Chapter 48 – Magic Conference (1)

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Translated by Jinmu

Read it only at Novelbyu.com & Utoon.net

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Count Xenonia stared blankly ahead.

There, Marquis Philvoid, leader of the Aristocratic faction and a man who wielded power that could not be ignored within politics, was bowing his head to Count Palladio.

What…?

Until she created Kalpa, Count Xenonia had worked mainly in the underworld, but that did not mean she knew nothing at all about present politics.

House Xenonia had also moved back and forth between factions and secured its own profit often enough.

No, in truth, even if she had never moved in politics at all, this was still a scene shocking enough that she could not help staring.

Among nobles active in politics, those with great authority never bowed their heads to another.

Unlike the underworld, where one might bow in front if it helped achieve one’s goal and answer with a knife in the back afterward, noble politics valued legitimacy, cause, and prestige, so they simply did not do such things.

In a place where legitimacy, cause, and prestige decided almost everything, the moment one bowed, one handed the other party too much, both internally and externally.

How?

Count Xenonia looked at Count Palladio.

Even though Marquis Philvoid was giving him what was essentially a perfect declaration of defeat, there was not even a hint of surprise on Palladio’s face.

As if he had expected this situation would naturally come.

At that, a tingling sensation ran through Xenonia’s fingertips, and a smile formed on her lips.

As expected. He’s extraordinary.

Of course, she had no idea what method Count Palladio had used to draw such a surrender from Philvoid. Honestly, she could not even imagine it.

But what mattered to her was the power itself, and so she could only look at Count Palladio with eyes full of admiration.

What is this?

Meanwhile, Alon himself was looking at Marquis Philvoid, who had bent his head low, in complete confusion.

Silence.

Of course, it was not that Alon wanted to stay silent. He genuinely had no idea what had happened and was trying to understand the current situation as purely as he could.

Did I ever do something to him?

He rolled the thought around in his head so hard that he even forgot to chew the financier in his mouth, but before long he shook his head.

No matter how much he thought about it, he could not remember doing anything to Marquis Philvoid. In the first place, he had been far too busy lately to do anything to him.

Did a rumor spread?

That led Alon to think through other possible reasons.

Come to think of it, it feels like rumors have started spreading that I’m close with Seollang too.

He inferred as much while thinking of Duke Altia and Count Xenonia, who knew the rumors that had begun spreading in Colony, but he soon discarded the hypothesis.

Certainly, if rumors had spread, that explained why some nobles had treated him more carefully when exchanging greetings. But no matter how he looked at it, it made no sense that one rumor about Seollang would be enough to make a marquis bow his head.

As he reviewed one theory after another, his mind was left with only one conclusion.

What exactly did these two do?

Alon subtly shifted his gaze and looked at Count Xenonia and Duke Altia staring straight at him.

Even ignorant as he was about politics, he still knew how absurd it was for the head of a faction to bow like this, so while staring blankly at the two women behind him, a thought came to mind.

Ah.

Those two women behind him were originally destined to become two of the three great hidden masterminds of the Kingdom of Asteria.

I need to be careful.

By the time Alon finished that thought.

“I truly lost….”

Marquis Philvoid, the head of the Aristocratic faction who had never bowed his head in public before, bowed even deeper and begged forgiveness.

And there was not the slightest trace of shame or anger on his face.

Instead, fear dwelled there.

The reason was a single letter that had reached him a few days earlier.

It had come not long after Duke Rimgrave was suddenly hauled off to the Holy Nation after receiving a letter of correction.

The letter contained very little.

One small mana orb.

And a single sentence.

But that small mana orb and that one sentence were enough to give Marquis Philvoid skin-crawling fear.

Because what the disposable mana orb, used to store images, contained was this.

I-I-I really don’t know anything. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

It was the terrified image of Duke Rimgrave, bound to a pure white chair, trembling all over and babbling repentance like someone with a seizure button pressed. It lasted less than five seconds.

And after the orb finished playing and crumbled to dust, the sheet of paper left beneath it bore only one line.

Next is you.

That alone was enough to terrify Marquis Philvoid.

Naturally, he was able to guess without much difficulty where this backlash had blown from.

Count Palladio.

Philvoid had no idea how Count Palladio had managed to possess a connection in the Holy Nation stronger even than the cardinal-level contact he and Rimgrave had bribed.

But that was no longer the important issue.

What mattered was that Duke Rimgrave, who had tried to bury Count Palladio together with himself, had been hit by the backlash, dragged away to the Holy Nation, and left half-ruined.

And that the next target had now been set as Philvoid himself.

If he had not received that letter, Marquis Philvoid would never have bowed his head to Count Palladio.

Receiving a letter of correction was certainly a major political problem, but if one had not actually joined hands with heretics, one’s personal safety should not have been in real danger.

And yet Duke Rimgrave had still been destroyed that badly despite having no ties to heretics.

Which meant the most likely explanation was that Count Palladio had somehow arranged it.

Not wanting to be dragged to the Holy Nation and reduced to the same state as the duke, Philvoid had ultimately bowed his head under the constant weight of fear.

“Please.”

And then, going beyond lowering his head, he actually dropped to his knees and prostrated himself on the floor.

It was the desperate struggle of a man ready to abandon his political life entirely if it meant retiring cleanly and living out the rest of his days intact.

At that.

Amazing.

As expected of the Count.

Count Xenonia and Duke Altia looked at Alon with eyes full of admiration.

And Alon looked back at them with a slightly unsettled expression.

What in the world did they do?

In the end, that day.

“…I suppose I can take it into consideration.”

With that murmur, which even he himself did not properly understand, Alon left the ballroom under everyone’s gaze.

And the events of that day cleanly erased the lingering suspicion that had existed ever since Kalpa was formed, the suspicion that perhaps Count Palladio was only a proxy head installed so Altia and Xenonia could move freely behind him.

* * *

About three days after the dialogue gathering began.

Alon finally left the Viritiun estate and began moving east.

It was to attend the magic conference, which was effectively the real purpose of this trip.

So, leaving behind the dialogue gathering that still had two days left, he spent five days heading for Bluegil, the territory near the conference site, in accordance with the letter Riyan had sent.

Then Alon heard from Evan that Marquis Philvoid had eventually received a letter of correction after all.

“So he really got dragged off….”

“What? Wasn’t that because of something you sent, Count?”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been with me the whole time. Do you really think I had time to arrange something like that?”

“Well, that’s true, but….”

Evan hesitated, then admitted it.

“Lately, I don’t know. It just feels like you’re hiding something.”

“Me? Hiding what?”

“Not one thing in particular. Magic, for one, and other things too. Last time you said you were doing nothing, and now all of a sudden you’ve become the head of a faction.”

At Evan’s question, Alon thought for a moment and said.

“…Becoming the head really was an accident.”

“Can someone become a faction head by accident…?”

“….”

Alon briefly found himself thinking, now that I hear it, that really does sound strange.

Then.

“Looks like we’re almost there.”

At Evan’s relaxed remark, carrying the air of someone who no longer cared, Alon arrived at Bluegil, a territory of the Kingdom of Ashtalon near the magic conference.

Not long after, at the place they had agreed upon, he met Riyan together with the Red Tower mages.

“Hello, Count.”

“Good to see you.”

Unlike before, Riyan bowed properly and modestly, and they headed for the magic conference at once.

Because they got into a carriage immediately upon arriving at Bluegil, this time they were able to reach the Central Tower while the sun was still up.

“Wow… it’s huge.”

Evan exclaimed the moment he saw the Central Tower.

Alon felt much the same as he looked at it.

He had seen the tower’s appearance countless times in Psychedelia through illustrations, but seeing it in reality made the difference feel enormous.

This thing might be taller than Lotte Tower.

Unlike the scenery he had seen in the game so far, the existence of a tower this tall in a fantasy world quietly overwhelmed him.

How long did he stand there comparing it in his head to the tall buildings he had seen in real life?

“It’s really huge, right?”

“It is.”

“Let’s go inside first.”

Alon followed Riyan into the tower.

“As far as I know, on the first day the Green Tower will present a newly established theory. After that there will probably be a few friendly matches. And tomorrow.”

While Alon was entering and listening to Riyan explain one thing after another.

“There are fewer people than I expected.”

“Well, this isn’t during a grand conference period.”

“A grand conference?”

“Ah, did I never explain that?”

As Riyan’s new explanation began, Alon listened and then nodded.

“So to summarize, a grand conference is one where even the tower masters all participate.”

“Exactly. That’s why there are usually a lot of mages at a grand conference. At ordinary conferences too, really.”

Alon nodded again at this setting that had never come up in the game.

Then.

“These idiots, seriously.”

“What? That’s way too harsh.”

“Too harsh? If they can’t even understand this much, then idiots is exactly what they are. Don’t you think?”

At the somewhat familiar voice and the agitated response coming from one side of the Central Tower, Alon made a questioning face, and Riyan sighed.

“Looks like someone picked another fight with the Blue Tower’s vice tower master again.”

“…The Blue vice tower master?”

“Yes. I thought you might know. She’s so full of herself that she probably provoked someone and ended up in another round again.”

The remark carried such open hostility that Alon remembered Riyan had shown distaste for the Blue Tower the last time too, and he was about to ask about it when.

“Hey. Let’s do it again.”

“Do what again, you idiot? You think you can beat me? What, ten of you wasn’t enough, so this time you’re going to bring twenty?”

“Hey.”

Penia, dragging along a crowd of angry mages from the area where the friendly match had just taken place, walked with an openly mocking smile.

Then.

“Hm?”

She spotted Riyan and curled her lips upward.

“Well, if it isn’t the half-baked mage who couldn’t do a thing against me last year.”

A blatant provocation.

Riyan frowned hard and glared at her, but Penia only laughed as if that glare meant nothing.

“What, this time did you even bring a friend so you could mouth off together.”

Naturally, she shifted her gaze to the right.

“Uh….”

And froze.

Then her face turned pale blue.

A moment earlier she had been mocking everyone around her like they were trash, but now she stopped as if someone had broken her, and Riyan had only enough time to look bewildered before.

“H-hello.”

“?”

The words that left Penia’s mouth made Riyan’s face go blank.

Polite speech.

The polite speech no one had ever believed Penia would use had, for the first time in her life, come out of her mouth.

And then.

“It’s been a while. Have you been well?”

“Y-yes.”

The sight of the woman called a once-in-a-generation genius outside the mage world and a once-in-a-generation delinquent among mages answering like a soldier snapped to attention left not only Riyan but the furious mages trailing after Penia standing there with their mouths open, staring at Count Palladio, the man who had just made the impossible happen before their eyes.