If You Wish
Two hours later, Ferda greeted the guest who had been expected.
“Bernard Wayne, President of Escoleia, is honored to meet the consort of the Lord of Great Power.”
“I greet the treasury of humanity and the chancellor of knowledge.”
“I am sincerely grateful to set foot inside Baldrova Castle.”
Bernard Wayne, President of Escoleia, removed his hat and bowed his head.
The flesh-colored plateau nestled between two thickets of hair still gleamed smooth and polished.
“You have come a long way, President. Looking out the window, I saw you brought an escort.”
“Two mages, two knights, and twenty soldiers. Haha! At last I feel a little like a proper noble.”
After the failed operation to pin everything on the President of Escoleia, the academy had been turned upside down.
However much people might sneer that the president’s post was merely a scarecrow meant to shoulder every blame, he remained the face of Escoleia.
An assassination attempt could have shaken the very foundations of the institution.
Because of that, the President had been able to seize real power within Escoleia’s council.
“Heh-heh, living in so splendid a castle, you must receive many distinguished guests.”
“Far more thugs come to threaten me than distinguished guests.”
“I beg your pardon? That cannot be—this is the Lord of Power who could overturn the continent…”
“Just last week another group arrived to make threats.”
“Ah… yes.”
At a loss for words, he decided to change the subject.
“This is the blueprint for the demon-race appearance prediction device I promised you earlier.”
Ferda examined the paper Bernard handed over.
It was parchment whose form was sustained by magic, a material that would never burn, soak, or weather like an ordinary book.
Even though he was offering only a copy, the fact that he had used such precious paper meant he harbored no ulterior motives.
“Thank you.”
“Not at all. But… are you able to read this blueprint?”
Of course it was impossible.
Ferda had always been far removed from this kind of design work.
“The chief researcher at the castle will look it over.”
“The chief researcher—who might that be?”
“Bernel Marquis.”
“Bernel Marquis… that—that walking disaster? He is here?!”
Bernard’s eyes flew wide as he repeated the name over and over.
“I had heard he was famous, but it seems he truly is.”
“Famous indeed. There is no one at Escoleia who does not know the fellow. He was that highly anticipated—and that deeply disappointing.”
The one who had been disappointed was, without doubt, Bernard himself.
He heaved a long sigh and asked Ferda,
“What is he doing now? Did he finally abandon that absurd project and come here?”
“That absurd project succeeded.”
“Just as I thought… wait, what?”
Bernard’s eyes rounded.
“You mean he actually succeeded?”
Ferda had anticipated the man’s astonishment.
That was why, before Bernard’s arrival, he had brought one of the samples Bernel had produced and now showed it to him.
“This is a Magic Stone. It is refined from the corpses of monsters.”
“Good heavens… so that boy has finally turned heaven and earth upside down…”
Among scholars, that was how they spoke of a revolutionary discovery.
A storm of emotions crossed Bernard’s face—wonder and admiration, jealousy and regret.
The man he had turned his back on had been right after all, and he clearly did not know how to accept it.
“What is the efficiency, if I may ask?”
He skipped any question about whether Bernel had calculated it; he already trusted that Bernel would have done so thoroughly.
“At present, ten percent.”
“Do you know what it was at the start?”
“He said 7.1 percent.”
“I see.”
Wonder filled his expression, yet a certain unease lingered as well.
Ferda was no scholar and could not read the man’s mind, so he made a suggestion.
“Would you care to meet Bernel Marquis?”
Bernard snapped out of his reverie and shook his head.
“No. There is no need for us to go so far as to speak face to face… Ah, that reminds me.”
Bernard clapped his hands once.
“Do you recall the Grand Council? I asked you then to take part in an exhibition.”
“I remember. You said there would be an exhibition in Halim.”
“In fifteen days every scholar and noble will gather there. It lasts three days. There will be presentation sessions for the opening, the main event, and the closing.”
What he said next was his proposal.
“I will use my influence to place Bernel in the main slot. Will you do us the honor of attending?”
“President Bernard… made that offer? He said he would put me on the main stage?”
Bernel’s eyes went round as saucers.
Ferda had seen Bernel make a fuss before, but never like this.
He was so startled that his hands had frozen mid-motion.
“It seems it was quite an extraordinary proposal.”
“Among the three days of the Escoleia Exhibition, the main stage is the most important. Even a renowned scholar finds that seat as hard to reach as a star in the sky.”
“Then it is good news for you.”
“Good… news, yes.”
His words and his complicated expression did not match.
In the end he set down his pen and leaned back against the table.
“I do not know. I do not want to go.”
Ferda sensed that emotion had overwhelmed Bernel.
“You would refuse the glorious stage every scholar longs to stand upon?”
“Glory or no glory—President Bernard has clearly dug a trap for me. Why would I walk into it?”
“A trap?”
“That man loathed me. When I recall the insults he heaped on me, I cannot accept this kindness.”
“What did he do?”
“He denounced my research plan.”
Bernel clenched his fists.
“When academy students reach their second year they take part in something called the Academic Conference. It is a place to speak of the future, even if the ideas sound a little wild. Because it is meant to draw out fresh ideas, being denounced there carries enormous weight. It is like having my trousers pulled down and my private parts displayed before the entire audience.”
Someone might have said, “Is that all?”—but Ferda did not think so.
It meant the future Bernel had envisioned had been utterly sincere.
To have that sincerity denied was agony.
Ferda had known only that Bernel had gone from top of his class to dead last, and that he had barely graduated before dabbling in Magic Engineering.
He had never realized the rift with Bernard ran this deep.
“If he insulted you, is that not all the more reason to attend?”
Bernel turned and asked,
“How does that follow?”
“You were not wrong. Simply stand tall.”
“Shoving it in his face would feel good, yes… but what if it is a scheme to trap me?”
“Then will you keep running forever?”
Bernel had no answer to Ferda’s counter-question.
He wanted to avoid it, yet deep down he knew that avoiding the matter was wrong.
“I do not know what may happen then, but you are no longer an academy student—you are my chief researcher. If Bernard tries anything outrageous against you,”
“…”
“he will have to settle it with me, not with you.”
At those words Bernel woke from his brooding and looked at Ferda.
Yes—he was no longer alone, was he?
He realized once more that he had a solid backer.
“Understood. I will face him as you say. May I ask what that is in your hand? It looks like a blueprint…”
“It is President Bernard’s child.”
“Child?”
“The blueprint for the demon-race appearance prediction device, he said. Can you look it over?”
“Ah, so that is it. A demon-race appearance prediction device… I will examine that as well.”
While Bernel was checking the blueprint, the door opened and someone entered.
It was Stefan.
Ferda had been about to speak to him—the timing was perfect—yet Stefan’s complexion was far from good.
He looked ready to spit out bad news at any moment.
“I—well…”
Stefan stammered.
A few days earlier, Stefan had been traveling by carriage.
He wore a tunic of the highest grade—one he almost never put on, the kind so fine he was almost afraid to wear it.
In contrast to the splendid attire, worry never left his face.
“Haa…”
“Are you all right, my lord? Your color is terrible. You will collapse at this rate.”
“I do feel a bit… haa.”
“Shall I loosen the knot for you?”
The servant seated opposite him undid the string of the high collar.
Stefan looked at the man and said,
“Tie it tighter. Make certain it does not come loose.”
He could not afford to look disheveled.
Better to choke to death on the knot.
The reason he was so tense was the enormous mansion that lay ahead.
It was the residence of Herman Pascal—founder of the Pascal Trading Company, great merchant, and Stefan’s own father.
It was Stefan’s hometown and, at the same time, a battlefield.
Stefan stepped down from the carriage and entered the mansion gate.
“Welcome, young master Stefan.”
Seeing a familiar face, Stefan smiled and embraced him.
“It has been too long, Grandfather Sebastian! How have you been?”
“This body is not what it once was. The time has come for me to retire.”
“Nonsense. You used to say you would bury your bones here. You must work until the body falls apart, must you not?”
He bantered, trying to hide the tremor.
The butler noticed and played along so that Stefan might calm himself.
They walked the long corridor, past employees and servants, until they reached an ornate door.
“Second son, young master Stefan, is entering.”
The door opened.
What met his eyes was a long table stretched like a red carpet down the center, and at its far end, seated as though on a throne, an elderly man.
Herman Pascal.
Head of the Pascal Merchant Guild, the man who had begun as a fruit seller and stretched his hand into every trade under the sun.
Once he had been a tyrant who could have seized the entire commercial rights of the empire.
That reputation sat oddly upon the frail, aged figure before them.
“You are late, little brother.”
The man seated to Herman’s right rebuked him.
With his solid build he looked more mercenary than merchant—eldest son Merchit Pascal.
“I apologize. Things have been so busy that I was finishing up…”
“What can one do? The company is more important than family, is it not? I like to see you working so faithfully as a dutiful retainer, elder brother.”
The woman who smiled sweetly with heavy makeup was their younger sister, Tilda Pascal.
At first hearing it sounded like support, yet the smile in her eyes said something closer to “That is all the likes of you can manage.”
This was why he hated this house.
He had returned to his own home, yet he felt like an outsider.
“Sit down at once.”
Crowded out by the nephews who had already taken their places, Stefan sat far down the table.
The entire family had gathered.
“Now then, let us eat.”
The butler rang a bell and the maids entered.
As befitting the continent’s wealthiest household, every dish reeked powerfully of spices that were nearly impossible to obtain.
It was a rare chance to taste things one could scarcely put in one’s mouth on ordinary days, yet Stefan could not taste a single bite.
“Lately…”
The moment Herman opened his mouth, every hand around the banquet table stilled.
“How have you all been faring?”
Merchit and Tilda set down fork and knife as though they had been waiting and dabbed their mouths.
The eldest, seated nearest, spoke first.
“Lately I have been extending our reach into the south. You know Colosenia? One of the greatest pleasure cities, famous for its splendid gladiatorial spectacles. I have signed a mercenary-supply contract with a gladiator training school there.”
“Will you deal only in meat?”
“Of course not. That land is so hot they say even the moon is like the sun, is it not? The spices there are so fiercely potent their quality rivals the empire’s finest goods.”
“Indeed. Such luxuries are worth more than gold.”
Herman nodded calmly.
Having barely met the standard, Merchit let out a quiet breath of relief.
Next Tilda Pascal spoke of her recent doings.
“I have been looking westward following my husband. They call it the land of wondrous magic, yet even they need things, do they not? The moment we open a trade route, the Pascal Trading Company will become a storm.”
“A rather fanciful tale.”
Herman fixed her with a hard stare.
Tilda, as though she had expected it, shot back,
“At first I thought the same. But if we secure a contract for a crystal-ore mine, the story changes, does it not? Mages go mad for the stuff.”
“Hrm…”
Herman withdrew his gaze.
Tilda, too, had been securing contracts with skilled hands; there was no particular problem.
Only one remained.
“Stefan.”
“Y-yes?”
“Why do you say nothing?”
“I apologize. I thought my affairs would not interest you…”
“Do not make me say it twice.”
He had tried to avoid it, yet there was no escaping this seat.
So Stefan spoke of his own recent situation.
“I… am currently trying to establish a foothold in the east.”
“The east?”
“My, expanding business into the east? I had heard you were targeting the north.”
Tilda acted as though this were the first she had heard of it.
She was preparing to pour oil on the fire.
“The north seems fine if we simply maintain the status quo. So this time I decided on a bold investment and opened up in the east.”
“Mmm, elder brother. From what I was taught, a bold investment and throwing money into the dirt are rather different things.”
Tilda was politely asking why he was doing something so idiotic.
“It does not look good to me either, little brother.”
Merchit sided with her.
“Is it not a business that already turns a profit just by selling liquor, smoked meat, and hides to the northerners? If you simply follow Father’s formula you can avoid losses and do well—why go out of your way to do something like that?”
Was the answer not obvious?
To survive in this household.
“I simply wish to pursue a venture that has potential.”
“Potential! Look at the east right now. Even as we speak the Land of Evil keeps eroding it and shrinking the territory, does it not? Are you planning to scoop up dirt there and make a contamination weapon?”
“A contamination weapon—what a fine idea. Less smelly than spreading manure and more effective. If you wish, I would like to invest in that, elder brother.”
They said a sister-in-law who tries to stop a beating is more hateful than the mother-in-law who delivers it; Merchit’s words grated less than Tilda’s.
“Enough.”
Herman, who had been silent, quelled the atmosphere.
With a thin hand he scratched his head, then spoke again.
“Stefan.”
“Yes, Father.”
“I know full well you are not doing something foolish. After all, of everyone here you have the best head—good enough to understand me best.”
This conversation would not end well.
Stefan felt it instinctively.
“But when you persuade others, what must you do?”
“Show them proof…”
“Is that proof in your hands?”
“I am not investing company funds. I put my personal fortune in first…”
“So you do not have it.”
“It is not that I do not have it. I simply do not wish to reveal it just yet—”
“That Magic Stone thing, I suppose.”
“!!”
When Stefan’s eyes flew wide, Herman rebuked him with a look of displeasure.
“Why so surprised? This company is still in my hands, you worthless boy. Your sister and brother have already caught on.”
Even if he had proceeded in secret, they would have noticed someday.
That his father Herman knew was one thing, but the fact that the other two already knew was a far greater shock.
It meant someone on Stefan’s side was leaking internal information.
Yet even more shocking was that, despite knowing the truth, matters were proceeding smoothly—as though they were simply watching Stefan dig his own grave.
Before the shock had faded, Herman posed a question.
“Tell me. On what grounds did you throw yourself into that venture?”
“I simply saw the future.”
“Instinct, then. Which means you are trusting that man—Regent Ferda—and acting on it.”
“Yes.”
Stefan answered at once.
“How certain are you?”
“If you wish…”
Stefan’s tongue moved of its own accord.
“I would hand over the entire company.”
Silence fell.
Stefan realized what he had said and hurriedly shut his mouth.
His head had gone blank and he had blurted out his true feelings.
I have done it now.
The water was already spilled.
Yet he did not regret it.
Because that was truly what he thought.
“So you have been bewitched not by a woman but by a man, and staked your entire fortune.”
The sigh mixed into Herman’s words pierced Stefan’s chest.
“A man has one hand and can grasp only one thing. Yet there are two things he must grasp. Greed invites disaster, so the time will come when you must choose.”
Quick-witted as he was, Stefan understood exactly what Herman meant.
Would he abandon the far east and choose the company,
or abandon the company and choose the far east?
“Think it over carefully.”
That was the final ultimatum of the man who had built everything with his bare hands—Herman Pascal.