Incompetent but Special Because You Are (4)

On our way through the mansion toward the front lawn, Professor Roylen never stopped talking.

“I'm astonished. To make so much progress in only three years! Even the professors at the university's Mage Tower couldn't manage a result like this. And yes, that includes me.”

“Three years is a considerable amount of time, Professor.”

“Not in research. Our field moves so quickly that three years is hardly anything. But perhaps I'm making too much of a fuss. I suppose a genius who's never thought of himself as exceptional doesn't know what to do when someone praises him.”

His words pricked my conscience.

It was the elf who corrected my magic circle.

I wanted to tell him that. Unfortunately, explaining how it had happened was out of the question.

I kept my mouth shut, and Roylen, happily oblivious, went on.

“Actually, your choice of research surprises me for another reason. With the Emperor pursuing such radical policies, hasn't most of the Empire's magical research been pushed in a very different direction?”

I nodded.

“His Majesty wishes to cleanse the world of everything he considers impure.”

“Indeed. There are ancient records of an age when humans and demons alike trembled before the Esteban Empire. I suspect the present Emperor has taken that history to heart.”

“Do you know His Majesty personally?”

Roylen smiled at my questioning glance.

“Hardly. I only saw him a few times when I served as a military adviser. But I had the impression that he believed restoring the glory of the past would somehow restore the people's confidence in the Empire as well.”

“That's an unusual view. The Empire still rules the continent. We have no need to retrace every step of its past.”

“Of course. It's only my personal impression—as a subject who loves this country and has sworn loyalty to His Majesty.”

He shrugged at my disapproving look.

“We've wandered from the subject. My point is that you pursued artificial rain while the Imperial Court was pouring its attention into destructive magic. That takes a rather remarkable degree of independence.”

He wasn't wrong about the incentives.

Research a spell designed to kill, and the imperial family would provide more generous funding. Complete such a spell, and the reward could be twice that for another field of magic.

For a researcher seeking advancement, choosing destructive magic was the sensible thing to do.

But not everyone could follow that fashion.

“It isn't anything remarkable.”

I certainly couldn't.

Perhaps it was a failing I'd never outgrown. Whenever I imagined someone being injured by magic I'd devised, I lost all desire to study spells meant for killing.

So I turned to artificial rain.

I wanted my magic to make more people happy.

My ability had never kept pace with the ambition. I'd run into setback after setback.

But the wish itself had remained.

“I really haven't done anything remarkable,” I said again.

Roylen rubbed his chin thoughtfully, taking my words entirely the wrong way.

“To perfect a diagram at this level and still call it unremarkable… Is this what happens when a scholar reaches a height the rest of us can scarcely imagine?”

“No, Professor, that's not what I—”

“Have you ever considered accepting a professorship at the Mage Tower? Our students could learn an extraordinary amount from you.”

Is he even listening?

I sighed.

“I'm grateful, but I must decline. I'm the head of House Deharem, and I have obligations as viscount to my liege lord.”

“Of course. Forgive my presumptuous suggestion.”

“There's nothing to forgive.”

I managed a rueful smile.

By the time our conversation ended, we had reached the mansion's front lawn.

The imperial palace magicians were waiting there in robes embroidered with gold thread.

Roylen called them together and unfolded the sheet of magic paper I'd given him.

“This is Viscount Theorad's completed artificial-rain diagram. We've confirmed that it contains no errors. We'll conduct a manifestation test here and now. Everyone, take your positions.”

The magicians exchanged startled looks and murmured among themselves. Then they nodded and dispersed across the grass.

They drew wands from their robes and began chanting.

Circuits, symbols and geometric patterns appeared on the lawn one after another, tracing the arrangement on the paper.

The youngest-looking magician carried a bag of mana stones. He hurried across the enormous pattern, setting the stones down one by one.

I watched him for a moment.

Why is he running?

He could have moved the stones into place with telekinesis.

“Professor, may I ask something?”

“Of course. What is it?”

“Why is that magician doing it by hand?”

“Ah, the mana stones. They stabilize the mana permeating the magic circle so that it doesn't disperse into the air during manifestation—”

“I know what the stones do. I was asking why he's carrying them instead of using magic.”

“Oh!”

Roylen scratched his cheek, looking faintly embarrassed.

“He's a new recruit. There's a custom here that junior magicians aren't allowed to use magic in front of their seniors until they've earned the right.”

“That's absurd.”

“It is. An obsolete practice we ought to get rid of. I've proposed changing it several times, but no one seems inclined to listen.”

He clicked his tongue.

Across the lawn, one of the palace magicians raised a hand and waved.

The preparations were complete.

Roylen nodded, drew his wand and started forward. Then he stopped and looked back at me.

“Don't you need an umbrella? If the spell works, it's going to rain.”

“If it works, getting wet will be the least of my concerns.”

“Ha! Quite right.”

He smiled and joined the others.

After a brief exchange I couldn't follow, the magicians brought their wand tips toward the center of the circle and began the final incantation.

Wooooom.

Light gathered at their wands.

The center of the circle blazed white, and the light rushed outward along the circuits.

The chanting quickened.

Lines divided and multiplied, spreading into dozens of interlocking paths like a spider's web.

Symbols around the outer edge shone in different colors, strengthening the magic as it flowed.

Finally, all seventeen patterns lit up at once.

Mana from the air gathered above the center of the circle.

Roylen and the imperial magicians lifted their wands skyward and delivered the last words of the chant.

Boom!

“Ugh!”

A violent burst of wind rose from the circle, winding upward like a waterspout.

Black vapor billowed into the sky, spreading across the clear blue until it resembled a bank of dark storm clouds.

And then—

Plip.

A single drop touched my palm and ran down my skin.

Roylen, the magicians and I all looked up.

For one suspended moment, none of us spoke.

Then the clouds opened.

Shhhhhhh.

Heavy rain came pouring down.

Not merely on the lawn or the mansion, but over everything I could see.

“Ah…”

My clothes were soaked in moments.

I barely noticed.

The world beneath the falling rain looked like a painting, and I couldn't take my eyes from it.

“Father…”

I remembered what people had told me, year after year.

Your idea is impossible.

The magic is built on a foolish dream.

The premise is wrong. Stop wasting time and study something useful.

Even the imperial representatives who had once assisted with my research had offered little besides criticism to the young man I was then.

I'd taken every word to heart.

But my father had laughed and told me something different.

Even if other people doubt you, never doubt yourself! I believe in my son. One day you'll complete that spell and show those people from the imperial family what you can do. So don't give up. Keep going.

He had believed in me despite everything the others said.

And now, after all these years, it had happened.

The foolish dream was real.

Father. The wish we shared has finally come true.

I imagined fields saved from drought. People who would no longer go hungry because the rains had failed.

Quarrels over water might be avoided. Perhaps even wars born of scarcity could be prevented.

The world could become a little kinder, a little more beautiful.

This rain might wash away some of the tears of ordinary people.

“Ahahaha!”

Laughter burst out of me.

I threw my arms wide and laughed up at the clouds, too happy to care who was watching.

If I laughed loudly enough, perhaps even my late father would hear.

---

“So… it worked.”

Beynon rested a hand on the hilt of his sword and let out a long breath.

The rain pattering against his armor felt strangely unfamiliar.

“Hic… The young master finally…”

Beside him, Havid was wiping his eyes with a handkerchief.

The old steward had only just finished tidying the drawing room, yet now he was crying so hard he had to blow his nose as well.

To Havid's right stood the elf, holding an umbrella.

Something about the arrangement caught Beynon's eye.

Did she quarrel with the old man?

The elf was holding the umbrella well over to her own side. Havid's left shoulder was getting thoroughly soaked.

It hardly looked accidental.

The steward was too overcome with emotion to notice, and Beynon decided not to trouble him with it.

Instead, he addressed the elf.

“Hey. What's this supposed to be? Can't you behave yourself for once?”

Her pointed ears twitched.

Without looking away from Theorad, she replied, “Eating nothing but bread gets boring. Sometimes…”

A peculiar smile appeared on her lips.

“…you want fruit as well.”

What is that supposed to mean?

Beynon had no answer for her.

He shrugged and turned back toward the young master standing in the rain.

An unexpected laugh rose in his throat.

He hadn't seen Theorad smile like that since the death of his father.

Completing the magic he'd dreamed about for so long must have made him happier than words could say.

“Looks good on you, young master.”

Whatever else happened, seeing Theorad happy warmed Beynon's heart.