Utterly Common
Stefan stared as though someone had cracked him across the back of the skull.
“…What?”
Ferda repeated the words without the slightest change in expression.
“I said you appear to be of no use.”
“W-what do you mean by that, my lord? To claim I’m useless after everything—”
“I spoke with Ahmed Hashim alone. He offered a partnership.”
At that, Stefan began to understand, at least a little.
“A partnership… You’ve secured something enormous, then…”
It was a proposal of an entirely different scale from the simple cooperative arrangement Stefan shared with Ferda. The largest city in the south—the place where money itself gathered—had offered him equal standing in a city that did not even exist yet. Unless the southern side had lost its mind, the terms heavily favored Ferda.
“Did you… accept the offer?”
Stefan forced his trembling voice into something steadier.
“If I accept that proposal, there will no longer be any need to maintain a relationship with you.”
What rose in Stefan’s chest was betrayal. Of course it was. He had poured aggressive investments into Ferda’s promises, completely taken in by them. Heat surged up; he pressed back hard.
“We have a contract, do we not? I hold exclusive rights to the products of magic engineering, and you signed it yourself. If this goes to court, Regent, you will be at a disadvantage.”
“True. Even if you win, all you will squeeze out of me is a pittance in damages. And even that pittance you’ll be lucky to collect, won’t you?”
“On what grounds do you say that?”
“Because you are failing to uphold the contract just as much as I would be.”
Stefan flinched as though struck.
“When did I ever betray you? Are you talking about what I just explained?”
He ran back through every clause he had laid out. No matter how he looked at it, there was nothing he had tried to pocket for himself. Or if there was, it was trivial. The sort of fair arrangement that always formed between merchant and lord—tilted, if anything, in the lord’s favor—and he had offered it that way.
“Do you remember what I said when I first brought you in?”
Ferda asked.
“I said that as long as you cooperated, I would cooperate in turn. And that I would make you master of the trading house.”
“Yes.”
Stefan recalled it and nodded.
“Yes. You promised as much. But that necessity has simply vanished. The Pascal company is no longer needed.”
“How much is the Pascal Trading Company worth?”
“It would not be an exaggeration to say half of every good that moves through imperial territory passes through its hands. Its influence is that great.”
“Yes. A company of that caliber. A company that exerts real power inside the Empire.”
Ferda’s voice grew colder still.
“And you said, with your own mouth, that you would abandon a company like that.”
“A company like that can be built again as many times as we need. In magic engineering we are the pioneers; so long as we do not grow lazy in research—”
“Stefan.”
Ferda cut him off.
“Yes, Regent.”
Ferda plucked three grapes from the fruit basket and set them on the table.
“How many grapes are here?”
“Three.”
“Three. One is me. One is young Burnel. And one is you.”
He pointed to the grape he had named as himself.
“I agreed to become your network of connections. Until now I have been working to build that network.”
“Yes.”
Next, the grape he had named Burnel.
“And Burnel serves as your storehouse of ideas, inventing fresh goods for you through research and development. The man who finished successfully today will work just as hard tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“And last—you.”
Ferda set a fingertip on Stefan’s grape and rolled it.
“Your role is to bring the money and supply the volume. In this system each of us has a part, and that part must be turned.”
“Yes…”
“And you are trying to throw away the greatest trading company on the continent. Do you understand what that means?”
Ferda’s finger pressed down on Stefan’s grape.
“It means you are nothing more than one of those utterly common merchants.”
The soft grape could not withstand the pressure; it burst.
“Abandoning even what you already possess and settling for compromise—that is not the kind of merchant this Grand Duchy needs.”
Stefan stared down at the crushed fruit. Ferda’s finger was stained red. The thought struck him that he himself might be crushed the same way, snuffed out like an insect.
“Then… what am I supposed to do?”
“I am not asking anything difficult. Fulfill the contract. Become the master of the Pascal Trading Company. That is your task.”
Stefan’s head swam. Again. The same crushing pressure he had felt in his father’s mansion—only now Ferda was the one delivering it.
“Must it… really come to blood?”
To become master of Pascal, Stefan would have to throw himself into the succession struggle. His elder brother Merchit, who ran the mercenary business. His younger sister Tilda, who was inflating the company’s bulk through political marriages with other great trading houses. And their father, Herman Pascal. To take the seat he would have to persuade or break every one of them. Stefan did not want that. Family fighting family. On a floor where they already pointed blades at one another until one of them died, did he too have to draw steel?
“Whether you fight or not is not for me to decide.”
Ferda answered with cold clarity.
“I only want you to prove that you are the talent the Grand Duchy of Baldrova requires.”
There had been a little commotion, yet the exhibition closed in triumph with no one dead. An auction followed in Halim, but nothing of real interest appeared. One sword looked decent enough; Ferda bought it as a gift to encourage Malcolm and handed it over.
The moment he took it he looked ready to start blubbering, so I nearly snatched it back.
Even after passing the imperial knight’s examination and earning the title, the young man still fell far short of what a knight ought to be.
Though that is also why I need him.
Deciding his fate could wait until his value as a sample began to fade. In any case, the business in Halim was finished for now. With the auction complete, the scholars began packing up the exhibition. Some left satisfied; others had taken a complete loss and sighed heavily. Burnel, amid all of it, neither rejoiced nor despaired. Inside the carriage he bent over the blueprints of the magic engineering rifle as though every minute and every second were too precious to waste. Having tested it in real combat, he seemed to have drawn fresh inspiration; he worked his mind as fiercely as he had during the exhibition preparations themselves.
Just as they were preparing to leave Halim, Ferda felt a flash of light reflected by the sun. Bernard Wayne, President of Escoleia, was approaching.
“Did the exhibition treat you well?”
“Yes. There was an incident, but overall I am satisfied.”
“That is good to hear. I am looking for young Burnel. Do you know where he is?”
Ferda glanced toward the carriage.
“If it is not an imposition, may I speak with him a moment?”
Ferda studied Bernard’s eyes. A faint guilt lingered there for having driven the man so hard.
Does he mean to apologize?
Burnel was already burning with passionate energy after being pushed into a state of rage. Pouring cold water on that now was the last thing Ferda wanted.
Still, he has a new driving force, does he not?
The successful presentation itself had become that force. Ferda decided that rage directed at President Bernard was no longer necessary, and he stepped aside. Bernard climbed into the carriage and called out.
“Young Burnel.”
Burnel glanced at him, then turned his head away again.
“There is no need to speak.”
“I have something I must say to you. I—”
“I already know what it is. I know exactly what intention lay behind the words you spoke that day.”
Bernard’s mouth closed.
“How did you know?”
“I am a scholar, am I not? I once sat in your lectures. Everyone knows President Bernard is strict with geniuses. So of course you treated me the same way.”
“….”
Burnel lifted his gaze to the ceiling of the carriage. He remembered the past, yet there was no pain in it now.
“Back then… I was truly furious. Disappointed. Betrayed. But not anymore. Because you were right.”
In Burnel’s voice and eyes lingered the same wonder he had felt long ago.
“Just as you said, I was a man of narrow vision. I fixated on the one percent and never saw the ten. Because you gave me this chance, I was able to widen my sight.”
“….”
“So… next time I will bring something so groundbreaking that even you will have no choice but to acknowledge it.”
Burnel smiled as he spoke.
“The light of truth—”
Hearing those words, President Bernard felt a quiet start of surprise. It was a phrase every student of the Escoleia Academy knew. Bernard smiled in turn and answered the refrain.
“—shall set you free.”
A subtle emotion still lingered between them, yet the deep chasm of hatred was gone. Bernard patted Burnel’s shoulder.
“Overturn heaven and earth with your ideals.”
“And at the end of that road I will pour you a cup of tea.”
Bernard never apologized. And Burnel never wanted the apology. They were men who pursued ideals and advanced toward truth. Having confirmed that they were bound by the single creed of truth, each simply walked his own path.
“We depart!”
Malcolm at the head of the column blew the horn, and the carriages began to move. It was time to return to the castle. The journey here had taken ten days. The return would take another ten. As that tedious stretch of time stretched out before him, Ferda’s heart swelled toward Baldrova.
My heart—what are you doing now?
He cast the question that would receive no answer, and the carriage rolled on and on without end.
A dragon’s daily life is bound tightly to its nest—its lair. Displaying one’s power and authority was a given, and each dragon raised structures that reflected its own nature. In that regard Baldrova was different from the rest. Her lair was a refuge and, at the same time, something close to an underground prison. Originally it had been a damp cave where cold winds blew. After she claimed it, the air became dry and warm.
Coiled there, Baldrova thought,
I am bored.
Even an immortal who had lived through long ages felt emptiness wrap around her body the moment she truly noticed the passage of each day. The only reason she had been able to endure so long in this dark place was because Ruri was with her.
And because there was nothing to think about.
The constant anxiety that her heat might seize her at any moment had left no room for boredom. Feeling this emptiness now was itself proof that she no longer needed to suffer from the heat. Whenever a twinge of pain appeared, Ferda stepped in to help her. And whenever he did, they always exchanged light conversation.
—Grand Duchess Baldrova. I present myself.
—Ah, w-welcome!
—Shall we begin?
—Y-yes!
No… that was not even conversation…
It had been entirely one-sided. Ferda spoke; Baldrova only nodded or shook her head. There was no other choice. Her daily work was going outside and killing monsters. If she made that the topic of conversation, what would happen?
—Today I went out and killed some monsters.
—Is that so?
—One of them wouldn’t die even when I tore it with my claws, so I set a big fire inside its guts.
—Ah…
—There were monster parasites hiding in there too. They burned up so nicely, wriggling away.
—Yes…
He would be thoroughly disgusted.
Baldrova could already picture Ferda’s expression—eyes that seemed to say, This is my fiancée?—and the thought tormented her.
I vowed I would change…
All she could manage were greetings of welcome and farewell and the occasional exclamation of surprise. She rebuked herself for it again and again. The suffering from her heat had lessened, yet another kind of suffering had simply taken its place.
Should I ask them to send Ferda…?
This time she might actually decide on a topic and hold a real conversation. Of course she had thought the same thing eight times already, and nothing had changed. The reason was simple.
Because there is nothing to talk about.
Just as no sprout can rise from soil that was never planted, if there is no subject to begin with, the absence of conversation is only natural. And today she realized, belatedly, that there was no need for it anyway.
Ferda said he was going to a place called Halim…
Whatever it was, she guessed it was not a good place. When Ruri had spoken the word “Halim,” her expression had soured and she had sighed. Baldrova roughly assumed it was some sort of battlefield.
And lately there has been even more work.
She knew he had formed an alliance with Iorga as well.
Iorga…
The name sat uncomfortably on her tongue. The Blue Dragon, Iorga. Iorga had always disliked Baldrova with particular intensity. No matter what Baldrova said, Iorga would scrunch her face, point out every flaw, and try to break her spirit. Baldrova knew there was no true malice in it. Even so, dealing with her had always been terribly difficult.
Iorga… must be doing well.
It had been so long since she last saw her that the face had grown hazy, yet she still remembered the shape of her. Clever, beautiful, a guardian dragon respected by many. A woman who would be envied rather than feared in any village she entered.
—A village…
The thought drifted on the current of her consciousness.
Come to think of it… it has been a very long time since I last saw a human village.
The destination of that wandering thought was curiosity. How many centuries had it been since she last looked upon a human settlement? What did they look like now? Similar to the last ones she had seen, or changed beyond recognition? That curiosity moved her body of its own accord. Her form shrank little by little until at last she became a single woman.
“I want to go see…”
She murmured, absently fingering her skirt. If she was going to leave, she had to take human shape. Baldrova did not want to meet anyone while wearing the form of a dragon.
A dragon’s body… would frighten people.
Yet she could not go out in human form either.
And human form… frightens me…
A dilemma with no solution on either side. Baldrova turned her head slightly. On the wall rested a suit of armor.
If I wear that armor, perhaps…
It would be all right, wouldn’t it? She had worn it when meeting Ferda, so she was used to it now. The eye level was a little higher as well; it might not feel so oppressive.
“But isn’t it still a little frightening…?”
It was large and heavily muscled in form—intimidating. Worse, the armor had been sculpted after Baldrova herself; the head was shaped exactly like her dragon self. The same threatening visage that made everyone tremble.
“Isn’t there a form that isn’t so threatening…?”
Baldrova let the words fall like a lament. At that moment, as though it had heard her mutter, the armor stirred.
“Oh?”
Ssssss—
The menacing dragon-head began to collapse and smooth away. It was not only the head. Every element that had been crafted to project a dragon’s majesty started to vanish. While she floundered, wondering what was going wrong, the armor finished transforming into an entirely new shape.
“Ah…!”
Baldrova let out a soft gasp of wonder. The final form was something her eyes found familiar.
“Ordinary.”
Neither ornate nor pristine—a half-plate armor with a modest amount of wear. The sort of armor any ordinary person would look at and think, just an ordinary knight.
“So ordinary…”
Her golden eyes sparkled. To her, ordinariness was a treasure more precious than gold or jewels. As if entranced, she stepped into the armor.
It was time to break free of the egg.