Chapter 24
Cyril's father was descended from the bloodline of the Marquis House of Haione, but he held no title and was far from wealthy.
Even so, he took pride in his connection to the marquis's family, barely worked, and treated Cyril's mother imperiously.
Cyril hated that, so he always took his mother's side. He did his best, in his own way, to think of ways to make her happy.
And yet, whenever his mother looked at Cyril's face—an aristocratic face much like his father's—she always looked sad.
Eventually, around the time his father drank himself to death, someone from the Marquis House of Haione offered to adopt Cyril.
Cyril leaped for joy.
This way, I can make life easier for Mother! I can make Mother happy!
But when his mother saw Cyril rejoicing, she sighed and said,
'Ah, you really are a nobleman's child after all.'
──No, Mother. I am your child.
Cyril could never bring himself to say those words.
＊ ＊ ＊
The person standing before Cyril wore a hood pulled low. They were small and looked nothing like an adult.
Yet when the figure casually raised their right hand, the giant serpent that had melted Cyril's ice wall circled once around them.
There was no doubt: this hooded figure was the one wielding magic—the one who had melted Cyril's ice.
The black cat that had stolen Cyril's brooch let out a meow and ran to the hooded figure. The figure picked up the cat, then plucked the brooch from its mouth.
"Is that cat yours?"
Even when Cyril growled in a low voice, the hooded figure did not look at him and simply stared at the brooch.
This attitude only irritated Cyril further.
"Give me back that brooch!"
In a fit of rage, Cyril chanted a spell. It was a formula that created chains of ice.
When Cyril snapped his fingers, ice chains coiled around the hooded figure's limbs... and in the next instant, they fell apart.
"...Huh?"
The hooded figure had done nothing. They had not even chanted a spell.
And yet the ice chains shattered effortlessly, scattering their remains across the ground.
Thinking he might have made a mistake in the formula, Cyril chanted the spell again. But the result was the same. The ice chains collapsed the instant they appeared.
"Why? Why? Did you... did you do something?"
The hooded figure still said nothing, staring intently at the brooch, as though Cyril were beneath their notice.
...That attitude was unnerving.
"Answer me!"
Cyril created arrows of ice and fired them at the hooded figure. But just before they reached the figure, the arrows were engulfed in flame and melted away.
Cyril wondered if perhaps an ally was nearby. Otherwise, there was no explanation. The hooded figure had not chanted a spell. There was no way they could cancel Cyril's magic without chanting.
"Damn it... damn it...!"
Cyril created a large number of ice arrows and fired them wildly in every direction. If the hooded figure had companions nearby, he would flush them out.
But when the hooded figure raised their face slightly, that alone caused the ice arrows to be engulfed in flame and vanish without a trace.
(What... what is this...?)
It was not particularly difficult to block wildly fired arrows with a shield.
But to shoot down every arrow with arrows... that was a divine feat.
That was the kind of magic being used right before Cyril's eyes.
What was more, the flames that melted the ice did not spread to the surrounding trees; they simply went out. In other words, the magic was that precise.
Every single flame had been woven according to an appallingly precise calculation. And there were this many? In only a few seconds?
(What is this? What is happening? What am I looking at?)
Anyone ignorant of magic would have been captivated by the spectacular giant serpent of flame.
But anyone who had even dabbled in magic should have realized that the tiny flames that shot down the ice arrows were anything but ordinary.
The basic defense in magical combat was a shield—in other words, a defensive barrier.
But the person before him did not use a shield. They intercepted the arrows with arrows and showed Cyril an overwhelming difference in skill.
"What... what are youuu...?"
Cyril abandoned fine control, converted every last bit of his magical power into cold, and hurled it at the hooded figure.
"Freeze! Freeze! Turn into a silent statue of ice!"
The cold he unleashed while shrieking hysterically froze everything around him, with Cyril at the center. The ground, the trees, and even Cyril himself.
He continued blasting the cold, not caring even if his hands and feet suffered frostbite.
But then he noticed.
The full-power cold was gradually being pushed back—no, its direction was being diverted. Upward.
The hooded figure was using wind magic to deflect Cyril's cold.
At the same time, the ice clinging to Cyril's hands and feet gradually peeled away—a barrier had been cast to protect his body from the cold.
Cyril, who was using magic without regard for his own safety, naturally was not using any such barrier.
(Could this person...?)
If the hooded figure was deflecting the cold with wind magic while protecting Cyril's body with a defensive barrier... that meant they were using advanced magic simultaneously.
Surely an ally of the hooded figure was hiding nearby and secretly casting these spells. It had to be.
(...But what if that isn't the case?)
If this hooded figure was using all this magic entirely alone... then that would make them a monster.
Cyril went pale and began to tremble all over.
The exhilaration and intoxication he had felt while wielding magic subsided, and the blood drained from his entire body.
"...Ah..."
His vision blurred, and all strength left his body. He had run out of magical power.
Just before losing consciousness, Cyril saw... the hooded figure running toward him with a hopelessly clumsy gait and reaching out a small hand.
＊ ＊ ＊
"A-are you... are you all right...?"
Monica came toddling clumsily toward Cyril, laid his head in her lap, and checked his condition.
Cyril was unconscious. His pulse had weakened slightly, but he did not appear to be in any danger. He should recover after a little rest.
"...Thank goodness."
One of the initial symptoms of magical power poisoning is intense excitement when casting spells.
As it worsens, hallucinations, palpitations, dizziness, and other symptoms appear, and eventually magical power eats away at the victim's entire body, killing them.
Therefore, the quickest treatment for someone suffering from magical power poisoning is to have them use up all their magical power while they are still in the early stages.
"Well done."
Rin, who had been hiding in the shadows and watching, emerged and looked at the brooch in Monica's hand.
"As I suspected, there was something wrong with that magical tool?"
"Yes... The spell formula embedded in it had deteriorated with age... Normally, to prevent deterioration, you layer protective formulas over the original... but..."
"So no protective formula had been applied?"
When Monica nodded at Rin's words, Nero swished his tail irritably and said, "It's a defective product!"
"Who the hell did such half-assed work?"
"Um... there's a maker's name engraved on the back of the brooch..."
Monica turned over the brooch, and when she saw the name engraved there, her cheek twitched.
"...〈Jewel Magician〉Emmanuel Darwin..."
"What, what? Someone you know?"
When Monica faltered, Rin answered in her usual flat tone.
"I recall that he is one of the Seven Sages, like Monica-dono. He and Louis-dono do not get along. He is aligned with the Second Prince faction. According to Louis-dono, he is 'a gold-obsessed old baboon.'"
After several seconds of silence, Nero spoke.
"...Are there no normal people among the Seven Sages?"
That hit a little too close to home.
Monica pressed a hand to her chest and said, "Ow..." as she overwrote the brooch with a new spell formula.
The kind of magic that imbues objects like this with magical power is called imbuing magic.
Monica had not studied that kind of magic professionally, but the brooch did not have a particularly complex construction, so she had no trouble repairing it.
For example, there was the amulet Louis had made for Felix. It was an extremely advanced magical tool that detected danger and cast a defensive barrier, whereas this brooch merely absorbed and released magical power.
(Perhaps I should also incorporate an automatic adjustment formula that regulates the amount of magical power absorbed according to the amount of magical power remaining in the body...)
Whenever Monica saw a spell formula of this sort, she could not resist trying to adapt it—a bad habit of hers.
Even so, Cyril would be confused if the brooch's function suddenly changed.
Monica fixed the flaw in the spell formula, added an automatic adjustment formula, and stopped there; then she applied two layers of protective magic to safeguard the formula.
It should not break down easily now.
When Monica fastened the brooch back onto Cyril's collar, Nero looked up at her teasingly.
"Do you really need to go that far? You could charge five gold coins just to repair a magical tool, couldn't you?"
"That..."
Monica paused to gather her thoughts.
Monica was just a little envious of Cyril.
Of the fact that he could take pride in being acknowledged by someone. Of the way he spared no effort for that sake.
"Having a constitution that absorbs magical power can be inconvenient, but if you learn to live with it, it gives you an advantage as a mage."
Being able to absorb magical power quickly means recovering it quickly as well.
The faster it recovers, the longer one can fight, giving one an advantage over other mages in a prolonged battle.
In fact, some mages deliberately put themselves through harsh training and push themselves to the limit in order to increase their rate of magical-power absorption and acquire this constitution.
Cyril's constitution could also be called a "talent."
"...I didn't want you to think of this talent as a curse."
Monica could never take pride in her own talent. She could not help seeing it as a curse.
That was precisely why she did not want Cyril to become like her.
She wanted him to hold his head high and be proud of himself.
...Even for Monica, who couldn't be proud of herself.
"By the way, what're we gonna do with this guy? Leave him lying here?"
Nero gently squished Cyril's cheek with a front paw.
It was true that, even though it was not winter yet, Monica felt uneasy about leaving an unwell person lying in a forest like this.
As Monica pondered what to do, Rin raised her hand.
"Shall I blow this man away with a gust of wind and throw him into the boys' dormitory?"
"I-if possible, something a little less violent..."
"Then I shall summon a tornado and blow him into the boys' dormitory..."
"That's even worse!"
Even if they secretly infiltrated the boys' dormitory using Rin's flight magic, they did not know which room was Cyril's.
As Monica held her head in her hands, Nero leaped up with a sigh, as if to say, "Good grief."
He spun around once and landed, and in the next instant, he was no longer a black cat but a young man with black hair and golden eyes.
"Then I'll carry this guy to the boys' dormitory gate. If I leave him dumped near the main entrance, the gatekeeper will notice him."
"Ugh, do we really have to dump him there...?"
"If we sneak inside and get caught, it'll all be for nothing."
Saying that, Nero roughly lifted Cyril and slung him over his shoulder.
"Um, Nero, at least carry him piggyback..."
Ignoring Monica's voice, Nero lightly kicked off the ground and ran.
Before long, Nero's back faded into the night forest and disappeared from sight.