While it might have seemed like an even fight, Monica—a human—would be the first to run out of mana.

“Come on, Rynny, wait a second! We’re here to save you from that bad mage!”

“It won’t be any use, Mister Bartholomeus,” Monica quietly cut in.

Bartholomeus knew the Gem Mage had invented a magical item that used spirits as a source of energy, but he didn’t know about the ancient magical item that controlled them. If Monica explained the situation, she would have to keep that part secret.

She chose her next words very carefully. “I believe…that Miss Ryn is under someone else’s control.”

“Wait. What?!”

Bartholomeus glanced between Monica and Ryn in shock.

The modern magecraft repertoire did not contain any spells that could force a spirit to do one’s bidding. Monica couldn’t blame him for not understanding right away.

Another one of her barriers shattered, and she put up a new one. Ryn was under the control of an ancient magical item called Galanis, the Flute of the False King. That item was currently held by Emanuel Darwin, the Gem Mage. Monica was supposed to buy time for her allies to destroy it, but they’d grossly underestimated how difficult that would be.

I’ll have to attack her almost to the point of dissipation or put a sealing barrier on her…

Unfortunately, because high spirits were so adept at controlling their mana, it was difficult to affect them with human magecraft. If Ryn seriously resisted, even Monica would struggle to execute a perfect seal.

But because she’s under someone else’s control, her attacks are straightforward and easy to read… As long as I make the seal complicated, it should keep her busy for a while, at least.

Monica began to think up a suitable magecraft formula.

“Hey, kid. Can your magecraft save Rynny?” Bartholomeus asked.

“If I can trip her up, then…yes. I should be able to disable her with a sealing barrier.”

Sealing barriers were difficult to use at a distance. Monica would need to get closer. She could only maintain two spells simultaneously, and she was already using one to keep up the barriers protecting her from Ryn’s wind blades. She’d have to use the other to close the distance. But how?

“…I don’t know if it’ll work, but I have a plan,” Bartholomeus suggested quietly. “Can you buy me a little time?”

Monica blinked and looked up at him. The man was no mage. She’d never considered relying on his help. “Oh… Um. Uhhh…”

Was it okay to involve him? Could she count on him? She wasn’t sure.

Bartholomeus slapped her on the back. “This is my chance to look good in front of her, kid. So help me out, would you?”

“Um, all right. Then, uh, go ahead!”

“Ha-ha! Good answer!”

As Monica dispelled her barrier, Bartholomeus ran back along the route they’d come. Ryn aimed a slender finger at him as she stood atop the tree. Apparently, she’d been ordered to finish off any stragglers.

Ryn let her wind blade loose, but before it could reach Bartholomeus, the Silent Witch put up another barrier.

The mana-dense blade easily destroyed it, but Monica instantly put up another. The lethal gusts were just like physical weapons, except they were invisible. They came slashing down, intending to cut their target apart. Yet Monica showed no fear as she faced them.

“My barriers may not be as good as Mister Louis’s, but…”

She calmly erected more barriers, carefully calculating the scope, duration, and how much mana she would need, making sure to keep everything to a minimum. She was good at this kind of thing. Monica was far more comfortable scrupulously controlling her mana consumption than she was quickly unleashing flashy, high-powered spells.

“…Um, well, I think I’m pretty good at stalling.”

The Silent Witch absorbed herself in her calculations, never yielding an inch to the high spirit and her immense stores of mana.

“Are you doing a different job again today, Bart?”

Bartholomeus, who had been putting the finishing touches on a carving he’d brought back to the house, blew away the metal scraps and gave her an empty smile.

“Ha-ha! Well, I can do everything, remember? I don’t gotta pick my jobs. Pretty cool, right?”

It wasn’t.

Bartholomeus could do anything, but his work was always second-rate. He couldn’t pick his jobs. The reason he accepted them all without complaint was to support his sick mother and younger sister.

He didn’t want his sister to feel guilty, though, so he brightened his voice again. “Doing whatever work you’re offered is a point of pride for a craftsman like me. A real first-rate guy can pull off any job, no matter how hard!”

“Ha-ha! Bart, you’re so cool!”

“Ain’t I though? Wah-ha-ha!”

“Teach me, too. I wanna try!”

“Hey, careful! Don’t hurt yourself.”

His younger sister was cheerful and energetic, but she liked watching him use his old chisel to carve wood more than playing with her friends. She was quick to learn and even better with her hands than he was. In his brotherly, doting way, Bartholomeus wondered if his sister was actually a genius.

A few years later, his sister joined Dermish’s Magic Items as an apprentice. Oddly enough, she was eleven, just like Bartholomeus had been.

The workshop was short of help, and that was part of the reason they hired her. But the biggest factor was her skill as a magic item artisan.

The discovery of her abilities left Bartholomeus conflicted: On the one hand, he was disappointed in his own inferior talent, but on the other, he was overjoyed by his sister’s success. But at the end of the day, he was her brother, and he wanted to celebrate and cheer on her success.

Several more years passed, and then his sister was arrested. Her crime was the manufacture and sale of counterfeit goods.

He knew the simpleminded, honest girl would never accept such a request or sell the results. Someone must have used her.

Bartholomeus stormed up to the workshop’s foreman and accused him of taking advantage of his sister—of tricking her into making counterfeits.

The foreman laughed mockingly. “Your sister told me she would take any job I offered, that she just wanted to make something. So I gave her a task. No big deal.”

The man’s response whipped Bartholomeus into a fury, and he punched him. After that, he was kicked out of the workshop.

Is it my fault? Was it because of what I said to her?

Was that why she’d done as she was told and produced counterfeits? If so, then it was his fault she’d strayed from the proper path.

Their mother collapsed from shock upon hearing the news of her daughter’s arrest and never recovered. Soon, she passed away. In the end, Bartholomeus learned that his sister had already been executed in secret, and he left his homeland, despondent.

After making magic items for the Gem Mage and cutting ties with his workshop, Bartholomeus started up a general handyman business, which he’d run ever since. He couldn’t afford to turn down jobs—not if he wanted to live. “And what’s wrong with that?” he’d always ask himself.

Back then, during a rough patch when he’d struggled to find enough to eat, someone had asked him to make a seal for Abbott Company. The client was a shady character, and Bartholomeus was sure he’d misuse the item. But poor as he was, he had no choice but to take the job. He’d had to weigh money against professional pride, and he’d chosen the former.

The Abbott Company seal was a crest featuring a bull-and-wheel motif. While replicating it, he purposely changed the number of spokes in the wheel.

Counterfeits and reproductions are completely different things, he’d told himself. A counterfeit resembles the original so well that it’s hard to see the difference. A reproduction is made to look like a fake. I changed the number of spokes on the wheel of the crest, so it’s not a counterfeit—it’s a reproduction.

And as he made these excuses and changed the number of spokes, he also forgot to depict the bull’s tail. Once again, his work fell short of first-rate.

He’d left behind his pride as an artisan long, long ago. Or perhaps he’d never had any to begin with.

Even now, Bartholomeus Baal believed in nothing. He simply drifted along, going wherever his feet took him and never leaving his mark on anything.

Bartholomeus returned to the edge of the forest, where he found the remains of the magical armored soldiers Monica had destroyed. There were three in all. He picked up one that was relatively undamaged.

During his time at the Gem Mage’s workshop, he’d been asked to make several items that resembled pieces of armor. This was one of them. He remembered struggling to perfect the grooves that the mana-imbuing paint would be poured through.

Bartholomeus had never given a thought to how his creations would be used.

These magical armored soldiers were weapons. They killed spirits. They were coffins to imprison them.

So this is the crap they had me making?

Cursing over and over, he dragged the bundled metallic fibers out of the armor’s interior, then checked the magecraft formula engraved on them. It was very complex; he couldn’t even understand half of it.

Damn it. Damn it!

He wished he could modify the armored soldier right here and now. He wished he could make it move freely, then have it rescue the Silent Witch. That would have been so awesome.

But it wasn’t possible. Not with his level of knowledge and expertise.

Emanuel Darwin, the Gem Mage, was one of the Seven Sages. He was a true genius when it came to crafting magical items. The man had made this armor himself, and he’d poured all his technical proficiency into the job. Bartholomeus didn’t have the expertise to tamper with it.

I know that. Yeah, I’ve always known that. I’m a second-rate craftsman.

He only ever did the tasks he was given. He’d never had pride in his work. That was how he’d lived his life.

…Even so.

He might not have pride, but he had a stubborn streak. He’d made his living as a craftsman, and he had a craftsman’s bullheadedness.

Monica carefully fended them all off, making minor adjustments to her barrier’s toughness and angle to suit each strike.

Ryn stood at the top of a tall tree, toes together, looking down at her. First, Monica needed to drag her from her perch.

…This is it.

Monica used her barrier to fend off an especially powerful slash, diverting it into a tall but thin tree. Monica had been parrying all of Ryn’s attacks toward the tree’s roots. The wind blades destroyed its foundation, causing it to snap with a loud crack and topple over—straight into Ryn’s tree.

Realizing the falling tree was careening toward her, Ryn jumped down from her perch, her maid skirt fluttering up around her.

The moment the tips of her shoes touched the ground, an object flew at her from the trees. It was a misshapen chunk of solid metal, cobbled together from random pieces set around the gauntlet of a magical armored soldier.

The ill-formed object fell at Ryn’s feet, then immediately set off a small explosion. It must have been an improvised magic item made from the soldier’s parts.

It wasn’t all that powerful, but it was very loud, and Ryn seemed to deem it another hostile target. She swung a wind blade at it, chopping it up into several pieces. In the split second she took to do this, something else burst out from behind a tree.

This time it was a full suit of armor—another one of the soldiers from before. For an instant, Monica thought the enemy had sent more reinforcements. But instead of going for her, it grabbed hold of Ryn’s arm.

A voice boomed from inside the suit of armor. “Now’s your chance, kid!”

But the moment the wind blade touched the armor, it shone faintly. Monica knew that glow—it was a defensive barrier.

“Not the best you’ve ever seen, and it’s one-use only…but it’s enough to buy you some time!”

Monica activated a sealing barrier as Bartholomeus called out to her. Gold, shining chains leaped from her fingertips, coiling around Ryn’s body.

Sealing barriers came in two varieties: temporary and permanent. The former had a low mana cost and was quick to cast, but it wouldn’t hold for very long. Normally, it was only used to delay an opponent briefly during combat.

The permanent variety, however, was a technique used for sealing grimoires and the like. Once it set in, it would hold for a long period of time. It was similar to using imbuement magecraft on a magic item. This was the kind of seal Monica had applied to Ryn.

The golden chains twined around the spirit, holding her in place as shining letters emerged. The seal was now fixed, and Ryn collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. Her delicate body fell into Bartholomeus’s armored hands.

“Is it over, kid?” he asked, lifting his helmet visor.

Monica wasn’t sure how to reply.

Ryn was a high wind spirit. If Monica wanted to bind her for a long time, she would need to be sufficiently prepared, perhaps with a magic item or two. This seal wouldn’t last very long.

More importantly, while Monica had disabled the spirit, she hadn’t completely severed her from the effects of the ancient magic item controlling her.

She needed to explain this to Bartholomeus without mentioning Galanis. She chose her words carefully. “I haven’t severed the link between Ryn and the enemy yet… So, um, she might attack again if the seal breaks.”

The techniques used in ancient magic items were similar to those of modern magecraft, but only in appearance. Even a Sage like Monica couldn’t easily analyze one and come up with a counterstrategy on the spot.

To release her, I’ll need to destroy the flute…

Monica stared deeper into the forest, keeping her detection spell active. The farther they went, the denser the mana would become—until it reached levels toxic to most people.

“The forest’s mana density is too high beyond this point, so… Um, Mister Bartholomeus, would you mind waiting here for me?”

Bartholomeus wasn’t a mage; he wouldn’t be able to withstand it, and Monica was too frail to carry Ryn with her.

“The seal I placed on Miss Ryn will only last half a day at most. So, um, if we can’t release her before then…I want you to turn around and run. Immediately.”

Bartholomeus took off the armor and helmet, then picked Ryn back up. He glanced deeper into the woods, then back at Monica.

“…You sure you’ll be all right?” he asked.

“Yes.” Monica nodded, then smiled awkwardly under her veil. “I…well, I am a Sage, after all.” Then she curled her hands into fists and set off into the forest.

Bartholomeus called after her. “Hey, kid! Don’t push it! Run away if you need to!”

That sort of encouragement was very characteristic of Bartholomeus. It made Monica oddly happy.

But I have to join up with Mister Louis and the others soon… I doubt they know about the magic item using spirits as a power source…

Just as Monica began to worry about the welfare of her fellow Sages, Louis Miller and Bradford Firestone were confronting a group of four magical armored soldiers in the forest.

“Well, well,” Louis said, coming to a stop. He was dressed in warm leather clothes and held an ax instead of a staff, which he now tapped against his shoulder.

Louis didn’t know the suits of armor barring their way were magic items, so he introduced himself.

“Hello, there. I’m just a passing lumberjack.”

“What’s the point of calling yourself that?” Bradford, who also wore a simple traveler’s outfit, looked at him in amazement.

The Seven Sages, in an attempt to hide their actions from the public eye, had all donned inconspicuous clothing for this mission. That said, they were still celebrities, and aside from the Silent Witch, their faces were well-known.

Louis shrugged. “Well, we did put on these outfits. I’m just being consistent.”

“Then just call yourself a passing old man.”

Louis’s pretty face twisted, and he stuck out his lower lip. “Don’t lump me in with you. You’re over forty. I’m still in my twenties.”

“C’mon, it’s not that unbelievable. You’ll have an easier time of it if you just resign yourself.”

“No way in hell. I’m going to make sure my soon-to-be-born daughter sees me as a wonderful, youthful father—”

Before Louis could finish, an armored soldier grabbed at him. He took a step back to dodge the attack, then brandished his ax.

Using both hands, he swept the ax horizontally, slamming the bladeless portion against the enemy’s helmet. He’d assumed there was a human inside.

Contrary to his expectations, however, when the ax struck its target with a loud, metallic crash, the helmet toppled off and dangled from the rest of the armor, suspended by wires.

There was no one inside—the armor was merely stuffed with thick metallic cables. “Hmm?” mumbled Louis, lifting his thin eyebrows.

“So it was a magic item. I see. Suits of armor that can move—very elaborate.” Louis narrowed his eyes behind his monocle and scrutinized the armor.

A magecraft formula had been engraved on each of the thick cords stuffed inside it. The bundles hooked all the armor’s pieces together, replicating human movement. The Gem Mage was a truly talented craftsman.

But items of this quality would require a significant amount of mana… Where is it coming from?

Louis had dabbled in creating magic items before. He knew there was a limit to how much mana you could imbue one with. How much money and mana would someone need to create moving armor using modern magical technology?

…There’s something wrong here.

Whatever the case, if there was no one inside the armor, there was no need for them to hold back.

Louis listened closely; the soldiers’ footfalls were much lighter than they would be if humans were inside. He couldn’t hear any breathing, either. Now, certain the other suits were also empty, he shifted his grip on the ax, turning the blade side forward.

“They’re empty, yeah? Want me to just blow ’em all up?” asked Bradford, sounding quite enthusiastic.

“Then what would be the point of my accompanying you?”

Galanis, the ancient magic flute currently held by the Gem Mage, could control spirits. That meant Louis and Bradford were likely to run into high spirits sooner or later, and Louis’s job was to help Bradford preserve his mana until then.

“I’ll handle this myself,” he said.

“But you don’t have much mana left, Barrier.”

Bradford was right. Since Louis realized his pupil was missing the previous afternoon, he had been using flight magecraft nonstop to travel all over, passing messages. He was nearly dry now.

If a mage ran out of mana, the results could be fatal. The obvious choice was to retreat from combat. But Louis smiled confidently, pushing his monocle up with one finger.

“This forest is dense with mana. If I fight conservatively, I should have no problem recovering.”

“But can you win conservatively?”

“Sure. I’m still young, after all. Hang back and rest up, old man.”

Louis burst into a dash, ax in hand. An instant before the soldiers’ gauntleted hands reached him, he planted his feet firmly and raised his ax.

“Hrrrrgh!”

With a sharp breath, he swung his weapon down between the first soldier’s left shoulder and torso. Then he reached in and started ripping out the metal cords. At the same time, he turned himself ninety degrees and used the momentum to behead an approaching second suit cleanly.

They kept moving even without their heads and arms, but tearing up the wires within had clearly caused their movements to become less natural.

Chopping off heads and arms isn’t a waste, but it’s inefficient, he concluded.

Because the suits were packed with cables instead of bodies, they were relatively light and had a harder time staying on their feet. When Louis’s powerful kick connected, the soldier slammed to the ground with a crash.

Louis immediately recovered his ax, then chopped off one of its legs. That would stop it from moving around.

As Bradford watched this, he muttered, “Not sure that’s how Sages are meant to fight…”

“Magecraft, axes, who cares?” Louis shot back. “Winning is all that matters.”

He bent down in front of a suit of armor and yanked some of the cables out. Each of them sported a tiny magecraft formula, and they were all connected to an orange gemstone. The cords still attached to the stone continued to pulsate and wriggle.

It was an uncanny sight—almost like the thing was alive. But once he placed a seal on the gem, the movement stopped immediately.

What are these things? Louis wanted to take his time examining them, but he was currently in a hurry. For now, he sealed each of the gemstones, then stood up.

“Let’s make haste. The Silent Witch may fare well against such opponents, but the Abyss Shaman and the Witch of Thorns are not suited for this kind of fight.”

With her unchanted magecraft and wide breadth of spells, the Silent Witch could respond to any situation. However, the Abyss Shaman and the Witch of Thorns had more specialized abilities, which tended to limit their usefulness.

They’d both had to travel from the capital, so they’d paired up for this mission. But perhaps they should have considered their teams more carefully, even if it cost them some extra time. Louis gritted his teeth in frustration.

“Eh, I’m sure they’ll manage. They’re both Sages,” said Bradford, strolling farther into the forest, his gait relaxed.

“Hey, if that happens, this passing old man can just blow the whole thing up.” Bradford gave a hearty laugh. But if it came to that, they’d never be able to hide what had happened here.

Why do the Seven Sages all have to be such dangerous characters? thought Louis with a sigh. As if he were one to talk.

“Sure is. I’d prefer to call myself the Thorn Mage, but the older ladies in my family don’t like that. They still have a lot of respect for the original.”

“Sounds like a pain,” Glenn replied casually before going back to munching on his apple.

Cyril struggled to comprehend how the boy could eat anything right now.

One day ago, Cyril and his underclassman Glenn Dudley were kidnapped by a nameless ice spirit with the appearance of a young boy and a wolflike earth spirit named Sezhdio. According to them, a man with a flute was controlling all the spirits in the forest.

Cyril had promised to talk to the man and get him to release the spirits, and they had headed out to do just that. Along the way, they’d encountered Relva, a fire spirit under the flutist’s control.

The spirit had been moments away from incinerating them when the two Sages arrived and rescued them. And now one of those great and mighty Sages was trying to get them to eat turnips and apples. Cyril just didn’t understand.

“Here, you should have an apple, too!” Raul said to the nervous, stiff Cyril. “Oh, unless you like them better roasted?”

Cyril stifled his confusion and remained polite. “I’m quite fine, thank you. More importantly, Lord Witch of Thorns, what might a Sage like yourself be doing in these woods?”

“Hey, just call me Raul. No need for formality. I’m just a passing gardener at the moment!” Raul grinned cheerfully.

Ray scowled. “I don’t care about men saying my name… If it was a girl, though…”

“Yeah, Ray’s pretty shy!”

Cyril just barely stopped himself from shouting Answer my question already! His fists trembled.

Cyril guessed his underclassman had his own reservations about the two Sages. He nodded, prompting the boy to continue.

With a deadly serious face, Glenn exclaimed, “They’re such good people!”

“……”

“My master would have just left us here and told us to get home by ourselves.”

Glenn’s master was another one of the Seven Sages—Louis Miller, the Barrier Mage. Cyril’s idealistic image of the Sages was beginning to crumble.

Behind him, the boyish ice spirit and the wolflike earth spirit watched with a mixture of confusion and suspicion. In general, the spirits of the forest didn’t take kindly to humans—a sentiment Sezhdio, in particular, shared. He was already low to the ground, ready to spring on the newcomers at a moment’s notice.

Their earlier battle with Relva had left a wound on Sezhdio’s right foreleg. Spirits were entities of pure mana, and they didn’t bleed. Instead, particles of light spilled from his ashen fur—mana leaking out from his body.

“Sezhdio, your leg…,” said Cyril gently. “If I wrap it with my handkerchief, will it stanch the mana loss?”

Sezhdio snorted. “Don’t bother. It’ll stop soon.”

Raul and Ray cautiously looked over at the strange wolf.

“The boy and the wolf there—are they spirits?” asked Raul.

“I heard all the spirits had turned hostile…,” muttered Ray.

Now Cyril was certain of it. These two knew what was happening here, and they’d come to fix it.

Ray’s pink eyes glinted as he stared at the ice spirit and Sezhdio. “Are they our enemies, too?”

Sezhdio growled.

He was implicitly asking the Sages not to attack. For some reason, Raul lowered his eyebrows as he gazed at the boyish spirit.

“You’re an ice spirit, right?” he asked. “What should I call you?”

“I’ve forgotten my name. You may simply call me Ice Spirit.”

Raul frowned at this. He seemed troubled.

Next to him, Ray looked at Cyril searchingly. “How much are the two of you aware of?”

“Only that there is a man in this forest with a flute that can control spirits,” said Cyril. It was the truth. They really didn’t know anything else.

Ray and Raul exchanged glances.

Raul, still concerned, scratched at his crimson curls. “Ah. Well, actually, we’re here to find people like you, who got caught up in this, and get you to safety. Let’s head out of the forest together. Our friends will handle the man with the flute.”

Cyril knew it was best to follow Raul’s instructions. He was one of the Seven Sages, after all.

But…

He stole a glance at the nameless ice spirit and Sezhdio. He’d promised these two his help in persuading the flutist. He didn’t want to renege on his promise.

“Lord Witch of Thorns,” he said.

“Like I said, you can just call me by my name!”

“Lord Roseburg.”

“I meant my first name…”

“Would you allow me to help you persuade the flutist? I promised these spirits my assistance.” He looked the Sage straight in the eye.

Raul and Ray exchanged glances again. They were clearly concerned. It seemed neither of them was good at lying or keeping secrets.

“Oh, um… When you say persuade, well… Hmm…” Raul hesitated.

“No, it won’t. And with Louis and Bradford in the mix…”

The two Sages spoke quietly among themselves. Cyril caught some unsettling phrases, like “Those two aren’t likely to resolve things peacefully…” and “He said we were going to hang him…” Was it just his imagination?

Raul turned back to Cyril with a goofy smile. “First, let’s get out of here, all right? Ray and I aren’t so great at fighting.”

“…You aren’t?”

“Nope. The most I can do is imbue plants with mana.”

Not all mages excelled at combat. Some were better suited to research, while others specialized in a single skill, such as creating barriers or illusions.

That might be true of Lord Albright, since he’s a shaman, thought Cyril. But why would a Roseburg be a poor fighter? The Roseburgs are a prestigious family of mages…

Suddenly, the ice spirit’s head shot up, and he looked around. Sezhdio reacted, too, growling and lowering his stance.

Ka-chak. Ka-chak. Cyril heard the clanging of metal on metal and footsteps crunching over dry leaves. Three figures were approaching them from deeper in the forest, all dressed in full suits of armor. Though they hadn’t been able to speak with Relva while she was under the flutist’s control, maybe these armor-clad men would be different.

They’re probably messengers dispatched by the flutist, thought Cyril.

“Are you here on behalf of the flutist? I am Cyril Ashley. I’d like to speak with your master…”

But the figures didn’t stop when he greeted them.

The suits of armor were all the same size and design, but the decorations on the one in the middle were slightly different. Many of its pieces were framed with gold paint. That one was probably the leader.

“Wait!” yelled Cyril, his face turning red. “We should talk this—”

“Fool! Nothing will come of talking to these things!” Sezhdio roared angrily before swinging his sharp claws between the helmet and the rest of the armor.

His claws sheared through the material, sending the helmet toppling to the ground. No blood spilled from inside, however. Instead, bundles of metal cords spilled out and hung loosely from where the head should have been.

…They’re not human? Then what are they? Cyril wondered in shock.

The other two suits of armor approached.

Raul immediately chanted a spell and hurled some small seeds at the ground. In mere moments, they had sprouted. They quickly grew into tough vines, which then coiled up and around all three of the suits of armor.

“These things aren’t human! Um. That probably makes them magical items, right?”

They must be very strange if even a Sage like Raul was using vague terms like probably. Cyril, for one, had never heard of nor seen such a thing before.

Raul’s rose vines squeezed the flailing suits of armor, making them look like misshapen green dumplings. Soon, however, they began to visibly slacken.

Raul’s eyes widened. “What in the world? Are they…absorbing my mana?”

Just then, an arm slithered out of a gap in the loosening vines. The suits of armor were packed with metal wires. The arm, still connected to those wires, detached from the suit’s shoulder, then shot out with the speed of a bullet, piercing the young ice spirit’s gut.

“Ice Spirit!”

As Cyril and Glenn shouted, the hand that had plunged through the ice spirit slithered back toward its main body, dragging the spirit with it.

With no time to chant, Cyril and Glenn grabbed hold of the boyish spirit. Everything else had left their minds—they couldn’t let the arm take him.

They managed to hold him fast for a moment, and Sezhdio used that chance to attack the wires linking the armor to its arm with his sharp claws. He couldn’t slice through them, but the arm impaling the spirit slid out from his gut and fell to the ground.

Cyril lifted the limp spirit’s head. “Hey! Pull yourself together! Are you conscious?!”

He shuddered at how light the spirit was. Too light. A terrible premonition settled over him. Nervously, he turned up the boy’s mantle. He and Glenn gasped.

“What the heck…?” Glenn groaned.

Cyril couldn’t blame him. Beneath the boy’s clothes—a simple rag with a hole for the head—they could see a gaping hole in his torso. Glittering mana spilled from the hole without a sound.

…What’s more, he had no arms. They’d probably been missing since before Cyril and Glenn had met him.

While Cyril and Glenn were preoccupied with shock at the ice spirit’s injuries, Raul continued to fight the suits of armor.

He chanted, then touched his fingertips to the ground. “Want some of this?”

Thorny shrubs burst up at the suits’ feet, skewering them straight through to the crowns of their heads. The way their branches stretched out from the armors’ gaps made them look like prey impaled by a shrike.

But one of the three—the one with gold decorations—began to use its arm, which it could extend and retract at will, to snap the thorny branches. First, it took care of its own, then it helped its fellows, freeing them.

Raul grimaced. “The one with the gold ornamentation… I think it can draw mana from whatever it touches. I don’t think the others can.”

Just as he said, only the shrubs and branches touched by the golden one had visibly weakened.

Ray groaned. He had been hiding behind a large tree for most of the confrontation. His expression was full of despair. “It can draw out mana? That’s so unfair… How’s a mage or a spirit supposed to beat it…?”

Ray was right. Cyril’s magical broach was capable of absorbing excess mana, but that was nothing compared to this golden suit of armor. It was leeching out the mana from Raul’s thorns and the impaled ice spirit, then using that to power itself. If Cyril or Glenn flung attack spells at it, it would probably absorb a good portion of those, too.

In Cyril’s arms, the ice spirit squeezed out a whisper. “Run…away…”

His right shoulder glowed faintly blue, and a branch of ice protruded from it. Cyril hadn’t noticed it until now, but the spirit must have been using that icy branch in place of arms when it gathered leaves or mounted Sezhdio.

The branch lunged straight past Cyril’s face, piercing someone hiding behind a tree. Glowing mana sprayed out instead of blood as Relva, a fire spirit in the form of a young woman, glared at them with sharp eyes. Apparently, she’d been targeting them from the shadows.

Despite the ice branch impaling her chest, Relva impassively whipped up a firestorm around them. Her red hair and thin silk dress fluttered along with the flames. The ice branch melted instantly.

This is bad!

A thin, empty smile rose to Ray’s lips as he stayed hidden behind a tree. “My curses can’t affect spirits… It’s all over, isn’t it…?”

“No! It ain’t over yet!” Glenn quickly chanted a spell and loosed a fireball at Relva, and Cyril swiftly started a quick-chant of his own.

Relva’s coat of flames spread out like a curtain, hiding the beautiful woman from sight and blocking Glenn’s fireball.

“Freeze!” Finished with his chant, Cyril touched his fingertips to the ground. Ivy made of ice sprouted from that spot, then sprang straight for the fire spirit.

The ice vines were meant to freeze her legs—the moment they hit the spirit’s toes, they would expand. But before they could reach their target, the spirit leaped with inhuman grace to a nearby tree branch. Cyril’s ice vines missed their target and froze another tree instead.

Raul added in his own incantation, sending rose vines stretching toward Relva. She cut them down with a sword made of flames.

She’s just too strong, Cyril thought with a sting of regret.

Just then, several more figures appeared behind Relva. For a moment, Cyril thought help had arrived. But his hopes were dashed in an instant.

There were five figures headed toward them, all suits of armor. Their arms smoothly extended from their shoulders, winding and undulating uncannily.

Now they were up against Relva, a high fire spirit, and eight moving suits of armor—one of whom had the ability to absorb mana. It looked like the end of the line.

“Ray?” said Raul, warding the enemies off with more thorny briars. “Could I ask you for a curse?”

“My curses have no effect on spirits…”

“Not them. I want you to curse me.”

Cyril and Glenn were dumbfounded. What was he saying at a time like this?

Raul’s intent was incomprehensible to Cyril. Ray, however, seemed to realize what was happening.

“I have one,” he murmured. “It will put you to sleep and give you nightmares…”

“Hold the nightmares, please!”

“Sorry. I’m afraid curses are meant to inflict suffering… Ten minutes, right?”

“Yep. Any longer than that, and we might be in trouble.”

“All right.” Ray nodded and chanted a curse incantation under his breath. These were superficially similar to the ones used in magecraft but wholly different under the surface.

In tandem with his chant, a shamanic seal on his right hand lifted up into the air, then extended like a plant vine and coiled around Raul’s neck. The purple seal made a full rotation, then its glow disappeared, as if it was fitting itself to the other man’s skin.

Raul stroked his now curse-engraved neck and turned back to face Relva. “I’ll handle this. The rest of you follow Ray and run away.”

“Lord Roseburg, didn’t that armor absorb the mana from your last attack?” asked Cyril, concerned.

Raul broke into a full smile. “Aww, are you worried about me? You’re such a good guy!”

He was truly smiling. It was such a cheerful and bright expression, it seemed completely out of place. Cyril wasn’t sure how to respond.

“He’s a monster,” mumbled Ray. “He has a higher mana capacity than almost anyone else in the kingdom… Worrying about him is a waste of time…”

Indeed, Raul didn’t seem tired at all, despite having the mana sucked out of him. In fact, Ray—who hadn’t done anything—looked much more worn out.

Cyril bit his lip. Don’t get your priorities mixed up…

He wasn’t as strong as a Sage. Above all, they had two weakened spirits to take care of. Sezhdio’s foreleg was wounded, and Ice Spirit lay unmoving and limp, his eyes closed.

The first thing he needed to do was flee and get the spirits somewhere safe.

“We’re getting out of here, Dudley. Help Sezhdio run. I’ll carry Ice Spirit.”

“Got it, boss! Can you still run, Mister Wolf?”

“I can.” Sezhdio took off, dragging his foreleg, and Glenn ran alongside him.

Ray followed behind them, grumbling, “Help me, not the spirits…”

Cyril got a firm grip on Ice Spirit, then bowed to Raul. “Please be safe, Lord Roseburg.”

“Sure thing! Once this is over, we can continue our picnic!” Raul turned his head and waved vigorously.

Cyril didn’t recall starting a picnic, but he swallowed the retort and launched into a run, carrying Ice Spirit in his arms.

…Be safe, huh?

Raul let out a carefree chuckle. He smiled, filled with joy.

He’d been raised with love and care as the Roseburg heir. And yet, nobody had ever prayed for his safety before. Almost nobody bothered worrying about the Witch of Thorns.

The suits of armor ripped through the rose vines binding them as Relva’s flames burned away the thorny shrubs. The gold armor was showing renewed strength after absorbing the vines’ mana.

Sometimes you could destroy an enemy like that by purposely overstuffing it with mana, but that took time. And he had the fire spirit and the other suits of armor to contend with right now.

His green eyes glinted darkly beneath his crimson curls.

…I’d better not scare them, huh?

Raul looked down and pushed up his bangs with his left hand. Beneath his palm, his shapely lips curled up into a smile—not the joyful grin from before, but something different.

This was the smile of a savage witch who had found her prey.

“Rot away, scrap metal. Rot away, flame spirit. None of you are worthy fertilizer.”

The voice of the man who had smiled so cheerfully now held a bone-chilling charm as it began to sing out an incantation. This was a spell that no longer existed, one passed down only from Roseburg to Roseburg.

“Human flesh, spirit mana—all will be equal fodder for my roses.”

Rose seeds scattered across the ground, then instantly sprouted and swelled.

If that was all, this spell would be no different from the one Raul had been using up until now. But the power and scope of this version were far greater.

The rose vines expanded like a fortress in front of him, swallowing the suits of armor whole.

Raul Roseburg, the fifth Witch of Thorns, was a genius mage with the greatest mana capacity in the kingdom, but his temperament made him a poor combatant. And so, his great-grandmother, the third Witch of Thorns, had granted him a means to unlock his full potential in times of emergency—a means to conduct himself as a coldhearted, ruthless witch.

“Now trample. Now overrun.”

The witch lifted the hand she’d scattered the seeds with. Her manly fingertips, covered by gloves meant for farm work, lovingly stroked the rose vines. To her charming face rose the beguiling grin of a sadist.

“The Rose Fortress devours until nothing remains.”

The rose vines slithered like snakes, constricting the suits of armor and crushing them flat. Each vine was packed with an unbelievable amount of mana. The golden armor attempted to draw out their power, but the vines sucked the armor dry instead.

The Rose Fortress could absorb mana, too. When it and the golden armor competed, the more powerful of the two naturally prevailed.

The suit of armor only held out for a few seconds before the roses devoured its mana and crushed it.

The Rose Fortress was a type of grand magecraft used by the first Witch of Thorns when a foreign nation invaded Ridill in the past. The spell had squeezed the blood and mana from thousands of soldiers. Now people referred to it fearfully as the “Man-eating Rose Fortress.”

But humans weren’t the roses’ only fodder. They could devour the mana from magical items and spirits as well.

They propagated until they’d surrounded Relva as well. Relva spread her flames about her like a cloak, then tried to slice through the vines using her fiery sword. But the weapon merely charred the surface. It could not burn the vines away.

Like a den of countless snakes, the vines coiled around her and squeezed with so much force it would have broken all the bones in a human’s body.

Relva might have been able to flee if the roses were merely binding her. But the Rose Fortress ate the mana of its prey, too. As the vines drew in her power, buds began to pop up all over them, blooming into huge flowers. The roses were a gorgeous fiery crimson, a gradient of yellows, oranges, and reds.

When they had finally extinguished Relva’s flames along with her life, the Witch of Thorns brought a rose to her lips and smiled.

Relva left no corpse. When a spirit used up all its power, it dissipated, and its mana returned to the corresponding Spirit King. But the cruel witch’s Rose Fortress had devoured all Relva’s mana before it could begin the journey.

The flame spirit dissipated, and the suits of armor were all destroyed. There were no longer any threats, but the man-eating roses continued to propagate, searching for their next prey. They traveled quickly, and for a moment, it seemed they might fill the whole forest.

But once the fortress expanded a certain distance, the curse engraved on the witch’s neck glowed purple.

“Cursecraft? …How vexing.”

She softly stroked her neck, then closed her eyes drowsily and fell to the ground. Surrounded by roses, she drifted off to sleep.

“Hngh… Please don’t overdo it, Great Witch…”

Tormented by the curse’s nightmares, Raul’s brow creased in discomfort as he tossed and turned on the ground.

“Urgh… I can’t go on… I can’t keep running any longer…”

Ray clung to a nearby tree, his legs shaking. Sweat dripped from his pale face. He truly looked like he was about to draw his last breath.

Glenn stopped and turned back; he’d been running ahead, alongside Sezhdio. “You all right, purple kid?”

“If I look all right to you…then you must be blind… I didn’t sleep at all last night on that carriage…and I’ve been walking since morning… My body can’t take any more…”

Glenn gave a start and looked back the way they’d come. “Wait, then will that rose guy be okay?”

“With how loud he snored on the carriage, I’m sure he’s fine… I wish I were even half as shameless…”

Glenn glanced between the two of them anxiously. “VP, I can take a turn carrying him.”

“No, wait.”

The denial came from Sezhdio. The wolflike creature set his orange eyes on Cyril—more specifically, on the broach around his neck.

“Human. I see you are releasing ice mana.”

“Oh, yes…” Cyril nodded and looked down at his broach as well.

He had a condition known as mana hyperabsorption. The broach—a magical item—helped him by releasing excess mana whenever he drew in too much.

Sezhdio snorted, seeming to bite back his disapproval. “That mana is keeping him alive. You must carry him.”

“…All right.”

Cyril tightened his grip on the spirit. He was light, like a doll filled with cotton. Even now, bits of mana continued to drip from his wound.

Cyril glanced at Sezhdio’s front paw. His injury had nearly healed, and mana had stopped dispersing from it.

But Ice Spirit’s gut wound shows no signs of closing up…

The spirit had told him before that he didn’t have much mana left. Maybe that was slowing his recovery.

“Humans,” Sezhdio rumbled, “I will look around for any nearby enemies… Do not run off.” The spirit burst into a run, and his gray fur disappeared into the trees.

They were a good distance away from Relva now, and Ray insisted he couldn’t move another inch. It was probably best to take a short break.

Ray slowly looked up and gazed at Cyril. His pink eyes glinted eerily behind purple bangs. “Are you contracted to that spirit?”

“No, I’m not.”

“…Then you have no reason to help him.”

Cyril was about to call him heartless but stopped. Ray was a Sage. Cyril couldn’t afford to be rude. “I believe it’s only natural to want to help those who have grown weak,” he said instead.

“Spirits are considered a type of magical creature, but they are closer to natural phenomena. Would you ‘save’ a natural phenomenon? They’re not human. And they’re not animals, either.”

Cyril fell silent, unsure of what to say. He didn’t know enough about spirits to contradict Ray. Still, he didn’t want to give in.

Still holding Ice Spirit, he lowered his voice and asked, “…Then you would have me abandon him?”

“You’re still thinking about this the wrong way. You wouldn’t talk about ‘abandoning’ a natural phenomenon. All a human can do is watch over them as nature takes its course.”

Ray’s tone was flat and detached, as though what he was saying was obvious.

“Devout spirit-worshippers like to convince themselves that spirits are messengers of a god or kind neighbors…,” he continued. “But ask anyone who deals in magecraft or cursecraft, and they’ll tell you that while spirits might be our neighbors, they’re nothing but trouble.”

Ridill’s chief religion was spirit worship. People had faith in the spirit god, who stood above even the Spirit Kings. In modern times, people seldom saw spirits in the course of daily life. Still, they were familiar—people sang about their legends and used their names for calendar months. Alteria chimes, too, were named for a spirit.

But the more well-versed and connected a family was to magecraft, the more they kept their distance. They knew exactly how terrifying such beings could be.

Cyril gulped. Ray’s viewpoint was probably the correct one for a human being. But Cyril couldn’t accept it so easily. Everything seemed to clash—Cyril’s position as a human, what the spirits said, and Cyril’s own feelings. He couldn’t find a clear answer.

As he fell silent, Ray glanced over at Glenn. “The ridiculously tall fellow probably understands them better than you… After all, his master—the Barrier Mage—has a contracted spirit.”

Suddenly named in the conversation, Glenn scratched his cheek and gave a strained smile. “Oh, well, hmm… They’re unique, you know? Sometimes you can talk to them, and sometimes you can’t.”

Ray turned back to Cyril, as if to say I told you so.

But Glenn continued with his usual nonchalance. “Still! If we can save him, then why wouldn’t we?”

His words were simple but clear—unaffected and pleasant. Their frankness washed away Cyril’s doubts and hesitations.

“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?!” Ray ranted, clawing at his purple hair. “Not a word of it, right?! Damn it… A curse upon the both of you…”

Ignoring the Sage’s whining, Glenn turned a cheerful smile on Cyril. “Aren’t you always saying we have to stick to our decisions?”

Glenn’s response had caused all the tension to leave Cyril’s body, and he wanted to shoot the boy a wry smile… But at the same time, he felt deeply relieved, so he settled on nodding instead. “Right. Yes… You’re right.”

He’d promised to help this forest’s spirits, and that included the one in his arms.

…I’m going to save him.

Sezhdio rushed around the forest, patrolling.

Ice Spirit won’t survive the day like that…

He and Ice Spirit hadn’t known each other for long. The boyish spirit had drifted into the forest one mild winter and lived there ever since.

After that, he’d begun to weaken. Eventually, he’d forgotten his own name. Spirits close to dissipation tended to forget who they were.

Even so, he was one of only a few high spirits, and Sezhdio respected him and didn’t want him to disappear. Sezhdio had lived for a long time and experienced the loss of many of his kind.

We must not lose any more spirits.

Perhaps they could survive by forming contracts with humans. However, not many humans had the strength to form a contract with a spirit—and you needed a special stone for it.

Above all, Sezhdio disliked humans and didn’t view such contracts positively. It was humiliating to be bound to a human by a stone and toil as their servant. The spirit kept their volition, yes, but how was that any different from being forced to power a magical item?

And so, Sezhdio had prepared an offering should things go south.

Fire spirits preferred alcohol and roasted offerings. For water spirits, it was clean, clear water and the bounty of the seas. Wind spirits liked songs, earth spirits favored the blessings of the land, and lightning spirits appreciated metalwork. Through such offerings, they gained power.

Ice spirits favored a specific type of offering as well.

And that is why I brought those two humans here. I cannot let them escape.

Life and time, entrapped in clear, beautiful ice—that was what ice spirits preferred.

When seen from above, the forest resembled a trapezoid with a longer bottom edge. The woods were surrounded by flat land, but the closer to the center you got, the more precipitous the slope of the land, and there were several areas with steep cliffs.

Monica had entered this trapezoidal forest near the middle of the west side. Then she’d moved around the center to the north since the other Sages would be heading in from the north and northeast.

First, I need to find one of the others… I have to tell them about the technology using spirits to power magical items…

Without Bartholomeus, she wouldn’t have been sure of how the items worked. Chances were high that the other Sages would take some time to figure it out, too.

Normally, only so much mana could be imbued into a magical item. One of the most lethal modern magical items was Spiralflame, but that could only be used once and only at close range. Huberd Dee, Monica’s upperclassman, had created magical items able to fire in rapid succession, but only by reducing their power.

If spirits can be used to power magic items, it could lead to the creation of dangerous weapons currently outside the reach of modern technology…

The magical armored soldiers from earlier had used their freely extendable arms as weapons, but Monica was sure they were capable of more.

If it were me, I’d wonder if I could give them additional functions… I might install elemental magecraft, defensive barriers, or maybe…

Monica stopped and checked her bearings again. She considered using a detection spell, but the forest was full of spirits. She’d never find two humans among them.

She hadn’t realized it before, but she’d been going up a hill. The ground gave way to a cliff in front of her, and there, about fifteen feet below, she saw a group of people.

The first one to catch her eye was a magical armored soldier.

A moment later, an ax took off its head, sending it flying.

“……”

Magical armored soldier remains littered the ground beneath the cliff. Ten of them, from what Monica could see. All of them were dismantled, their limbs and heads cut off, like some gruesome murder scene.

A man continued to swing the ax amid the remains with great energy. He wore his long, chestnut-colored hair in a braid. It was her colleague, Louis Miller.

Behind him, Bradford Firestone yawned and stretched. When he did, he looked up and spotted Monica on the cliff, then casually waved to her.

“Oh, hey, it’s Silent. Thought we were all doin’ our own thing!”

“Oh, um, well…”

Just then, one of the soldiers attacking Louis held its palm out toward the mage and fired a bolt of lightning. As she’d thought, these weapons could do more than simply extend their arms.

But before Monica could put up a defensive barrier, Louis nimbly jumped to the side and dodged the bolt.

“You’ll need to add a tracking effect if you want to shoot me down.”

Louis leaped out of the way of a second attack, spinning on his right foot as he landed. He used the momentum to make a full swing of his ax, decapitating the soldier next to him.

Chanting at the same time, he shoved his free hand inside the beheaded suit of armor. With all his strength, he ripped out the magical item’s gem core and applied a sealing barrier to it.

When Monica fought the soldiers earlier, she’d lured them into extending their arms, then launched attack spells into the gaps. Louis, on the other hand, was chopping them into pieces with his ax, then reaching inside with his arm and dragging out the cables before applying a seal to the gemstone.

She could see he was trying to keep mana consumption to an absolute minimum—but it was savage. No other mage would fight like that.

With a crick-crack and a shhh-rrrip, another soldier’s head went flying.

Monica squatted where she stood, trembling, and averted her eyes from the awful spectacle below the cliff.

Once the sounds of destruction ceased, Bradford called up to her. “Heeey, Silent! He’s all done. Come on down.”

“Y-y-yeph phir…”

Monica shut her eyes tightly and jumped off the cliff, using wind magecraft to cushion her landing. She sank into the cushion, then bounced off and landed on the ground on her rear end. As she did, she accidentally put her left hand on the ground and moaned in pain.

“Owieee…”

The aftereffects of the curse from winter break were fading, but the affected area still stung a little, and it hurt quite a lot whenever it was squeezed.

I guess I shouldn’t use my left hand just yet…

Clutching her aching hand, Monica looked around. The remains of magical armored soldiers littered the ground. Louis walked over to her, shouldering his ax and kicking debris out of the way as he went.

“Oh, um, I… Well, there was something I needed to tell you about…”

She decided it would be best to keep Bartholomeus a secret, at least as much as she could. She chose her words carefully as she pointed to the wreckage.

“These suits of armor—they use spirits as their power source. The Lord Gem Mage is using the spirits he controls with Galanis to feed his magical items!”

“Oh? Is that so?” Louis’s gaze sharpened. He lifted just the gem portion out of one of the ruined soldiers near his feet.

Bradford walked up and cast a particularly precise detection spell. While he was most famous for his high-powered attack spells, he was also quite skilled at magecraft that demanded a high degree of accuracy.

“Ah, yeah. I see it… That’s very similar to a spirit’s mana. But it’s incredibly weak.”

“These magic suits of armor consume a spirit’s life force at an incredible rate… Mister Louis, I’m so glad you sealed them. They won’t be consumed while they’re sealed, so…”

Louis put one finger on his chin and thought for a moment. “How did you come to realize this, my fellow Sage?”

“Oh, um, well…,” she stammered. “They happened to attack me, and I dismantled one, and…then I realized what was going on.”

He fixed her with a stare, as if trying to read her mind.

Trying to hide how much this upset her, Monica kept talking. “Oh, and, um, I fought against Miss Ryn… She’s sealed on the west side of the forest right now.”

“Well, well… It seems my idiot maid has caused you some trouble,” Louis casually said.

“Indeed. He can devise all sorts of terrible creations, the capabilities of which we can’t even imagine.”

The man who had just destroyed a bunch of those terrible creations with an ax jabbed the blade of his weapon into the ground and grasped the handle like a cane.

“Let’s share what information we have.” Seeing Monica straighten up, Louis continued. “First, the Abyss Shaman sent a familiar to us with a message. He and the Witch of Thorns have secured the two students taken from Serendia Academy.”

Oh! Lord Cyril and Glenn are safe! Monica nearly cried out in joy but stopped herself. Bradford didn’t know about Monica’s undercover mission. If she made too big a deal out of the boys’ rescue, he might suspect something. She had to satisfy herself with a quiet sigh of relief from behind her veil.

“That’s…good. I’m glad.”

“Second, about the suits of armor I wrecked…”

Louis kicked one of the pieces with his boot. The soldiers were all the same size, but some of the pieces were decorated with paint. Monica didn’t remember seeing that earlier. Louis glanced at Bradford. The Artillery Mage nodded slightly, then picked up where Louis had left off.

“The painted ones seem to be imbued with special effects. I observed them while Barrier fought. The red one used attack magic, and the blue one used a defensive barrier.”

Monica thought this over. Bradford was right—one of the soldiers had fired an attack spell at Louis. That must have been the red one. But Monica hadn’t noticed any barriers. Then something dawned on her, and she nervously looked up at Louis.

“Um, Mister Louis… About that…barrier…”

“I never said it was a good barrier. It was quite simple, and the thing couldn’t use them in succession.”

“Smashed right through it, yes.”

The magical armored soldiers were extremely complex in their construction. Imbuing them with attack magecraft or defensive barriers must have been very difficult. Monica wondered how the Gem Mage would react if he learned they’d been destroyed with an ax.

Bradford picked up one of the pieces at his feet. “And it looked like the gold one could absorb mana. Attack spells got sucked right into it.”

“That’s, well… That’s incredible, but…” Monica looked at Louis.

Louis nodded and smiled. “If magecraft is ineffective, one only needs to attack physically.”

The sum of the vaunted Gem Mage’s wisdom and technology had lost to an ax and some elbow grease. How brutal.

Right then, they heard the grinding of metal scraping against metal from beyond the trees. Several figures appeared from the forest’s center. Monica saw them right away thanks to her good eyesight.

Four magical armored soldiers. One is unmarked, and the other three are colored—one red, one blue, one gold. And behind them…

Behind them, she saw a man with black hair and dark skin. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties and wore an old-fashioned cloak and sandals—probably a spirit under Galanis’s control.

Bradford shaded his eyes with his hand, then grinned. “Hey, Barrier? Let’s stop sneaking around. Our opponent clearly knows where we are.”

“Perhaps you’re right. We’ve rescued the civilians, and I’ve restored a bit of mana myself… I believe it’s time for us to go on the offensive.”

Bradford and Louis were the best combat mages in the Seven Sages, and they were both fully prepared for battle.

Bradford held up four fingers. “Four layers.”

“Y-yes, sir!” squealed Monica.

Just as she nodded, Bradford began his incantation, and Louis tapped his toes against the earth.

Their group didn’t discuss the details. Bradford had said four layers, and Louis was conserving mana. Monica knew exactly what to do.

Mister Louis won’t want to use flight magecraft since it would consume too much mana. The Artillery Mage’s chant will take time…which means what I need to do is…

She felt a faint vibration from the ground under her feet. The enemy was about to attack. Without chanting, Monica put up a defensive barrier at the group’s feet. Beyond it, the ground rippled. Several sharp boulders shot up from below—like swords of rock sprouting from the earth.

That must be the spirit’s power…!

The high spirit—an earth spirit, evidently—flicked his hand, this time causing stones to rain down onto the group. Monica erected a barrier above them, too, blocking the attack.

He was proving a troublesome opponent, with his multipronged assault from above and below. If you used flight magecraft to escape the ground-based attack, the stony deluge would knock you out of the air.

Monica kept them safe with her two barriers. Louis was more skilled with such things than she was, but he hadn’t said anything about handling their defense.

He wants to conserve mana and stall for time, she thought.

“Lift the barrier above us as far as you can, my fellow Sage.”

He was asking her to raise it, not increase its power. Realizing what he was after, Monica adjusted the position of her barrier, expanding the safe zone between earth and sky.

Louis’s barrier protected him from the ground while Monica’s kept falling stones from striking his head. Most importantly, this would let Louis close in on the enemy without requiring as much mana as flight magecraft.

Once he was near the earth spirit and the suits of armor, Louis jumped off his belt-shaped barrier and used his ax to chop off one of the soldiers’ heads. He then flung his foot out behind him, kicking another one. Then, using the recoil from that strike, he swung his ax at the earth spirit’s neck.

Louis’s charge had bought Bradford time to chant while keeping their enemies grouped together. And once the Artillery Mage was done, he produced a gigantic fireball before his outstretched palm. It was large enough for two adults to put their arms around and resembled Glenn’s favored fire magecraft, only with a lot more mana packed into it.

Bradford’s specialty was raising a spell’s power using multilayered strengthening formulae, and for this one, he’d used four layers. The flames comprising the fireball were closer to white than red. Its glow lit up the mage’s face, illuminating his amused expression.

“I’m ready, Silent.”

“…Understood.”

Bradford launched his spell. The overwhelming firepower of his magecraft had earned it a nickname: the Greatcannon.

“Kaboooom!”

Right as he released the fireball, Monica dispelled both her barriers and put up new ones—one to protect Louis and another to protect their surroundings.

And yet…my wide-area barrier didn’t hold up…

They couldn’t let the forest be destroyed, so she’d constructed a defensive barrier to keep the surrounding area safe. Unfortunately, every single tree at the point of impact had been blown out of the ground. Bradford’s “cannonball” had overpowered her barrier. That said, without it, a lot more than a few trees would have been destroyed.

“Um, Mister Louis…are you okay?” she asked, paling.

“Of course he is. See?” Bradford jerked his chin.

Beyond the dirt and dust, Louis knelt, his ax in the ground. He was unwounded, as far as Monica could tell. The barrier around him had been much more confined, and it seemed she’d managed to make it tough enough.

Monica breathed a sigh of relief and dispelled the barrier protecting Louis.

Remnants of magical armored soldiers lay scattered about him. Nearby, the humanoid earth spirit lay on the ground, too, now missing the right half of his body. He would never shed blood, but the sight of light particles pouring out of his wounds made Monica’s chest constrict.

She placed a sealing barrier on the spirit—the same as she’d done for Ryn. While it robbed the spirit of his freedom, it would also limit how much mana he lost. The wound should have been fatal, but with the help of the seal, she could keep him from dissipating for now. Once they destroyed Galanis and set the spirit free, he could rest in a mana-dense area and recover.

Because of how much the battle had weakened him, the earth spirit was easier to seal than Ryn. Once Monica was finished, she pulled the gems out of the soldiers’ remains and sealed them, too.

Meanwhile, Louis scowled and covered his ears. Apparently, the explosion had hit them hard.

“Ridiculous power, as always,” he said.

In other words, if he’d wanted to, the Artillery Mage could have completely obliterated both the magical armored soldiers and the earth spirit.

He glanced over at Monica. “I’m sure even Silent can manage four layers of strengthening anyway. Right?”

Monica wasn’t sure how to respond. She’d learned how to use multilayered strengthening magecraft and could even do it without chanting. But it cost a vast amount of mana and demanded extremely fine control.

“Oh, um… I could if I tried, yes… But with four layers, I would need a support formula for the compression…and I’d need to use segmentation.”

Generally, a mage could only maintain two spells at once. Bradford only had to use one for his four-layered strengthening spell, but Monica would need both to complete the formula. The second spell would help her make up for the hefty amount of mana needed during compression, and her lack of skill at the process. Mages frequently split the formula for a single spell into parts, but Monica didn’t like it—it felt wasteful.

“And if I had to segment the formula… Well, it wouldn’t be beautiful.”

“Oh. Uh. That right?” Bradford’s eyes widened at this uncharacteristically stubborn declaration from Monica.

Curling her tiny hands into fists, she continued quickly. “It’s much, much more beautiful to have everything in a single formula, like how you do it. If I segmented it and inserted a support formula, it would add extra baggage, which might affect the spell’s power and precision… And, more importantly, the formula would become an ugly patchwork, and that’s, um, not beautiful at all! That’s why I don’t like to use it.”

His point was reasonable. Even so, Monica frowned behind her veil and shook her head like an obstinate child. “…I don’t want to. A magecraft formula like that… It wouldn’t be…perfect.”

Above all, she’d never be able to draw the same amount of power from the spell as Bradford could. Her formula would be a wasteful patchwork, and it wouldn’t even be as strong. If that was the alternative, then Monica would prefer to use the minimum amount of power to fire a precision strike at her enemy’s weak spot.

Louis shot her a fed-up expression, but Bradford seemed to understand where she was coming from. He folded his arms and nodded to himself, reflecting.

“Yeah, I get why that would bother you. I mean, it’s always my policy to clinch the battle with a huge explosion, you know? It’s important to be particular like that.”

“…Geniuses are all so vexing. Why is that?” murmured Louis.

The Barrier Mage had used one of his barriers as a bridge to run across the battlefield before laying his enemies low with an ax. This seemed much more practical to him.

Louis gazed at the two eccentrics, then sighed and shrugged.

In his little house by the spring, the Gem Mage sat in his work chair and synthesized the paints he needed to create his magical armored soldiers. Normally, he’d have his apprentices or other hired craftsmen mix the paint for him. But when he was anxious, he felt the intense need to do it himself.

The wind spirit Rynzbelfeid, the fire spirit Relva, the earth spirit Vestion—all three of the high spirits I captured are now free of Galanis’s control.

One-of-a-kind, overwhelming power…

The Seven Sages were the greatest mages in the kingdom, and each possessed superior talents.

Mary Harvey, the Starseer Witch, was the foremost prophet in the land, able to predict the kingdom’s future.

Bradford Firestone, the Artillery Mage, could use six-layered strengthening magecraft, the strongest in Ridill’s history.

Ray Albright, the Abyss Shaman, was a descendant of the only family in Ridill to use cursecraft and the only person in the world who kept over two hundred curses on his own body.

Raul Roseburg, the Witch of Thorns, was blessed with both talent and the greatest mana capacity in the kingdom. What’s more, he could use the Man-eating Rose Fortress, a type of grand magecraft that had been lost with the passing of the first Witch of Thorns.

Monica Everett, the Silent Witch and the youngest Sage ever appointed, was a girl genius and the only person in the world who could use unchanted magecraft.

Each of them was irreplaceable and possessed a one-of-a-kind talent.

Emanuel Darwin, the Gem Mage, was incredibly skilled at making magical items. But at the same time, he was replaceable—and he knew that. He’d only joined the Seven Sages thanks to Duke Clockford’s backing.

Carla Maxwell, the Starspear Witch, had left the Sages when someone close to her fell from grace, making room for the Gem Mage. But she, too, had been praised as a great genius—a one-of-a-kind talent. And so, when Emanuel was appointed to the Sages in her place, some said he wasn’t worthy of the honor.

But the same is true of the Barrier Mage…

That man was skilled at barrier techniques, but many others specialized in the same field. And he might have killed a lot of dragons single-handedly, but his record was still second to that of Graham Sanders, the Thunderclap Mage.

Louis Miller, the Barrier Mage, had nothing that was one of a kind.

He’d become a Sage through his connection with First Prince Lionel. Emanuel was sure of it. The two of them had been friends during their school days at Minerva’s.

Emanuel had always loathed Louis for their similarities, and he hated himself for it. But from now on, such petty trifles would no longer torment him. Because Emanuel Darwin, the Gem Mage, had found his own “one-of-a-kind” trait.

“The spirits under our control stir, my master. Three Sages approach…”

The silver flute hanging around his neck whispered to him. Galanis, the Flute of the False King, was an ancient magical item—and it had given Emanuel something all his own.

“What do they look like?” he asked.

“According to the spirit, there is a tall man with a beard, one with a long braid, and a small child.”

The Artillery Mage, the Barrier Mage, and the Silent Witch. Among the current Sages, those three were the best suited to combat. If he could disable them, there would be nothing left for him to fear.

I know the duke is considering installing a leader among the Seven Sages and that he’s trying to use that position to win over the Silent Witch. All despite my long years of service to him!

The duke wanted her for the position because of her one-of-a-kind talent: her unchanted magecraft. Because he thought the Gem Mage was replaceable.

Emanuel’s fingers stroked his necklace and the shining crimson gem embedded in it.

He now had something all his own. Something that could outclass the Silent Witch’s unchanted magecraft and the Artillery Mage’s multilayered strengthening spells. Something that would surely shatter even the Barrier Mage’s pride.

Help me. Help me. This is where I am.

Help me. Help me. Alteria, Romalia…

When Alteria learned of the danger Shelgria was in, she rang her chimes of ice and pleaded for the spirit god to help.

Please, God, hear my call.

Please, God, lend your ear to my voice.

Please, God, grant me some small measure of your grace…

Alteria, too, had weakened almost to the point of dissipation.

Nevertheless, she continued to earnestly ring her chimes.

Eventually, the spirit god noticed their sound and granted protection to Alteria.

Alteria found Romalia, and with their combined strength, they created a blizzard to fell the mad dragon and rescue Shelgria.

Cyril, the limp ice spirit cradled in his arms, followed Sezhdio. Glenn walked beside him, occasionally casting a worried glance at the injured spirit. Ray Albright followed in the rear.

After Relva attacked, the group entrusted the fight to Raul and barely escaped with their lives. Then Sezhdio had offered to take them somewhere safe, so they’d followed and had been walking through the forest ever since.

How long has it been since then?

Cyril looked up at the sky. Thin clouds floated past the sun, but he could tell it was still high in the sky. It was probably sometime after noon.

This had left the whole group quite weary, but Glenn seemed to be having a particularly rough time of it. Cyril reaffirmed his grip on Ice Spirit while keeping a close eye on his underclassman.

…Something’s off.

He hated to admit it, but Glenn had much more stamina than he did. Yet, for some reason, he was staggering along, clearly exhausted.

“Dudley, are you unwell? Did you get hurt somewhere?”

“Nope! I’m totally fine!” Glenn returned a toothy grin, but it seemed somehow forced.

Cyril’s face clouded.

“Glenn Dudley, apprentice of the Barrier Mage…,” mumbled Ray. “You were cursed by the dragon in Rehnberg, right?”

Cyril had heard rumors about Glenn being present when the Cursed Dragon of Rehnberg appeared. But this was the first he’d heard of Glenn being cursed.

Ray’s pink eyes glinted as he gave Glenn a once-over. “Yeah, I thought so. It’s not completely gone yet… It must have been even more stubborn than I’d thought. You must feel pain, numbness, and fatigue… Perhaps the Silent Witch’s injury is also worse than I anticipated…”

Cyril’s eyes went wide at the last part. He looked at Ray. “The Silent Witch?”

“She was cursed on her left hand… Not as badly as Glenn Dudley, but she probably can’t get much use out of it.”

Cyril felt his hands begin to sweat. He recalled the petite young woman he’d met during the New Year festivities at the castle.

That’s right. She was holding her left hand, as if protecting it.

He thought of her little hand, like a child’s, peeking out from the sleeve of her robe…

“How long do you intend to rest?”

“Sezhdio, Dudley isn’t well. Could we let him take a little break?”

“What are you talking about? Don’t be naive. Safety is still a ways off.”

As Sezhdio stubbornly urged them on, Ray glared at him.

“…Are we really headed for safety?” he asked.

Cyril felt the air around them freeze.

Sezhdio stopped stamping the ground. His sunset-colored eyes moved to stare back at Ray.

Ray grasped the edge of his hood and continued muttering. “The mana here is clearly thicker than before… The trees are denser as well. Doesn’t this mean we’re actually going deeper—?”

Sezhdio jumped and used his giant forelegs to drag Glenn and Ray to the ground. Cyril blinked in surprise. It had happened in mere seconds.

Pinning Glenn with his right leg and Ray with his left, Sezhdio roared, “Ice spirit! Freeze them!”

“Sezhdio, what is this?!” demanded Cyril.

“Do it now, Ice Spirit! Without their offering, you will dissipate!”

Cyril automatically looked down at the ice spirit in his arms. The spirit opened his eyes weakly, seeming dazed. He wasn’t fully conscious yet.

“What is the meaning of this?!” cried Cyril, his voice pained. “Weren’t you taking us to persuade the flute player?!”

“If we had been successful…then the flute player alone could have served as an offering. But we no longer have time. At this rate, Ice Spirit will dissipate.”

“And an ice spirit’s offering is frozen life,” Sezhdio continued. “Flowers have little mana—humans are much better and will grant him that much more strength.”

“But…but wait! Isn’t there another way?!”

“I know of none. If you have an idea, human, then speak.”

Cyril thought desperately. But he didn’t know much about spirit ecology—only what he’d learned in elementary magecraft textbooks. It wasn’t enough. His knowledge was nowhere near enough.

And I call myself part of the Lineage of the Wise!

As Cyril despaired, the ice spirit in his arms began to speak. “…Sezh… Don’t…,” he squeezed out, his voice weak.

Spirits didn’t shed tears, but Ice Spirit trembled as though he were about to.

“I must not…steal anyone else…or from anyone else…ever again.”

“Naive fool! You will dissipate otherwise! I do not wish to see any more of my race perish!”

As Sezhdio roared, Glenn—still under the wolf spirit’s giant foreleg—quietly chanted. He probably wanted to use flight magecraft to slip out. Sezhdio mercilessly put more weight on his back. Glenn’s chant cut off as a puff of air left his lungs.

“What an annoyance. I will bite off your limbs. Then you will be still!”

Sezhdio opened his mouth wide. Each of his fangs was thick and sharp, like a knife. But before they could devour Glenn’s body, Sezhdio’s hind legs froze to the ground.

The spell wasn’t Cyril’s—it was Ice Spirit’s doing.

“Ice Spirit! You fool!”

Sezhdio raged as Glenn scrambled out from under his foot, then grabbed Ray’s arm and pulled him out, too.

Cyril felt the weight in his hands grow lighter still. A fracture now ran through the spirit’s armless body, and mana leaked from it. Cyril held Ice Spirit closer and tried to bring his broach as near to him as he could. If his excess mana could keep this spirit alive for just a little longer…

And yet it was clear to everyone that more mana was leaving the spirit’s body than entering it.

“VP…” Glenn shot him a painful look.

Ray, whom Glenn had helped, said nothing. He watched Cyril dispassionately, without sadness or scorn, as he tried to save the ice spirit on the verge of dissipation. His eyes were those of a wise sage whose job was to bear witness and properly remember all that he had seen.

“Yeah, I know…,” Cyril murmured, feeling the weight of his own powerlessness. “I know. I do…”

He understood the reality of the situation. His knowledge and skills weren’t enough to save this ice spirit. He also understood that spirits weren’t like humans and that they sometimes brought humans harm.

But Cyril still wanted to help.

I want to save him so badly… The fracture in the ice spirit’s torso was almost to his neck. But I can’t…I can’t do anything.

The spirit shifted slightly in his arms. His ice-blue eyes lost focus. In a daze, he looked up at Cyril.

“Human. Human, are you…crying?”

His voice was so weak that Cyril had to listen very closely to hear it. A faint smile came to the spirit’s cherubic face and softened, as if he were comforting a young child.

“Crying child…does the blizzard frighten you? …Then I will sing you a lullaby.”

“Ice Spirit, what are you—?”

“To’o lais malofivin’e luah me’eray lai.”

The lyrics were words most humans couldn’t understand. The melody was gentle, as though softly comforting a frightened child on a dark night. Low spirits began to drift and gather about the ice spirit.

Ray, who had watched in silence until now, widened his eyes in surprise and groaned.

“This blizzard is a lullaby for you. Child, sleep peacefully…?” he recited.

That was probably what the words meant. Not many people knew the language of the spirits, but if anyone might, it would be one of the Seven Sages.

…Blizzard? Lullaby?

Cyril immediately recalled the winter spirits of legend. There was Shelgria, who heralded winter. Alteria, who rang the chimes. And…

He spoke the next name that came to mind. “Romalia…who makes blizzards into lullabies?”

“Wait, isn’t that the winter spirit the month is named after?!” Glenn cried out in surprise.

Cyril couldn’t blame him. How many people had ever seen the spirits they’d named their months for?

Even Ray, a Sage, couldn’t conceal his surprise. “He’s still alive…?”

The youthful, boyish ice spirit—Romalia—smiled faintly.

“I remember now… I loved songs… Shelgria would announce the winter’s arrival, Alteria would ring the chimes…and I would sing songs to the little children on snowy nights so they wouldn’t be frightened.”

Shelgria, Alteria, and Romalia—the three spirits of winter were known to be particularly friendly to humans, and many heartwarming stories were told about them. That was why their names had been chosen for the winter months.

His ice-blue eyes wavered sadly. It was the same expression he’d had when he’d told them, in self-admonition, that he couldn’t ask for their help.

“…R-Roma…lia?” stammered Cyril.

The ice spirit squeezed his delicate eyebrows together, as if he were about to cry. But no tears fell, only fragments of mana, escaping his body.

“I…I killed a human… That’s why…I could never ask for your help…”

Cyril nearly asked what he meant. But the ominous ka-clank, ka-clank of metal cut him off.

Ray whimpered, and Glenn’s expression turned grim as they all gazed deeper into the forest.

Magical suits of armor were approaching them. Cyril could already make out more than ten, and there might well be more.

Not only was their group exhausted, but Sezhdio and Romalia were in no condition to fight. Ray buried his face in his hands and put on the bleak smile of someone given up to despair.

“Ah… We’re all dead, aren’t we…?”

Bradford and Monica were walking together when the former suddenly stopped and scanned their surroundings. He looked like a birdwatcher, listening closely for their calls, his eyes peeled to spot them among the branches. Birds, however, were not what he was looking for.

“Something about this forest just changed… It feels like the spirits are restless.”

Monica didn’t know what he meant. Louis probably didn’t, either. The latter walked ahead of the others with his ax on his shoulder, not slowing down even as he turned back to them.

Those with high mana capacity were said to be sensitive to changes in mana and the presence of spirits. Perhaps that was why Bradford and Raul, whose capacities were large even among the Sages, sometimes had particularly good intuition. Both of them tended to be easygoing and a bit careless, but their senses were extraordinarily sharp.

I wonder if something happened to the Witch of Thorns and the Abyss Shaman… They were supposed to be protecting Lord Cyril and Glenn…

As Monica fidgeted, Louis stopped ahead of them. “I see it. That’s the Gem Mage’s hideout.”

Ahead of Louis, Monica could see a cozy little house in a grove amid the trees. There was a spring next to it, and the burbling water branched into several small streams. That was what had led them there.

Now we just have to destroy his magic items and Galanis, the Flute of the False King. Then we set the spirits free, finishing up the mission… Taking custody of the Gem Mage was not one of their objectives. Even if they captured him, they didn’t intend to hand him over to the authorities.

Louis stared at the hideout. “I should probably explain my main concern while we have the chance. It’s about Galanis.”

“You have been awfully preoccupied with destroying that thing, haven’t you? …What is it?” Bradford gazed at him searchingly.

Louis pushed his monocle up with a finger and nodded. “I did as much research into the ancient magical item as I could…and all throughout history, whenever it appears, there’s a war.”

“Well, yeah. Most ancient magical items are basically weapons. If you’re gonna use ’em for anything, it’s gonna be war.”

Monica recalled Starweaving Mira, the item the Starseer Witch kept watch over. It was made to absorb mana from the land, but it could also reuse that mana for offensive magecraft. Depending on how one used it, it could easily become a weapon.

“I paid special attention to those who have possessed it throughout history,” explained Louis. “The holder was always the one who triggered the war—or a close aide to such a person.”

At that, an awful premonition settled over Monica.

The second prince’s grandfather, Duke Clockford, was spoiling for a war. And he favored the Gem Mage.

Louis lowered his voice and continued. “I believe that Galanis uses deceitful language to seduce its user into starting wars.”

There had been no major war in Ridill since the one with the Empire five decades ago. A few border skirmishes, perhaps, but no wars. At the end of that conflict, the Kingdom of Ridill was defeated.

At first, the mages in the Kingdom’s army had pushed the Empire back. But then the Empire had used an ancient magical item called Bern’s Mirror to reflect their attack magecraft, leading to a crushing defeat for Ridill and ultimately the loss of the war.

“Galanis is also called the War-Bringing Flute. Furthermore, we know that if certain conditions are met, ancient magical items can take over their user’s mind and body.” Louis stopped there, thinking for a moment. “If I were Galanis, I would flatter the Gem Mage, put him in a good mood, and have him use tons of mana. Then, when he was exhausted, I would take over. Once I’d finished using his body for whatever I wanted, I could simply assign all responsibility to him, then pass into the hands of a new user.”

Leave it to Mister Louis to think up such heinous ideas, thought Monica. But why would Galanis want to start a war?

Wars were contests between people over land and resources. What would an ancient magical item like Galanis stand to gain? Now that she thought about it, Starweaving Mira was also an ancient magical item with a difficult personality—it wanted to kill the man it loved.

I don’t really understand how ancient magical items think… Besides, would Galanis even—?

“Oh, um, nothing that important, but…I just wonder if Galanis would even help that much in a modern war.”

The mana here in Kelielinden Forest was dense, and the spirits were numerous. They gave Galanis the ability to exhibit its true worth. But if a battle took place somewhere with less mana, the spirits under the item’s control would eventually dissipate. Even if someone made spirits a power source for other magical items like the Gem Mage was doing, there were only so many spirits he could use.

“If I were Galanis, I would pollute the land with mana to make more areas with high mana density. Then there would be more spirits, which would allow it to expand its area of activity, right? The more spirits it has, the stronger Galanis becomes, so…”

The expression began to disappear from Monica’s face as she sank deeper into thought, and her voice grew increasingly dispassionate.

Louis scowled. “I’m once again reminded never to make an enemy out of you.”

“Huh?!”

“Your ideas are always so inhumanly brutal, my fellow Sage.”

“Whaaaaat?!”

That was exactly what Monica was always thinking about him. As she worked her mouth trying to respond, Bradford beat her to it. He sounded appalled.

“If you ask me, you’re both awful. But trying to predict the worst possible outcome isn’t a bad idea. Just make sure you don’t lose your humanity in the pursuit of logic, all right?”

Bradford used his dignity as their elder to quiet Monica and Louis, then he cast his sharp eyes about their surroundings.

“I noticed something, too. We found a bunch of traps when we first entered the forest, but we haven’t seen any since.”

“Perhaps it’s so the spirits and soldiers don’t accidentally trip them?” Louis replied smoothly.

“Could be, could be… It’s just that Gem is a coward. Why wouldn’t he have something in place to protect himself? What I’m saying is…” Bradford stroked his beard and lowered his voice. “He must have one hell of a trap in store for us somewhere.”

“Then please blow it up, which you are so good at doing,” said Louis.

Bradford flashed him an intrepid grin. “My thoughts exactly. I’m the Artillery Mage, after all!”

“One blow of the flute and I can control every spirit within earshot. Every one you see here is on my side…”

Spirits far outclassed humans in mana capacity, and they didn’t need to chant. While they weren’t high spirits, a group of this size still posed a threat. Emanuel also had about ten magical armored soldiers at the ready, hidden away so that Louis’s group wouldn’t notice them.

“Too terrified to speak, are we?” he jeered.

Louis blinked. Emanuel thought he was right on the mark, but then…

“Oh, may I talk now? You seemed so excited to give your excellent speech that you were practically wetting your pants, so I kept quiet for you.”

As always, the man was outstanding at ruffling feathers. Now that he’d embarrassed Emanuel, Louis adopted a friendly attitude.

“If you would allow me…I have a piece of advice for you, Lord Gem Mage. Revealing the best card in your hand is never a good move. Next time, you should probably keep it safe and concealed.”

“I see, I see. Just as you keep the Silent Witch and the Artillery Mage concealed, I suppose?”

Based on his spirits’ reports, he knew the two Sages were with Louis. Emanuel was sure they were hidden somewhere nearby, waiting for the perfect moment to attack.

“…That would make you the bait, wouldn’t it, Lord Barrier Mage?” he continued. “I can’t say I’m all that surprised. You’re good for very little else.”

“You’re awfully talkative today, aren’t you?”

“Why, indeed. I am in an excellent mood.”

Emanuel hated Louis. Unlike the other sages, Louis had no unique talents. He’d only been appointed because of his connection to the first prince—the same situation as Emanuel.

“How does it feel to have your contracted spirit ripped away from you?” he taunted.

A contract with a high spirit was far from a one-of-a-kind ability. Nevertheless, it wasn’t something accessible to just anybody. Emanuel had assumed that stealing the man’s precious spirit would enrage him.

But when Louis responded, his voice was calm and easy. “Well, it made long-distance travel a pain. Other than that, I don’t feel anything in particular.”

He was bluffing. He had to be.

Emanuel pasted on a gentle smile and spoke cheerfully, as if singing. “You have nothing that makes you unique. Not like the Silent Witch with her unchanted magecraft or the Artillery Mage with his six-layered strengthening spell. All you can do is play decoy, flitting around while you put up those barriers of yours.”

Louis’s eyebrows twitched, and Emanuel’s smile deepened. He’d cut deep that time.

“Boast and brag all you like, but you’ll never be as talented as they are. It must be so frustrating.”

“…Me? Not as talented?” Louis cast his gaze at the ground as his shoulders began to tremble.

Louis Miller, of all people, was shaking with humiliation! But just as Emanuel was basking in satisfaction, Louis burst out laughing.

“Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

He lifted his head up and nearly bent backward as he cackled. He could barely contain himself.

“Unchanted magecraft, six-layered strengthening, rose fortresses, shamanic arts…,” said Louis. “Yes, I suppose they are unique. Consider me, though. I can do basically anything with very little effort. Doesn’t that make me far more amazing than them?”

Louis lowered the ax from his shoulder and shrugged. “Having a one-of-a-kind weapon certainly doesn’t make you invincible. All that matters in the end is who wins.”

“Have you no pride as a mage?”

“Pride? You threw pride down the drain the moment you decided to cling to that ancient magical item.”

That tore the smile from Emanuel’s face.

This little boy just couldn’t figure it out. He didn’t understand a thing. Repairing the broken Flute of the False King and using it to control spirits and turn them into a source of power was the Gem Mage’s magnum opus. If that didn’t make him one of a kind, then what could?

As Emanuel ground his teeth, Louis offered him the gentle smile of a perfect saint.

“I see you want validation, Lord Gem Mage. Allow me to give you that which you desire… You are a true genius. Nobody else would have been able to create magical items that use spirits as a power source.” Louis’s grayish-violet eyes narrowed behind his monocle, turning his kind smile into a chilling sneer. “But not all geniuses are capable. And if I have to work with someone, I would choose an average man with talent over an incompetent genius any day.”

Emanuel told himself that Louis was just a sore loser.

Then the Barrier Mage continued smoothly, “In fact, I expect Duke Clockford thinks the same.”

“…!”

“Illegal import and misappropriation of an ancient magical item? If anyone under my command pulled such a stunt, I would want to kill and bury them personally.”

Emanuel still hadn’t breathed a word to the duke about Galanis.

His plan was to wait until his magical armored soldiers were perfect and it was clear he could use Galanis more effectively than any other candidate. Then he would tell the duke about the flute and the soldiers.

If the soldiers were effective weapons, then the hawkish Duke Clockford would certainly want them.

But if the Barrier Mage tells anyone else about the flute…

Louis wouldn’t want to shed light on a scandal within the Seven Sages. He wouldn’t spread the news. But what if he did? Or what if the news got out some other way?

Having misappropriated the ancient magical item, Emanuel’s position as a Sage would surely be called into question. In the worst-case scenario, he might even face execution.

As Emanuel began to panic, Louis rubbed salt into his wounds. “I find myself sympathizing with the duke. I know how it feels to have incompetent subordinates.”

At that, Emanuel blew the Flute of the False King and gave the spirits an order: Harm this man and, in so doing, smoke the Artillery Mage and the Silent Witch out of hiding.

Bradford, who was hiding among the trees behind and to the right of Louis as he confronted the Gem Mage, looked astonished.

“…Barrier’s at the top of his game, eh?” he whispered.

“…Yes.” Monica was waiting beside him. She nodded awkwardly, grimacing behind her veil.

Even more frustrating was the fact that Emanuel wore the flute around his neck. Bradford’s attack magecraft was powerful, but it would blast Emanuel to pieces along with the item. They needed to pin the man down somehow and confiscate the flute.

To that end, they’d had Louis draw Emanuel’s attention so Monica could attack with long-range magecraft from the trees. If something went wrong, Bradford would use his high-powered attacks as necessary. His multilayered strengthening spell’s weakness was the time it took to chant. Monica’s other role was to compensate for that and protect Bradford until he could finish.

As Monica silently looked on, the spirits surrounding Louis attacked all at once. Fireballs and lightning spheres rained down on him as ice arrows and wind blades tried to cut him apart from the sides.

Louis calmly deployed a half-sphere defensive barrier around himself. But not only did it protect him from attack, it reflected every strike, blowing away several of the weaker spirits.

That’s a class-two reflective barrier…, Monica mentally noted.

Reflective barriers were just what you’d think: They reflected an enemy’s attacks back at them. However, they were extremely difficult to use since they didn’t stay active for very long and weren’t as tough as normal defensive barriers.

Louis hadn’t yet recovered all his mana, so the barrier disappeared quickly. As it did, he shot straight for Emanuel. He didn’t need to use flight magecraft; his strong legs would be enough to close the distance quickly and allow him to steal the flute from around the other man’s neck.

But as soon as he was within ten steps of Emanuel, magical armored soldiers burst out of the nearby spring.

The surprise attack was clever, making use of the fact that the spirit-powered soldiers could hide underwater, where humans couldn’t.

Louis brandished his ax while Monica used a remote formula to send wind blades at the soldiers without giving away her position.

Despite the ambush, however, Louis was still in control. He accurately blocked the spirits’ attacks with barriers while using his physical abilities to dodge the soldiers’ strikes and return them with his ax. Whenever she saw an opening, Monica sent supporting fire. And for a moment, it looked like Louis’s domination was absolute.

…No. Something’s wrong.

As Monica watched the battlefield from a distance, she suddenly sensed something strange.

Ten soldiers had appeared from the spring, and Louis had already destroyed two, leaving eight. Four of them, however, had been keeping their distance. This group was spread out in a fan shape, with Emanuel at the base.

Just as Monica realized what was happening, Emanuel grasped his ruby necklace. “Four-layered wave lightning, strike!”

The gem on his necklace radiated gold light, and a matching illumination erupted from inside the four magical armored soldiers.

Monica recalled the magical items Huberd Dee had used during his magic battle the other day. He’d given them instructions through his earring, laying a trap that would cause rings hidden nearby to fire attack spells.

Emanuel was doing something similar now. He was using his necklace to give instructions, and the four soldiers served as mediums to launch his attacks. The light flooding from the soldiers was lightning magecraft. But while the mechanism resembled the one Huberd had used, it was far more powerful.

It seems to have a similar power and range to a Spirit King summoning!

A high-powered, wide-ranging spell was coming.

Monica hesitated. Should she put a barrier over the three of them or use a Spirit King summoning to go on the offensive?

As she thought about it, Bradford patted her on the shoulder.

He’d already finished his chant.

A compressed fireball appeared in front of him, just big enough to hold in your arms. It was four-layered strengthening magecraft. That should be powerful enough to cancel out the incoming attack.

“I’m lettin’ it loose, Silent!”

Bradford stuck his right hand out in front of him, then brought his left up to his arm as if to support it. After that, he dug in his heels and roared.

“Kaboooom!”

The fourfold-strengthened fireball targeted the magical armored soldiers, shooting right at their four-layered wave lightning strike. But a split second before they collided, the soldiers’ shine faded, and they all fell to the ground at once.

Emanuel had just cut off his mana supply to the soldiers.

But why would he do that?!

Bradford’s fireball sped over the collapsed suits of armor, flying straight at the Gem Mage. At that rate, it would be a direct hit.

Then Emanuel’s lips turned up into a smirk.

“…Activate Pauloshmer’s Mirror of Execution.”

Something lit up at his feet—a gemstone the size of an adult’s fist. He’d probably hidden it in the dirt beforehand. The gem’s red glow swirled up and around Emanuel, covering him.

A magical item with a defensive barrier?

Bradford’s fireball touched the red light. Normally, upon contact, a fireball like that would explode. But when it touched the crimson barrier, it simply bounced off, retaining its shape.

Monica felt her blood run cold. A magical item with a reflective barrier! And it’s class-two… No, wait, that’s probably class-one!

A class-one reflective barrier was the ultimate countermeasure against magecraft. It could reflect almost any spell in existence. But it consumed so much mana that no living mage could actually use one. It was something beyond even the abilities of the Barrier Mage himself.

The reflected fireball surged toward Louis.

Unless it was stopped, it would strike him directly and blast him apart. Louis would die instantly, and Monica and Bradford wouldn’t escape unscathed, either.

Louis was chanting a barrier spell, but the fireball was too fast. He wouldn’t make it.

He won’t—but I can!

Without chanting, Monica erected a wall-shaped defensive barrier in front of Louis.

She’d just used one to block four-layered strengthening magecraft in their previous battle against the earth spirit. But back then, she’d only had to block its aftereffects; it hadn’t been a direct hit.

I won’t be able to fully block it!

Monica had two maximum-strength barriers up and ready. But when Bradford’s four-layered strengthening magecraft struck it, one of them shattered.

The spell was two levels weaker than his highest output, and yet, it still boasted impressive strength. They didn’t call him the greatest in the kingdom for nothing.

Cracks appeared in the second barrier as well.

Monica’s ability to use unchanted magecraft meant that she could continue casting successive shields, so long as she restrained the barrier’s scope. But Bradford’s four-layered strengthening spell had too large an area of effect for that.

No. My barriers alone can’t block it!

At first, Monica thought it was a den of snakes. But it wasn’t. Those were rose vines.

The fireball burst, roaring and spraying sparks everywhere. But the rose vines formed several layers, becoming a thick wall and protecting their group from the raging flames.

Bradford smirked. “Thanks for that, Thorns!”

Raul Roseburg, the Witch of Thorns, came running up to Louis from behind. Bradford stepped out of the trees, deciding there was no point in staying hidden. As Monica used water magecraft to keep the surroundings from catching fire, she, too, ran up to Louis and Raul.

“Lord Witch of Thorns! You’re…you’re safe!” she breathed.

“Heya, Thorns,” said Bradford. “What happened to Abyss? Weren’t the two of you taking care of the civilians?”

Monica gave a start. He was right. Raul and Ray had been taking Cyril and Glenn to safety. Were the two of them nearby? If so, she couldn’t carelessly use her voice.

She put her hand over her veil, covering her mouth, then glanced all around. Raul scratched his crimson curls, responding in a frank, cheerful tone. “Oh, right. Well, we sort of got separated!”

That wasn’t something you were supposed to say so energetically.

Monica was dumbfounded. Louis grimaced, and Bradford put a hand to his forehead and said, “Oh, great.”

The inferno continued to blaze on the other side of the thorn wall. Monica kept glancing at it.

“Um, um! What about the two you rescued…?” she asked.

Raul flashed her a grin and gave her a thumbs-up. His white teeth shone. “Ray’s with them, so they’ll be fine!”

Everyone else instantly realized that they were most certainly not fine. While Ray was the kingdom’s foremost shaman, he was ill-suited to combat. To make matters worse, his curses didn’t work on spirits.

“Then we’d better hurry this up, eh?”

Louis and Bradford turned to glare at what lay beyond the thorn wall.

The fourfold-strengthened fireball might have blown away some of the weaker spirits, but Emanuel and the magical armored soldiers were probably unharmed. Raul was protecting their group with his thorns at the moment, but there was no telling how long they’d hold out.

“Mister Louis,” said Monica, her voice hard. “I think the Gem Mage’s barrier…is class-one.”

Louis snorted, then put on a wry smile. “Pauloshmer’s Mirror of Execution, was it? …I like that name. You can tell it’s made to kill.”

Pauloshmer was the name of a fairy-tale monster that hid inside mirrors.

The Gem Mage said he was researching reflective barrier items when I saw him at New Year’s… He must have completed this one by using spirits as a power source.

Now that he had the skill to create advanced, spirit-powered magical items, he was using it for all sorts of things, not just the magical armored soldiers. But both the soldiers and the mirror would need a significant amount of mana to activate. How many spirits had he sacrificed to make them a reality?

The reason he didn’t put any more traps farther into the forest was because he had absolute confidence in the mirror…

Emanuel’s voice rang out from beyond the wall of thorns, breaking into Monica’s thoughts.

“Four-layered wave lightning, strike!”

The four soldiers shot off another lightning attack, and the wall of thorns nearly buckled under the impact.

“Huh? Oh, a long time. I’ve got plenty more mana. I can make as many more roses as I need to.”

“…I couldn’t imagine a more reassuring reply.”

It was a relief to have Raul here. But Emanuel had possession of the spirit-controlling Flute of the False King, magical armored soldiers that could fire lightning-based attacks, and Pauloshmer’s Mirror of Execution. If he could even reflect Bradford’s fourfold strengthening spell, their options were limited.

“Sixfold, then.” Bradford grinned. “I’ll crank the power up to max and blow his reflective barrier to smithereens. More realistic than hacking at it with an ax, right?”

“Indeed. It does appear to have a high degree of physical resistance… In that case, the rest of us will do our best to make sure your shot doesn’t lose any power on the way there.” Louis made sure his leather gloves were tight around his hands, then looked at Monica. “It falls to us to stall the Gem Mage, my fellow Sage.”

“Um, yes, sir.”

Bradford would need time to chant his sixfold strengthening spell. Until he finished, Monica, Louis, and Raul would have to keep the enemy busy. At the moment, that seemed like the most reasonable plan of action.

…But…

Unease nibbled at Monica’s heart.

Bradford’s sixfold strengthening magecraft was likely what Emanuel was most concerned about. He would have prepared himself to withstand it. Monica looked grave.

Louis twirled his ax, then spoke as if making small talk. “As long as the Gem Mage doesn’t look to the stars, we will win.”

Monica’s eyes widened. She looked at Louis. Bradford and Raul appeared to realize what he meant, too.

“Mister Louis… Do you mean—?”

Bradford and Raul shot back immediately.

“But he’s one of the Sages, too.”

“Ray and Mary aren’t even here.”

Louis didn’t respond. He simply smiled.

Take beginner-level magecraft, for example. The power of spells in that category varied greatly. Someone with a high mana capacity, like Glenn, could imbue his beginner-level spells with the power of intermediate-level or high-level ones. Reflective barrier classes were nothing more than a handy estimate.

I wonder how durable Pauloshmer’s Mirror of Execution is…

Bradford’s sixfold strengthening magecraft ranked first or second in power among all spells currently in existence. If that couldn’t punch through the mirror, they would be left with no recourse.

So I have to make sure…that his sixfold-strengthened spell doesn’t lose any power.

If the spirits or magical armored soldiers interfered with his spell before it hit Pauloshmer’s Mirror of Execution, it would increase the chance of it being reflected.

“Four-layered wave lightning, strike!”

In response to Emanuel’s order, the four magical armored soldiers loosed powerful bolts of lightning. The attack’s strength rivaled that of a Spirit King summoning. At the same time, the surviving spirits all launched their attacks.

“Whoa, there.” Raul grabbed seeds out of his pocket and threw them to the ground.

In the blink of an eye, they sprouted and grew, forming a powerful thorned wall to protect Monica and the others.

“My thorns have plenty more left in them. Best if we get rid of some of those suits of armor, though.”

Raul’s wall of thorns was as powerful as an average defensive barrier, but it had its weaknesses, too. Defensive barriers were invisible, but the rose vines, when packed together, blocked the field of view, preventing their group from seeing the enemy. In other words, it was difficult to attack with the vines on the field.

Louis kicked the ground with his boot tip, then hefted his ax. “Block the next one, then we go on the offensive. You two, back me up.”

The moment they could see, Monica and Raul began their own assault. Monica used unchanted magecraft to fire bullets of wind at the spirits. Raul had his rose vines coil around the soldiers, preventing them from moving. And once they were immobilized, Louis came in with his ax and hacked off their heads and limbs.

Controlling roses was the only thing Raul could do, but he could use them for both offense and defense. Having him here gave Monica more room to act.

And that was why she noticed something. Emanuel, looking slightly panicked, had lifted up a ring with an eerie glow.

Is that a magic item?!

Monica assumed it was for launching an attack at them. But she was wrong.

At the ring’s instruction, something happened to the cabin behind Emanuel. The stones comprising its walls began to glow, and then they fired five compressed blasts of flame. The bundles of compressed mana traveled in a spiral pattern that Monica recognized.

Those are Spiralflames! Meant for assassination!

This magic item was occasionally referred to as a mage killer; it was famous for being able to pierce defensive barriers. Normally, Spiralflames had a short firing range with a limited area of effect. But these ones were stretching much farther, perhaps boosted by captive spirits, and there were five of them.

Louis had the toughest barriers in the group, but he wouldn’t finish chanting in time. Monica used unchanted magecraft to layer two defensive barriers as Raul gathered his rose vines to form a wall.

But the swirling Spiralflames pierced through both her barriers, as well as Raul’s roses.

It’s going to hit us!

Monica felt a chill run down her spine. She froze in fear.

Louis, who was closest, hadn’t noticed them yet. Monica immediately cried out.

“Mister Louis! More soldiers!”

At Monica’s voice, Louis noticed them.

But by then, the new soldiers were already running toward them, armor clanking and clattering as they went. Ten soldiers stood in their way—and formed a wall to protect them from the Spiralflames.

The sounds of metal twisting apart combined with booms as the magical armored soldiers were blown up into little pieces before their eyes.

Monica put up a defensive barrier right away to protect them from the fragments.

“What is the meaning of this?!” shouted Emanuel. He picked up the flute from around his neck and began ranting and raving. “Those soldiers disobeyed my orders!”

“Ah, oh, my master. I apologize. I’m so sorry…”

In response to Emanuel’s angry shouting came a high-pitched male voice. Monica guessed this was the personality inside the Flute of the False King.

“According to the spirits sealed within the armor, something has gone wrong with them.”

“You mean to say these magical items of my own creation are imperfect?!”

“No, my master, that isn’t the case at all. Your work is absolutely perfect. Someone else has interfered with them.”

Just then, Monica noticed something. Purple sigils had appeared on the surface of the blown-apart suits of armor.

Wait, are those…?

“What have you done to my soldiers?!” screamed Emanuel.

Carried by the magical armored soldier, Ray muttered, “I, uh, I can’t curse spirits…but I wondered if I could create cursed dolls out of these soldiers. And when I tried…it, well, it worked… Hee-hee. Oops.”

Emanuel made a face like his knees were about to give out. It must have been unbearable to hear that Ray had hijacked the soldiers he’d poured so much of his expertise into. And his explanation was simply “Well, it worked.”

At this point, he could deploy as many more soldiers as he liked, and it would make no difference. Ray would take them all over with his cursecraft—a skill exclusive to House Albright. Unlike magecraft, Emanuel could analyze curses for years and never be able to handle them.

Monica trotted over to Ray and lowered her voice. “Lord Abyss Mage! Um! How are, um, the two others?”

“They’re far from here… I sent several cursed soldiers with them as an escort, so I think they’ll be all right…”

As Monica sighed in relief, Raul’s eyes glittered.

“That’s amazing, Ray!” he exclaimed. “You’re so cool!”

At Raul’s straightforward words of praise, Ray twisted and squirmed on the soldier’s back. “Heh. Heh-heh. That’s good. Yes… Yes, praise me more…”

“Yeah! You’re just like a big villain behind an army of evil knights!”

“…I knew it. I hate you.”

While Ray and Raul conversed, Louis looked on in blank amazement. After gazing in turn at Ray, Raul, and then Monica, he turned back to Emanuel and said, “You seriously want to join the ranks of these monsters?”

“Silence!” the Gem Mage roared, his face bright red with rage.

Bradford, hidden behind Raul’s thorns and now finished with his long chant, held his right arm up in front of him.

“King of Flame, of promised victory, brandish thy crimson sword and display a fragment of thy might.”

Red light poured from Bradford’s fingertips, taking the shape of a gate. It closely resembled the wind Spirit King summoning Monica used, but the gate was of a different color.

“In the name of Bradford Firestone, the Artillery Mage, I command this gate to open! Come forth clad in celebratory flame—Flemme Brem, King of the Fire Spirits!”

Flames glowing crimson materialized from the opened gate.

A Spirit King summoning used a gate to borrow a portion of a Spirit King’s power. How one used that borrowed power depended on the caster. Monica, for example, had once used it to perform a highly precise, wide-area ranged attack on a horde of pterodragons.

Bradford, on the other hand, compressed that flame, then layered and strengthened it over and over again to create his one-of-a-kind magecraft: a sixfold strengthening spell.

“Kaboooooom!”

His ball of fire sped straight toward Emanuel.

There it is! His sixfold strengthening! If I reflect this, I’ll prove that I’m irreplaceable!

There was little doubt that Bradford’s six-layered strengthening spell was the second most powerful, if not the most powerful, attack magecraft in the kingdom. Being able not only to guard against it but also to reflect it as well was a feat not even the Barrier Mage was capable of. But as the ball of hellfire roared toward him, fear began to well up in his heart.

What if he couldn’t reflect it?

But the more I weaken it…the better my chances of reflecting it!

When the last barrier shattered, Emanuel roared. “Activate Pauloshmer’s Mirror of Execution!”

The gems buried beneath his feet glowed, surrounding him with a class-one reflective barrier. The sixfold-strengthened fireball slammed into it. The raging inferno swelled to a massive size, and the barrier creaked under the pressure.

It hasn’t failed yet…!

By using every defensive barrier at his disposal, he’d lowered the sixfold strengthening spell to the power of a fivefold one. And that, he could just barely reflect with the barrier.

But just as Emanuel felt sure of his victory, Bradford spoke up.

“…Yeah, figured you’d use some barriers.”

Emanuel’s blood ran cold. The hairs on his back stood up in horror. He’d made a fatal mistake.

“I know you too well. I knew that at the very end, you’d chicken out and hedge your bets.”

The reflective barrier around the Gem Mage creaked, then it reflected the fireball.

But before the blast could incinerate the others, Louis held a hand up in front of him. “Defensive barrier, deploy.”

While it had been weakened somewhat, the fireball still had power equivalent to a fivefold strengthening spell. And yet, Louis’s defensive barrier blocked it perfectly. He managed to protect both the other Sages and the trees around them.

Not only was the barrier durable, but it was also large and made to adapt to complex shapes. This was what Louis had been saving all his mana for.

Louis grinned proudly and pointed a finger into the air. “The stars are about to fall.”

Emanuel instantly looked up. It was well-concealed with an illusion spell, but if he looked closely, he could make out a twinkling star in the overcast winter weather.

Louis hadn’t used flight magecraft because he’d wanted to prevent Emanuel from noticing the sky.

Wait. No! This magecraft…

He would never forget it. It was a type of grand magecraft used by Louis’s fellow apprentice, the Sage whose seat Emanuel had filled—Carla Maxwell, the Starspear Witch.

Two women stood atop a small hill a short distance from Emanuel’s cabin.

One wore a fur coat over a dress. This was Mary Harvey, the Starseer Witch, who had covered the sky in an illusion. The other was dressed in traveling clothes and had her brick-red hair tied roughly back. That was Carla Maxwell, the Starspear Witch.

Carla watched as a massive magic circle appeared in the skies above Kelielinden Forest. Soon, five more magic circles appeared all around the first one. Each circle was a highly complex spell, and Carla was maintaining all six by herself as she chanted.

Her face showed no trace of excitement. As she performed the superhuman feat of maintaining six spells at once, her profile was no different from when she gazed up at the sky during her travels.

At last, Carla made it to the final clause of her long chant.

“Pierce him, Starspear.”

The spear, every bit as powerful as Bradford’s sixfold strengthening magecraft, plunged down toward the Gem Mage, scattering sparks of mana like stardust in its wake.

If it struck the man directly, he would be obliterated without a trace. No defensive barrier could hold out against such might.

But Carla had heard something from Mary once, about a certain girl genius who had perfectly blocked Starweaving Mira’s attack.

“The rest is up to you, Monica.”

The spear of light lanced down from the sky, straight at the reflective barrier protecting Emanuel.

When he looked up, his face twisted in despair. “My mirror! Please, my mirror…!”

If he’d had any magical items left to erect a barrier, he might have been able to weaken the Starspear. But he’d spent every last one on Bradford’s sixfold strengthening magecraft.

Cracks began to form in his reflective barrier, and the Starspear’s white radiance seeped through.

Eventually, with a sound like glass shattering, the class-one reflective barrier burst into shards.

Just before the spear of compressed light could pierce Emanuel, Louis cried out. “Now, my fellow Sage!”

“Got it!”

Monica and Louis had decided their roles in advance, so they would be ready for this final strike.

Any spell powerful enough to destroy Pauloshmer’s Mirror of Execution would kill Emanuel, too. The moment his reflective barrier broke, they would need to use a barrier of their own to protect him.

And if the Gem Mage blocked Bradford’s attack and the Starspear destroyed his barrier instead, it would be Monica’s job to safeguard him.

Monica’s defensive barriers lacked the intensity and range of Louis’s, but she could do things he couldn’t thanks to her unchanted magecraft.

…Deploying a barrier.

Monica put up a defensive barrier between Emanuel and the Starspear. And not just one or two—she threw barrier after barrier at it, weakening the Starspear each time—just as she’d once done to block Starweaving Mira’s assault.

Each time a barrier was shattered, a new one would appear over its remains. Then that one would shatter, and another would appear.

As Monica watched the Starspear, the greatest offensive magecraft in the kingdom, her eyes held no fear. Her face was impassive, her gaze fixed on that spear of stars even as her mind swam in a world of numbers, rapidly calculating optimal intensities, scopes, and positions.

Changing coordinate axis. Recalculating. Confirmed. Maximizing intensity. Fixing scope. Changing coordinate axis. Recalculating. Confirmed.

The spell was already weakened by Pauloshmer’s Mirror of Execution, and now Monica dispassionately deployed her barriers, one after the other—all to manifest her beautiful world of numbers and magecraft with precision and perfection.

The Starspear gradually lost its white radiance until it eventually burst, and the remaining light scattered and dissipated.

“Annihilation of Starspear confirmed… I’ve…stopped it completely.”

Emanuel sank to the ground, unscathed.

They’d successfully destroyed his class-one reflective barrier without killing him.

Emanuel fell to his knees and hung his head in a stupor.

His secret weapon, Pauloshmer’s Mirror of Execution, was destroyed. His magical armored soldiers were all under the control of Ray’s curse. He had no more magical items to make defensive barriers with.

His only remaining weapon was Galanis, the Flute of the False King, which still hung around his neck. But gathering low and mid-level spirits now would do nothing for him—not against these monsters.

“You mustn’t fall to your knees so easily, my master,” whispered the flute.

Why did the voice seem to be coming from both the magical item and from inside his head?

“You have yet to wage war. You have yet to become a hero. Now, let us begin the war. Come now. Hurry.”

The flute’s stubborn insistence rattled his eardrums. His vision swam.

Still on his knees, he clapped his hands over his ears. “I can’t… I…never could…”

“No, no! You will become a hero.”

But even with his ears covered, Galanis’s voice reverberated deep inside them. It was almost as though it were eating away at his mind.

“And I will set the stage for you to shine.”

That was when Emanuel lost consciousness.

Oh, thank goodness. Now we just have to destroy the flute…

As Emanuel knelt on the ground, head down, Louis approached him, ax in hand. But as soon as he was near enough, the Gem Mage’s arm shot up and grasped the silver flute around his neck.

Louis stopped, frowning. “One last futile act of resistance, Lord Gem Mage? I would rather you not force us to resort to violence…”

That was quite the thing to hear from a man who had declared he would hang the Gem Mage and then had proceeded all the way to his cabin, cheerfully swinging around an ax. Monica doubted that even Louis would bring his ax down on Emanuel. But if the man resisted, he might hit him, at least.

As she watched anxiously, Emanuel tore Galanis off the chain around his neck. But just when she thought he was about to hand it to Louis, the old man’s wrinkled hand plunged it down into the ground.

“How thin this world’s mana has become…”

The voice belonged to Emanuel, but something about it was wrong. Still holding onto the flute stuck into the ground, the man threw his head up toward the sky.

“The spirits have dwindled, and my worth with them.”

At that point, Monica noticed that Emanuel’s eyes were now dyed a metallic silver as he looked sadly up at the heavens.

Just then, she felt her breathing become labored. Her heart grew heavy, and her vision blurred. Clapping a hand over her veil to cover her mouth, she sank to the ground.

Is this…mana poisoning?

The mana density around them had suddenly skyrocketed—enough to make even a Sage like Monica sick.

“Are you okay?!” Raul shouted at him anxiously. The Witch of Thorns had the greatest mana capacity in the kingdom, and Monica wasn’t surprised he was still doing fine.

Bradford, whose capacity was second highest after Raul, scowled in disgust. “What the hell is this? The forest’s mana density just spiked.”

“I have poured what scant mana I’d accumulated within my body into the lands.”

At Emanuel’s—no, Galanis’s words, Monica’s face turned white.

He was contaminating the land with mana, exactly the situation she’d feared.

“If I fill the land with mana, there will be more spirits. And the more spirits there are, the stronger I shall become!”

Galanis, now controlling Emanuel’s body, gave a loud, sonorous laugh. The ground around the flute was turning silver, and the color expanded outward like a flowing pool of liquid metal.

Louis and Bradford paused their attempts to restrain Emanuel and backed off from the silver ground. The area was too contaminated with mana, and they had to avoid it.

Monica, despite her shallow breathing, managed to squeeze out a hoarse voice. “If you…do that…then the Gem Mage…will die…!”

She didn’t know how much Galanis was protecting Emanuel’s body. But the fact was, he was at the center of the contamination, facing the brunt of it.

And yet Galanis, through Emanuel’s face, smiled in rapture. “Heh-heh. I shall not allow that to happen…no matter what I must do.”

One hand still holding the flute, he put the other to his chest, as if Emanuel’s mind was trapped there.

Galanis narrowed his eyes as if intoxicated by his own words, then spread his arms wide and cast his gaze to the skies.

“In this way, I promise to make a hero of you. After all, I dwell ever in the shadow of kings. I am the kingmaker! To make kings of men is my true desire!”

Monica remembered her fight against Starweaving Mira. She had burned with love for a human man, then killed him—she’d been nearly impossible to reason with. Galanis seemed to be just as bad.

Should I use mental interference magecraft like with Starweaving Mira? …No, I can’t. Not at this range…

She’d have to get closer, and with Galanis already polluting the area around him, that wasn’t possible.

“You want me to handle it?” asked Raul, looking around at the others’ pale, sickly faces. “I think I’m the only one who can withstand the mana density—”

“No need.” Louis cut him down smoothly. “We’re showing him the combined power of the Seven Sages, remember? All seven of us are fighting together.”

“Oh!” squeaked Monica in response.

Just then, at the center of the silver patch of ground, Galanis’s eyes widened in shock. He looked up to the sky and shouted.

“No… No! Why have you come here, Starweaving Mira?!”

After releasing the Starspear, Carla—who had been using detection magecraft to keep an eye on Emanuel—turned to look at Mary.

“Seems like the mana contamination has begun, Lady Mary.”

“…I see,” Mary said sadly.

She raised her slender, pale right hand. She wore a bracelet connected to a ring by a golden chain with a ruby set into it.

The star ruby on the back of her hand flickered, almost like a sorrowful maiden blinking. Starweaving Mira spoke with the voice of a young woman.

“Galanis, Flute of the False King… I cannot allow you to do as you wish—to drag this land into a terrible conflict.”

Starweaving Mira flickered. A red sigil appeared on Mary’s fair fingers as her voice combined with Mira’s.

“It is time to read the stars.”

Mary’s right hand stroked the ground.

“Grief sunken into the land, I shall return you to the stars.”

“Desire corrupting the land, I shall return you to the stars.”

This was a prayer for peace and tranquility. Particles of light began to drift up from the ground, gently funneling into Starweaving Mira’s red gemstone. The ancient magical item could absorb mana from the land as well as release it.

“O stars, O stars, the boughs of trees you rock, of life you sing.”

“O stars, O stars, the water’s surface shakes and life you weave.”

The mana Starweaving Mira absorbed became beads of light released from Mary’s fingers. Before they could float up to the heavens, they were drawn into the trees and foliage of the forest, where they faded from sight.

Together, Mary and Mira were distributing the mana Galanis had poured into the ground across the entire forest. They would return Kelielinden to its rightful state… Not for the sake of the spirits, but for the convenience of humans.

Nevertheless, the Starseer Witch prayed and sang with single-minded faith in the turning of the heavens.

The land stained silver by Galanis’s power began to regain its original, earthy coloration. Starweaving Mira, under Mary’s direction, had drawn the mana out from the contaminated soil.

Though driven back, the Flute of the False King didn’t give up. His stores of accumulated mana had been drained, but he could still control spirits. If he scraped together enough of those left, he might be able to buy enough time to flee. Aiming to do so, he moved—or rather, he moved Emanuel’s body—to blow the flute.

He drew the instrument out of the ground and raised it to his lips. But just then, one person moved. It was the petite girl hiding her mouth behind a veil—the Silent Witch.

Her eyes glinted green as she wordlessly cast a spell. Wind blades. Did she intend to destroy the flute?

In the span of a single moment, Galanis’s thoughts raced. This group of humans had put up barriers to prevent any harm from coming to Emanuel. They didn’t want to kill him. This girl wouldn’t be targeting him, either. She was probably after Galanis. But, as far as he could tell, her wind blades were a far cry from the sixfold strengthening spell or Starspear. He could withstand them if he mustered all his remaining mana.

Galanis gathered all the mana he had left onto the surface of the flute.

Impassively, the Silent Witch flicked her finger. The compressed, mana-dense blades of wind sheared through Galanis’s defenses like a knife through butter. Her spell wasn’t normal magecraft.

A four-layered strengthening! And without even chanting!

Galanis had lived for many years, but he had never seen a mage who could cast such a powerful spell without chanting.

Ah, I should have made her my master! Had I but lured this girl with her merciless gaze to the battlefield, I could have demonstrated my true worth!

As Galanis lamented, the wind blades sliced him in half.

The flute cracked in half and dropped to the ground.

“Nooo… Formula segmentation on a four-layered strengthening spell… It’s so ugly…so flawed…”

While Bradford could perform his fourfold strengthening magecraft all at once, Monica needed to split the formula into two segments. The process went against her entire aesthetic as a mage. But she’d had no choice—they’d needed to destroy Galanis.

As Monica wailed, Louis stared at her with equal parts amazement and exasperation. “My fellow Sage, you just used a four-layered strengthening spell without chanting. An inhuman feat. Could you please refrain from complaining about it?”

Louis collected the pieces of the flute from beside the fallen Emanuel and sealed them, just to be sure. Then he checked the Gem Mage’s pulse.

“Well, his heart is still beating. We’ve destroyed the Flute of the False King and sealed its broken pieces…which means we can finally go home.”

Bradford stretched his arms, and Raul cheered. Ray simply sat on the ground, mumbling about how much he wanted to leave.

Monica heaved a sigh of deep relief from where she had collapsed. Then she looked up at the sky. She couldn’t tell where the sun was through all the clouds, but it was probably afternoon. She could still make it back to Serendia Academy before the end of the day.

Suddenly, she remembered the gemstone she’d put in her pocket. A spirit had been sealed inside it to serve as the power source for one of the magical armored soldiers.

The seal on Miss Ryn…should wear off soon, I think.

That one would fade with time, but Monica would have to release the weaker spirits manually. She stood up and positioned the gem in her palm, but Louis stopped her.

“Let’s wait to release the spirits until we’re outside the forest, my fellow Sage.”

Monica looked up and saw the pained grin on his face.

“…Oh. Right.”

Monica and the others had liberated the spirits from Galanis, but they’d also fought a number of them along the way. Some of those spirits had dissipated. From their point of view, both Emanuel and those opposing him were the same—humans. It would be difficult to gain their understanding.

When Monica hung her head, Louis continued breezily. “Oh, don’t let it bother you. Because it shouldn’t. Humans act with their own interests in mind, and so do spirits. That’s all there is to it.”

“…I guess so.”

Clenching the stone in her pocket, Monica quietly reflected on Louis’s words.

Then Ryn shifted in his arms.

She didn’t squirm like someone coming out of slumber. Instead, it was as though she was adjusting her posture slightly before abruptly sitting up in his arms. As a result, her head slammed right into Bartholomeus’s jaw.

“Ooof!”

Paying Bartholomeus no mind as he careened backward from the headbutt, Ryn stood up and glared into the trees.

“…Carla is here,” she said before floating nimbly into the air and taking off into the woods.

Bartholomeus sat up, rubbing his jaw. “Oh, I get it. A wonderful man had me in his arms. Eeek! I’m so embarrassed! …Wah-hah! Yeah, I definitely have a chance with her!”

His mood quickly brightened, and he got to his feet and ran after Ryn. All thoughts of the dangerously high mana concentrations farther into the forest had left his mind completely.

“Rynny! Wait for meeee!”

He plunged through the trees and eventually spotted someone in a clearing. It wasn’t the beautiful maid, though, but a gorgeous lady with silver hair wearing a fur coat over her dress.

For a second, he thought she was one of the forest spirits. But what drew his eye more than her pretty face was the accessory she wore on her right hand. A star ruby was fastened to it by a gold chain, and Bartholomeus recognized it instantly.

As he stood there, mouth agape, the silver-haired woman lifted her right hand. On it, the bright-red ruby flashed.

“Oh, oh, to think we should reunite in a place like this…! I knew from the start we were bound by fate! Oh, my beloved!”

“Gyaaahhh!” Bartholomeus’s face drew back in terror at the cloying female voice.

Wait a minute. If she has Starweaving Mira, then this woman…must be…

Bartholomeus took a step back as the silver-haired woman—Mary Harvey, the Starseer Witch—flashed him a friendly smile.

“Good day,” she said.

He forced a polite smile onto his face. What was the right thing to say here? He had no idea. But his gut told him it would be better not to get involved.

On Mary’s right hand, Starweaving Mira continued to babble. “I love you, I love you, I love you! Let us love one another, my dear!”

Mary stroked the chatty accessory with a fingertip, then spoke like a mother gently admonishing her child.

“No mischief, my little Mira. I would be greatly put off if you were to kill this man.”

“I simply want to love my beloved! Please come to me, my dear! Hold me in those arms of yours and make love to me…!”

Bartholomeus narrowed his eyes. How the hell would I even do that? he wondered. Mary chanted something under her breath, then touched the ruby on the back of her hand. Evidently, it was some kind of sealing barrier because Starweaving Mira immediately fell silent.

“I do apologize for the commotion,” Mary said. “I’d actually like to make a request of you.”

“Me? I’m just a wannabe craftsman. Certainly not fit to accept a request from a noblewoman like you,” said Bartholomeus, edging backward as he abased himself.

Mary smiled and cut straight to the point. “Your theft of the ancient magical item, Starweaving Mira.”

“Urk!”

“I could decide not to question you, you know.”

“Besides, the request isn’t anything difficult.”

Bartholomeus gulped, and Mary cocked her head to the side. It was an adorable gesture.

“There are only a few months left until the second prince graduates from Serendia Academy… During that time, I’d like you to help the Silent Witch.”

He suddenly felt deflated, though he didn’t show it. Wasn’t he already doing that?

Wait, I know what’s going on. This woman is cheering for their secret romance, too! In Bartholomeus’s mind, the second prince and the Silent Witch were secret lovers. They’d had a nighttime rendezvous back at Duke Rehnberg’s mansion and everything. He was sure of it.

“You can leave it to me, ma’am.”

And he, in turn, was in love with Ryn. He was the really cool, understanding big brother who would help those two youngsters burning with lonely passion.

“Yeah, I’ll help the kid—er, the Silent Witch. I’ll give her all the support she needs!”

“Hee-hee. Thank you.”

Mary smiled softly as her smooth, silver hair swayed. Her light-blue eyes seemed almost lost in a dream. She was looking straight at Bartholomeus, but at the same time, her gaze seemed fixed on something else entirely.

Released from Galanis’s control, the wind spirit Rynzbelfeid soared high above the forest’s canopy, her maid’s skirt fluttering in the wind. All the while, she kept a close eye on the ground.

Ryn looked farther west. There she found the Starseer Witch and the man with black hair who had been holding her. She thought the man looked familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on who he was, and she didn’t really care.

She shifted her gaze again—and there she was. A woman in traveling clothes, her brick-red hair tied back: Carla Maxwell, the Starspear Witch. She’d just exited the forest.

Ryn made a rapid, wheeling descent and landed perfectly in front of her.

The last time she’d used this landing method, she’d ended up buried up to her knees in dirt, and apparently, that wasn’t considered very stylish. This time, she held herself just above the ground, levitating.

Carla didn’t seem surprised to see a beautiful woman in a maid outfit come crashing down from the sky. She met Ryn with a languid grin. “Is there a name for that landing?” she asked.

“I have named it the Tornado Kick Landing Method, Version Two. It is extremely stylish.”

“If you did that in front of Louis, he’d probably grumble that it was more like an attack.”

As she spoke to Carla, Ryn used little gusts of wind to fix her rumpled apron and hair. Once her appearance was back in order, she looked up at the Starspear Witch. “You have saved me once again, I see.”

“Nah, I didn’t do much. I was just passing through.”

Ryn knew she wasn’t just being modest. Carla disliked excessive praise and tended to shy away from it. So Ryn left her thanks at that and asked instead, “Will you be returning to the capital?”

“Not quite. I’m in the middle of a trip. I plan to head west.”

“…I see.”

Ryn had read about this in a book. The woman was giving her permission for a hug. The wind spirit tentatively went over to Carla and pressed herself up against her.

Carla chuckled. She embraced the spirit and gave her a few pats on the back. Ryn had heard that humans derived comfort and security from the warmth of other humans’ bodies. She thought it was a shame she didn’t have that sort of warmth herself.

After a moment, Carla released her and took a step back. “Okay, I’m gonna get going. You’re in charge while I’m away.”

Ryn bowed deeply, a polite gesture befitting of a maid. “I wish you fair travels, Carla.”

The Sages had destroyed Galanis, the Flute of the False King, but they still had one more task to complete before they could leave: They had to destroy all the magical items in Emanuel’s possession.

Before they began searching the Gem Mage’s cabin in earnest, Bradford and Louis swept the area for traps. As she watched them from the sidelines, Monica approached Ray.

“U-umm,” she stammered softly, “Lord Abyss Shaman, where are the two people you helped…?”

“Oh, them?”

Just as Ray opened his mouth, Monica noticed someone running toward them—a tall young man with brownish-blond hair wearing a Serendia Academy uniform. It was Glenn.

Monica quickly shut her mouth and made sure her veil was on properly.

“Hey, Purple! Oh, and Rose Guy is okay, too!”

Louis paused his investigation of the cabin’s outer perimeter and looked at Glenn. “So? Anything to say to your master? The one who so graciously rescued his apprentice from danger?”

“Now isn’t the time!” Glenn cried out immediately. He looked desperate. “Ice Spirit! He’s…he’s gonna disappear!”

Raul’s face tensed, and Ray scowled. Monica didn’t know what Glenn was talking about. What ice spirit?

As she stood there confused, Ray and Raul lowered their voices. “The ice spirit they were with is on the verge of dissipating,” Ray explained. “He sustained a fatal wound, but he was already on the way out…”

“Yeah,” agreed Raul. “I talked to him a bit, too. He’d shrunk to the form of a child, and it seemed he’d even forgotten his name.”

It was said that spirits were clumps of mana that had developed minds of their own, and when they lost their strength, their bodies would shrink or lose portions while their sense of self blurred.

If the spirit had only one such symptom, recovery was possible. But from what Monica was hearing, she doubted there was anything they could do.

Still, Glenn continued to plead with them. “The vice president is sharing his mana right now, but Ice Spirit’s body is falling apart… I’d like someone to help him!”

“Glenn,” Louis said softly, trying to reason with him. “Spirits are mana. That’s all they are. They don’t die. They simply return to nature.”

“You mean even you can’t help him, Master…?”

“I cannot.”

Louis was an expert at barrier techniques. If he wanted to, he could seal the ice spirit to temporarily stave off his destruction.

At his master’s denial, Glenn put on a frustrated expression, then turned and ran back the way he’d come. Louis swore under his breath and cracked his knuckles.

But then Raul raised a hand. “I’ll go check on him,” he said, before running after Glenn.

Monica curled her hands into fists as she watched them go.

I can’t let Glenn or Lord Cyril know who I really am… I need to stay here. It’s the right choice.

And yet, her legs began to move.

A shattering sound could be heard deep in Kelielinden Forest. The ice trapping Sezhdio had broken apart from within. A high spirit’s ice wasn’t easy for a mid-level spirit like Sezhdio to destroy. It was clear Ice Spirit had very little strength remaining.

Sezhdio shook himself to fling off the remaining ice shards. “Damn you, Ice Spirit…,” he growled.

Now free, he burst into a run. Even after all this, and despite his irritation, he felt no rage. His anger was reserved for humans.

For years, those wretched humans had driven spirits from their homes. They acted like they were the rulers of the world. Some even thought to exploit them—like that man with the flute. Why shouldn’t Sezhdio resent them?

Eventually, the wolflike spirit spotted two humans among the trees—one with silver hair, the other brownish-blond. They were the very boys he’d brought to the forest as offerings for Ice Spirit.

He would capture them again, and this time, he would convince them to submit. Sezhdio concealed his presence and began to approach when he heard a faint, melodious voice.

…Ice Spirit was singing.

Romalia lay on the ground, his head resting on Cyril’s lap, as he weakly continued to sing.

In addition to his arms, he had lost everything below his knees. Shards of mana dripped from the ends of his limbs.

Between songs, Romalia told stories of his past.

“One day, we were attacked by a dragon. I was separated from Shelgria and Alteria.”

Shelgria had entrusted a message asking for help to the leaves. But Alteria and Romalia were weakened, nearly to the point of dissipation. Alteria rang her icy chimes, beseeching the spirit god for aid.

“The spirit god heard Alteria’s chimes and bestowed her with protection and strength…”

Strengthened by that blessing, Alteria escaped her predicament and rescued Shelgria.

That was where the familiar legend ended, but Romalia’s story went on.

“After that…many humans came to Alteria seeking to use her gift.”

A man with a sick daughter begged her to share the spirit god’s blessing. A woman whose family was slaughtered by a dragon beseeched her to use her new strength to slay the foe.

Romalia’s voice was tinged with sadness. “Humans who wanted to use the spirit god’s power for war tried to take Alteria prisoner…” The spirit’s youthful face twisted with pain and regret. “I created a blizzard to protect her… It froze all the humans trying to capture her…as well as innocent people living in a village nearby.”

He might be weak now, but at full strength, Romalia had probably found it easy to bury a village under snow. He was a high spirit, after all.

“Many humans shouted for help. And I buried their cries under the snow of my blizzard…”

“Their lives, frozen under ice, became offerings. And that gave me even greater power…”

Cyril remembered what Sezhdio had said. The best offering for an ice spirit was frozen life.

But Romalia never asked for that…

A small group of greedy humans had instigated a tragedy, and Romalia had gained power he didn’t wish for. Then the ice spirit had fallen into despair, and many years had passed.

The spirit’s ice-blue eyes lost focus as he gazed up at Cyril. He could see them dulling and growing vacant.

“I killed innocent humans and gained power from their lives… I can’t ask a human to save me now…”

Cyril opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. He wanted to reassure the spirit somehow, but he didn’t know what to say. It’s not your fault would have been trite; he couldn’t say that. Cyril was himself a human, after all.

He couldn’t stop Romalia’s dissipation; he couldn’t even whisper a word of comfort. His ignorance and weakness frustrated him beyond belief.

“…VP?”

Glenn emerged from the trees. Behind him were the Witch of Thorns and the Silent Witch. Glenn frowned as the two Sages quietly observed the ice spirit.

Cyril looked up at Raul. “Lord Witch of Thorns…would you share one of your roses with me?”

Raul took a little seed out of his pocket and chanted. In his hand, a green bud sprouted, then grew, blooming into a deep scarlet rose. Then he took a pair of small pruning shears out of his pocket, snipped the flower off, and offered it to Cyril. “Will this work?”

“…Yes. Thank you,” said Cyril hoarsely, placing the rose in his palm and chanting.

Finally, once the rose was encased in ice, he gently placed it on the ice spirit’s chest.

“This is all I can do… I’m sorry, Romalia.”

Cyril could only apologize, crushed by his own weakness. The ice spirit’s youthful face relaxed.

“It’s been…so long…since a human gave me a gift…”

Romalia smiled. He hadn’t called the flower an offering, but a gift.

When Monica heard Cyril call the vanishing ice spirit Romalia, she was quietly shocked.

Romalia, one of the three spirits of winter, appeared in many legends. But she doubted his name and the stories about him had much to do with why Cyril and Glenn were so concerned. When she saw them both holding back tears, she understood.

Lord Cyril and Glenn really want to save him.

Monica was partial to numbers and formulae; magical beasts like spirits and dragons were outside her realm of interest. She’d saved the spirits under Galanis’s control from being used as a power source, but not out of kindness or a sense of justice.

Even so…

Cyril placed the frozen rose on the ice spirit’s chest, looking heartbroken. He wore gloves, but his fingers must have been freezing. Glenn’s teeth were clenched in anguish, but he never looked away from the ice spirit. He kept watch over him, fists balled at his sides, trembling.

If there’s anything I can do…

The ice spirit before her eyes was about to vanish. There was no time to take him to either of those places.

…I’m sorry for being so selfish.

What Monica was about to do, she wasn’t doing for the ice spirit. Nor did she feel it was her responsibility as one of the Seven Sages.

She was doing it for herself—so that Cyril and Glenn, who were so important to her, wouldn’t have to be sad.

Monica quickly walked over to Cyril and the ice spirit. First, she touched the near-dead spirit with her fingertips. And then she silently cast a sealing barrier.

The magecraft formula became a golden chain that looped itself around the spirit. This wasn’t a temporary spell—it was a permanent seal meant to hold for a long time. Placing a long-term seal on a high spirit was next to impossible, but this spirit was already weak to the point of dissipation, so it wasn’t all that difficult.

“Lady Silent Witch?” Cyril’s eyes widened slightly. He looked at Monica with confusion.

Too scared to return his gaze, she kept her head down and quietly continued her work. That will temporarily stop him from breaking down, but he won’t last long in this state… She needed somewhere to put him, somewhere he could rest and recover his mana.

Right now, in this place, there was only one option, and only Monica had realized it.

…I’m so sorry, Lord Cyril!

Next, Monica touched the broach hanging from Cyril’s neck.

It was a magical item meant to draw excess mana out of his body and expel it. In other words, whatever mana the gem absorbed from him would accumulate inside it.

Maybe, if Romalia was allowed to rest there, he could avoid dissipation.

Careful not to negate the item’s original effects, Monica deployed a new magecraft formula. It resembled a ritual contract between a human and a spirit, but it was a little different. With a spirit contract, you had to verify each individual’s intent, then link the human, spirit, and stone of contract with a single magecraft formula.

At this point, Monica could no longer verify the ice spirit’s intent, so she didn’t link Cyril and Romalia with a contract. She simply linked Romalia to the broach, using it as a stone of contract.

What was left of the spirit’s body disappeared along with the icebound rose clasped to his chest. A few shards of mana remained where he’d been, glittering and sparkling, but after a moment, those vanished as well.

“Lady Silent Witch!” exclaimed Cyril, confused at Romalia’s sudden disappearance. “What happened to him?

Monica couldn’t answer his question; her voice would give her away.

Oh, I know. I’ll write it on the ground…

As she searched for a good tree branch to write with, Raul suddenly pounded his hand with a fist. “Oh, I get it,” he said. “You had the ice spirit rest inside the broach. But the broach is a magical item, right? What’s it for, originally?”

Cyril fingered the item. “It absorbs my mana and expels it. I have mana hyperabsorption syndrome…”

“Oh! I get it. Romalia can recover using the mana you absorb! That’s amazing! It’s the perfect solution!”

Thank goodness. Now I don’t have to explain it myself, thought Monica, softly breathing a sigh behind her veil.

Glenn looked at her. “Huh? Wait, then you knew the vice president’s broach was a magical item? And that he had mana hyperabsorption syndrome?”

Monica nearly sputtered with panic but quickly clasped a hand over her veil to stifle it.

Monica began to tremble.

Then a broad, earnest smile spread over Glenn’s face. “Man, the Seven Sages are crazy good!”

“……”

“Aw, you’re making me blush!”

Monica silently deflated as Raul, who had done nothing, proceeded to blush for real.

Well, um, whatever the case, I kept my identity secret… So that’s good… Yeah. Monica was privately relieved.

Then Cyril grasped his broach and turned to face her. “Lady Silent Witch.”

His voice was earnest, sincere, and filled with deep gratitude. But Monica couldn’t meet his gaze, and not because she was worried he might realize who she was… She didn’t want to see Cyril’s face as he thanked the Silent Witch.

“Thank you. Thank you so much for saving Romalia.”

She didn’t want to hear that. She wanted to hear Excellent work, Accountant Norton.

Even though Monica Norton, the student council accountant, was not here.

…How…utterly selfish of me.

Nevertheless, when she saw Cyril stroking the broach with Romalia sealed inside and looking so happy, she felt a little giddy. In the end, she was glad she’d done what she could.

As Cyril and Glenn celebrated Romalia clinging to life, and Monica looked at her feet and fidgeted, Raul took a step back and watched them.

…That must be nice, he said to himself, channeling mana into what remained of the rose in his hand, causing it to wither.

He turned around to find Ray’s purple hair poking out from behind a tree. He was staring this way. Evidently, he’d been watching the whole time.

“I’m sure the Barrier Mage would say the same thing if he’d seen…”

“Then we’ll just have to keep it a secret from the others, won’t we?” Raul said casually.

Ray scowled. “…A Roseburg must understand how terrifying spirits are. We may be able to communicate, but we can never truly understand one another.”

Ray was right. Raul had been raised in a prestigious magecraft family, and he’d been taught that spirits were frightening and repulsive. But Raul couldn’t fully agree.

“He chose my rose as a gift,” he said. “And I was happy to give one to him. I think maybe that’s not so bad, you know?”

Cyril and Glenn looked so dazzling to his eyes. They’d established such a natural bond with a spirit, felt sad when that spirit nearly dissipated, and then celebrated when he was saved.

And if they can be sad for a spirit…then maybe they can be sad for someone like me, too.

Raul was incredibly impressed by Monica’s actions. How many people would jump to Raul’s rescue if he were ever in a crisis like that?

The Roseburgs and their Witch of Thorns and the Albrights and their Abyss Shaman were both famed and feared. Everyone treated them coldly, keeping a polite distance. Some didn’t even regard them as human.

“I really hope we can be friends,” he said. “You think we could have a veggie party right now, or…?”

“Ugh, but there’s still so much to clean up…,” mumbled Ray, looking fed up with everything.

As Louis and Bradford entered Emanuel’s cabin, they sensed the Gem Mage stand up behind them and attempt to flee. The two Sages traded glances and silently agreed to leave the old man to his own devices.

They hadn’t come here to take Emanuel captive. They couldn’t afford to reveal his crimes to the public.

“What do you think Gem is gonna do now?” asked Bradford.

“He can’t go crying to the duke after keeping the ancient magical item a secret, so…I think we can assume he’ll either retire or flee the kingdom.”

And if he happened to boldly attend the next Seven Sages Conference, they could reevaluate then.

Duke Clockford has all but lost the Gem Mage as a piece on his board. His next play will either be to send another supporter of the second prince into the Seven Sages or pull a current Sage out of the organization…

Louis knew that the duke wanted to get the Silent Witch on his side. She’d slain the Cursed Dragon of Rehnberg alongside the second prince, after all. If that happened, the second prince’s faction would grow even more powerful.

In Louis’s view, the second prince seemed to have won Monica over. And that meant there was a non-zero chance that she would join the duke.

…And above all…

Louis thought back to the battle moments ago. When the squad of magical armored soldiers commanded by Ray had barged in, Monica had said something.

“Mister Louis! Magical armored soldiers!”

The Gem Mage had only used the soldiers’ proper name after Monica. He hadn’t said it a single time before that, and even Louis hadn’t known what they were called.

But Monica had known. Come to think of it, she’d been very confident about the technology using spirits as a power source.

The political situation could change drastically depending on which camp Monica allied herself with.

For once, I find myself unable to read the Silent Witch’s moves.

If he intended to have her continue guarding the second prince, he would be better off keeping her in the dark about certain things. If she sided with Felix, it could lead to one of the worst scenarios he could imagine.

…Maybe it’s time to throw her off-balance a bit.

Louis supported the first prince, but not because he necessarily wanted him to be king. He simply didn’t want Duke Clockford, who backed the second prince, to be allowed to have his way.

The friendly first prince couldn’t oppose the wily duke, so that role fell to Louis. He’d have to be the one to outwit that man—and he’d have to do it very, very carefully.

Thankfully, a smiling Raul was keeping them occupied with conversation. She listened to him enthusiastically explain the best ways to prepare seasonal vegetables as she plodded along, her eyes on the ground.

Now that they’d destroyed Galanis, all her exhaustion, both physical and mental, had come crashing down on her. I can’t wait to get back to my attic room and crawl into bed…

So much had happened since the end of winter break that she’d barely gotten any rest.

Albert, the third prince, and Robert, her former opponent in the chess tournament, had both transferred into Serendia. Huberd, a former upperclassman from her days at Minerva’s, was there, too, and he’d just caused a bunch of trouble by challenging her friends to a duel.

To make matters worse, the second prince seems to know that the Silent Witch is somewhere at the academy…

During the break, a cursed dragon had hurt her left hand, and now Felix was searching for a female student at their school with the same injury.

I feel like it hasn’t been healing very well, either…

Monica’s hand had started to sting again, though she wasn’t sure if it was due to exhaustion or the way she’d had to use it to keep her balance while moving through the forest.

At least there aren’t any classes tomorrow, so I can get some rest… Yes…

Eventually, as the oranges and reds of evening drifted into the far western sky, the party made it out of the forest. Two magnificent carriages were parked at the edge where they’d entered. In front of them stood a beautiful woman wearing a fur coat over a dress—Mary Harvey, the Starseer Witch.

“Fine work, everyone,” she said. “How did things turn out in the end?”

He didn’t mention the ancient magical item or the Gem Mage’s name in front of Cyril and Glenn.

After this announcement, he walked over to Mary. Then, for some reason, he looked back at Monica and beckoned her over. She nervously approached, and Louis lowered his voice so that only she and Mary could hear. “I have considered the possibility of using mental interference magecraft to wipe the witnesses’ memories.”

Monica felt her blood run cold. Nobody had to tell her which “witnesses” he was referring to. He meant Cyril and Glenn, of course. She paled.

Louis continued. “You can use it without chanting, can’t you, my fellow Sage? You could cast it without them even noticing.”

Monica looked up at him, face white, and mumbled, “A spell like that can have lingering effects…”

“But you would never make such a mistake, would you?”

“I, um…” She curled her small hands into fists and tried her best to stammer out a reply.

But before she could, Louis fixed her with a cold stare. “You can do this, can’t you?”

Monica started to panic. She couldn’t tell what Louis was after. Mental interference magecraft was mostly forbidden—not something to be used so brazenly. And Glenn was Louis’s apprentice. How could he suggest such a thing? Was keeping all this secret really that important?

He’s right. If I wiped their memories, it would lower the chances of my identity being revealed, but…

Monica could sense from Louis’s chilly gaze that this was some kind of test.

And he was testing her. Would she use mental interference magecraft on her friends from the academy for the sake of her mission?

Louis opened his mouth to retort, but Mary cut him off with a finger to her lips. She looked at the others present, then raised her voice so that everyone could hear.

“Much has happened in the forest, but you mustn’t speak a word of it to anyone… Do you understand?”

Her final warning was directed at Cyril and Glenn. They looked back at her stiffly, and she met them with an equally gentle smile.

“Spirits kidnapped you, and we came to your rescue… That is how we will explain this to the academy. Now, come, onto the carriages.”

Both boys appeared confused and unconvinced.

Cyril grasped his broach. “And the flutist?” he said in a hard voice. “The one controlling the spirits…”

“That matter has been resolved. I’m sorry—I can’t say anything more.”

Mary’s tone and demeanor were gentle, but they held a quiet pressure that would brook no objection. As the two of them fell silent in frustration, Mary placed a hand on her chest.

“From now on,” she declared sincerely, “I shall do my best to make sure this forest is properly taken care of. I swear it on the name of Mary Harvey, the Starseer Witch.” She put particular emphasis on the last bit, then offered an ephemeral smile. “I do hope you can trust me.”

How many could refuse such insistence from a Sage? And not only was she the oldest of the seven, she was also the foremost prophet in Ridill.

Cyril, hand still clasping his broach, bowed deeply. “Then please, ma’am…I ask that you take care of the spirits here.”

Mary nodded kindly. Louis shrugged and sighed. His attitude was cynical in the extreme, but he didn’t press the issue.

That jogged Monica’s memory, and she took the gems out of her pocket as well. Spirits were sealed inside them. She couldn’t forget about them—she had to set them free.

Louis held up the gems in his hand and chanted. Monica lifted hers and wordlessly dispelled their seals.

The gems in both their hands gave off a faint glow from within. The lights then floated out and into the air. As they did, a peculiar atmosphere surrounded Monica and the others.

The spirits’ hostility was palpable; it almost physically stung.

“Not surprised they hate us,” said Bradford breezily. “From the spirits’ perspective, we’re no different from Gem.”

“This is why I hate dealing with spirits…,” Ray groaned, scowling.

The feeling of hostility seemed to grow, tingling against their skin. As if in response, Kelielinden Forest began to sway and rustle. The other spirits among the trees could feel the anger and hatred of their freed brethren.

Monica prepared to put up a defensive barrier, and Louis began chanting. Ray had already gone to hide behind one of the carriages.

Cyril and Glenn stood, unable to move, frightened by the change in the forest. Raul looked up at the trees as if he’d just noticed something. “Oh.”

He was gazing at a wolf staring out at them from the forest. It was as big as a boar, with orange eyes. It had to be a spirit. The wolf cocked its head and let out a strange howl. It sounded somehow different from that of a normal wolf.

Monica knew spiritspeak, so she knew what the howl had meant:

“Be calm. Do not attack.”

As the howl continued to vibrate the air, the spirits malice-filled buzz began to die down. The wolf didn’t seem like a high spirit, so Monica figured it was a powerful mid-level one. But why had it helped them? The whole thing puzzled her.

The wolf howled again. For some reason, its sunset eyes were focused on Monica.

“I will not thank you,” it said.

With that, the wolf disappeared back into the forest along with a group of low spirits.

Cyril and Glenn likely didn’t understand spiritspeak. Nevertheless, Cyril lowered his head reverently toward the wolf. Then he turned his back to the forest and climbed into one of the carriages.

Glenn opened his mouth as though he had something to say, then pursed his lips and followed suit.

Once both boys had fully boarded, Mary looked at the remaining Sages. “That brings this matter to an end.” Her words sounded like a warning directed specifically at Louis.

Mary, the mediator of the Sages, had called an end to this business. She would permit no further punishment of the Gem Mage, nor any use of mental interference magecraft on the student witnesses.

She bowed elegantly. “I will bring those two back to Serendia Academy now. Feel free to use the other carriage as you wish.”

Mary turned to look at the carriage Cyril and Glenn had boarded, her fur coat flapping behind her.

“…Ah, if only they were five years younger,” she mumbled.

The other Sages were all aware of Mary Harvey’s penchant for having young boys in shorts wait on her.

“Ugh, Starseer…”

“Oh-ho-ho. Well, then I bid you all good day.” After replying to Bradford with a laugh, she climbed into the carriage.

That left Monica, Louis, Bradford, Ray, and Raul. Bradford looked at the other carriage. “I’ll be using the other carriage to head back to the capital. What about the rest of you?”

Monica knew what Louis was actually saying. Checking on the seal was a lie—he just wanted to have Ryn take her back to Serendia Academy. And after he’d just tried to make her use mental interference magecraft on her schoolmates…

As she began to feel sick, Raul patted her on the shoulder, and she turned to look at him.

The tall man bent low, removed a letter from his jacket, and stealthily dropped it into the pocket of Monica’s robe.

“Wait until later to read it,” he said. “I figured there wouldn’t be much time to trade secrets, so I wrote a letter for you in advance.”

Something he doesn’t want the other Sages to know about…?

“And keep it a secret from the others.” Raul winked, then went to join Bradford and Ray in the carriage. Once inside, he leaned out the window and waved at her energetically. “Let’s all have a veggie party next time!”

“Oh, um, right…” Monica awkwardly returned the wave with her right hand.

Eventually, they got on their way and faded into the distance. That left only Monica and Louis.

“Now then,” said Louis simply, causing Monica to grow tense and straighten up. “You will continue your mission to protect the second prince.”

Behind her veil, Monica bit her lip and thought.

There’s a lot I haven’t told Mister Louis about.

Like how she’d slipped out one night in Corlapton to walk around with the very prince she was guarding. Or how she was investigating Duke Clockford to learn more about the truth behind her father’s death. And how she’d recruited Bartholomeus to help her. Or how Raul had found out about her top-secret mission.

Should I tell him about the Witch of Thorns? I don’t know… Monica fingered the envelope Raul had just dropped into her pocket. Maybe I should go back to school first and see what the letter says before deciding.

“Rynzbelfeid, spirit of wind, in accordance with the contract, be swift to my side!”

A powerful gust of wind blew in from above as a beautiful woman in a maid uniform appeared, riding on the wind…and spinning around at top speed.

Louis immediately jumped back from her landing point as she, still revolving, divebombed them, only to stop just before hitting the ground.

“That was my Tornado Kick Landing Method, Version Two. How did you like it?”

Ryn was once again making headache-inducing remarks. Clearly, she was out of Galanis’s control and back to normal.

“…Hello, idiot maid,” said Louis. “I will choose not to interrogate you about how you just attacked me. We’re both exhausted. Use your power to take the Silent Witch back to Serendia Academy, then take me back to the capital.”

Ryn straightened up at the order. “I cannot do that,” she said clearly.

“……You can’t?” Louis repeated, his voice dangerous. He was glaring at her.

But his intimidation tactics never frightened Ryn.

“I cannot,” she said, “as I have just used all the mana I would need for such a flight on my Tornado Kick Landing Method, Version Two.” Ryn’s form gradually thinned, turning into particles of yellow-green light. Once about half her body was transparent, she gave a perfect curtsey. “Hence, I shall take a rest inside our stone of contract. Good night.”

The light particles disappeared into the emerald ring as if being sucked into it.

Louis’s hand, where he wore the ring, trembled. “That imbecile… What kind of maid goes to sleep before her master…?”

“Um, it’s my fault, Mister Louis. I hurt her pretty badly. I’m sorry…”

“…No, you don’t need to worry about it. I was the one who gave you permission to beat her into the dirt,” he said, his gaze hollow.

Not only had he been swinging an ax around all day, but he’d let loose a series of complex barriers during his battle with the Gem Mage. At this point, he’d burned through whatever mana he’d recovered. There was no way he could use flight magecraft on his own.

“My fellow Sage, you can get back yourself with flight magecraft, I’m sure?”

“Oh, um, yes, I think I can… But, um, what about you…?”

Louis snorted and grinned. Then he looked up at the sky. His long braid dangled limply.

“…I will walk to the nearest carriage.”

“Oh. Um, okay. Bye…”

In the carriage heading to Serendia Academy, Cyril leaned back in his seat and stared out the window.

His hand unconsciously grasped his broach, where the ice spirit Romalia now slept. Not because he’d formed a contract with Cyril—the spirit was simply resting there. There was no telling how long it would take for him to recover enough to regain consciousness and move around on his own.

“VP?” said Glenn from the seat next to him.

Cyril cast him a sidelong glance. “What?”

“…Me too.”

Cyril had sworn to win the duel against Huberd Dee and had lost miserably. In the forest, those spirits had asked for his help. He’d promised he would give it. And yet, he’d accomplished nothing. It hadn’t even been Cyril who saved Romalia.

He’d been useless. The Seven Sages had swooped in and rescued him, and now he was on his way home.

How ignorant and powerless he was. He was pathetic, and that angered him.

I need to learn more…

He was part of the Lineage of the Wise. One day, he would inherit the March of Highown.

He couldn’t let things stay like this.

As Cyril and Glenn wallowed in their frustration, the Starseer Witch sat across from them, watching over them with a gentle smile. Then she turned her gaze from the two boys to the window.

…At last, they begin to act. The Silent Witch, and the one who holds the star of loss, always twinkling near her.

And not far away, Mary saw another small star—that of one who had quietly lain in wait for the right time to come.

After parting ways with Louis just outside of Kelielinden Forest, Monica picked up a branch of suitable length, then mounted it and cast a flight spell. Her flying was still unstable, but if she had something to straddle like her staff or a broom, it made things easier.

Even then, though, she couldn’t carry someone else along with her, so she’d had no choice but to leave Louis behind.

…And so, she didn’t remember the man of love and passion she’d left in the forest. She’d forgotten Bartholomeus Baal.

I’ve been away from my attic room since last night. But it should be fine. One day isn’t long enough for anyone to notice…

The forest was about three or four hours away from the academy by horse, but flight magecraft was quicker. Monica arrived at Serendia a little before sunset, as red began to tint the sky. The wind was cold, and wintry air came in through the gaps in her robe, chilling her to her core.

I wonder if Nero’s still hibernating. I think the first thing I’ll do is have a nice hot cup of coffee…

She made sure nobody was around the student dorm, then landed on the window frame of her attic room. After climbing in and tossing the branch she’d used in place of a broom outside, she shut the window with cold-numbed hands.

When she removed the veil from her mouth and let out a deep breath, she noticed something move in the shadows in her periphery. She thought at first Nero had woken up, but he was still in the form of a cat, curled up in his basket.

Huh?

A quiet voice called out to her from inside the room. “Monica Norton.”

Monica sucked in a breath and shuddered. Someone had been lurking in the darkness, just outside of view. They slowly walked up to her.

It was a gorgeous young woman with lustrous blond hair—Bridget Greyham, one of the student council’s secretaries. There were no classes that day, but she was still wearing her school uniform.

She narrowed her amber eyes at Monica and asked, “Who are you?”

Now what…? What do I do…?

The thing that had made him irreplaceable—Galanis, the Flute of the False King—had been destroyed.

He could no longer use his magical armored soldiers or Pauloshmer’s Mirror of Execution. He needed Galanis to manipulate the spirits that powered them. Without it, he couldn’t manage such fine control.

And if…if Duke Clockford gets word of any of this…

The other Sages would want to cover up the incident, so he doubted any of them would tell the duke about it. But there was no guarantee he wouldn’t find out. And what about the civilians caught in the crossfire? The spirits of Kelielinden Forest had kidnapped those Serendia Academy students and dragged them into the middle of things.

Why did it have to be students from the Duke’s school?!

Now there was a chance the incident would be leaked by someone at the academy. Anxiety roiled in Emanuel’s gut. The duke’s backing was the only reason he’d become a Sage and could afford such a large magical item workshop.

If the duke cut him off… No, that cruel man wouldn’t just “cut him off.”

…He’ll dispose of me.

Emanuel kept walking, his breath growing ragged. For now, he needed to get somewhere with other people. Walking alone like this made even his own shadow seem like a terrifying monster. If he left the main road and walked until night, he’d reach a nearby town called Verda.

Verda was home to a branch office of the workshop Emanuel managed. He could go there, get travel expenses, and stay the night.

I’m so tired… Soon, I will be able to rest…

Though clouds had marred the daytime sky, they’d cleared up now as the sun set. The heavens were a vivid, unsettling red.

“Good day, Lord Darwin.”

The young man offered him a charming smile beneath the crimson sky. His perfectly sculpted features were not easily forgotten. Emanuel knew who he was—Felix Arc Ridill, the second prince.

What would Prince Felix be doing here? Unless… Has Duke Clockford already learned of what I’ve done…?!

The second prince was essentially the duke’s puppet. Which meant this beautiful young man had come to condemn him for his crimes.

Emanuel paled and began to tremble as Felix spoke again, his tone gentle. “If the duke were to hear of this, I’ve no doubt he would quickly abandon you.”

The prince’s words were like a faint ray of hope. “…You mean to say he doesn’t know?”

“Well, I don’t intend to tell him, at least. I can keep the faculty at Serendia Academy quiet as well. The headmaster wouldn’t want the disappearance of two of his students to reach the duke. It would be a scandal.”

Emanuel was grateful, but at the same time, something bothered him about this conversation. Why would the second prince go to all this trouble for him? Didn’t he always do whatever the duke commanded?

And more importantly…

Emanuel gulped and put on a thin smile, trying to project what little confidence he could muster. “And what brings you here without a guard, sir?”

“I was waiting for you.”

“But how did you know…?”

“How? Well, long story short…” Felix casually crossed his arms and looked off toward Kelielinden Forest. “You couldn’t stay in that forest—not now that you’ve angered the spirits. You’ve been calling a carriage here regularly in the past, but there’s no carriage for you now, so you had to flee on foot. You can’t use flight magecraft, which means there are four towns you might choose. Of them, only Verda, which is south along this road, contains a branch of your workshop. You wanted to go there for help, yes?”

“If the duke learns of what happened in the forest…that would spell your downfall.”

Emanuel unconsciously took a step back, and Felix matched him with a step forward.

A pitying expression rose to his charming face. “I need you to continue to fear him.”

Felix held a hand out to Emanuel. His white glove looked almost bloodstained in the sunset. And as Emanuel shook, Felix lowered his voice to a sweet, gentle whisper.

“Let me help you, Lord Darwin.”

All she knows right now is that I’m a mage and that I’m the girl with the hurt left hand the prince is looking for.

Just then, a question surfaced in Monica’s mind. Why had Bridget been hiding in her attic room?

…Something’s wrong here.

Bridget was a perfect noble girl and an honor student. All the other girls idolized her. But she had personally waited alone in this attic room just to learn more about Monica. Something about that didn’t add up. If she had wanted to track Monica down, she could have simply ordered someone else to do it.

Monica carefully began to speak. “Um, Lady Bridget, how long have you been in here?”

“I’m the one asking the questions.”

“…You weren’t cold or anything?”

Bridget was so pale that even her makeup couldn’t fully hide it. She must have been in Monica’s room for quite a long time, waiting alone for her to return.

“You…you came here to negotiate with me over something, right?” Monica asked.

“……”

“That’s why you came alone. Without, um, an escort.”

Bridget remained silent, and Monica returned that silence with her own.

The sun was more than halfway behind the horizon now, and it was dark outside the window. Monica wondered if she should light a candle, then quickly rejected the idea. She always used unchanted magecraft to light them. She never carried matches.

“First, I will tell you what I think,” said Bridget in the growing darkness. “I hired a detective to investigate every monastery in Kerbeck. They found no record of any girl named Monica.”

The noble girl continued flatly. “Count Kerbeck leads the eastern nobles. He’s neutral and hasn’t backed either prince. Even Prince Felix and Duke Clockford can’t carelessly interfere with him. You took the Norton name, which means you’re probably not an ally to the prince or the duke.”

“……”

“My theory is that you’re a mage hired by Count Kerbeck to gather intelligence on Prince Felix for some reason.”

Monica wasn’t sure how to respond. Even Bridget hadn’t guessed she was a Sage—that she was the one doing all the work and that the count was only supporting her.

Rather than confirm or deny the theory, Monica asked a question. “…What are you after, Lady Bridget?”

Judging by what she’d said, she wasn’t collaborating with Felix or Duke Clockford, either. But without knowing her objectives, Monica couldn’t say anything carelessly.

To her surprise, Bridget answered quite readily. “To be perfectly blunt, I don’t care who you are. I only looked into your background to give me leverage in our negotiations.”

“…Huh?”

“I only have one goal. The prince has a secret—and I must know it. Monica Norton, you will help me learn it.”

This unexpected turn caught Monica off guard. “He, um, he does? What kind of secret…?”

“I’ll only tell you if you promise to help me.”

Monica was confused. What was this secret of Felix’s that Bridget wanted to know?

If she was being honest, Monica had plenty of questions of her own about the prince. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t curious.

But she couldn’t simply agree. She was still tasked with ensuring his safety.

Bridget shook her head. “Unfortunately, I’m not powerful enough to make an enemy of Count Kerbeck. This matter is unrelated to my father, the Marquess of Shaleberry… I only want to know for personal reasons.”

Monica was struck, once again, by Louis’s clever choice of Count Kerbeck as her collaborator. The Kerbecks weren’t just a family of aspiring actors. They were incredibly powerful nobles that even Duke Clockford and Marquess Shaleberry couldn’t afford to pick a fight with.

Lady Bridget is acting only out of personal interest, so she doesn’t want to turn the count against her… Maybe I can get out of this by pretending that Count Kerbeck really is the one giving me orders.

As Monica clung to this ray of hope, Bridget glanced at her left hand. “The prince is looking for a girl with an injured left hand. You match that description, and you want to keep it a secret… Am I correct?”

Monica, who was a terrible liar, gave a visible start.

Bridget continued immediately. “A girl with a wounded left hand. I don’t know what that means or why he’s looking for such a person. But I know you don’t want him to find out about your injury.”

“W-well, I… Um…,” Monica stammered.

Bridget held up three fingers and thrust them in her face. “Three days.”

“…Huh?”

“I’ll make the prince give up on his search within three days’ time. In exchange, I want you to help me.”

This bargain only served to confuse Monica more. But if she refused and Bridget told Felix that Monica’s left hand was hurt, it would be the end of the line. Felix would realize Monica was the Silent Witch.

After a long period of consternation, Monica carefully asked a question. “You can…do that?”

Despite her beautiful countenance, her smile was ghastly enough to send shivers down Monica’s spine. She sensed determination and a powerful resolve beneath the expression.

She’s…she’s serious… Monica gulped.

Bridget’s smile faded. “I shall be on my way, then,” she said quietly. “We will talk again in three days… Good night, Monica Norton.”

She put special emphasis on Monica’s cover name before leaving the attic room behind.

Once Monica could no longer hear the other girl’s footsteps, she staggered over to her bed and fell onto it.

“Nerooo…”

When she called out to the cat sleeping in his basket by her pillow, she heard a satisfied half-meow in response. He must have forgotten all his instincts as a dragon.

“Lady Bridget figured out so much… She doesn’t know I’m the Silent Witch, but still…”

Bridget seemed to think she was nothing more than a mage hired by Count Kerbeck. But she now knew that Monica wasn’t just a regular student. And most importantly, she knew her left hand was injured.

“What does she want from me…?”

Bridget had said that she desperately wanted to know Felix’s secret and that she was hoping Monica would help her figure it out.

Of course, I want to know more about the prince, too…

Why did Felix do everything Duke Clockford told him to? Did he know the duke was involved in the cursed dragon incident? That he might be linked to the death of Monica’s father?

There were so many things she wanted to know.

I can’t…talk to Mister Louis about this.

As she thought, she felt her eyelids start to droop. She rolled over in bed, intending to simply go to sleep for the day. But then she heard a rustling in her pocket.

Oh, right. The Witch of Thorns gave me a letter after we left the forest…

Monica sluggishly got up, stuck her hand in her pocket, and pulled out Raul’s envelope. Then she sat on the side of her bed, used unchanted magecraft to light a candle, and unfolded the letter. In the dim light of her attic room, she began to read.

Somewhat overwhelmed by the eagerness evident in each letter and sentence, Monica unfolded the second page.

Raul had just invited her on an undercover investigation as casually as he might have invited her over to hang out. But this was a great chance to investigate the duke. She might not get another.

The Festival of Sheffield mentioned in the letter was a holiday to celebrate the King of the Wind Spirits bringing the winds that heralded spring. Serendia Academy would close for a week after the holiday, so she would be able to sneak out.

Monica stood up and took a book out of her locked drawer. It was her father’s book, which Felix, using the name Ike, had bought for her at Porter’s used bookstore in Corlapton. She sat back on the bed and rested the book on her lap. Softly stroking the cover, she fell deep into thought.

Her father, Venedict Reyn, had been executed. Peter Summs, a shaman whose real name was Barry Oats, had been involved in his death. Barry Oats had ties to Duke Clockford and had died in Rehnberg during winter break.

If I assume the duke really was involved in my father’s death…then I doubt he’ll have left any evidence in his mansion. Still…I need any information I can get.

Monica made up her mind. She’d accept Raul’s offer and participate in the undercover mission.

Monica tended to yield to the whims of others and go along with whatever they asked of her, but in this matter, she’d decided her course of action for herself: She would uncover the truth of her father’s death.

After leaving Monica’s attic room, Bridget returned to her dorm with a casual gait.

Dory, the young maid waiting there, bowed. “Welcome home,” she said. “It’s a shame ya have—I mean, that you must do student council work even on a holiday. Please, if there is anything I can help with, you need only say the word.”

“Thank you. Could you make me some hot black tea, then?”

“Right away!” Dory nodded enthusiastically and left the room to prepare the tea.

The youngest maid in Bridget’s employ, Dory had charming, curly black hair and freckles. Her natural accent would occasionally slip out, but she was dedicated to her work and adored Bridget.

…I can’t let her get any more involved than this.

There was a limit to how much investigating Bridget could do on her own. In the past, she’d had Dory help her keep an eye on Monica Norton and relay messages from the detective she’d hired, but she couldn’t ask any more of her.

She had to limit her requests to things a noble girl might reasonably ask. That was why she had changed into her uniform despite not having classes that day. She’d told Dory she had student council work to do, then she’d gone and hid in Monica’s cold attic room for ages.

She rubbed her hands, which were practically frozen. When she took a seat, she noticed that the flowers in the vase on the table had been changed.

They were now pink roses, their frilled petals layered one over the other. Dory must have arranged them for her.

“Cheer up, Bridget. Duke Clockford has invited you to his estate. You have been chosen to serve as a companion to Prince Felix.”

Bridget’s father, the Marquess of Shaleberry, was awfully cheery that day. She was just seven years old.

The second prince, Felix, was the same age as she was. He was staying at his grandfather’s estate to recover from an illness. Because he was a sickly child and couldn’t go out, the duke had requested that Bridget serve as his companion, someone he could talk to.

Bridget, despite her youth, correctly understood that she was being invited there as a marriage candidate for the prince, and she wasn’t very happy about it.

The Kingdom of Ridill already had another prince—Lionel, who was nine years older than Felix. The sixteen-year-old was said to be a lively boy, skilled in horseback riding and the blade.

The second prince, on the other hand, was sickly, almost never appeared at court functions, and spent his time at his maternal grandfather’s estate recuperating. How could a boy who couldn’t even endure life in the palace become king?

Though his grandfather, the duke, was one of the most influential men in the kingdom, the second prince had almost no presence at court. Some even spread cruel, inconsiderate rumors that he wouldn’t survive to adulthood.

Bridget was not happy in the slightest to be chosen as his potential bride.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness. My name is Bridget Greyham. I consider it a great honor that you have invited me here.”

Bridget was an incredibly charming girl, and everything—from the way she dressed to her conduct and even the way she smiled—was polished well beyond her seven years.

In contrast, Felix seemed embarrassed. He looked down and mumbled while playing with his fingers.

Felix took after his mother, Queen Aileen, a noblewoman beloved for her beauty, and he was a gorgeous youth. But his fair cheeks were now tinged with red from nervousness, and his gaze was locked on his feet. He made no effort to look at Bridget.

Truly helpless was her first impression of him. And how long must I wait for the prince to grace me with a reply?

As Felix fidgeted, she heard a young man waiting behind him—his attendant—say softly, “Sir, remember your practice.”

He needs practice to perform a basic introduction? How pitiful! Bridget stood there, amazed.

Felix began to introduce himself, his face bright red. “Um, pleased to, uh, meet you. I’m, er, my name is Felix Arc Ridiph…”

In the end, he fumbled his words. This time, his reddened face turned blue. He began to tremble, and tears formed in his eyes.

A wave of disappointment passed over the duke and the servants, who were all watching. This only made the young prince cringe even harder.

Then his attendant interjected quietly, “Sir, why don’t you show Lady Bridget to the tea room? You picked the flowers there just for her, didn’t you? I’m sure she’ll be delighted.”

“Huh? But you were the one who picked the—”

“Sir.”

The young prince shut his mouth, startled. He’d ruined his attendant’s goodwill in an instant. The adults seemed even more disappointed with him. Bridget shared their misgivings.

I can’t believe I might have to marry this boy…

She’d asked an easy question, but Felix didn’t reply. He only stammered and mumbled some more. From time to time, he’d look up—but he was glancing at the duke, not at her. It seemed he was capable of nothing but worrying about what his grandfather thought.

The prince’s attendant spoke up in place of his miserable charge.

“We would be happy to guide you there,” he said. “Please come this way.”

Polished tea utensils were set out in the tea room, with pink roses adorning the table. Duke Clockford, along with Bridget’s father and the others, was having tea in another room. Evidently, they expected the children to first get to know each other on their own.

…Ugh. How long is His Highness planning to fidget?

Apart from Bridget and Felix, the only ones in the room were Bridget’s maid and Felix’s young attendant.

Even now, with so few people around, Felix remained tense, never trying to speak. Once again, he looked down and played with his fingers.

Left with no choice, Bridget decided to start the conversation herself. “My, what lovely flowers! Did you pick these for me?”

“Oh, um…”

“I hear roses with frilled petals like these are quite popular right now. You must be quite knowledgeable about such things.”

“…Oh, no, it’s just… Um…”

“And the vase is gorgeous as well. Is it Corminet Collection? My mother loves those. She collects them, in fact. She is particularly fond of their teacups…”

“…Corminet…Collection?”

Apparently, the prince didn’t even know how valuable a vase it was. He merely repeated the term as if it were his first time hearing it.

“Oh, yeah. That’s right… I did.” After speaking, the prince looked down again. He was making conversation impossible.

“Oh! I’m delighted,” replied Bridget, feigning joy. Inside, she was terribly vexed.

Is it really his health that prevents the duke from bringing him to the palace? Or does he keep him away because of his pitiful shyness? Either way, she’d been handpicked to be his conversation partner. She had to fulfill that mission.

“May I have a scone?” she asked.

Felix bobbed his head up and down uncomfortably. He couldn’t even manage a “please do.” Bridget was utterly flabbergasted.

The attendant slipped in a remark to cover for his master. “The scones today are served with three types of jam, as well as clotted cream. The black tea is a Florendian blend we heard you’re fond of, Lady Bridget. Please enjoy it straight, first.”

Even the tea and scones had been chosen to match Bridget’s tastes.

But Felix hadn’t been the one to prepare them. His attendant must have done it. He seemed quite thoughtful.

…What a farce.

Bridget fought down her displeasure, covering it with a brilliant smile. But her irritation must have affected—if only very, very slightly—the movement of her hands. A drop of raspberry jam dripped off her spoon and onto the front of her dress, near her chest.

“…!”

Bridget immediately held a napkin to the area, embarrassed by her own immaturity. She must not yet be a proper lady, for no proper lady would commit such a blunder because of some trifling emotions.

“Please excuse me, my lady.”

As Bridget sat there, mortified by her mistake, Felix suddenly took off his neckerchief, further perplexing her.

Don’t tell me he intends to have me wipe the jam off with that.

Felix folded the blue material until it was small and rolled it up. Then he used the small broach decorating it to pin the ends in place.

The blue neckerchief had become a rose.

“Um, ah, well, um…” Felix trembled in embarrassment, his face bright red, as he held the blue rose corsage out to Bridget.

“…I, um, I think b-blue would look, um, very good on you… So have this, pleaph!”

Once again, he fumbled his words. Yet Bridget couldn’t find it in her to condescend to the fainthearted prince.

She looked between the improvised corsage and Felix. Then, after a moment, she said, “Thank you. I gratefully accept it.”

She picked up the blue rose with greater care than she would a real flower, then placed it on her chest to hide the stain. The brilliant blue rose looked wonderful on her pale aqua dress.

“…Well? Does it look good on me?”

“Um, yes!” Felix’s head came up vigorously, and he nodded again and again.

For the first time that day, Bridget smiled from the heart.

Later on, Bridget excused herself to use the lavatory. On her way back to the tea room, she spotted Felix and Duke Clockford in the hallway. They seemed to be talking about something. Given the circumstances, she imagined it was about her and how well she’d done.

She hesitated, wondering if she should eavesdrop or simply pass by and pretend not to have noticed. But before she could act, the duke’s voice reached her ears.

“What happened to your scarf?”

“How much shame must you bring me before you’re satisfied?” spat the duke, not hiding his displeasure.

Bridget almost burst out into the hallway. It wasn’t Felix’s fault. He’d been kind to her—he’d tried to protect her honor. That was all.

But just as she was about to protest his innocence, someone yanked her back.

How rude! Her eyebrows shot up in anger, but whoever it was covered her mouth. That was when she saw—it was Felix’s attendant.

The boy looked at her blankly, but his eyes were sharp. “Please do not waste my master’s kindness.”

Annoyed, Bridget batted his hand away. As she did, her fingers brushed his long bangs.

“…Ah,” Bridget sucked in a breath.

She wasn’t surprised this boy had been chosen as an attendant to royalty. He had the blond hair and blue eyes desired in a noble servant. But his face contained an imperfection—a scar running over his right eye from top to bottom. The eye itself didn’t seem to have been injured, but the scar was deep enough that he would never be rid of it. She’d wondered about his awfully long bangs; evidently, they were meant to hide the scar.

The attendant’s fingers immediately went to fix his bangs. “Please return to the tea room,” he said quietly.

His cold gaze seemed to say, “If you waste my master’s kindness, I will never forgive you.”

Bridget fell silent for a moment, then turned her back to Felix and the duke. “Very well. Please show me the way.”

“At once, ma’am.” The attendant walked ahead of her as if nothing had happened.

Bridget wondered if Felix was still being reprimanded by the duke.

All because he’s covering for me.

From then on, Bridget was frequently invited to the duke’s estate to keep Felix company. That didn’t only mean drinking tea with him and chatting. Bridget, proficient in languages, had already learned the Imperial tongue. She spent some of their time teaching it to Felix. Other days, she would serve as his dance partner to help him practice.

The prince wasn’t exactly a quick study. Nor did he have very good physical coordination. He stepped on her feet many times during their practice sessions. Nevertheless, though she scolded him for it, she persevered and continued to serve as his partner.

“You’re hunching over again, sir,” she chided. “Straighten up. Pull in your chin a little.”

“Um, r-right…”

He frowned uneasily and fidgeted, but even so, he put everything into learning how to dance, his face bright red with effort.

Felix Arc Ridill was clumsier, duller, shyer, and less reliable than just about anyone.

But he was also the gentlest person Bridget had ever met.

As she directed his awkward dancing, she thought to herself, You had better master this, dear prince. After all, one day you’ll be my spouse.

“The tea is ready, Lady Bridget.”

As Bridget idly thought back to days gone by, Dory returned and placed a cup of tea in front of her. It was black tea with ginger cookies—Bridget’s favorite.

“Thank you, Dory. Could I ask you to do one more thing for me?”

Deciding that what she was about to ask fit into the category of just helping out, Bridget made her request. “I’d like you to spread a rumor among the servants.”

There wasn’t much Bridget Greyham could do on her own. She needed an ally.

She needed the mage who called herself Monica Norton.

Cyril was there, wearing a scarf and a heavy coat over his uniform. The last time Monica had seen him was on their way out of Kelielinden Forest. But the last time Monica Norton had seen him was before the duel with Huberd.

Careful not to slip on the snow, she scampered over to him. “Lord Cyril! Um, good morning!”

“Good morning,” he replied, looking up. A thin layer of snow covered his head and shoulders. His voice was hoarse and nasal.

Monica blinked. Cyril took a step back, then covered his mouth with his scarf. “…Don’t come too close. You’ll catch my cold.”

Monica had to stifle her reaction.

Three days ago, after their duel with Huberd, Cyril and Glenn had been kidnapped by spirits and taken to Kelielinden Forest. After spending a whole midwinter night in the woods, then walking for another day, it was no wonder he’d caught a cold.

“Um, Lord Cyril, if you have a cold, then maybe you should…go inside?”

“I was waiting for you, Accountant Norton.”

Anxiety filled Monica’s chest. She had interacted with Cyril in Kelielinden Forest as the Silent Witch. Could he have figured out her true identity?

Oh… Oh, no… Please, no…

She was so scared of what he might say next that she nearly put her hands over her ears. Her fingers turned numb, losing all the heat she’d gained from walking there. She was too scared to make eye contact, and her gaze began to drift.

Then Cyril dropped his head in a vigorous bow. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t strong enough to win the duel.”

“Oh, ah…”

Monica was a mess of emotions. First of all, she was relieved he hadn’t found out who she was. She also felt guilty about getting Cyril mixed up in the duel and regretted that he’d waited out here in the snow for her. There were other emotions, too, but she couldn’t properly put them into words. All these thoughts sprouted up inside her, then mashed together into a big heap.

“…And it’s not the first time something like this has happened,” Cyril continued. “I’m utterly disappointed in myself.”

He must have been referring to the incident when Casey caused the lumber to topple over. He’d apologized to her then, too, saying it was his own error—even though she knew he wasn’t to blame. He was being so considerate to her as her upperclassman. How was she supposed to respond?

Unsure, she opened and closed her mouth several times until an energetic voice broke in from behind her.

“Morning, Monica! Morning, VP!”

Glenn rushed across the snowy road. He usually wore his uniform rather untidily, but today, he had all his buttons fastened and a muffler around his neck. He was full of energy, but he kept sniffling.

Cyril frowned. “Wait, Dudley. Have you caught a cold, too?”

“Huh? Nah, I’m fine. I almost never catch colds… Achoo!” Immediately betrayed by his sneeze, Glenn used his cuff to wipe at his nose.

Cyril’s eyebrows shot up at once. “Don’t wipe your nose with your sleeve. Use a handkerchief! You’ll pass your cold to everyone else. Go back to your dorm right this instant and rest!”

After shouting, Cyril burst into a coughing fit. His face went bright red, and it seemed to wind him.

Glenn’s expression turned serious. “You’re not doin’ so well, either. Are you, VP?”

“……”

“……”

Cyril coughed some more and turned his cheek. “I’ll do so now. Back to the dorms, Dudley.”

Glenn sniffled again. “Monica, please tell Neil I’m taking the day off!”

“R-right. Take care!”

Cyril walked off unsteadily, and Glenn followed him. Before they disappeared, Glenn stopped to wave at her. Monica gave a small wave back.

Neither of them seemed to have any symptoms of mana poisoning…

Kelielinden Forest was a very mana-dense location, so staying there for an extended period would put one at risk of mana poisoning. Glenn and Cyril had been in the forest for an especially long time, so Monica had been worried about them. But it seemed there was no need for concern.

I wonder what will happen to the ice spirit I sealed in his broach. The magical item had been covered by Cyril’s scarf today, but she was sure he’d been wearing it, just as he always did. The ice spirit would be resting there for some time, though Monica wasn’t sure how long it would take him to heal.

…I hope he’ll be okay.

She’d made the decision to help without thinking too much about it, but Monica hated the idea that she’d added to Cyril’s burdens by saving the spirit. It was the result of her own selfish desire.

She watched until the two boys were out of sight, then started walking toward the school building. Her fingers were freezing, despite her gloves, probably because she’d been standing still for so long. She rubbed them together lightly, so as not to strain her injured left hand. That was when she realized something.

Despite the cold weather, lots of the other girls weren’t wearing gloves at all. Instead, they all had bandages on their left hands.

That seems like…an awful lot of girls with injured left hands…

…I’ve been had.

At his desk, Felix Arc Ridill let out a sorrowful sigh.

It had been three days since the student council got wrapped up in the magic duel with Huberd Dee. Cyril and Glenn, who went missing afterward, had been saved by the Seven Sages and delivered safely back to Serendia Academy.

All related parties had been forbidden to talk about it. Felix had made sure of that, telling the headmaster and the school staff that, because of the Sages’ involvement, they weren’t to discuss anything that had happened. The matter of the duel has been settled, too. It wasn’t a complete win for the student council, but we got to keep Monica, at least.

It was safe to say that both the kerfuffle surrounding the duel and the case of Cyril and Glenn’s disappearance were safely dealt with.

His personal business, however, wasn’t going very well at all. He was still searching for a girl at school with an injured left hand—a girl he was sure was the Silent Witch.

“Hey, Prince,” Elliott said, placing a report on Felix’s desk. He was dealing with a variety of miscellaneous matters, covering for Cyril while he was out sick.

“Thank you,” said Felix curtly.

Elliott flashed him a cynical grin. “Looks like they got you good.”

“In what regard?”

“The girl with the injured left hand.”

Felix replied with a pained grin, then casually turned his gaze to the rest of the class.

As if seizing their chance, several girls flashed their bandaged left wrists, carrying things with their left hands on purpose only to drop them. A few even blatantly held their left hands and grunted in pain.

“According to one of my family’s servants, there’s a rumor at school that you want to marry a certain girl with an injured left hand.”

“Any idea where the rumor came from?”

“Not for certain, no.”

The rumor seemed to have several different variations.

According to some, an assassin had been after Felix, but a passing noble girl had protected him and been hurt in the process. Felix, feeling responsible, wanted to make that girl his wife.

Others said that Felix had fallen for a girl who hurt her left hand protecting a wounded animal.

Still others said the Starseer Witch had prophesied that a girl with an injured left hand was best suited to be Felix’s wife.

…All the variations shared one detail: Felix would marry the girl with the injured left hand. Outside of that, however, each story was so different, it was hard to track down the rumor’s source.

It seems it will be difficult to ascertain Lady Everett’s identity from her injury. Felix was certain she had spread the rumors herself. She was clever, after all.

Felix fought down his disappointment and scanned the report on the desk. As he did so, he felt someone’s eyes on him—Elliott’s.

“…What is it?” he asked.

“You’re very stuck on this woman with the wounded left hand, aren’t you?”

“She saved my life. I only want to thank her.”

“Do you really have time for such things? When the general student assembly and graduation ceremony are so close at hand?”

Despite the thorns in Elliot’s voice, Felix responded with a perfect smile. “It won’t cause a problem.”

Elliot swallowed his next words, then winced and stepped back.

“Everything is proceeding apace,” Felix continued calmly. “Thanks to our talented student council members.”

“Well, it has been cold lately. We can’t blame him.”

“Weren’t you always the one who caught colds when it started snowing?”

“Yes, way back when,” said Felix fondly. He smiled. “You were just trying to be considerate, weren’t you? Thank you, Elliott.”

“…You’re welcome.”

That time, the annoyance in Elliott’s voice was genuine.

Three days had passed since Monica was forced into the agreement with Bridget. As she walked down the hall alone after school, she found herself in awe of the other girl’s skills. Just today, she’d seen over five female students pass by with their left gloves off, hands wrapped in bandages.

Wow. Lady Bridget is really amazing… Monica would never have thought to spread a rumor like that. And even if she had, she wouldn’t have been able to act on the idea. Only Bridget’s influence at the academy could have gotten such results in only three days.

Monica’s left hand had improved quite a bit, and she expected it would only be a few more days before she could use it normally again.

“Well! Well, well, well! If it isn’t Miss Monica Norton, the esteemed accountant of the student council.”

A voice addressed her from farther down the hall. It belonged to a stout male student with glasses and black hair—Conrad Askam, president of the magic history research club. Conrad approached her with surprising agility, chuckling breathily as he wrung his hands.

“Miss Norton, would you do me the honor of having tea with us in the clubroom?”

“Oh, um…”

Hearing “general student assembly” was enough for Monica to figure out what he was after.

The assembly would take place the following month, and it was there that club budgets were determined. Though Monica was the accountant, she didn’t have the final say in such matters. Still, more than a few people thought they could increase their budget by getting into her good books. And the magic history research club was small and had little influence. Their budget was similarly trifling, and Conrad was probably desperate to win her over.

“Um, well, I don’t think…I should…” Monica edged backward, but Conrad matched her every step. He wore an affable smile, but he was coming on very strong.

“Oh? Are you busy today? When might you be free, then? I’d be happy to make time for you whenever is convenient, Miss Norton.”

“Oh, no. I, um… W-well…”

As she stood there stammering, she heard a high-pitched laugh from somewhere behind her. Whoever it was wasn’t alone—eerie humming could be heard from the same direction.

“Oh-ho-ho-ho-ho!”

“Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm!”

Monica’s eyes widened, and she turned around.

A noble girl with orange curls, accompanied by a maid, was walking toward her, along with a skinny young man with pointy red hair.

The former was Isabelle Norton, the daughter of Count Kerbeck and Monica’s collaborator, along with her servant, Agatha. They were joined by Huberd Dee, Monica’s former upperclassman at Minerva’s. The strange combination took Monica by surprise.

Isabelle kept her mouth hidden behind her folding fan. “This sounds like an interesting conversation, Lord Askam. You would invite my family’s servant but not extend a similar invitation to me?”

As he quickly rattled on, Huberd put a hand on his shoulder. His waggling cheeks stopped instantly.

“Hmm, hmm, hmm. Sounds like a fun little tea party, eh? You should let me join. How about it?”

“Gwehhh! Why…why would I…?”

“Hey, don’t be so stingy. Who cares? I’m interested in magic history.”

“You’re lying. I just know it!” Conrad exclaimed, half-crying.

As Isabelle and Huberd faced down Conrad, they looked exactly like a pair of villains. Of course, Huberd wasn’t just playing a role, he really was a bad person.

B-but what are they doing together…?

Choosing a moment when Conrad wasn’t looking, Isabelle and Huberd exchanged a hostile glance. To Monica’s eyes, they looked like a wildcat baring its fangs and a snake licking its lips. Two formidable opponents.

“Well then, Lord Askam. I do hope this tea party will be entertaining.”

“Mm-hmm. One of the professors from Minerva’s was really impressed by your club’s presentation. I can’t wait to hear about it.”

The two of them sandwiched poor Conrad, then dragged him away down the hall.

As Monica hesitated, wondering if they’d be all right, Isabelle’s maid whispered to her. “I’ll be with them. Don’t worry.”

“Miss Agathaaa…”

She truly was the paragon of maids. Monica felt very reassured.

“Isabelle Norton and Huberd Dee. Allies of yours, I assume.”

Monica turned around to find Bridget Greyham walking up to her.

She fidgeted with her fingers. “Um, allies…?”

Isabelle was definitely an ally, but if someone were to ask her about Huberd Dee, she wouldn’t know what to say. I gave him a good thump during the magic battle, so…I suppose he’ll help me out, right? But when did he join up with Lady Isabelle…?

As Monica cocked her head in contemplation, Bridget stopped in front of her. This close, Monica was struck again by Bridget’s conspicuous beauty. She possessed both dignity and elegance. She must be the sort of person people meant when they described someone as “so beautiful everyone fell in love with them at first sight.”

“Today is the third day, as agreed.”

Bridget had said she would get Felix to give up on his search within three days. And that when she did, she would demand Monica’s help.

“I’ve reserved a tea salon. Let’s head there.”

Her voice was quiet but firm. Tensing up, Monica nodded.

“…Huh?” The sudden question threw Monica into confusion.

Right after enrolling at the academy, she probably would have said something about his body following the golden ratio and how amazing that was. But now she had too many thoughts and feelings about him to even put into words.

“…To be honest…I’m not sure.”

Felix was talented and perfect, a prince beloved by all. But he was also Duke Clockford’s puppet. And Monica knew that he liked to call himself Ike and sneak out at night—and that he was a big fan of the Silent Witch.

He has so many different faces…and I can’t tell which ones are real.

Those were Monica’s true feelings. She knew giving a vague answer like “I’m not sure” would leave Bridget unsatisfied, though.

“I see,” said Bridget softly. Her gaze fell to her cup. “Skilled both academically and physically, he’s very popular and has the conversation skills to win anyone over to his side. He’s the perfect prince.” Bridget gave a muffled chuckle and smiled sardonically. “…If you’d said that, I would have ended the conversation right there and given up on asking for your help.”

“…What?” Monica frowned, confused.

Bridget closed her eyes as if recalling a fond memory, then slowly opened them again. “Frail, faint of heart, terrible at both book learning and physical activity. Below average in everything, terrible at public speaking, and dreadfully shy.”

I-is she talking about me…? Monica tensed in spite of herself.

“…That’s the Prince Felix I know,” said Bridget.

For a moment, Monica didn’t understand what she was saying. The prince? Below average in everything? Terrible at public speaking? She couldn’t conceal her bewilderment.

The more Bridget said, the more it sounded like she was talking about Monica. It certainly didn’t seem like she was describing Felix.

“He worked twice as hard at everything but always fell short of average. He would sob and whimper apologies for not living up to everyone’s expectations, despite being royalty. He really was a cowardly crybaby…” Behind her long eyelashes, her amber gaze wavered. “But he was kinder than anyone else I’ve ever known.”

In that moment, her perfect features twisted with the slightest hint of sorrow. It was clear from her expression how she felt about Felix.

“Nobody ever thought he would be capable of ascending the throne. I didn’t think so, either. But…I thought it would be nice if, somehow, some way, he did.”

Monica was speechless as she watched this perfect noble girl’s unexpected outpouring of emotion. Of course, without any understanding of romantic love, Monica wouldn’t know what to say to her anyway.

“Ten years ago, the prince fell terribly ill…and I wasn’t able to see him again for over a year.”

According to Bridget, Felix had been sickly as a youth. He came down with fevers frequently. So when she’d heard he was in the midst of a major illness, she’d been horribly worried.

“They wouldn’t even let me visit him, so I waited anxiously every day for a whole year… When I finally heard that he’d recovered, I went to see him. But it was like he’d become a different person.”

Such words from the mouth of her first love should have made Bridget’s heart throb. But Bridget’s heart didn’t throb. Instead, she was arrested by the powerful sense that something was wrong.

The boy in front of her was, without a doubt, Felix Arc Ridill. He’d grown in the year since they’d last met, but she would never mistake him.

Nevertheless, there was something strange about him. Something eerie. She felt nauseous.

The words Who are you? flashed across her mind.

But it was Duke Clockford’s estate. No matter how friendly they were, she was speaking to royalty. Rudeness would not be tolerated.

So Bridget shut her eyes against the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach and interacted with Felix just as she always had.

After recovering from his illness, the prince seemed to find academics and sports much easier. He’d been terrible at dancing, but now he had no trouble taking the lead, and his manners were perfect. His behavior was bold and dignified, and everyone praised him as a fitting heir to the throne.

And yet, Bridget couldn’t accept him.

No. This is wrong. He’s wrong! That’s not my prince!

Felix had inherited his mother’s good looks and was quite handsome. Now that he was confident, too, other girls their age started obsessing over him. When surrounded by such admirers, Felix would brush them off with sweet smiles and flowery words. And every time Bridget heard him, she was overcome with disgust.

Now that she thought of it, that was right around the time the kingdom’s nobles began to split up into the first prince’s supporters and those who backed the second prince.

“Prince Felix, as I knew him, was so reserved, so shy. He couldn’t even speak to a girl properly. He was totally helpless.”

Then her voice dropped. “And all of a sudden, he’d become a frivolous playboy who would recite shallow poetry for any girl he saw, all with a straight face. Can you imagine my goosebumps whenever I heard him spout those saccharine, flowery lines?”

Bridget’s delicate folding fan began to creak and strain in her hand. Monica was terrified.

Very cautiously, she asked a question. “Um, er… Then the secret you’re after is…”

“I believe that the man calling himself Felix Arc Ridill—the boy who currently serves as student council president of this academy—is an impostor.”

Monica quickly realized why Bridget couldn’t talk to anyone else about this. You could never accuse Felix of being an impostor in public. That would be lèse-majesté, and you could easily be executed for it.

“…I want to see the real prince,” said Bridget. There was an unusual weakness in her voice.

Claiming that Felix—who attended school with them—was an impostor was crazy. Nobody would believe her, no matter how much she insisted.

But I know things…

Monica knew that Felix had other sides to him. She knew he was hiding something. She’d always thought it strange that he took his middle name from Archraedo, King of the Earth Spirits, yet kept a high water spirit with him.

Then he’s…a fake?

It wasn’t unthinkable. Monica couldn’t simply laugh off the possibility. She recalled what he’d said to her in Corlapton.

“I have to become king.”

What had he truly meant? If the person calling himself Ike was a Felix impostor…then what must he have felt saying those words?

“The real prince was frail, so I think he may be secretly imprisoned in the duke’s estate, recu—under the pretext that he’s recuperating.”

Duke Clockford’s estate—Monica was already planning to infiltrate the place with Raul’s help. If Bridget was right, and they found the real second prince and revealed the truth, what would happen to the one who called himself Ike?

“Um, if it turns out that the prince we know is an impostor…do you, um, want to tell everyone?”

“No. If I did that, his popularity would plummet.”

Bridget was right. Felix Arc Ridill would lose his position in high society. In the worst case, he could be tried for the crime of deceiving the king. Bridget seemed to understand that well.

“I don’t want to reveal the truth and blame the impostor… I just want to meet my prince again.”

Monica took a moment to self-reflect. What did she need to do? And what did she want to do?

Revealing Ike’s secret certainly wouldn’t help him any. He probably didn’t even want Monica to know the truth.

But even so, I want to know.

She wanted to know why the boy who had called Monica a fellow delinquent and laughed so sincerely occasionally looked so sad, so resigned.

I want to know more about him.

This was the first time she’d ever thought about someone like this. And so, for the first time, she made up her mind to take that initial step.

“Lady Bridget, I—”

But right as she was about to say so, there was a knock at the door. The young maid’s voice came through, sounding panicked.

“Lady Bridget, I’m so sorry. Prince Felix is—oh!”

“Hello, you two. Would you mind if I joined your tea party?”

Standing there was the very subject of their discussion, Felix Arc Ridill, with a beautiful smile on his face.

Why now? Why at the worst possible timing…?!

Monica paled, but Bridget didn’t bat an eyelid. In fact, she welcomed Felix with a cheerful, gorgeous smile.

“Oh, hello, Your Highness. I don’t often see you visiting the tea rooms.”

“Nor do I often see the two of you together—in fact, that seems even less common. Since when were you two close enough to have a tea party?”

“Oh? Well, we’re both on the student council, aren’t we? There’s nothing strange about it at all.”

Watching the school’s most beautiful couple have a pleasant chat was like gazing at a lovely painting. But Monica felt her hands start to sweat—behind their pleasantries, these two were sounding each other out.

W-wow…

If Monica tried to speak, she’d probably let everything slip. So she simply held her breath and watched.

First, Bridget unfolded her fan and brought it up to her mouth. “The general student assembly is coming up soon, is it not? I was giving Accountant Norton a few helpful tips.”

Monica was earnestly impressed by how easily the lies flowed from Bridget’s lips. If she’d been in her shoes, she would have babbled incoherently or simply mumbled a bunch of excuses.

Felix shifted his gaze from Bridget to Monica and smiled. “You’ll be talking to the club presidents a lot more in advance of the assembly. Are you prepared to handle that?”

“Oh, um, y-yes, well, I…” As expected, she began to stammer and mumble.

Monica unintentionally withered under Bridget’s cold glare. “Eeep… I’m, um, I’m s-sorr—”

“I’m afraid I will have to start training you thoroughly in tea party etiquette for the foreseeable future. Please do prepare yourself.”

Wow, she’s good, thought Monica, secretly impressed. Now it wouldn’t be strange for Bridget to invite her to subsequent tea parties.

Isabelle was quite the actress herself, always playing the role of the cruel villainess, but Bridget’s acting skills were even more natural. Monica couldn’t help but reflect, once again, on how smart and quick-witted she was. Monica could never have pulled off such a performance.

As Monica stared at her in open admiration, Felix flashed her a wry smile. “I’m sure your instruction will be quite strict. Well, if you’re going to be practicing, would you like my help? I can act as another guest.”

“No, she’s nowhere near the point where I’d feel comfortable with an observer, sir. I do so hate showing my work when it’s only half-done.”

Bridget was implying he should leave right away, but Felix met this with another gentle smile. “Enjoying the conversation is the most important part of a tea party, though, isn’t it? Wouldn’t the presence of an additional conversation partner hasten her progress?”

How many people could have refused such persuasive words delivered with such a kind expression? Monica would have been completely overpowered.

But Bridget put her fan to her mouth and tittered. “Oh, but that would be uncouth, sir. Conversation between ladies must always remain a secret from gentlemen.”

“Discussing something you can’t let me hear, then?”

“Indeed. Such as what gentlemen have caught our fancy—that sort of thing.”

That’s…that’s amazing… It’s like they’re having a smile battle…!

Monica realized how silly the term “smile battle” was, but watching Felix and Bridget’s exchange, that was exactly the phrase that came to mind. Both of them knew exactly how to take advantage of their attractive features.

Monica, the plain girl caught in the middle, could only blend into the scenery.

Unfortunately, Felix was more than willing to turn another resplendent smile on her, even after she’d faded into the background. “Gentlemen you fancy, is it? …Are you interested in someone, Monica?”

“Huh?!” squeaked Monica as the conversation suddenly turned to her.

Her eyes drifted back and forth. W-w-w-w-wait, how am I supposed to reply? What do they mean, a gentleman I fancy? The thing I’m most interested in right now is your secret, and I can’t think about anything else. But I can’t say that!

As Monica sank into troubled confusion, Bridget interrupted. “Actually, I was just telling her about the first time I received a flower from a boy.”

She stroked one of the pink roses in the vase, then looked up at Felix meaningfully.

“…Prince, do you remember the color of the first flower you gave me, when we were little?”

She was testing him. Testing Felix Arc Ridill. Monica waited with bated breath as Felix smoothly removed his neckerchief.

…His neckerchief? What is he going to do with that?

Felix folded the material—blue, to indicate his grade level—into a small rectangle, then rolled it up and made it look like a rose. When it was finished, he held it out to Bridget.

“I do. And I still think blue suits you best.”

Bridget quickly covered her reaction with a bright, cheerful smile and took the blue fabric rose. “My, you really did remember! I’m quite pleased.”

“I believe I’ve improved my skills somewhat.”

“Why, yes, it is quite well done. You’ve always been skilled with your hands.”

“Not at all. Back then, I would practice and practice.”

To an outsider, the pair were having a heartwarming conversation about fond childhood memories. But Monica could physically sense the battle of nerves still raging beneath the surface as their metaphorical blades crossed. Bridget had purposely brought up those bygone days in order to trick Felix into revealing something.

Monica was waiting quietly, curious how the battle would end, when she heard Elliott calling out to Felix from the hallway. “Is the prince in there? I have something urgent I need to check with him…”

Felix turned his gaze to the door and shrugged, clearly disappointed. “Well,” he said to Bridget, “be sure to call me for your next tea party.”

“Oh, gladly—once Accountant Norton’s etiquette is up to snuff.”

Leaving things there, Felix exited the tea salon.

Monica listened to the door shut, then let out a heavy breath, despite not having done anything.

“That silver tongue of his will be the death of me,” spat Bridget, crushing the blue fabric rose in her fist.

Her angry energy made Monica start to shake. Why was a furious beauty so intimidating?

“Though it pains me to say, it seems the impostor has thoroughly researched the prince’s childhood.”

“Um, is it p-possible that maybe…he is the real prince and the illness, um, changed his personality somehow?”

“……”

Apparently, Bridget was even more hostile toward the current prince than Monica had imagined.

After taking a minute to consider, Monica made a suggestion. “Um, actually… On the day of the Festival of Sheffield, I’m planning to, well, sneak into Duke Clockford’s estate…”

“You’re planning to what?”

“And if you know what it’s like inside, I was hoping you would tell me about it…”

If the real Prince Felix truly was at the duke’s mansion, as Bridget surmised, then the more information Monica had on the interior, the better. That was why she’d made the suggestion.

But then Bridget leaned forward and said something completely unexpected.

“Take me with you.”

“…Huh?”

“I’m saying I’ll sneak into the duke’s mansion with you.”

“Whaaat?!”

Monica nearly fell out of her seat.

This carefully raised, sheltered noble girl straight out of a painting was volunteering to join her infiltration mission? How could she allow it?

“Um! Well, for the infiltration, I’m going to be disguised as a gardener, so it might not be easy for you to—”

“If it means meeting the true prince, then I will become anything—whether gardener, stable girl, or traveling entertainer.”

Monica went on to use every awkward word at her disposal to try and talk Bridget out of this idea. But Bridget had her heart set on meeting the real prince and stubbornly held her ground. In the end, Monica wasn’t able to talk her down.

Monica learned that day that a maiden in love was capable of just about anything, and the notion terrified her.

While Monica was having her tea party with Bridget, a male student headed to the magic research clubroom. He was a tall young man with combed-back blond hair—Byron Garrett, the president of the magic-battle club and a third-year in the advanced course.

Despite Byron’s position in the magic-battle club, he had never been able to defeat Cyril Ashley, the student council vice president. He’d also lost completely to Huberd Dee, a recent transfer student. But he hadn’t let that break his spirit—he continued to diligently spend every day improving his magecraft skills.

Byron was going to return a book he’d borrowed from his friend, Conrad Askam, the president of the magic research club. As he arrived in front of the clubroom door, he heard lively voices coming from inside. The club didn’t have many members, but they frequently held heated debates. That must be what was going on.

“Sorry for interrupting your debate,” he said as he opened the door. “I’m here to return a book to Conrad—”

The moment he looked inside, the girl sitting on the club’s sofa raised her voice. It was Isabelle Norton, the daughter of Count Kerbeck.

“There is only one choice here, and that is obviously the Silent Witch!”

“Heh-heh. Then I will put the Starspear Witch into the running.”

“Hmm. Then I’ll go for the nepotism option…and suggest my uncle, the Artillery Mage.”

Byron was speechless.

His friend Conrad and the other club members were indeed having a passionate discussion. But was that the daughter of Count Kerbeck and Huberd Dee—the boy who had only recently defeated him—joining in?

What a weird lineup. Byron stood at the door, perplexed.

“Uh, me? Well…I suppose I would have to choose the Barrier Mage.” Byron’s goal was to join the Magic Corps, so he looked up to the Barrier Mage, their former leader.

For some reason, Isabelle pursed her lips in frustration at this. “Ugh. It seems a new rival camp has appeared…”

As Byron looked around, wondering what they were even talking about, Conrad pushed up his glasses and gave a creepy laugh. “Geh-heh-heh-heh. It is time for my incredible skills of elucidation to take center stage. Very well! We, the magic history research club, will explain all the feats of the Seven Sages!”

At that, Conrad’s underclassman raised his hand. “President! I like the Starseer Witch best! The reason is she’s really, really hot!”

“This is the magic history research club! We’re talking about magecraft!” sputtered Conrad, appalled.

Another club member raised his hand. “Excuse me, President. I like the Aquamancy Mage.”

“An understated choice. But certainly not a bad one!”

“Oooh, President! I’ve always been a fan of the Thunderclap Mage, ever since I was a kid!”

“Hmm. Hmm! The Thunderclap Mage, permanent holder of the record for most dragons slain… Yes, I understand completely. Every boy adores the Thunderclap Mage or the Artillery Mage at some point in their lives…”

The commotion was about what Byron expected from this particular club.

Soon, everyone was talking out of turn about the accomplishments of their favorite Sage. Isabelle—an outsider—raised her voice, not to be outdone.

“Oh, if we’re talking about achievements, then my sis—the Silent Witch is quite accomplished! She has slain two terrible dragons: the Black Dragon of Worgan and the Cursed Dragon of Rehnberg!”

“Ugh!” Isabelle winced.

Conrad kept going, pressing his attack. “In fact, many of the Sages are incredible for reasons those without any knowledge of magecraft simply can’t understand. Forgive my rudeness, but how much do you know about magecraft, Miss Isabelle?”

Isabelle covered her mouth with her folding fan and gave a frustrated grunt. “It hasn’t yet been a year, so I suppose I’m still a newcomer to the Silent Witch’s fanbase… And I will admit that my knowledge of magecraft is shallow.”

“But, my lady, even without such knowledge, your feelings for the Silent Witch are true and genuine!”

“Thank you, Agatha. But to tell the truth, I wish to learn even more about her…” Smiling at the maid waiting behind her, Isabelle proudly stuck out her chest. “Next year, I will choose fundamental magecraft as an elective!”

The surrounding club members let out an impressed cheer in response to her passionate declaration.

But one man swooped in to rain on their parade—Huberd Dee.

“Hmm, hmmm. You know, I went to school with the Starspear Witch, the Barrier Mage, and the Silent Witch.”

The excited group closed their mouths and stared at Huberd, eyes wide.

Huberd leaned back against the sofa and smirked. “They were really somethin’ to see at Minerva’s, I’m tellin’ you. The Starspear Witch and the Barrier Mage teamed up during a big magic battle competition between laboratories. And the Silent Witch was always developing new magecraft formulae that put the Association to shame…”

The club members ground their teeth as Huberd bragged. Isabelle shook as she told herself again and again that she was not jealous. Definitely not.

Should he just put it somewhere and leave? No, Conrad was a close friend, but that would be far too rude. Genuinely struggling to decide, Byron wound up sticking around for the rest of the club members’ chat, and then it was time to head home.

Monica turned stiffly toward Elliott and Benjamin, both of whom had been watching their game. Elliott seemed to be staring off into the distance, but Benjamin folded his arms and nodded approvingly.

“The way Winkel speaks is too stiff, too formal to win over a lady. Love must be whispered with music, with elegance. Understand?”

“Um, no, not really,” said Monica. “I’m sorry…”

Elliott propped his cheek up on his hand and grinned, narrowing his droopy eyes. “Don’t worry, little squirrel. I have no idea what he’s saying, either.”

“Flowery words and refined grace are key. Romance demands them! You must be brillante! You must be grazioso! You must have impeccable sensibility to play the melodies that shake the heartstrings of noblewomen!”

Benjamin flicked his flaxen hair as he delivered his impassioned speech. Robert wrote it all down verbatim in his notebook. He took everything absolutely seriously.

Monica couldn’t understand a single word of what Benjamin was saying. Normally, she would have simply chalked it up to her lack of understanding when it came to romance and ignored him.

Today, though, his talk reminded her of Bridget. Young Felix must have been her first love. Over a week had passed since Monica had learned of her circumstances, but she couldn’t stop thinking about how sad Bridget had looked.

“Romance and love, um…they don’t seem very fun to me,” she said out loud.

Elliott and Benjamin looked up at the same time and stared at her. It was very unusual for Monica to use words like those.

“Oh? Really, now? I see…” For some reason, Elliott smirked like a know-it-all.

“…Um, so, is love ugly, then? Or is it beautiful?”

“Ugly and beautiful! It is both at once!”

“Um, er, I don’t really understand at all. Can you phrase it like an equation…?”

There was a deep rift between Benjamin and Monica. One put everything into the language of music, while the other understood things best as mathematical equations. It was unlikely that the chasm would ever be bridged in their lifetimes.

As Monica tried to think things over, her brain utterly confused, Elliott stared at her, narrowing his eyes even further. He looked like a bully about to strike.

“I guess even a little squirrel can’t avoid the subject of love. Then again, I had a feeling this was coming ever since the festival.”

“…Huh? Oh, no. Um, I wasn’t talking about myself, just—”

“Well, I don’t think it’s very decent of you to pursue love beyond your station. A nobleman must choose a fitting wife.”

“Huh? Well, okay.”

Love beyond her station? Monica wondered what he was talking about. Nothing like that had happened during the school festival that she was aware of. All she remembered was running into some intruders who hadn’t belonged there at all.

As she sat there, confused, Elliott assumed an even haughtier demeanor. “Couples who ignore class are bound to regret it. Most stories on the subject end in tragedy, don’t they?”

Benjamin passionately made his case to Elliott, but he was soon stricken by his own words and looked up toward the ceiling in agony.

Elliott shrugged, then turned a wry smile on Monica. “…That said, you are the foster daughter of the former Countess Kerbeck. As long as you receive suitable education, I suppose there is a possibility for a proper match… After all, he’s a foster child, too.”

Who is “he”? wondered Monica, even more confused.

Benjamin’s eyes popped open, and he stared at Elliott. “This is a surprise. You’ve grown much more open-minded. You used to be fixated on status above all else.”

“…I wouldn’t say I’ve changed. I just figured the two former commoners suited one another.”

Who in the world could he be talking about? thought Monica.

“I’m sorry…,” she said quietly. “I really don’t…understand any of this.”

Robert, who had been silently writing down everything Benjamin said, finally looked up. He always looked people right in the eye, but at the moment, his gaze was boring into Monica with newfound intensity.

“It will be all right, Miss Monica. I’m a beginner when it comes to romance myself. I think we both have plenty of room to grow and learn.”

“O-oh.”

“I read once that love is a lot like chess—a high-stakes game of strategy and tactics. I’m quite proficient in chess. Therefore, I believe I will be able to learn the rules and moves of love in the same manner. Let’s both strive to learn more, as fellow amateurs.”

“Oh… Okay, I guess…?”

So what is love supposed to be anyway? Maybe it’s just part of the reproductive process… But animals can reproduce without it, so… Wait, then is love not required for the survival of a species?

As Monica groaned in thought, the four students heard a low voice rumble above them.

“Stop chatting in class and get back to your games.”

Looking down at them was a stern-faced man with a bald head—their chess teacher, Professor Boyd.

The four of them apologized in unison and immediately began rearranging their game pieces.

That same day, Monica headed to the library after school. If she didn’t understand something, she needed only to do some research.

But after arriving at Serendia Academy’s vast library building, she came to a stop at the entrance.

…Where would one look to find a book that explains love in a simple and easily digestible way?

Benjamin had been going on about how love was like music, so maybe it would be in the music section? Or perhaps music history? Then again, love was a physical phenomenon, so maybe biology was the correct choice. Or maybe classical literature…

As she stood there in the entrance, humming in thought, she heard someone call out to her.

“Hey, Monica! Here to study?”

Glenn rushed over to her. Albert, the third prince, was at his side, followed by his attendant, Patrick.

Glenn could often be found in the library these days studying magecraft with the prince. Albert helped Glenn with the academic aspect, while Glenn, who was good at flight, taught that to Albert.

“You betcha!” he exclaimed, though his voice was a bit quieter than usual out of consideration for their surroundings. “But you’re looking a bit unwell. That’s quite a scowl.”

Glenn bunched up his eyebrows until his face was covered in wrinkles. Apparently, he was trying to mimic her.

Next to him, Albert stuck out his chest. “Monica, if anything is bothering you, you can rely on me. We are, after all, friends.”

“You really like emphasizing the word friends, huh?”

“Patrick! Be quiet! That wasn’t necessary!”

Albert turned a glare on Patrick, then resumed his air of royal dignity. His eyes, however, were practically sparkling. It seemed he really wanted her to ask for his help.

In the end, she decided to just come out with it. “Um, well… I want to borrow a book about love.”

“Oh, a romance novel? Those are right over here.”

“Oh, um. No, not like that. I want something that will explain the definition to me…”

Albert and Patrick both stopped speaking, and Glenn frowned as if he’d just heard a difficult word for the first time.

“The definition of love…,” he repeated. “Uh, what do you mean?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m here…”

Monica found it very hard to explain herself when she didn’t even understand what she was talking about. She played with her fingers until Patrick put a hand to his chubby cheek and made a suggestion.

“You might want to check the philosophy section, in that case.”

“That’s a great idea, Patrick! You’re so clearheaded!” Albert’s face lit up at his attendant’s suggestion. “Philosophy gets right to the essence of things. I’m sure it will help you.”

“W-wow, Lord Albert. You’re amazing!”

Monica’s plain praise almost made Albert tip over backward. He seemed really happy.

“Thank you so much. I’m going to go…um, philosophize! See you later!” Breathing roughly through her nose, Monica headed for the philosophy section.

When it came to romantic love, one person jumped right to the forefront of Monica’s mind—Selma Karsh. Monica had met Selma right after transferring into Serendia Academy.

Back then, Selma had been distraught and desperate over her fiancé Aaron. It was the first time Monica had encountered this incomprehensible phenomenon. Selma had begged them to save her fiancé, no matter what it cost her. At the time, Monica’s reaction had been very sober.

How can she expect so much from another person?

And now, seeing Bridget so desperate over this matter with Felix, Monica confronted a similar question.

How can Lady Bridget bring herself to do all that?

Monica had been at the academy for over half a year now, and she had many more friends. But she still didn’t understand what it felt like to be in love.

Despite her lack of comprehension, though, she understood that it was something she couldn’t just dismiss.

That was why she wanted to know. What was this emotion that moved Bridget’s heart?

Five days after Monica borrowed a book on philosophy from the library, she attended an after-school tea party with Lana and Claudia. There, her face grave, she broached the subject.

“Um, Lana, I was wondering, um…if I could ask you a question.”

Her words came out sounding uncharacteristically formal. Lana returned her teacup to its saucer and turned to face her.

“Oh, would you like to know this year’s most popular dress colors? Or about makeup? Or some simple hairstyling tips?”

Lana went completely stiff. She looked like she’d just had the shock of a lifetime. Then, a moment later, she was leaning halfway across the table.

“Monica… Do you have a crush on someone?!” she demanded excitedly.

Claudia turned a cold gaze on Lana’s boisterous behavior. They were in a larger room rather than a private salon. Several other students were enjoying themselves at other tea tables.

Lana awkwardly sat back down in her seat. “This is so sudden! What happened? Who is it? …You do have a crush, right?”

“Oh, um… No, not me. There’s someone else I know who’s doing everything they can for the person they love, and…”

For some reason, a broad smile broke out on Lana’s face. She looked truly happy. “I see. Someone else is doing everything they can for the one they love. And? Tell me more!”

“Okay. That person really, really wants to meet the one they love… It seems like being in love makes a person able to do things they normally wouldn’t.”

“Oh yes. Love will do that to a person.”

As she watched Lana nod in perfect understanding, Monica thought, Lana’s so amazing. Unlike her, Lana knew exactly what romantic love was. I knew I could always rely on her, she thought, continuing.

“I’ve never really tried to understand love before, so I still don’t really get it…”

Monica had become absorbed in reading the philosophy book and had wound up thinking a lot.

“But then, um, I had an idea.” Behind her light-brown bangs, her round, greenish eyes sparkled. “If I could use an equation to express the relationship between romantic love and that increased desire to act, I think it would prove very useful.”

But Monica’s gears were turning now, and they would not be stopped.

“I read a book on philosophy in search of a definition for love, but in many cases, they used analogies, saying ‘love is like a fever’ or ‘love is like music,’ which didn’t make much sense to me. I doubt that abstract, vague expressions will help me here. I’d like a stricter, clearer definition saying what love is, not what it’s like. It would be even better if it could be described in a mathematical equation. The book I read said it was a form of desire, but it didn’t say what sort of matter forms in a human body as a result of being in love. Nor did it give me a medical description of the manner in which it affects desires, which I’d need to really understand. And—”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Lana had her head in her hands now.

Claudia, who had continued to wordlessly drink her tea, finally offered a remark: “A medical description? …There is no cure for a fool stricken with love.” Her tone made it sound as though she found the whole thing utterly banal.

“Awww…”

As Monica’s words stuck in her throat, Claudia continued flatly, “Love itself is abstract. It takes different shapes depending on the person. If a mathematician could clearly define it, then that would certainly be a sight to see.”

“It takes different shapes…depending on the person…”

That came as a shock to Monica, but it made sense, too. The equations that composed a human’s body and the way they thought about things were different from person to person. Didn’t it make perfect sense that love would be different for each person, too?

“Um! Lady Claudia. What is…love to you, then?” she asked.

Many would have gotten angry at the rude question, but Claudia answered easily. “I want to be someone special in Neil’s heart.”

“Then wanting to be special to someone…is love?”

“…I wouldn’t want to be treated…specially. I like it when people are…normal to me.”

She was supposed to be investigating love, but now she felt like her own, completely unrelated emotions were getting mixed up in the discussion.

When Monica fell silent, Lana made a “big sister” face and offered a suggestion. “Oh, I think it can also be love if someone makes you feel at ease when you’re together. My father said so anyway.”

Monica’s eyes widened. That was the opposite of what Claudia had said.

Lana twirled her flaxen hair and pursed her lips. “Love isn’t just about making your heart race. You can just as well fall in love with someone who makes you feel calm and relaxed.”

“Someone who makes you feel calm and relaxed…”

Who was that to her…? Monica gave the first answer that came to mind.

“The person I feel most relaxed around…is you, Lana.”

Without saying anything, Lana patted Monica on the head.

She’d read a book and asked her friends, but Monica still didn’t understand romantic love.

She knew it was different for each person, complex, difficult, and something everyone treated as precious… Just as Monica loved and cherished her beautiful world of numbers.

For the time being, that was Monica Everett’s answer to the question “What is love?” She was, of course, still an amateur when it came to romance.

As it happened, Ryn was visiting the attic room at the time. It had been a while since the spirit’s last visit, and she’d evidently heard all about the duel and about Galanis, the Flute of the False King.

Nero sleepily rubbed his eyes with his forepaws as he listened to Ryn explain what had happened. About the magic battle with Huberd Dee over Monica and about how the Gem Mage had obtained an ancient magical item and made spirits into puppets.

By the time she had finished, Nero seemed wide awake. His golden eyes glittered. “Blast. I’m so mad I hibernated through all that. I could’ve been right in the fray if I’d been awake!”

Monica was quite relieved he’d been asleep. If Nero had gotten involved in either incident, things might have truly spiraled out of control. After all, he was the Black Dragon of Worgan, an incredibly dangerous being whose existence had once shaken the whole kingdom.

Monica was sure both Ryn and Nero would have been more than happy to involve themselves in the duel. Just thinking about the trouble they could have caused had her shaking.

At that point, Ryn went to the window and opened it. “In any case, I have other matters to attend to. I will now take my leave. I believe it will be some time before I come to collect your next report.”

Monica suddenly realized that Ryn’s visits to her attic room had become less frequent since the beginning of the year. “Um, Miss Ryn… Have you been really busy lately?”

“Yes. I am very busy participating in Lord Louis’s underhanded schemes.”

Monica grimaced at her casual reply. “…U-um, is it something you can tell me about?”

“I suppose I haven’t been forbidden from speaking of it.”

I wonder…what Mister Louis could be plotting.

She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t curious, but her gut told her that if she asked for details, she’d get mixed up in whatever it was. So she decided not to press the issue.

Standing before the window, Ryn gave a perfect curtsey. Then the wind began to swirl around her. “I will take my leave. So long,” she said before leaping out the window and flying away on the night breeze.

The air had warmed slightly since the start of Widdol, and white flowers now bloomed on the trees outside the window.

For a little while, Monica gazed out at the spring night. Once Ryn was completely out of sight, she quietly closed the window and locked it.

“Nero?” she asked, uncharacteristically meek. Nero’s whiskers twitched. “I’ll tell you what else happened while you were hibernating now.”

“Somethin’ you don’t want the maid lady or Loun-loun Lountatta to know about?”

Monica nodded, then summed up what had happened while Nero was asleep.

First, she told him about the possible link between Duke Clockford and the cursed dragon incident. Second, she explained how the Abyss Shaman and the Witch of Thorns were helping her investigate the duke. Finally, she told him about how Bridget had found out Monica was a mage and had volunteered to join her infiltration into the duke’s estate.

After hearing the whole story, Nero prodded his chin with his paw like a human and hummed in thought. “This Bridget girl… Oh, right, I remember. She’s that prickly lady who completely ignored my sexy pose.”

“Your…what? Wait, what are you talking about?”

Nero ignored the question and muttered to himself in understanding. “So the prickly lady suspects the sparkly prince to be an impostor… What do you think about it, Monica?”

“But humans can change their face with magecraft, yeah? Remember the festival? That gross, goopy clay guy?”

Nero was probably talking about Ewan and his body-manipulation magecraft. The man’s face had melted and shifted like clay, making him look exactly like someone else. One could certainly use a technique like that to take on Felix’s appearance.

“Remember how I said body-manipulation magecraft is forbidden in Ridill?” said Monica.

The Empire to the east permitted it, but even they had only lifted the ban recently. According to Bridget, Felix’s personality had changed ten years ago, so the timeline didn’t fit.

“And the duke wants a war with the Empire, so I doubt he would bring in their techniques and skills…”

At that point, Nero had a realization and began smacking Monica’s knee.

“I, in my wonderfulness, just had an epiphany. I bet that sparkly prince is the real prince’s twin brother. I’ve read stuff like that in books before.”

“I think there’d be records if someone from the royal family had a twin,” said Monica.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Nero backed down without argument. His tail swished back and forth in disappointment.

Monica slowly exhaled, then took a letter out of her pocket. It was a new message from Raul, telling her the place they would meet before their infiltration mission. It was only two weeks away. Raul had also approved Monica’s request to bring along a helper.

Nero leaped onto her shoulder and peered at the letter, then smirked with pride. “That helper—you’re talkin’ about me, right? Ah, first an attendant, next a gardener.”

“No, you’ll be staying home this time.”

The helper Monica was referring to was Bridget, of course.

“While I’m sneaking into Duke Clockford’s estate, I want you to protect the prince.”

“Ugh. Guess I can’t complain… Just be sure to get me lots of books to pass the time, got it? In fact, bring me every Dustin Gunther novel in the library. And especially the ones from the Adventure of Bartholomew Alexander series.”

“I will, I will,” she assured him dismissively. Something was bothering her, making her uneasy.

Why do I feel like I’ve overlooked something? She went through her recent memories one by one. The Galanis incident, Huberd’s duel, the New Year’s ceremony, visiting her adoptive mother, the Cursed Dragon of Rehnberg, the festival, her night out in Corlapton…

“…Oh!”

She suddenly recalled the conversation she’d had with Mary at her mansion before seeing Ike in Corlapton.

“I pay particular attention to what the stars say about the future of the kingdom and the royal family… But for around ten years now, I have found Prince Felix’s fate alone unreadable.”

According to Bridget, ten years ago was when Felix fell ill, and she was temporarily unable to see him.

She’d said she thought the real Felix was being kept locked away in the duke’s estate. But Monica was now considering a much less favorable possibility.

Could the real prince…? Could he be…?

As Monica kept spreading the paste, Bridget changed out of her beautiful dress and into a well-worn shirt and pants. She also switched her boots to a pair covered in mud. She was nothing if not thorough.

She pulled her gorgeous blond hair into a tight bun, which she tucked away in her hat. Then she spread the reddish-brown color all over her exposed fair skin before using a thin pencil to dot freckles onto her face.

She was impressively meticulous, but even more shocking was her technique. She’d changed her clothes, bundled up her hair, and applied the makeup all by herself. Monica wondered if she’d practiced. Perhaps she’d done it over and over again in preparation.

She’s really amazing… But…

No matter how much she tried to hide her beautiful hair, change the color of her skin, and give herself freckles, she was outstandingly gorgeous—a fact she couldn’t completely hide. Monica privately wondered if Bridget could really pull off this infiltration.

Then, as Monica watched, Bridget took a handful of cotton out of her bag, ripped it up, and put it in her mouth. Finally, she took out an unfashionable pair of glasses and put them on, changing her impression completely.

Around the mouthful of cotton, Bridget said, “How’s I look?”

Monica was dumbfounded. Not only was her voice muffled by the cotton, but she even had a unique downtown accent.

“…Um… That’s…still you, right, Lady Bridget?” asked Monica.

Bridget gave an exasperated sniff. “Aren’t you an intelligence agent hired by Count Kerbeck? If this is enough to astonish you, you can’t be very good at your job.”

“Oh, I’m sorry… It’s just the way you were speaking…”

“One of my family’s servants talks like that. I listened to her and eventually picked it up.”

She’d prepared for this for so long, all by herself. All to see Felix again.

Bridget took out two pairs of gardening gloves and thrust one at Monica. “Make sure you never take off your gloves. It won’t matter how much you’ve changed your skin color if someone sees your dainty hands. They’ll realize at once that you’re from a different class.”

Now Monica felt ashamed for doubting Bridget’s abilities.

While Isabelle Norton was a skilled actress who could play a perfect villainess, Bridget Greyham was quite dedicated herself.

Raul was waiting a short distance away from the duke’s mansion; he would be helping the two girls with their investigation. When he saw Monica and Bridget arrive disguised as gardeners, he broke into a full smile and welcomed them.

“Hey there! Perfect day for some gardening, wouldn’t you say?”

His crimson curls and deep green eyes made him look like a fairy prince, and when he smiled, his white teeth were practically blinding. Raul, every bit as attractive as Felix or Bridget, was once again dressed for fieldwork. He held a shovel in one muscular arm.

Bridget stopped for a moment and whispered into Monica’s ear. “Is that man…Raul Roseburg, the Witch of Thorns?”

Raul wasn’t wearing his Sage’s robe or carrying his staff at the moment. He was just a young man with a shovel, dressed in work clothes. Still, he was from a renowned family and had made many appearances in high society. Bridget had probably seen him before. His attractive features were said to resemble the very first Witch of Thorns, and they made him easy to notice and difficult to forget.

“…Your helper is one of the Seven Sages?”

Her expression serious, Bridget turned to Monica. “Your personal connections beggar belief…but I won’t press you for an explanation.”

Monica had written to Raul in advance, saying that she was bringing Bridget along and asking him to keep her true identity as the Silent Witch a secret. Raul didn’t ask many questions about Bridget’s background. Instead, he just smiled and said casually, “It’s a pleasure!”

Eight other servants from the Roseburg family had accompanied Raul—all likely skilled gardeners. Every one of them had skin that was cooked by the sun, and Monica once again realized that Bridget’s decision had been correct. Monica would have surely stood out had she been the only pale one.

Raul’s party had brought a cart. He instructed the servants waiting in front of it to move, and the group started on their way. He, Monica, and Bridget kept a slight distance from the servants and whispered to each other.

“Lemme give you the rundown,” Raul began. “Those working in the flower bed will be mainly planting seeds and transplanting seedlings, while those on the tree team will be pruning the trees. I’ll be in charge of both groups. You two will be on flower bed duty, but feel free to slip away when you can and go wherever you need to. That said, I think it’s best if you wait until afternoon to go snooping around inside the mansion.”

“Umm, does something happen in the afternoon?” asked Monica.

“The duke’s butler asked me about decorative flowers for inside the mansion, and I told him I wanted to personally see the rooms they’ll be placed in. He and I decided to have the tour later today, once we reach a stopping point outside. If you come with me, we can all look around together.”

“Oh. Okay, then. We’ll go with you. Th-thank you.”

As Bridget watched him go, she said, “I’ve seen him from afar at various events.”

Monica wasn’t surprised. She’d figured that was why Bridget had recognized him.

“His grandmother was with him then,” Bridget said suddenly. “He doesn’t seem like her at all.”

“Huh?”

“She never smiled. She was nigh unapproachable,” she replied before walking off.

Societal functions must be really hard, thought Monica, following her.

Duke Clockford was a prominent noble and one of the most influential people in the Kingdom of Ridill.

Monica, who didn’t have much of an imagination, had assumed his mansion would be a magnificent structure of brilliant gold and just generally amazing. And when she saw it, it was even more sophisticated than she’d imagined. She could feel the weight of history behind it.

Each of the building’s decorations was impressive and grand, giving the observer the sense it had been around for ages. It was overwhelming in a different way than if it had simply been dazzling or gorgeous. All this reminded Monica of the building’s owner, the duke himself.

What’s more, the mansion sat on an extremely large plot of land; it made sense that they’d need so many people just to maintain its gardens.

Monica was grateful for the simple task. All she had to do was quietly pull weeds.

I’m so glad I didn’t have to disguise myself as a maid or something… What a relief…

Monica wasn’t exactly inept, but she’d led a rather careless life back in her mountain cabin, and she wasn’t very good at housework. Frankly, she was a mess.

All I can do is make coffee, and split food up into nice, equal portions…

Monica could slice a round cake neatly into three, five, or even thirteen slices just by looking at it. Her foster mother Hilda had praised her for this unique skill, but it would take a lot more than that to work as a maid.

I’m sure Lady Bridget would have done a perfect job, though, even as a maid…

As Monica squatted beside the flower bed and plucked out one weed after another, she cast a sidelong glance at Bridget. She, like Monica, was busy pulling weeds without a word. Someone like her, the daughter of a marquess, had probably never pulled weeds before, yet she never looked the least bit put off.

Then, suddenly, she grimaced. Monica looked down and saw an earthworm slithering around near Bridget’s boots. The other girl went as stiff as a stone, then her lips started to tremble.

Oh. Is she…?

Monica reached over and picked the earthworm up, then set it back down a little ways away. “Um, I’m fine with bugs, so…”

“…You have my gratitude.” Bridget was obviously relieved. Apparently, she didn’t like bugs very much.

They continued to pull weeds for a while until Raul, who was pruning some branches, called out to them. “Hey, you two! Can you get the weeds on the west side, too? This place is big, so be sure not to get lost!”

Oh, okay. He’s telling us to go to the west side of the estate.

“O-okay!”

Bridget took the lead, and the two of them moved through the gardens. Bridget’s goal was to find clues about the real Felix. Evidently, she already had an idea of where to start.

“If the real Prince Felix is locked somewhere in the mansion,” she explained, “then he’s probably in a room on the second floor or above. Guests can freely enter the first floor, so it’s unlikely he’ll be there. We should start by making a loop around the outside of the mansion and checking the windows. Make a mental note of any room that looks suspicious, such as one with drawn curtains.”

“Oh, okay…”

Monica was hoping to learn more about the duke’s connection to Peter Summs, the principal offender in the cursed dragon incident. But she had no idea where to begin, so she decided to focus on Bridget’s goal.

If I can, I’d like to question the servants in the mansion, but… Monica wasn’t very good at talking to people, and it would be difficult for her to ask servants she’d never met before about something like that. Privately, she groaned, wondering what she was going to do.

“There’s a certain servant I want to make contact with,” said Bridget, looking up at a window. “If it goes well, we may gain a new ally.”

“Who would that be?”

“An attendant who waited on Prince Felix when he was young. He should be around the same age as me or a little older, with blond hair. He has a big scar over his right eye, and he used to hide it behind his bangs, so we should be able to recognize him at a glance.” Bridget stopped and closed her eyes, then slowly opened them again. “All the other adults in this mansion are on the duke’s side… That attendant was the prince’s only ally.”

“I don’t know if he’s still here…but if he is, then he likely knows something. If it’s for the prince’s sake, I believe he’ll be happy to help.”

Bridget confidently strode on ahead.

“L-Lady Bridget, you’re…kind of incredible…”

She was much more skilled and a lot more thorough than Monica, in terms of both disguises and planning.

Bridget stopped and turned back toward her. “How many years do you think I’ve been preparing for this?”

The remark had weight to it. She’d probably been looking for her prince ever since she began having doubts about Felix… And she’d done it all alone, unable to ask anyone else for help.

“If we don’t find any clues today, we’ll just have to think of another approach. That’s how I’ve been searching for him all this time.”

Bridget began to walk again.

I can’t believe how strong she is, thought Monica earnestly. She hoped Bridget was right and the real Felix was somewhere in the mansion. She wanted them to meet again. But if my hunch is correct…

Bridget came to a halt. She was staring at a small shed ahead of them and to the right. It wasn’t brand-new, but compared to the rest of the historic mansion, it looked relatively modern.

“I don’t remember that shed over there,” she said.

“You don’t?”

“Back when I visited the mansion, it was smaller and older, only a storage shed. It must be newly built.”

The structure was small, but quite spacious for a shed. A small chimney poked up from the roof, implying a fireplace within and making it even less likely to be a building used only for storage.

“…Very suspicious. Let’s investigate.” Bridget approached the shed. Behind her fake glasses, her amber eyes glimmered.

“It doesn’t seem locked. Let’s go in,” said Bridget abruptly.

Monica’s eyes widened. “Huh?! B-but what if someone’s inside…?”

“If it’s the real prince, then that will resolve everything. If not, we can simply claim that we believed it was a storage shed.”

Before Monica could stop her, Bridget opened the door. Just inside was a mat for stomping out the dirt on your shoes and a coat hanger. They were right—this place wasn’t used for storage. Someone lived here.

But it certainly wasn’t the kind of space a noble, like the real Felix, would inhabit. It was significantly nicer than Monica’s mountain cabin, but that wasn’t saying much.

Monica peeked around Bridget and observed the interior. On the left was a small kitchen and hearth. On the right, farther back, was a bed with someone sleeping on it. When Bridget saw the bulge in the bedclothes, her eyes lit up in anticipation.

She probably wanted to cry out, “Prince!” But she forced her mouth closed and quietly walked toward the bed.

The person lying there turned over and looked at her.

“…Hmm? Is it mealtime?” he asked.

As Monica had expected, it wasn’t the real Prince Felix. It was an elderly man with a head of white hair.

“Are you two…new servants, perhaps?” The man, still lying down, looked up at Bridget and Monica, his eyes widening.

Monica’s words caught in her throat, but Bridget spoke in her place. “Oh my, sir. ’Scuse us. We’re ’ere to take care o’ the gardens. We were after a grass sickle, and we thought they might be stored in ’ere.”

Bridget fluidly rattled off an excuse in her downtown accent. Monica would never have been able to deal with this situation.

“Thank you, sir,” said Bridget smartly before opening the box’s lid. Inside were a lot of tools, all used for gardening work.

Monica found herself gazing at the old man. He was thin, but his skin was charred a reddish-brown. He was probably the mansion’s gardener.

As Bridget pretended to rummage for sickles, she spoke to the old man. “Y’see, sir, it’s my first time at this mansion. Have you been workin’ ’ere for long?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve been here for, oh, forty years or so.”

“Really? That’s amazin’.”

With attitude of a simple, honest girl from the countryside, Bridget casually started up a conversation with the old man. As they traded small talk, she eventually asked who he was.

Apparently, he still maintained the mansion’s gardens. But his hips were bad because of his age, and when a lot of planting was needed, he relied on outside help.

This shed served as both the gardener’s storeroom and his living space—it made sense now.

The man timidly tried to sit up in bed, then looked at Monica. “Miss, would you mind bringing me the medicine over there? Yes, that paper envelope.”

Monica did as she was told and picked up the envelope off a small table. There was writing on it specifying to take it after a meal and identifying the kind of medicine it was and the person who had prescribed it.

And that person’s name came as quite a shock to Monica.

Peter Summs—the man who had snuck into Duke Rehnberg’s estate and caused the cursed dragon incident, and who had betrayed her father.

Monica’s heart began to pound almost audibly.

As she stared at the envelope, the old man asked, “What’s the matter?” He was looking at her, confused.

“Ah,” the old man sighed sadly. “He found employment elsewhere a short while back… I have so little medicine remaining, too. I’m in a bit of a bind.”

“Was he making your medicine, sir?”

“Well, yes, he was a doctor… Hmm? Or maybe not. Was he a researcher in the master’s employ? …Well, he was something like a doctor, at least.”

Peter was a shaman who had apprenticed with the Albrights, the Abyss Shaman’s family. It was likely that Peter had pretended to be a doctor at Duke Clockford’s estate, all the while secretly doing research on cursecraft.

Mister Bartholomeus was right. Peter Summs really is connected to the duke.

If she could, she wanted to get a little more information about Peter. Bridget flashed her a dubious glance but didn’t hurry her along or interrupt.

Monica put a hand to her chest to keep her heart from leaping right out of it and managed to get her breathing under control. She was bad at gambles like these, making up lies on the spot and prodding for more information. But regardless of how awkward she felt, she wanted to learn whatever she could.

“Um, Mr. Peter worked here for a long time, right, sir? How many years was it?”

“He arrived around a decade ago, I’d say. When Arthur, our old doctor, left, he stepped in to fill the gap.”

Arthur was a common name, but Monica had heard it just a little while ago. That night in Rehnberg, Peter Summs had said it right before he died.

Peter’s eyes had been bloodshot as he shouted.

Then this Arthur person must have worked as a doctor at Duke Clockford’s mansion before Peter did…right?

Before dying, Peter had rambled about not wanting to suffer the same fate as Arthur. And that meant something had happened to the doctor.

As Monica sank into thought, Bridget engaged the old man in more conversation to fill the space. “And you’ve been workin’ ’ere a long time, eh, sir? Did you ever see Prince Felix when he was little? I’m a big fan o’ the prince, y’see!”

“Ah, yes. Prince Felix stayed here for a while when he was young… He was sickly, you know. He couldn’t go outside very much, so I didn’t get the chance to see him that often. And besides…” The old man paused, and his gaze became distant. “When the incident happened and he got sick again, the prince stopped leaving the mansion at all for a while.”

Monica saw Bridget’s eyes flash behind her glasses. She leaned forward, full of interest. “Oh? An incident?”

The old man didn’t answer immediately. He took the powdered medicine out of the envelope and put it into his mouth, washing it down with some water from a pitcher. Then he set the envelope beside his pillow and looked around the room.

“At the time, I lived in the servants’ wing, and this place was just a regular storage shed.” The man’s face, full of deep wrinkles, took on a sad cast. “The shed caught fire, and two servants died trying to put it out.”

Monica felt her spine tingle. She had a terrible feeling. Felix had been sick as a child, and around the same time, there had been a fire. And two people had died because of it.

In spite of herself, Monica leaned forward and asked a question. “Um, um, who, um, who passed away?”

Monica almost cried out. It seemed her worst fears might turn out to be true.

“The head maid at the time—her name was Marcie—was so shocked by the incident that she joined a convent. Prince Felix was very close to both her and his deceased attendant. I heard he was so depressed that he shut himself away.”

Monica felt all the blood drain from her body. So that person… Her hands were terribly cold. She brought them to her chest and clenched them into fists, and her voice trembled as she asked her next question.

“…What, um, was the name of that servant?”

The wrinkles at the corners of the old man’s eyes deepened. It was the face of someone recalling memories that were gentle, yet sad.

“Isaac Walker. Such a kind boy. He often helped me, and he always had the prince’s best interests at heart.”

After leaving the gardener’s shed, Bridget looked pained.

“I never expected that his attendant had died so long ago.”

To Bridget, Isaac Walker would have been an invaluable source of information, given all he knew about Felix. To hear he’d already passed had her in a fluster.

“…Um, what kind of person was Isaac?” asked Monica.

Bridget frowned. “He was infuriatingly talented. The prince treated him like a dear elder brother… He adored him much more than he adored me, though it pains me to admit it.”

She spoke through clenched teeth; it must have really frustrated her.

Monica looked down at her feet and didn’t reply. A single prediction now occupied her mind.

…But I still don’t have enough pieces to link everything together.

After that, Monica and Bridget continued their loop around the mansion. Neither of them spoke as they searched for any rooms that seemed suspicious from the outside. Unfortunately, they didn’t find any with the curtains closed like Bridget had suggested.

Once they’d returned to the gardens at the front of the property, Raul called out to them.

“Hey! Heeey!” He waved his hand and ran over. “The butler’s about to give me a tour of the inside. Let’s go!”

Neither Monica nor Bridget had any reason to refuse.

“R-right, okay!” Monica nodded.

“Take these, then.” Raul gave a bucket full of cut flowers to Monica and another to Bridget. Then, picking up a flower-laden bucket of his own, he said, “This way,” and led them to the front entrance.

An elderly butler was waiting for them. Despite their massive age gap, Raul spoke to him casually.

“We’re going to be picking out flower decorations for the mansion, right? I figured it might be nice to have the girls’ opinions, too.”

If Raul had been any old gardener, his attitude would have been considered very rude. But because he was a Sage, it was tolerated.

The butler nodded reverently. “I see, sir. Very well, then. Please come this way.” He opened the door and beckoned for the three of them to go inside.

And the job of picking out flowers that would suit such a beautiful and precisely calculated space had evidently fallen to Raul. Monica had wondered, quite rudely, if the man was really capable of the task, but he gave clear, confident instructions to the butler.

“For the front entrance, I think double-blossom roses would be good. We managed to crossbreed them recently. They have a strong scent, but the size of this space should thin it out quite nicely. Brilliant flowers, if you ask me. They’ll look very good here. And they’re rare, too, so guests will be impressed.”

“Yes, I see… Then what about this room, sir?”

“This is the one that had the purple foxgloves, right? Oh, you changed the color of the curtains. In that case, I think it’s best to go with a flower that gives a softer impression. Maybe you can use apricot-colored flowers as the main draw, with some white orlayas added in. That would go well with the curtains.”

To Monica’s great surprise, Raul readily suggested flower after flower. He seemed to be used to this. Monica didn’t understand half the words he said, but at one point, she heard Bridget mutter, “He sure knows his flowers,” so she figured his instructions must have been spot on.

After finishing the first floor, the butler led the group up a flight of stairs. Once they reached the second story, Bridget’s gaze sharpened visibly. According to her, the real Felix would be locked away somewhere up here.

In general, servants’ quarters were located in the basement of a mansion, while the first story contained a wealth of rooms for entertaining guests. The higher you climbed, the more private the space. The Duke’s estate was no different.

What’s more, Bridget seemed to have a clear picture of where each of the rooms was located. When the butler stopped in front of a certain door, Monica noticed her grimace slightly.

When Monica heard this, she had envisioned a normal child’s room, but all of the furniture inside was clearly made for adults.

Raul scanned the room and asked, “Does His Highness still use this room? I forget.”

“Yes, sir. He uses it whenever he stays here.”

Even now, Felix occasionally came back; they’d probably replaced the furniture with something more suited to his size. Monica got the feeling that almost nothing remained from his childhood.

Nevertheless, Bridget gazed at the furniture, loneliness and yearning in her eyes. She seemed to be painting a picture in her mind of the Felix she’d known as a child.

“The prince’s room always looks so classy,” said Raul. “What flowers were you using when he last came to stay?”

“Illuses, sir.”

“‘Illuses’?” Raul frowned, confused by the term.

I guess even a botanical expert doesn’t know every flower… thought Monica. But then Bridget murmured something.

“…Irises.”

The butler seemed startled and corrected himself. “My apologies. Yes, sir, they were irises. The man who worked here before always called them illuses…”

“Oh!” Raul exclaimed cheerfully. “Irises! Illuses—that’s, um, the Imperial word, right?”

“Yes, sir. I’m terribly sorry.” The butler nodded awkwardly.

Monica was suddenly reminded of a man who had nothing to do with this situation—Bartholomeus Baal, a craftsman who lived for love.

“My name’s Bartholomeus. Basically the same name as Bartholomew here in Ridill. Pretty cool, huh?”

Bartholomeus and Bartholomew. Illuses and irises. Words meaning the same thing—one in the Imperial tongue, and the other in Ridillian. Suddenly, Monica made a connection.

As Monica fell into thought, Raul called to her. “Heeey, on to the next room!”

She looked up to find the others already in the hallway. Flustered, Monica headed out the door.

After that, they looked at two guest rooms, then skipped a door and headed for another room. The door they’d passed over intrigued her.

Monica lowered her voice to a whisper. “What about that room?”

“I hear that’s where the duke keeps his collection of magical items,” replied Raul.

Some magical items could easily be kept on one’s person, while others were more difficult to store. The duke’s collection likely involved the latter kind, explaining the restrictions on who could enter.

As Monica stared at the door, they heard a low voice from behind them.

“I wouldn’t mind showing you inside, Lord Witch of Thorns.”

The voice sent a shiver down Monica’s spine. It wasn’t loud, per se, but it was intimidating, penetrating deep into the mind. And Monica knew who it belonged to.

It was the owner of the mansion: Darius Nightray, also known as Duke Clockford.

I can’t turn around. I can’t let him see my face…!

As Monica’s lips began to tremble, Bridget tugged her sleeve and brought her over to the wall, then gave a deep bow.

Oh, right. We’re servants of the Roseburg family right now.

Monica mimicked Bridget and lowered her head. The duke had met her as the Silent Witch after the New Year’s banquet at the castle. If he saw her face, things would go very badly.

I was wearing a veil over my mouth and a hood low over my eyes, but still…

It reminded Monica of when Felix would occasionally use intimidation to bring someone under his command—a skill he’d probably learned from the duke.

Ignoring Bridget and the frozen Monica, Raul maintained his normal cheeriness and grinned at the duke. “Good day, Your Excellency. We’re nearly finished replanting the gardens. We’re currently picking out flowers to decorate the mansion. Would you like us to take a look at your collection room as well?”

“I leave it to you.”

Raul’s tone was more polite now, and the duke seemed to be treating him courteously, as a guest. It was an intimidating conversation—one between the Roseburg family’s current count of magic and Duke Clockford, one of the most important nobles in the country.

The duke removed a key from an inside pocket and used it to open the collection room’s door. Monica lifted her head ever so slightly and shifted her gaze to see inside the room.

It wasn’t very big. A few glass cases lined the walls, done up with seals. Inside, various accessories that looked like magic items were on display.

Right now, Monica needed to play the perfect servant. She probably wouldn’t be allowed into the room at all.

But just then, Raul stepped inside and beckoned to her and Bridget. “Heeey! Come on in, you two!”

Whaaat…? W-won’t he get mad…? Monica’s face froze up with nerves.

As expected, the duke leveled a cold stare at Raul. “I did not give permission for you to bring servants inside.”

“These two are working for my family as apprentices. This room will make a great case study on how to use flowers to decorate.”

But Raul didn’t seem particularly bothered and went on as though nothing was wrong. “Not every mansion is so rewarding to decorate, Your Excellency.”

“I believe it’s a little too much for mere trainees.”

“The older ladies in my family always told me that it’s best to use first-rate teaching materials.”

“I see. Coming from one of the greatest mages of the kingdom, your words certainly carry weight.”

Monica couldn’t tell if Raul was telling the truth or not. But when he laughed, the duke’s resolve weakened. Apparently, they were now allowed inside. Monica and Bridget set foot into the collection room, careful not to make eye contact with the duke.

The glass cases all displayed high-end magical items. The price of just one of them was probably enough to buy a mansion. But Monica wasn’t interested in any of that right now.

I need to figure out the room’s dimensions…

She took a quick look around, memorizing the numbers that made up the space. If Felix was imprisoned somewhere in this mansion, then it was always possible that he was locked up in a hidden room.

While checking the building’s exterior, she’d memorized its measurements; ever since getting inside, she’d been checking to make sure everything matched.

While Monica compared the numbers in her head, Raul and the duke continued to speak.

“This is incredible. There are so many magical items, and they’re of such high quality. Is this one Emanuel’s work?”

“Indeed. I frequently employ the Gem Mage for such things. I have him perform periodic inspections, as well.”

As she thought, Raul decided on some flowers for the space. He made several suggestions. The duke’s response was plain and simple: “Use flowers that symbolize the technology and wealth of this kingdom.”

Selective breeding took a lot of time and capital—a new and unique kind of flower was its own sort of fortune. The duke wanted to flaunt his authority by decorating his mansion with Ridillian flowers that were the result of such breeding.

Flaunting his authority was probably his only goal, too. Monica doubted he had any desire to satisfy a sense of self-importance or anything like that. For first-rate nobles, showing off one’s influence was simply a way of maintaining the dignity of one’s family.

Requesting things of the Seven Sages, such as asking Raul to provide flowers or having Emanuel care for his magical items, was all a charade. The duke wanted to give others the impression that he and the Sages were on good terms.

House Roseburg is politically neutral… The duke must want to win them over to his side, too. Just like he tried to with me, when he made that request after the New Year’s banquet.

Once they’d left the collection room and locked the door behind them, the duke addressed Raul again. “Unfortunately, the older ladies in your family have turned down many a dinner invitation. Tell them that I’m hoping for a more favorable answer next time.”

The older ladies in Raul’s family apparently held the real power in House Roseburg, hence why the duke invited them to such gatherings instead of Raul.

I wonder how he’ll strike back…

If he carelessly accepted, he might find himself in the duke’s camp. But if he simply rejected the offer, he’d cause offense.

The air in the room froze.

“…In that case, I will take my leave,” said the duke. “I’ve had tea prepared—it’s in the parlor. You may relax there, if you wish.”

With that, the duke left. He clearly wanted to end the conversation there.

Monica wondered what Raul’s elder sister—the fourth Witch of Thorns—was like, if she could make even the duke run away like that. Monica wasn’t very familiar with any of the former Sages, though, so she couldn’t do anything but wonder.

I get the feeling…that the duke really doesn’t want to be involved with her…

In any case, it seemed this was how House Roseburg was keeping its distance from the duke. No doubt complicated political bargains and stratagems were at play. Monica looked up at Raul reverently.

“All I have to do is mention her,” said Raul, sounding impressed, “and everyone scampers away. She’s like a charm against evil spirits!”

The butler waiting beside them looked quite troubled by the comment.

Mary had brought Bartholomeus to a town called Gareth and was showing him around a workshop. Apparently, it had once belonged to an elderly metalsmith, but he’d died suddenly from illness, and his family wanted to get rid of the place. So Mary had bought it, complete with all the furniture and tools.

While small, it boasted two furnaces, and the well-used tools had been properly maintained. Bartholomeus could fire up a furnace and get to work right away.

Thinking back, he had always been employed at larger workshops. And when he’d worked as a jack-of-all-trades, he hadn’t had a workshop at all—his tool belt and waist pouches had been everything.

I never dreamed I’d have a workshop of my own one day! he thought, basking in the joyous feeling.

Mary smiled gently. “You may use this place as you wish. But in exchange…”

“Yep, I got it. I’ll always move your orders to the top of my list, Lady Witch! Whatever you need—furniture, shoes, your staff—I’ll fix it up in a jiffy. Just say the word!” Suddenly, Bartholomeus grimaced. “Oh, uh… I’m not sure about repairing Starweaving Mira, though…”

“Hee-hee. I understand.” Mary took out a small bag and placed it on the workbench. He glimpsed large silver coins inside. “Use this as your working capital for now, dear.”

Bartholomeus bowed again and again, stealing glances at her all the while.

She was a beautiful woman. She had the strange innocence of a dreaming girl combined with the willowy grace of a mature woman… But there was still more to her than that. She had been a Sage longer than any of the others and was apparently something like their manager. She was the foremost prophet in Ridill and gave counsel to the king. Yes, she was much more than just a beautiful woman.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m very grateful for everything you’ve done for me, it’s just… Why go through all the effort?”

Despite his probing question, her expression remained calm and gentle. And yet, he thought he saw her pale blue eyes grow just a bit distant as she looked back at him. It was as if she was thinking of someone far away whom she held very dear.

“There’s a person I would like to keep alive.”

It’s gotta be a man, thought Bartholomeus, though it was just a hunch.