Chapter 17
“I’m sorry. The young lady insisted on seeing Lady Ceres before heading home…”
“All right. Please, come in this way.”
After Yulia’s health had improved enough, Ceres enrolled the child at the Academy.
She was clever enough to have picked up reading on her own, but she still needed proper education. Normally, noble families would hire private tutors, but the House of Drowe could hardly afford such luxuries.
Fortunately, the capital had an academy for young children, operated directly under the Imperial household. Tuition there was modest, so Yulia was able to attend without much strain.
And so, whenever her classes ended, she often came straight here to visit Ceres.
“Lady Yulia, are you feeling hungry?”
“I am.”
“Just a moment, then.”
Nod.
The little chair Mark had set aside especially for Yulia had been seeing plenty of use lately.
Settling herself onto it, the girl swung her legs and glanced curiously around the tavern.
“Hey! You son of a—!”
Wide-eyed.
“Oi, friend, that’s my food, isn’t it?”
“What the hell are you talking about, you—!”
Wide-eyed.
“That’s nonsense, don’t… don’t say that. I ordered this, it’s mine.”
“Hah… ha-ha. Is that so?”
“Ha-ha-ha!”
Whenever Yulia appeared, the rough tavern talk would vanish like smoke.
Even the men who had been ready to snap at one another swallowed their curses when they noticed her round, shining eyes fixed upon them.
“Yulia?”
“Sister.”
Ceres had guessed the reason for the unusual quiet the moment she stepped inside.
She spotted Yulia happily nibbling at the cake Mark had served her, and let out a silent sigh.
“I told you not to come here.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s dangerous.”
“Why is it dangerous?”
“Look closely.”
Ceres pointed at the mercenaries eating their meals.
“Do they look kind to you?”
“Cough!”
Several men spluttered into their stew.
Cover your damn face—scare the poor kid like that and she’ll cry!
Shut it, you ugly bastard, you cover yours!
Half the tavern buried themselves deeper in their bowls as Yulia bobbed her head up and down.
“They always smile when they see me.”
“……”
“They’re kind.”
Ceres turned her head.
The mercenaries met her narrowed eyes with strained, awkward grins. More than a few of them had caused a ruckus the very first day she arrived.
At least they had the decency to look sheepish about it now.
“Regardless, you’re not to come here anymore.”
“……”
“Answer me.”
“Yes.”
The girl nodded, and Ceres released another quiet sigh.
She says yes easily enough… but tomorrow she’ll sneak in again, no doubt.
The little one was stubborn in her own way.
“Sister, say ah.”
When Yulia held up a spoonful of cake toward her, Ceres couldn’t help but laugh under her breath.
All right. You’re too adorable. I’ll let it slide.
“Please… find it… please, find it for me… sniff…”
The Mage Tower—where countless sorcerers dreamed of entering, and countless more already resided.
At its very summit lay the Tower Master’s chamber. Sunlight poured in through vast glass windows, filling the pristine room. The only thing in disarray within it was its occupant.
“Uuuhh… my ice mana stone… bring it back…”
His long wine-colored hair swept the floor as he writhed. Though not a single tear fell, he whimpered and crawled about like a child throwing a tantrum. His secretary, Luka, watched in silence before finally parting his lips.
“Lord Cheion, perhaps you could end the floor-cleaning there.”
“No! Not until you find my mana stone!”
“I’m sure the cleaning staff will be most grateful.”
Kicking his legs in petulance was none other than the Master of the Tower himself—
Cheion de Devrica.
Prince of the Empire of Devrica, though he had abandoned the palace in his youth to pursue the study of magic. By his early teens, he had already mastered mana to such a degree that the title Guardian of Mana—reserved for the very greatest—was bestowed upon him at the mere age of twelve.
And just two years ago, at twenty, he had been elevated to Tower Master itself, as tradition dictated: chosen by sheer ability, regardless of age or pedigree.
“My mana stone…”
Knock, knock.
Click.
“Here are the documents you requested.”
“Sniff…”
“Just leave them there, thank you.”
“The icy aura… sniff… my mana stone…”
“Good day, then.”
Even as Cheion whimpered on the floor, attendants came and went without pause—dropping off papers, tidying shelves, sweeping the floor.
Not a single one spared the Master a glance. Most kept their heads down, careful to leave swiftly. Some even warded their ears with sound-blocking charms, as though determined not to hear him at all.
“We are making inquiries, my lord. Please wait just a little longer.”
Without a carrot to dangle, he’ll cry like this all day. Luka sighed. He poked Cheion in the side with the bundle of papers, nudging him toward the wall lest someone trip over him.
“There will be news soon.”
“Soon? How soon?”
From the floor, Cheion lifted his head, eyes gleaming with hope.
“Very soon.”
“When exactly is ‘very soon’?”
“……”
Luka gave up, hauled him upright, brushed the dust from his robes, and swiftly smoothed out his tangled hair.
“Lord Aserayan will be arriving shortly.”
“When is my mana stone arriving?”
Luka’s lips pressed shut.
“Sniff…”
Cheion flopped onto the floor again.
“What’s he on about this time?”
“You’ve arrived, Your Highness.”
At the sound of the voice, Luka bowed deeply.
Aserayan de Devrica—the Crown Prince of the Empire, and Cheion’s elder brother.
“My mana stone…”
“Mana stone? Don’t tell me he lost one?”
The prince tilted his head. Whatever stone it was, surely he could just buy another. Why the theatrics?
“He saw a vision recording.”
“A recording? Of what?”
“One of the new initiates captured it in an orb. He’d seen an unusual mana stone in a magic shop in the city and thought it worth preserving.”
“And?”
Then why not simply purchase it?
“Apparently, someone had only brought it in to sell, but never completed the sale. They left with it.”
Ever since catching sight of that recording, Cheion had been like this. He hardly ate, barely slept, and spent his days replaying the vision of the stone.
“My blue stone… sniff…”
“Unbelievable. It wasn’t even his, and now he’s given it a name?”
“This isn’t the first time, Your Highness. Best to endure it.”
Aserayan’s eyes narrowed. His brother’s tantrums were nothing new—but still…
“It wasn’t an ordinary stone, was it?”
“No, an ice-attribute mana stone.”
“Ice, is it…”
That at least explained his brother’s obsession. Ice-attribute stones were all but impossible to find within the Empire now.
“It’s all because of that damned Frozen Duke!”
Cheion suddenly sprang upright, raging.
“How long does he plan to keep the North sealed?!”
“Who knows.”
“Sniff—ice attribute stones only come from there!”
Damn that Grand Duke of Persia!
Because the ruler of the North had sealed his lands for three hundred years, resources once traded sporadically had vanished from the market.
“Still, at least he’s doing his duty.”
Aserayan’s lips curved faintly.
“He clears away the Black Forest whenever it manifests. Unlike someone else I know, he doesn’t shirk.”
Flinch.
Cheion shrank back, crawling for the corner to escape his brother’s gaze.
“Did you hear—or not hear—that a Black Forest appeared on the outskirts of the capital?”
“I-I don’t recall hearing…”
“It was reported at precisely 10:30 a.m., one week ago.”
