Interlude
Feeling the full force of the winter season seeping into her, the magic corps’s commander, Lucy Diamond, sipped some warm tea that her servant Haley had prepared for her.
“What do you want so early in the morning?” she asked the man sitting before her, throwing him a rather crude look.
“There’s no need to put it like that.” The man returned her gaze defiantly and took a sip of his own tea. “Haven’t I provided you with all sorts of information?”
This was Ibroy Howlman, a bishop of the Church of Sphene in Liberis’s capital of Baltrain. There was a certain refinement to his clothing that distinguished him from the typical believer. His robes were clearly of high quality.
This wasn’t the first time Ibroy had gone out of his way to visit Lucy in her home. Much like his first meeting with Beryl during the arrest of the former bishop Reveos, he’d come here many times to see Lucy face-to-face to provide her with information he’d obtained.
Haley, who’d served in Lucy’s house for a relatively long time, saw him as one of her mistress’s few frequent guests. Even when he visited with no warning, she generally let him in without question.
The strange part was that he’d never once visited Lucy at the magic corps or the institute. Though no one had shared her schedule with him—at the very least, Haley hadn’t—he only ever appeared when Lucy was home. What was more, Lucy wasn’t a morning person, yet he only showed up on the rare days when she did wake up at a normal hour. It was almost like he was aiming for those days specifically. Haley couldn’t help but think that there was some kind of mysterious power at work. Everything was always too perfect. Today was yet another example of that.
The visit occurred right after Princess Salacia’s wedding had been planned and her guards had departed from Baltrain.
“Information, huh?” Lucy asked. “Are you skipping Princess Salacia’s wedding ceremony?”
“Perish the thought! I’ll go once I finish up some work. They’re marching in a huge group, so I’ll catch up by horse in no time.”
He had a point—the enormous escort and large retinue they’d taken along couldn’t move that quickly. Taking the princess’s physical condition into consideration, a forced march was also out of the question. Even if Ibroy left a few days later, he would be able to catch up, if not overtake them, even if he took a few guards with him.
“What about you, Lucy?” Ibroy asked. “Are you not going to witness the third princess’s grand stage?”
“I’d love to, but things would get complicated if I went.”
“Ha ha ha! That’s true.”
Lucy wanted to quip that he’d already known the answer to his question, but she swallowed those words with her tea. The nation of Sphenedyardvania got along poorly with Liberis’s magic corps. Wizards were treated as heretics who messed with the miracles bestowed upon man by their god Sphene. Naturally, the magic corps had no intention of dismissing the church’s teachings—it just happened their ideologies differed across the border. Most believers of the Church of Sphene knew this too. From Lucy’s perspective, Sphenedyardvania’s royal family understood very well.
However, there were some believers who absolutely abhorred the magic corps. Even if the magic corps did nothing at all, such negative emotions swelled within that nation. It would have been one thing if Liberis and Sphenedyardvania were at war, but relations were good enough for the third princess to be sent off as a bride. Lucy was avoiding getting publicly involved with Sphenedyardvania so that she didn’t put an unnecessary damper on the delicate diplomatic situation.
“By the way, don’t you have some intel for me?” Lucy asked, urging him to cut to the chase now that they’d had some tea to soothe the throat.
But Ibroy refused to let her control the pace. He seemed to want to take this conversation slowly. “Aah, right. I received a letter from my subordinate. It’s almost guaranteed something will happen at the wedding ceremony.”
“I see...” Lucy digested that information, a stern look on her face. “So the papists have finally been driven into a corner.”
“They must be panicking.”
The papists were extremists within the Church of Sphene. They didn’t call themselves that, nor did the people on the streets see them that way, but taking into consideration what they’d done and what they were planning, “extremist” was a perfectly suitable label. They were now plotting something on the joyous day of Prince Glenn and Princess Salacia’s wedding. This wasn’t welcome news to anyone.
“Reveos’s downfall and their previous failure must’ve hit home,” Lucy said.
“Indeed. The papists lost both researchers and soldiers.”
Bishop Reveos Sarleon—now a former bishop, deceased—had been secretly researching the miracle of resurrection in Baltrain. His schemes had been brought to an end in large part due to Beryl’s efforts—the two currently drinking tea had dragged him into it.
Following that, the extremists had attempted to assassinate Prince Glenn and Princess Salacia. The royals had gotten away safely thanks yet again to the Liberion Order’s special instructor, and the incident had ultimately ended in absolute failure for the papists.
Having continuously hemorrhaged personnel, the papists were falling behind significantly in the political power struggle that was taking place behind the scenes.
“I know you well,” Lucy said. “I bet you’ve already played your hand.”
“Of course,” Ibroy confirmed. “Why else would I be gathering all this information?”
A faction within the Church of Sphene was going to try something at the wedding between Sphenedyardvania’s first prince and Liberis’s third princess. Normally, one would assume a mere bishop couldn’t do anything about it, but these two kept the conversation going as if that weren’t the case at all.
“I’ve won over a few people to my side,” Ibroy explained. “It burned through a fair bit of money, but I suppose that’s a necessary expense.”
“They won’t get sniffed out?”
“They won’t. I like to think I was careful with my selection.”
“That’s fine, then.”
The two continued chatting away, smiling as they enjoyed their tea. However, in complete contrast to how they appeared, the content of their conversation was rather nasty. They’d quickly detected a threat against royalty and were secretly maneuvering to try and prevent it. By all rights, they absolutely shouldn’t have been speaking of this in such a personal space.
“How are things on your end?” Ibroy asked.
“That lad Gladio is well aware of it. That’s why he sent such a ridiculously large escort—and why he and the boy Fasmatio aren’t going.”
“That makes sense from a safety perspective. In the worst case, the whole royal line could be killed all at once.”
“A frightening possibility. I’d rather not think about it.”
The magic corps’s commander referred to the reigning king as “that lad.” The bishop was, for some reason, sticking his neck into national affairs. Everything happening here was cause for serious concern, but nobody working in Lucy’s household was boorish enough to say anything. After all, this was the house of not only the kingdom’s but the continent’s greatest wizard.
“I’m sure we’ll still need Beryl and Allucia to give it their all, though,” Ibroy added.
“That’s their job. You don’t need to worry about that part.”
Those two were likely to bear the full brunt of this incident, but Lucy saw no need for concern. It was indeed their job—the duty they were meant to fulfill. Lucy actually placed a lot of importance on such things. This was, of course, under the assumption that those in question possessed the abilities to fulfill such duties.
From that perspective, Lucy and Ibroy were playing their roles properly too. The former was unable to get publicly involved due to diplomatic issues, so she took those who could get involved and shared information with them, got everyone to recognize the situation, and took proper action to handle it. The latter was unable to directly influence anything—he played his hand behind the curtain.
Much like them, the knight commander of the Liberion Order and its special instructor had a role to play. They were sure to obstruct whatever incident was to come. Martial might could only prove its true worth in battle—and not in some simple sparring match either. The responsibility this entailed was further amplified when fighting for a just cause, like protecting the people and royalty. The fruits of their labors would be put to the test, but both Lucy and Ibroy believed they’d selected the right personnel to endure such a heavy responsibility.
“Good grief... A simple bishop shouldn’t have to do this much work,” Ibroy grumbled.
“I don’t want to hear that from you. Honestly, you look like you’re enjoying yourself.”
“If this’ll put Sphenedyardvania in order, then it’s a wager I’m willing to make.”
Ibroy was a follower of the Church of Sphene. He definitely welcomed the stability of the country that had established it as its state religion. Though he wasn’t from Sphenedyardvania, he was a devout man who prayed for the peace of his fellow adherents.
In contrast, he was merciless toward the small portion of believers who were running wild and making their own selfish interpretations of Sphene’s sacred scriptures. Anyone could easily see how outrageous it was to expose royalty to danger. Just as Ibroy had said, it wasn’t a bad wager if he could help steer the Church of Sphene in a better direction.
In this respect, he placed his trust in the martial prowess of the Liberion Order and Beryl. The Holy Order was in no way weak, but they just didn’t match up when compared to the outstanding Liberion Order. With the additional participation of Beryl and other skilled collaborators, Ibroy was very likely to win this bet unless something outrageous happened. The chips he had on the table were his entire future. It was somewhat extreme for a wager.
“Is that all?” Lucy asked.
“I suppose so. I will make small adjustments to the plan when I’m on-site.”
“Very good.”
The two finished what tea was left in their cups and ended the conversation for the time being. The mood in the room was unique to them: It could be seen as two friends getting along or as two top-class professionals with great self-respect working together. Lucy rather liked this kind of atmosphere.
Lucy Diamond was the commander of Liberis’s magic corps, the headmistress of the magic institute, and the continent’s greatest wizard. Even superficially, there were surprisingly few people out there who could speak on equal terms with her. Pretty much everyone felt no small amount of awe in her presence.
She believed this was fine. It was far sounder for a wizard of her status and abilities to be treated this way than to be looked down upon. The extremists of the Church of Sphene were pretty much the only exception to this, but they didn’t look down on her so much as they acted openly hostile. This sentiment wasn’t reserved for Lucy personally either—their hatred was for the entire magic corps.
Things had been like this for many years, and because of that, reactions toward her were generally split into the two extremes of awe and hostility. Hostility was one thing, but she actually saw the awe as a positive. Thus, she’d never tried to improve the situation for the better and had worked to reinforce these opinions even more.
Despite all this, there were two rare individuals who talked to her as equals—Beryl and Ibroy. Beryl, in particular, was a master swordsman whom Lucy’s wizardry was incapable of dominating. It only stood to reason that she had a great interest in him.
“By the way, Ibroy.”
“Hm? What is it?”
People who could speak to her like equals—going only by that definition, Beryl and Ibroy were the same. However, in truth, they were nothing alike.
“How many years have you been doing this job again?” Lucy asked.
Even though her cup was empty, she couldn’t call Haley into the room due to the nature of these discussions. Lucy stood up and poured her own tea.
“Let’s see... About twenty years?” Ibroy answered. “Now that I think of it, I’ve been at it for quite a while.”
“That long already? You’ve gotten awfully used to it.”
“After all this time, I should be used to it. My stint has been nowhere near as long as yours, though.”
After pouring her own tea, Lucy poured some for Ibroy too. There were surprisingly few people Lucy Diamond saw fit to pour tea for.
“And you were this small back in the day,” she added.
“Hmm. I recall meeting you only after I reached adulthood, yes?”
“I’m kidding. Can’t you tell?”
“Ha ha ha. Sorry for being dense.”
It was a meaningless conversation. They’d already discussed what business they had, and this was something like idle chatter. However, there was a strange inconsistency in what they were saying. Ibroy had claimed that he’d been an adult by the time he’d met Lucy. This was the truth. He’d only received a title beyond being a simple believer of the Church of Sphene after meeting Lucy too.
On the other hand, Lucy’s claim that he’d been small was also the truth. Lucy Diamond knew of Ibroy Howlman’s early childhood. He didn’t remember because he’d been too young. He’d also been influenced by the long passage of time since that chance meeting.
Lucy had always done things like this. She didn’t do it for just anyone, of course. She carefully selected those who had the qualities to become someone. To put it bluntly, she marked the sprouts who had potential and harvested them when they bore fruit—having new titles and duties ready for them when they did.
The fruit known as Ibroy Howlman had ripened in a truly ideal way. This wasn’t out of self-interest, of course. Liberis was known as a major power in the field of magic, and she scouted people lawfully to further its development. It was a form of national administration.
“I’m so sad to see that humble little boy end up like this,” she said, doing the worst job of feigning tears.
“I also recall you being the one to make me this way,” he retorted.
Ibroy was Lucy’s friend. There was no lie in that statement, but it wasn’t the entire truth either. He also had no complaints about his current circumstances. Naturally, he’d been reserved, anxious, reluctant, and nervous at first. But after twenty years of such a life, he’d gotten used to it—whether he liked it or not. He also had the wits to be able to adapt to such an environment.
“Haaah... Sorry, sorry. I’m just playing around,” Lucy told him.
“Is that so? I figured you’d suddenly lost your mind.”
“It’s still too early for me to go senile.”
When exactly would this woman start going senile? Ibroy didn’t have enough of a grasp of Lucy’s true nature to be able to keep such wild thoughts out of his head. The Lucy he’d met all those years ago looked exactly like the one he was chatting with now. She hadn’t changed the slightest bit; nothing about her gave the sense that time was passing.
He at least knew that she was no simple human. However, much like with the miracle of resurrection, humanity hadn’t even dipped a toe into the study of immortality, let alone fully developed it. The true nature of the miracles that some members of the Church of Sphene lionized was a rip-off of necromancy. At the very least, that was what Ibroy believed.
The woman known as Lucy Diamond was the one and only person to have walked through the doors of truth—a door that no other was even allowed to gaze upon. No matter how many decades passed, that fact never became less terrifying.
At the same time, Ibroy was glad that Lucy was the one to have reached that door. Had anyone else gotten there first, it most likely would’ve led to a brief moment of prosperity followed by ruin. Gods were gods precisely because humans could never enter their territory. Miracles were miracles because they never happened. Ibroy saw those as simple truths.
“Well, it’s about time for me to go,” Ibroy said. “I’ve told you what I know, and now isn’t the time to be relaxing.”
“Good work.”
“The hard work is only just beginning.”
“Hee hee hee, you’re not wrong. Give it your all, youngster.”
“I’m already over fifty...”
All humans were youngsters to Lucy. This was yet another simple truth. Faced with this unreasonable fact, Ibroy smiled wryly, creasing the deep wrinkles on his face.
“Ibroy,” Lucy called as he reached for the door.
“Hm? You don’t need to see me out,” he said, turning his head. She’d never seen him off before.
The glorious commander of the magic corps and a mere bishop—it was precisely because their relationship had remained as it was that their face-to-face meetings were so personal and informal. That was why he’d gone out of his way to pick a time when nobody was around.
“Don’t die,” she told him. “Not even I could resurrect you.”
“I have no intention to. When I do, I’ll obviously pass in peace while being seen off by the devout faithful. It is not yet time for that.”
“All right. Then make your way back, even if you have to crawl through the mud to do so.”
“What a horrible expression. But I suppose I’ll do my best.”
“Mm.”
With that ominous farewell, Ibroy opened the door and left the room. Now on her own, Lucy took a breath and finished her tea in one gulp—the refreshing scent and heat rushed down her throat.
“Give it your all, youngsters...” she murmured.
Who was she addressing now? Her quiet words were drowned out by the sound of the cold wind rattling against the window.
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