places—factions on an active battlefield.
He doubted Lloyd was unaware of the situation. It was obvious even to an outsider who'd been here less than five minutes. Which meant Lloyd was deliberately letting it be.
Though I can't imagine why.
He'd find out when they met.
When the guiding soldier walked past the massive central barracks, Oscar raised the question. "Aren't we going to meet Commander Lloyd?"
"Hm? We are, sir."
The soldier blinked after answering, then seemed to realize something and added an explanation. "Ah, the Commander is rarely at the citadel itself."
"...Pardon? What do you mean?"
"He has a spot he prefers, sir."
The soldier flashed a grin and started up the stairway along the fortress wall.
When they'd climbed all the way up, a lone man's back came into view atop the wide battlements. Long jet-black hair that should have reached his waist billowed in the desert wind. He was about Oscar's height, yet a peculiar pressure radiated off his lean frame.
"..."
But more than anything, what struck Oscar deepest was the loneliness in those shoulders—an indescribable desolation. The man simply stood there, hands clasped behind his back, gazing out at the horizon in silence.
"Commander! I've brought the guest from the White Tower, sir!"
"..."
When Lloyd said nothing, the soldier saluted and descended from the wall. A strange silence settled between the two men who remained.
What is this?
Normally, when a guest arrived, the one who summoned them would be the first to acknowledge them, wouldn't they? Something like how was the journey, or thanks for coming.
But Lloyd simply stared out at the arid desert for a long, long while.
"You're a patient one, I see."
Thirty minutes had passed, perhaps. Only then did Lloyd finally speak, turning his head slowly to look at him. "And you're perceptive, too."
"...!"
Oscar's eyes wavered faintly. His throat seized up instantly; even his lips refused to move. And small wonder—Lloyd's right eye was covered by a black patch.
"Your eye..."
"Ah, this?"
He rolled his remaining eye toward the patch, then murmured in an indifferent voice. "I lost it when I was young. Be glad I survived at all."
"..."
When, why, and how? The urge to ask burned in Oscar's chest. In truth, he had to fight down the words rising to the very tip of his tongue.
...Damn it all.
Because if that eye had been lost because of him, he had no idea what face he could possibly make.
"But it's no matter."
Turning his back once more, Lloyd went on, eyes on the horizon. "One eye is more than enough to keep watch on my enemies."
"..."
Oscar looked in the direction Lloyd was facing. Far off, orc armies moved busily about, so distant they appeared as mere specks. The orcish horde. They were gathered not far from here, seemingly preparing something.
"...To humanity, the demons are an enemy of ten years. But the orcs are an enemy of a thousand."
At Oscar's murmur, Lloyd glanced back at him. Then, with an expression of genuine surprise, he asked, "Have you been to the desert before?"
"No, sir. I know it from books."
Strictly speaking, it was something he'd heard from a comrade who had actually fought in a desert campaign.
He said wiping out the orcs was, in practice, impossible.
As far as Oscar knew, there had been no fewer than 153 wars between humans and orcs. Humans had won every single one of them—but those victories were only half victories.
Because the defeated orcs simply retreat into the desert.
And then, one day, they would breed up another monstrous multitude and reappear at that very spot. That was precisely why the orcs were called the enemy of a thousand years. Unless every last desert on the continent were erased from the earth, the war with them would never end.
"I called you here for two reasons."
Lloyd hadn't changed one bit from the old days—never one to beat around the bush. "One is to verify the efficacy of the White Tower's potions. And the other is..."
He drew something from within his coat. "To investigate this."
"...What is it?"
It was a gem he'd never seen before. A dark crimson jewel, beautiful, no larger than a fingernail. Having gauged Oscar's reaction, Lloyd tucked it back away and spoke. "Among certain circles, it is called the Philosopher's Stone."
"...The Philosopher's Stone?"
At that presumptuous name, Oscar's eyes narrowed. It was a concept so momentous it sat at the very root of alchemy itself—a stone said to grant infinite life and power, surviving only in legend.
"That's right. But the official term the Imperial Palace uses for it is the 'Seed of Corruption.' They just call it a Seed for short."
"A Seed...? A seed that grows what, exactly?"
"Demonic energy."
"...!"
Oscar's expression froze in an instant. It meant that this jewel was the very means by which one could become the 'demonfolk' that Black Finger had spoken of.
The question, then, was why it was in Lloyd's possession.
"Why do you have it? Don't tell me..."
"I don't know what foolish fantasy you're imagining, but I have nothing whatsoever to do with Black Finger."
He gave a light jerk of his chin toward the orcs. "I simply acquired a few of them while fighting those brutes."
"...From the orcs?"
"Yes. And that's precisely what's giving me a headache now."
If his words were true, then the possibility that the demons had allied themselves with the orcs couldn't be ruled out. No—even short of an alliance, they might well be using the orcs as their hands and feet.
Either way, it's bad news for the Empire.
If the already troublesome demons were cooperating with orcs on top of it, the list of things to worry about would only grow longer.
"We obtained these Seeds and conducted experiments on an orc we captured on the battlefield."
"...You mean you performed vivisection?"
"Yes. Is that a problem?"
Meeting Lloyd's dry gaze, Oscar found himself momentarily speechless. Of course it was a problem. Under imperial law, experiments on living subjects were strictly forbidden.
"Are you even aware that such acts violate imperial law?"
"I'm aware. But it was the efficient way to learn what this stone really is."
"Efficient or not..."
Oscar bit down hard on his lip. Was the man standing before him truly the same Lloyd who, once upon a time, hadn't been able to bring himself to pluck a single flower?
Blissfully ignorant of his feelings, Lloyd continued. "What we learned from the experiments is simple. An orc that consumes one of these loses its reason in exchange for abnormal strength. In terms of levels, a Level 3 orc could momentarily rise to Level 5 or 6."
"...So what is it you want from me?"
"I hear you're a genius of alchemy. They say you even survived an encounter with the Nightmare Baron."
"..."
Wasn't that information supposed to be under imperial control?
As if reading the thought, Lloyd went on. "No need to be startled. Information control is merely a procedure to keep things from leaking to civilians. Among the relevant parties, it's shared regardless. You head the White Tower's Special Affairs Department, don't you? You should have received the pertinent files."
"..."
The mountain of paperwork piled up in the Special Affairs office—that was what it was?
Since returning from Starlight Mountain, he'd been so preoccupied with worrying about Sasha that he hadn't managed to read through all of it.
"I haven't gotten that far yet, I'm afraid."
"Then I'd advise you to read those documents at least. They'll prove useful for what lies ahead. In any case—what I want is a precise analysis of this Seed's composition."
Oscar fell into brief thought. In other words, Lloyd needed his skill in alchemy.
But when this man sent for me, I was nothing more than a Level 3 mage...
Why summon him specifically, when he could have any number of distinguished alchemy professors instead? Oscar quickly arrived at two reasons.
One: I'm someone who knows of the demons and Black Finger—knows, with certainty, that they exist.
No matter how brilliant an alchemist might be, entrusting classified information to a total stranger for research wasn't an easy thing to do.
And two... his track record, of course.
Truthfully, the correct move here would have been to invite a high-level mage of the Blue Tower. That tower had any number of mages deeply versed in alchemy. But he'd summoned Oscar specifically because he didn't want to share the credit with the Blue Tower—one of the Four Great Towers that actually competed on achievements.
From the Red Tower's standpoint, the White Tower isn't even a competitor, so it was comparatively easy to call us in.
...Thinking of it that way, it stung a little.
Letting out a thin sigh, Oscar asked, "One question. Is this experiment authorized by the Imperial Palace?"
"Hm."
For the first time, Lloyd evaded the question. That reaction alone was as good as an answer.
Oscar's eyes narrowed to slits as he studied him. "...So much as the existence of the Seeds hasn't been reported to the palace yet. Am I correct?"
"When and how to report is the field commander's decision."
"This constitutes a serious crime of withholding information."
"It would be a crime—if the Imperial Palace found out."
"...!"
Oscar's eyes went wide. Perhaps it was deliberate, but in that single remark, Lloyd's intentions had been laid utterly bare.
"...If I refuse your request, you intend to kill me."
"I won't answer that. Only—this is a battlefield."
As if it were nothing at all, he murmured while gazing down at the desert. "A battlefield, where it would be the least strange thing in the world for a man to die in an unfortunate accident."
"..."
Oscar bit his lip hard. It was certain. Lloyd had changed beyond all recognition from the person he remembered—and gravely, irreversibly, for the worse.
"...I don't suppose I have a choice. I'll do it."
"A wise decision. I look forward to working with you."
For the first time, the corners of Lloyd's mouth curved upward into a smile. But his eyes, just as at the beginning, were not smiling at all.