Chapter 74

Chapter 74
Approximately a week and five days had elapsed since their departure from the colony.

“Until next time, Count!”

“Farewell.”

After the head merchant saw him off with a deep, folder-like bow, Alon resolved to go directly to the Palatio Count’s residence. The treasure wagon he had acquired at the colony was impractical to bring on the journey ahead.

Therefore, he returned to the Count’s estate, secured both wagons, and departed at once for Lartania.

Had the road to Lartania been in a completely different direction from the path to Raksas, he would have continued without diversion. Luckily, Lartania was situated along the way to Raksas.

It wasn’t the most direct route, but he was prepared to accept the detour and embarked once more.

After five days of travel…

“Count.”

While Alon stared absently at the serene forest, Evan, who was steering the wagon, posed a question.

“What is it?”

“It’s nothing urgent, but you’ve appeared preoccupied these last few days.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, you’ve been slipping into thought frequently of late.”

Alon was quiet for a moment before replying.

“I suppose I have.”

“Is it related to what you mentioned earlier? About having matters to consider?”

Evan’s comment prompted Alon to think, ‘That is one reason, yes.’ However, Alon’s recent reflections were not centered on faith.

Naturally, he was intrigued by his newfound ability to wield power. Yet, there was insufficient information to form any conclusions on his own. At present, Alon’s focus was not on faith, but on the final statements made by the dragonkin.

“…Two possibilities.”

He remembered the dragonkin’s explanation regarding magic.

“As you are aware, a mage’s use of magic is fundamentally dependent on ‘imagination.’ This is an unchangeable law and truth, as certain and natural as the sunrise and sunset. Yet, you appear to disregard it with ease.”

Alon recalled the dragonkin extending its slender, inhuman index and middle fingers.

“The law is absolute. It cannot be altered and must remain so. Therefore, I believe you represent one of two possibilities.”

“The first is that you, standing here before me, are a being beyond my comprehension.”

“The second is that you have merely forgotten.”

Remembering the dragonkin’s parting words, Alon clicked his tongue in frustration.

‘No matter how I consider it, neither seems correct.’

Obviously, Alon was not some transcendent entity. If he were, as the dragonkin implied, he wouldn’t be facing such difficulties now.

Still, the second suggestion concerning ‘memory’ didn’t feel right to Alon either. He had not lived during the Age of Forgotten Gods, when mages were said to flourish. Even within the game, that era was merely background lore, and Babylonian phrases and beastfolk were simply tools to boost magical power, never deeply investigated.

In other words, Alon had only gained a little understanding about imagination from his discussion with the dragonkin.

Consequently, when Alon had initially asked if other possibilities existed, the dragonkin had insisted that no alternatives existed beyond those two.

‘Why does it seem that as time goes on, I discover more things I was ignorant of, rather than finding answers?’ Alon released a brief sigh, then shrugged. According to the dragonkin, once he finally arrived in Raksas, he would witness the truth of this world.

Of course, to him, understanding the world’s truth was secondary to determining whether this revelation would pose a threat. His primary objective, then and now, was to live a tranquil life.

“A tranquil life…”

Hearing Alon’s soft murmur under the noise of the turning wheels, Evan spoke again.

“You desire a peaceful life?”

“I do.”

“…For someone who says that, your current life seems rather turbulent.”

“I am merely occupied for the time being.”

“I suspect things will be no different in a few years…”

Alon offered no reply. Internally, he recognized the truth in Evan’s observation.

“Evan.”

“Yes?”

“For your dinner tonight, you may only have sweet potatoes.”

“…Pardon?”

But thinking something and accepting it are separate matters, so Alon, showing a trace of irritation, turned his gaze back outside. In contrast to Alon’s mood, the landscape beyond was utterly calm. It was one of those days when the sunset arrived late.

***

Several days later, after reaching Lartania, Alon chose to visit a local shop to purchase an appropriate present before going to Merd. He didn’t anticipate the artifact appraisal being done without charge, but he felt it was proper to bring a gift when visiting someone’s home. He also regretted not having brought one the previous time, when he had hurried off to confront an Outer God.

Remembering the shabby fountain pen in Rine’s office, Alon went into a shop to buy a new one. While selecting one that was neither too lavish nor too inexpensive, he caught snippets of conversation.

“Have you heard the news?”

“What news?”

“Another of the Triumvirate has died.”

“I heard about that. ‘Vima,’ wasn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“Well, given the bribes he took, he probably had it coming… But with Riet, another Triumvirate member, also dead…”

“Only Rine remains. That’s why everyone is in an uproar.”

“Why is that?”

“I heard this from someone, but the rumor is that she killed the other Triumvirate members.”

“Why? How did that rumor begin?”

“It’s not completely certain, but they say they had a recent confrontation. Apparently, someone insulted her godfather—”

“…??”

It was a deeply disquieting piece of gossip.

***

Deus Macallian, recognized as the Second Sword among Caliban’s Five Swords, was a figure of immense renown within the nation. Though unofficial and unrecorded, it was common knowledge that he had already bested Reinhardt.

Despite his brilliant reputation and powerful presence, there were quiet murmurs about his curious affinity for magic, unusual for a Master Knight. Some even alleged that, during his nightly sword practice, he would occasionally adopt strange postures and pretend to cast spells when he believed himself unobserved…

Nonetheless, Deus Macallian’s fame was so immense that such odd rumors could scarcely tarnish it. However, not everyone regarded this situation with approval. One such individual was the Prince of Caliban.

Prince Tyrian, the second prince of Caliban and son of King Palmaryan IV, was dissatisfied with the current state of affairs. This was largely due to his own bitter history with Deus Macallian. Of course, this animosity was entirely of his own making.

Unlike the first prince, who was considered fit for the crown, Tyrian was notorious as the palace’s mischief-maker. In the past, he had approached Deus Macallian’s sole sister with vulgar and disrespectful comments. The consequence was a humiliating defeat in a king-sanctioned duel where he was soundly thrashed. This event planted a lasting hatred for Deus in Tyrian.

“Tsk.”

Although he preferred not to think of Deus, Tyrian found his thoughts turning to him today because of a confidential request he had received. The request was to exert political pressure on Count Palatio.

Carrying out the request was not especially difficult—in fact, it was something Tyrian felt compelled to do. Despite his notorious conduct, Tyrian had managed to sustain his faction, primarily due to the “item” supplied by the requester.

Moreover, the request itself wasn’t particularly demanding. Applying political pressure on Count Palatio without justification was risky for Tyrian. Count Palatio was, after all, a noble of the Asterian Kingdom, not Caliban. Even with the confederation between Caliban and Asteria, interfering with another nation’s nobility was a delicate endeavor.

However, one factor made pressuring Count Palatio seem straightforward: the letter’s sender had provided plausible information that would make the second prince’s pressure appear justified.

In other words, Tyrian could pressure Count Palatio without significant backlash. Furthermore, by doing so, he could place the letter’s sender somewhat in his debt.

The genuine problem was the close connection between Count Palatio and Deus Macallian. More precisely, it was troubling that Deus Macallian seemed to hold Count Palatio in unusually high esteem.

“Hmph…”

Tyrian knew that during gatherings of the Five Swords, whenever mages were discussed, Deus would inevitably launch into lengthy praises of Count Palatio for nearly an hour. Tyrian was aware of this because he regularly received reports from one of the swords aligned with his faction. Lately, Deus had even started praising Count Palatio out of the blue, remarking, “Why does Count Palatio always come to mind?”

This placed Tyrian in a difficult position. Opposing Count Palatio was minor compared to the potential advantages. For Tyrian, who loathed Deus, it was an ideal chance to target someone Deus admired.

Yet, Tyrian wavered. He was uncertain how Deus Macallian would react upon learning of this scheme. Despite his fame, Deus was like a rabid dog.

After some deliberation, Tyrian finally reached a conclusion.

‘No matter how deranged he is, he cannot possibly take action.’

A cunning smile crept across Tyrian’s face. The only reason Deus Macallian had been able to humiliate him before was due to having a just cause. Without a valid reason, even a mad dog like Deus Macallian would be unable to lay a hand on him.

Despite his waning influence and the king’s diminished faith in him, Tyrian was still the second prince of Caliban. To harm him without any justification would be sheer insanity, and Deus was aware of that.

So, Tyrian was confident that Deus would not dare to move.

At least, that was his belief until the day before.

BOOM!

With a stunned expression, Tyrian looked forward. The door to his office in the palace annex had been violently smashed, and a man stood in the doorway.

Gripping a wooden sword in one hand, the man was none other than Deus Macallian.

“The Sword of Caliban greets the successor of the Five Swords,” he declared, his eyes blazing with ferocious intensity.

He had come for Tyrian.