Episode 8: The Shame of Defeat and the Pride of a Father
Trudge, trudge…
Salinelle walked out of the baron’s castle with slumped shoulders, found an inn, paid for a room, and made his way upstairs.
“Ah…?”
He looked around, disoriented.
He had no recollection of what had happened after leaving the castle.
Everything from walking down the street to booking a room was a complete blank.
All he remembered was the bitter wind slipping between his crushed self-esteem, the grief that gnawed at his heart, and his shattered confidence.
“Haaah…”
Salinelle sank to the floor with his back against the door, burying his face in his hands.
He felt a powerful urge to cry.
He had lived his entire life striving to surpass just one person—Bardente’s disciple, Perseta Verite—ever since his master Zerogia had hammered it into him that he must defeat Perseta Verite no matter what.
Every day from age eleven, he heard that command. It became his compass.
And yet…
“I’ve lost. Completely…”
Still seated at the doorway, Salinelle clenched his fists, feeling like the whole world was trembling.
He could recall every line of conversation with Perseta—
How they’d discussed the dimension’s rotation, the possibility that its axis had shifted in the past five centuries, how that knowledge alone was staggering…
And then the final question Perseta had posed, one that Salinelle simply couldn’t answer.
Sadness… despair… then suddenly, a flash of rage.
“You… you mock me, Perseta!”
He ground out each word between clenched teeth.
Perseta had refused to give him the final answer, looking down on him from on high while Salinelle floundered.
It was utterly humiliating.
“So what will you do now, Salinelle?! Just swallow this disgrace?!”
No. He couldn’t bear it.
He wouldn’t allow it, not under the name of Archmage Zerogia.
With frantic energy, he rummaged through his bag.
Scrape!
He pulled over the small table, cleared it of utensils, and spread a cloth inscribed with magic circles on top.
Heaped before him were ritual supplies: a dagger, the bones of a dead rat, a rotten apple, a bizarre idol, powders from plants and minerals infused with mana.
He arranged them in a formal pattern.
Though makeshift, the table was now an altar.
He snuffed out all other lights, drew the curtains, and lit only a few candles. Sitting before the table, he began a lengthy incantation:
“Hear me… wise serpent… You who coil in endless contemplation,
though the sun of the heavens rises and falls ten thousand, a hundred thousand times…”
Runic characters rose from the circle atop the tablecloth, forming a cylindrical space, as though peering into another world.
The tools on the makeshift altar and Salinelle’s incantation resonated, converging on a single frequency.
Sssss…
The room’s view wavered.
Faint shadows slipped through the air, and a distant murmuring echoed as if from far away.
At last, a dark, shimmery shape appeared before Salinelle—long and serpentine, with a head and neck like a snake’s, but below the neck, it looked as though it had wings or something large flapping around it.
The shape spoke in a distant voice:
— Mage…? Summoned… me…?
It reverberated like a voice from a deep cavern, too distorted to hear properly, but Salinelle could guess the meaning. He met the creature’s eyes and spoke:
“In the year of the yellow angel’s dance, on the day the rooster rests in the blue-violet moon: I, Salinelle the human wizard, greet the Serpent Clan of the Illusionary Realm. My apologies that time is urgent, so I cannot perform a proper ceremony for you.”
— I am… busy… State… request… Must leave…
“Very well, I’ll be direct. The Serpent Clan is known to read fate and provide counsel to guide the right choice. I need that power now.”
— Possible… Must pay…
“I have prepared a ruby, infused with my mana. It should be suitable nourishment for the Serpent Clan.”
The smoky serpent leaned down to sniff the ruby that Salinelle had placed on the altar.
— Insufficient…
“Tch.”
Salinelle grit his teeth and took five finely minted gold coins from his pocket—
following the rituals of Archmage Konfukius’s Cultus Deorum, which said many creatures from the Illusionary Realm favored such gold offerings.
“How about these as well?”
— Hmm… borderline… fine… will accept…
The serpent hesitated but ultimately struck a bargain.
With that, both the ruby and the gold coins vanished from the altar. At the same time, new insight flashed across Salinelle’s mind.
It might’ve seemed a simple piece of advice, but wisdom from the Serpent Clan was said to be entwined with fate itself, always guiding the best possible path for the recipient.
“Ah… so I’m to enter the barony, learn, and compete… Very well.”
Fwoosh—
Just like that, the room returned to normal. The murmuring shadows and the giant serpent’s silhouette vanished like a dream.
Even the candles on the altar abruptly snuffed out, leaving only wisps of white smoke.
In that dim, fading light, Salinelle’s eyes burned with renewed determination.
“Yes… that’s right! Perseta’s knowledge can’t all be his alone. He must have learned it from Bardente and is merely showing off! Whereas I—my knowledge is all my own!”
His confidence blazed back to life.
“I’ll enter the barony! I’ll fight Perseta and learn what I must, until at last I surpass him!”
Yes. This had to be the correct path.
Paying that high price for the Serpent Clan’s counsel had been worth it.
Salinelle sprang up, left the inn, and marched back toward the baron’s castle.
Only the makeshift altar and its spent magical materials remained in his room.
Anyone who saw that aftermath would have been appalled—an extraordinary feat to connect with the Illusionary Realm using such humble tools, unimaginable in an age when magic was said to be disappearing.
Salinelle already had knowledge surpassing many so-called archmages—a genius in his own right—now fueled by fierce resolve to defeat Perseta.
Around that same time,
Baron Plian Verite stood in his office with his second son, Zwart, at his side.
They both gazed out the window at the bustling estate.
Inside the baron’s mind, conflicting feelings churned:
So Perseta was a genius, after all…
Thirty years.
For three decades, Baron Plian had watched his son remain hidden away in the tower.
He never fully believed the rumors that his son was a dullard, because he remembered vividly how bright the boy had been, even at age five.
Still, seeing Perseta remain in that tower for thirty years with no sign of progress, he began to suspect Perseta at least wasn’t a magical genius.
Yet Perseta had returned to fix the Fairy Farm’s magic circle and perform a ceremony surpassing the Bountiful Harvest rite recommended by Archmage Konfukius.
He truly was a genius—no doubt he had fully inherited Bardente’s mastery.
That raised new concerns—especially when he looked at Zwart, who was beaming beside him.
“Father, look there! Another caravan’s arriving—this is already the tenth one today. I never thought I’d see our domain so busy.”
Plian watched his son’s bright laughter and asked,
“You like this?”
“Yes, it’s wonderful. The fairies are back, my brother’s back, and our family finally has a chance to recover from our debts. By the way, when will we start selling the fairy crops? Each new merchant asks about it.”
Plian turned his gaze back to the scene outside.
“We’ll wait. The longer, the better.”
“But isn’t it best to sell quickly and clear our debts?”
“Son.”
“Yes, Father?”
“What do you think determines a selling price?”
“Well… the market sets it, doesn’t it?”
Plian shook his head slowly.
“Mostly, yes. But if you look deeper, it’s the buyer’s state of mind.”
“Doesn’t the buyer’s mind follow market prices?”
“Normally. But suppose you’re buying something with plenty of time versus buying under severe time pressure. When do you think you’ll get a cheaper deal?”
“That would be… when I have plenty of time… Ah, I see what you mean!”
“Yes. So we’ll keep them waiting, let them grow anxious. More and more trading companies will gather, time will pass, and tension will build. Then we’ll hold an auction.”
“An auction!”
“Exactly. We must seize this chance and maximize our profit.”
“I see!”
Zwart admired him greatly.
Though people might mock the little Verite Barony as backwater, Zwart knew his father—who had kept their noble dignity through all these years—was nobody’s fool.
“I’m hoping to lure even the capital’s major trading companies out here.”
“The capital’s companies?”
“Yes. With fairy crops this rare and in such high quantity and quality, they’ll have no choice but to come. They spend money on a whole different scale, after all.”
“That would be a huge gain!”
“Indeed… and—” Plian smiled as he watched the merchants hustling through the streets.
“While they wait, their spending goes to our people—straight into our treasury or the pockets of our townsfolk.”
“Oh!”
Pleased by the revelation, Zwart grinned. His delight made Plian’s heart even more conflicted.
“But Zwart, are you truly okay with this?”
“Huh? What do you mean, Father?”
“Regarding the family. I intend to pass the barony on to your brother.”
“Ah…”
Until now, Plian had never mentioned succession. Under normal circumstances, the eldest son—Perseta—would have inherited, but he’d been shut away in the tower. Meanwhile, Zwart had faithfully worked on behalf of the family.
Plian had been leaning toward naming Zwart the heir—until Perseta reemerged.
Yes, Perseta might be naïve about the real world, but his magical power was immense—enough to propel this small backwater domain into the center of the kingdom, if not further.
All thoughts of handing over the barony to Zwart vanished.
But Zwart merely nodded calmly.
“Father, I never once thought of the barony as mine.”
“Son…”
“Truly. The only reason I gave up so much and came back here was that if our house prospered, it’d be easier for me to succeed in life. It’s better to be Zwart of the Verite Barony—who holds some clout in the region—rather than Zwart of a nameless Verite house. It benefits me, too.”
Good kid.
Plian felt a mix of gratitude and guilt.
“But there is something that worries me.”
Zwart changed the subject, partly to spare his father’s feelings.
“What is it?”
“It’s about my brother. He’s so extremely gifted that I’m afraid it might become a problem.”
“Right. People around him won’t leave him alone.”
“Yes. I’d like to push him hard so our house can become the greatest in the East, but before that, there will be all kinds of interference—people who want to exploit his talents or snatch them away.”
“True. You could be put in danger too.”
“I can take care of myself. It’s Illianne I’m worried about.”
Plian’s heart twisted again at Zwart’s kindness. He nodded.
“So we must hide it as long as we can. Keep your brother’s true ability secret.”
“Yes. That’s why I think we need to change how we run the domain.”
“Change it how?”
“Depending on fairy crops alone is risky—and it exposes my brother’s talents. We should develop other industries.”
“You’re right. That does raise a question, though: which industries, and how?”
“Exactly. It would help if we had more skilled wizards in the estate, but…”
Just then, as Plian and Zwart were about to dive deeper into their planning—
“My lord! A visitor! It’s the same wizard who came here two hours ago!”
Opportunity came knocking again.
“A-are you sure about these terms?”
“Yes, Baron. Here, I’ve signed. I’m now employed as a wizard of the Verite Barony.”
Salinelle’s eyes glowed as he folded up one of the two copies of the contract and tucked it into his robe.
Baron Plian felt rather dazed.
Salinelle the Mage was well-known in the region: the sole disciple of the archmage Zerogia, a prodigy who had traveled from tower to tower, spreading word of his genius.
Ten years ago, when he first settled near the barony at the age of thirty-one, his skill already far surpassed the baron’s. By now, he could easily have earned a viscount’s title in the Empire or even a countship in some smaller kingdoms.
And yet, here he was, signing on as the barony’s resident mage with a modest stipend?
That wasn’t all.
Plian asked again, his voice trembling:
“A-and you’re saying… you can cast magic beyond the level of even 8th-level applied formulas—capable of feats like the miracle at the Fairy Farm?”
“Yes. I’ll show you gradually.”
Gasp…
If that was true, it solved all Plian’s worries at once:
They could claim it was Salinelle who performed the Fairy Farm’s miracle, concealing Perseta’s power. If worst came to worst and outside forces tried to seize the knowledge, they could sacrifice Salinelle’s secret instead.
It would also help them develop new industries for the estate.
Is this too good to be true? Some sort of trap?
Cautious, Plian asked:
“Why…why would you make this decision?”
Salinelle ground his teeth audibly:
“Your son… humiliated me.”
“Humiliated…?”
“Yes. Everything I spent my life researching, he already knew. He went further, flaunting things I didn’t know, mocking me. To be frank, I’ll remain here, learn and study, and then grind your son—Perseta Verite—into the dust. After that, I’ll leave without hesitation. That’s my goal.”
“Ah… so that happened earlier?”
“Yes. It was the first time in my life I’ve suffered such indignity.”
With that, all suspicion dissolved.
The baron’s earlier misgivings about this sudden stroke of fortune vanished. Not only did they acquire an almost archmage-level wizard at a bargain price, but they could also ensure the estate’s growth and deflect some threat from Perseta.
More than that, though—what truly thrilled Baron Plian was:
“My son is that amazing!”
A genius who could humiliate even a mage of Salinelle’s caliber.
The baron nearly failed to hide his grin of parental pride:
“Perseta Verite, my son!”
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