[321] A Fleeting Rift (3)
Shirone lay on his bed, savoring a rare moment of idleness.
Next semester he'd be in his graduating year, so he could skip performance assessments. But that also meant this vacation was his last chance to polish the basics. That's why Iruki and Nade had gone straight back to their families instead of loafing around.
"First things first—rest."
Shirone laughed at himself, half embarrassed by the sentiment. Still, he truly didn't want to do anything right now.
It was the first time he'd felt like this, so part of him was unsettled, but the lack of impatience suggested there was a reason for it.
"Come to think of it, I really worked hard."
Looking back over the year, he could hardly believe what he'd been through. It felt like only yesterday he'd been dead last in Class Seven, yet here he was, in the upper ranks of Class Four.
"I did earn it."
All the students at the Magic Academy had done their best, but Shirone had had more incidents than most.
He'd grown stronger through fights that had brushed against death. Honestly, he felt sure he wouldn't be pushed around easily even when he reached his graduating year.
Shirone got up from the bed and approached . Even seeing it standing there without a stand made him pleased.
With regulation control, carrying it was no problem. But during his time at the Academy there would be no chance to use the sword.
When he drew Armand from its scabbard, a clear high-frequency hum slipped out along the blade. Shorter than a longsword, it was nevertheless sharp and balanced enough for real combat.
'Why so quiet? Could it be dead?'
It had sent mental waves nightly, but it had gone silent as soon as he returned home. The lack of response was so pronounced that for a moment Shirone wondered if their contract had somehow been annulled.
After showing it to his friends he had never activated the Shining Armament. Not because he didn't need to, but because it felt awkward for some reason.
When you share something with a person, it's hard to treat it purely as an object. If you repeatedly activate the Shining Armament without reason, it might look ridiculous—he supposed that was why he hesitated.
Of course, he knew there was no real reason to hold back. It was something he'd have to get used to.
'Shall I try? It's my sword anyway…'
It annoyed him to have accepted an S-rank object and then not use it. He didn't want to fight anyone, but imagining himself fighting alongside Armand made his chest swell with excitement.
Feeling proud, Shirone watched the sword and spoke the activation word.
"Shining Armament."
Putting aside the fear that nothing might happen, the blade opened without fail and enveloped Shirone.
Transformation happened in an instant. A hood covered his face, a fiber-like cloak unfurled like flame and billowed, a glass orb popped out on the palms of the gauntlets, and finally the outer shell of the artificial brain whirled rapidly around him.
"Whoo!"
Shirone liked the feeling.
His mind felt clearer than ever. His focus deepened; he felt full of power, as if any spell he cast would be amplified.
Armand, which shared a brain with its user, changed functions according to the situation, but since this moment wasn't combat-related no special alterations occurred.
Shirone moved to the full-length mirror and looked at himself. The shabby robe and hood hiding his face actually made him pass as a proper mage. The outer casing looked cooler than any magical apparatus he'd seen.
Not right away, perhaps, but someday he imagined becoming a professional mage and exploring the world in this guise—and his heart raced.
He clenched both fists and pretended to draw up mana.
I am a mage of the Immortal Function. One day I will become an Infinite Mage and reach the top of the world.
"Uooooo!"
He shouted at the ceiling, then froze when the mirror reflected the door. Vincent had opened it and was staring at Shirone in disbelief.
"Ah—Dad!"
Caught off guard, Shirone stomped his foot.
Thank goodness for the hood. If his face had been visible, his flushed cheeks might have made things far worse.
"Your mother says supper's ready. Hurry down."
"O—okay."
As Vincent closed the door and left, he tossed in a comment.
"Aren't you a little old for that?"
Shirone lowered his head, cheeks hot. Once the sound of the door closing faded, he finally took off the hood and grabbed his hair.
"Ugh! How embarrassing! It was my first time trying it!"
Knowing that doing something out of character tends to invite trouble, Shirone deactivated Armand. The fibers and crystal orb were drawn back in and it returned to sword form.
Using regulation control, he sheathed it and stowed Armand in a corner before heading downstairs.
The smell of soup on the table melted his stomach. Sudden hunger made Shirone grab his spoon the moment he sat. Olina smiled and ladled soup onto his bowl.
"You hungry? Eat up."
"Yes. Thank you!"
Food at the Magic Academy was packed with nutrients a mage needed, but nothing beat home cooking.
Olina watched her son devour a bowl of soup with satisfaction, then refilled his plate and asked, "How are you going to spend this vacation? Any plans?"
"For a while I'll rest before starting serious training. But there's something I want to do first."
"Something you want to do?"
"Yes. Every winter there's a regional festival in the Les Mountains. May I go?"
Vincent cut in.
"Oh ho, you mean that old castle ruins. You've mentioned wanting to go before."
"Really? I don't remember."
"You were very young at the time. It must have left an impression. Go see it. Back then we couldn't afford to show you — we couldn't even take you there."
Olina propped her chin and smiled slyly.
No matter how Shirone pretended otherwise, he couldn't fool his mother.
"So, who will you go with?"
Shirone flinched as if struck. He hadn't done anything wrong, but his face burned.
"Well…Amy. I haven't actually asked her yet."
"Oh ho, so it's a date."
"No! I thought it might cheer her up to get out of the house… She might even say no!"
Olina knew Amy had failed her graduation exam. She wasn't worried. The Amy he'd met in Kazra was considerate and upright.
He'd also heard the Karmis family thought well of him. Weren't they on the island together last summer?
"Alright, go then. To properly see those old ruins you need about three days. There are plenty of places to stay, so don't worry, but take good care of Amy. Don't take her along to be comforted if you're planning to be the one looking for comfort."
"…Yes."
Olina's last remark struck a strange chord, but Shirone obediently agreed. An animal instinct warned him that probing deeper would be dangerous.
After clearing the dishes, he went to his room and packed. It would take a while to reach Creas, so he had to leave before noon.
He could teleport faster than a carriage, but he didn't want to break rules over something trivial.
He donned a winter coat and knitted scarf, slung on his backpack, and moved for the door.
When he grabbed the doorknob his head suddenly buzzed. He turned and, sure enough, Armand was sending a mental wave. No words, just a sound of protest.
Shirone sighed. "Sorry, but no. Commoners can't carry swords. I don't have a weapon possession permit."
Commoners needed a weapon possession permit issued by specific guilds to legally carry blades. Mages automatically got one, but as a student Shirone couldn't. The S-rank Armand was troublesome in many ways.
Armand didn't give up and sent another mental wave.
Egos are prideful, so it's tough. Shirone had no idea how many previous masters the sword had, but it seemed offended that it had been contracted and then left unused.
When it belonged to Zion, it might have been resigned. That could explain why, even with an owner, it had sent out temptations.
'That makes it a bit pitiful. I can't cherish it as much as its previous owner did.'
Shirone stepped toward Armand as if he had no choice.
Truth be told, carrying Armand made him feel secure in any situation. Even if he were stopped, regulation control would let him hide it elsewhere.
"Alright, fine. Let's go."
Shirone opened his coat and called Armand.
The sword flew like an arrow and settled at his waist. Being shorter than a longsword made concealment easier. When his coat closed, only the tip of the scabbard peeked out—hardly noticeable at a glance.
When Armand's mental waves stopped, Shirone shook his head and left the room. There were plenty of cursed swords that killed their masters; this one he could treat as a spoiled pet.
* * *
Tormia Kingdom.
The Magic Association in the capital Bashka.
The Alog district was where major institutions clustered, and anyone passing through at noon would frown—countless high-rises reflected the sun so fiercely.
The Magic Association, one of the tallest buildings, seemed to burn with gold.
A well-dressed woman had been waiting for someone for thirty minutes outside the Association's main gate, watching the avenue.
She had sun-kissed skin and curly blonde hair tied back, and she wore red horn-rimmed glasses. Her nose was small but sharp, and her pink lips were tightly set, revealing a resolute personality. Though the corners of her eyes slanted slightly downward, giving a stern impression, she had an exotic charm seldom seen in Tormia.
Ahoya Gangnan, Head of the Secretariat at the Tormia Magic Association.
The southern lands near the equator were a confederation of many tribes. Gangnan was the last descendant of the now-extinct Wolf Tribe and a warrior trained in the ancient martial art Rammuai.
She'd come to Tormia at fifteen and, though she'd started studying late, her intellect beat fierce competition and she rose to become the Association's head of the secretariat.
But Tormia's old, lecherous nobles refused to acknowledge her.
To them she was just an exotic commoner woman with a perfect figure. Those who groped her without knowing her character frequently ended up with a well-placed knee to the gut.
Some of them were high nobles, but the Association hadn't fired her. It was the classic case of skill outshining temperament.
Still, today Gangnan intended to restrain herself. The person she was waiting for was the highest envoy of the neighboring Yakma Republic.
When a richly decorated carriage appeared at the end of the avenue, she smoothed her outfit. Checking the heels of her shoes for dust and straightening her glasses, she watched the carriage arrive.
Armored guards opened the door and a rotund, middle-aged man emerged. His neck was thick and his chin nearly buried in flesh; his belly jutted out like a cannonball. Yet eyes sunken into his brow gleamed sharply.
'He's the highest envoy of a nation. Can't treat him roughly.'
Gangnan walked with brisk, precise steps, carrying a folder under her arm, and bowed ninety degrees.
"Welcome. I'm Gangnan, Head of the Secretariat at the Magic Association."
"Ah ha? So you're Gangnan. Pleasure. I'm Ordon."
Ordon extended his hand for a handshake.
A top envoy offering his hand to a secretary-general was polite, but there was an ulterior motive.
Stories of Gangnan putting nobles in their place had spread to foreign social circles. An exotic commoner with a perfect body and the title of "the unpluckable flower" piqued Ordon's curiosity.
When Gangnan shook his hand, Ordon idly rubbed the smooth back of her hand with his thumb.
Gangnan did not flinch. She'd heard the rumors about Ordon and had steeled herself for a little grope.
"The chairman is waiting. I'll show you in."
Ordon admired Gangnan's slim waist as they entered the Association.
If he could rough up Tormia nobles and remain unscathed, it seemed the Magic Association backed him, but he wouldn't dare offend a foreign nation's top envoy.
'I'll pluck that flower myself.'