Chapter 217 - Damn Reincarnation

Signature

Senya’s mansion, in the magical kingdom of Aroth.

This mansion, where Senya the Wise had actually lived centuries ago, was treated as a holy site by countless mages, both those living in Aroth and those visiting it. It was open to tourists for twelve hours, from noon to midnight. It remained closed through the early morning hours.

But even among Aroth’s many tourist attractions, this mansion overflowed with visitors every day. Waiting half a day was no guarantee of getting inside. That was why young mages visiting the mansion would begin queuing outside in the early hours of the previous day.

It was no different now. Through the window, the broad plaza outside the front gate was packed with the heads of mages.

“Was that girl Senya really this big a deal?”

The grumbling voice belonged to Anise. She shook her head and closed the curtains she had drawn slightly aside.

“No matter how I look at it, posterity’s opinion of Senya is as inflated as the foam on a beer.”

“... It’s not inflated. Lady Senya is a great woman who deserves this much respect. The circle magic formula she created is said to have advanced the study of magic by five hundred years.”

“Miss Familiar, I cannot hear you when you mumble like that. If you have something to say to me, speak louder. And look me straight in the eye.”

Anise tilted her head and looked down at Mer. Those cold blue eyes made Mer’s shoulders flinch.

Mer twisted her legs and fidgeted with her fingers for no reason... then lowered her head even further. Anise snorted at the sight and perched on the windowsill.

“Surely you are not upset because you feel I have insulted the mother who gave birth to you? I understand that Senya is your mother, but long before that, she and I were very close friends.”

“... Lady Senya isn’t... my mother....”

“If she gave birth to you, what else would you call her? In any case, what I think of my friend is my own business, so spare me your petty objections.”

“Ugh....”

Mer said nothing more and merely stuck out her lower lip.

Inflated. Anise did not truly believe that herself. She had only said it because she found it amusing that the mages waiting outside even at this late hour before dawn held such blind reverence for the headstrong Senya she remembered so clearly.

Of course, Anise was respected in Yuras as well. But unlike Senya, she had left no teachings for future generations. Faith was the most important element of divine magic in the first place, making it difficult to leave behind teachings as one could with magic. All Anise could do was write a few lines of scripture for posterity.

Naturally, Anise had not enjoyed composing passages for scripture. The Pope and cardinals of the time had begged her until she wrote a few lines, but they were nothing more than vague, lofty words devoid of meaning or sincerity. The words Anise had written with true feeling and honesty filled not the scriptures, but a fairy tale....

“This is my first time here... yet I feel nostalgic, as though I visited many times long ago.”

“Nostalgic?”

“Yes. Senya was busy researching magic, and I was busy drinking.”

“... Drinking....”

“I am joking. Though it is not entirely untrue. In any case, I was under all manner of surveillance then, and I had to serve as a symbol of peace and Light in the postwar era, so leaving Yuras was difficult. That meant I rarely met Senya in person. Most of our conversations took place through magic.”

The distance between Aroth and Yuras was immense. The war had only just ended, and an awkward peace was seeping into that chaotic age. These days, nations and cities had warp gates, but no such gates had existed then. That made meeting each other all the harder.

So Senya had given Anise a crystal ball that she had personally enchanted. Its flaw was its enormous mana consumption, but that drawback meant nothing to Senya and Anise.

They spoke often, though not every day. Idle chatter and complaints. Things they had not shared—could not have shared—while the five of them wandered the demon lands together.

[“Hamel really is a fucking idiot.”]

Once, Senya had contacted her while drunk. There had been no need to ask what was wrong. Her face was flushed with alcohol, yet she kept gulping down more....

In hindsight, it was rather unsettling, but Senya had sobbed her heart out while rubbing the necklace containing Hamel’s sealed soul against her cheek.

From then on, they had spoken often about their sole fallen companion. Hamel had no family and no descendants. People remembered him for now, but they would surely forget him someday.

Anise and Senya hated that thought. They had failed. They had vowed to kill every Demon King, but had not done so. Senya and Anise knew all too well that their present peace had been won through the Demon King of Incarceration’s whim and mercy.

The world hailed the four who returned from the Demon King of Incarceration’s castle as heroes. People asked what they had experienced in the demon lands, what trials and hardships they had overcome to ascend his castle—and save the world.

They had never properly answered those questions. The world praised their journey and its conclusion as a glorious feat, but to them, that journey and its conclusion had been a shameful failure.

[“... I don’t want to write an autobiography. It would feel like boasting and dressing everything up. I don’t want to leave an account of my failure for posterity, either. What about you, Anise?”]

[“They are preparing a new edition of the Scripture of Light. Apparently, they want to include my life story as the Gospel of Anise. Along with a generous helping of wise words for future generations.”]

[“Did you agree?”]

[“Are you insane? They even knelt before me and begged, so I splashed beer on them and slapped them across the face.”]

In the course of those conversations...

[“... What about a fairy tale? We could quietly release it without saying who wrote it. Tell them what hell we went through in Helmuth.”]

[“For Hamel?”]

[“... Well... he’s already dead, but... if we keep our mouths shut, no one will even know how he died. I... don’t want Hamel to be forgotten.”]

From then on, Senya had begun writing a fairy tale as a hobby, confidently asking Anise to review it. Naturally, Anise had not merely read it; she had added whatever she pleased. Then Senya had received the manuscript back, read it, and added more....

At first, the purpose had certainly been to keep Hamel from being forgotten, and to give the world a somewhat softened account of what the Hero and his companions had experienced in the demon lands. But...

Somewhere along the way, far too many personal indulgences and digressions had crept in.

‘Thanks to that, he is still remembered as Hamel the Stupid three hundred years later. Surely that means it worked out in the end?’

With that thought, Anise turned her head.

A familiar scene. Senya’s room, which she had seen through the crystal ball centuries ago. Senya would keep the connection open late into the night while researching magic or writing the fairy tale.

In the place where Senya had sat back then, Eugene now sat with Akasha resting against his shoulder, deep in thought.

He had left the Lionheart main estate and come to Aroth to ask Lovellian and the other tower masters for advice about his signature.

A signature was magic that could be called the hallmark of an archmage who had reached the Eighth Circle. An original creation of the archmage’s own. The realization of the magic they had studied and pursued throughout their life. A signature was great magic its creator could take pride in. It was not used lightly, but when it was used, it had to produce a phenomenon worthy of it.

In the present era, the threshold for being considered an archmage was the Eighth Circle, which Eugene had yet to reach. But his Ring Flame Formula, inspired by the Eternal Hole in Witch Craft, allowed him to cast magic one circle above his own level.

And then there was Akasha. With that extravagant staff, made using an entire dragon heart, and Mer’s assistance, he could now cast spells up to the Seventh Circle without any strain.

‘Eighth-Circle magic is still beyond me, though.’

To begin with, Eighth-Circle magic had never been clearly codified. Mages who attained that lofty realm preferred inventing magic that suited them and brought them pleasure over performing established spells. That was why Eugene could not cast Eighth-Circle magic, even with the Ring Flame Formula and Akasha.

The reason was simple. It was impossible to use Eighth-Circle magic without reaching that level. However well Akasha allowed him to understand it, the circles within his body could not produce the magic.

“... Hmmmmm....”

He let out what must have been his umpteenth groan.

Not long after Eugene overcame the Darkroom, a letter had arrived from Lovellian, the Red Tower Master in Aroth. It had been a letter asking how he was doing, and Eugene had replied that he had reached the sixth star of the White Flame Formula.

Another letter had arrived a few days later. It began with congratulations on his astonishing achievement, then asked whether he could visit Aroth to work on creating his signature if he had the time.

When he mentioned Aroth, Anise had been even more delighted than Mer. Her reason was that she wanted to visit Senya’s mansion. That was hardly a difficult request for Eugene to fulfill. He was Senya the Wise’s successor, officially recognized by Aroth’s royal family. A single word had been enough to secure entry during the early hours when the mansion was closed.

While Kristina and Mer toured the empty mansion, lost in memories, Eugene sat in a chair and pondered his signature.

‘... A signature, huh....’

Almost all the magic Eugene had used so far was magic he had learned in Akron. He had never created a spell himself, and he did not believe he possessed the instinct or talent for it.

Why had he learned magic so quickly? Because he had an innate aptitude for sensing, controlling, and manipulating mana. That talent made learning established spells easy... but he could scarcely imagine how to create magic that had never existed before.

‘But that doesn’t mean I can give up.’

If he had lacked talent for magic, or had never learned it, he would not even have entertained the ambition. But he had already reached the level just below an archmage, and that made it impossible to give up on a signature. Naturally, it was not the prestige of being called an archmage he wanted.

A signature’s uniqueness and capacity to surprise. Those were what Eugene focused on. As he had told Vermouth’s projection, he still wanted to kill every Demon King.

The Demon King of Incarceration.

He had to climb to the summit of that bastard’s castle, Babel, and enter his throne room. As Vermouth had warned, the Demon King of Incarceration would not sit idly by and watch Eugene ascend Babel.

‘The biggest obstacle to climbing Babel will be that bastard, Incarceration’s Sword.’

In his past life, Hamel had been weaker than Incarceration’s Sword. That was an undeniable fact. If he could create a decent signature, it might become his wild card in that fight. No, it was not as though Incarceration’s Sword was the only opponent he could use it against.

‘Raizakia. It could come in handy when I hunt down that fucking lizard.’

He set the chair he had been leaning back in upright.

According to Mer, Senya had laid the foundations for Witch Craft and Eternal Hole here in this mansion, sitting at this very desk in this very chair.

... He had seldom put stock in superstition, but he had thought that sitting here and thinking deeply might spark something in his mind....

“... Hey, Anise.”

“What is it?”

Eugene shook his head, aching from concentrating too hard. Anise looked at him from the nearby windowsill.

“That portrait of Senya over there. Doesn’t she look a little irritating?”

A large portrait of Senya hung on the opposite wall. It depicted her wearing an uncharacteristically benevolent smile. Perhaps because he was so thoroughly stuck on the matter of his signature, Eugene found that smile intensely annoying.

“Senya has always had an irritating face.”

“Sure, but smiling like that makes her look even more obnoxious.”

Grumbling, Eugene got out of the chair. Anise and Mer had finished looking around the mansion, so there was no reason to stay any longer.

Before leaving the room, he glanced at the portrait on the wall. He had thought it many times before, but that smile looked utterly awkward. Senya had probably intended it to be benevolent, yet Eugene sensed an uncharacteristic sadness and emptiness in it.

Looking at it upset him. It reminded him of Senya’s face as she had shed tears and begged him not to die when he was dying as Hamel. It also resembled her face inside the World Tree, crying and apologizing when she had done nothing to be sorry for.

“... Next time.”

Murmuring softly, Eugene put Akasha inside his cloak. He did not know when it would be, but next time, he wanted to come to this mansion with Senya, freed from her seal.

He wanted to stand her in front of it, point to that portrait, and tease her about her foolish smile.

“Where are we going now?”

“The Red Tower. There’s no reason for you to come along, so you could find somewhere else to stay....”

“Is there any reason we must stay separately? Surely Aroth’s magic towers are not so inhospitable that they cannot spare a single room for an outsider?”

“They’d give you one if I asked, but....”

They had left the mansion and were walking through the nighttime streets. Eugene stopped grumbling and looked ahead.

Pentagon, the capital of the magical kingdom of Aroth. Its nighttime scenery was so beautiful that its streets were tourist attractions in their own right, but at this late hour before dawn, only the pale streetlamps remained lit.

Beneath one of them stood a woman wearing an enormous coat that nearly touched the ground. A butterfly-shaped mask covered her eyes, and another mask covered her mouth, making her look suspicious in the extreme. Eugene stood still, staring at her. Mer, who had remained beside him rather than entering his cloak, tugged on his sleeve.

“What on earth is she doing over there?”

“Pretend we don’t know her.”

Eugene immediately turned around. The Red Tower lay in the direction where the woman stood, but he thought taking an inconvenient detour was better than being caught by that half-crazed woman.

“Why are you ignoring me?!”

The woman was the White Tower Master, Melkith El-Hayah. She ran out from beneath the streetlamp with a shrill shout.

“Listen, Lionheart boy. Of course I knew you wouldn’t be surprised. You’re so sharp that you’d recognize me no matter what disguise I wore. But isn’t ignoring me a little cruel?”

“Then how exactly did you want me to react?”

“‘White Tower Master, what on earth are you doing there?’ Couldn’t you at least have asked that? Then I could have laughed cheerfully, taken off my mask, and told the joke I’d prepared.”

Melkith lifted her butterfly mask a little and cast sidelong glances at Eugene. She had not yet lowered the mask over her mouth.

“... Aren’t you curious what joke I prepared?”

“Not at all.”

“Can’t you just say you are?”

“No.”

Eugene strode on without looking at Melkith. His cold response made her seethe, but she refused to give up and even used magic to block his path.

“Am I pretty?”

Melkith tilted her head to one side and lowered her mask. Her mouth was slit open on both sides—no, it only looked that way. The drawing was pointlessly realistic.

Neither Eugene nor Mer nor Anise reacted to Melkith’s face.

The late hour before dawn, the pale streetlamp. Bored with waiting quietly, she had prepared a joke to match the eerie mood of the autumn night, but... Melkith stood still for a moment, then erased the drawings on her cheeks with a light wave of her finger.

“I am Melkith El-Hayah, master of the White Tower.”

Her expression changed as though nothing had happened. Wearing a confident smile, Melkith extended a hand toward Kristina.

“I’ve heard a great deal about Yuras’s candidate for sainthood. A pleasure to meet you.”

Anise was the one controlling Kristina’s body at present. She stared at Melkith without the slightest trace of a smile.

Anise had no desire to understand the joke Melkith had just attempted. But the woman’s considerable beauty, and the familiarity with which she approached Eugene and tried to joke with him, did make Anise a little wary.

“A pleasure to meet you as well.”

Being wary did not mean she would immediately show it. Anise was not so shallow as that. A bright smile bloomed on her expressionless face as she returned Melkith’s greeting.

“... Why are you here? I doubt you’re out for a nighttime stroll dressed like that.”

“Why ask the obvious? I was waiting for you.”

“I’m asking why you were waiting for me.”

“I heard from the Red Tower Master. You’re going to make a signature, aren’t you?”

Melkith chuckled smugly and leaned toward Eugene.

“A signature isn’t something you can make the moment you decide to, is it? So, you, see. Your big sister Melkith, archmage and great spirit mage, is going to help—”

“No need.”

“That was awfully firm, child.... What’s so bad about accepting an adult’s help?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You’d never offer to help for nothing, Lady Melkith. What do you want from me this time?”

“What kind of person do you take me for? I simply want to help you out of the goodness of my heart.”

“Liar. You’re going to use helping me as an excuse to ask for something later, aren’t you? You already come and go from the main family’s forest all the time under the pretext of teaching the elves magic. What else do you want?”

Eugene narrowed his eyes at Melkith.

“I’m telling you, that’s not it! I just want to help. Do you think I only ever want things from you? As someone far senior to you, I want to help a younger mage!”

“There’s no way....”

“If I admit to a tiny selfish motive, I suppose part of me does want to put my own stamp on your signature. That way I can bask in a little of your reflected glory later, can’t I? As the kind senior mage who helped create the signature of the archmage Eugene Lionheart.”

Melkith grinned and nudged Eugene with her elbow. Her personality and behavior were strange, but she was not a bad person at heart.... That was what Eugene thought.

[“Her behavior is not merely strange. She is insane. Whatever her aptitude as a spirit summoner, Melkith El-Hayah is a disgrace to spirit summoners.”]

Tempest growled inside his head.