Theorad Dreams (6)
Cold sweat ran down Seredi's back.
She abandoned the idea of interfering with Theorad's dream. If she could return to the state of a disembodied soul, she could escape the dream and withdraw before the elf did anything worse.
Come on…!
She gathered her will and tried to release the spell.
Nothing happened.
Her mind grew strangely numb. Her body had become as heavy and unresponsive as a bar of steel, as though an enormous hand had seized her and was dragging her down. No matter how she struggled, she could not leave Theorad's dream.
Seredi had never experienced anything like it. The realization that followed sent a shiver through her.
It can't be.
Was the elf before her doing more than interfering with Theorad's dreams?
Was she actually ruling them?
What degree of magical mastery, what impossible reserve of mana, would be required to take something as abstract as another person's unconscious mind, give it substance, and imprison someone inside it?
“But this place is supposed to be a dream,” the elf murmured.
She seemed entirely unconcerned by Seredi's struggle. Resting her chin on the arm of her chair, she gazed toward the flower garden and continued in a quiet voice.
“Back then, the flowers in the garden were daisies. There weren't so many different kinds blooming together. The wreath Theorad made for me was woven from daisies, too.”
The elf looked toward the flowers surrounding them.
“In this dream, though, the wreath is made of marigolds.”
Seredi did not understand what difference that made.
“Do you know what marigolds mean in the language of flowers?” the elf asked.
“N-no…”
“Happiness that will surely come.”
A bitter smile crossed the elf's face.
The young Theorad had believed that one day she would be happy. He had known nothing of what she had lived through, and his hope had been entirely sincere. She understood that. Yet for a heart scarred so many times, even such innocent kindness could feel unbearably cruel.
“The unconscious is a fascinating thing,” she said. “Was Theorad trying to tell me, even then, that someday I'd find happiness? Or has his memory simply confused the flowers?”
Her voice sank, lonely and distant.
Seredi watched her, then worked up enough courage to speak. If she could make the elf regard her favorably, perhaps she would survive.
“U-um… It doesn't sound like a bad memory. Then why did you erase it?”
“Because I made a promise.”
The elf rose without hesitation. The chair dissolved into tiny drifting particles, like dandelion seeds caught by the wind.
“And Theorad was the one who asked me to erase his memory. He had his reasons.”
“…What promise?”
“A dull one. More importantly…”
The elf turned to face her. A shadow seemed to settle over her expressionless face.
“Didn't I tell you to keep quiet?”
It's coming.
Seredi swallowed and managed an awkward laugh.
“Ahaha… I was just bored, so I thought I'd look around somebody else's dream! I didn't mean anything else by it. I swear!”
“I believe in your contract. I don't believe in your oath.”
The elf's gaze did not soften.
“Besides, you've ignored my warnings twice. You will be punished.”
She snapped her fingers.
BOOM!
The ground behind Seredi exploded. An enormous worm burst upward in a shower of dust and earth, its vast body twisting as it emerged.
It opened its mouth. Where an ordinary creature might have had a tongue, hundreds of long, sticky tentacles unfurled and writhed.
Seredi stared, then fell to her knees.
“E-Elf! Please forgive me!”
“No.”
“Even though I'm a succubus, if that thing gets hold of me, I won't be able to stay sane! I might really go mad! Please, have mercy just once more!”
“I overlooked your insolence twice.”
The elf regarded her with cold indifference.
“The fact that I'm letting you live is already a considerable act of patience.”
She gestured lightly toward the giant worm.
“Have fun.”
Seredi felt as if her world had collapsed.
Meanwhile, at the imperial palace's training grounds…
Beynon trudged down the paved path under the eyes of several imperial knights. Officially, they were escorting him. Their attention felt rather closer than that of guards.
What bothered him most, however, was his clothing.
A court official had insisted he change into a fine silk outfit before appearing before the princess. Beynon had never worn anything of the sort, and the expensive fabric clinging to his body felt more uncomfortable than a well-worn mercenary's clothes.
“Dragging me out of bed at this hour just to dress me up… What could she possibly want?”
Professor Roylen, walking ahead as his guide, gave an apologetic laugh.
“I'm sorry it's so late. Her Highness asked to see you personally.”
“Well, there's nothing to be done about that.”
Beynon lifted his head and looked over the training grounds.
Several glowing spheres floated high above the open field. Their light covered the ground so completely that the place was nearly as bright as day despite the late hour.
Magical tools? Those must consume a fortune in magic stones.
Even a well-equipped knight could scarcely afford such devices. The imperial household used them as freely as ordinary lamps.
Beynon was reminded once again of the difference between a noble estate and the palace.
Then he saw what the lights were illuminating.
Two knights were sparring against a single woman. She wore light protective greaves and carried a sword. She was also the Third Princess of the Empire, Benelia.
She's holding off two knights?
A knight was no ordinary swordsman. Knights trained with weapons from childhood and, once admitted to an order, spent years refining their bodies and their ability to kill. Experienced knights learned to circulate mana as naturally as breathing. Their mana capacity could rival that of a wizard.
Wizards shaped mana into spells. Knights used it to reinforce their bodies and weapons.
The two men attacking Benelia were doing exactly that. Blue mana ran along their blades as they pressed the assault.
I heard she's only twenty.
Were the knights holding back out of respect for the imperial bloodline? Or were they fighting in earnest?
Beynon narrowed his eyes.
Clang! Clang!
Sparks scattered whenever the swords met.
Benelia's stance barely shifted as she blocked the attacks. Her mana control was stable enough to withstand their reinforced blows, and her face remained composed despite the relentless pressure. This wasn't someone who had learned a few ceremonial sword forms. She had spent years fighting and training.
Impressive.
For a woman of twenty to wield a sword with such confidence…
So the stories about her being an extraordinary genius weren't exaggerated.
As he watched, Benelia suddenly stumbled instead of stepping back from an attack.
One of the knights saw the opening.
A mistake? Now, after defending perfectly until this moment?
Beynon almost smiled.
A trap.
The knight raised his sword to exploit the apparent weakness.
Benelia's blade flashed.
BANG!
Her thrust broke through the knight's mana defense and struck his armor. The impact hurled him backward, and he tumbled across the ground with a cry.
Only one opponent remained.
Before he could recover from the sight of his fellow knight falling, Benelia threw her longsword at him.
He turned to evade it.
At the same moment, she drew a dagger from inside her clothing and lunged.
They hit the ground together. Benelia was the first to rise. She reversed her grip on the dagger and aimed its point at the narrow opening in his helmet.
The knight, gasping for breath, raised a hand in surrender.
Beynon was speechless.
There was no denying her skill. But it was more than her ability that astonished him.
Benelia was the Emperor's blood relative, Third Princess of a vast empire, and a military commander. By all rights she ought to have carried herself with the dignity and ceremony of her station.
Instead she fought with the ruthless efficiency of a veteran mercenary.
He couldn't object to the effectiveness of her methods. Even so, the contrast was startling.
“….”
Benelia straightened, brushing sweat-damp hair away from her face.
Waiting palace eunuchs hurried over. With practiced movements they took her sword and removed her greaves. Freed from the armor, she looked unexpectedly striking, and Beynon let out a quiet breath.
I'll give her that. She really is an exceptional genius.
Benelia put on a more comfortable shirt, took back her sword and slid it into its scabbard. She approached him with an interested look that cut through her earlier boredom.
“So you're the one who disappeared without writing the final volume.”
“Your Highness!”
Roylen answered before Beynon could.
“His Majesty ordered you to remain in confinement! If you leave your quarters to spar, the whole palace will be talking about it by tomorrow!”
“Roylen, stop making a fuss. Father gave me permission to use the training grounds.”
“Oh… Then why didn't you tell me?”
“Do I have to report every movement I make to you?”
“N-no, Your Highness!”
Roylen bowed hastily and retreated. Benelia gave him a displeased glance before turning back to Beynon.
“Roylen has told me about you already. You made quite a name for yourself as a mercenary. So why is a man like you serving as a household knight to the Deharem family?”
“I owe a great debt to Wellion, the former head of House Deharem. Besides, I happen to like Young Master Theorad. I see no reason to stop serving him.”
“That kind of loyalty is unusual in a former mercenary. I respect it.”
Her eyes cooled.
“But that doesn't mean I intend to forgive your offense. I don't wish to quarrel with House Deharem, either, so I'll settle for a light punishment. Understood?”
Beynon shook his head.
“With respect, Your Highness, punishing a man simply for failing to finish a novel is unjust.”
“Unjust?”
“Yes. But I haven't come merely to complain or beg you to spare me. Please let me explain why I stopped writing the series.”
There was force in his answer, the conviction of a soldier advancing even after seeing the danger ahead.
Benelia had no obligation to entertain such a request from a minor noble house's knight. She regarded him coldly.
“You understand that I didn't summon you to hear excuses?”
“I do! But if you'll listen, you won't regret it!”
“And what if I do regret it?”
“You may take my hand as the price.”
Roylen stared. Even Benelia looked taken aback.
Is he insane?
She had already offered to end the matter with a light punishment. Now this man was wagering his own hand. With anyone else, she might have accepted the reckless offer immediately. But he served House Deharem, and she intended to establish friendly relations with its young lord.
Benelia hesitated.
Beynon mistook her silence for interest and pressed on.
“Professor Roylen told me that Your Highness is thoroughly familiar with erotic literature. Even so, there are tales passed from mercenary to mercenary that you probably haven't heard.”
“Mercenary tales?”
“Yes. There's a famous one about a mercenary who fell into the hands of an orc tribal chief and earned his freedom.”
Benelia's eyebrow twitched.
Beynon saw it and smiled, certain he'd found his opening.
“If you'll hear me out, I'll tell you about my own experience of conquering that orc chieftain.”
He emphasized the word deliberately.
Surely nobody who enjoyed such stories could resist the offer of a firsthand account.
This is the wager that decides my fate.
“What an idiot,” Benelia said.
Did I fail?
Beynon's confidence faltered.
Then Benelia smiled thinly and rested a hand against her sword.
“Very well. Let's hear it.”
Inside, Beynon cheered.
The gamble had worked.