Petebugens, the Imperial University's Mage Tower (2)

Alina led Theorad to the Mage Tower's elevator.

It was an unusual room with floating stone fitted beneath its floor, but the mechanism was simple. When the mage operating it directed magic into a particular part of the wall, the stone responded to the mana and raised or lowered the room.

Apparently, even when the elevator was on another floor, one could call it over using a spell of mental manipulation. The invention took advantage of floating stone's peculiar habit of absorbing magical effects like a sponge.

“Then I'll take us up.”

After explaining the mechanism, Alina drew her wand and placed a hand against the wall. A magic circle spread from her fingertips. When its pattern settled into place, the elevator gave a slight jolt and began rising smoothly.

Whirrrrr…

The faint sound of the mechanism fascinated me.

So this is the Mage Tower. No wonder it's called a treasury of human advancement. I'd love to know how the whole thing works.

I must have looked rather eager, because the elf standing beside me pinched my thigh.

Ah. The arrogant act.

I quickly knitted my brows into a scowl. Alina stiffened and straightened her back.

“I'm sorry.”

For what?

I suppressed my confusion.

“What are you apologizing for?”

“For someone of your skill, Viscount Theorad, teleportation would be quicker. But the Mage Tower has its own customs and regulations… I beg your understanding.”

So she'd mistaken my expression for annoyance at being made to ride the elevator. Correcting her would only complicate things, especially after the elf's warning.

“Customs, is it?”

I gave a scornful little laugh and looked straight ahead.

“Do I look like a man who needs to submit to the Mage Tower's customs?”

“Ah… I…”

Alina went pale. She seemed desperately to be searching for an offense she might have committed, though in truth she'd done nothing wrong.

Ding.

The elevator doors opened onto a long corridor. At its far end stood a broad arched door, approached across a thick, soft carpet.

The president's office?

Somewhere beyond that door waited one of the Empire's only two archmages.

I had never imagined I'd meet someone so legendary. My heart beat wildly, though I tried to keep my breathing steady and my face indifferent.

I looked down at Alina. She looked up at me.

“…”

“…”

The silence grew strained.

“Well?” I asked. “Are you going to guide us?”

“Y-yes! I'm sorry!”

She hurried ahead, walking stiffly, and the elf and I followed at a more measured pace. At the office door, Alina cleared her throat and knocked.

“President! It's Alina, from civil administration and consultations! The honored guest you mentioned this morning has arrived!”

No voice answered. Instead, the heavy door slowly swung inward without anyone touching it, evidently moved by the president's magic.

“Viscount Theorad, please wait here a moment. There's a procedure I must follow…”

Alina bowed awkwardly and slipped inside. The door shut behind her.

I glanced at the elf and settled onto a sofa in the corridor. She sat lightly beside me.

Neither of us knew what to say. As the waiting dragged on, I found myself unfairly blaming the absent clerk for every silent minute.

The elf had her own thoughts.

“You don't mind? Aren't you just a whore who enjoys this sort of thing?”

Those words of Theorad's had been echoing in her mind ever since she'd heard him and Ashley laughing together in the same room.

She had intended to ask him what he'd really meant while they were in the carriage. Instead, she had been distracted by a more troubling possibility: had he slept with Ashley?

If she let the matter go, she doubted she'd be able to sleep that night. Perhaps it was better to speak first than to regret her silence.

“Master.”

“Yes?”

When Theorad turned to her, she abruptly lowered her eyes. Asking him to his face was harder than she'd expected.

“Master… you said something to me before.”

“Before? When?”

“Well… when we were in bed…”

Theorad rubbed his chin as he searched his memory. Then he brightened.

“Ah, yes. You won that contest in bed. I lost, there's no question about it. You needn't check again.”

What an idiot…!

She had no interest in making him acknowledge that particular victory. Fidgeting with her fingers, she drew a breath.

“Not that time. When I slept in Master's room.”

“Oh? Do you mean when I called you a whore during that act—”

Her fingers closed into fists around her skirt, wrinkling the fabric.

For the first time, Theorad understood that she hated being called that.

Yet he couldn't understand why. Hadn't she always behaved as though she enjoyed that sort of verbal degradation? The contradiction bewildered him, and he fell silent.

Her red eyes trembled.

“…I'm not one.”

Anger and sadness were tangled in her voice. She pressed her lips together, struggling to explain.

“My first time was with Master. I've never been with another man. So I'm not…”

“But I thought you liked—”

“I don't like it!”

Her cry rang through the empty hallway.

She drew her knees together, cheeks burning with shame.

“I… I hate it now.”

Theorad looked at her in surprise. She seemed strangely small and vulnerable. He couldn't understand the sudden change in her attitude, but it was clear that calling her by that name had hurt her.

He spoke earnestly.

“If you don't like being called that, I'll stop. And when I said it, it was part of the act. I swear to the God of Light, I've never once truly thought of you as a whore.”

The elf slowly released the fistful of skirt. Her face remained flushed, but her breathing eased.

She still couldn't look at him.

There was relief in hearing his real feelings, yet also a shame she couldn't put into words.

Creak.

Just then, the office door opened. Alina emerged, looking awkwardly from one of them to the other.

“The president is ready to see you.”

Theorad stood and walked toward the doorway. The elf rose to follow, but Alina quickly stepped in front of her.

“Oh, no. I'm afraid people who haven't been invited aren't normally permitted into the president's office—”

“It's all right. Let her come in.”

The deep voice came from within. It belonged to Chancellor Brandal.

Alina moved aside with a crestfallen expression, and the elf entered behind Theorad.

“Forgive me for keeping you waiting. Welcome to the Mage Tower.”

Brandal sat behind a spacious desk. One wall of his office was made of glass. He was an elderly man with thick hair, a long beard, and a worn robe.

His eyes were keen but not oppressive. If someone had asked me to picture a wizard, I might have imagined a man just like him.

“I'm sorry I couldn't greet you outside,” Brandal said. “There's so much work to be done. Please, take a seat. I bought that chair recently. It should be quite comfortable. Ha ha.”

I sat without answering.

The elf had insisted I act arrogantly, but I couldn't bring myself to speak contemptuously to an archmage of his age. Sitting down without thanking him was about the limit of my insolence.

Brandal only smiled.

“Well? Is it soft?”

“…Yes.”

“Heh. I'm glad. Forgive me if this seems abrupt, but shall we get straight to business? We've allotted thirteen minutes and thirty seconds for your meeting.”

He schedules visitors down to the second?

Wizards were said to have their eccentricities. I wasn't inclined to waste his time.

“Please do.”

“Splendid. May I see your hand first? I've recently taken up palm reading.”

“My… palm?”

“Indeed. I won't charge you, so consider it a complimentary service. Tempting, isn't it?”

His crinkled eyes gave him a kindly air.

He'd just proposed getting to the point, and now he wanted to read my palm. I didn't understand, but it didn't seem likely to do any harm.

I held out my hand. Brandal took it politely between both of his.

Brandal appeared to study Theorad's palm.

Now, let's see…

As an archmage, Brandal had developed a personal spell called Sensing Wave. By touching another person and sending the spell through them, he could gauge the depth of their mana reserves.

That was his true purpose. If Theorad Deharem really had completed artificial rain magic, the quantity of mana he possessed might offer a clue. It wouldn't prove the claim by itself, but it was a place to begin.

Before Brandal could release the spell, the elf moved quietly behind Theorad and rested a hand against his back.

She linked her own mana to Theorad's, precisely and subtly enough that Brandal failed to notice.

Theorad Deharem's reserves are…

Brandal closed his eyes and let his magic flow.

Almost immediately, something felt wrong.

The man's mana seemed vastly deeper than he'd expected.

What? How can that be…?

At first, Brandal was delighted. Here was someone without formal training as a wizard, yet his mana appeared extraordinarily rich and pure.

But the longer Brandal measured, the more his curiosity turned to fear.

He searched for the limits of that mana and found none. One minute passed, then two. Even after three minutes, he had not reached the bottom.

What on earth…?

The depth he sensed had already surpassed his own reserves as an archmage.

His breathing grew uneven.

An abyss.

It felt as though he were looking into a bottomless chasm, with countless eyes watching him from its darkness.

If he continued probing, he feared his mind itself might be swallowed. Brandal snatched his hands away and opened his eyes.

“Hah…!”

His chest heaved. He stared at the man seated across from him, his fingers trembling as though he'd touched a monster.

A dragon…?

Dragons had supposedly vanished long ago. Perhaps this was what their reserves had been like.

No…

Theorad Deharem might be something beyond even that.