Part 2: The Branch in the Coffin, Mistilteinn (3)

A sharp shattering sound. It was enough to freeze everyone present.

Divine punishment was coming...

The tension left no one daring to speak.

"Huh?"

"Wh-what in the world?"

Then the branch inside the coffin “flowed down.”

Quite literally, what had been a branch just moments before became black water, pouring down under gravity.

"I told you. It’s a fake."

Frondier reached toward the flowing black water. The nobles around him recoiled.

"I-is it safe to touch—"

Frondier cupped the black water in his hand. It simply ran down over his fingers.

But the moment he clenched his fist...

"Eh?"

The water became metal again inside his fist. When he opened his hand, it turned back into liquid and flowed down.

"Wh-what a strange thing."

"... Ah."

As though something had occurred to her, Elodie spoke.

"Viscoelasticity."

"Hm? What?"

Frondier smiled in agreement at her words.

"That’s right. This substance is a viscoelastic metal."

"What does that mean?"

"Put simply, it hardens when force is applied, but soon turns liquid when left alone."

Ordinarily, however, metal could not possess such properties. Viscoelastic substances remained soft even when solid, owing to their inherent elasticity and viscosity. They could not become as hard as metal.

It was not Mistilteinn, but this pitch-black water was undoubtedly a metal with magical value.

"Then why did it look like Mistilteinn just now?"

"Someone must have infused it with mana through a spell formula to imitate its appearance. Mana is a form of force, too. The coffin probably served that purpose."

"Well..."

Only then did relief spread through the room. If it was not a Divine Relic, there would be no divine punishment either.

Ortel asked, "But how did you know this thing was a fake?"

"For the same reasons you elders considered. Mistilteinn is the weapon that killed the god Baldur. If this truly were that branch, Lord Baldur would hardly stand by and do nothing."

Frondier concealed the fact that he knew what the real Mistilteinn looked like. Too much truth could destroy an argument’s credibility.

"And I’ve never heard of Mistilteinn being kept in a coffin."

"True enough, but on that basis alone?"

Everything Frondier had just said was common knowledge. Certainly, the chances of this branch being the real Mistilteinn had never been high.

But however low the odds, people did not gamble with their lives. Divine punishment could mean suffering worse than death.

"As I said before, I’m not afraid of divine punishment. Besides..."

Frondier poured the black water into a glass bottle on the table. Despite turning to metal under force, it went into the bottle more easily than expected.

Then, his gaze subdued, he said, "I couldn’t bear the thought of my father’s sword being traded for something like this."

Everyone fell silent for a moment.

Then one man burst into hearty laughter.

"Hahaha! We’ve been completely taken in. What an embarrassing display to put on before these youngsters."

It was Heldre, one of the Zodiacs. Laughing with a vigor that belied his age, he approached Frondier and placed a hand on his head.

"What did you say your name was?"

"Frondier, sir."

"Frondier. Yes, Frondier. I won’t forget that name."

Then Heldre turned to Ampere.

"Ampere, you have a devoted son."

"I have nothing to add to that."

"Thanks to your son, you needn’t give up Gram. Surely he deserves a gift?"

There was a mischievous gleam in Heldre’s eyes, at odds with his wrinkled face. Ampere looked far from pleased.

"I had intended to reprimand him severely."

"Oh, come now. You heard him yourself. He isn’t afraid of divine punishment. No one else here would dare say such a thing. Perhaps even the gods want a young man with that sort of audacity."

Ampere lowered his eyes for a moment.

In terms of the outcome, Frondier’s actions could be called correct. He no longer had to part with Gram, and another source of friction between the families had been averted.

Acquiring Mistilteinn would not have been the end of the matter. With attacks on the family already growing more frequent lately, there was no need to invite more envious eyes.

Still...

"To praise you would be judging too much by the outcome, Frondier."

"... Yes. I’m sorry, Father."

"Your actions were extremely dangerous. Incomparably more so than anything you’ve done before. Ordinarily, I would hold you strictly accountable and ensure you were taught never to repeat such a mistake. Count yourself fortunate that I am not doing so."

"I will remember that."

Frondier quietly bowed his head. Seeing not a trace of lingering disappointment in the gesture, Ampere sighed.

"However, considering Gram’s value, I cannot simply leave it at that."

"Oh?"

Lidwe supplied an unnecessary interjection.

Ampere said, "If there is something you want, tell me."

Bewilderment flickered in Frondier’s eyes at those words—an emotion that appeared in that otherwise impassive gaze not infrequently.

"Uh, then..."

Frondier brought a hand to his mouth and seemed to think for a moment before looking up.

"I would like to see Gram for myself. What’s inside its scabbard."

"Well, now."

"Aha!"

Brief exclamations rose from those around him.

Ampere’s treasured sword, the Divine Relic Gram. Opportunities to see its actual blade were rare. Everyone’s eyes lit up at Frondier’s suggestion.

"Would that be enough?"

"Of course."

Ampere considered it briefly. Though it felt awkward to admit it himself, this seemed insufficient as a reward for what Frondier had done.

Ampere laid a hand on Gram where it rested on the table, its form still concealed within its scabbard. Everyone watched his movements.

‘... How?’

But in that brief moment, Quinier alone was thinking of something else.

‘How did he break it?’

Frondier had been barehanded. He had merely rested his hand on the coffin, without even striking it, yet it had shattered in an instant.

Could it have been magic? Without an incantation?

If not...

‘Was it Aura?’

Quinier swallowed.

Someone capable of emitting Aura barehanded was far beyond a student’s level.

Still, she could not be certain. Aura would mean he had released energy, yet she had sensed no flow of it whatsoever.

But if he truly had used Aura just now, and had released it so briefly that no one else could sense it...

She had to bring him over to her side, no matter what.

Whatever it took.

The scabbard slid off with a weighty motion. The naked blade within reflected the light.

"Oh, so this is...!"

The nobles’ eyes shone.

Gram, the famed sword of the hero Sigurd.

For all its renown, its appearance was plainer than expected. Fairly beautiful patterns rippled across the flat of the blade, but not beautifully enough to suggest divine workmanship.

And yet...

"..."

Silence settled over the gathering.

This was not a weapon that could be judged merely by outward beauty. It did nothing but lie there, yet its weight seemed to press down on the air.

Its keen presence was chilling. From top to bottom, the blade held a concentrated power, as though it had been born in that very shape.

‘Even I can tell, and I don’t use a sword. A Divine Relic really is different.’

Quinier marveled inwardly.

Her instinctive urge to put a price on the weapon was simply in her nature; she would set that aside for now.

What expression was Frondier wearing, after being the one to make the request?

Curious, she turned to look.

"...!"

Quinier stilled her breathing. Fearing he might have noticed her gaze, she quickly looked away again.

‘What is that look in his eyes?’

Frondier, too, was looking at Gram.

With a pure expression. With pure eyes.

But that “purity” was far removed from peace.

With pure intent, Frondier stared at Gram as though he would devour it. As though he truly could.

The way those eyes coveted Gram—how could she describe it?

They were eyes trespassing upon the forbidden.

* * *

"Aster, did you hear?"

"Hm? Hear what?"

Aster answered his excitable friend, Thane.

Like Aster, Thane was a commoner, and the two had quickly become friends. Aster was so famous that Thane had first approached him with something close to a fan’s admiration, but he and the easygoing Aster had hit it off.

"Didn’t you see the news? About Mistilteinn!"

"Ah... I went to bed a little early yesterday."

Aster scratched his head, his voice awkward.

That was a lie.

Yesterday evening, Elin had commandeered the Wizerview, insisting there was a romance movie she had to watch.

And then she had said:

["It’s not ours anyway. Check later. You’ll have plenty of chances."]

Damn it. His dear older sister was as coldly rational as steel when it came to other people’s problems.

Even if she couldn’t live without romance.

"Apparently Frondier broke the coffin!"

"... What?"

Aster’s eyes twitched. It was neither displeasure nor anger, but a surge of dread: was Frondier still alive?

"You mean the coffin holding Mistilteinn?"

"Yeah! Well, not quite!"

"What do you mean?"

"From what I heard, it wasn’t Mistilteinn. It was a fake! A fake!"

Thane’s voice was as excitable as ever. Though, to be fair, this was worth getting excited about.

A fake. Then there would be no divine punishment, so there was no need to worry about Frondier—

"Wait. Does that mean Frondier knew?"

"Who knows? He must have had something to go on, right? Not that I’d ever do something like that, no matter what evidence I had!"

Exactly. No matter how strong their suspicions, who would do something so insane?

... Then had it been more than suspicion? Had he possessed conclusive proof?

Something only Frondier could know?

"... A fake."

Aster’s eyes shifted. He recalled Frondier’s voice from the day before.

["Don’t worry, Aster Evans."]

["I’ll put an end to your worries."]

He had believed it was a small gesture of comfort. He had thought it impossible.

Whichever family acquired Mistilteinn, Aster Evans would have felt as though a blade were poised before his heart.

But... so that was it. Frondier had broken that blade for him.

... So that was it.

* * *

In my dorm room, I quietly watched the pitch-black water sloshing in its glass bottle.

A viscoelastic metal.

Back in the meeting room, it had taken all my concentration to maintain an expression of indifference toward it.

In the game’s normal progression, this fake Mistilteinn was very likely to be traded for Ampere’s Gram. It would then be displayed prominently at the Roah Estate for a short while, but its falseness would soon be exposed.

A spell formula without a caster had a limited supply of mana, so the coffin would eventually break on its own.

Where Gram went afterward was anyone’s guess. It had been different every time I played.

But it was a terrifying thing that triggered a Side Event no matter whose hands it fell into.

For now, at least, it was still in Father’s possession. I could rest easy on that account.

"Now, then."

I placed a rectangular mold on my desk, then poured the metal from the glass bottle into it, filling it.

Even back when I played the game, I had thought this metal was a rather awkward item.

It felt odd to say so, but its most practical use would ordinarily have been “forging” things, just as it had been used to imitate Mistilteinn.

But with Frondier, perhaps...

Perhaps I could draw out more than one hundred percent of this metal’s potential.

I smiled, making no attempt to hide my anticipation.

"From now on, I’ll call you ‘Black River.’"

I placed my hand on the Black River in the mold. The sensation of liquid with no discernible temperature still felt very unfamiliar.

Now, I would add Weaving to this Black River.

Fabrication, Black River

Workshop No. 1

Grade - Common

Iron Dagger

The image of the dagger stored in the Workshop was imprinted onto Black River. Mana flowed into it, and it began to change shape.

Then...

"It worked."

A dagger rested in my clenched hand.

At last.

Neither an illusion nor an image.

A black dagger that existed in undeniable reality.