The Sleep Resistance Contest
KRRROOOOAAAR!!!
A monster’s roar split the air.
“Kyaaaaaaah!”
“Uwaaaaaagh!!”
Shrieks tore through the hall, chairs toppling in a chain reaction of panic. The sudden appearance of the beast turned the lecture hall into pure pandemonium in the blink of an eye.
Riding the chaos, a wolf-like monster forced its way out through the rift.
That was when it happened.
“Lightning Spear.”
The instant Ferda finished speaking, the magic he had chanted streaked toward the creature bursting from the crack. A single lance of light swallowed the swaying chandelier’s glow and punched straight through the wolf’s skull.
Thwip!
It pierced in a clean line from brain to heart. Green blood sprayed from the monster’s jaws—instant death, no question.
Ferda regarded the corpse and thought, One down, for now.
Tilda had been so thoroughly overwhelmed by the atmosphere that she broke off her greeting mid-sentence and stepped aside. After that, Ferda never once glanced her way. Humiliated, she flushed scarlet and fled the spot.
Watching her leave, Stefan turned to Ferda.
“Did you happen to overhear something?”
“Overhear what?”
“She was mocking the exhibits, asking whether they would even make money…”
“Was she?”
His expression said he could not care less. Ferda clearly had no idea what the earlier exchange had been about.
“Then why were you so hostile?”
Stefan genuinely wanted to know. Unless someone had eavesdropped on that crass conversation, no one ever treated Tilda with open enmity on first meeting. She was a beauty who took after their mother, after all.
“I had no intention of speaking ill of her at first. But once I saw her, that changed.”
“Saw what?”
“Those eyes. They rubbed me the wrong way.”
“Her eyes? What about them…?”
“Your sister is the type who cannot rest until she has everyone under her thumb, is she not?”
Stefan’s eyes went round.
“H-how did you know that?”
“She was wearing exactly those eyes.”
Ferda had hated countless people in his life. To hate properly, one had to classify human types, and a few distinctive traits remained etched in his mind with perfect clarity. Tilda Pascal belonged to the category he despised most—those without ability who still harbored greed far beyond their station, the ones who treated people like toys to roll around in their palms.
Amazed that Ferda had read her true nature at a single glance, Stefan decided to change the subject. With the exhibition preparations in full swing, there was no time for idle chatter.
“Have you met Marquis?”
“I have.”
“And the Magic Stones… where have you placed them?”
“Could we not exhibit them tomorrow? Everyone seems busy enough today that I would rather not disturb them.”
“Well, understood. Then we will make it look as though we are deliberately holding the main attraction in reserve.”
We really ought to put the Magic Stones on display if we want to draw eyes, Stefan muttered under his breath. Still, the exhibition itself was secondary. The main lecture was what mattered. And what they would present there was the Magic Stone—and the Magic Engineering Rifle hanging yonder.
Ferda and Stefan both looked up at the Magic Engineering Rifle.
“Lord Regent, have you ever seen one of those demonstrated?”
“Something similar, yes.”
“What do you mean?”
“Back then it did not look like that.”
The rifle that fired mana rounds had been far larger and more complex. The cluttered contraption hanging there almost felt simplified by comparison—so many dangling parts it had once possessed.
“How does it look to your eyes?”
“To mine, my lord?”
“Yours, or any other merchant’s.”
“Well… hmm…”
Stefan scratched his head. Tilda had looked at the thing and wondered whether it would make money. The other merchants’ reactions had been much the same. Stefan’s included. It was never easy to speak ill of something from a place one sponsored.
“If the exterior were cleaned up a bit, the evaluation might rise again, no?”
“So it looks shabby.”
“Yes.”
“I suppose it would.”
Ferda thought the same. Looking at the current model, it resembled a work of art more than a functioning mechanical device. Yet to him, this Magic Engineering Rifle was the most important piece of the moment.
“If this item can draw northern and southern merchants alike, that would be ideal…”
“I will do everything in my power for the north.”
Stefan made no mention of the south. With his eldest brother Merchit still holding the line there, he had no desire to make promises. Better not to grow too greedy with the first spoonful, he told himself—yet something wholly unexpected was about to erupt.
Scholars who spent their entire lives clutching books were intellectuals. People mocked them as frogs in a well, yet there always came moments when such intellectuals were indispensable—especially for groups that dealt in information. Filtering and processing intelligence was paramount.
The Black Bandana never overlooked that truth.
Black Bandana. The secret organization that wore a black kerchief as its symbol, spread across the entire Serdes Continent, collecting and selling information. To process that information efficiently they needed the intellectuals of Escoleia. That was why Garnet, a member of the Black Bandana, had come here.
“Hmm.”
She had adorned herself like any common southern noblewoman, jewelry dangling, her dress cut daringly small. Ash-gray hair against dark skin—the perfect racial features and look for posing as a desert folk from the far south. Only one problem remained.
“Have you come alone, my lady?”
Men swarmed like flies around her sensual attire.
“Huh?”
“Nothing, only that I would be honored to escort the lady— cough…!”
The moment their eyes met, the man choked on his words, went pale, and backed away.
“I-I beg your pardon. I shall simply pass by.”
“……Huh?”
Garnet watched him flee with one eyebrow raised. She had no idea why the man had approached her in the first place.
A man dressed in northern fashion stepped up next.
“Come on, boss. Smile a little. Are you here to kill someone? We’re not an assassin troupe.”
This familiar fellow was also Black Bandana, here in Halim hunting for information processors. In other words, on the job. Garnet glanced from his face to the cup in his hand.
“Are you drinking on duty?”
“Essential for undercover work. If you want to persuade rather than threaten, you have to loosen them up. And for northern warriors, liquor is mandatory, right?”
“For sweet-talking some scrawny bookworm, a knife would suit better than that cup. Looking to recruit another slippery bastard who steals the data and skims the side money?”
“Ah, I was out of my mind back then. I handled it myself afterward, didn’t I?”
“That’s what the booze does. One more sip and I will shove my hand down your throat, yank out your stomach, and wring every last drop.”
Garnet’s smile was pure murder. She was the type who meant exactly what she said.
“Yeesh, so scary. Smile! A woman is prettiest when she smiles—not when she looks ready to murder someone.”
“Shut up and do your job. I’ll handle myself.”
The northern man only chuckled, raised his cup in salute, and vanished again. Garnet sighed and hid her mouth behind a folding fan.
This is exactly why I said I hated the noblewoman concept.
She was beautiful enough to carry the luxurious clothes, but that was all. Her life had been spent closer to blood-soaked battlefields than flower gardens. Her gaze stayed sharp; her mannerisms inevitably carried a masculine edge. She never wanted to wear these cumbersome, jingling garments that exposed skin with every movement again.
Yet she had endured the discomfort and come to Halim for one person alone. Garnet decided not to delay any longer. The lecture would begin soon.
It was being held in the opera house—ideal for its acoustics and capacity. She stepped inside. Pretending to search for her seat, her eyes swept the hall at high speed.
There.
Orchestra seats, closest to the stage. The first two rows had been completely cleared and ringed by his aides in full security formation. Garnet whispered the name inwardly.
Ferda Valdrova.
Her first investigation had started with Helus Fobidas. Hired after word that the man’s young girl had been kidnapped, she had found Ferda Valdrova while searching for the child.
He only grew stranger the more I dug.
The report that Valdrova had acquired a fiancée was impactful enough, but once she began excavating in earnest the interest only accelerated. Information from the far east refreshed weekly, and every update showed astonishing progress.
And today he is here in Halim.
Garnet had wanted to see the man with her own eyes, and at last she could. Gray hair much like her own, a tall frame. The slim dress uniform hid it, yet she instantly saw that his body was untrained.
No striking features on the surface…
But the aura was different. Only the back of his head and neck were visible as he sat on the sofa, yet it carried the dignity only a man in his fifties could radiate—ease and composure unbound by youthful hot blood. No wonder quite a few women were said to be smitten with him.
I heard the president of Escoleia yielded the main lecture slot this time?
Main lectures at the exhibition underwent years of rigorous screening. Even the president himself competed with other scholars for that stage. Letting someone take it solo meant the president was staking his own position on absolute certainty.
His speaking power has grown oddly strong of late. He must have a connection with Regent Ferda after all.
Worth digging into thoroughly. She muttered the thought, pulled out a notebook, and began scribbling. As a member of the continent’s greatest intelligence network, she fulfilled her duty.
“Pardon me, madam?”
“Huh?”
The moment their eyes met, the staff member swallowed hard.
“Hah! I-if I have offended you in any way, I am terribly sorry!”
In truth Garnet had merely been lost in thought; her mood was fine. Even if it had not been, the staffer’s attitude would have been to blame.
“No, it’s all right. Could you show me to my seat?”
“Yes! Please allow me to guide you.”
The seat assigned to Garnet was one of the opera house’s box seats—dead center, with Ferda still in her line of sight. Acceptable.
I shall wait and see.
The moment had come to judge Regent Ferda’s insight with her own two eyes.
Meanwhile Ferda was receiving a flood of noble greetings. He had rented the entire expensive front section so no one should pass, yet many deliberately walked by just to pay their respects.
“I present myself before the consort of the Far East’s guardian. I am the master of the Jade-Stone Trading Company…”
“I present myself before the great Regent of the Far East! As for myself, I am currently engaged in mercenary work…”
Not only scholars but knights, nobles, and merchants alike tried to insert their names and catch his eye. For the rare great personage who possessed both status and wealth, that was the best way to be noticed.
Ordinary nobles simply sealed the path to prevent such situations. One or two could be smiled past, but when dozens lined up it became a nuisance. Ferda, however, let them come. He hoped, just maybe, to spot a familiar face. Yet to his surprise only unknowns and nobodies appeared. A waste of time, but not entirely bad—there was nothing else to do until the lecture began.
Still, quite a crowd.
Stefan, who had arrived earlier, had said the opening lecture had not even filled half the opera house. Today was the opposite: packed solid, with fistfights nearly breaking out over tickets. The most promising and innovative papers were being distilled and presented here, so nobles and merchants alike were on edge.
Yet the fiercest competition at this lecture was not among the merchants or nobles, but among the presenting scholars themselves.
“Greetings! I am a scholar of…”
—Zzzzz…
—Hooooonk…
Nobles and merchants dropped like flies the moment they heard a voice, never mind the content. Even Ferda, seated in the VIP section, was resisting the siren call of sleep with difficulty. He began to suspect this was not a lecture but a sleep-magic resistance contest.
“Malcolm.”
“Yes, sir!”
While everyone else drooped, Malcolm remained bright-eyed. Knowing nothing meant no need to understand, and thus no need to doze.
“When is Burnel’s turn?”
“I shall check! Hmm… immediately after Bernard Wayne’s lecture on the Monster Appearance Prediction Device!”
“I see. I can hear you fine—lower your voice. The presenter is looking this way.”
“Pardon? Oh!!”
Introducing life’s work made one sensitive; Malcolm clamped his mouth shut, realizing his mistake. Ferda half-dozed through the presenters’ words until a voice snapped him awake.
“The item I shall present today is the Monster Appearance Prediction Device.”
The voice of the president of Escoleia. His turn had come. Those who had been nodding off suddenly lit up again, sharing Ferda’s thought.
“To explain the operating principle simply: when a monster appears, anomalous mana is momentarily detected in the surrounding air. We mapped those mana patterns into an algorithm, derived a formula, secured the corresponding runes, and…”
Yet even that light faded under an explanation so crushingly dull it put them right back to sleep.
By the time Burnel appears, eighty percent will be out cold.
Even Ferda, Burnel’s sponsor, had no confidence he could endure this sleep magic disguised as a lecture. Sorry, Burnel. No—actually he was not sorry. If you do not like it, do better next time.
“Haha, I see many of you are growing bored. My apologies. Opportunities to stand on a stage like this are rare for me as well. Let me move on to a simple demonstration.”
At least the president had enough sense to switch to a live demo. The device he brought was shaped like a metal pillar.
“Fundamentally this prediction device has been engineered so that even Mana Walkers, not only Magic Walkers, can operate it. Simply inject mana like so and activate the formula…”
Wooooom—.
“And the device powers on. Haha, the explanation should be easier and more entertaining from here. Now, you see this screen? I designed it so that anyone who can read a basic map can use it. Should a monster appear, it emits a distinctive sound—beep… beep…”
Beep— beep—.
“Ah? Yes, just like that. Of course no actual monster is appearing. There is a peculiar quirk when first starting the device.”
Beep— beep—.
“Huh? One moment. I built this exactly to the blueprints and completed every test. Why is it…?”
Beep—. Beep—.
“Wh-what?”
Bernard fumbled with the device in growing panic, tapping and prodding in search of the fault. Ferda’s instincts spoke at once.
That was no malfunction.
“Everyone, prepare yourselves.”
“Pardon?”
“They are coming.”
The central point marked on the screen began to flash. Every candle illuminating the lecture hall trembled in unison.
“Oh my, what is that?”
“An earthquake?”
Most failed to grasp the severity. Those with combat experience, however, immediately reached for their weapons. Space around the Monster Appearance Prediction Device cracked open. Through the rift of swirling colors something forced its way out.
It was a wolf’s head.
No—a monster with a wolf’s head.