Chapter 174

Chapter 174. Not Ma(馬), but Ma(魔)

A short while later.

Having thoroughly thrashed the back-street hoodlums, Aster walked back out onto the roadway, his pockets noticeably heavier and his mood considerably improved.

Maisellne kept watch on him from a hidden vantage point, before soon shifting his attention to Fury.

“…Is this truly the path?”

The question held various implications.

He wondered if this boy was genuinely the savior destined to liberate the spirits who had been imprisoned for an immeasurable epoch. Furthermore, he questioned the righteousness of the endeavor itself.

Regarding the former, he possessed no certainty.

Such a determination lay beyond his capacity.

His role was merely to execute the desires of those tragic entities.

Yet, the latter point required validation.

‘Regardless of how wicked a person might be, they should not face senseless violence.’

When a crime is committed, retribution is warranted—but that did not grant arbitrary authority for anyone to inflict a beating.

Seeking a clearer assessment, Maisellne advanced toward the location.

The most direct approach would have been to apprehend Aster for questioning, but coercion rarely yielded unvarnished truth.

An abrupt interrogation would likely only prompt the youth to offer self-serving explanations.

Therefore, prior to reaching a conclusion, Maisellne intended to observe the aftermath firsthand.

Thus, he reached the spot.

“Hmm.”

Maisellne narrowed his vision at the bleak sight before him.

The thugs were scattered across the ground without a single fracture—suffering only from severe bruising and welts. The precision of the assault was remarkable.

Then, a sudden detail arrested his attention.

A sharp glimmer.

The cold reflection of sunlight off a blade.

Though the scene was brutal…

‘…He showed mercy to those who wielded weapons against him?’

Maisellne contemplated the sight in silence before preparing to depart once more.

Or rather, he attempted to.

“Old man.”

“…!”

An unexpected voice resonated directly from behind.

Maisellne’s eyes stretched wide as he gradually pivoted around.

Leaning casually against the brickwork was the very youth he assumed had departed long ago—Aster was fixing him with a steady gaze.

‘When did he…?’

For the first time in ages, an icy sensation washed over Maisellne.

To be detected so utterly from the rear without even a hint of awareness?

Moreover, that was not the sole cause for astonishment.

He had perceived Maisellne’s concealment? A concealment that even Nine Star Tohoman had failed to detect?

With a whirlwind of thoughts racing through his mind, Maisellne met Aster’s frosty glare as the boy spoke.

“Who exactly are you, old man, to keep tailing me like this?”

“Hmm.”

How ought he to handle this development?

‘This deviates entirely from my expectations….’

It presented a genuine dilemma.

In reality, Aster was grappling with his own internal chaos as well.

‘Confound it—what is going on here?’

Though he maintained an unbothered facade, his internal state was entirely different.

‘From a mere glance, he is clearly a spiritist.’

What reason would such a practitioner have to track him?

Truthfully, he had been uncertain initially.

An uncomfortable prickling sensation had lingered at the base of his neck, yet no matter how far he extended his perception, he gathered no definitive proof. Furthermore, even Sir Tohoman had given no indication of noticing a disturbance.

Granted, there was a rationale for that.

Aster possessed an exceptionally acute awareness, whereas Sir Tohoman’s senses were somewhat unrefined for an individual of his standing.

Such was the nature of sorcerers dedicated to earth-element disciplines—at any rate.

Spurred by that unsettling intuition, Aster had remained highly vigilant, striving to identify the source of the irritation.

To put it plainly, it sent a chill down his spine.

An entity was undeniably pursuing him, yet leaving no discernible trail… had the pursuer been an assassin, he might well have lost his life without warning.

It was a trepidation he had not experienced in quite some time.

He had long grown unaccustomed to such anxiety, until—

Just as Aster’s thoughts reached that point, Maisellne broke the silence.

“…At what point did you realize?”

“Does that question truly take priority right now?”

In honesty, he had detected a faint vestige from the moment they stepped onto the festival grounds. His suspicions regarding the man being a spiritist had solidified near the astrology pavilion.

While ordinary sorcerers might find it alien, the resonance of spirits was deeply familiar to Aster.

“Hmm. My apologies. However, I give you my word that I harbored no malicious intent.”

“Hm. No malicious intent, you claim.”

Aster feigned an attempt to decipher the man’s motives while secretly settling his racing pulse.

This was the absolute limit of his bravado.

Inwardly, he desired to launch a decisive preemptive strike, but while such a tactic might succeed against a standard sorcerer or knight, it was ineffective against a spiritist.

A spiritist was invariably accompanied by unseen entities—meaning any confrontation was inherently stacked against him.

It equated to facing an extra, imperceptible adversary.

Consequently, he proceeded with extreme reservation, prompting Maisellne to speak once more.

“I am genuinely apologetic. As previously stated, my surveillance carried no ill intent. I pledge this upon my spirit. Would such an oath suffice to earn your trust?”

As he uttered the words, Maisellne maintained a fixed gaze on Aster.

Indeed, invoking a spirit’s name constituted the most solemn pledge Maisellne could proffer.

The bond between a spiritist and a spirit was anchored in absolute purity and mutual affinity. Should the name be invoked in falsehood, the entity would sever the connection permanently.

It existed on a completely separate plane from a sorcerer’s conventional vow involving mana—a pledge that had long since lost its gravity…

“Are you in possession of numerous spirits? Or perhaps you are no spiritist at all?”

“…?”

“Well, even the destitute wanderers within the Black and White Zone frequently swear upon their mothers and fathers. On occasion, you find fellows who pledge upon three or four separate foster parents.”

“……”

Maisellne found himself momentarily speechless.

The notion was entirely outside his worldview.

A denizen of the Black and White Zone would typically be a parentless waif, yet they swore oaths upon their lineage? And claimed multiple foster fathers at that?

What manner of chaotic existence must one endure to accumulate such a collection of guardians?

Yet, those musings were short-lived.

To demonstrate his sincerity, Maisellne summoned Fury into the open.

Tzuzuz—

“Do you observe? This young entity is my companion.”

Aster evaluated the diminutive, feminine manifestation that materialized beside Maisellne—standing barely taller than the span of a hand.

‘He has manifested a single entity for now.’

Thus, the lingering uncertainty lay in how many spirits the elderly man truly commanded.

With that consideration in mind, Aster questioned further.

“The specific spirit of your oath—is it that one?”

“It is.”

“I see how it is.”

Naturally, skepticism remained.

It remained entirely possible that the spirit tied to a false oath had already departed, leaving him to simply summon a replacement.

Granted, the most infallible verification would involve demanding an oath upon “every spirit in your possession” or “that precise entity,” but—

‘That course of action is unwise.’

Should the opposing party harbor hidden hostility, such a demand could trigger an immediate, violent confrontation before any terms could be reached.

The primary objective was to ensure a viable avenue of retreat.

Aster observed Maisellne while intentionally appearing to lower his guard.

“Very well, I shall accept that your motives were not malicious. Therefore—what business did you have that prompted you to stalk me?”

Softening his aggressive demeanor served as a calculated deception.

Regardless, he remained prepared to strike the instant a threat materialized—

Meanwhile, Maisellne let loose a quiet murmur and kept his eyes trained on Aster.

From his perspective, the encounter was far from ideal.

‘My hope was to engage in a conversation under far more serene circumstances….’

Yet, events had unfolded as they did.

“The reality is, I require your assistance with a certain matter—”

Before he could finish, Aster intervened.

“Cease.”

“…?”

Maisellne tilted his head in confusion.

What had prompted this?

Only moments prior, the youth’s antagonism had waned, his cadence growing milder—yet in a flash, an intense hostility resurfaced in his tone.

What proved even more baffling was that this animosity felt distinct from standard anger.

“I have heard nothing.”

With those final words, Aster pivoted away and began walking down the path, maintaining a deliberate pace.

‘Hmph. No malicious intent?’

If an intrusion like this did not qualify as malicious, then nothing did.

Maisellne stood paralyzed, watching Aster’s departing figure recede.

He could not even summon the resolve to intercept him.

The dismissal had been delivered with such absolute, chilling finality.

“Hmm… a difficult plight indeed.”

To have an initial introduction go so poorly that he could not even articulate his proposal…

‘What path remains?’

Maisellne fell into deep contemplation.

‘Must I proceed entirely on my own strength after all?’

Though that had been his baseline strategy, it remained an incredibly flawed approach.

The expressions of the spirits were conveyed only through the celebratory dances of the fey.

Because he possessed the ability to perceive them, his understanding surpassed that of common men—yet his insights remained limited.

He understood merely that the spirits were confined within some manner of barrier, enduring agony over an immense epoch, and that the festival of the fey represented the sole window to shatter that enclosure.

The method to achieve their liberation eluded him.

Even so, he had journeyed to Amera simply because he could not ensure his survival until the subsequent celestial dance…

And under such constraints, to alienate the very champion chosen by the spirits themselves?

‘This bodes ill.’

Had he remained ignorant, it would be one thing—but possessing this awareness caused a wave of profound regret to wash over him.

It was entirely possible that the youth held the key to unsealing the barrier and ending the torment.

“Had I at least managed to voice the proposition, the remorse would be bearable… hmm.”

Uttering the words, Maisellne gave a firm shake of his head.

That was a convenient self-deception.

To claim he would feel less regret simply by speaking the words? That was a falsehood.

What alternative did he possess?

“I simply… cannot abandon this task.”

Yet, attempting another direct confrontation would undoubtedly cause the boy to flee.

Naturally, he possessed the martial capability to subdue him and compel a dialogue, but… such an action abandoned all notions of righteousness.

“Fury, our options are spent.”

Maisellne reached a conclusion.

He would unearth the identity that history had obscured and present it to the world once more.

“Fury, let us depart.”

With determined strides, he prepared to exit the passageway. Or rather, he attempted to.

‘Yet… where exactly are the retainers of Brando residing?’

Aster was already cognisant of his tracking, making further surveillance an arduous prospect.

Ugh.

Vigorously rubbing his scalp, Maisellne stepped out into the bustling thoroughfares.

For whatever reason, the day proved remarkably unyielding.

Concurrently, twilight descended.

Aster, dragging his profoundly fatigued frame after hours of traversing Astrology Street, finally made his way back to the Brando estate.

The day had been exceptionally nerve-wracking.

‘Where under the sun did that spiritist emerge from?’

Moreover, setting that issue aside—

‘A proposition for me? By what means does he even recognize me?’

The stranger’s actions and assertions defied all logic.

If the requirement was merely for a proficient sorcerer, countless candidates existed elsewhere, yet the reality that he had been pursued across such a distance indicated Aster was a deliberate target.

Furthermore, throughout his current existence, he had never once crossed paths with a spiritist.

By what mechanism had this occurred?

As Aster contemplated the puzzle, he shook his thoughts clear with a violent gesture.

‘What does it matter how or why?’

The critical takeaway was simple.

The proposition had been rejected, and moving forward, there existed no rationale for their paths to cross again.

Granted, the practitioner might alter his approach later and attempt to utilize coercion, but that was an issue for a future date.

Even facing that prospect, he felt no genuine apprehension.

Because—

‘Brando.’

Aster directed his gaze toward the opulent estate, a smirk of contentment forming on his features.

Demian stood to his left, Chenbi to his right.

Yet, the presence of Demian or Chenbi was secondary—the true security lay with Tohoman and the unidentified Nine Star who had accompanied Demian.

The pursuing spiritist appeared to possess considerable capability, but… what could he realistically accomplish when pitted against such a formidable gathering?

‘If his days were already numbered, this will simply expedite the process.’

Sustained by that cynical thought, he advanced through the gates with absolute assurance—

“Uahaha! Young Patriarch, you have returned? Why the extensive delay? Are you aware of how long we have anticipated your arrival?”

The Nine Star whose identity remained unfamiliar to him came bounding from the main entryway with an expansive smile.

‘…What is this?’

An individual normally devoid of mirth was approaching with a radiant expression? He tilted his head at the uncharacteristic behavior.

Demian, sensing an entertaining development, allowed his eyes to gleam with curiosity.

“What occurred? Is there an unexpected presence within?”

“Hahaha, prepare yourself for quite a revelation. A visitor has arrived, and are you capable of guessing their identity? Ah, it is highly probable the Young Patriarch remains unacquainted. It is an individual who achieved immense renown during a bygone era.”

Beaming broadly as though he had encountered a historical icon, the Nine Star addressed Demian,

“The legendary spiritist—the champion Sir Maisellne—the very individual who fought alongside Duke Muspellun, the cataclysmic archmage, during the ancient conflict! He has graced us with his presence.”

The instant the proclamation concluded—

Aster could only think,

‘…Confound it.’

Is there a hex upon my life? What manner of absurdity is this?

Ah—and to clarify, this particular “ma” did not signify ma(馬)—a beast of burden—but rather ma. The designation for a demon.

…Such was the nature of existence.