Vol 5, Chapter 15

The estate prepared by the mages for the delegation's stay was not only luxurious but also radiated with an excess of enchantments, from harmless ones meant to maintain optimal temperature and humidity, to protective spells promising intruders dozens of diverse deaths.

Death from excessive blood alcohol content wasn't among them, but the ambassador clearly intended to add it to the list!

To my surprise, he was the first person I encountered upon arriving at the estate after dark.

And I found him in the company of several empty bottles of something strong.

Nerd had single-handedly occupied the bar on the mansion's first floor. The counter was bare, the bartender absent, but a row of bottles lined the top.

With a gesture to Asha to move on, I stepped into the bar. Depending on the Count's mood, this was either the best possible moment to discuss with him concluding a contract with the mages, or the worst.

The Count raised a completely sober gaze to me.

"Welcome, Viscount. Come to wet your throat?"

"I think I'll pass."

Drinking on an empty stomach was never a good idea.

"A pity."

The Count uncorked a bottle of bright red liquid and generously poured it into a beer-sized crystal mug.

"Dragon's blood. Where else could you drink it for free?"

I inhaled deeply. If it was blood, then the dragon must have been dead drunk before the bleeding.

As the saying goes, there was no blood detected in this alcohol.

Nerd halved the mug in a few swallows.

"Working, Ambassador?"

He grimaced and replied with annoyance.

"State your business, or stop wasting my time."

"There are a few people I might contract…"

"Elements?" the ambassador cut in.

"Fire…"

He nodded.

"…and metal."

He traced a finger thoughtfully along his mug.

"Hm…"

"Some kind of problem?" I pulled a chair closer and sat down beside him. It didn't look like this would be resolved quickly.

"There are certain… complications. The previous king decreed that we could not take metal mages from the Commonwealth."

"Why?"

"A few reasons. First, younger noble houses started using it to swell their ranks, diluting their bloodlines. For a long time, this was ignored, though it was never encouraged. The final straw came when a mage taken into a house managed to become a Duke. There was a huge scandal, and under noble pressure, the 'import' of metal mages was banned, even as craftsmen or lovers."

"And the Second?"

The ambassador's eyes bulged.

"What? Of course not! House Steiger traces its line back to the Age of Strife. Even suggesting our house would marry Ariel to an upstart from the Commonwealth… insulting!"

"So the Fourth, then," I concluded. No wonder the cores I'd sold him ended up in the Commonwealth.

"I won't discuss that disgrace," Nerd cut me off and took another drink.

After savoring the taste, he continued.

"But I personally think the real reason was fear."

"Fear? The king feared metal mages? That they'd replace the old houses?"

"No. It wasn't our fear. It was theirs."

I raised an eyebrow skeptically, not following his train of thought.

The Count emptied the rest of the 'Blood' into his mug and explained:

"Few in our Kingdom truly grasp what the Commonwealth is. They think it's just another country, except there, not only metal mages but representatives of all elements can rule. The Age of Strife was centuries ago; most aren't even ideologically offended by the idea that mages who serve as royal advisors could also rule. They cling to noble traditions out of self-interest, to avoid creating rivals, nothing more. They have no idea what the Commonwealth really is."

He took a sip and stared at the ceiling.

"Mages from the Commonwealth are different. They embody and understand its power. The danger isn't that they'll betray us—there they're nobodies, so they'd cling to us out of self-interest. But in a critical moment, fear could break them, make them bow to outside demands, submit to the Commonwealth. We are weaker, but free, so long as we do not bow, whether to the Commonwealth or the Theocracy. Once we take a side, we will be destroyed. Remember that."

I shrugged indifferently. Geopolitics was low on my list of concerns; I had my own problems to deal with.

The ambassador clearly took offense at my apathy.

"I've heard of your antics, swinging wildly from one extreme to another. I won't judge you; I don't care. I don't even care if you're pretending, or who you really are… But you have no idea how people here live. You don't know your own history, why we built this Kingdom, or in whose honor you carry your sword."

"Perhaps not," I replied diplomatically, wondering exactly what he meant.

He waved a hand dismissively.

"Perhaps someday I'll convince the King to make a unified history education mandatory for all…"

"So, about those mages?" I reminded him of our topic.

"Take whoever you can," he said with a shrug, sipping his drink.

"What? That simple?"

"Why simple? You'll still need the Commonwealth's representative's consent, and they'll likely approve no more than one."

"And you won't try to block me because of our rivalry?"

"I could. The current king's decrees contradict the previous king's; I could use that to slow the process, and I'd love to watch you send complaints to the King. But duty outweighs petty pleasure. Consider it permission. Now stop interrupting my work."

"Thank you. In that case, I must note you've already been very productive today," I said, nodding at the empty bottles.

"Alcohol barely affects me. Side effect of my family's poison training," he explained neutrally, waving me off.

But once I decide to do a good deed, no one will be able to stop me.

"Do you need help?"

"Finishing off the bar's stock?" he asked, confused.

"With whatever's driving you to finish it."

"Heh. Not your area of expertise. The best help you can give is not getting in my way."

"And if I do this?"

I took out the King's ring and set it on the table before him. The Count instantly covered it with his hand.

"Where did you get this? Abyss! Come with me, Viscount."

He rose from the table decisively, taking the bottle and the ring with him.

We left the estate and walked several blocks to a small park lit by magical lanterns.

"I think no one will overhear us here. I'm sure the whole estate is riddled with air mages," he explained, taking out my ring.

Under the lamplight, the Count examined it and compared it with his own. After a few minutes, he sighed and handed it back.

"Ah, I've worked so hard, and he still doesn't trust me… So, you're aware of, um…" He paused, forcing me to finish.

"That our pair of rings might be useful to the Second Prince?" I hinted at marriage.

"Yes. Ha-ha!" He suddenly laughed, then immediately apologized. "Forgive me, I couldn't help it. At least now I won't be the only one blamed for everything."

I raised an eyebrow.

"The Magister. I managed to speak with him briefly today. That ancient sack of sand pretends there were no agreements at all! He gave no sign he even understood what was being discussed!"

"Were there actual agreements, or only hints?"

"Of course there were. He approved the idea; we only needed to finalize the details."

"And who was the bride?"

"That's exactly what we were supposed to discuss, as the Magister had been unable to decide for some time. The King gave me a list of candidates acceptable to our negotiating side. Essentially, the only requirement was that she had to be at least a junior archmage. That's all."

"Was Nala on that list?"

"Yes… but it's unlikely Igni would give away the Ice Princess. Her status at the Academy is too high; she's effectively one of its leaders, one of the deputy rectors. Why do you ask about her specifically?"

"What if I told you I spoke to her today? And she specifically warned me that the Rector would try to act as if he's distancing himself from already accepted agreements?"

"Please, start from that part in detail," the Count requested, setting an unopened bottle on the ground.

I spent several minutes briefly recounting Nala's proposal.

The ambassador listened closely, then grew pensive.

The moon broke through the clouds, crickets chirped. At last, the Count shook his head skeptically.

"No. This seems contrived. I don't think she told the whole truth."

"Mmm?"

"The Rector's behavior is suspicious. It would have been easy for him to contact me confidentially. I think it's more complicated. He truly abandoned the deal, but his daughter apparently hasn't and is trying to push it through behind his back."

"Possible," I shrugged. Political and romantic matters didn't interest me much.

The ambassador continued to frown.

"I don't understand why she'd do this. Her position here is much stronger than what she'd gain by marrying a prince. But this is our only chance to complete the mission, and we must use it. Have you thought of how you'll get the prince away from his watchers?"

"Not yet," I admitted.

"All right. I'll think about it and let you know when I come up with something worthwhile. In the meantime—stay close to him, all right?"

I nodded, and we returned to the estate.

As soon as I entered my assigned room, the sound of snoring hit my ears.

Asha lay sprawled across the bed in her robe, sleeping peacefully.

Beside her was a half-gnawed piece of meat, and empty plates lay on the table.

Now that was someone without a care in the world.

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◆ Dungeons beneath the Academy, Rector of the Academy, Igni's POV. ◆

"Increase the field's tension by another two-tenths of a micro-Merlin," ordered the Rector, shifting slightly in his chair.

The hard seat made his backside go numb, causing the old man discomfort.

Of course, his discomfort was nothing compared to what the prisoner across from him was enduring.

A figure in a tight black cloak and a featureless mask that completely covered their head touched the adjustment crystal, making the necessary changes.

The prisoner, already sitting on the metal throne like a man locked in rigor mortis, arched even further. All his muscles twitched convulsively, causing unbearable pain. One might think this was torture… But no. On the contrary, it was a measure to keep him from dying during the real torture.

A torture that was, incidentally, entirely safe for his physical health!

"Begin," ordered the Rector, squirming in his chair.

"No, please…" mumbled the prisoner, his tongue thick.

The cloaked figure approached and touched the former ambassador's forehead with a hand clad in a thick, insulating glove.

He began convulsing even more violently and screamed.

"Quiet," whispered the mask-distorted voice, and the prisoner's breath caught.

The Rector tucked his legs in and pressed himself into his chair. Even though the mage was trying to work with precision, echoes of the emanated terror that ravaged the former ambassador still reached him. In the most literal sense—terror.

The man was so frightened he was ready to empty everything he'd built up over the day… if he hadn't already done so during the first procedure.

The smell was unpleasant, but not a drop of the mage's blood had been shed, all in accordance with the code. As for other bodily fluids—who cared?

The waves of terror shifted to rage, stoked skillfully by the mage.

"Speak," whispered the distorted voice.

"Bastard! The Third Prince, the bastard! I hate him! I'll tear him to pieces!" the former ambassador shouted, choking on his own spit in fury.

"For what? What did he do?" The whisper coiled through the dungeon like a venomous snake.

"He set me up! He set me up! I had no ill intentions, he just asked me to turn around before I went into the portal! Filth! I hate him!"

"Did you suspect why he asked that?" the faceless one continued.

"I… didn't know… I… I…" The ambassador hesitated.

Admitting he had suspected was terrifying, but the creature before him inspired far greater fear.

Noticing that the prisoner wasn't answering, thereby embarrassing him in front of the Rector, the mage sharply increased the pressure, so much so that a shiver ran down the Magister's spine… a shiver he'd only felt in moments of mortal danger.

"Yes… I… suspected," the ambassador wheezed, slumping back in the metal throne.

His eyes rolled back, foam dripped from his mouth.

His heart had stopped from sheer terror.

Fortunately, this was a common occurrence during interrogations of this kind. The steel apparatus didn't hesitate, delivering electric shock after electric shock to restart the ambassador's heart.

The mentalist brushed off his glove with disdain and stepped away from the prisoner. It would take some time before he recovered.

"Well done," the Rector praised the mage. "The important thing is that he knew the risks."

The mage bowed deeply despite the heavy helmet-mask.

For a moment, Igni almost pitied his subordinate.

Such an uncomfortable outfit was necessary to conceal the mage's identity. But it didn't hide him from the Magister, who could see perfectly well who stood before him and recall the mage's family line.

Hmm, if this house manifested the gift, then others in the family might carry it recessively… If I pair them with… yes, the chances of another mentalist being born would be high.

Even though the gift was far from as all-powerful as rumors and legends claimed, it was still very useful. Even base emotions carried great power.

The Rector's thoughts were interrupted by the cough of the now-awake ambassador.

"More?" asked the masked mage.

In truth, the Rector didn't expect to hear anything new. Everything the former ambassador could say, he had already said, and it wasn't much, since he knew nothing at all. Just a pawn told to avert his eyes at the right moment.

The Magister was simply punishing a fool and killing time until others brought back more information. Besides, the mentalist needed practice on other mages. One couldn't terrify peasants all the time.

"Sador," the Rector addressed the disgraced ambassador.

"Yes… sir."

"Choose: the Frost Ranges or the Desert."

"Th… the Ranges."

"You leave tomorrow morning. Five years of service on the edge of the world will teach you to think with your head next time."

"Th… thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. Ma…" The Rector stopped mid-word, on the verge of speaking the mage's true name, disguising it as a cough. Ah, old age is no joy.

"Mage," he repeated. "You may practice on him for another hour."

The masked figure bowed again, and the old man rose from his chair, heading upstairs to the interrogators.

Upstairs, the office was bustling with activity, but all froze as the Magister appeared in the doorway.

"Any good news?" the Magister asked with a fatherly smile.

"A courier wyvern delivered a vial from the potion Dastan Dorn gave to the ambassador's wife. The potion's remnants are already being analyzed by the alchemists."

"Anything unusual?"

"A few things. The materials are typical, all from the Kingdom. But the processing methods… highly unusual. We've gathered specialists, but none can recall any guild working in such a manner. The working theory is that it was brewed by some reclusive master born in the Kingdom."

"A master appearing out of nowhere?" The Rector pursed his lips. "Sounds doubtful. Check every alchemist. Someone may have decided that by moving their lab into the Kingdom, they could avoid sharing their work under Commonwealth rules. I don't believe a master just appeared from thin air. Training an alchemist takes hundreds of thousands of ingredients and a vast scientific base. This isn't like learning to toss fireballs in a field!"

"It will be done! And, sir… The water mages are exhausted from casting a network of lenses to study the potion. May we request Lady Nala's assistance? It would help us learn more about this mysterious master."

"She hasn't answered my messages since midday. Seems she's busy. Handle it yourselves," the Magister said curtly, then turned back to the assembled group.

"What about the portal network? Have you determined the object's mass?"

The assembled men paled. One of the senior interrogators stepped forward, taking the hit.

"Yes, between thirty and sixty kilograms. But… it's a bit worse than we thought."

The Magister gave him his trademark, piercing stare.

"Ahem. We began checking old teleportation group reports and found that such anomalies had happened before. To be precise, we used the dissertation of one mage, who studied the effect of perturbation flows of magical energy on magical expenditure and the occurrence of pseudo-flares in portals. Truth be told, he explained the effect quite plausibly, but now we understand that it was all a bit different."

"A bit?" the Magister repeated, outwardly calm.

"Er, yes. This mage used peripheral portals and always traveled with a large group, so the excess energy use was barely noticeable. This time, we only detected him due to heightened security measures because of the guests. It was bold, teleporting right under our noses."

"When were these 'anomalies' first recorded?"

"Hard to say… a year and a half ago, maybe two. We're still checking the archives."

"And you call that 'a bit'? Someone has been using our portal network as their personal transport for two years, and you believed nonsense about perturbation flows? Check this dissertation-lover for aiding the enemy."

"Yes, sir!"

"And check the alibis of all known shadow mages—thankfully, they can be counted on one hand. Find this runner."

"Yes, sir!"

"And one more thing. That mage who defended the dissertation on these flows?"

"Yes?"

"After you finish the interrogation, if it turns out he's not involved, send him on a 'business trip' to the desert border for three years. The Frost Range is already taken."

The Magister rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. Along the way, he'd even picked up some expendables for suicidal work. And who would dare say he wasn't a brilliant leader?