Episode 21: Father
“So you’re saying you want to set up a master-craftsmen’s workshop in our domain?”
Baron Plian opened his eyes wide and exchanged glances with Zwart.
In front of them stood Baron Bidel, a merchant-noble from the royal capital, hands clasped, smiling brightly.
“Yes, yes. I hear many mages have gathered here of late. Whenever mages come together, they need all sorts of apparatus. The craftsmen in your barony alone can’t possibly meet that demand, so we will share the load! Naturally we’ll give you a proper share. Here, this is a draft contract. Please have a look.”
Baron Plian read the contract.
The terms were rather—no, extremely—favorable.
That puzzled him.
“Hmm … but are you sure about investing when we don’t know how long the mages will stay?”
At that, Baron Bidel bit into a triumphant smile.
“I am not worried about that.”
“Not worried? What if all the mages leave as soon as next month…?”
“Ha-ha! Wasn’t it Lord Perseta who built the magic school and opened this ‘forum’? I’m certain of it. That young lord will keep many mages here even after the forum ends. House Verité will become the magic center of the Kingdom of Doublanc. I’m sure of it!”
Baron Plian was dumbfounded.
He trusts Perseta that much?
Even I don’t know him that well yet.
Reading that face, Baron Bidel spoke in a subtle tone.
“You remember the stories Lord Perseta told at the auction that day?”
“Ah, yes, he did.”
“I checked them all, cross-examined everyone.”
“You did?”
“Yes, and the result was astounding. All of it had sources. The many mages and scholars I consulted had to sweat to find those records, yet Lord Perseta recited them on the spot, line after line.”
“So he did.”
“That’s it. Now I’m convinced. Lord Perseta secluded himself for thirty years to accomplish something colossal. I’m betting my life on it.”
“Hmm…”
Baron Plian sighed.
How to say it? Baron Bidel’s judgment was a mix of some evidence and a beast’s intuition. That was why he could decide and invest faster than anyone.
Leaving all else aside, Plian admired that bold resolve—and sighed again, half self-reproach, half admiration, at seeing someone trust his son more than he did.
“Zwart, what do you think?”
He would have liked to consult Perseta, but since Perseta now lived at the magic school, he asked Zwart, who was beside him.
Zwart closed his eyes a moment, thought, then laid out his view crisply.
“You should accept.”
“Why do you think so?”
“But with conditions: allow the workshop, but make them promise to hire all unskilled workers from our domain and fill a certain proportion of craftsmen with our own people.”
“Oh?”
“That way, aside from our share, part of the workshop’s profit comes to the domain as wages. Our craftsmen and folk will also learn skills from the capital’s artisans and become better. And the artisans already under our house will hone their craft by competing with the capital’s men.”
Baron Plian marveled.
“Zwart! Your insight is remarkable!”
Zwart only laughed sheepishly.
“No, I learned it all from Brother.”
“Even if you learned it, absorbing it so quickly is your ability, is it not?”
“No. I have to do well at least at this.”
Zwart spoke with a trace of bitterness.
Seeing that faintly sad look, Baron Plian wondered: Why is he like that? Did something bad happen?
But Baron Bidel suddenly cut in, and Plian missed the moment to ask.
“Everything—absolutely—acceptable! Let’s write it into the contract and have it notarized by the royal chancery!”
Baron Plian looked back at Baron Bidel.
Indeed… clear profit, virtually no loss.
No reason to refuse. With royal notarization, a law officer would scrutinize every clause, so no trickery could slip in.
“Very well. Let’s discuss this positively!”
Baron Plian and Baron Bidel shook hands warmly.
A week had passed since the forum began. The magic school was a daily whirlwind of excitement.
Mages, armed with the Mana-wave Meters Salinelle had prepared, were absorbed in resonating with the Spirit Realm, the Phantasm Realm, and the Fey Realm.
They spent their days testing spells that had long been hard to use, scarcely noticing time pass.
At the same time, they rigorously verified Salinelle’s theory, observing and recording the daily frequency shifts according to the harmonic motions of the Mystical Realm described in the Almagest.
Each time, they exclaimed.
As for Perseta— Seeing all of this, he felt giddy.
It was knowledge he had mastered before age ten, yet he felt joyful.
Sharing knowledge is such a delight.
Even if I’ve read a story a hundred times, if someone hears it for the first time, it is fun once more.
Perseta was tasting that very pleasure.
Fun was fun, but free time was free time.
The early part of the forum was devoted wholly to presenting and discussing Salinelle’s discovery, so Perseta himself had little to do.
He spent the spare time for the domain.
“Lord Perseta, you called?”
He had summoned his father’s friend, the merchant Glaube, for that reason.
“Yes, Uncle. It hasn’t been long, yet it’s good to see you. Have you been well?”
“Uncle, you say? This old man cannot bear it. Please withdraw the word.”
Perseta, following his father’s order, had called him uncle once and then did not press it.
“Ha-ha, very well, Master Glaube. Anyway, I asked you here for a favor.”
“Just speak.”
“As you see, many mages are gathered here.”
“Indeed, quite so. They’re all extraordinary; I’m very nervous.”
“So—when mages gather, they need many magical materials and ritual tools. And since Father is opening a workshop with Baron Bidel’s help, that workshop will need many supplies too.”
“Meaning…?”
“Please open a trading house here. One that supplies everything I just mentioned.”
“Ah! A fine proposal for me. But as a merchant I must weigh matters.”
“Worried the mages won’t stay long?”
“Yes, that concerns me.”
“No need. This forum will last a year.”
Glaube’s eyes went round.
“A year?”
“Yes. I’ll make it so.”
Perseta’s eyes gleamed.
He had never planned to end the forum quickly. When one topic finished, he would raise the next; when that finished, another—guiding the mages along a curriculum he had designed.
From the start this school was meant not for novice students, but as a “magic university” where seasoned mages learned and researched.
At least… when they go home, each must carry a copy of the Celestium.
That had been the forum’s aim from the outset: to topple the Almagest and engrave the Celestium on everyone.
Though he had vowed never to rush the transfer of knowledge, on this matter he was moving quickly—because true magic scholarship would open only after overthrowing the Almagest.
The sooner the start, the better.
Thus, Perseta could speak with confidence.
“If mage numbers drop, our school will actively purchase goods to cover the shortfall. You may write that into the contract.”
At that point Glaube clearly understood.
Though Perseta said he was “asking a favor,” in truth he was granting Glaube an opportunity.
Glaube bowed at once.
“I cannot accept such a clause. Rather, I am grateful for the chance you give me.”
He gazed at Perseta, smiling with pride.
“To think my little bribe would prove so effective already.”
Perseta laughed back.
“It was wonderfully effective. Do you know this school’s name?”
“What is it?”
“The sign soon to go up will read Glaube Magic University.”
A lump rose in Glaube’s throat.
A magic university bearing his own name?
He felt a surge of emotion he could not put into words.
While House Verité bustled with mages, one person, too busy to grasp the situation, arrived unaware.
“Father! Father! What has happened, Father!”
Echid Felix, heir of Viscount Felix.
Those who knew him called him “like a mongrel dog”—weak to the strong and strong to the weak, cowardly by nature, yet a weedlike survivor.
Now Echid Felix had come to Baron Verité’s castle with the bare minimum of five soldiers.
“Father!!!”
He had come to reclaim Viscount Felix.
For that he had paid a ransom of three villages plus the viscounty’s prime land.
“Ah‐ah… son… hee… son-ny…”
But Viscount Felix’s state was strange—drooling, eyes unfocused, looking every inch an imbecile.
Echid Felix raged.
“What have you done to my father!”
House Verité’s answer was simple.
“During the domain duel, Viscount Felix fell from his horse and struck his head.”
There was nothing to say: no witnesses, his side had started the trouble, the kingdom would not back him…
Echid Felix only chewed on his anger.
Just you wait, Verité scum! I’ll show you a real domain war. I’ll repay this humiliation a thousandfold!
He lifted his father onto the carriage, planning future revenge.
They must have lost on arcane might. Fine. There are rumors Perseta’s magic is notable. I’ll uproot my house’s foundations if I must, hire war mages of court-mage caliber, and pay this back!
All the way home he stared out the window, measuring each span of barony soil he would trample.
But—
Kkiriri-ring!
A strange beast-cry rang outside the carriage.
“What is that…?”
Echid poked out his head and gasped.
A creature with long white fur, a neck like a snake, tiger-like paws—running as if folding the earth, or flying through the air—appeared in an instant.
He had never seen such a beast, but as a cultured noble he quickly knew it.
“A-a qilin!”
In these times when mystery was fading, a qilin, a spirit-beast!
Yet the real shock was behind it.
The carriage linked to the qilin bore a crest unmistakable to him.
“The Empire!”
“And the Sage!”
Qilin and crest—beyond doubt.
The Sage of the Empire was here—the teacher whom even His Majesty bent to!
Echid Felix scrambled out of his carriage.
Creak.
A window in the sage’s carriage slid down.
A cantankerous-looking old lady poked out her head.
“Boy, is this the road to Baron Verité’s domain?”
Echid answered reflexively.
“Yes! Yes, ma’am, it is. Go straight on for Baron Verité’s lands.”
“Good. Thank you.”
Click.
The window closed.
Kkiriri-ring!
The qilin cried again and dashed off.
Echid stared blankly, then leapt back into his carriage shouting:
“Turn back! We return to Baron Verité! I must find out why the Imperial Sage is going there!”
The driver wheeled around.
Soon after, learning who all the mages swarming Verité were, Echid Felix stood, staring up at the sky, then looked at his father drooling against the seat.
Drip.
Hot tears fell from his eyes.
Taking his father’s limp hand, he bowed his head.
“Father… forgive me. I spun every scheme I could, but…”
He looked once more at Verité.
Now clear-headed, he saw it: streets livelier than his own viscounty’s, fine tools in commoners’ hands, wagons bustling, and above all… mages everywhere.
Among them were the Imperial Academy headmaster and the crown princess of the Magic Kingdom.
Some had even built houses, settling in.
“This… is impossible to beat, Father…”
Echid folded his resolve. One must know where to lie down if one would live long.
The carriage clattered back toward Viscount Felix’s estate, its retreating form small and pitiful.
Leave a Reply to LinoCancel reply