Chapter 47: Indispensable Memories
Those few days' memories were indispensable whenever the man named Marhal came up in conversation. Memories of the days when Marhal met his brother's fiancée, the Demon King, and the second princess of the Muet Empire. Memories all the more heartbreaking because they had been so happy.
Rattle-clunk.
The carriage shook. Marhal, who had dozed off inside, woke up. He'd fallen asleep in that short time. It was dawn. The time when the world began to brighten. Marhal was heading to Azenman's mansion after receiving his urgent summons.
'He said something about attending Count Lugen's party.'
If luck was on their side, they might encounter the target ahead of schedule. But given how hastily he'd returned, things probably hadn't gone smoothly.
'Doesn't feel good.'
He'd had a good dream. That's why it felt ominous. He wouldn't have paid it any mind if it had been any other dream. But of all things, it had to be that one.
The days from the second princess of the Muet Empire's arrival at the Bachea Empire's palace up until the engagement ceremony. Memories of the calamity lurking behind the happiness, right on the verge of baring its fangs.
Marhal, the second son, was more than ten years younger than his eldest brother. It had been so extreme that before Marhal was born, some had even whispered doubts about the emperor's virility. If the eldest hadn't shown such exceptional talent, the throne itself might have been shaken. All those issues resolved the moment Marhal was born.
In any case, thanks to the more-than-ten-year age gap, Marhal had a good relationship with his brother. He'd grown up showered only in affection. Records suggested the Bachea imperial family had often been rife with vicious intrigue, but that wasn't the case in Marhal's generation. With the next emperor so firmly established, there was no room for trouble.
Then came the political marriage between the Bachea Empire and the Muet Empire. It had been arranged in utmost secrecy behind the scenes. A union linking the eastern and western halves of the continent—the two empires that divided the world. For their enemies, it was something that had to be stopped; for the two empires, something that had to succeed.
The Muet Empire's second princess came to the Bachea Empire. Soila Muesilrigo, the second princess, was a woman born to be loved by all creation. Even the clannish palace denizens accepted her after just a few words of conversation. Marhal was no exception. Beloved by all things, she could even win the hearts of demons. That must have been the quality that made her the Demon King.
For Marhal, who had only his brother for family, Soila was like an older sister. Once she and his brother married, they'd truly be family, so it wasn't wrong to call her that. The three of them shared tea. He and his brother read books together. He'd even napped with his head in Soila's lap. She was always kind. Marhal had sincerely thought it would be wonderful to have her as family.
And then everything perished. Home, family, smiles, happiness—all vanished into a black fog where not even the path ahead was visible.
Thud.
The carriage halted with a small jolt. Hugo opened the door.
"We've arrived."
"Good work. You okay?"
"Warmed up just right."
Hugo, who had taken down dozens with nothing but his fists in the most brutish way possible—taking hits and dishing them out—was brimming with more energy than usual. By nature, he enjoyed destruction, and he had decent talent for it, but he was far better suited to managing and growing established businesses. It was his misfortune that his nature and talents pulled in opposite directions.
Marhal entered Azenman's mansion through the back door. He'd made a show of it last time because there was something to receive; this way was more familiar to him than the front gate. Passing through the trap-filled garden and into the mansion, a butler awaited him. This one clearly wasn't ordinary either. Not a knight type, but Marhal could believe he was a survivor from some assassin group wiped out by demons.
"His Excellency awaits."
"Lead on."
The butler didn't head to Azenman's office but to the mansion's basement. The secret escape passage on the first underground level, and in its center, a small room. Inside was a small orb emitting light that illuminated the entire space.
A light-emitting relic. Relatively easy to make, so one of the more common artifacts in daily life.
Marhal looked at Azenman with a slightly bewildered expression.
"I expected the secret passage, but what's with this room? A bolt-hole if negotiations go south?"
"Exactly that purpose."
"...Wow. I should take notes. So, what's so important you drag me into a disposable room like this?"
Digging the earth, erecting walls. Even paving the floor with stone. Astronomical costs in materials and secrecy alone. And yet this space was single-use. If someone entered, they'd seen the entrance, and from the direction of the passage, they could guess the exit. No point in a compromised secret passage.
Marhal was curious. This must have been one of Azenman's trump cards. Was one meeting worth that expense? No. But he'd summoned Marhal here anyway. Stingy, petty, and grudge-holding as he was, Azenman wasn't stupid. He'd clawed his way to a position where he manipulated an entire nation with that twisted personality.
"Do you believe in future-sight magic?"
"It could exist."
"Answering without hesitation makes me feel like the fool for asking. You know a mage who can do it?"
"If I did, I'd snag them by any means necessary. Magic's an unnatural phenomenon from the start. So any kind of magic wouldn't be surprising, right? Why? Did you have a future-seer over there?"
"Yes."
Marhal, who fielded any question without flinching, fell silent. Future-sight magic—that was something even he couldn't brush off lightly.
People judge things by their own standards. Marhal thought of the greatest mage he knew: Mar Silanatiell. Could even that woman see the future?
'Doubt she couldn't.'
Her daily life was barely tolerable with eyes open, but within magic, she was near-omnipotent. If future-sight magic existed, she'd see the actual future. But there'd be a price.
Like all mysteries, magic drew power from "accumulated history." To see the future, one needed to accumulate something commensurate.
"Chance the info leaked? Could be blackmail."
"You think I'd make that basic a mistake?"
"Fair point."
Azenman had sharp instincts. A clumsy probe would have been sniffed out as a lie immediately.
"Impressive. A future-seer exists. If you're canceling the plan, one messenger at dawn would've sufficed. Since you didn't, it means we push forward with the exposed plan."
"Where the hell did you crawl out from, and what were you doing?"
Azenman sounded genuinely exasperated. Normally, people would be terrified at news of a future-seer. Yet Marhal calmly spoke of proceeding.
"Mercenary who lost his home to demons. Best option's still to scrap it, though."
"Can't! He said not to cancel the plan."
"Specifically? Blackmail should have details."
"Left it to Yeonmae... Damn, so that's it. Can't do shit about unoccurred events."
Azenman clawed at his hair. The weight of "future-sight" had scared him into a third-rate reaction. The future was the future. No one knew if the sun would rise tomorrow morning. But ask a passerby, and all hundred would say it would. Only the asker would seem insane.
It had been the same before demons appeared. Say demons would swallow half the world in under a year, and everyone would call you mad. But demons came. Likewise, could anyone swear the sun would rise tomorrow? No. They just assumed it would because it always had—a simplistic view.
Considering every possibility, the sun might not rise. A carriage ambush was nothing compared to that. Right now, Azenman could scrap everything on his own whim. That would settle it.
"Cancel the plan. First, figure out how to fend off imperial pressure."
"You bailing then?"
"...Have you lost your mind? Future-seer confirmed it. Ambush is off. And you wanna raid anyway?"
"What if that's what they want?"
"We give it to 'em. If the raid's their goal? He said confirmed futures must be witnessed with your own eyes. Magic has prices. What if that's his? Scaring me to prevent changing a fixed future?"
Fear lifted, and his mind started turning. Azenman recalled every word from Night Dew, dissecting them. Brilliant mages imbued meaning in every phrase and gesture. Night Dew was exceptional. He wouldn't spout nonsense about his magic.
"We wash our hands clean here. Done. Price is just imperial meddling coming a bit sooner."
"So you're out?"
"You going? For real? You got no men."
Marhal's forces weren't involved this time. Azenman relied on him for on-site command. Marhal going was ideal, but Azenman was a coward. He crumbled under real combat pressure, unable to make efficient calls. Marhal didn't.
The stormy night the first land race began. He'd swept away private soldiers like it was nothing. Marhal shone in the field. Azenman provided troops; Marhal commanded. Their unspoken deal.
Too late to muster Marhal's men. If Azenman pulled out, even carriage escort became impossible.
"No plan's perfect. And 'witness with eyes'? Means they saw the ambush. At that point, our trap worked at least partially. Land a big hit with the trap first, then it's doable."
"Hmph. I'll close my eyes and mouth—you handle it."
"Will do."
As Marhal turned to leave the way he'd come, Azenman's mutter reached his ears.
"Damn... spent too quick. Shouldn't have called him here."
Terrified, he'd summoned Marhal here, and now had to scrap the passage as payment. Even if Marhal swore secrecy, Azenman wouldn't trust him. Silence kept it secret, but trust was absent.
Heading to the exit, Marhal ran into the butler descending.
Urgency radiated from the usually unflappable man.
"Something wrong?"
"Fire in the grain warehouse."
"Big one?"
"Three in the north."
Marhal would learn soon enough; no point hiding it.
"The big ones on the border, right?"
"Yes. Total loss expected."
"...That's serious."
The largest grain warehouses in the area—three burning to the ground. Disruptions to local rations inevitable. Best case, only starvation deaths. Money. Depositors, traders, managers' reputations—all plummeting.
Azenman would suffer most. Warehouse owner and grain trader.
Marhal exited the passage toward the back door. Urgent footsteps approached from behind.
'Here it comes.'
Only one way to quickly replace massive grain stores: overpay and sweep up nearby supplies. Azenman's sole shot at damage control. But scraping that cash wasn't easy. Pulling from businesses risked exposing links.
To reiterate, most of Azenman's ventures were illegal. Chains unraveling meant ruin.
One choice left: Safer than touching businesses—big money fast. Raid the imperial carriage.
'Magic too?'
As Azenman tried to abort the raid, reason to proceed appeared. If the mage orchestrated this...
"Troublesome."
Marhal turned. Azenman, panting with hands on knees, spoke.
"A-about earlier—scratch that! Raid proceeds as planned."
"You really got no pride or anything in the face of danger."
"Pride won't save my neck."
"As planned, we head out tomorrow midday?"
The full-scale carriage raid operation began.