COTBC 09

  Chapter 09

“Huff, huff.”

Isaac was running.

And all the while, he silently recited the verses to himself, over and over.

Verses born from despair, from numbness, from that vast and suffocating sense of distance.
Words he had repeated to himself in the deepest dark below ground—
To hold on, to keep from losing his mind.
They were maxims of his own making.

The meaning of the phrases was secondary.
What mattered were the sounds, the rhythm, the words, the clauses he had whispered for nearly half a century.
They brought him peace, they brought him relief.
And in that state of stillness, Isaac could focus wholly on the flow of mana.

His body felt ready to collapse at any moment.
But his mind had never been more at ease.

In that week, Isaac’s vessel had changed.
Where there had once been three mana circuits, there were now four.
His vessel had grown more stable, and accordingly, the number of spells he could cast simultaneously increased, from three to four.

The transformation came in part from pushing himself to the brink in battle with the winter spiders.
But also from something simpler:
He had been running, every single day.

To use magic required understanding, calculation, and sensitivity.
A painstaking process.
It demanded mental endurance.

But mental strength and physical strength were not separate things.

When the body breaks down, so too does the mind.
You grow listless, unwilling to do anything, longing only for comfort.
You begin to avoid all hardship.
And that, for a mage, is the first step toward collapse.

A mage, one who seeks knowledge and truth, must be ready to endure any suffering—
Even death, if need be.

“Huff, huff.”

The world is nothing but an illusion of the mind.
And the boundless sea of mana constantly urges the soul outward, away from that illusion.

The state every mage seeks lies somewhere far beyond.
A distant speck of blue light, glittering at the edge of the horizon.
A place no one can ever truly reach.

Whether something is possible or impossible does not matter.
All that matters is whether you can keep running.
Without losing yourself.
Without giving up.
Whether you can endure.

That is the only way a mage survives.

Otherwise, death comes.

Whether by your own hand, crushed under the weight of powerlessness and insignificance.
Whether as a husk, your soul long since dead, dragging your body through life like a corpse.
Whether in battle, consumed by emptiness, cut down in the enemy’s grasp.

One way or another, you die.

A soldier who survives the war might be brave, might be cowardly — you can’t always tell.
But a mage who survives?

They are a good mage.
A brilliant mage.

That is why Isaac needed an unbreakable will.

And a body strong enough to carry it.

Isaac was sweating like rain.

His heart pounded as if it would burst; his vision blurred and his head spun.

Eventually, he couldn’t go on and collapsed, gasping for breath.

As he stopped running, the cold wind cooled his sweat and a chill crept in.

Just as he was about to return to his room and wash up—

“Good morning, young master.”

Schiller entered the room.

Behind him stood a middle-aged man.

“Greetings, young master.”

The man wore glasses and a silk hat.

He was the personal physician Margrave Goethe had assigned to Isaac.

“How are you feeling today?”

“I’m fine.”

“You were out running early this morning. Are you feeling any discomfort?”

“There is none.”

“Let me check your face.”

The doctor examined the whites of Isaac’s eyes, his oral condition, and his pulse.

“Is your heart racing too fast, or do you feel tightness in your chest, or have trouble breathing?”

“…No.”

The doctor assigned to Isaac by the Margrave was the most renowned physician from the neighboring territory of Othon.

Unfortunately, he did not know Isaac’s constitution better than Isaac himself did. He merely relied on fragmented medical knowledge passed down from the previous era.

“You don’t seem to have any serious issues. In fact, your body appears healthier than before. It seems the medicine is having an effect. In that case, we should change your prescription.”

The doctor nodded to himself as he made the decision unilaterally.

Isaac felt frustrated, but he didn’t pretend to know better.

Right now, he was just a twelve-year-old.

Playing the role of the young master burdened by fate was enough.

It would make dealing with things to come easier.

“This is a potion called ‘Panacea.’ It stabilizes the flow of mana.”

The doctor opened the wooden case he had brought.

“It’s not as effective as an elixir, but with regular use, you should see gradual results.”

Inside the wooden grid were rows of potion bottles filled with colorful liquids.

Among them, the doctor handed Isaac three bottles of a reddish-orange potion.

‘Panacea, huh. Father really did feed me some good stuff.’

Panacea is a common tongue word for “cure-all.”

To some, it was used as a stamina booster. For soldiers, it served as a stimulant.

Mostly it was an item that wealthy men and commanders before war purchased at great expense.

It stabilized the flow of mana and enhanced bodily functions.

In truth, while it’s labeled as “stabilizing,” its actual effect was to stimulate the flow of mana.

This misunderstanding came from the misinterpretation of an ancient term that meant “to make flow smoothly” into “stabilize” in the common tongue.

Had it been Isaac’s original body, the potion would have acted as poison instead.

It would have further accelerated his already turbulent mana flow and brought forward the shattering of his vessel.

“Thanks for your concern. I’ll be sure to take it.”

But for the current Isaac, it was the perfect catalyst.

In a situation where he had rune stones to promote new mana circuits, Panacea, which increased mana flow, would help generate even more circuits.

“Then, I’ll see you next month. Please take care of your health.”

“Sure. Thanks for your effort.”

Isaac saw the doctor out, but Schiller didn’t leave the room.

He stood silently in place.

“Do you have something to say?”

“You’re quite calm today.”

“Hm?”

“Don’t you usually lose your temper? Because of that, every renowned doctor in the dominion has refused to become your personal physician. That man came a long way from Othon to make house calls.”

“…So? Should I have lost my temper after all?”

“What’s gotten into you?”

“Who knows. Maybe I’m just in a good mood today,” Isaac shrugged casually.

“…………….”

Schiller stared silently at Isaac without a word.

“What now?”

“Lately, you’ve been running in the garden every morning. Is there a reason for that?”

“There is no real reason. Running just makes me feel better.”

“That’s all?”

“Every person who’s reached the 5th-Class or above trained their bodies.”

“…………….”

Schiller’s eyes narrowed.

“To bring the infinite into the physical realm, you have to be grounded in reality. For that, you need the body. Even a mage is ultimately centered around the body. Mana is an inanimate force, but the phenomena it creates resemble living things. They’re born, they grow, and they fade away on top of reality. The body that manifests that mana should at least be worthy of it.”

Isaac spoke while gazing out the window.

At some point, snow had begun to fall.

In the north, snow could be a dreadful thing, but when it falls quietly over a peaceful world, it felt… serene.

‘It’s strange, but I still can’t believe it.’

Everyone he cherished was alive.

He had been given one more chance to save them.

Perhaps it was just the sentimental musings of an old man in his seventies.

To Isaac, this seemingly insignificant moment felt like a miracle.

“You’ve changed.”

Schiller, usually indifferent to everything, now looked at Isaac with curious eyes.

𝄞 𝄢 𝄞 𝄢 𝄞 𝄢

“It’s true. All the children in Black Goose have fully recovered.”

Isaac’s personal physician announced the moment he stepped into the office.
On his way to the manor, he had stopped by the village to check on the children’s condition.

“Does that mean they have no symptoms of pneumonia at all?”

“Yes. There were one or two children with colds, but they were mild cases.”

“You’re certain?”

Schiller removed his monocle and wiped the lens with a cloth.

“Absolutely. Unless the medical knowledge I’ve studied for over a decade at the College has suddenly failed me.”

“I see. You’ve done well. I’ve included payment for the house calls to Black Goose, your travel expenses, and a little something extra from me.”

Schiller handed the physician a thick coin pouch.

“Thank you, sir.”

“You may go.”

Once the physician had left, Schiller took up a quill and began writing on a fresh piece of parchment.

The letter was addressed to Margrave Goethe, stationed at Winterband, one of the northernmost frontier fortresses.

‘This should put his lordship’s mind at ease.’

Schiller rolled up the parchment and reached for a stick of wax to seal it.

Just then, someone knocked on the office door.

“Come in.”

A maid with red hair entered.

“Rosa? You again.” Schiller sighed.

“Enette hasn’t returned from Bern. It’s been two days.”

“She probably ran away. Is that all you came to say?”

“Clara, maybe. But Enette’s a good girl. Diligent and kind.”

“This sort of thing isn’t rare. No one enjoys doing chores at a remote winter manor.”

Her face had gone pale, nearly grey, but Schiller remained unmoved.

“Can’t you at least conduct a basic investigation? All three of them disappeared on their way back from Bern.”

“As I’ve said before, I can’t allocate valuable resources to unverified rumors. And let me remind you again, Rosa, you’re a good person. But you care too much.”

“But—!”

“Just focus on Young Master Isaac. That’s your job. Now please leave.”

Schiller’s voice turned stern as he dismissed her.

𝄞 𝄢 𝄞 𝄢 𝄞 𝄢

“See? It might make sense for Clara, but Enette disappearing makes no sense. She worked every day for three years without a single day off.”

“She had to work to pay for her father’s medicine.”

The disappearance of the maid Enette was a hot topic among the maids.

It wasn’t all that unusual for maids or servants to run away without a word from the Goethe estate.

The weather was bitterly cold, there were few sunny days, and it often rained or snowed; those doing menial labor always had to watch out for frostbite, and the frailer ones often caught pneumonia.

There was a fortress on the frontier, but with so many alternate routes, bandits and monsters often slipped through.

Even at its best, it was hard to call the estate a pleasant place to live.

“Maybe she just got tired of nursing her father and ran off with a man,” said a servant carrying a sack to the kitchen.

“Watch your mouth, Bill!”

“What? What did I say?”

The servant shrugged and neatly stacked items from the storage room.

“Still, isn’t it strange? Three people have gone missing in two months, all while returning from Bern.”

“Could there be a gang of bandits left near there?”

“Two months ago would’ve been around the time the army that was mobilized for monster extermination also cleared out the bandits, right?”

“Maybe some of them slipped through?”

“If Hilde, Clara, and Enette were all kidnapped by bandits…”

“In my opinion, it might be black magic.”

One of the servants, who had been listening in, straightened his back and pulled out a pipe tucked into his waistband.

He skillfully packed it with a handful of drying tobacco and lit it with a candle.

“That belongs to the master!”

“So what? No one will notice if I use just a bit.”

“So you think it’s black magic?”

“Yeah. I mean, there are all kinds of magic, right? Magic doesn’t just fall from the sky. There’s always a price. And this is a family of mages, right? The eldest young master is in poor health. Think about it from the master’s point of view. If you were knowledgeable in magic and a family member was sick, wouldn’t you want to use magic to do anything you could?”

The servant puffed on his pipe and said, “So you’re saying the missing girls were all sacrificed alive… Gasp.”

“Isolde! Watch your words. And Bill, if you keep spreading weird rumors like that, I won’t sit by quietly.”

The red-haired maid, who had been quietly listening, finally snapped.

“So what if I speak up? What if I’m right?”

“The young master’s not like that. He even accepted someone like you — someone with a criminal past.”

“Hah! Listen to you. Just because Gisela treats you nicely, you think you’re someone now?”

The male servant puffed up his chest, looking down on the red-haired maid with disdain.

“The young master is kind. He made sure only Hans ever served him directly, just so none of us would be burdened.”

“That’s not it. It’s not because he’s weak or sick. He was just a clueless kid who didn’t know any better. But you’ll see, he’ll start showing his true colors as a noble soon enough.”

“Well now, isn’t that an interesting story.”

“—!”

The sharp, clear voice cut through the air, and the maids and servants froze in place.

“Right? Sounds plausible, doesn’t it, little one? Though… that’s a voice I don’t recognize.”

The male servant turned around, thinking it must’ve been one of the younger boys working at the manor.

But standing there wasn’t a servant.

It was a boy with ash-grey hair and strikingly delicate features.
And though he looked refined, his gaze was razor-sharp.
It was Isaac.

“…………..!”

“Yes. Quite plausible indeed. Why don’t you tell me more, Bill?”

Isaac’s voice was calm.
He showed no reaction to the insults thrown his way—
It was something else that had caught his attention.

Because he had a suspicion, which was why.