Chapter 120 - Half (2)

Parkline, master of the Red Magic Tower, generally had little interest in rumors. Exploring antiquity was far more enjoyable than indulging in gossip.

That did not mean rumors never reached his ears.

More precisely, among the many rumors circulating, one kept reaching him: Marquis Pallatio and Penia Kraisinne really were romantically involved, with the Blue Magic Tower master's official blessing!

Given Parkline Agulus's temperament, he ordinarily would not have cared, however often he heard a rumor or even if it proved true. Recently, however, he had been paying attention to this particular rumor, which he normally would have ignored.

The reason was—

"Hmm-hmm♪"

—Selaim Micardo.

"You seem positively delighted."

"Do I? Well, if you say so, I suppose I must."

Selaim was expressing his delight with his entire body. Parkline knew exactly when that good mood had begun.

'It was after the rumors about Marquis Pallatio broke.'

Indeed, ever since then, whenever Parkline saw him briefly before a lecture, Selaim had been humming with a broad smile on his face.

... Sometimes he even wiggled his backside, as though he had sold off every scrap of dignity befitting a tower master.

Parkline did not know precisely why he was behaving this way, but he could make an educated guess.

Selaim Micardo might seem difficult to understand at first glance, but he was remarkably easy to read. Only one thing determined his mood: magic.

He was happy whenever he solved a problem involving magic, and unhappy only when magic failed to go as he intended.

What about everything else?

Selaim showed little emotion over anything unrelated to magic. Whether his tower was smashed to shit overnight or the Blue Magic Tower's deputy master got pissed off and lunged at him intent on murder, he hardly reacted.

Provided, of course, that no one insulted his magic.

In any case, Parkline knew Selaim had recently been searching for clues to advancing from the eighth tier to the ninth. That made the reason for his excitement easy to guess.

'He must have found a clue to reaching the ninth tier.'

And that clue was very likely Marquis Pallatio.

There were three reasons for that conclusion.

First, Selaim generally let people do as they pleased. He had no political ambitions or hunger for power and was obsessed with magic alone. Penia dating a marquis would hardly be enough to excite him.

Second was his recent attitude toward Marquis Pallatio.

'He treats him like his lord and master.'

Finally, combining the contents of the letter Parkline had recently deciphered to get some work out of Selaim with the fact that Marquis Pallatio used primitive magic led easily to one conjecture: Marquis Pallatio possessed a clue that could take Selaim Micardo to the ninth tier.

Taking that reasoning a little further, one could even speculate that the marquis might be the Magus mentioned on the parchment.

Selaim was fiercely possessive of his research. The moment Parkline saw him become excited at every mention of the marquis while still doing everything he could to conceal the secret, his conjecture had become certainty.

There was something about Marquis Pallatio. Something significant.

That was why Parkline had lately been listening to the rumors.

Naturally, he too was interested in reaching the ninth tier. No, not merely interested—he was intensely interested.

Nor was he alone. Every magic tower master desired to reach the ninth tier. Their inquisitiveness and ambition, coupled with their genius, were what had brought them to their positions in the first place.

And so—

"... Master of the Red Magic Tower."

"It has been a while."

Parkline had come to see Alon before anyone else, intending to stake his claim. Whatever the marquis was hiding, establishing a connection would surely bring some benefit.

"That coat looks hot."

"... This coat?"

"Yes."

"... Well, the weather is rather cold at present."

"I mean it's hot when it's hot and cold when it's cold. Anyway, I'd like to give you a gift. Will you accept it?"

"... A gift?"

Parkline casually pulled an ink-black coat from inside his clothing. It resembled the one Alon usually wore, but its edges were trimmed with black fur.

"It's an artifact coat I made myself. It has a subspace enchantment, and the coat itself adjusts the surrounding arrangements to suit the nature of your magic, making spellcasting easier."

"... That is an exceptionally fine coat."

"Indeed. It also contains an artifact that maintains a constant temperature inside, though its effect is modest. What do you think?"

"It is an exceptionally fine coat, but... Well, why are you suddenly giving me something like this?"

Parkline laughed heartily at the marquis, who remained expressionless even when offered a gift.

"Well, you've helped my daughter quite often. Consider it my thanks for that."

"... In that case, I gratefully accept."

"Good. If you need anything else, just tell me."

"Thank you for your consideration."

"Of course. Riyan asked me to give you her regards, too."

The coat was expensive, but as a tower master, he could easily make several more. All it required was his own labor.

In other words, Parkline had given Alon a very cost-effective gift.

Just then—

"Wait. What are you doing?"

"?"

"?"

Selaim Micardo, who had disappeared the moment the earlier lecture ended, suddenly appeared again—with a distinctly anxious expression.

Then he spoke.

"My lord, has this man said anything about introducing you to his daughter?"

"Huh?"

"If so, there is no need to consider it. Penia is the right choice."

Perhaps he was in too much of a hurry; the words tumbled out before he had time to think them through.

Parkline let out an incredulous laugh at the sight. As an added bonus, he had unintentionally gained even stronger confirmation.

'... The marquis really does have something...!'

Naturally, he did not believe Selaim had said that out of concern for Penia.

Even as that confirmation gave Parkline a peculiar sense of satisfaction, he issued a warning.

"Watch your mouth, Selaim. I might really snap your neck."

A clue to the ninth tier was insanely precious to him, but he had no intention of sending his beloved daughter to that black-clad man—not even if he were cast into the fires of hell, right into the middle of the magma.

Quite apart from that, however—

"My lord, I will give you something even better. This is a potion I obtained especially for you—"

"Marquis, come to think of it, there was something else I hadn't given you."

With Selaim making the first move, a bizarre battle had begun.

####

For the past few days, Alon had been extremely busy. More precisely, his nights—the time he was supposed to spend meeting Heinkel—had been extremely busy.

The reason was an event near the Central Tower that could permanently increase his mana. In the game, it involved solving simple magical diagrams. With sufficient Intelligence, a player could gain mana simply by clicking the mouse.

Alon had gone to the Lake Labyrinth to complete it, only to be caught off guard by magic that was more difficult than he had expected.

To be more precise, the magic itself was fairly basic. It would be more accurate to describe the task as solving puzzles inside the labyrinth.

As a result, for a little over four days, Alon had stopped visiting Heinkel and gone to the labyrinth every night to solve its puzzles. By day, he wandered around the magic tower, drawing the puzzles in a separate notebook and pondering how to solve them.

... Of course, ordinarily he would have preferred to deal with the rumors spread by Penia's reckless stunt(?) a few days earlier before tackling any puzzles. Unfortunately, that was impossible too.

Ironically, the reason was Penia herself. The woman who had clung to him as though something she'd eaten had gone to her head was now nowhere to be seen.

Indeed, the last time he had spotted her in the distance, he had watched her make the bizarre cry, "Uwaaaagh!" and leap straight through a window on the eighteenth floor, shattering it.

Alon had therefore decided to concentrate on solving the puzzles before the symposium ended.

... Until he found himself in this situation.

"..."

Alon looked ahead. Before him, two tower masters were stacking gifts on top of his book as though performing some acrobatic feat.

... He could no longer even see past them.

'It's not that I dislike presents...'

Blankly, he lifted his gaze toward the mountain of gifts, which had already grown almost as tall as he was. Every last one was a fine item. The coat Parkline had given him first was, in fact, an especially appealing artifact.

That was certainly true, and yet—

"Marquis! Look at this! What this is, you see—"

"My lord! Now, this artifact!"

... For some reason, Alon found himself craving a sweet potato.

####

A great many nobles had gathered for the ball hosted by House Comalon. They stood exchanging conversation in an extravagantly decorated reception hall.

Among them was Duke Edgar, head of the aristocratic faction and arguably the most powerful noble in the Kingdom of Ashtalon.

"Duke Comalon, it has been a while."

"Indeed it has, Duke Edgar."

He exchanged greetings with Duke Comalon, the host of the ball.

"I always think this, but you truly seem not to age. You look exactly as you did before."

"A flattering compliment."

"A compliment? I say it because I genuinely believe it."

As the head of a faction, Edgar often said things whose truth or falsehood was impossible to discern. This time, at least, he was entirely sincere.

Comalon had the face of a young man whom time seemed to have passed by. To Duke Edgar's eyes, he looked little different now than he had ten years ago. Unlike Edgar, whose wrinkles had multiplied, Comalon still retained the youthful appearance of a man in his mid-twenties.

What trick could he possibly be using? Just as that question occurred to Edgar anew—

"Duke Edgar."

"What is it?"

"First, allow me to say how grateful I am that you have all gathered here."

Duke Comalon abruptly offered his thanks.

"Hmm...? Well, is there really any need to thank us?"

"No, I am truly grateful."

"Why?"

Duke Edgar answered in bewilderment.

For nobles, the number of people who attended a ball they hosted was effectively a measure of their standing. Expressing gratitude was therefore nothing unusual.

In other words, the courtesy itself was perfectly normal—but only when offered once. Repeated expressions of thanks like this were strange.

As a peculiar suspicion began to stir, Duke Edgar noticed the shape of Comalon's hand.

The duke tilted his head at the sight of Comalon pressing his index and middle fingers together to form a hand seal.

"Because—you've saved me some trouble by gathering like this."

"... What?"

At the words that followed, Edgar frowned involuntarily.

The next moment—

"Anguish."

As the word left the duke's mouth—

CRUNCH!

Duke Edgar's head burst.

Nor was he the only one.

The head of a young noblewoman who had been smiling moments before.

A knight standing guard behind other nobles.

A noble enjoying tea at one side of the ballroom.

... The heads of every living creature at the ball burst apart.

Then, in the center of the ballroom, now decorated on all sides with crimson flowers of blood—

FLICK!

Duke Comalon flicked the blood clinging to his hair away and walked toward the ballroom doors with an utterly unconcerned expression.

"Let us begin."

He announced the beginning to the dark elf waiting in the shadows.

"Yes."

The beginning of the great cause.

... Of the salvation he had awaited for hundreds of years.

####

Two days later, on the day after Alon finally solved all the puzzles in the labyrinth—

"... An Outer God has descended?"

Alon received that news from Deus.