Vol 3 Chapter 20 – Boyhood: Midsummer at Age Twelve・Part 5

Magic remains magic precisely because its secret is never fully revealed.

Even among those obnoxiously reclusive, self-important members of the Dawn Faction, I realized anew that the words of the great master acknowledged solely by Agrippina were indeed true.

Various items flitted before my eyes—dinnerware, assorted goods, spare candles, even books. Although they appeared to be carelessly tossed about, every object traced a pattern of “orderly chaos.”

The cup that had held tea just moments ago shot off toward the entrance, then abruptly veered and disappeared into the modest wash area beside the workshop.

Even the books that had scattered from the shelf when a disciple threw a tantrum were, despite their tremendous speed, gently intercepted and methodically returned to their shelf.

Seen objectively, the scene might deceive one into thinking a ghost was rampaging about—but the truth was much simpler.

“That kid needs to master his belly technique a bit more. His head isn’t bad…” Agrippina’s hapless apprentice, Erich, was frantically rushing through today’s duties with every bit of his specifications.

She knew Erich’s stats well—she had witnessed everything from the monster hunt three months ago to the earlier debacle during our travels. The way he flattened that punk, who had irritated me enough to deserve a serious thrashing, was performance enough to earn her approval.

Yet his current actions were even more refined than before—indeed, incomparable. If one could discern the bursts of magic nurtured by her long-lived kind, it would be clear that Erich’s Invisible Hand had multiplied in number and grown ever more precise. Moreover, how in the world had he managed to carve out the mental capacity required to handle all those additional hands?

I knew he was an efficient kid, but he was truly abnormal. Ordinary humans could never pull off feats reminiscent of long-lived beings. Occasionally, a genius—someone who deviates drastically from normal human potential—might appear, but for one of the long-lived to execute such awe-inspiring work is exceedingly rare.

And yet, flaunting it so openly was a huge drawback—even if it was in front of one’s employer or younger sister.

Magicians and sorcerers are, by nature, experts at ambushing an opponent on first sight.

Magic and sorcery are techniques difficult to counter; if one were to face them without adequate knowledge, even a battle-hardened soldier might end up a corpse before a fledgling magician’s eyes.

However, that does not mean they are invincible. Just as there exists no absolute good or evil, no sorcerer is completely flawless.

For instance, imagine a master who can manipulate conceptual-level flames—flames that can “burn” even things that are physically noncombustible.

Normally, a capable battle sorcerer would pause to strategize, wondering, “How on earth do I kill this? Is it permissible to ambush?” Yet, when an ace or unconventional battle style is deployed, one invariably conjures some countermeasure.

For example, a deterrent-level magic might simply snuff out the burning elements to extinguish the fire; even ordinary magic, if met with its antiphase equivalent, would mutually nullify the effect; and even the very notion of a fatal flame could be effectively neutralized depending on the compatibility with a magical barrier.

All of these strategies are deployable by a sufficient number of average sorcerers banding together to refine their incantations—in the end, it becomes nothing more than a messy contest of who can execute more maneuvers and whose stamina prevails, leaving hardly any room for finesse.

In other words, a sorcerer who has had his secret exposed becomes relatively weakened.

That is why Agrippina never goes all out, never loudly proclaims her specialty—in her papers, she muddies her language, skirts the main point, and leaves her true intent shrouded in ambiguity.

And this is not unique to her; it applies to all sorcerers. Each one, preparing for unforeseen circumstances, harbors devious methods of “first-sight killing” or inexplicable ambush tactics so as to preserve the most critical element of their being.

No researcher or professor in this academy ever truly exposes themselves, and by comparison, even Agrippina remains “pure.”

Even if summoned to a parent’s funeral, sorcerers seldom break into earnest mode. Yet the frantic panic of her apprentice was so comically absurd that it made even Agrippina—a hardened sorcerer—seem ridiculous. He didn’t need to go all out over something so trivial; a simple “do better next time” would have sufficed.

Erich’s “invisible hands” were not bad at all. They worked perfectly as a first-strike ambush; with a bit more flourish, they could serve as a trump card, even elevating themselves into a style of inexplicable killing that left his opponents utterly clueless.

And yet, flaunting them so openly ruined the effect.

It was all because he had not been properly schooled in the ways of a sorcerer. In truth, for better or worse, he was nothing more than a child magician.

Now, what kind of hidden trick should I let this child possess? For the first time in a long while, Agrippina found herself delightfully troubled by the question.

In her eyes—more a prophecy than mere speculation—if I taught him how to fight as a sorcerer, he would surely become utterly uncontrollable…

[Tips] Reading a paper truly authored by a sorcerer is a task so daunting that one must risk one’s life. The writings they produce—though shrouded in hidden intent—contain no lies, which only renders them all the more impenetrable. Perhaps allowing complex sentences to seep with true meaning is a form of self-aggrandizement.

Deep beneath the Academy, the grandeur of the Grand Library—hewn out of solid rock—was so magnificent that it inspired reverence beyond mere admiration.

No matter what means were used to provide such an expansive space underground, the bookshelves themselves had built up into a mountain range.

The richly colored mountains of old paper, wood, and metal were so overwhelmingly vast that, as you gazed upon them, your sense of perspective became warped.

No, it was even more bewildering—bookshelves holding tomes as enormous as a human and others no larger than the palm of your hand were scattered in disorder, making the overall scale even more disorienting.

Rumor has it that if one wanders without the guidance of an experienced librarian, one might end up returning home a starving corpse; this place is undoubtedly a treacherous labyrinth not even laughably so.

Each shelf that adorns this mountain, protected by a blue membrane that shields the air while gently swaying as if in a daze, evokes the image of a giant called “Knowledge” lying in slumber.

It was a sight that captivated every book lover and all those enchanted by surreal landscapes.

Well… if I hadn’t been forced to show up in such a ridiculous outfit, I might have been genuinely moved.

The day after I made the most idiotic, tardy blunder imaginable—losing track of time while daydreaming in the bath—I accepted an invitation and visited the library.

Today’s attire was a deep-blue garment lavishly adorned with intricate embroidery in dazzling gold thread, and I was made to wear a hat with an excessively wide brim decorated with bird feathers. I couldn’t help but wonder what sort of costume parade this was.

I spent a while fretting in front of the mirror, thinking, “This is awful.”

How in the world can one so completely destroy human dignity? At the very least, make the hat smaller and remove those irritating feathers. And stop padding the shoulders so they bulge unnecessarily. It’s cumbersome, and together with the hat, I look like some girl knight drawn by a certain manga god.

Apparently, the imperial capital’s reputation isn’t for nothing—there are plenty of chic ladies in the northern district known for their high breeding. In other words, such madams and the gentlemen accompanying them must have a keen eye for fashion… but why, then, am I subjected to such ridicule? Did I do something to deserve it?

I don’t mind standing out, but I certainly don’t like standing out in a bad way… If only I could be noticed for something cooler. It makes me want to cry.

Yesterday I said my weakness was my softness, but should that also include a lack of mental fortitude?

That unwelcome attention pursued me even after arriving at the Academy, only subsiding when I finally escaped into the “middle-tier shelving”—an area off-limits to students unless accompanied by a professor. This is bound to become the subject of rumor; perhaps I should steer clear for a while.

“Oh, how adorable.”

Then the librarian—wait, I recognize this person from the reception desk; perhaps they’re on rotation—gave me that evaluation.

In any case, receiving such remarks from someone I’ll undoubtedly meet again did little to bolster my already fragile mental resolve.

“W-Where is the second private room…!?”

Red-faced and hiding behind my hat, I stated our meeting spot. In response, she smiled sweetly and led me along.

Might as well just kill me.

“Oh—excellent! This is great! I mean, honestly, it doesn’t matter either way!”

Surely, it was my own hostility that had convinced her to be seen as an enemy in my mind, and my inner TRPG player instincts were whispering, “Just kill her, or at least be ready to kill her,” thereby bolstering my faltering resolve.

Without a doubt, that bastard—whose name is listed not among mere connections but under the undead enemy category—flitted around me for a while and even had the audacity to request a pose.

Of course, I obliged, forcing as natural a smile as I could.

Compared to the cost of magical knowledge, it isn’t cheap—but when you weigh strength against dignity, a creature like me undoubtedly chooses the former. So it’s not a bargain I mind paying. Go ahead and take it; pride is a trivial thing—especially mine.

Yeah, it’s actually cheap. When the data is a bit strict, players will readily resort to despicable, contemptible actions. Poisoning, taking hostages, or even launching a back attack after a prostrating apology are minor. Setting an entire base ablaze, diverting water from tributaries to flood an area, or hurling diseased corpses about to knock someone out with plague are, well, as trivial as a piece of cake.

For those who, in mere minutes of consultation, pull off such acts just to earn an experience bonus for achieving a session’s objective, pride isn’t a factor. Then, what’s impossible about striking a flattering pose and offering a smile to a 200-year-old pervert?

After an evening of reciting poetry in an effeminate tone—a moment I wish I could erase from my life—I finally managed to obtain what I had been after…

Magical knowledge, and, among other things, the counsel of a sorcerer who has maintained her position as head of an academic faction for 200 years.

“Combat magic, is it?”

“Yes. I’ve always dreamed of becoming an adventurer someday.”

“Eh…? I think it’d be better for him to be a retainer or servant, really. Erich is proficient in magic and has mastered proper etiquette. Above all, that rakish, long-eared fellow is more than enough to secure his status as is, don’t you agree?”

Hearing such sensible words reminded me that she was an educator. If he wished to act like a screw-loose pervert, he should do so consistently from beginning to end.

When I mentioned it was a long-held dream, she seemed troubled for a moment before, as if resigning herself, letting out a small, inhuman sigh—and then preparing several magic tomes for me.

“Then, rather than focusing on combat magic per se, it would be better to teach Erich how to fight as a sorcerer.”

A chill ran down my spine. That fear was of an entirely different nature from the sweet, caressing voice of Margit.

Ah, the terror I first felt on the night I met Ursula—when I fought a monster for the first time—and the wind of a shield bash that skimmed my back.

The sensation of facing something irresistibly overwhelming—of confronting that undefinable “something” you can feel with every fiber of your being.

“Well, this isn’t so much my personal theory as it is something that applies to all the combat sorcerers of the Dawn Faction,” she said.

Before me lay a number of books, weathered by countless loans and evident repairs; as she adjusted her expression and straightened her posture, it became unmistakably clear that the person in this room was not a deathly spirit extolling the virtues of life, but a leader honored with a professorship.

Ah, do truly great people twist themselves into such knots simply to spite me?

“Erich, how do you think living beings die?”

It was an incredibly simple question. The ultimate aim of a practitioner of combat magic, if pursued to its logical end, is precisely that.

And I knew the answer.

“If you kill them, they die.”

Some might say that isn’t an answer at all, but when addressing someone of the Dawn Faction, I was absolutely confident it couldn’t be wrong.

“Yes, exactly. If you kill a living being, it dies. After all, even someone like me—a failure at dying—has a way of killing in this world.”

Lady Reisen affirmed my answer with a gentle smile, and then, quite literally, ran her translucent, supple fingers along her own neck.

“Every being that can be killed has a weakness. For humans, it’s the neck or the brain; for monsters, it’s the same—with the addition of their magic crystals. Even beings like me, whose very life-essence differs from those made of flesh, possess a central core of existence… so the same can be said of magic and sorcery.”

If one possesses knowledge that can pierce such a core, then all it takes is a spoon used for eating eggs to set everything in motion. With a smile so entrancing it could make one swoon, Lady Reisen—no, the professor—opened her book.

“Well then, although it’s certainly a bit of a gray area, since it’s just us here, shall I give you a brief lecture, aspiring adventurer?”

She snapped her fingers, speaking with genuine delight. And finally, I began to understand the quality of that emotion I’d felt ever since I first heard the outline from the Dawn Faction.

“The difference between fighting with magic and fighting as a sorcerer…”

【Tips】The Grand Library. It consists of a “shallow layer” for lecture students and general bureaucrats, a “middle layer” that is extremely dangerous unless one has mastered a certain level of sorcery or is supervised by someone who has, and a “deep layer”—a forbidden section whose very entry carries the risk of death. This sleeping giant of knowledge, which the Triple Empire has relentlessly amassed over the past 500 years in its pursuit of sorcery, is, according to the head of the librarians, a super bomb capable of leveling the empire to rubble in “gross units.”