The Shape of Shadows
Ferda returned once more to the dimly lit room.
He had come not to sleep, but to continue his cultivation.
The mana method was called Shape of Shadow.
If most mages were to rank it by difficulty, it would sit firmly among the highest tier. Yet Ferda was a man who had already walked paths far more arduous and treacherous than this. Something of this caliber posed him no real obstacle.
All he needed was the movement of his circles.
And at last, those circles began to stir.
The quantity is absurdly insufficient.
Ferda knew methods of forcing the issue. Had he used them, he could have reached the Fifth Circle that very day. He did not. He understood too well how dangerous it was to be swallowed by emotion.
So he guarded against those feelings and searched for an answer instead.
And finally, he found it.
Ferda closed his eyes. He spread the flow of mana and focused it throughout his entire body. Then, slowly, he tipped everything over and overturned it all.
His mental image pressed flat against the floor. His consciousness projected itself into the world of shadows.
Within the flickering candlelight that swayed with every breath, a shadow shimmered. That shadow began to move of its own accord, coiling and climbing up Ferda’s body. The climbing darkness met the crimson circle inside his dantian.
Baldrova.
Unbidden, Ferda’s mind began to paint her image. A mad painter lived inside his head—someone who drew the same face again and again on the canvas, only to destroy it in dissatisfaction and start over. He had drawn thousands of sheets and torn thousands of sheets. The unsatisfied hunger was no mere thirst.
It was also the question I had wanted to answer when I reached the Third Circle.
The doubt that had vanished while he held back Baldrova’s rampage. Yet Ferda had finally understood it. The Baldrova he kept painting had an empty space left unfilled. In that blank place sat two syllables.
Tomorrow.
In that instant, the mad painter in his heart began to move. Unlike when rage had seized him, genuine fervor now filled every stroke. This time, on a far wider canvas, he painted Baldrova’s form without restraint.
Her tomorrow.
Not simply her tomorrow alone.
A tomorrow… that includes me.
He filled the still-empty place with himself. The painting resolved into a single sentence.
I want to share tomorrow with her.
The moment the sentence was complete, something extraordinary occurred. The thin, imagined paintings began to live and move. Ferda recognized it at once.
Childlike wonder.
A dream a frail boy had once dreamed long, long ago. The vague outline of a companion he had once sketched was now overwritten by a beautiful woman with red hair and four horns. It was a dream, and at the same time pure rapture—rapture at the peak of emotion.
It moved.
The heart that swelled beyond control set the circles into violent motion. Left alone, Ferda would have been destroyed. So he focused. The future the two of them shared had to become reality, not idle fantasy.
He took the concentrated form of his spirit and carried it into the circles. In that instant, dozens of hands seized the raging torrents of mana and began to mold them into shape.
Easy.
It was nothing like scooping and shaping with a single hand. Even the effort he had poured into forming the First and Second Circles now felt harder by comparison.
Far too easy.
Surrounded and compressed from every direction, the mana had no gap through which to escape. Rotation turned as rotation must; form was shaped as form must be. Layer by layer, a new shell settled over him.
And so Ferda reached the Fourth Circle.
He opened his eyes.
Shadows writhed and stirred, then transformed into the shape of hands. It was the Third Circle spell Shadow Hand. No—this was something of an entirely different order. It was no artificial construct born of magic. It was another part of his body that he had kept hidden within himself.
Ferda adapted to it at once.
Shadow is me.
Hands divided and gave birth to more hands. Those hands in turn produced still more. They multiplied without end. The narrow room filled with black hands.
I am the shadow.
The candle could not endure the dense darkness and snuffed out with a soft pfft.
A guild.
A guild was an organization that verified the status of its members and granted them benefits. In exchange it held them accountable for their actions, controlled them with rules, and demanded solidarity whenever profit was at stake. Protecting their interests through the association was its true essence.
But the Serdes Human Magic Society was fundamentally different from such guilds. Surveillance rather than verification. Control rather than benefit. That was the world in which mages lived on the Serdes Continent.
Its founder was Erdes Roton—war hero of the twelve-person expedition that had gathered to defeat the Demon King in the Dragon-Demon War, and founder of the Human Magic Society. Even one hundred fifty years later she was still alive and still active. The mage who had never relinquished the title of humanity’s strongest, even into the present generation. The embodiment of intellect. A living witness. She possessed experience no one could ignore, yet she looked younger than women in their prime.
“You have official duties to attend to.”
“I don’t wanna!!”
Younger—she threw a tantrum like a child.
“I hate working! Leave me alone!”
“The paperwork has been piling up for days. Look at this. It’s stacked so high I can’t even see the Academy President’s face!”
“I piled it up so I wouldn’t have to look at your face. Blue can do it instead.”
“How am I supposed to do it for you? And my name is Lu.”
“A little backlog won’t kill anyone. If it bothers you that much, tell them to come complain to my face.”
“But you never open the door.”
“If they challenge me to a duel, I open it just fine, don’t I?”
“What kind of lunatic on this earth would pick a fight with the Academy President?”
She was a war hero of the Dragon-Demon War and humanity’s strongest mage. In a world where a gap in Circles meant near-zero odds of victory, no one could theoretically defeat her.
“That’s exactly the problem. They talk big about staking their lives, but the second you ask, ‘Wanna die?’ they go, ‘I want to live!’ and scurry off. No grit. No grit at all.”
“You crippled the last person who staked his life.”
“Sometimes you misjudge your strength when you’ve been around a while. We reached an amicable settlement with the party involved, didn’t we?”
She brushed it off as if it were nothing. The only things a secretary could do were sigh and hand over the documents that had been shoved at him.
“This is the attendance list for the upcoming Grand Council. Please review it.”
Not that it matters if she doesn’t, Lu muttered under his breath.
Erdes flicked a finger once, and the list flew into her hand.
“Lots of old fossils I know. Once you’ve lived that long, you ought to hand things over to your sons already. How long do they plan to keep clinging to power?”
“Indeed, ma’am.”
The secretary’s eyes rested on Erdes with a pointed look.
“Take those eyes back before I pluck them out. Or else, hmm?”
Her gaze, skimming rapidly down the list, suddenly stopped.
“Is something wrong?”
“I thought I misread it.”
She repeated the word several times.
“But I didn’t misread it. Blue, are you even doing your job properly, you little—?”
“Pardon?”
The sudden verbal abuse left him flustered. She pointed at one name written on the list.
“This man’s surname is written as Baldrova.”
“Ah—that is actually correct. It really is the Red Dragon Baldrova’s name. Meaning I didn’t misrecord it, and the organizers didn’t make a mistake either.”
“Swear you’re not lying?”
“Yes. We even have the records.”
Erdes shrugged the awkwardness away.
“That terrifying dragon is full of surprises. So he’s one of Baldrova’s spawn?”
“Uh… you didn’t know?”
Erdes smiled sweetly. Yet a cold shadow settled over her face.
“What is it I don’t know? That I’m a clueless airheaded young lady who doesn’t understand how the world works? Or that your neck might go flying today?”
“Gah—! I would never belittle or mock the Academy President. This is purely—”
“The point.”
“He’s the Red Dragon Baldrova’s fiancé this time.”
“Fiancé?”
Childish as she was, Erdes still understood what being Baldrova’s fiancé meant.
“For real?”
“Pardon?”
“I said for real.”
“Y-yes. For real.”
“Fascinating. Nobody walks into an execution willingly… Ferda—give me this human’s records.”
“Ah, one moment!”
The secretary pressed both hands to his temples and chanted.
“Search, Ferda Valdrova.”
At once, stacks of paper squeezed through the crack of the office door and piled neatly in front of him. Finished with the spell, he handed the documents to Erdes.
“H-here they are!”
Her eyes raced across the pages.
“Let’s see… third son of House Rosnova… hmm…”
Erdes’s gaze grew distinctly calmer. The farther her eyes traveled down the page, the more serious her expression became.
“Blue.”
“Yes.”
“When does the Grand Council convene?”
Lu’s eyes widened.
“In five days. Surely you’re not thinking of attending?”
“I was going to skip it because I expected nothing but boring chatter, but going might not be so bad after all.”
Erdes’s lips curved as she stared fixedly at Ferda’s portrait.
“Besides, I get to look at a face this stupidly handsome, don’t I?”
“Isn’t the significance simply that you would attend? It might run late, but if we prepare a carriage right now—”
“No need for that.”
Erdes’s finger traced a casual circle through the air. A circular portal matching the path she had drawn appeared in empty space.
“There’s an easy way. Why bother with something so tedious?”
Fifth Circle Teleport Door. A difficult spell she manifested without chant or magic circle. For any mage it would have been a once-in-a-lifetime marvel. To Lu, however, anxiety outweighed wonder.
“So, Lu. I’m off to do my official duties.”
“What?”
“Keep things running while I’m gone. And don’t forget to feed the cats!”
“Academy President, wait just a—!”
“I’m going~!”
The Academy President waved with brazen nonchalance and flung herself into the teleport door.
“If you’re taking a portal, you could at least finish the backlog first—aaaaaah!!”
Lu’s scream rang out to no avail as the portal closed.
Ten days before the Grand Council,
Ferda finished his preparations to travel to the central continent. He had to leave now if he was to reach Blancaros’s territory in the central region.
Custom is useless.
The higher one’s rank, the more one was expected to possess—including time. Leisure was considered a virtue of the nobility. To Ferda, who had already lived the future, it was laughable. Once magic automobiles became common, that leisurely culture had vanished. Nobles had instead begun demanding even faster means of travel.
“Lord Regent, may I enter?”
It was not Ruri, but Jed. He wore the red uniform of a member of Baldrova Castle, as the retainers of the Grand Duchy of Baldrova were required to do.
“Sir Arwen, sent by Count Consiler, has just arrived with his men.”
“I see.”
“We’ve finished preparing the carriages as well. Once you board… hmm?”
Jed swept a puzzled look over Ferda’s body.
“Is there a problem?”
“Not a problem, exactly. I was just wondering if you’re really going dressed like that…”
Ferda’s attire was plain to the extreme. Nobles were creatures who strove to shine by any means possible. Threads spun from gemstones that caught the light were standard; among them, gold thread was all but mandatory. Even when he had entered the royal palace, Ferda had worn red embroidered with gold. Now it was black with red accents, the sheen nothing more than a light starching. Compared with other nobles, it was far too understated.
“I have never been fond of gold.”
“Who in the world dislikes gold?”
Jed reacted as if the idea were absurd. He looked Ferda up and down and offered his own assessment.
“Without it you’ll look almost the same as me.”
“Good. That lowers the odds of an assassin with no sense of style targeting me.”
“I’m a bit too handsome to serve as a proper double, though.”
Jed flashed a smile thick with narcissism. Ferda paid it no mind and picked up an object from the table.
“Take this.”
Jed was about to step forward to receive it when something astonishing happened.
Sssssk—.
Shadow stretched from Ferda’s hand, seized the object, and delivered it across the distance. Though the shadow hand startled him, Jed tried not to show it.
“What is this?”
“The item I promised.”
At the word “promised,” Jed checked the contents.
“I, Ferda Valdrova, husband, proxy, and regent of Baldrova, acting as representative of the great Twelve Dragons and Lord of Fire and Strength, Baldrova, hereby appoint Jed Swallow as the King’s Sword and the people’s shield…”
He did not need to finish the tongue-twisting text to understand.
“A knighthood writ?”
Jed lifted his head, eyes round.
“…Is this real?”
“Would it be a forgery? Was that not the agreement under which you entered service?”
“Well, you said you’d help me set foot in high society, but I never expected an immediate knighthood.”
Becoming a knight was the first step onto the path of nobility. Without a hereditary knightly house or conspicuous military merit, it was nearly impossible.
“Is it all right for me to accept this just like that?”
“You need not worry. Your abilities were more than proven at the imperial vault.”
“No, that’s not what I mean…”
Jed waved both hands.
“These things usually come with a grand banquet, don’t they? Calling ladies, singing songs, drinking—skipping that important part feels a little…”
Ferda regarded Jed, who was miming the tilt of a cup, with a long, steady look.
Should I just take it back?
“Focus on your duties, Sir Jed.”
“Tch. Understood, Lord Regent.”
My party…
Muttering under his breath, Jed left.
“I should prepare quickly as well.”
Ordinarily he would have required Ruri’s attendance, but that was no longer necessary.
Sssssk—.
Black mist spilled from Ferda’s sleeves and chest. The mist shaped itself into eight hands and began to attend him—fastening buttons, straightening his collar, refining every detail to near perfection.
As expected, reaching the Fourth Circle was worth it.
They were still unrefined, so he used them only for simple service, but these hands were extensions of Ferda’s own arms. Once he grew accustomed to them, he would be able to cast magic circles and strike at an opponent’s openings. Talent still remained in him; all that was left was practice and experience.
“Shall we go?”
The sound of Ferda’s boots echoed down the corridor. By the time he reached the inner castle gate alone, a large number of soldiers had already assembled below.
“Present arms!”
Arwen’s voice rang out like a bell. The soldiers moved as one and dropped to one knee. A single motion was enough to reveal how mercilessly they had been drilled.
“Arwen Wolfhart, leading a unit of thirty under my command, reports for escort duty as ordered!”
“As ordered!”
The knights’ answering shout. Ferda swept his gaze over each of them in turn, then nodded.
“Well done.”
“Yes, sir! To your positions!”
Arwen mounted his horse while the soldiers formed a protective formation. Jed rode beside Arwen. Though he had been a knight for less than a day, the notorious playboy who had made more than a few women cry already looked the part.
Ferda turned his eyes toward the waiting carriages. A red coach stood ready, and with it the maid Ruri. As always, her expression was businesslike as she held the door.
“Please board.”
“Very well.”
Just as Ferda left the castle and was about to climb into the carriage, he felt a gaze. He turned his head slightly and looked up at the fortress.
A balcony from which one could look down upon the gate from the inner castle. No one stood there. Of course not.
What was I expecting?
“Lord Ferda?”
“We’re leaving.”
Ferda took his seat, and the carriage began to move. The long ten-day journey passed in the blink of an eye.