Chapter 512 – Stage of Dialogue (1)
The hut in the Nutiar Forest, shabby though it looked, held many layers of meaning. For some, it was a memory of youth, for others, a resting place, or even a kind of refuge.
A safe place to flee to, should any trouble arise.
Though the hut itself had been built with clumsy hammering by the eight original members, they had established around it a security system so solid that only they could pass through it.
They had even prepared a means to create large-scale, successive waves of magic power in times of emergency, sending out an implicit signal.
It was the prototype of the magical technique later refined as the Society's mark, which used magic waves to transmit specific signals.
"Seeing the hut left abandoned for so long, I wondered, but it seems you haven't forgotten. Since you've come here."
At Melard's calm tone, Carindin gave a low groan and stayed silent.
At last, he spoke.
"Melard, I never thought you would come here."
"It isn't as if I came to a place I shouldn't. This was something we all made together. Even if it's ended up nothing more than a ruin."
She caressed the plant that had pushed up tall through the rotted, split floorboards.
"But where is Maybel?"
"Here."
With a familiar voice, someone leaned both arms on the hut's window frame and thrust in a not-unfamiliar face.
Maybel Risonia Siller.
One of the eight original members, who in her youth had belonged to the DarkWarton Magic Tower, skilled in enchantment magic and curse-type black magic.
"You've aged a lot, Tastienne. More than I expected."
Maybel's eyes lowered.
"...From the aftereffects of that day, it seems your legs are completely ruined."
"Thanks to you."
"You still resent us?"
"You ask something obvious."
For a moment, veins bulged on Melard's hand resting on the handle of the wheelchair. If she had been holding a blade, she would have thrown it at once.
Tak.
Maybel lightly vaulted over the window frame and set foot inside the hut.
By means of a high-level curse that only those with very strong affinity for black magic could cast upon themselves, she preserved a youthful body, her face free of a single wrinkle.
Maybel stood crooked, one hand on her hip, shrugging her shoulders.
"To think, after all these years since the usurpation, you still hold onto your feelings. Guilt, anger, hatred—shouldn't they have faded away by now? You barely survived, you could've just lived your life quietly, so why come here?"
"Your cynicism hasn't changed. But even had I stayed still, I doubt you would have left me alone."
Melard sneered.
"Not after you went after Harkan to kill him."
"That was..."
Maybel averted her eyes.
"Someone set off the magic tower's power source to run wild, then framed us, pushing us into war with the Bohemirn Magic Tower. Among those capable of such a thing, Harkan was only one possibility. Of course you too, Tastienne."
So it wasn't Dahit who caused the Bohemirn Magic Tower's core to go berserk...?
Then who on earth had caused such a massive incident, dragging Black Hour into calamity? But since they too seemed ignorant of it, Melard did not bother to ask.
"That seems at odds with your rationality-over-emotion stance. Were you afraid? That one day we'd come seeking revenge, and that today would be that day?"
"Not afraid, just annoyed. You people know everything about Black Hour... and you did act."
Carindin felt a sharp phantom pain near his ribs.
The alien Transcendent force that had invaded the Great Hall.
His injuries had healed, but the scar was branded into memory.
At any rate, to the point.
"Why did you summon us?"
"As one of the original members, to raise an objection."
"Objection?"
"As you know, Dahit was meant to become Black Hour's leader at the succession ceremony, with all our agreement."
But.
"He rejected succession himself, and chose usurpation. Even if you recognized it, it did not at all conform to the rule we founders set after long deliberation—'unanimity'. Therefore───"
Melard declared.
"Dahit Wethroel cannot be the leader of Black Hour."
A declaration of disqualification.
The past demanding legitimacy from the present.
"...Decades have passed. Do you really think it makes sense now to question Dahit, a Transcendent who rules the continent, about his qualifications?"
"Perhaps, if it were only until recently. But now the [Hourglass of Perpetuity], which should be in the Great Hall, is in our hands. Moreover, there is already a successor to Black Hour, recognized by both myself and Cayman."
"Melard."
"Harkan's heir fulfills the condition as successor. It is enough to hold the succession ceremony that we could not in the past."
That mysterious Transcendent who seemed the heir to Black Hour—Dahit had himself already spoken of it.
Carindin clenched his teeth.
"So Cayman Vermont survived after all. Painful. If only we had secured your magic power beforehand, this wouldn't have happened."
At the time, Dahit had broken Harkan's mana circuits, taking a portion of his magic power, but not the rest.
Thus, unlike with Harkan, it had been impossible to track Cayman through last year's newly developed but incomplete [Compass of Black Hour].
Maybel raised her chin.
"And if we refuse your objection?"
"Did it sound like you had a choice? Unfortunately, this is not a proposal but a notification."
"We could still subdue you right now."
"If I had come alone, surely you could."
True enough.
Just as Carindin and Maybel had stationed Black Hour's officers at their rear, Melard too had prepared formidable forces in waiting.
Perhaps even that Transcendent was present... so Carindin and Maybel glared but dared not move rashly.
At length, Carindin asked.
"...If you insist on holding the succession ceremony, then first the two successors must officially meet and converse. Dahit too seems to have business with your heir. The date?"
"Five days from now."
"I will tell Dahit so."
Carindin turned his back.
Maybel tapped the floor with her toe a few times, then followed behind him.
Toward the backs of her hated old companions, Melard whispered.
"Why did you betray us?"
The footsteps stopped.
After a deep exhalation, the answer came, low and quiet.
"In our twenties, thirties, we were pure, idealistic. Even when Black Hour, born as a small gathering for magical research, grew into a power in the magical world by accepting talented mages from across the continent, we devoted ourselves only to study."
Carindin tilted his head slightly, casting his gaze back at Melard over his shoulder.
"Especially you six. Your hearts never changed with time. But... we only came to recognize reality."
"Even brothers born of the same womb fight and kill each other. It's the same."
Maybel muttered low.
"We started together, but as always, our thoughts diverged."
They had departed together, but their paths had split.
The dead never return, and it was too late to go back.
***
"Hm, hm, hmm."
Atop the Sanctuary of Illusion, towering in the great city of Gargant──Ignacia sat on the edge, swinging her legs one after another, humming a tune.
Not with the illusory form of a young girl, but in her true body, a mature beauty of enchanting allure.
"Dahit. Dahit Wethroel."
She repeated the name of the man, the greatest criminal of the present magical world, with a small laugh.
Not mockery.
Admiration.
Respect, offered as one who stood at the same height of Transcendence.
"They say Transcendents are lunatics chasing ideals, and I'd only ever seen them approach that state... but you, the first I've seen who's brought it near to reality."
Dahit Wethroel's exploration and judgment regarding the ancient mage encased in ice, and his subsequent resolve.
A plan conceived upon discoveries and hypotheses so imaginative that even Ignacia, with her own boundless imagination, had never considered them.
The essence of hierarchy.
The existence of mana circuits.
Suddenly, when Dahit appeared in Gargant and preached his views and objectives, Ignacia had not held back her applause.
And rightly so.
Enough that she would gladly lend him the immense power of a superlative spell.
Soon, the magical world will be overturned.
The Magus Nation, the magic cities, the magic towers... all of them would be swept away in a torrent. A change unlike any before, an unstoppable chaos.
Who would stop it?
Could anyone stop it?
Would anyone even try?
"Ahahahahaha."
Ignacia burst into laughter.
The images rose unbidden in her mind, the faces of the magical world thrown not only into shock but utter panic.
Including even the Transcendents.
The superlative magic she had passed to Dahit, in its form, bore a risk that verged on zero. It was merely a transmission device.
At best, it was a tool to help Dahit, a means to realize what he required.
She could not know the exact moment when Dahit would set his plan into motion.
But it would not be long.
The instant Dahit Wethroel found the final missing piece of the puzzle, the magical world would either advance one step forward, or regress.
The fun, the delight, in a change whose outcome no one could foresee.
After a bout of laughter, Ignacia leaned back, reclining against the floor.
She stretched her hand toward the night sky, where the dark moon──the Amwol ──was rising.
"One day, I too..."
Would the day come when she truly achieved her ideal?
Ignacia asked herself.
***
Tick, tick.
The ticking of the second hand, like a heartbeat, echoed repeatedly in their ears.
In a quiet room, where only the brushing of robes or the faint chime of metal could be heard, Unia and Cain finished readying themselves.
Their state was flawless.
Only a slight stiffness in their bodies, which would soon fade.
"...It'll be really dangerous, won't it?"
"Most likely, yes."
When Unia spun her staff and asked, Cain gripped the magic sword at his hip and nodded.
A confrontation with Black Hour, which the Sage of Wisdom had founded in the past.
A Transcendent force.
They had waged war against the united magic towers of the Western Continent, at times even claiming victories, so there was no need to speak of their strength.
"Hoo."
Their breath carried both excitement and tension.
The twins, having witnessed the magic power and spells of their senior who had become a Transcendent, could feel just how high that realm was.
The sight of the Sage of Strength being pushed back head-on had been shocking enough.
Especially since their senior had not even fought at full strength.
Even before, he had faced both of us at once and still overwhelmed us...
How much stronger had he become since then?
Truly a sky beyond the sky.
And yet now, they would have to face Dahit himself, who was said to have held the upper hand in a magic battle against that senior, the current leader of Black Hour.
Of course, it was not fear that bound them.
"Let's make sure we don't get in the way."
"Yeah."
It was only a resolve of their own.
Knock knock.
"Cain-nim, and Unia-nim. It's time to depart."
Ethan and Rebecca, dispatched to the Land Without a Master, had come.
Though talented, they still fell far short of officer-class strength, so their role was to fill the gap left by Cain and Unia.
Ethan's face was stiff, Rebecca's hand trembled slightly.
They were worried about the situation.
"Ei."
Unia firmly pulled both into her arms, standing in the middle.
Ethan and Rebecca blinked.
"U-Unia-nim?"
"Don't worry."
Unia assured them.
"It will be fine."
Encouragement given as fellow disciples taught by the Sage of Wisdom, and as superiors within the Society.
Soon after, they left the Arein.
When Unia and Cain arrived at the assembly point, Verden, Adrian, Isabella, and the other top forces were already waiting.
"Everyone is here, my lord."
Verden nodded.
The Sages not present here, and the remnants of Black Hour, were already waiting at the promised location.
"Let's depart."
Space opened, connecting the Central Continent and the Western Continent.
***
Step, step.
Through the thick clouds, a faint light fell upon the dark Nutiar Forest.
The cries of insects had gone silent, leaving only the gentle rustle of grass beneath footsteps.
Creak───thud.
When the half-broken door was pushed lightly, its hinge, long at its limit, came off completely, dust rising into the air.
Without concern, he stepped over the wreckage, walking further in.
"You're early."
"It's you who's late."
At the center of the decrepit hut stood a long table, as if new, with two chairs set at either side.
Moonlight leaked from the ceiling.
Seated in one chair, Dahit Wethroel's eyes gleamed sharply.
Their second meeting, after the Great Hall.
Dahit narrowed his gaze.
"...They said it was a superlative spell focused on range, yet after throwing yourself into it, you've recovered your full strength so quickly. You must have prepared some separate healing method. And you still conceal your appearance."
As in the Great Hall, Verden was using
"A sly bastard."
"Not as much as you."
"If anything, you surpass me. Well, it seems we both have plenty to say, so I'll start."
Dahit lifted something from the floor.
"Recognize this face?"
Thud.
The head of Horace, Black Hour's spy, was set down on the table.
The stage of dialogue was opened.
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