Chapter 505 – The Stage of Persuasion (1)
On an autumn day, with a refreshing breeze and warm sunlight pouring down, the weather was bright and clear.
"..."
Cayman Vermont, the very first member of the Black Hour, paused near a cliff on his way toward his destination, gazing upon the scenery of the Central Continent.
It was truly a magnificent view.
For a brief moment, peace found its way into his restless heart.
At that moment, the long shadow stretching behind Cayman stirred. A slow, heavy voice resounded.
[Your mind… is tangled…]
It was Farnium, the Archdemon with whom Cayman had made his contract, and the one who created the passage leading to the Great Hall of the Black Hour.
His fragment, reading Cayman's very thoughts, whispered.
[If you were going to… hesitate so much… then you should have… gone to your old comrades…]
"I am moving now to fulfill the task entrusted to me by your true body. Do I really have the time for that?"
[If you wish… it concerns… that one… as well…]
The "that one" Farnium spoke of—Cayman knew who it was.
How could he not.
There had been no other recent visitors who had passed through Libereas.
Cayman exhaled deeply.
"…How could a man who made a pact with a demon return to them proudly? If I am discovered by the Church of Luas, I'll only bring them trouble. Above all, I am not a Mage."
[What those close to you… truly desire… is not a Mage… but Cayman Vermont… as a person… You know this…]
Cayman tried to deny it outwardly, yet deep down he believed that even one as tainted as himself would still be accepted by Melard and the others.
The thought was so shameless that a bitter laugh escaped him.
Still, he did not turn away from his own desire.
After all, he could not conceal anything from Farnium, with whom he was bound by contract. He spoke his true feelings openly.
"I wish for that. No, to be honest, I believe it will be so. If it's Melard, if it's the comrades who shared those dear days with me, they would accept even one who made a pact with a demon."
But.
"At the very least, I cannot return now."
That was the truth.
Not yet.
Only when Cayman Vermont could be sure he would not become a burden to them—that would be the time to turn his steps back.
It was a shameful, selfish resolve, yet still a form of determination.
"More than that, Farnium, there is something I am curious about."
[What is it…?]
"That one, no, Shinseong—what kind of existence are they to you demons? Why are they so favorable toward us…? I do not understand."
Originally, after creating the passage to the Great Hall, Cayman should have lost the sovereignty of his soul. Such was the price of borrowing a demon's power.
'And yet, because of Shinseong's intervention, I did not lose control of my soul, and what's more, even in the gathering of demon and Shinseong, I was granted the choice to refuse payment of the price.'
In truth, Cayman owed his very life to Shinseong. But the greater weight on his heart was the question.
He had never heard of a demon offering goodwill first.
To this, Farnium answered.
[Because only that one… is unique…]
"Unique…?"
[To say more… would break a taboo.]
Farnium enforced silence.
Cayman could not even begin to guess what such a taboo might mean.
But one thing was clear—some law, so absolute that even an Archdemon like Farnium feared it, existed in this world.
'Perhaps, if I continue forward, I'll come to learn it.'
Cayman frowned, lifting his gaze toward the blazing sun above, drawing strength into himself.
Rest was over.
Without hesitation, he kicked off the ground, dropping from the cliff to land in a new region.
This was to gather information on the demon's curse that manifests upon the face of humans, as Shinseong had once requested.
He had to seek traces of Ipea Karn, the parasitic Archdemon who had not revealed himself upon the continent for over six hundred years.
***
In truth, emotions are like rusted metal, growing ever duller as time passes.
It is a kind of instinct.
To abandon food and collapse in grief over the death of a loved one—such acts only destroy oneself.
And so, those who have hearts instinctively fade their memories, killing unbearable emotions little by little, in order to survive.
In the end, the sorrow becomes nothing more than a fleeting nightmare of one night.
Yet.
Even so, at the slightest spark, those same emotions can surge again.
If one can kill feelings to survive, then one can revive them to survive as well.
For in essence, emotions are the fuel and the driving force of life. The heart is immeasurable.
So then, if one were to hear news that a dearly beloved person thought dead was actually alive—what would the heart do.
And if one were to see that person smiling, frail and thin, confined to a wheelchair because of their injuries—
The once-dimmed feelings would blaze anew.
All were the same.
At the grand city's academy, the alchemy professor, Alderneys.
In the shadows of the magic city, the mercenary, Grave Rudworth.
And four others, who like those two—former senior officers of the Black Hour—were among the first to hear that Melard had survived. They, too, could not contain their grief and emotion, just as the eleven who had already reunited with Melard could not.
Alderneys asked Melard.
"Your legs, is there truly no way to treat them?"
"The flame of Dahit is merciless."
That day, the flames of annihilation had permanently damaged Melard's spine, burning away the mana circuits of her lower body completely.
Even if the Archbishop of the Church of Luas were to work a miracle, such wounds could not be healed. That was annihilation.
Perhaps the Pope, or the Saintess, could—but they had never, in all history, used their miracles for personal petitions. There was no path open.
"Still, it is not so bad. I have grown quite accustomed to this life. More than that, what of the scar on your face?"
"Ah, you mean this."
Alderneys had shed his guise as a professor, and so the horrific burn that covered over half his face was laid bare.
It was a wound inflicted long ago by the flames of Carindin Lerhar, one of the very first to betray the Black Hour, back when Adrian and Isabella had faced him in the Great Hall.
It was sustained in the midst of fleeing from the pursuit of the Black Hour.
"..."
Melard bit her lip.
Guilt swelled within her.
For Dahit had been her fellow disciple, and Carindin her friend.
But Alderneys lightly tapped his own scarred face and shrugged.
"As you can see, it is nothing. Ugly on the outside, but sound within."
"Alderneys…"
"It is not your fault. Please, do not wear such an expression."
Alderneys offered a sincere smile to soothe Melard, then turned his head to the side. There were still others to greet.
To the eleven who had arrived here at the Rages Plateau together.
"I am glad you live."
"It is we who should say that, Sir Alderneys."
The old Black Hour magi bowed slightly to the senior officer.
Beside Alderneys, Grave shook his shoulders and grinned.
"Ha, you all have sprouted new wrinkles. And you, Opea, you've aged as well."
"Of course. How many years has it been, Uncle Grave? Or should I call you Grandpa Grave now?"
At the front of the eleven stood Opea Rogentena, who joked with a smile.
Once the youngest member of the Black Hour, she was now middle-aged, her youthful face replaced by gentle features.
"But is this all of you?"
"…Yes."
An old comrade behind Opea nodded heavily.
When thirty-four had defied Dahit Wethroel's rule and broken through the Black Hour's encirclement, four had died.
Later, when they scattered to escape pursuit, five more had perished.
Through the long years after, another five deaths were confirmed, and three more remained unaccounted for—neither alive nor dead.
Here, "unknown" meant even their whereabouts could not be discovered.
Not even with the Society's full strength, nor with the information network of the Sage of Guardianship from the Ostea Magic Tower, had they been found in over ten years.
Unless, like Harkan, they were cloaked beneath a high-tier magic circle concealing their existence, by now they were surely buried in the soil.
Thus, only seventeen remained.
"Many have died in the meantime. Surely, it must have been painful…?"
Opea pursed her lips, her eyes filling with red. Tears fell. Being the youngest, and once the most lively, she had always been sensitive to emotion.
Even now it was the same.
Pain she thought long since overcome suddenly resurfaced.
The only reason Opea did not break was because of the comrades at her side.
"They will all be at peace now."
Grave laid his scarred, calloused hand on Opea's small shoulder, offering comfort.
Then, facing Melard respectfully once more, Grave spoke.
"What of the others?"
"Cayman and I survived."
"Which means…"
"Not long after we escaped the Great Hall, Linder drew his last breath beside me, and Harkan found his rest the year before last."
There had been eight founding members in total.
Two of them had joined Dahit Wethroel's betrayal.
Two more, including the leader, had been killed by Dahit before everyone's eyes.
Of the four survivors, half had later succumbed to aftereffects they could not endure.
Now, the only magi left who had built and led the Black Hour in its founding and golden age were two—excluding the traitors.
***
Grit.
Grave ground his teeth, then forced himself to release the tension.
"And yet… it seems Sir Cayman is not here with us. Could it be that he is unable to move?"
"No, he has urgent matters elsewhere. He will not be with us for a while. He is not in danger, so do not worry."
Melard assured them of Cayman's safety, dispelling their concern.
Watching the conversation, Verden thought.
'So Cayman has not spoken of it yet.'
By all rights, after opening the gateway to the Great Hall, Cayman should have had the sovereignty of his soul stripped away by the contracted demon.
Cayman, knowing Melard would try to intervene, had begged the demon to lie for him and kept silent on the matter.
But things had changed.
The demons of Libereas had shown Verden inexplicable goodwill, and since he did not reject them, he demanded that Cayman's contract be deferred.
And the demon—more precisely, the Archdemon Noxias—had accepted.
It could not be false.
Otherwise, there would have been no reason to approach with such goodwill. Verden remembered the tears shed by the demons.
'In truth, Cayman has gained his freedom. If he still has not told Melard, then… it must mean he has personal business left unresolved.'
Or perhaps he simply needed time to settle his thoughts.
───I am no longer a Mage.
Cayman was despairing over his contract with a demon.
Verden felt he would one day return to them, but not yet.
Meanwhile, the reunion of the Black Hour turned to its main subject.
Melard spoke.
"On your way here, you must have heard the general story."
"Yes, from Ethan, your disciple. He said you had founded a new mage organization."
Of course, she had not directly named the Society. That role belonged only to Melard Tastienne.
"It would have been better had you summoned us sooner."
"…I did not want to ruin the new lives you all barely managed to grasp."
The eleven Melard first contacted had already been broken inside, as though they would die if she did not reach for their hands.
But the other six were different.
Grave had thrived as a mercenary in the magic city, Alderneys had become a professor at an academy.
Among the other four, one had even married and started a family.
Melard did not have the heart to pull such comrades back.
"You should not have done that."
"I am sorry. I failed to consider it."
The six who had rushed to her side as soon as they received her letter—though older now, their eyes were the same as before.
Just like back when they had researched magic together.
Alderneys answered on behalf of the six.
"It is enough that you know now. This once, we shall forgive you. But why did you suddenly decide to summon us? Surely it was not a mere change of heart."
"Recent events have changed the situation."
"The situation…?"
"That is why, more than anyone, I felt I had to tell you."
Amidst their rising questions, Melard declared firmly.
"We intend to reclaim the Black Hour."
"…!!!"
The eleven already tied to the Society nodded, their resolve firm.
But the six were different.
They all stared at her in shock.
Someone's voice trembled.
"L-Lady Melard. That is…"
"In the past, we were utterly defeated by Dahit Wethroel, who became a Transcendent. But this time will be different. There will be no ambush as before, and unlike then, there is now someone to be the center in place of the leader slain by Dahit."
Melard turned the wheels of her chair.
As the crowd parted, Verden came into clear view behind her.
"I present to you the new successor of the Black Hour."
***
Though Verden did not hide his features, no one could immediately connect him with the figure known in the Eastern Continent as Shinseong.
Naturally, no rumor had ever tied him to the Black Hour.
Verden smiled inwardly.
'As expected, their reaction is fierce.'
When Melard declared a successor, the first emotion was not joy or gratitude.
It was sharp hostility.
The memories of Dahit, once the joint disciple of the founding members and named successor of the Black Hour, and of the horror he had wrought, struck deep into the minds of the survivors.
"Lady Melard."
Blood vessels bulged in Grave's eyes.
"You would entrust the fate of the Black Hour to an outsider? That is…!"
"I know what you are thinking. I too remember that day clearly. How the trust and faith we gave without reserve was betrayed… And yet, Cayman and I have acknowledged him."
Before any could object, Melard drew from her sleeve the [Hourglass of Perpetuity].
Eyes widened all at once.
It was the artifact they had all researched together, the very symbol of the Black Hour that should have remained in the Great Hall.
"He brought forth the [Hourglass of Perpetuity] from the deepest part of the Great Hall, even with Dahit in his way. He staked his life to do it. I could do nothing but watch."
"B-But…"
"And he is not an outsider."
Melard's voice lowered.
"He is the successor left behind by the Sage, Harkan Dazest, before he died."
At that moment, silence fell.
The name Harkan carried great weight in the Black Hour.
Though only a 5th-circle Magus, and ranked lower among the eight founders, that was no flaw.
Not one among the Black Hour had lived without Harkan's help or teaching.
He was idol and object of respect.
"Harkan's… successor."
When Alderneys repeated the name, the hostility began to fade. The way they looked at Verden changed completely.
Still, it was not so easily resolved.
Clench.
Grave balled his fist, stepped aside, and after a moment pulled out a thick cigarette from his coat. Lighting it, he smoked deeply.
It was the habit he had gained during mercenary life, a way to clear his head.
After a time, Grave spoke.
"When I was lost, I swore to die for the founding member who guided me… for the Black Hour. That vow remains unchanged. But even so, I cannot trust a stranger on Melard's word alone."
"I understand."
"Therefore───"
Grave turned, his sharp gaze fixed on Verden.
"You must prove it to us. Show us whether you are truly worth giving our lives for."
The survivors of the Black Hour demanded proof.
It was only natural.
To regain the hearts of magi once betrayed and stripped of everything would not be easy.
Verden had already anticipated this.
And he knew, too, who would answer, and how.
"Ridiculous."
Before them all, Adrian stepped forward.
Ssshh.
He bent his fingers, crushing the lit tip of Grave's cigarette. Smoke curled between them as Adrian lowered his gaze.
"It is you who must prove yourselves."
Twitch.
The eyebrow of Grave, former senior officer of the Black Hour, twitched.
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