Hall of Senya

“That is the staff Lady Senya favored throughout her life.”

Witch Craft was not the only thing in the Hall of Senya. It also housed various magical tools Senya had used during her lifetime—items that could hardly be left in a mansion open to tourists.

Eugene remembered the staff Mer was pointing at.

“... Akasha.”

“I knew you would recognize it.”

Mer puffed out her chest with a triumphant smile.

“Fairy trees grow only in the Great Forest of Samar, the homeland of the elves. This is the most powerful magical staff in the world, fashioned from the root of the ancient tree at the forest’s center, which is thousands of years old.”

He could hear Senya in that excited voice. He had heard the explanation from Senya herself long ago, and it was a boast she had repeated like a parrot whenever she got drunk.

“The elves believe their ancestors’ souls dwell in that ancient tree, and that it sustains this world. The World Tree is the object of their faith. Do you understand what that means? Those proud elves cut a root from that ancient tree to make a staff as a gift for Lady Senya!”

Senya was neither an elf nor a half-elf.

She was human, but she was often associated with elves. Even the stories about her seclusion included speculation that she had retreated to the Great Forest of Samar, the elves’ homeland.

Senya did not know her parents. As an infant, she had been abandoned in the Great Forest of Samar, the vast jungle at the southern end of the continent. Ordinarily, a monster or wild animal would have eaten her, but Senya had been lucky. An elf passing nearby had been drawn by the baby’s cries and taken her in.

That was how Senya had been brought to the elves’ sacred land, said to lie somewhere within the jungle.

The elves there had not been particularly pleased with her. Once they discovered her immense talent for magic, however, they accepted her and taught her elven magic.

As Eugene stared blankly at Akasha, Mer continued her explanation in a high voice.

“Lady Senya was the first person to own a staff made from a root of the World Tree. There had never been anything like it, even among the elves. And that isn’t all. Do you see that? The red gem at the tip of the staff! That is...”

“A dragon heart.”

“Yes, exactly! Of all the magical staffs in existence, only two were made using dragon hearts. Lady Senya’s Akasha, and...”

“Bloody Mary.”

Eugene answered calmly. That dreadful staff had existed three hundred years ago as well. Back then, Bloody Mary’s owner had been a lich named Belial, a servant of the Demon King of Incarceration.

An ill-fated connection.

Eugene glanced down at his stomach for no particular reason. In his previous life, Belial had been the lich who killed Hamel. The bastard had set powerful traps throughout the Demon King’s castle and ambushed them repeatedly without giving them any time to rest.

He had died with a hole through his chest.

Even before that, he had been in such bad shape that he could have died at any moment. The Demon King of Incarceration’s castle had been incomparably more perilous than the previous Demon Kings’ castles. Every monster and demon there had been as powerful as the other Demon Kings’ trusted retainers.

Among them had been three particularly powerful demons: those called Incarceration’s Sword, Shield, and Staff.

While they were fighting the Shield, Belial, the Staff, had intervened. Anise’s divine magic could not completely dispel the black magic and curses cast within the Demon King of Incarceration’s castle.

Someone had to break through at the front.

Hamel had volunteered. Normally, Moron would have taken that role, but Hamel had refused to let him, insisted on taking the lead himself, and opened the way.

The Demon King of Incarceration’s castle could not be conquered without someone dying.

If someone had to die...

‘It should have been me.’

Hamel was strong.

He was not stronger than Vermouth.

Hamel was resilient.

He was not more resilient than Moron.

He had known those facts well, and that was why he had volunteered to lead the charge. Even if he died, Moron would remain to hold out. Even if he could no longer fight, Vermouth would fight for him.

By the time he defeated Incarceration’s Shield, Hamel had suffered injuries that could have killed him at any moment. Neither divine power nor magic could heal his wounds. The evil power of the Demon King’s castle and the lich’s curses had driven Hamel toward death.

And when the battle with Incarceration’s Staff, Belial, ended, there was a great hole in Hamel’s chest.

That was how his previous life had ended.

Belial and Bloody Mary had killed Hamel. Naturally, Eugene had assumed Bloody Mary had been destroyed. Just before his death, he had seen Belial’s life vessel shatter and the bastard disappear.

But Bloody Mary had not been destroyed. He did not know the precise circumstances, but its current owner was Count Edmond Codvein of Helmuth.

Along with Balzac, the Black Tower Master, he was one of the three black mages contracted to the Demon King of Incarceration.

“Can I hold it?”

Eugene pointed at Akasha as he asked. Mer nodded with a mischievous smile.

“Of course, but you won’t be able to cast magic with it.”

“Why?”

“Akasha recognizes only Lady Senya as its master. After she went into seclusion, several mages tried to become Akasha’s master, but not one of them earned its recognition.”

“Why keep it around if you can’t even use it? You could break it and at least take out the dragon heart.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Akasha is a treasure the elves and dragons gave Lady Senya. Even if no one can use it, it has tremendous value in its own right.”

As Mer clicked her tongue and rebuked him, Eugene gave a faint smile. Her answer stirred a sense of longing. Senya had said something like that to him long ago.

“You know this too, don’t you, Sir Eugene? A dragon heart is a dragon’s heart. They made a staff out of the heart of one of their dead kin for Lady Senya... If Akasha were destroyed, I don’t know about the elves, but the dragons would show up and blast Aroth with their breath.”

He had heard those words from Senya too. When he jokingly suggested breaking the staff and splitting the dragon heart’s mana between them, she had thrown a liquor bottle and shrieked at him.

[“You ignorant bastard. You want to break that? Do you want to get us all fucking killed?”]

Of course, Mer did not swear as viciously as Senya. Even so, hearing Senya’s words from a face that resembled hers brought the memories of Eugene’s previous life rushing back.

‘... This...’

Eugene had been standing in a daze before he came to his senses.

‘This isn’t good.’

The memories of his previous life were weighing far too heavily on his mind. He shook his head vigorously and turned away from Mer. He had not come to Akron to lose himself in memories.

“I’ll try holding it first.”

Eugene reached out as he spoke. The staff was as tall as Senya. Nothing happened when he took hold of it. He glanced at Mer, then poured mana into Akasha.

Once again, nothing happened. Akasha itself would not accept his mana. Having seen Senya’s phantom, he had hoped he might be able to earn Akasha’s recognition. Apparently, she had made no such provision.

‘If you were going to leave me something, you should have left Akasha instead of a necklace.’

He did not know who had left the necklace at the Lionheart main estate, but he was almost certain it had been Senya.

“... Do you know what this is?”

On a sudden thought, Eugene showed Mer the necklace.

“A grubby necklace.”

“Don’t you remember seeing it somewhere?”

“How could I? I told you I haven’t left Akron in hundreds of years.”

“Never mind, then.”

Eugene asked no more questions and tucked the necklace back beneath his collar. Then he moved away from Akasha and began exploring the Hall of Senya in earnest.

There were quite a few things he remembered.

The robe and hat Senya had favored were also artifacts of considerable magical value. The hall’s first floor was full of such items. Witch Craft stood at the center, surrounded by magical tools Senya had used herself.

“You can’t take anything outside.”

“I won’t.”

Perhaps preservation spells had been cast on them; they were unchanged despite the passing of hundreds of years. That did not mean they were pristine. The robe was frayed in many places. Eugene tried not to dwell on that as he headed upstairs.

“Those books are handwritten records from the creation of Akron.”

The thirteenth floor was filled with bookshelves. There had been many books in the mansion too, but their value could not compare to those here. The truly valuable grimoires were in Akron, not the mansion.

“Drafts of the circle magic formula, and the process of establishing it. You wouldn’t understand them if you read them at your current level. They may be drafts, but the spell formulas and research used to establish the system are extremely advanced.”

Mer followed Eugene around, boasting.

“The same goes for the research on Akron. Not a single mage who has come here understood Lady Senya’s research notes from the outset.”

Only half listening, Eugene took a volume of research notes from a shelf. The books in the mansion’s library could be displayed, but visitors were forbidden from opening and reading them. Here in the Hall of Senya, however, he was free to read as many research notes as he liked.

“... Ha.”

He had scarcely turned a few pages before he laughed.

“See? You don’t understand a word, do you?”

“You’re right.”

Eugene chuckled and turned a page.

‘Your handwriting’s still terrible.’

The book still bore Senya’s handwriting. The discussion of mana and circles was difficult enough to understand on its own, but simply reading her hastily scrawled handwriting required deciphering it.

Eugene stood there for a while, reading her research notes. His head felt as though it were spinning, so he closed the book and turned his head. There had to be at least a hundred volumes. After staring at them, he spoke.

“Are there any personal writings by Lady Senya? Not ones about magic.”

“No. Just before she went into seclusion, Lady Senya erased all the personal writings she had left in her mansion.”

“She was thorough.”

“That must be how much she wanted to keep her seclusion a secret.”

“What do you think?”

Eugene asked as he returned the research volume to its shelf.

“There are all sorts of stories about Lady Senya’s seclusion. Some say she went to Helmuth, others say she went to the Great Forest of Samar. ... Some say black mages assassinated her.”

“I think she went to the Great Forest of Samar.”

Mer shrugged as she answered.

“There are plenty of stories saying she went to Helmuth, but the Lady Senya I remember wasn’t someone who would attempt something reckless and impossible. Of course... she was beautiful and powerful right up until she went into seclusion. But challenging a Demon King of Helmuth alone? Lady Senya wasn’t that kind of person.”

“I think so too.”

“The idea that black mages assassinated her is absurd as well. There may be powerful black mages like Balzac Ludbeth in Aroth now, but two hundred years ago, every black mage in Aroth was insignificant and weak.”

“A black mage could have come from Helmuth to assassinate her.”

“Ha! That makes even less sense. Think about it, Sir Eugene. Lady Senya’s magical barriers blocked black magic cast by the Demon King of Fury himself.”

Mer cried out indignantly.

‘They couldn’t block Belial’s black magic, though.’

In terms of magical skill alone, the lich Belial had surpassed the Demon King of Fury. That did not mean Belial had been stronger than the Demon King of Fury, however.

“If black mages from Helmuth really had tried to assassinate Lady Senya, she wouldn’t have gone down without a fight. Enough mana to shake this entire capital, Pentagon, would have been unleashed. But no disaster occurred when she went into seclusion! She chose to withdraw of her own will. No one murdered her.”

Still angry, Mer glared at Eugene. The creator she respected and loved, murdered by mere black mages? Mer never wanted to imagine such a thing.

“Lady Senya must be in the Great Forest of Samar. I don’t know where the elves’ sacred land lies in that enormous forest, but she would have... there... there...”

Unable to finish, Mer mumbled. Two hundred years was a long time. An ordinary human would certainly have died by then. Even Vermouth had not overcome the limits of his lifespan.

“... She must have... passed away peacefully. Though perhaps... she might still be alive.”

“I think she’s alive.”

Mer’s slumped shoulders bothered him. He considered giving her a comforting pat, but remembering how sternly she had reacted earlier, he refrained from reaching out.

“Well... Moron the Brave was still alive and well a hundred years ago, wasn’t he? So Lady Senya must be alive too. She could have stopped herself from aging with magic or something.”

“... You must really like Lady Senya, Sir Eugene.”

“I wouldn’t go as far as saying I like her.”

“Liar. You don’t know what expressions you’ve been making, do you?”

Mer straightened her slumped shoulders and looked up at Eugene.

“Your eyes lit up whenever I talked about Lady Senya, and you were completely absorbed in looking at her belongings.”

“I’ve always liked old stories.”

“Really? Then you’ll like that book too.”

Grinning, Mer headed to the end of a bookshelf. The book she took out bore the marks of time, its cover worn and frayed.

“The Great Adventures of the Hero Vermouth.”

Eugene’s cheek twitched at the sight of it.

“It’s a famous fairy tale, isn’t it? Lady Senya and the other companions were reluctant to talk about what happened in Helmuth, so this fairy tale was effectively the first book to tell the world the legend of Vermouth the Great.”

“... It’s a damned book.”

“What? Why is it a damned book?”

“You see, Hamel is actually the one I like, respect, and admire most. But that fairy tale makes him look like a complete, utter dumbass.”

“Lady Senya also called Hamel an idiot, a son of a bitch, a dumbass, and a fucking bastard.”

“That isn’t true. Hamel wasn’t an idiot, a son of a bitch, a dumbass, or a fucking bastard. He was actually impressive and brave... er... um... a fine man.”

To think he had to say that himself. Eugene let out a deep sigh, filled with self-loathing.

“I think you have a rather strange personality, Sir Eugene. Most people wouldn’t read this fairy tale and come away liking Hamel.”

“Sorry, but it’s not just me. Our family head said Hamel was his favorite too.”

“Your family head must be a little strange as well.”

“Are you insulting my adoptive father?”

“How is it an insult to say he’s strange? Anyway, Sir Eugene, if you like old stories, you should read this book too.”

“I’m not exaggerating when I say I read that a hundred times as a kid.”

“I’m sure you did, but this is a first edition. It’s different from the revised editions circulating now. You may not know this, but they say this fairy tale was first published in Aroth three hundred years ago.”

“What bastard published it?”

“I don’t know. The author is unknown... Perhaps it was a bard from long ago?”

What bard? Eugene shook his head with a disbelieving laugh. He had met bards a few times while wandering the continent, but he had never encountered one in Helmuth.

“Or perhaps a novelist collected rumors from Helmuth and compiled them. I don’t know why they didn’t leave their name.”

Mer waved the fairy tale as she continued.

“Lady Senya liked this fairy tale too. She didn’t smile often, but sometimes, on nights when she couldn’t sleep... she would read it alone in her bedroom and let out a little laugh. She read it to me too.”

“... Is the first edition’s content different?”

“Hmmm... It’s been quite a while since I read a revised edition myself, so it might not have been exactly the same as the one you read... But the first edition is... a little more... how should I put it... raw.”

“... Raw?”

“There’s a lot of swearing. The anecdotes about Lord Vermouth and his companions are a little different too... Pessimistic, perhaps?”

“Let me see.”

Eugene hurried over and took the fairy tale from her. Perhaps because the book was three hundred years old, all its pages were worn. It must have been read over and over that many times.

‘Hamel was a dumbass. When that dumbass first met Vermouth, he boldly challenged him to a fight. But he couldn’t even brush Vermouth’s clothes before he ended up face-down in the dirt, crying.’

“That son of a bitch.”

Eugene’s face twisted sharply. Mer had said it was raw and full of swearing, and it really was. The fairy tale Eugene had read had called Hamel an idiot, but never a dumbass.

‘Was Anise the bitch who wrote this?’

Thinking of Anise and her perpetually smiling eyes, Eugene ground his teeth. He considered comparing the handwriting, but whether the fairy tale had been produced with magic or printing plates, all the letters were neat and uniform.

‘Sure, I ended up face-down in the dirt, but I did brush his clothes. I made him shed a drop of blood. Face-down and crying? Who made up this bullshit?’

Eugene tamped down his seething anger and slid the fairy tale back onto the shelf.

“... What’s on the fourteenth floor?”

“The thirteenth floor has research notes. The fourteenth has grimoires compiled from the completed research. They’ll still be difficult for you to read, but they should be kinder than the research notes. Everything is clearly explained.”

“Aren’t they inferior to Witch Craft?”

“Heh...”

Mer smiled, her cheeks twitching.

“They fall far short of it. This is... something you’ll understand better by reading Witch Craft yourself than by hearing an explanation. But if I had to put it into words, the difference is this: Witch Craft is difficult to understand even after you read it, while the grimoires on the fourteenth floor... you can understand a little by reading them. Though that would be beyond you, Sir Eugene.”

Mer turned and headed toward the elevator.

“Let’s go to the fourteenth floor first. I think you’ll like it there.”

“Why?”

“You said you liked old stories, didn’t you? And Hamel the Stupid too.”

Eugene did not understand what she meant, but the moment they reached the fourteenth floor, he understood why she had said it.

“Look.”

Mer pointed ahead, giggling.

“Lady Senya extracted those directly from her own memories and left them here. They aren’t portraits or anything like that. They’re her companions’ actual appearances, just as she remembered them.”

The figures of four people were clearly projected on the wall of the fourteenth floor.

“There, the handsome man standing in the center is Vermouth the Great.”

Vermouth looked exactly as Eugene remembered him.

“Beside him, the blond woman whose eyes are so narrowed in a smile that you can’t see her pupils is Anise the Faithful.”

The saint who had carried around liquor bottles and called them holy water.

“The hulking fellow you can’t tell is a troll or a human is Moron the Brave.”

The moron who was enormous enough already, yet always carried an axe bigger than his own body, getting in the way during fights.

“And there, the scowling man who looks bad-tempered is Hamel the Stupid. The only image of Hamel left is here, in the Hall of Senya.”

Eugene could not say a word.

Hamel had died in Helmuth without leaving so much as an ordinary portrait behind in the world.

“... Pahaha.”

Looking at the face from his previous life, Eugene burst out laughing.