Chapter 35
“My, whatever brings you here at this late hour? If you had sent for me, I would have come personally.”
Count Rort bowed repeatedly as he entered the reception room and looked toward the person seated at the head of the room.
A man wearing a mask sat on the seat of honor.
“It sounds like you’re asking why I came.”
“No, no, of course not. I’m simply grateful that you took the trouble to come see me in person, despite the inconvenience.”
The count corrected himself in a flustered voice, but muttered inwardly.
‘He’s never been friendly, but tonight there’s an extra chill to him.’
Assuming something bad had happened to his guest, the count sat down cautiously.
Silence flowed between the two men.
The count, normally adept at pleasing his superiors, found himself at a loss for words because the other party remained so cold from the start.
‘I can’t just blurt out “why are you here.”’
While the count sat there with an awkward smile, a maid entered carrying tea.
At last the count seized on a topic for conversation and, feeling pleased, offered the tea to the man.
“This tea was brought over from across the sea. It has a lovely aroma — please try a sip…”
But when the count saw the man’s mask, he abruptly realized his mistake and stopped speaking.
“…my apologies.”
He hurriedly took the tea away and scolded the maid for no reason.
“Do you have eyes or not? Hurry and take it away.”
A colder edge settled into the masked man’s crimson eyes as he watched the count scold the maid, but the count didn’t notice.
“S-sorry, sir.”
The maid bowed repeatedly to both of them and took the tea away.
Watching the maid leave, the count glanced at the man and tried to make amends.
“If I offended you, I apologize. It’s my fault for not keeping the servants in line.”
The man remained silent. His frostiness gave nothing away — it was impossible to tell whether he was pleased or angry.
The count hesitated, unsure how to respond. After a long pause, the silent man finally spoke.
“You were supposed to open the Gate this time, weren’t you?”
“Ah— y-yes. That’s right.”
“Open it today.”
The count’s eyes widened.
“R-right now?”
“Yes.”
“Here…?”
“We can move the place to the forest.”
“O-oh— that’s much sooner than planned… I’ll need more time to prepare. There’s still a banquet going on at the mansion.”
“Can’t you?”
The man’s gaze fixed on the count, but it didn’t grow any colder than before, and his voice was no different than it had been. Still, the count felt a clear pressure from it.
Avoiding the man’s eyes, the count looked down and answered, “I—I will prepare.”
He shook the bell at his side.
But even after a short wait, neither servants nor knights came — not even a sound of movement.
Growing tense in the suffocating silence with only the masked man for company, the count rose in irritation.
“What are those idiots doing, not working?”
At that moment, a familiar smell pricked the man’s nose.
His eyes narrowed at the scent.
A bitter, acrid smell. Something burning.
Before the man had fully noticed, the door flew open and two black-robed necromancers strode in.
The count, who had been reaching for the doorknob, dropped it and stumbled into a ridiculous pose before regaining his balance.
He restrained his temper and looked at the necromancers with a puzzled expression.
“Aren’t you supposed to be down in the main hall repeating the brainwashing magic?”
“Your Grace — you must leave this room at once. A fire has spread from the third floor.”
“Fire? What do you mean, fire? What on earth are you talking about?”
The count blinked wide-eyed, sniffed the acrid scent again, and furrowed his brows.
“We don’t know the cause… we hurried when we heard the news.”
“No, what are you lot doing instead of putting out the fire?”
The count went into a rage at the news that the mansion was on fire.
One necromancer relayed the situation briskly.
“The knights are currently working on extinguishing it, but for safety you should evacuate.”
Muttering curses under his breath, the count turned to the masked man.
“I’m sorry that such an unfortunate incident occurred on the day you honored us with your visit. This place is dangerous now, so it would be best if you left for your safety.”
The masked man rose leisurely as if untroubled by the news that the mansion he was in was burning, and he asked, “Then what about the Gate?”
“I was just about to fetch it. We’ll take it to the forest while we move.”
The count ordered one of the necromancers, “You — go and fetch that boy locked in the cellar.”
“…Boy?”
“The sacrifice. The one to open the Gate.”
The count answered brazenly to the masked man’s question, and the man’s eyes narrowed inside his mask.
The necromancer, named by the count, flinched at the masked man’s gaze but turned and left the reception room.
The count turned back to the masked man.
“Would you like to wait outside? I’ll bring out the idol right away.”
“No. Come with me.”
Taken aback by the unexpected reply, the count walked out with him, dazed.
They arrived beneath the staircase leading up to the mansion’s second floor.
“Here. Please wait a moment.”
Standing under the stairs, the count’s pendant glowed with blue mana, and a magic circle drew itself beneath his feet.
He removed the pendant and handed it to the necromancer.
“Go on in and bring the idol out.”
The necromancer took the pendant cautiously and stood where the circle had appeared. The circle rose into the air and the necromancer disappeared from view.
Left once more with the masked man alone, the count fiddled with his strict moustache and glanced at him sideways.
‘Why is he so frosty today…?’
After an uncomfortable silence, the magic circle reappeared and the necromancer returned.
The count snatched the pendant from the necromancer as if fishing and asked, “Did you bring the idol?”
“…Yes.”
“Give it here.”
Reaching for the small box the necromancer cradled, the count expected it to be handed over, but the necromancer hesitated.
Suddenly, a blast of magical light shot out and seized the count and the necromancer tightly.
The box containing the dimensional shard clattered to the floor and its contents tumbled out.
“Ugh…”
The startled count thrashed and glared at the spellcaster.
The masked man watched the count with expressionless, calm eyes.
“W-why are you doing this…!”
“That sacrifice — why not let the count do it?”
When the count grasped the meaning of the man’s words, all color drained from his face.
The man intended to use the count himself as the final sacrifice to open the rift in the dimension.
The pressure of the binding magic tightened.
Fear swept through the count’s mind — if it continued, the magic would constrict until he couldn’t speak and then it would end his life.
He cried out desperately.
“P-please spare me! You know you can’t open the Gate by killing me like this!”
As he blurted anything that came to mind, the count pointed at the necromancer trapped beside him.
“U-use that one as the sacrifice instead!”
To open the dimensional rift required black magic — a black magic user to cast it. Only a few high-ranking necromancers could perform such a ritual, and the one capable at that moment was in the banquet hall performing mind-control magic.
So the low-ranking necromancer doing errands could be sacrificed without much concern.
The count expected that the masked man would understand this calculation and grant him a chance to escape while the lesser necromancer burned.
But the masked man paid no heed to the count’s suggestion and instead increased the strength of the binding spell. That was his answer.
“Gah— l-please…!”
The count struggled desperately yet was too weak to break free by himself.
His movements grew feebler, his eyes rolling back toward white when suddenly the necromancer, who had been quietly bound by the man’s spell, felt a surge of power.
He tore the binding magic apart and, taking advantage of the masked man’s momentary hesitation, rushed forward.
Mana flared around his punching hand as he closed in at once.
A low voice came from the black hood that hid the necromancer’s face.
“I’m sorry, but—”
The wind from his swift movement flipped back the large hood, revealing amber eyes like the sunset and dazzling platinum hair.
A bright crimson line curved the lips of a woman as she murmured, “I won’t let you have your way.”
Though she wished she could have killed the man herself.
The moment Elsez finished her sentence, her fist flew toward the masked man.
