Chapter 3 – The Thunder God Emperor Festival Main Tournament and the Cat-Eared Girl’s Brother
So. We were at the venue for the Thunder God Emperor Ephthal Festival main tournament.
For the moment, Sheryl’s magic power depletion had her in a bad way. Long ago, back in the deep past, a water-spirit girl took flesh on a whim, and the Ice God Emperor Isaac was born with a magic aptitude that made him, in all likelihood, more beloved of the water spirits in the air than anyone else alive. Once those two met, ending up close was less a choice than a foregone conclusion.
And a child that is half human and half spirit runs into trouble as a matter of course. Isaac and I had been friendly enough, one way and another, that the two of us once tore through the literature together in a fairly desperate way. The conclusion we reached was that the odds of dying of magic power depletion before reaching ten years old were extremely high.
The reason comes down to this: spirits devour magic power simply to keep living. Which stands to reason, really, since a spirit is a creature of pure mind, its very existence a mass of magic power. So a spirit sustains itself by constantly converting the breath of the air into magic power and drawing it in. A human obviously can’t do that. Put plainly, a spirit-human half burns fuel faster than a human body can produce it, and as the human child grows, the amount it needs rises, until eventually the child hits its ceiling and dies.
By our arithmetic back then, a grandchild or a great-grandchild could just barely be made to work. The direct child, no matter how we ran the numbers, could not. Well, descendants exist, so evidently Isaac found a way for his own child.
—Presumably the same way I’m about to use on Sheryl.
Which is only logical, since the pair of us concluded together that it was the one method that would carry a child through.
The thing I feared most at the time is exactly what’s happening to Sheryl now: an atavism. A god-adjacent entity is, to put it bluntly, something nobody understands, so anything at all could happen, and cross-species pairings throw up scattered cases of precisely this. And if it surfaced generations down the line, Isaac wouldn’t be there and nothing could be done about it. Which is why, back then, I talked myself hoarse trying to stop him.
As for Sheryl herself. Fated to die she may be, but she isn’t going to die tomorrow, or the day after, or a week from now. A month from now, though, I couldn’t guarantee. So I’ve prepared an emergency medicine, in case a depletion attack takes her and she suddenly can’t move.
That leaves us, for the moment, in something like a secure position. But there is one point I can’t make sit right.
“…Mm? What is it, Ephthal?”
“It’s nothing, Sheryl.”
Which was a lie. For a start, I don’t understand why Sheryl cast a spell in her dorm room at all, Level 1 or not. Either she hasn’t noticed her own magic power depletion, or there’s something else that makes her confident her life isn’t in danger. Today’s match is the first place to find out which.
Sasha put the name of the Fire God Emperor Cliff into this festival, too, so the whole thing smells wrong. Even setting out to treat Sheryl, it would be a mistake to assume everything runs to my expectations, and confirming the situation as far as I can see it is unquestionably the better play.
“Anyway. Could you maybe stop walking along holding the hem of my clothes…?”
“…It settles me, doing this.”
Just how attached has this girl gotten? Not that I mind, particularly. What I feel toward Sheryl now is essentially what I’d feel toward a friend’s daughter. She’s near enough family, and when family gets attached and comes to lean on you, finding it plainly adorable is not a thing you can help.
So I patted her head, and sure enough her cat ears twitched and she said “Ehehe” in high good humor.
“…Being patted by Ephthal really is reassuring.”
“Reassuring?”
“…Because you smell the same as Brother… huuug.”
And I got hugged, naturally.
That aside, today was the Thunder God Emperor Festival semifinals: a single decisive team match. The match itself ought to be a walkover, but before I put Sheryl through any serious treatment for her magic power depletion, I wanted to confirm that it really is that, in live combat, where the truth can’t be dressed up. A clumsy treatment is the kind of thing that costs a life, so this needed care rather than rough work.
⁂
And so the Thunder God Emperor Festival semifinals began.
Our opponents, incidentally, were a third-year class. The student council gathers the best of the entire student body, so they field a mixed corps drawn from across the classes. And unlike the preliminaries, this round was to be fought in the colosseum on academy grounds. If I say it’s like the Colosseum in Rome on modern Earth, only tidied up, that might carry some of the sense of it. An enormous venue, and when all’s said and done this is a famous demon academy, so being able to borrow a national facility for an event strikes me as no small thing. In the middle of the flat ground inside the spectator seating stands the platform, which makes the whole thing a colosseum in the most literal way.
Which brings us to about ten seconds after the signal for the match to start, with the five of us facing off against their five, and—
“H-H-He’s floatiiing! What is that mask!? That’s Level 5: Flight, isn’t it!?”
She was, in fact, floating. This swallowtail-butterfly-masked woman in student-uniform cosplay was up in the air. Merlin isn’t allowed to take part in the fighting, so she’d withdrawn from the platform the moment we started, but she was standing out so hard it was exhausting to even attempt a comeback.
Why does this girl casually use a Level 5? I had a pretext when I did it, at least: the mysterious boy with Headmaster Merlin’s special favor. A masked woman throwing Level 5s is nothing but an invitation to be asked questions. Meanwhile our five opponents had gone pale and were shouting over one another.
“I said these guys were off! The black-haired one used a Level 5 in the preliminaries too!”
“The headmaster uses formal speech on that human, Ephthal or whatever his name is! There’s definitely something going on with them! They’ve got a kid on the roster! This is absolutely not normal!”
Then Merlin, wearing an insufferably smug face, made her announcement.
“Be at ease, gentlemen! This of mine is no Level 5. It is a Level 4 Illusion! And for the record, I shall not lift a finger!”
That again. I went limp on the spot. But the five of them visibly recovered their color as they took it in.
“Hey, she says it’s an illusion.”
“Level 4, huh. Which means the Level 5 the black-haired one used could be an illusion too.”
“Level 4 might well be their ceiling, right? Then we can take this. That’s not zero odds, is it?”
“We’re carrying the class name, after all. Forfeit and there’s no telling what the rest of them will say to us afterward.”
“Right, and Anonymous Hope says they won’t lift a finger, and one of them’s a child, so counting properly… we’re really up against three.”
The five of them looked us over and swallowed hard.
“…Five on three. We can do this.”
What an unbelievably transparent bunch. Convinced now of their numerical advantage, the fear on their faces gave way to confidence. And as far as I could see, the gallery had swallowed Merlin’s illusion line as well. When I nervously checked the faculty referee, he was satisfied too, for some reason: an Illusion, then…
At which point I finally noticed that this was, in fact, absurd.
—Level 8: Long Range Mind Jack.
A species of mental contamination. A confusion spell, in plain terms. To see high magic put to work on something this petty would make the art itself weep.
In any case, the opposition had found their enthusiasm.
“Right. Bullying the kid looks bad, so we go for the next weakest thing out there. That soft, fluffy one. Everything on her!”
They’d settled on Anastasia as their target, apparently.
“They’ll be throwing Level 4s, so watch yourselves!”
“Which is why the four of us hold this—Level 4 magic barrier!”
“And I’m the best close-quarters fighter in the academy, so I go in and put the pink-haired girl out of the match in one strike!”
Not a bad plan, as plans go. Anastasia was in fact standing somewhat out ahead of the rest of us, in the giant’s path. For Maria and me to help her, we’d have to fire long-range attack magic, and so the four of them combined their formulas and completed a Level 4-grade barrier to shield the big man. If it all went their way, Anastasia would be dropped instantly and only Maria and I would be left. At which point, whatever the gap in ability as mages, sheer weight of numbers might carry it. That was the shape of the thinking.
And as the shaven-headed giant came at us with a practice sword raised high overhead—
“Wait, please! There’s no need for that! If it’s a one-on-one at close quarters—a bout between warriors—I’ll take you on!”
Anastasia called it out at the top of her voice.
“What? One on one!?”
The giant stopped dead. From where he stood, a one-on-one at close quarters was exactly what he wanted, so this must have felt like a gift falling out of a clear sky.
“I accept a one-on-one. So I thought we should begin with the greeting. I am a swordsman of sorts myself. This is a duel between warriors—have you never heard the saying that it begins with courtesy and ends with courtesy?”
The giant thought about it for a moment, then gave a small nod.
“I am Anthony, third year. Anthony Ames.”
“And I am Anastasia, first year. Anastasia—”
Some five meters apart, the two of them bowed to each other, and the instant the man’s head was all the way down, Anastasia twisted hard at the waist and—
—threw a knife.
Not a real one, mind. A practice blade. It carried a lightning enchantment even so, so taking it was never going to be free. The knife went into his shoulder, and the giant took the shock and dropped to one knee with a strangled noise.
“That’s dirty!”
Quite right. I was pulling a wry face myself.
“Well, there’s somebody here far dirtier than me.”
And at that moment, countless rose stems erupted across the platform.
“M-My legs, my legs, my leeeegs!”
“Wh-Wh-What in the world is thiiis!?”
What had wrapped itself around all five pairs of legs was Rose Bind—a magic tool elves are fond of. In the main tournament, incidentally, bringing in a self-made magic tool is permitted provided the stated purpose is to support one’s spellcasting. That was a special allowance to rescue students majoring in alchemy, and since no alchemist ever actually entered, it has sat unused ever since. Anastasia is the one who spotted it.
I remember clearly the moment she was reading the rulebook and let out an “Ah!” Her usual soft, fluffy expression vanished for an instant and something wicked came over her face. Though I would prefer to believe I imagined the wicked part.
That aside, the strength of that magic tool of Maria’s scales with the skill of the one using it. Bound by a girl whose power had come on at a frightening rate over the training camp, none of them was going to get free in a hurry.
“—Right, now that you can’t move, it’s time for a beating!”
Arrows with their attack power raised by enchantment came down on the five of them like sleeting rain. And then: pandemonium.
“Gyaaaaaaaah!”
“I-I knew it, we’re finished!”
“What is with that elf!? What kind of binding is this!? And those are practice arrows, aren’t they!? What enchantment work gets you that kind of power out of a practice arrow!”
“I told you! I told you these guys were off!”
And with the five of them in a full panic, Anastasia and Maria caught each other’s eye and nodded.
“Here we go, Anastasia!”
“Yes! Maria-san!”
The two of them ran together and each put out a right hand. These two really are good at a fight. This had evidently been the plan from the beginning.
“Ready—”
And as their palms met, the pair of them fixed the five with a hard look and—
“Level 5: Explosion!”
KABOOM. A very literal, very large explosion. Immobilize, beat them into collapse, then finish with heavy firepower from a cooperative ritual spell. All in all, I’d call that a satisfactory piece of work.
“At least the kid…! If I don’t take down even one of them, the whole class will look at me sideways!”
Best close-quarters fighter in the academy was apparently not an idle boast. He’d been furthest from the blast and taken the least damage, and he had forced his way out of the Rose Bind as well—and he came at Sheryl, beside me, with his sword raised.
I didn’t move. If she looked like getting hurt I’d step in at the last possible moment. And the instant Sheryl came inside his reach—
“Level 3: Huge Tornado.”
“Wha—Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat!?”
The tornado threw the giant some ten meters into the air, and then he came down.
“Gubh!”
An odd noise, and he was out cold and twitching. He’d had his physical abilities enhanced, by the look of it, so at this level he’d likely get away with minor injuries and there was nothing much to worry about.
The problem was Sheryl. Given a magic power depletion that should have posed a direct threat to her life, the obvious question arose: how was she casting a Level 3 at all?
The next day, Saturday.
The magic academy was closed, and in the early afternoon Sheryl and I were walking through the city.
“…I have asked you a number of times not to follow me.”
Sheryl looked troubled. I shrugged.
“I’m curious, is all.”
“…Why are you curious?”
“Because I’m already aboard this boat.”
She thought about that for a while, then went quiet and started walking again.
“…Then do as you like.”
We left the main street in the center of the city and went into the back lanes, working deeper and deeper through the alleys, and the scenery around us grew steadily more run-down. More than run-down, in fact. Creepy. Garbage lay scattered along the narrow streets, homeless people slept in heaps here and there, and the smell of ammonia caught at my nose now and then. Bad for the mood, bad for the sanitation. There were people drinking from the middle of the day, and around here a young person in clean clothes is a pusher and nothing else.
—We had, in short, walked into a slum.
“Sheryl. Where are we heading?”
“…My once-a-year errand to the back guild. I need a magic crystal. There is no route by which I can obtain one legitimately.”
More or less what I’d imagined. If a girl who by all theory should be dying of the condition is casting spells like anyone else, then she needs an external fuel tank.
Magic crystals, incidentally, get used for defending strongpoints in monster-heavy regions, for building shelters in safe zones, holding a ritual spell in permanent operation, that sort of thing. A magic crystal is a substance refined from the magic stones that can occasionally be taken from high-order monsters. The output itself isn’t especially strong as a rule. How to put it… imagine a dry-cell battery with an absurdly long endurance and you’ve got roughly the right idea. Output scales with the size of the magic stone, so one large enough to sustain a ritual spell can carry a price that would bankrupt a country. They’re used in magic tools too, and they’re expensive on principle, so even a small one costs a great deal. On top of that, trade in them is strictly controlled by the union of nations, and as Sheryl said, there’s no room to get one through legitimate channels.
“I know roughly what your magic power depletion is, spirits and all, from the research records left in the Alcott ducal house. But dealing with the back guild… is that really something you should be telling me?”
“…It is not something I hide, and this transaction is not illegal. On the buying side, at least. And… I trust that Ephthal is a good person.”
The selling side is certainly breaking the law at the acquisition stage. Realistically the only routes are theft or embezzled goods moved on quietly.
While I was thinking that, Sheryl let out a sigh.
“…What a wretched place, all the same.”
She took a tight grip on my sleeve, and that was when I noticed she was shaking.
“Are you frightened?”
“…Mm. There are a great many thugs. So I am frightened now. It was not like this before.”
“What do you mean, now?”
“…Last year and the year before, I was not frightened, because I could use higher magic. Every year the magic I can handle grows weaker, and now Level 3 is my limit. A magic crystal is not all-powerful either.”
“A magic crystal, though. Aren’t they expensive?”
“…Brother sends me money every year, so it is all right. This year was quite dangerous, so I resorted to a last measure.”
Ah. So that’s why she was selling underwear at the flea market.
“Brother—your older brother? If he needs magic crystals too, then between the two of you that must come to an outrageous sum…?”
“…Mm. He is not blood, so it is fine.”
“Not blood?”
“…I was bought with money by a ducal house of magic lineage. To lend the house prestige.”
“I’d like to hear that part in rather more detail.”
Sheryl gave a small nod.
“…My earliest memory begins in a room of a slave market, as collateral against my true parents’ debt, with a duke carving a slave crest into me. Since the first Ice God Emperor died, nothing has gone well for the line.”
What she explained then comes to roughly this.
To begin with, Isaac kept his child’s life going without difficulty by ‘that method,’ right up until the Fire God Emperor killed him. But with Isaac gone, that method doesn’t hold. And so what came afterward turned ugly. Isaac’s child, from the father’s death onward, was kept alive on magic crystals, exactly as Sheryl is now. But they couldn’t obtain crystals of high enough output, so it was all they could do to sustain life… and as a mage, at least, the child was finished from that point.
The family’s standing inside the court of Isaac’s country grew precarious, and the decline began. It started with selling off land and houses; as the generations went on, more and more that was fatal went to market, until in the end the title and the domain itself were sold.
—That is what it means to take spirit blood into a line.
You gain a superhuman magic aptitude, but the fuel consumption is so terrible that in time even the life burns out. That is both why Sheryl was a genius and why her growth stopped. And it took Isaac’s line several generations for the spirit blood to thin far enough that its members could live as ordinary mages. Over all that time the house was left out of favor at court, the situation passed the point of recovery, and here we are.
“…The story ends here. We have arrived.”
A run-down building in one corner of the slum, apparently our destination. The sort of cramped, mixed-use building you’d find back in Japan, with two staircases from the entrance, one up and one down. We took the up.
Second floor of a three-story building, at the end of the corridor, Sheryl knocked three times, paused, and knocked twice more. A single knock came back from the other side, and she returned one.
Precautions, presumably, on account of the illegal trade going on. And while I was thinking exactly that, I heard the lock come off, and the door swung open with a creak.