Chapter 116 - What's Wrong with You...? (3)

“Magus” was a word every mage knew. The Magi had been active during the forgotten age of the gods and could, in a sense, be called the ancestors of mages. It was also said that each of them was a mighty being capable of twisting the laws of the world at will.

But nothing else was known about them. The information had been lost. Relics and artifacts from the forgotten age of the gods were still discovered in great numbers, yet astonishingly few things related to the Magi existed.

Moreover, the supposed magic of the Magi that remained—primitive magic, which was no longer even called “the magic of the Magi”—held little appeal. Someone had already studied it a hundred years ago: Silicaman, a seventh-tier mage. Fascinated by the Magi, who were described as possessing tremendous power capable of twisting the principles of the world, he researched them with his disciples. After a very long time, they finally completed their study of the phrases and hand seals the Magi had used, becoming capable of casting ancient magic.

So far, so good. The problem was that the ancient magic they had deciphered was even more inadequate than they had imagined. Its mana could not be arranged precisely, making its manifestation unstable. Its casting speed was absurdly slow, to the point of being impractical. Above all, despite all those drawbacks, its power was low. They had succeeded in reproducing the magic of the Magi, yet it manifested imperfectly, as though a crucial piece of the puzzle were missing.

The symposium therefore ruled that the magic of the Magi could not be used in the present world. It came to be known among mages as “primitive magic” and gradually faded from memory. In the end, only a few of Salicaman's disciples, unable to abandon their dreams of the Magi, passed the phrases down. The practice survived into the present in a form that used only one or two phrases. Naturally, most mages these days did not even know that primitive magic involved phrases or hand seals.

But none of that mattered to Selaim Micardo. What mattered was...

'... Marquis Pallatio is a Magus...!'

The fact that Marquis Pallatio was a Magus. And perhaps a Magus from the forgotten age who could help him advance from the eighth tier to the ninth...!

Of course, he had skipped several steps in reaching that conclusion, and it might have been premature. Nevertheless, he was certain. He had several clues. Marquis Pallatio had easily passed a gate no one else could solve, and he seemed to read phrases that even Selaim could not decipher with ease. Above all, there was “that thing” attached to his back. He was accompanied by a being beyond anything Selaim dared imagine, one capable of disregarding every law of this world.

Furthermore, he had already used more than five phrases before Selaim's own eyes. Not in some unstable fashion, but with the perfection and precision of modern magic. The marquis, barely past twenty, had accomplished what even the seventh-tier mage Silicaman had failed to reproduce perfectly. No matter how much of a genius he was, that was impossible. Unless he was a Magus from ancient times.

'Viewed this way, even the things I couldn't understand while investigating him now make sense.'

Selaim recalled one incident that had raised countless questions during his investigation of the marquis. Within the space of just a few years, the former count and his second and first sons had died mysterious deaths, and the underworld organization under the count's command had been wiped out in one fell swoop. Rumors that Alon Pallatio was behind it had been widespread at the time, but there had also been considerable doubts. His youth was part of the reason, but more importantly, no trace or movement of the massive organization under his command, which had eliminated Avalon in a single day, had ever been detected. Selaim had found that strange.

But what if Marquis Pallatio was a Magus? To a Magus who could defy and alter the laws of the world at will, underworld thugs would be mere insects. And so...

'Did he steal that body? Or was it possession, or a relic? Perhaps reincarnation magic lost in ancient times? Why is he hiding his identity? Is there something behind it? No—none of that matters.'

With something close to madness glinting in his eyes, Selaim Micardo thought:

'I'll avoid offending him as much as possible and befriend him at any cost. I'll become his friend and learn magic from him. Then—'

He would reach the ninth tier!

He let out an inscrutable, sinister chuckle.

'What's gotten into this bastard all of a sudden?'

Watching him, Parkline looked distinctly uncomfortable, though he betrayed the tiniest hint of concern.

####

While Selaim was basking in his peculiar conclusion, Alon was showing Heinkel the Ring of Calgunias's Pact.

["... At a glance, it looks like he's simply refusing to be summoned."]

"Then what should I do in this case?"

["Getting him out of the ring is simple. Instead of just pouring mana into it, divide off a small amount and put it into the pattern alone."]

Alon obediently followed Heinkel's instructions and directed his mana only into the pattern.

HUM!

The ring soon began to tremble.

"Oh."

For the first time, he succeeded in summoning it. Only, it was very small.

"... Huh?"

Alon stared in bewilderment at the snake on his arm. It certainly appeared to be Basiliora the Receiver, but compared to its original size, it was half of half—no, it did not look even one ten-thousandth as large.

["This is a way to summon a familiar for conversation when you don't want to waste mana. They can't refuse a summons like this."]

"Ah."

Heinkel's explanation cleared up his confusion. But only for a moment.

["You damned human! How dare you imprison me in this wretched ring!! Release me at once!!"]

"I don't know how."

["Ha! Do you think I'll do as you wish?! Never! Not a chance! You will never summon me again, and I will never obey you!!!"]

Alon involuntarily sighed as he watched the tiny Basiliora throw a fit on his arm, practically foaming at the mouth.

'It's not as if I didn't expect this, but he's more defiant than I thought.'

["Release me! Release me, I say! Let me out of here right now!!!!!!!!"]

Basiliora continued his pathetic(?) tantrum. His entire body made his determination never to obey painfully obvious.

... Truthfully, Alon wanted to give him a good smack, but knowing he could not touch a spirit body, he calmly considered his options.

'What choices should I offer him?'

Having anticipated this situation, he had prepared a deal to put to Basiliora.

Just then, Heinkel suddenly spoke.

["Can I ask you something?"]

"Yes."

["Did you come to see me because of that bas—no, because of the ring?"]

"I wanted instruction as well, but yes, that is why I took the liberty of visiting you right away."

["Then would you leave it with me for a while?"]

"... You mean this ring?"

["Yes. I'll put things right for you."]

Her voice alone conveyed a strong note of amusement.

"Would that be all right?"

["Of course. Something like this is no trouble."]

"Then I'll leave it in your hands."

Alon politely handed over the ring.

["Release me!!! I said release me, you primitive human!!!!!!!!!!!!!"]

["Come back for it tomorrow."]

She smiled and waved.

"Then I'll visit you tomorrow."

Alon bowed in farewell and left, entrusting the ring to her.

####

Tricked by Alon's petty scheme into admitting defeat and becoming trapped in the Ring of Calgunias's Pact, Basiliora was filled with hatred. And it was not only hatred for Alon. While confined within the ring, he had realized that the Thunder Serpent tribe had also helped capture him. He vowed that once he escaped, he would kill every last one of them.

["Release me, you shell of a soul! If you do, I shall grant you—"]

His feelings had not changed in the slightest, so as soon as Alon departed, he tried to defy the spirit before him. But—

["AAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!"]

["!?"]

The next moment, Heinkel suddenly screamed at the top of her lungs, bringing him to a halt.

CRASH-RATTLE!

["!!"]

Basiliora witnessed the books filling the room tumble down in an instant under the waves of power emanating from the spirit. Then he noticed a wooden doll, which had appeared from somewhere, caught by the neck in Heinkel's hand. Where had that thing suddenly come from, and how? His confusion was short-lived. Heinkel lifted what she was holding.

["Why!!!! Do I!!!!! Have to put up!!!!! With this!!!!!!!!"]

CRUNCH!

She slammed it into the floor. The wooden doll folded in half. But she was not finished. She picked up a thick old tome from among the fallen books—

["EEEEAAAAAAAH!!!"]

—and began smashing the doll with its corner.

BANG! BANG! CRUNCH! CRACK!

Each swing of the book left a deeper dent in the wooden doll.

SNAP!

Soon its head shattered, sending splinters flying. Apparently still unsatisfied, Heinkel placed the doll on a bookshelf and punched it.

THWACK!

The wooden doll gave a loud crack. Unconcerned, the half-crazed spirit repeatedly headbutted its neck. Watching her, Basiliora involuntarily shrank back.

At last...

"Huff... huff!"

Having demolished the wooden doll with physical strength far too great for a mage, Heinkel stood among the scattered books, breathing hard. Warily watching her eerie gaze, Basiliora cautiously spoke.

["Um, well, first, calm—"]

...“ Calm down”? Or “Please calm down”? Basiliora wavered between the two. Even trapped in a ring, he was still a god, and he took immense pride in that fact. He began wondering whether it was right to speak respectfully to a mere spirit.

["What did you say, you little shit?"]

That was a mistake.

CRUNCH!

Before Basiliora could finish speaking, Heinkel snatched him up with the speed of light.

["Whose fault do you think this is?"]

Her eyes were chilling. Before he even had time to be horrified that she had grabbed his sealed body, Basiliora recoiled from her savage killing intent. Then, as though his wounded pride could not tolerate his own flinch, he raised his voice instead—

["Whose fault? I haven't done anything!!! ... Ma'am."]

—only to hastily add the final word as Heinkel's expression grew increasingly terrifying.

Of course, he could not take back what he had said.

["Heh... hehehe. Really? Is that so? You've done nothing wrong? Hmm?"]

["W-wait—"]

Smiling strangely, the archmage gripped Basiliora tightly and began moving toward the half-destroyed wooden doll.

["Uh, just a moment—"]

["Yes, that's right. Our little snake did nothing wrong. I think so too."]

["No, um—hello? Excuse me, ma'am?"]

["That's right. I'm the one at fault."]

Realizing he was in very serious trouble, Basiliora hurriedly tried speaking respectfully, but...

["So I'll be bad and vent my anger however I please, all right? You don't mind, do you?"]

Heinkel wrapped his body around her fist like a band, then brought it down on the wooden doll.

["Uh, wait! Wait!!! Let's talk this through! We're not beasts, we're intelli—AAAAAAAH!!!!"]

Basiliora's dreadful screams echoed through the library.

... Continuously, until morning.

####

The next day, Alon set out to attend the Blue Magic Tower master's lecture. He wanted to hear the tower masters' lectures Milan had mentioned yesterday. Since he had to wait until nighttime to meet Heinkel anyway, he had the day free.

Unfortunately...

"I'm sorry, but reservations are already closed and every seat is taken. We cannot admit you."

With the venue full, he could not attend the lecture.

'I didn't know there were reservations.'

He gave a brief sigh as he watched the mages in line hand over slips of paper and enter.

"... Could I perhaps stand at the back and listen?"

"No. Even if you are a nobleman, my lord, this is a place where everyone studies magic as equals. We cannot allow such improper admission."

Disappointed, Alon had asked just in case, but the firm answer came immediately. The voice was not merely cold but downright brusque, which annoyed him slightly. Still, there was nothing he could do. Just as he was about to put his disappointment behind him and leave...

"Marquis Pallatio?"

"... Tower Master?"

Alon encountered the Blue Magic Tower master.

"Ah, g-greetings, Master of the Blue Magic Tower!"

"Ah, yes."

The mage who had been wearing such a cold expression moments earlier greeted Selaim with eyes full of admiration.

Selaim acknowledged the greeting casually, then suddenly addressed Alon with marked politeness.

"My lord, what brings you here?"

"...?"

Though puzzled for a moment, Alon decided to answer the question first.

"I had some free time, so I thought I'd attend a lecture."

"My lecture?"

"Yes."

"Oh!"

"?"

"What a tremendous honor! To think you would attend my lecture, my lord!"

Alon was bewildered by Selaim's broad smile, as though he felt deeply honored. He knew the Blue Magic Tower master was not one to insist on his authority, but he was prouder than anyone when it came to magic.

"Please, come inside. You there! Let him through at once."

"Pardon? But the number of attendees—"

"It's my lecture, isn't it?"

"Uh—y-yes, it is, but..."

"Then what are you waiting for? Let him in at once!"

And so...

'... What's wrong with this man?'

Alon was at a loss for what to say.

"????"

The mages waiting in line for the tower master's lecture watched the scene with equally dumbfounded expressions.