Chapter 51 – Magic Conference (4)

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Translated by Jinmu

Read it only at Novelbyu.com & Utoon.net

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Killam, a mage of the Green Tower and the teacher of Millan, the mage Penia had apologized to, was a fifth-rank mage.

In truth, from the beginning, he had held a small doubt about Count Palladio.

It was a doubt about Count Palladio’s strength.

Of course, Killam had not yet reached the sixth rank, the level where one awakened the eye that allowed a person to fully read an opponent merely by looking at them.

But even a fifth-rank mage had sharpened senses, enough to grasp something of the mana another person possessed, and to Killam, Count Palladio’s mana felt far too small.

Of course, he knew that what mattered to a mage was knowledge.

If one lacked the knowledge needed to use magic, then no matter how large a person’s mana hall was, it meant nothing.

But no matter how excellent a person’s knowledge might be, if their innate mana was fundamentally too small, they would not be able to use magic at all. Naturally, that gave rise to doubt.

He had begun wondering if the rumors surrounding Count Palladio might all be stories the count had created himself to elevate his own name.

Of course, when he saw that delinquent Penia suddenly change in front of the count yesterday, he briefly wondered if he had judged wrong.

But after checking again in the arena today, he was sure his judgment had not been mistaken.

Count Palladio’s mana was far too feeble for the owner of such grand rumors.

And he was not the only one suspicious of that.

“Hmm. No matter how I look at it, from the sensory impression alone, his rank doesn’t seem very high. What do you think?”

“I think the same. For someone whose rank is supposedly high… his mana hall looks far too small.”

“Tch. Then it really was all empty rumor. Did he fabricate it all to build his own prestige?”

“That is unfortunate. To be caught in a friendly match and have all the rumors exposed like this.”

Sure enough, the other professor-level fifth-rank mages gathered there alongside Killam all felt the same impression from Alon and voiced their doubts.

That lasted only until frozen earth covered the arena.

“….”

Every mage fell silent.

The lower-ranked mages, who had until a moment ago been wearing expressions full of curiosity.

The fifth-rank mages, who had instead been looking at Alon with suspicion.

All of them stood there with mouths hanging open, staring blankly at the scene.

But the feelings filling the mages were not the same.

The low-ranked mages looked at Alon’s spell with awe.

The high-ranked mages looked at it with shock.

Because they understood what Alon had just done.

Compound magic. And not just that, but more than three kinds of compound magic at once.

Killam’s mouth fell open.

Of course, compound magic was something he could use as well, and among the mages gathered there, there was no one above the fifth rank who could not use it.

But to implement more than three layers of compound magic at once, with no visible flaw and to a nearly perfect degree, was not something anyone there would dare confidently claim they could do.

“How in the world did he do that?”

By then, the fact that Count Palladio’s mana was weak had already been erased from the minds of the fifth-rank mages.

In its place was the curiosity that had carried them up to the fifth rank, and reverence for the mage named Alon.

Then, at the moment when everyone’s eyes were fixed on the arena.

“Crystal.”

Alon murmured softly and formed a hand seal.

At the same time.

Crack.

Dozens of small spheres, no bigger than hard candy, began forming throughout the entire arena.

“Rotation.”

At those words, the spheres hanging in the air began to turn slowly clockwise.

Just as the mages were wondering why the spheres had started rotating on their own.

“Tch.”

Baruk, who had been thrown into confusion by Alon’s magic, belatedly came to his senses and began preparing a spell.

If he failed to do anything here, then instead of increasing his influence, he might simply make a fool of himself in front of everyone.

That thought drove him to prepare a spell in a hurry.

But when the other mages saw the spell Baruk was preparing, they frowned or looked puzzled.

“That is.”

“…Kemallan?”

Naturally so.

The magic Baruk was trying to use was one of the major spells of the Violet Tower, an openly lethal spell not used in friendly matches.

But Baruk’s spell was never released.

Crack.

In the very next moment, Baruk had become an ice statue.

Every mage replayed the scene in their minds in a daze.

What happened was simple.

One of the many rotating spheres Alon had created had suddenly shot forward and pierced straight through the point where Baruk was trying to gather his spell structure, freezing him whole before the spell could be completed.

Only then did the mages understand that the rotating spheres were not a decorative array, but projectiles waiting for the exact instant Alon desired.

And only after that did the judge finally force out the result.

“The winner of the friendly match is Count Palladio.”

* * *

The moment the match ended, Alon found himself surrounded by mages.

It was not that they were trying to attack him.

They were simply too excited.

Some praised the spell.

Some asked whether the hand seals he had used were connected to ancient magic.

Some asked how he had structured compound magic that way.

Some were curious about the phrases.

Some stared at him as though they had found something unbelievable.

Of course, none of them directly asked for the secrets of his spell.

There was still a line even mages did not cross.

Even so, the flood of questions taught Alon something.

The hand seals and phrases he used were far less known among modern mages than he had expected.

That much was unexpectedly interesting.

He had already known they were remnants of an older age.

What he had not expected was how thoroughly they had been forgotten.

At some point in the middle of all of that, Alon made the mistake of honestly stating his rank.

Naturally, no one believed him.

When he said he was third-rank, every mage reacted as though he had said something ridiculous.

Only after great effort did Alon finally escape the arena and its endless stream of questions.

Once he was out, he touched the finger guard on his hand and smiled faintly.

It really is useful.

The item, called Memory of the Black Pupil in Psychedelia, had a simple effect.

It stored one spell the user had already implemented, then allowed it to be reproduced later with a slight amplification.

In other words, it was a strengthened replay of a memorized spell.

For Alon, that was excellent efficiency.

Extreme Cold alone normally ate through his available spell count so badly that after using it he was left with only two more spells he could force out of himself out of a total of five.

But with Memory of the Black Pupil, he could preserve his full effective spell count in actual combat.

And the amplification was even stronger than expected.

He had felt that clearly in the duel. Extreme Cold had been at least twice as strong as usual.

The sentence fragment from the tower was useful too.

Renown of the Snowy Mountain.

After continuing to experiment in the desert and afterward, Alon had gradually begun to understand its effect.

It froze the atmosphere around a spell at the moment that spell was fully implemented.

Unlike simply twisting a spell’s ordinary properties and mutating them, it carried an effect that almost seemed to touch law itself, and that was what he had used to implement the magic today.

So this is what it meant.

The line from the tower returned to him.

A sentence is a key that opens a specific door leading closer to the law designated in this world.

The more he learned about phrases and sentences, the more sharply his magic advanced, and that only deepened his curiosity.

Gradually, his interest was growing stronger.

Alon glanced outside the tower.

The sun had now lowered to the mountainside and the landscape was taking on the colors of sunset.

Almost time.

Looking at the slowly sinking sun, Alon recalled the last item he needed to retrieve from the Central Tower that night and turned around.

* * *

On the first night of the conference.

“Count?”

“What is it?”

“Are you really… third-rank?”

“I am.”

“…Really?”

“Yes.”

“Ah… all right. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Riyan left with a face that made it completely obvious she did not believe him.

Then, later.

“C-count?”

“Penia?”

“I, I know you’re third-rank.”

“…Is that so?”

“Yes. I know you’re third-rank. Absolutely. Without question.”

“…?”

Penia emphasized Alon’s rank no fewer than three times before departing.

Late that night, after she too had gone, Alon saw that the moon had risen and headed for the library.

Woooong.

With a low resonant sound, he arrived once more in the quiet library, empty of people.

Only the blue moon hanging in the sky illuminated it instead of lamps, and in that eerie atmosphere.

“So you came at the proper time. Someone admirable must have solved my riddle.”

The heavy echo that reached his ears made Alon’s body tremble without meaning to.

It was not that he had sensed something concrete.

It was pure instinctive trembling.

As though something weaker trembled before something stronger on instinct alone.

Even so.

“I did.”

Alon answered and forcibly suppressed the fear rising inside him.

In the first place, he could only obtain the item he needed by meeting her.

And then.

“Oh. Even after hearing my voice, you aren’t falling into panic. Impressive.”

Blue mana began gathering in front of him and taking shape.

Seeing that, Alon felt sweat bead in his hands.

Because he knew very well who was about to appear before him.

The first great mage humanity had produced since the age of the forgotten gods.

The mage all others had revered in life as the Primordial Chalice.

And the slaughterer whom the beings that had thrown the world into chaos had feared and praised under a different name.

“…Great Mage Heinkel.”

The moment Alon murmured her name, the thing made of blue mana rapidly took on proper form.

Soon, before him stood a woman in a white pointed hat with blue eyes beneath it, wearing a relaxed smile.

To mages, she had been the Primordial Chalice.

To the beings that had unsettled the world, she had been Eternal Fear.

Behind his blank face, Alon swallowed hard.

Heinkel was not an enemy, but if he misspoke at the wrong moment, her eccentric temperament might still get him killed on the spot.

So Alon carefully recalled in his mind the topics and lines one must never bring up before her.

Then the great mage, whose mere appearance carried an essential pressure despite that easy smile, looked at him and spoke her first words.

“Eek…?”

A terrified little whimper.

“…??”

A question mark bloomed in Alon’s mind.