Chapter 103

Chapter 103
## Chapter 103

Essentially, it boiled down to a complete lack of kinship with his own kind, implying Lucian was free to exploit or discard them as he saw fit.

It was a ruthless perspective, but in its own way, it represented a shrewd tactic for staying alive.

The groundwork for the restoration of the mages had only just been established. In such a fragile state, what would occur if they began forming insular cliques, protecting even the useless simply because they shared the label of “mage”?

‘The uprising from three centuries ago would merely happen all over again.’

These individuals had suffered persecution for generations despite their ability to manifest wonders. Even a novice with mediocre talents would inevitably grow arrogant once they finally received social validation. It was perfectly plausible that they would attempt to use Colin, as the pioneer of this new era, as a figurehead to begin demanding privileges.

Colin was proactively drawing a boundary against future turbulence.

‘Excellent.’

Lucian couldn’t be certain if these words were a calculated political maneuver or a sincere belief. Regardless, he was more than pleased. It was a pledge of fealty to Lucian the man, rather than to a collective guild. It signaled that even if a peer stood before him, Colin would personally eliminate them if they obstructed Lucian’s path.

“Your rank shall be that of Chief Mage.”

“…!”

“If you are familiar with the chronicles, you understand the weight of that title. Or is a briefing required?”

“No, certainly not, my Lord!”

In his frantic rush to respond, Colin accidentally bit his tongue and winced in agony. Even as his eyes blurred with tears, the designation Lucian had bestowed rang through his thoughts.

‘Chief Mage.’

It was a distinction reserved for the Great Houses of Marquis status or higher—lineages that maintained vast circles of sorcerers three hundred years prior. It was a role that commanded all retained mages and represented the absolute zenith of arcane authority within a household. Even the Imperial Court, the final bastion where magic survived, had long since retired the office of Chief Mage.

‘Is this truly appropriate? If I assume the mantle of Chief Mage simply by being the first through the door, the casters who follow will harbor immense bitterness.’

A wave of apprehension washed over him, and Colin nervously voiced his doubts.

“Your Highness… I beg your pardon, but the role of Chief Mage is typically earned through demonstrated prowess and rivalry….”

“Do you lack faith in your own capabilities?”

“Never! I am a Magister, regardless of how it looks!”

“Magister?”

“It is a term for the sorcerous hierarchy. We advance from Apprentice, where potential is gauged, to Disciple, then to Mage, Magister, and ultimately, Magus.”

This was terminology Lucian had never encountered. Did such a system exist? Then again, humans were obsessed with categorizing themselves by proficiency. Even the knights, whose skill levels were often subjective, utilized honors like Sword Saint; it stood to reason that mages would employ something comparable.

“What defines the gap?”

“It becomes technical if one delves into the specifics… but essentially, you can view a Mage as a novice, a Magister as a specialist, and a Magus as a grandmaster.”

Lucian tilted his head at the description. Taken at face value, a Magister was merely a “specialist.” He questioned how Colin could be so bold about maintaining the Chief Mage post through strength when he hadn’t even reached the rank of “grandmaster.”

Detecting the skepticism in Lucian’s gaze, Colin let out a heavy breath.

“Your Highness, the purges persisted for three centuries. In this age, most traditions lack even the fundamental shards of knowledge required to be recognized as a single mage.”

“Ah, I follow.”

Truly, in a world where martial arts legacies had nearly evaporated, anyone who fully mastered even a mediocre style would be hailed as a Sword Saint. Had Colin, as a “specialist,” become one of the rare apex predators of this era? If anything, the Celestial School was the outlier for somehow clinging to that much lore until the present day.

“At any rate, I am pleased by your grit. You ought to be capable of crushing any dissent through sheer force.”

“That is factual, however….”

“If the anxiety is that great, consume this.”

Lucian retrieved the Nectar from within his vestments and brandished it before Colin. The mage recoiled slightly at the sight of the softly shimmering substance.

“W-what might that be?”

“Nectar.”

“A prestigious title. It possesses a beauty that matches the name, certainly.”

“Before I entrust this to you, answer one query. I am told mages utilize mana for their incantations as well. Is a tonic that benefits a knight equally effective for a mage?”

“Naturally.”

Colin offered a pained smile at the question.

“The reason mages refrain from studying both sorcery and the blade simultaneously isn’t due to a physical conflict. It is because a mortal life is too brief to perfect both, and the constant shifting between internal techniques breeds mental chaos.”

“Then what if a solution existed that could drastically expand the mana circuits without requiring a knight’s rhythmic breathing?”

“That would be a legendary elixir. It would render the movement of mana seamless without inflicting any mental strain on the practitioner. Every sorcerer would go mad trying to claim it. Though, of course, no such draft actually exists.”

Lucian grinned and passed him the Nectar. Accepting it on instinct, Colin gazed at Lucian with a stunned expression.

“Exactly what sort of brew is this that you speak of it with such gravity?”

“A legendary elixir.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Simply drink. And while you do, contemplate how you might best serve me as my Chief Mage.”

With those parting words, Lucian exited the chambers. Colin eyed the Nectar with doubt for a brief moment before finally twisting the seal and gulping down the contents.

A heartbeat later, a sound—a cross between a beast’s howl and a human shriek—reverberated through the walls.

—

Following the word that Glen had retreated to the capital, the lords of the North began their preparations to leave. With the Inspector, the voice of the throne, no longer present, there was no logic in lingering to scavenge for data.

Furthermore, Norbeck, now driven by pure malice, had managed a successful breakout from his cell.

‘If I leave my lands untended for too long, there is no telling what that vulture might attempt.’

‘It would be preferable if he were an open enemy. If he masks his approach with false kindness, it will only lead to catastrophic errors in judgment.’

‘I have extracted all the intel available. It is time to return and strategize.’

Lucian made no effort to detain the departing aristocrats. The hierarchy of the North had been established, and they had bowed to that reality. Since they viewed Lucian as the undisputed master of the board, there was no point in forcing their presence.

‘Many chaotic variables emerged, yet the conclusion is quite satisfactory.’

He had bled the Emperor for every possible concession, and all lines of communication had been severed at the ideal moment. Despite a few detours, he had reached his primary objective.

Lucian was savoring the successful outcome when—

*BANG!*

“My Lord!”

“W-we have an emergency!”

His three subordinates charged into the room, their complexions ghostly with panic. Lucian frowned at their entrance. He expected such outbursts from Hugo and Raymond, but for Felicia to lose her composure in this manner?

“What has occurred?”

“The Sword Saint… Sir Eisen is heading this way!”

“What?”

Lucian stood up so abruptly he barely noticed it. Sword Saint Eisen Brightner was traveling to the North?

When he looked over in shock, a trembling Felicia gave a sharp nod.

“It isn’t a mere rumor; the sightings are too numerous to ignore. It appears my father is truly approaching.”

“For what purpose?”

“I am uncertain. The whispers suggest he is coming for me, but….”

Lucian nodded as her words faltered. The Eisen they remembered was a man who detested vanity and pointless ceremony. If his only goal was to visit Felicia, he would have traveled in shadows. There was no logic in causing such a massive public disturbance.

And yet, he was making no effort to hide, announcing his path to the world.

“It is one of two scenarios. Either he is being coerced, or Sir Eisen himself deemed this spectacle necessary.”

“The first is impossible. The solitary figure capable of commanding the Sword Saint was the Grand Duke, and he is gone.”

“Correct. Therefore it must be the latter, but what could have transpired to drive him to….”

Lucian’s expression turned grim as he trailed off. The other retainers seemed to hit the same wall of realization, as they all went rigid. There was only one motive for the Sword Saint to abandon the house he had served with such devotion.

‘Treason.’

If he decided the new heir was unworthy of his blade, even the Sword Saint would depart. The issue wasn’t the Saint’s moral compass, but the timeline of his arrival. He was moving far too quickly for a coup to have happened and for a disgusted Sword Saint to have already reached the northern borders.

Unless Jordi had discovered Sigmund’s passing at nearly the same moment Lucian had….

“Jordi, you absolute filth.”

Lucian squeezed his hands until the bones popped. His hunch had solidified into a certainty.

Raymond, Felicia, and Hugo shared the same fury. In varying ways, they were all indebted to the Grand Duke. To imagine that the Grand Duke had perished due to the machinations of his own flesh and blood.

“Ah, the Second Young Master. You truly are….”

Raymond couldn’t find the breath to finish, his brow twitching with rage. Having been in Grand Duke Sigmund’s service the longest, his indignation ran deeper than most.

Lucian quelled his rising temper and spoke.

“When the hour arrives to put that dog Jordi down, I will grant you one of his limbs. But for now, we must address the immediate situation.”

“…Understood. Anticipating that day will be a sufficient motivation in itself.”

“Vengeance, like fine spirits, only improves with time.”

With those grim remarks, Lucian and his circle set the matter of Jordi aside. Screaming into the void would do nothing to the man. Rather than wasting energy on insults, it was vital to verify what he had done to the clan.

‘I need to dispatch a scout immediately.’

If they simply waited for the Sword Saint to arrive while he was being hailed and toasted at every stop, it would take an eternity. They needed a forward party to secure the news.

“Hugo, you will ride out to intercept Sir Eisen.”

“Me!? Why me specifically!?”

Hugo gestured to himself, looking stunned. Why him, when a knight of the same house and the Saint’s own daughter were standing right there?

“I-I’ve never even held a substantial conversation with Sir Eisen!”

“But you have socialized with everyone else in his orbit.”

“Excuse me? What is the meaning of that?”

“I mean, verify if Hans and Ian are in his company. And the rest of the youngsters who were under your leadership.”

“…!”

Hugo’s eyes widened as the realization struck him.

“You truly suspect those boys are with Sir Eisen?”

“Highly likely. I am unsure if both are present or only one.”

There was no other rationale for Eisen to spark such a ruckus. Even in his twilight years, Sword Saint Eisen was a force of nature capable of shattering a knight order single-handedly. He wasn’t a man Jordi could easily manipulate.

“If Sir Eisen were traveling solo, he would have slipped through unnoticed. Whether they dispatched hunters or attempted deceit, he could have simply sliced through them.”

And yet, Eisen was broadcasting his name. He was drawing the eyes of the realm and using his fame to ensure no one dared any treachery. If he was acting this way when he had no reason to fear for himself, it meant he was escorting “cargo.”

‘The only individuals who would qualify as cargo to Sir Eisen are the people who once served under me.’

He would allow the other knights their own choices, and he had no motive to rescue the general staff. Lucian could only speculate that Hans or Ian were with the Saint. It was a theory, of course, and he wouldn’t be certain until it was verified.

“That is the reason I am choosing you. You are the only one who can identify exactly how many of them are with Sir Eisen.”

“I-I see.”

Indeed, Hugo was the ideal candidate. Raymond was high-born and didn’t memorize the faces of every attendant, and Felicia was a recent addition to the inner circle. Only Hugo could precisely name who had been saved and who had been abandoned.

As Lucian was about to conclude the briefing, a thought hit him.

‘Wait, what does this mean for Thorkel and Lesta, whom I dispatched earlier?’

He had sent them to act as guards once his people, including Hans and Ian, escaped. But the very souls they were meant to defend might be traveling in perfect safety at the Sword Saint’s side. In that scenario, instead of completing their mission, they might look like just another pair of fans following the Sword Saint’s trail.

“…If that is the reality, I shall have to find some comforting words for them when they return.”

Lucian whispered to himself, envisioning the image of Lesta sprinting off with stars in his eyes.