INTERMISSION
In Exchange for Power
The Nebulis Sovereignty. The eighth state of Wreathbarden.
The state ran adjacent to the Sovereign border, said to be the birthplace of world literature inspired from interactions with the neutral cities.
Its beautifully maintained streets were teeming with people leisurely going along their way.
There was not a single cloud in the sky. Many groups of women were enjoying a momentary afternoon meal on the outside seating areas of cafés facing the square.
But this café was currently filled with commotion. A man had appeared in the full seating area. His beautiful form was enough to instantly eliminate all forms of drowsiness.
“—”
The man silently sat down at an empty seat.
His pale face was chiseled. His gaze was sharp. His pursed lips displayed a solemnity that indicated he would never waver in the face of anything.
Conspicuous and tall, the man had a buff and bare chest that was covered by a single coat.
It was like an act in a play.
Though he had only sat down, the young women and older ladies were prisoners to his allure and imposing conduct.
“S-sir…your order…?”
“—”
When the blushing waitress attended to him, the man silently pointed at the menu.
“R-right at once!”
He didn’t even look at the waitress as she rushed into the café. The man with white hair brought out a report about a dozen pages long. He carefully started reading the report written in unintelligible jargon.
“…This is getting on my last nerve,” the man said in a voice with suppressed vigor.
Salinger.
Thirty years prior, the “transcendental” sorcerer had instigated an unprecedented incident by single-handedly charging the royal palace to turn his blade on the queen. Though he should have easily been a fifty-year-old man, his body, face, and vengeance were all at their prime rather than in decay. He still had more room for growth.
“A-apologies for the delay!”
“…” He practically flicked the payment and tip at the waitress when she brought out the coffee and soufflé pancakes.
“Yunmelngen. That monster,” Salinger muttered in irritation. “Just when the throne appeared in front of me, it turned out to be a delusion. I never would have expected that scoundrel to force these records on me.”
He had a top secret document issued about a particular “research device” in the Empire. Naturally, bringing the documents out of the facility was prohibited. With the exception of one person: the symbol of the Empire, Yunmelngen, the one with the highest political authority.
Experiment Results:
Administered weakened ■■■■■ on a witch with congenital ■■. Favorable results seen when administered on purebred “Specimen E.”
“‘Specimen E,’ huh? There are only two people I can think of.”
He thought about the names and faces of all the Founder’s descendants who lurked in the royal palace.
“Why should I care?”
Salinger balled up the report in his hands, burning it in his palm and turning it into ash so that it blew away in the wind. He watched that absentmindedly without much emotion.
“…Hmm?” The handsome white-haired man suddenly noticed the young girl immediately next to him.
She stared. But she wasn’t gaping at Salinger. Her gaze was focused on the soufflé pancakes on the table. She must have smelled them after they had come straight from the pan.
“What do you want, girl?”
“Hey, mister, are you going to eat those? If you’re not, can I have them?”
How frank.
It must have been because of her age. Give her a few more years, and she would learn how to coax people with a courteous smile and friendly tone.
“I have two things to tell you,” the sorcerer replied, disgusted. “One, I do not enjoy being called by a pandering title. Two, I paid for this. Do not beg. Anything you obtain comes at a price.”
“…” The girl turned her face down.
“You must have money.”
She had a money pouch tied around her neck with a string. She couldn’t be broke.
“I haven’t got any money in it.”
“Hmm?”
“It’s a shiny rock. I got it at the riverbed.” The young girl flipped open her change purse.
Don’t pour it over my table— Before Salinger could stop her, she had already scattered tiny rocks all around his coffee cup. They were faintly tinted and striped.
“Onyx stones, huh. They are nothing significant.” Salinger picked up one incredibly small and round rock without heed.
“Oh! No. That’s my—”
“This will do.”
“…What?”
“This will due in exchange. But make sure you find a nicer rock next time.”
He turned his back on the girl, whose face had gone blank, and started walking. He left the entire plate of soufflé pancakes on the table.
“But your exchange won’t be so cheap, my queen,” he spat. “You obtained the throne of queen with luck. Unfortunately for you, you have no idea of the true price of obtaining the throne.”
He headed straight onto a small, dark road that continued along to alleys. The sun did not shine here.
“Have fun with what remains of your rule. The bloodline of the Founder… A true monster will soon be at your throat.”
The sorcerer sauntered to the central state, to the castle where the royal family of Nebulis gathered.
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