The Fuse
Ferda checked the bag he had brought back from the demon research facility.
Inside were research journals and a few ampules—exactly the state in which he had handed them to Jed.
He really does get the job done cleanly.
Ferda could not help admiring how shrewd a move it had been to recruit Jed Swallow. The least he could offer in return was a generous bonus.
And Emilia’s whereabouts.
He would have to deliver that information before the man voiced any complaint. That was the only condition that could keep a phantom thief who could never truly be held. He needed to act before dissatisfaction set in.
For now, I’ll just keep it in mind…
Ferda carried the bag to the study. There, as always, a young girl waited for orders.
“Mori.”
Mori turned her head and looked up. With her hair styled in rich curls, she looked every bit the little noblewoman today as well.
“Can you decipher this for me?”
Ferda handed her the journal. Linne’s records had been written in cipher. With Mori’s Library of All Things, decrypting such things was usually trivial.
—Decryption is impossible.
Yet the answer that returned was a flat refusal.
“Impossible?”
—They are characters for which I possess no interpretive clues.
Characters absent even from the Library of All Things meant only one thing.
“Oral script, then.”
A writing system passed down solely by mouth, its meanings set differently by every individual. Only one race used such a script.
High Elves.
The most aristocratic of aristocrats, the only ones permitted into the deepest heart of the World Tree. Each constructed a private language of monstrous difficulty that no one else could unravel.
If Research Director Linne had once been a High Elf, it made sense.
So that Dark Elf used to be a High Elf?
It was an extraordinary thing. The most conservative, closed-off race—devoted solely to the World Tree—pledging loyalty to Godwin and falling into corruption. It was like a headless chicken taking a stroll, or a catfish climbing onto dry land to breathe.
“Do you have any records on the High Elves?”
—Several observational records exist.
“Anything related to their writing?”
—None.
Leaving it at that felt too incomplete.
“Is there any way you can try to interpret it?”
Mori nodded, then quietly stared into empty air.
Creak—creak.
Her body bent unnaturally, like a marionette. Her face flushed scarlet; she trembled as if she might explode at any moment.
“Cancel that.”
Hissss—
Like steam escaping a kettle, she returned to normal. Even if he wanted the script, he had no intention of breaking Mori to get it.
Looking exhausted, Mori let her head droop onto her shoulder and gazed up at Ferda.
“Are you managing your work all right?”
Mori nodded.
—Regarding matters within the castle and the Grand Duchy, there are currently no major problems. However, external issues exist.
“Such as?”
—First: Helus Fobidas.
The man whose nose Ferda had led around with the Punitive Force. In exchange for swearing loyalty, he continued borrowing Mori’s wisdom and thus maintained his life as a “sage.”
“What about him?”
—Helus Fobidas asks a great many inefficient questions. At times they are incoherent, and he frequently demands narration of purely fantastical scenarios.
Conversations that never reached an answer were always exhausting. Recalling the way Mori had just strained herself trying to force a decryption made clear how wasteful Helus’s habits were.
“So he’s interfering with your work. And?”
—He has shown signs of attempting to usurp Lady Baldrova’s authority on eight occasions.
That was less surprising than the inefficient questions. He had only agreed to be used because he never imagined Mori would report such things to Ferda.
“From now on, limit him to five questions. And if you judge that a line of inquiry will never reach a conclusion, you may refuse to answer. Will that improve efficiency?”
—Efficiency is projected to rise. However, one more factor remains.
“What is it?”
—Echidna Philiaz.
To claim ignorance would have been a lie. He had seen her eyes roll back more than once around Mori.
“If Echidna’s behavior is a problem I can place some restrictions, but I cannot control her completely.”
—The impact Echidna Philiaz has had is three times that of Helus Fobidas. She occasionally demands to be addressed by incomprehensible titles.
“What sort of titles?”
—From ‘big sister’ to ‘mom,’ ‘mother,’ even ‘Your Majesty the Empress Mother’—designations wholly unsuited to our relationship.
To Ferda it seemed a simple request.
“Then just grant the request.”
—If I accept, she next demands role-play. If I accept the role-play, she becomes immersed and begins treating it as reality. Her delusional disorder deepens.
Hence three times the burden.
Well, she is a witch.
Ferda understood Mori’s position yet still hesitated. Echidna was the only one capable of looking after Mori, and lately the witch had been especially unhinged because of Jed’s affairs.
“Put up with it for the time being. We need that witch. Aside from that, is there any other way to raise your efficiency?”
Mori thought. She lightly tapped the paper with her pen, then answered briefly.
—Please praise me.
“What?”
—When I succeed at something, please praise me. Corresponding praise according to task difficulty is required.
It was a truly unexpected demand. That the word “praise” would come from the pen of the Slave Sage who carried the Library of All Things in her head…
“Is that something you actually need?”
—Studies are continually published showing that praise raises work efficiency and is excellent for reducing stress.
“Those are for humans, aren’t they?”
—In the gladiatorial city of Colosenia, gladiators who received praise had a twenty-percent higher win rate.
“I don’t think you need it.”
—In the mining city of Opiles, miners who received praise were reported to show twelve-percent higher output.
She laid out facts one after another as if completely rejecting his words. It was strange. Mori was a Slave Sage without an ego—an ultimate rational being who felt no emotion. Why would she need such a thing?
Ferda decided not to argue further. Better to speak three syllables than waste time on a pointless debate.
“Thank you.”
That should do it.
Mori’s pen immediately scrawled more letters.
—According to research, when an adult male praises a child, stroking the head is said to be effective.
What a pain.
Even so, Ferda placed his hand on her head as instructed. The touch was smooth.
“Thank you.”
A casually tossed word of praise. Yet a peculiar light flickered in the eyes that looked up at him. Mori, who had been unable to hold her head up, returned to normal.
“That enough?”
Hearing the question, Mori nodded and turned away.
I wonder if it really worked.
Ferda set the journal aside and took out the box.
This is where the drugs came from.
Inside the box were eleven ampules: three Doppler reagents and eight ampules labeled with the names of various knight-class demons plus the word “(prototype).” All shared the common trait of being black, viscous liquid; without the labels they would have been indistinguishable.
Including the Bouncer reagent, that makes twelve.
Ferda recalled the one who had transformed into a Bouncer. Bouncers sacrificed intelligence for raw power. Its mind had indeed dulled, and its strength had indeed grown.
If the same situation arises again, they will become even stronger than that one.
They had won only because the drug was still a prototype. The finished product would mitigate side effects and amplify power.
That woman has almost certainly returned alive.
Before Research Director Linne could act, Ferda’s side needed to respond quickly. Ferda had samples; Linne had knowledge. The starting line was favorable, but no one could say who would win in the end.
Whom should I assign to research this substance?
The difficulty began there. Ferda ran through his available talent.
Burnel? Clever, but a specialist in magic engineering. He needed to stay focused on that.
Then Echidna? She was renowned for runes; he did not want her hands on this kind of material.
President Bernard? He still did not even know what that man was doing and could not trust him yet.
So do I have to do it myself?
Ferda had experience with various research projects. His obsession had always been limited to mana cultivation methods and forms for growing stronger, but if he poured that same obsession into this research, it might turn out all right.
While he was deliberating, the sound came.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
An alarm bell he had never once heard inside the castle rang out. It was extraordinary—the warning bell that announced danger to the Red Dragon Baldrova’s very headquarters.
Moments later the door burst open and someone rushed in. It was Ruri, urgency written all over her face.
“Lord Ferda.”
“What is it?”
“They are coming.”
Ruri spoke again.
“The descendants of Silverwind are heading this way.”
So it has come.
Ferda walked out onto the balcony. Dots appeared in the sky. Soon even his unaided eyes could make out clear features.
At the head of the formation flew a pair of overwhelmingly large wings.
“That would be their leader.”
“Yes. Lord Goz.”
That the chief himself had come meant the matter was grave. Whatever the case, they needed to prepare.
“What should we do?”
Fear colored Ruri’s voice. She usually hid it well, but in this moment her agitation was plain.
“We wait for now.”
“Even though enemies are approaching?”
“Whether they are enemies or not, we will soon know.”
Ferda fixed his gaze on the dots drawing nearer. The fist he clenched without thinking was slick with sweat.
Sitri.
Had that dog of a demon stabbed him in the back? She could have subtly distorted information to make him appear at fault. Yet he did not jump to conclusions. Even demons valued their own lives. The ones who had crossed into this world might behave as if their guts were hanging outside their bodies, but demons were more cowardly than humans.
A short while later the result of Ferda’s judgment became clear. Every last descendant of Silverwind landed in front of the outer gate and formed ranks.
“That’s good news.”
“Them standing at the outer gate is good news?”
“If they had come to fight they would have charged the balcony. If they had come to pick a fight they would have gone to the inner gate.”
Ferda looked down from the balcony and met Goz’s eyes. A strange exchange of gazes passed between them.
“Ruri, prepare to receive our guests… hm?”
As he turned his head, Ferda’s words cut off. Ruri was staring down toward the Silverwind side. If she had merely been looking, he would not have reacted this way.
“Ruri?”
“Yes, my lord?”
“Why are you clutching my clothes?”
“What do you—?”
Ruri’s voice broke off. Just as Ferda had said, she was gripping his clothing. Surprise crossed her own face. She snatched her hand back and tried to smooth it over as if nothing had happened.
“…There was dust on it.”
“Is that so?”
There could not have been dust on Ferda’s clothes. And even if there had been, she would never have brushed it off herself.
“I will go prepare to receive the guests.”
With that, Ruri withdrew. Ferda likewise descended to greet Silverwind.
The alarm had sounded. Non-combat personnel inside the castle hid in their rooms; combat personnel took their positions. And the combat personnel of Baldrova Castle numbered exactly two: Jed and Malcolm.
As knights, they were stationed before the outer gate.
Fuck, what kind of shitshow is this?
Jed swore inwardly and swept his eyes over them once more. They were textbook silver-dragon spawn—silver hair, silver eyes, ferocious faces, sharply rising horns. Even in armor the muscles of their bodies looked ready to tear free. Facing even one would have been nerve-wracking; instead they had arrived in a pack.
The ring that suppressed a dragon’s terror could not overcome the sheer pressure of numbers or those savage faces.
Especially that one.
The man standing in front with the soldiers behind him. The silver cloak alone marked him as the leader. It would not have been strange to say he alone accounted for eighty percent of the tension in the air. That vicious an aura poured off him.
“Your master…”
He opened his mouth.
“When does he appear?”
What emerged was the chilling death of a soul earned by sweeping away thousands of frost giants. Jed nearly buckled under the deep voice, yet he forced a calm expression and answered.
“Would you wait just a little longer? He said he would come down shortly, so he will arrive.”
“A little, is it…”
A face that found the answer unsatisfactory. Knowing the hatred was not directed at them made it no easier. But the greatest difficulty for Jed was another variable entirely.
“Hic… hhk…”
Malcolm, standing beside him in the name of knighthood, was sniffling.
“Almighty God of Light Alte, please spare us.”
Not content with crying, he was praying to a god. Jed tilted his head slightly toward him.
“Just go.”
“Hic… As a knight of this Grand Duchy, I cannot take a single step—”
“No, you’re in the way, so go. I can handle this alone.”
Even at Jed’s suggestion Malcolm did not leave. Whatever glory his knightly code held, he forced his trembling legs straight and held his ground.
Fuck my life.
Just when things seemed quiet for a moment, something always came along to smack him hard in the back of the head. Should he just quit the whole knighthood business?
While he was thinking that, the sound of salvation approached from behind them.
“I kept you waiting.”
Ferda had arrived. He stepped between Jed and Malcolm and looked straight at Goz.
“You make your guests wait?”
The rebuke Goz threw.
“Ordinarily a guest sends a letter before arriving. Those who do not are called uninvited guests.”
A taut war of nerves. Malcolm and Jed, who had thought the ordeal was ending, realized it was only beginning.
“On that point I concede. I apologize for failing to give prior notice.”
He accepted the point easily. Ferda thought: This isn’t like him.
“But to the same degree that I apologize, you must also make things clear.”
As expected. If he was yielding ground, it was only so he could take three more steps forward.
“Regent Ferda, I have come here because suspicions have been raised that you borrowed a demon’s magic to murder Abel Silverwind and conceal the evidence.”
At the words “suspicions have been raised,” a name rose reflexively.
Sitri?
Animal instinct cried the name again. The most likely candidate was still Sitri. Making a clean job of anything was never a demon’s style. Ferda continued turning over what kind of mess she might be trying to feed him.
Yet to his surprise he learned that Sitri had no intention of screwing him over. The reason became clear almost at once.
“Hello, Regent Ferda?”
A bright, lively voice amid men who looked sweaty just to look at. A small woman wearing a wide-brimmed wizard’s hat appeared, the badge of the Serdes Human Magic Society prominently fixed to the cone.
Only one person was allowed to wear a hat like that.
President of the Serdes Human Magic Society, Erdes Roton.
“We’re old acquaintances, aren’t we?”
This entire board had been arranged by that woman.