Chapter 154

CHAPTER 1 A Man with No Pride, but a Stubborn Streak Bartholomeus Baal was born in the Schwargald Empire, in a poor part of town. He lost his father at a young age, and at eleven, he became an apprentice at Dermish’s Magic Items in order to provide for his mother and younger sister. The workshop mainly handled small magical items. But even so, there was a large variety—from military equipment like swords and armor to accessories, sundries, and even clothing embroidered with mana-imbued threads. Bartholomeus, being a fairly deft hand, learned how to do a lot of different jobs at Dermish’s and, wanting to take care of his family, mastered every task he was given. He might spend a whole day twisting thread and imbuing it with mana, then pass the next doing decorative carving, sketching blueprints, sewing clothes with a machine, and sharpening swords. Bartholomeus didn’t have a great eye for design, but because of his high degree of skill in most other arenas, he became the workshop’s most valued apprentice. His skills weren’t specialized in any particular direction. He knew a bit about everything and could manage basically any job—just not as well as an expert. That was who Bartholomeus was. He could rise to second-rate in any field, but he’d never be first-rate. And he was okay with that. One day, his little sister, who was nine years his junior, asked him an innocent question. “Are you doing a different job again today, Bart?” Bartholomeus, who had been putting the finishing touches on a carving he’d brought back to the house, blew away the metal scraps and gave her an empty smile. “Ha-ha! Well, I can do everything, remember? I don’t gotta pick my jobs. Pretty cool, right?” It wasn’t. Bartholomeus could do anything, but his work was always second-rate. He couldn’t pick his jobs. The reason he accepted them all without complaint was to support his sick mother and younger sister. He didn’t want his sister to feel guilty, though, so he brightened his voice again. “Doing whatever work you’re offered is a point of pride for a craftsman like me. A real first-rate guy can pull off any job, no matter how hard!” “Ha-ha! Bart, you’re so cool!” “Ain’t I though? Wah-ha-ha!” “Teach me, too. I wanna try!” “Hey, careful! Don’t hurt yourself.” His younger sister was cheerful and energetic, but she liked watching him use his old chisel to carve wood more than playing with her friends. She was quick to learn and even better with her hands than he was. In his brotherly, doting way, Bartholomeus wondered if his sister was actually a genius. A few years later, his sister joined Dermish’s Magic Items as an apprentice. Oddly enough, she was eleven, just like Bartholomeus had been. Most workshops, besides those specializing in clothing and accessories, hired few craftswomen, and Dermish’s was no different. Many smithies banned women outright. Dermish’s, however, allowed his sister in under two conditions: She had to dress like a man and could never interact with customers. The workshop was short of help, and that was part of the reason they hired her. But the biggest factor was her skill as a magic item artisan. The discovery of her abilities left Bartholomeus conflicted: On the one hand, he was disappointed in his own inferior talent, but on the other, he was overjoyed by his sister’s success. But at the end of the day, he was her brother, and he wanted to celebrate and cheer on her success. Several more years passed, and then his sister was arrested. Her crime was the manufacture and sale of counterfeit goods. He knew the simpleminded, honest girl would never accept such a request or sell the results. Someone must have used her. Bartholomeus stormed up to the workshop’s foreman and accused him of taking advantage of his sister—of tricking her into making counterfeits. The foreman laughed mockingly. “Your sister told me she would take any job I offered, that she just wanted to make something. So I gave her a task. No big deal.” The man’s response whipped Bartholomeus into a fury, and he punched him. After that, he was kicked out of the workshop. Is it my fault? Was it because of what I said to her? Was that why she’d done as she was told and produced counterfeits? If so, then it was his fault she’d strayed from the proper path. Their mother collapsed from shock upon hearing the news of her daughter’s arrest and never recovered. Soon, she passed away. In the end, Bartholomeus learned that his sister had already been executed in secret, and he left his homeland, despondent. He drifted aimlessly, eventually arriving in the Kingdom of Ridill, where he continued to work as a craftsman, doing whatever work he could find. After making magic items for the Gem Mage and cutting ties with his workshop, Bartholomeus started up a general handyman business, which he’d run ever since. He couldn’t afford to turn down jobs—not if he wanted to live. “And what’s wrong with that?” he’d always ask himself. Back then, during a rough patch when he’d struggled to find enough to eat, someone had asked him to make a seal for Abbott Company. The client was a shady character, and Bartholomeus was sure he’d misuse the item. But poor as he was, he had no choice but to take the job. He’d had to weigh money against professional pride, and he’d chosen the former. The Abbott Company seal was a crest featuring a bull-and-wheel motif. While replicating it, he purposely changed the number of spokes in the wheel. Counterfeits and reproductions are completely different things, he’d told himself. A counterfeit resembles the original so well that it’s hard to see the difference. A reproduction is made to look like a fake. I changed the number of spokes on the wheel of the crest, so it’s not a counterfeit—it’s a reproduction. And as he made these excuses and changed the number of spokes, he also forgot to depict the bull’s tail. Once again, his work fell short of first-rate. He’d left behind his pride as an artisan long, long ago. Or perhaps he’d never had any to begin with. Even now, Bartholomeus Baal believed in nothing. He simply drifted along, going wherever his feet took him and never leaving his mark on anything. Bartholomeus returned to the edge of the forest, where he found the remains of the magical armored soldiers Monica had destroyed. There were three in all. He picked up one that was relatively undamaged. No wonder I recognized this. During his time at the Gem Mage’s workshop, he’d been asked to make several items that resembled pieces of armor. This was one of them. He remembered struggling to perfect the grooves that the mana-imbuing paint would be poured through. Bartholomeus had never given a thought to how his creations would be used. These magical armored soldiers were weapons. They killed spirits. They were coffins to imprison them. So this is the crap they had me making? Cursing over and over, he dragged the bundled metallic fibers out of the armor’s interior, then checked the magecraft formula engraved on them. It was very complex; he couldn’t even understand half of it. Damn it. Damn it! He wished he could modify the armored soldier right here and now. He wished he could make it move freely, then have it rescue the Silent Witch. That would have been so awesome. But it wasn’t possible. Not with his level of knowledge and expertise. Emanuel Darwin, the Gem Mage, was one of the Seven Sages. He was a true genius when it came to crafting magical items. The man had made this armor himself, and he’d poured all his technical proficiency into the job. Bartholomeus didn’t have the expertise to tamper with it. I know that. Yeah, I’ve always known that. I’m a second-rate craftsman. He only ever did the tasks he was given. He’d never had pride in his work. That was how he’d lived his life. …Even so. He might not have pride, but he had a stubborn streak. He’d made his living as a craftsman, and he had a craftsman’s bullheadedness. Rynzbelfeid’s wind attacks came down on her target, hitting like a different weapon each time. That said, there were three main types of blows: a bashing hammer, a cleaving ax, and a piercing spear. Monica carefully fended them all off, making minor adjustments to her barrier’s toughness and angle to suit each strike. Ryn stood at the top of a tall tree, toes together, looking down at her. First, Monica needed to drag her from her perch. …This is it. Monica used her barrier to fend off an especially powerful slash, diverting it into a tall but thin tree. Monica had been parrying all of Ryn’s attacks toward the tree’s roots. The wind blades destroyed its foundation, causing it to snap with a loud crack and topple over—straight into Ryn’s tree. Realizing the falling tree was careening toward her, Ryn jumped down from her perch, her maid skirt fluttering up around her. The moment the tips of her shoes touched the ground, an object flew at her from the trees. It was a misshapen chunk of solid metal, cobbled together from random pieces set around the gauntlet of a magical armored soldier. The ill-formed object fell at Ryn’s feet, then immediately set off a small explosion. It must have been an improvised magic item made from the soldier’s parts. It wasn’t all that powerful, but it was very loud, and Ryn seemed to deem it another hostile target. She swung a wind blade at it, chopping it up into several pieces. In the split second she took to do this, something else burst out from behind a tree. This time it was a full suit of armor—another one of the soldiers from before. For an instant, Monica thought the enemy had sent more reinforcements. But instead of going for her, it grabbed hold of Ryn’s arm. A voice boomed from inside the suit of armor. “Now’s your chance, kid!” As Bartholomeus shouted, Ryn unleashed another wind blade—a lethal strike. If she hit one of the armor’s joints, he wouldn’t stand a chance. But the moment the wind blade touched the armor, it shone faintly. Monica knew that glow—it was a defensive barrier. “Not the best you’ve ever seen, and it’s one-use only…but it’s enough to buy you some time!” Monica activated a sealing barrier as Bartholomeus called out to her. Gold, shining chains leaped from her fingertips, coiling around Ryn’s body. Sealing barriers came in two varieties: temporary and permanent. The former had a low mana cost and was quick to cast, but it wouldn’t hold for very long. Normally, it was only used to delay an opponent briefly during combat. The permanent variety, however, was a technique used for sealing grimoires and the like. Once it set in, it would hold for a long period of time. It was similar to using imbuement magecraft on a magic item. This was the kind of seal Monica had applied to Ryn. The golden chains twined around the spirit, holding her in place as shining letters emerged. The seal was now fixed, and Ryn collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. Her delicate body fell into Bartholomeus’s armored hands. “Is it over, kid?” he asked, lifting his helmet visor. Monica wasn’t sure how to reply. Ryn was a high wind spirit. If Monica wanted to bind her for a long time, she would need to be sufficiently prepared, perhaps with a magic item or two. This seal wouldn’t last very long. More importantly, while Monica had disabled the spirit, she hadn’t completely severed her from the effects of the ancient magic item controlling her. She needed to explain this to Bartholomeus without mentioning Galanis. She chose her words carefully. “I haven’t severed the link between Ryn and the enemy yet… So, um, she might attack again if the seal breaks.” Ryn’s right hand had an unfamiliar red sigil on it. That was likely the mark of Galanis’s hold on her. Monica cast a detection spell just to be sure, and it confirmed her hunch. However, she could only analyze half of the sigil. The techniques used in ancient magic items were similar to those of modern magecraft, but only in appearance. Even a Sage like Monica couldn’t easily analyze one and come up with a counterstrategy on the spot. To release her, I’ll need to destroy the flute… Monica stared deeper into the forest, keeping her detection spell active. The farther they went, the denser the mana would become—until it reached levels toxic to most people. “The forest’s mana density is too high beyond this point, so… Um, Mister Bartholomeus, would you mind waiting here for me?” Bartholomeus wasn’t a mage; he wouldn’t be able to withstand it, and Monica was too frail to carry Ryn with her. “The seal I placed on Miss Ryn will only last half a day at most. So, um, if we can’t release her before then…I want you to turn around and run. Immediately.” Bartholomeus took off the armor and helmet, then picked Ryn back up. He glanced deeper into the woods, then back at Monica. “…You sure you’ll be all right?” he asked. “Yes.” Monica nodded, then smiled awkwardly under her veil. “I…well, I am a Sage, after all.” Then she curled her hands into fists and set off into the forest. Bartholomeus called after her. “Hey, kid! Don’t push it! Run away if you need to!” That sort of encouragement was very characteristic of Bartholomeus. It made Monica oddly happy. But I have to join up with Mister Louis and the others soon… I doubt they know about the magic item using spirits as a power source… Aside from Monica, four other Sages had entered the forest to destroy the Flute of the False King: the Barrier Mage, the Artillery Mage, the Abyss Shaman, and the Witch of Thorns. She needed to find them and tell them about the other magic item—and about the soldiers. Even a Sage would struggle against a magical armored soldier without any prior knowledge. Just as Monica began to worry about the welfare of her fellow Sages, Louis Miller and Bradford Firestone were confronting a group of four magical armored soldiers in the forest. “Well, well,” Louis said, coming to a stop. He was dressed in warm leather clothes and held an ax instead of a staff, which he now tapped against his shoulder. Louis didn’t know the suits of armor barring their way were magic items, so he introduced himself. “Hello, there. I’m just a passing lumberjack.” “What’s the point of calling yourself that?” Bradford, who also wore a simple traveler’s outfit, looked at him in amazement. The Seven Sages, in an attempt to hide their actions from the public eye, had all donned inconspicuous clothing for this mission. That said, they were still celebrities, and aside from the Silent Witch, their faces were well-known. Louis shrugged. “Well, we did put on these outfits. I’m just being consistent.” “Then just call yourself a passing old man.” Louis’s pretty face twisted, and he stuck out his lower lip. “Don’t lump me in with you. You’re over forty. I’m still in my twenties.” “C’mon, it’s not that unbelievable. You’ll have an easier time of it if you just resign yourself.” “No way in hell. I’m going to make sure my soon-to-be-born daughter sees me as a wonderful, youthful father—” Before Louis could finish, an armored soldier grabbed at him. He took a step back to dodge the attack, then brandished his ax. The ax wasn’t made for battle—it was thick and solid, had a single blade, and was meant for chopping firewood. He’d politely borrowed it from an abandoned charcoal-making shack after carrying Monica to Kelielinden Forest. Using both hands, he swept the ax horizontally, slamming the bladeless portion against the enemy’s helmet. He’d assumed there was a human inside. Contrary to his expectations, however, when the ax struck its target with a loud, metallic crash, the helmet toppled off and dangled from the rest of the armor, suspended by wires. There was no one inside—the armor was merely stuffed with thick metallic cables. “Hmm?” mumbled Louis, lifting his thin eyebrows. “So it was a magic item. I see. Suits of armor that can move—very elaborate.” Louis narrowed his eyes behind his monocle and scrutinized the armor. A magecraft formula had been engraved on each of the thick cords stuffed inside it. The bundles hooked all the armor’s pieces together, replicating human movement. The Gem Mage was a truly talented craftsman. But items of this quality would require a significant amount of mana… Where is it coming from? Louis had dabbled in creating magic items before. He knew there was a limit to how much mana you could imbue one with. How much money and mana would someone need to create moving armor using modern magical technology? …There’s something wrong here. Whatever the case, if there was no one inside the armor, there was no need for them to hold back. Louis listened closely; the soldiers’ footfalls were much lighter than they would be if humans were inside. He couldn’t hear any breathing, either. Now, certain the other suits were also empty, he shifted his grip on the ax, turning the blade side forward. “They’re empty, yeah? Want me to just blow ’em all up?” asked Bradford, sounding quite enthusiastic. “Then what would be the point of my accompanying you?” As one might guess from Bradford’s title—the Artillery Mage—his main mode of attack was a six-layered strengthening spell that boasted more firepower than any other Sage could muster. Galanis, the ancient magic flute currently held by the Gem Mage, could control spirits. That meant Louis and Bradford were likely to run into high spirits sooner or later, and Louis’s job was to help Bradford preserve his mana until then. “I’ll handle this myself,” he said. “But you don’t have much mana left, Barrier.” Bradford was right. Since Louis realized his pupil was missing the previous afternoon, he had been using flight magecraft nonstop to travel all over, passing messages. He was nearly dry now. If a mage ran out of mana, the results could be fatal. The obvious choice was to retreat from combat. But Louis smiled confidently, pushing his monocle up with one finger. “This forest is dense with mana. If I fight conservatively, I should have no problem recovering.” “But can you win conservatively?” “Sure. I’m still young, after all. Hang back and rest up, old man.” Louis burst into a dash, ax in hand. An instant before the soldiers’ gauntleted hands reached him, he planted his feet firmly and raised his ax. “Hrrrrgh!” With a sharp breath, he swung his weapon down between the first soldier’s left shoulder and torso. Then he reached in and started ripping out the metal cords. At the same time, he turned himself ninety degrees and used the momentum to behead an approaching second suit cleanly. They kept moving even without their heads and arms, but tearing up the wires within had clearly caused their movements to become less natural. Chopping off heads and arms isn’t a waste, but it’s inefficient, he concluded. He thrust his ax into the ground, then used it as a stepping stone to leap high into the air. Using his reflexes alone, he sailed over to another soldier and delivered a kick to its head. Because the suits were packed with cables instead of bodies, they were relatively light and had a harder time staying on their feet. When Louis’s powerful kick connected, the soldier slammed to the ground with a crash. Louis immediately recovered his ax, then chopped off one of its legs. That would stop it from moving around. As Bradford watched this, he muttered, “Not sure that’s how Sages are meant to fight…” “Magecraft, axes, who cares?” Louis shot back. “Winning is all that matters.” He bent down in front of a suit of armor and yanked some of the cables out. Each of them sported a tiny magecraft formula, and they were all connected to an orange gemstone. The cords still attached to the stone continued to pulsate and wriggle. It was an uncanny sight—almost like the thing was alive. But once he placed a seal on the gem, the movement stopped immediately. What are these things? Louis wanted to take his time examining them, but he was currently in a hurry. For now, he sealed each of the gemstones, then stood up. “Let’s make haste. The Silent Witch may fare well against such opponents, but the Abyss Shaman and the Witch of Thorns are not suited for this kind of fight.” With her unchanted magecraft and wide breadth of spells, the Silent Witch could respond to any situation. However, the Abyss Shaman and the Witch of Thorns had more specialized abilities, which tended to limit their usefulness. They’d both had to travel from the capital, so they’d paired up for this mission. But perhaps they should have considered their teams more carefully, even if it cost them some extra time. Louis gritted his teeth in frustration. “Eh, I’m sure they’ll manage. They’re both Sages,” said Bradford, strolling farther into the forest, his gait relaxed. “I hope this doesn’t become a forest of rose hedges or one full of rot from a curse while they’re ‘managing.’ We’re trying to keep a low profile here.” “Hey, if that happens, this passing old man can just blow the whole thing up.” Bradford gave a hearty laugh. But if it came to that, they’d never be able to hide what had happened here. Why do the Seven Sages all have to be such dangerous characters? thought Louis with a sigh. As if he were one to talk.