Chapter 219 - Damn Reincarnation

Signature

For Eugene, these past few months had been a period of devotion to magic even more single-minded than when he first began studying it. He reread the Red Tower’s grimoires, which he had finished studying long ago, revisited every floor of Akron from the first to the highest, and cajoled and threatened Melkith into lending him even the White Tower’s rare grimoires.

With him so absorbed in his work, rumors naturally began to spread. In truth, they would have spread even if he had not been so dedicated. The name Eugene Lionheart was simply too famous.

Even setting aside his connection to the Lionhearts, Eugene was the master of Akasha and the successor to Senya the Wise. Now that he was already researching a signature and preparing to join the ranks of archmages, he was bound to become the eye of the storm in Aroth.

The first visitors came from Aroth’s royal family. Crown Prince Honein Abram, who had taken a liking to Eugene back when he was studying in Aroth, personally visited the Red Tower with Trempel Wizardor, commander of the court mage corps. Honein furnished him with several grimoires from the royal palace’s magical library, ostensibly as a loan.

Next came the Blue Tower Master, Hiridus Uzlen. Concerned that offering advice and instruction despite not belonging to the Red Tower might be discourteous, he first sought Lovellian’s permission before visiting Eugene. Like Trempel, Hiridus listened to Eugene’s plans for his signature and offered advice from an archmage’s perspective.

The Green Tower Master, Generic Osman, did not visit. Had he still not shaken off the humiliation and anger of losing his last duel with Eugene? From what Eugene heard, he had apparently shut himself away on the Green Tower’s highest floor ever since the day of the duel.

It hardly mattered. Eugene could not know what perspective the Green Tower Master might bring to his advice, but he had already consulted three tower masters and the commander of the court mage corps.

Besides, he had already seen the Green Tower Master’s signature, Yggdrasil, once. He had also used Akasha to understand its preceding spell, Divine Tree, and could cast it himself.

“Try to stay away from Merdein Square. And don’t go into any shops in town with green lettering or symbols.”

“Why?”

“Do you really not know? Merdein Square is the Green Tower’s front yard. Shops with green lettering or symbols on their signs sponsor the Green Tower. Naturally, they’re crawling with its mages.”

“What do I have to fear from them that I should go out of my way to avoid them?”

“I’m not saying this because I’m worried about you. I’m worried about the Green Tower mages who’ll pick a fight with you for no reason and get the shit beaten out of them. It’s already sad and pitiful enough that their tower master got beaten up and publicly humiliated. If they get beaten up too, they might be so upset they kill themselves.”

Eugene did not disregard the advice Melkith delivered with a disapproving click of her tongue. He had no reason to visit Merdein Square anyway, nor any of the city’s taverns, restaurants, or shops selling magical goods.

In that respect, having Kristina and Anise along made his life easier. Mer pestered him to visit popular restaurants in town whenever she had the chance, but by leaving her entirely in Kristina’s care, Eugene could devote himself to planning his signature in peace.

The Black Tower Master.

Balzac Ludbeth sent several letters to both the Red Tower and Eugene. They congratulated him on reaching the threshold of becoming an archmage and offered as much help as he needed should he require advice in planning his signature.

But Lovellian, the Red Tower Master, deeply detested black mages, and Eugene was not much different. The world might have changed greatly over three hundred years, along with the standing of black mages, but to Eugene, a black mage was still a black mage.

Granted, his recent trip to the Holy Empire had made him wonder whether the black mages of this age might actually be fairly decent people... and whether Aroth’s Black Tower, in particular, might be a remarkably humane and sensible magical research facility.

Still, a black mage was a black mage. The mere fact that Eugene did not curse them out to their faces or try to kill them on sight was proof of considerable restraint and of his having adapted to this age in his own way.

“You’ve finally made time for me.”

In the end, they met. It was Lovellian, not Eugene, who first gave in to Balzac’s fervent requests. He did not like Balzac, but he respected him. Though he detested black mages, he acknowledged that neither Balzac himself nor the Black Tower under his control caused any serious trouble.

A fellow tower master—an archmage certain to leave his name in the continent’s history—was sending letters every few days. Lovellian could no longer ignore him. He gently suggested that Eugene meet the Black Tower Master once, and Eugene accepted the suggestion with a show of reluctance.

“I was curious about the Black Tower, too.”

As he answered, Eugene looked up at the Black Tower.

Situated in an out-of-the-way part of the capital, Pentagon, the tower was as black as its name suggested, as though carved from obsidian. The square beneath it was full of black roses, lending the entire place a gloomy, dismal atmosphere.

“Those roses. Did you deliberately make them like that and plant them?”

“Yes.”

“Why would you do that? I don’t think they’re particularly pleasing to look at.”

“I planted them precisely so people would think that. Like me, the mages of the Black Tower are not viewed favorably by those around us. Rather than explain ourselves to people who look at us that way, we would prefer to be ignored altogether. I thought that filling the square with roses of such an ominous color might keep people away simply because they found them unpleasant... but...”

Balzac smiled and looked around.

The Black Tower’s square was packed with people. Most were couples enjoying dates. Flower gardens filled with many different colors were common enough, but a garden filled entirely with black roses was rare. As a result, the black square was bound to become famous as a dating spot for Aroth’s couples.

“I didn’t expect this outcome, but I don’t think it’s a bad one. Looking down at the garden of black roses from the tower is rather enjoyable.”

Had he really not expected it? Eugene glanced at Balzac’s smile, then looked up at the Black Tower again. Apart from its color, its shape was not much different from the Red Tower or the other towers.

“I don’t know what you’re expecting, but the Black Tower’s interior won’t be much different from the Red Tower’s. Naturally, there are no human corpses or anything of the sort.”

“According to the rumors, the land the Black Tower stands on used to be a cemetery. And even now, the tower’s basement is piled with unidentified corpses of people who died or went missing in the back alleys.”

“Aroth is a developed nation. Public safety is excellent, and magic is so thoroughly integrated into daily life that people rely on it for most things. How many unidentified corpses could possibly turn up in a country like this?”

“Doesn’t that offend you?”

“I’ve heard that misconception so often that it doesn’t bother me. If anything, your suspicions are so old-fashioned that I find them rather refreshing.”

Chuckling, Balzac opened the Black Tower’s door. Eugene sharpened his senses as he followed him inside, but there was none of the rotting-corpse smell he had expected. As Balzac had said, the interior of the Black Tower was not much different from the Red Tower’s.

“I acknowledge that necromancy is a representative form of black magic, but it is not all there is to black magic.”

Balzac knew Eugene was searching for the smell of corpses. Maintaining his relaxed smile, he led Eugene onward.

“Besides, I’m not particularly fond of necromancy. In the end, all it can do is raise dead bodies or summon and manipulate souls. Isn’t that rather predictable as magic goes?”

“So your dislike isn’t based on moral grounds.”

Eugene asked while staring at the back of Balzac’s head. Balzac fell silent briefly at the question, then nodded with a hearty laugh.

“Yes. To be honest, that’s right. I avoid necromancy simply because such predictable magic failed to captivate me as a mage. What drew me to black magic was... the ability to receive power from a Demon King, a being whose existence is certain, and accomplish things ordinary magic cannot. Just as with divine magic, relying on a Demon King allows one to perform magic akin to miracles.”

The Black Tower also had a magically powered elevator. Balzac entered first and pressed the button for the highest floor, with Eugene following a step behind.

“That said, I do not look down on necromancy. It simply isn’t to my taste; it is still remarkable magic. Amelia Merwin, for example, is a necromancer of formidable ability, and one of Incarceration’s Three Demons, just like me.”

Amelia Merwin.

The moment her name came up, Eugene’s lips twitched.

That name sat like a knot deep in the bottom of his heart. Amelia had trampled Hamel’s grave with her filthy feet and turned his corpse into a death knight.

Back then, Eugene had not been strong enough to kill Amelia. And now? Honestly, he could not be sure. The presence Amelia had displayed in that underground tomb had been so powerful that even Eugene had no choice but to remain cautiously on his guard.

“Who would win if you fought Amelia Merwin?”

The elevator reached the highest floor. Once again, Balzac got out first. He was leading Eugene down a corridor laid with black carpet when the unexpected question made him turn around.

“That’s a rather sudden question.”

“Isn’t it the kind of question everyone enjoys wondering about?”

“Perhaps, but they don’t generally ask the people involved directly.”

“Oh, come on. If someone asked me that, I’d be happy to give them an honest answer.”

“If that answer placed you above your opponent, I imagine you would. If we fought, I would lose to Amelia Merwin.”

With a wry smile, Balzac turned away again.

“You really would lose? You’re the Black Tower Master, an Eighth Circle archmage. Weren’t you a genius mage who had been chosen as the next Blue Tower Master before you became a black mage?”

“A genius mage. Do you think there has ever been a tower master who wasn’t called that? In the world of mages, the label ‘genius’ carries very little weight.”

The questions and conversation could easily have offended him. Perhaps he felt irritation and anger deep inside, but Balzac showed none of it.

“Amelia Merwin is a genius just as I am. And she and I are fundamentally different.”

“Different in what way?”

“Edmond Codret and I were originally mages, and each of us entered into a contract with the Demon King of Incarceration for our own purposes. Most—no, almost all—black mages are made that way. They begin as mages, then contract with demons because they doubt they can achieve greatness as mages... or turn to black magic in pursuit of a different magical path.”

Balzac’s office stood at the end of the black corridor on the Black Tower’s highest floor. Its door was plain black, without a trace of ornamentation. Balzac did not reach for it, but it opened of its own accord to welcome him and Eugene.

“When you told me you were going to the desert some time ago, I warned you about Amelia Merwin, didn’t I?”

[“She is special.”]

[“She was an outstanding black mage even before she contracted with the Demon King of Incarceration.”]

“Amelia Merwin. She, too, was originally a mage, but she is an anomaly who became a black mage on her own, without entering into a ‘contract.’ Do you understand what that means? Despite being human, Amelia Merwin came to understand demonic energy herself, refined it into magical power, and cast black magic without a contract.”

Of course Eugene understood. Demonic energy was an ominous power ordinarily reserved for demons and demonic beasts. For a human to wield it freely, a contract with a demon was essential.

But occasionally, a few humans—an exceedingly small number—managed to master demonic energy on their own. There had been a few such humans three hundred years ago, too.

Eugene knew very well what became of black mages transformed in that fashion. Such humans came to possess terrible, sinister destinies. They were human, yet committed inhuman acts; born human, they became fundamentally no different from demons.

“As far as I know, there is no one else in present-day Helmuth who mastered demonic energy independently and entered black magic as Amelia Merwin did. In other words, she and I differ in our capacity as black mages. That is why the Demon King of Incarceration treats her as someone special and grants her so much freedom.”

She had always been a formidable figure, but she was even more formidable than Eugene had thought. Hearing that actually calmed him. If Amelia Merwin was that powerful and special, there was no need to rush. He could simply prepare thoroughly and kill her once he was certain.

“Please don’t think of this as a shabby room. I’m not particularly fond of clutter or disorder.”

Balzac changed the subject naturally. As he had said, his office was so sparse that it hardly seemed like a tower master’s office.

No, rather than shabby, it was simply empty. A large desk and a chair. Sofas for receiving guests... There were none of the bookshelves common to such rooms, nor any mysterious magical tools.

“It’s nice and tidy.”

“Please, make yourself comfortable rather than standing. What would you like to drink?”

“Tea is fine. Any kind.”

At Eugene’s answer, Balzac flicked a finger. Something like a small doll rose from the shadow beneath a sofa.

A moment later, the shadow doll climbed onto the table, pulled a sizable teapot and teacups from inside its body, and began arranging them.

“It’s an ordinary familiar.”

“Don’t tell me it made the tea inside its body?”

“Of course not. All the shadows in the Black Tower are connected. When I place a request with the kitchen downstairs, food or drinks are sent through the shadows.”

Even after hearing the explanation, Eugene did not particularly want to drink tea that had emerged from a shadow’s body. He simply sat with the cup in front of him and stared steadily at Balzac.

“How is the planning for your signature coming along?”

Such an overt stare might have been uncomfortable, but Balzac asked at ease, holding his teacup by its handle.

“I’ve finished planning it. Now I’m building up the spell formulas.”

“Linking the foundational formulas won’t be easy, but that is actually the most enjoyable stage of designing a signature.”

Creating magic was like deciding on an answer first and then devising an equation. Whether one dismantled the formulas of other spells and fitted them together or built formulas from scratch, all that mattered was manifesting the predetermined answer as a phenomenon.

For magic on the level of a signature, that answer was bound to be an absurd, impossible fantasy. How it would manifest and what would happen had already been decided—but constructing formulas to satisfy the ‘why’ and ‘how’ of that magic’s manifestation was complex enough to make one’s head burst.

Still, as Balzac had said, this stage really was the most enjoyable. One built up all sorts of spell formulas and linked different spells together. Inevitably, the formulas became complicated and lengthy, but once they had taken some shape, the work of trimming them began. Unnecessary formulas were weeded out, and the whole was refined until the desired phenomenon would occur smoothly even without those parts.

“Asking about your signature’s form and formulas would be... overstepping, so I won’t. But could you at least tell me its name?”

“Its name...”

“Is something wrong?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

That was a lie. He had chosen one, but he felt awkward announcing the name before the spell was even finished. Besides, as was usually the case with this sort of process, compromises with reality would gradually alter the finished product.

Eugene had chosen the current name based on how he envisioned the spell manifesting when he first planned it. What if he compromised along the way? What if he decided it would not work and changed direction? Then the name would no longer fit. Wouldn’t announcing it beforehand make things terribly embarrassing later?

For that reason, he had not told Lovellian or Melkith either. He had unintentionally let Mer find out, however. The moment she heard the name, she clapped enthusiastically and said:

[“It’s better than Dragon Burst.”]

“... What is your signature called?”

“Blind.”

It sounded simple and good.

“Does it cover someone’s eyes?”

“Something like that, but I can’t tell you the details. If you tell me about the signature you’re planning, I’ll gladly explain what kind of magic Blind is.”

“My signature isn’t even finished yet, while your Blind is complete. Wouldn’t exchanging information put you at too much of a disadvantage?”

“It doesn’t matter. My signature is difficult to counter even if you know what it is. Though I suppose the same is true of every other archmage’s signature.”

Balzac spoke lightly, almost jokingly, but his words were steeped in an archmage’s pride. Eugene was curious about the signature in which Balzac displayed such confidence, but he did not want to reveal his own unfinished signature to someone contracted with the Demon King of Incarceration.

“First, take these.”

Balzac raised his hand. A shadow on the floor writhed and surged upward.

Eugene stared at the old notebooks and books placed on the desk. None were printed; they were all handwritten.

“What are these?”

“Research materials for the signature I was planning before I became a black mage, when I was being considered as the next master of the Blue Tower.”

He spoke as though it were nothing, but if his words were true, those old manuscripts were of astronomical value.

Balzac had not yet been an Eighth Circle archmage at the time, but he had been a top-tier mage on the verge of becoming one. These were the records of his research into realizing something beyond the magic to which he had devoted his entire life. If they were put up for auction on Aroth’s black market, an absurd amount of money would surely change hands.

“Are you sure you can give these to me?”

“They’re discarded materials as far as I’m concerned, so it doesn’t matter. Besides, you don’t intend to imitate the signature designed in those notes, do you?”

Smiling, Balzac pushed the research materials toward Eugene.

“I’m giving you these in the hope that they’ll help you learn how to build up, refine, and polish spell formulas.”

“They’re so valuable that I feel uncomfortable accepting them... Wouldn’t you rather take some money, at least?”

“I must decline. I have no disciples anyway, and at my current level, looking at my old research only embarrasses me. Ah, please don’t misunderstand. I don’t mean it embarrasses me because it’s poor work. It’s simply...”

Balzac adjusted his glasses and stared at the research materials. Behind the lenses, his dark-blue eyes narrowed.

“It’s embarrassing to look back on a time when I was innocent and overly ambitious. That’s why I can’t even place these materials in the Black Tower’s library. The black mages here respect me, and I don’t want to show them that embarrassing period of my life.”

“But you don’t mind showing me?”

“You dislike me already, don’t you? If anything, I hope those materials will encourage you to reconsider me a little.”

“I do think you might be one of the nicest people among all the black mages. And there’s something else I know for certain: of all the black mages I’ve met, you treat me the best.”

That was true. Every black mage he had encountered in his past life had either tried to kill Hamel or fled in terror, and the same held true in Eugene’s life.

But Balzac neither tried to kill Eugene nor shied away from him.

The other archmages, apart from the Green Tower Master, also showed goodwill toward a talented younger mage... but Eugene found it difficult to tell whether Balzac’s goodwill was genuine or intended to draw him onto the path of black magic.

‘He said he wasn’t gay...’

Could that actually have been a lie? Just as Eugene began seriously considering the question, Balzac spoke again.

“I requested this meeting because there is something else I need to tell you.”

“I thought so.”

“Pardon?”

“Isn’t that how it’s always been? When I left Aroth, you warned me about Amelia Merwin in Nahama and even gave me a personal letter so I could survive an encounter with her. And when I came to Aroth for the last hearing, you warned me that the Rakshasa Princess would approach me.”

After listening quietly to Eugene, Balzac burst into laughter.

“Now that you mention it, you’re right. In truth, I would like to meet you casually, but since you don’t wish to... I always have to insist on meeting when there is a reason we must. I suppose that’s how things end up this way.”

“Um... aren’t you going to get married?”

“Please don’t entertain any strange misunderstandings.”

In a rare display of seriousness, Balzac spoke emphatically. Eugene swallowed the rest of what he wanted to say and shrugged.

“So are you going to warn me about something again? Is the Rakshasa Princess coming back or something?”

“I have no way of knowing the movements of the Rakshasa Princess, who has turned her back on Helmuth.”

Balzac took his first sip of tea, then set down his cup.

“First, I would like to ask you a question... I heard there was a rebellion at the Lionhearts’ Black Lion Castle some time ago. What exactly did Eward Lionheart do?”

“Surely you’ve heard the rumors?”

“I heard that he led a rebellion and committed atrocities against his family. They say he performed an evil ritual... but the supposed purpose of his actions struck me as rather ridiculous. According to the rumors, Eward Lionheart attempted treason to become the family head... Haha! It was obvious he had another purpose, but I couldn’t tell what it was.”

“That’s difficult for me to discuss.”

“The evil ritual Eward Lionheart performed was black magic, surely? If so, I might be able to offer an interpretation from a black mage’s perspective.”

That was a fairly tempting offer. What Eward had done had been interpreted quite clearly at the time. The diary he had scrawled in his eagerness to show off detailed everything he had experienced and why he had committed those acts.

The remnants of Demon Kings left in the Demon Spear and the Crushing Hammer. That ominous entity had inhabited a spirit of darkness and enticed Eward, who carried the main family’s blood, into performing an evil ritual. Had the ritual succeeded, the remnant would have become a Spirit King of Darkness with a physical body. If it was not stopped in time, it would have become a new Demon King.

That was the interpretation offered from the perspectives of the Red and White Tower Masters. Eugene remembered the magic circle from that time perfectly, so he was somewhat curious how the Black Tower Master would interpret it.

Merely curious. He had no intention of telling him. A black mage of Balzac’s caliber might be able to reproduce the formulas perfectly after being shown them once.

‘... Besides the formulas...’

Hector Lionheart.

He was not strong enough to warrant concern, but Eugene was quite curious about how he had escaped from that place alive.

“Was asking about that why you wanted to meet me?”

“There is another reason. And no, I don’t mean the research materials.”

Balzac removed his glasses and smiled.

“Helmuth is paying attention to you.”

“... Pardon?”

“To be precise, the other dukes, apart from Duke Raizakia of Dragon Demon Castle.”

Incarceration’s Sword and the queen of the dream demons.