Chapter 176

Chapter 176. Might the Wyvern Represent a Favorable Sign?

The moment Aster stepped inside his private quarters and closed the door behind him, a quiet chuckle escaped his lips—”Heh.”

Frankly, it had been an absolute struggle to prevent my face from breaking into a massive grin while listening to that entire tale.

To put it plainly—

“There are actual spirits confined within that place?”

And we weren’t talking about a mere handful, either.

By Mycelln’s estimations, the number reached into the hundreds… perhaps even exceeding a thousand.

But why should that matter?

Consider this.

When anglers go out to fish, they refer to an abundant location where the catch is constant as a prime honey hole, describing it as “equal parts water and fish.”

In such a location, even a complete novice can reel them in effortlessly—and that was the core issue.

“In essence… the waters are teeming with fish.”

Furthermore, aren’t spirits supposed to be somewhat innocent?

Scratch that—spirits are incredibly pure.

To what extent…? Well, imagine an entity so profoundly touched by a trivial act of goodwill that they remain devoted to you for the rest of their existence.

Folks frequently remark that when you distribute ill fortune by the handful you receive it back by the basketful, but spirits are the exact sort of creatures who accept a tiny measure of kindness and return it a hundredfold.

To put it another way, kid— no, never mind.

But hundreds, or even thousands, of such spirits?

“Heh, hehehe.”

Innumerable spirits all extending their hands to greet me.

A grand spire erected by the collective efforts of thousands after thousands of cooperative spirits.

Is that not a spectacular vision to contemplate?

Human resource expenses: absolutely none. No grocery expenses, either.

The sole requirement is a plot of ground to construct the spire upon.

“Technically, moonlight stones serve merely as a favorite treat, so we can overlook that expense.”

…Naturally, that represented the most perfect outcome.

“Even if I manage to catch just a single one, I still come out ahead.”

Yet, that would merely be a fringe perk.

In that case—what was the true prize?

Should you assist me with this matter… I shall provide you with a section of my personal spirit arts grimoire. Though it does not contain the teachings passed down by my instructor, it consists of insights I compiled from my own realizations during my twilight years, so it ought to prove useful to you.

A manual of spirit arts penned by none other than the Spiritist of the Cutting Wind himself!

“Wow. This is something money simply cannot buy.”

As expected of someone highly regarded by Grand Duke Muspellun?

“The magnitude of his bounty operates on an entirely unique plane.”

Furthermore, that was only the beginning.

If I managed to strengthen our bond using this chance, wouldn’t he be inclined to assist me even further down the line?

Judging by his demeanor, he appeared quite isolated in his solitude—he might eventually bequeath his entire wealth to the spire. Actually, even better, I could arrange for him to take up residence within the spire.

Welcoming those elderly, under-occupied veterans into the facility and treating them with the respect due to elders would surely prompt them to pitch in with various tasks eventually, wouldn’t it?

Even disregarding those notions, crossing paths with Senior Mycelln seemed like an auspicious indicator on multiple fronts.

“Might the wyvern represent a favorable sign?”

Otherwise, how could such immense luck arrive so thoroughly—bringing the entire harvest with it?

Besides, the assignment itself was hardly an arduous one.

Long ago during the events in the Hamelin Great Forest, Senior Riheim’s state had been so critical that I was forced to intervene directly… but the current Senior Mycelln was in a far better state.

Granted, when contrasted with his peak years, his pace might have slackened somewhat—

—yet his intrinsic power remained formidable.

This meant he was more than capable of managing things on his own…

Nonetheless, a specific detail kept nagging at me.

Aster stretched out across his mattress, pursuing his line of reasoning.

To recall, the words spoken by Senior Mycelln were…

For reasons unknown to me, the spirits have chosen you as their beacon of deliverance. They claim that you possess the power to liberate them.

…That was his statement.

For whatever reason, those words left an ominous impression.

However, the sensation passed instantly.

Aster promptly dismissed the remaining doubts from his mind.

“The wager has already been placed.”

The only thing left to discover was how the numbers would fall.

Fretting over it further would yield no benefits. Since I had already given my word, the sole path forward was execution.

A successful outcome meant acquiring an infinite labor force, and I refused to entertain the notion of falling short.

Ultimately, righteousness always triumphs.

And why is that?

“Simply because the victor becomes righteousness.”

It was as straightforward as that.

Consequently, upon concluding our morning meal that day—

Having reinforced our determination, Senior Mycelln and I convened within the reception hall to begin our task immediately.

Our schedule was tight.

“The performance of the Fairy Dance is paired with intense psychic imprints from the spirits. In my youth, I could handle the strain easily, but nowadays it presents a significant challenge.”

Oh—as a point of clarification, absolutely no one besides Senior Mycelln could perceive those attendant psychic imprints.

I had previously inquired with various other practitioners to determine if they had experienced anything similar, but he appeared unique in this regard.

“Given those circumstances, it makes sense that he perceives it as a divine vocation.”

At any rate, prior to our departure, we collaborated to pinpoint the exact site where the spirits of Amera were being held captive.

Truthfully, my own contributions were minimal.

Senior Mycelln had already deduced the general whereabouts beforehand.

Actually—calling it a mere “deduction” might be inaccurate; it resembled a thoroughly constructed theory.

“As you are aware, numerous distinguished lineages and celebrated sorcerers have scoured the Amera territory from end to end. They deployed not just sorcerous tracking, but every conceivable stratagem and approach in their tireless pursuit.”

Naturally, Senior Mycelln had been part of that effort.

In the past, he had even dispatched an aerial entity—Fury, or some similar designation—to blanket the whole of Amera for a comprehensive search.

“Yet the precise spot remained hidden. The Amera territory showed no anomalies. Therefore, this is my conclusion.”

It was highly probable that the site of the spirits’ confinement was equipped with specialized wards designed to block both arcane and ethereal detection methods.

That realization presented an obstacle.

Aster glanced briefly toward the doorway of the reception hall before commenting.

“Does that imply we are reduced to wandering around blindly on foot to locate it?”

“Not exactly. Because of the spellcasters who meticulously examined every single corner over the decades, the topsoil offers no remaining secrets.”

“In that case…”

Senior Mycelln indicated the ground beneath them.

“My suspicions lie beneath the surface.”

“Subterranean…?”

“And not merely anywhere below. Consider the manner in which the Fairy Dance manifests. The solution lies within the bodies of water.”

“The lakes?”

Senior Mycelln offered a nod.

Right on cue, he retrieved a chart of the Amera territory from within his garments and presented it to me—it was heavily annotated with detailed observations.

It recorded the specific years the Fairy Dance manifested, alongside the respective waters where it appeared.

It also noted the duration of each occurrence and identified which reservoirs had remained entirely dormant.

“It proved to be a grueling task. I can confidently state that no noble lineage conducted an investigation as rigorous as mine. I even leveraged certain influential contacts within the empire.”

Regardless, with the chart unfurled, Senior Mycelln pressed on.

“Our primary focus must be directed toward the waters that have never hosted the Fairy Dance—not even a single instance. Observe this section.”

The spots he highlighted were various bodies of water colored in crimson—ranging from vast basins to minor ponds distributed across the landscape.

“These particular waters share a unifying characteristic.”

“A shared trait…?”

“The aquatic channels. Specifically, the circulation of water is obstructed. To be more exact, they are completely severed from the remaining network.”

As he explained, Senior Mycelln gestured toward each of the crimson-shaded reservoirs individually.

To condense his point, it amounted to this.

“My hypothesis posits that the prison containing the spirits resides somewhere within the subterranean channels interconnected beneath these bodies of water.”

Just a moment.

I interrupted his train of thought to query him.

“Are you not declaring that the crimson-marked areas represent entirely disconnected waters?”

“Correct.”

In that scenario, a discrepancy emerged.

“However, this specific body of water possesses historical documentation of a Fairy Dance manifestation.”

It was not an isolated anomaly either.

Among the reservoirs he had shaded in crimson, several possessed historical accounts indicating that the phenomenon had indeed occurred there previously.

Stated plainly, his own research—his compiled data—directly ran counter to his premise.

What explained this?

Senior Mycelln refrained from offering an immediate explanation.

Instead, he eased into the backrest of his seat with a relaxed, mild smirk, taking a sip of his hot beverage.

A strange sense of satisfaction radiated from him, and after a brief pause, he finally vocalized his thoughts.

“I anticipated that very inquiry.”

“…?”

“Sorcerers consistently fall into this trap. They attempt to comprehend all occurrences strictly through statistics and historical archives.”

Where was this coming from?

“Are you aware? The natural world is in constant motion. It is dynamic and alive. A massive peak can erode into a plain over time, and a barren wasteland can transform into a lush woodland after countless eras.”

And the environment was not the only thing undergoing changes.

“Much like the minds of those bureaucratic scholars.”

Naturally, the intellects of those scribes only grew increasingly arid and uninspired as time went on.

Regardless, the core point Senior Mycelln intended to convey was the following.

“Eiki informed me.”

“Eiki?”

“Yes, an aquatic entity. At any rate, based on Eiki’s testimony, those reservoirs maintained interconnected paths in the distant past. The surrounding basins were identical. Please direct your attention to this area.”

The body of water he indicated lacked any history regarding the event. Even so, he had designated it with an emerald shade.

“This particular spot lacks documentation, yet it is colored emerald. Can you guess the reason?”

I confessed my ignorance.

Senior Mycelln promptly provided the explanation.

“Historically, the aquatic passages were blocked off, but they have recently cleared. I am certain that in the near future, the Fairy Dance will manifest here too. …Naturally, that outcome hinges on whether we fall short in our liberation attempt.”

His initial pride gave way to a somber expression as he finished speaking.

This shift highlighted how profoundly invested he truly was… and the depth of his affection for these entities.

“That valuable being… I will ensure it receives excellent treatment.”

If only I could secure a single one. Just a single companion.

At any rate, the anticipated destination lay within the hidden aquatic channels.

“In that case… what is our plan for travel…?”

“With my presence, what cause do you have for concern? The sole variable is the duration required.”

“I see.”

“Is something amiss?”

Senior Mycelln questioned upon hearing my contemplative murmur.

Perhaps my inner anxiety was visibly manifested on my face, though it was entirely justifiable.

“The truth is, I am currently… restricted to the Brando estate.”

“…It appears you are living quite comfortably there.”

“You could look at it that way.”

Stated clearly, my absence could not be prolonged.

Had this taken place back at the institute, fabricating a pretext would be simple, but vanishing from this location would undoubtedly spark mass panic.

Limitations aside, Senior Mycelln offered words of reassurance.

“I shall handle the preliminary scouting independently. Once the precise coordinates are established, you may accompany me for the final push.”

“Oh… so that is the arrangement?”

“You seem remarkably pleased by this.”

“Well—absolutely.”

“Absolutely?”

“I mean, yes, that makes perfect sense.”

Honestly, my initial enthusiastic reaction was entirely appropriate.

He was volunteering to undertake the most tedious portion of the task entirely by himself.

Failing to celebrate such an offer indicates one of two things.

You are either an incorrigible martyr who thrives on self-sacrifice, or an obsessive micromanager incapable of relying on others.

Given that neither description applied to me, celebrating was the only logical response.

However, as our conversation continued, an unexpected complication occurred to me.

“On another note… will you manage everything smoothly?”

“Regarding what?”

“You mentioned your intention to instruct Demian in the ways of spirit arts. Can your schedule accommodate that?”

“Ah, that…”

Senior Mycelln suddenly grew quiet.

His internal conflict was entirely transparent to me.

Attempting to guide Demian in spirit arts bordered on a lost cause.

Perhaps a pang of guilt prompted his response?

Senior Mycelln attempted to justify the situation.

“…The boy’s potential isn’t entirely lacking.”

Right. Naturally.

The unfortunate reality was that his potential amounted to nothing further.

What value does inherent talent hold when the entities refuse to form a bond and choose to flee instead?

Senior Mycelln’s expression clouded with anxiety briefly before he smoothed back his stray locks and let out a weary breath.

“It is entirely possible that the youth will decline the instruction altogether. From my observations, he shows no genuine curiosity toward the subject.”

The previous day, Senior Mycelln had instructed Demian, “Ponder the matter until our initial session and give me your decision.”

His underlying motivation was clear to me.

To an established practitioner of standard sorcery, pursuing spirit arts held very little appeal.

Instead of diluting your efforts on a discipline that yielded uncertain results, keeping your focus strictly on arcane magic was far more logical.

“Which means he likely extended the proposition spontaneously…”

To be completely frank, I bore some responsibility for that dynamic.

The reason being—

Is studying spirit arts truly enjoyable? It strikes me as rather dull and tedious.

During our nighttime fishing excursion the previous evening, Demian had posed that exact question to me.

My response had been straightforward.

You will find it quite entertaining.

How so?

Consider the concept. You gain a companion visible exclusively to you, and it is entirely real rather than make-believe. Is that not intrinsically amusing?

Huh. Perhaps you are right.

Acquiring this skill will prove beneficial in numerous situations. In fact, why not request that he accept you as his official apprentice while you have the chance? Under proper guidance, it will be an enjoyable pursuit.

I openly confess to this behavior.

My encouragement was entirely malicious, designed to land him in a frustrating predicament.

His tracking me all the way to this location felt utterly malicious.

“Ahem… should your tutorial not be commencing shortly?”

“Ah. Indeed it should.”

Before either of us realized it, the hour for Senior Mycelln and Demian’s inaugural meeting had arrived.

I discreetly made my exit.

“I wish you the best.”

“…My appreciation.”

Strange things happen.

There remained a slight chance that Demian would form a spectacular alliance with an entity, thereby preserving Senior Mycelln’s reputation.

“If the situation truly concerns you, why not simply impart the esoteric techniques of your own household? Even if Demian fails to secure a bond, your honor will remain intact.”

“…To a youth who does not even bear the status of my follower?”

Hmph.

I had attempted to bait him into revealing some of his core methodologies, but his caution remained unyielding.

It seemed the old master was far shrewder than he appeared.