Chapter 10 - Misunderstanding (5)

After the golems had been dealt with, they returned to the carriage and began preparing to camp. Unable to contain his curiosity, Evan asked, "Have you been hiding your strength?"

"Of course not."

"... Then that really was a second-tier spell?"

"Yes."

Evan looked as though he could hardly believe Alon's answer.

"I see."

Their conversations thus far had taught him that further questions would get him nowhere. With a weary sigh, he nodded in acknowledgment and resumed preparing their camp.

Watching him, Alon felt a little wronged, though his face remained expressionless. After all, he had no idea why the spell he had just cast had turned out that way either.

'... I knew imposing Constraint would make me stronger, to a degree.'

Combat in the Psychedelia Alon had played was turn-based, not real-time. In the game, hand seals and phrases increased spell damage at the cost of turns.

Forming a hand seal suited to a spell's element strengthened the spell itself. Choosing the appropriate phrase from the hundreds of options that appeared for each spell within the time limit strengthened its properties.

For instance, he had used four phrases for the spell he had just cast, which Psychedelia called Chain Lightning: Refraction, Repulsion, Blue Light, and Linear Diffraction.

Those four phrases and the hand seal had strengthened Chain Lightning. On top of that, he had strengthened his magic further by imposing a personal constraint that required him to use hand seals and phrases whenever he cast a spell.

In other words, Alon had expected his spell to be more than twice as powerful as usual.

'But I don't think it was supposed to be this strong.'

In Psychedelia, forming a hand seal and reciting each phrase cost one turn apiece. By the game's standards, the spell Alon had just cast had taken five turns to prepare.

'... Even accounting for that, should it have been enough to overkill the golems...?'

After pondering it, Alon shrugged. Whatever the explanation, this trip had gone as he had hoped, and magic more powerful than expected was something to be happy about.

No, it went beyond happiness. His head was now filled with curiosity.

'Honestly, I'd love to experiment.'

The hand seal and phrases Alon had recited were a combination he had put together to easily clear large waves of enemies when building Psychedelia's protagonist as a mage commonly called a "glass cannon." They were used only for large-scale lightning magic.

Besides the phrases and hand seal he had used today, he still remembered more than ten more perfectly.

Above all, what had stirred his curiosity was the way his spell had visibly changed every time he uttered a phrase.

'In the game, choosing the right phrase just increased damage by ten percent each time. Here, it's different.'

An ordinary mage might not have noticed. But Alon, who had cast the spell himself and possessed an exceptional talent for controlling mana, had observed its properties visibly changing with every added phrase.

It wasn't merely an increase in power. The properties of the mana itself changed with each individual phrase.

And so he decided:

'I'll have to run some experiments once my mana recovers.'

Despite his expressionless exterior, Alon was in high spirits as he closed his eyes inside the carriage.

At that same moment, a girl appeared where Alon had cast his spell, leaving nothing but piles of rubble that could no longer become golems.

Her deep green eyes gleamed.

"..."

The girl—no, the one who might someday have been called Rine of Greed—silently walked past the ruined golems and looked at the doorway Alon had entered earlier.

It was cracked and worn, but the carvings around its edges clearly marked it as something artificial rather than natural.

Rine knew, however, that the carvings around this doorway were not meaningless decorations. Born with a great mission and the Ancient Library, which she could consult whenever she wished, she could recognize what was written along those edges.

'The script of the Allanef Empire, from the forgotten age of the Outer Gods.'

Recognizing it, Rine began to read the letters along the frame.

[From Palaon the coward, for the dear friend who will be left alone.]

"... Ha."

Reading the inscription, Rine let out an involuntary, incredulous laugh. She knew there was only one person whose name was written as "Palaon" in the ancient tongue.

Palaon the Great.

The noble, beloved, great, and radiant emperor who had repeatedly repelled invasions by the "black things" during the age of the Outer Gods, and defeated "Al-Akulakka," the being whose mere sight compelled his subjects to offer up their hearts.

She laughed because she knew that, in the ancient tongue, Palaon could refer to him alone.

At the same time, Alon's voice echoed in her head.

["A fellow called Palaon made it."]

She recalled the Great Moon silently gazing at the edges of the outer wall, his face expressionless yet somehow heavy with emotion. A possibility unsettled her thoughts.

Denial and acceptance clashed within her mind, the balance gradually tipping toward denial.

But then she remembered the magic Alon had displayed moments earlier, after emerging from the labyrinth.

"..."

His spell had seemed nothing particularly extraordinary. The phrases he had murmured, however, were different.

The phrases whispered by the Great Moon were unmistakably absent even from the Ancient Library.

That recollection set the balance swaying again, bringing it level.

'... I knew he was no ordinary person, since the Bloodia Queen, whom I'd only ever seen in history, follows him.'

Finally, her thoughts reached the identity of the Red Moon who led the Blue Moon, and the balance within her settled upon her hypothesis as truth.

The Great Moon was the dear friend to whom Palaon had shown such respect and reverence that he had humbled himself.

The instant she reached that conclusion, goosebumps rose all over her body, and she looked toward Alon's location.

Until now, she had acted with no particular feeling, simply following the Red Moon's orders. A clear light of reverence was beginning to fill her eyes when—

"You're back."

Sensing a discreet presence, Rine turned her gaze slightly. Deus had appeared there unnoticed, and he nodded, his violet eyes glowing faintly.

"Yes."

"Did you get the information?"

She recalled how, a week earlier, Deus had pursued the black-clad figure who had stopped watching Alon and departed. At her question, he shook his head.

"No. I didn't get any information."

"... Why not?"

At Rine's bewildered question, Deus began explaining what had happened when he followed the black-clad figure.

Then she asked, "The black-clad figure died while you were following... ?"

"Yes. With nothing there at all, the figure's neck twisted through two full turns. Death was immediate. And I hadn't sensed a thing."

Rine fell silent for a moment at his account.

"I think... we'll have to report this."

"I agree."

After those murmured words, they exchanged a few more remarks and vanished from the spot.

At last, no one remained there—only lonely moonlight.

####

Two months after Alon acquired Constraint in the Labyrinth of Whispers, Altia was going through a period of tremendous turmoil.

There were three reasons for this. First, Kig, the ducal house's second son, and Pairinne, its second daughter, had suddenly died.

Second, the Duke of Altia, who had been wasting away with illness and had been told he had little time left, had finally passed away.

Third, as though timed to the duke's death, the eldest son, Timalian, had died the following day along with the eldest daughter, Malianne.

They had stabbed each other to death.

With the sons and daughters who would have carried on the ducal line vanishing practically overnight, Loria had become the house's sole heir.

Much as had happened to Count Pallatio not long ago.

"..."

In only two months, Loria had found herself sitting in the ducal office she had thought forever beyond her reach. She quietly held her breath.

Rumors about Loria had already begun circulating within the house. Ironically, despite their quiet spread, she had suffered no repercussions whatsoever.

Her alibi was simply too clear.

When the second daughter and second son died, she had only just been returning from the ball. The eldest daughter and eldest son had killed each other.

She had not even met with them recently. Above all, she had escaped suspicion because her own organization had already been smashed while she was away at the ball.

Yes. By the time she returned from the ball, her damned family had already stripped her of all her power.

As a result, despite the rumors spreading by word of mouth, none of the official investigations regarded her with suspicion.

Such clean, flawless work.

["Good things will come your way."]

Once again, Loria recalled that voice. The words he had murmured so casually had been followed by events that were anything but casual.

She was already certain he was responsible for what had happened. Everything was so obviously contrived that anyone who dismissed it all as coincidence could only be called intellectually impaired.

'... What does he want?'

Loria recalled her conversation with Alon. Outwardly, he had rejected her request, yet he had handled the matter more decisively than anyone could have. Even so, a month had passed since the deaths of all the other heirs, and he had made no contact whatsoever.

Not even now, after she had absorbed all the leaderless organizations with minimal losses.

'Pure goodwill?'

Loria smiled at the fleeting thought. Even to her, it was absurd nonsense.

After thinking for a long time, she finally reached a conclusion.

Alon was drawing some larger picture.

Of course, Loria did not know what that picture was. But she had a vague understanding of one thing.

'He needs House Altia for it.'

Someone who could command an agent capable of killing members of a ducal house so naturally and without a trace would ultimately want something he did not possess.

In Loria's estimation, that was most likely House Altia's formidable prestige.

'And what he could do with that prestige... '

Having thought that far, Loria pressed her lips tightly together.

Only then did she realize what an outrageous devil she had made a pact with.

"..."

At that realization, Loria gave an incredulous laugh, but clenched her fists. She knew that, having already made the pact, she could not turn back. The four preceding examples had taught her all too well what would happen if she violated it.

Without so much as considering betrayal, she decided to focus on what she needed to do.

'Still, I should thank him.'

For the first time, a smile she herself did not notice formed on her previously expressionless lips.

A week later, a bottle of wine and a card arrived at Alon's office in the count's manor.

The wine came from Sernance, a territory of the empire where only three bottles were produced each year. A single bottle was said to fetch several thousand gold.

* * *

With respect.

* * *

"???"

Alon looked bewildered as he read the accompanying card.

.

.

.

Another two months later.

"So, you're saying Loria, House Altia's third daughter, has become the Duchess of Altia?"

"Yes."

"Loria Altia?"

"That's right..."

"???"

"Is something wrong, young master?"

Alon realized that something was taking a strange turn.