Youngest 227
by CristaeEpisode 227
From the moment the false father was sent away—or no, from the moment the Kingdom of Kasalia released something like a potion to verify parentage into the world—
The Mage King had foreseen this situation together with the “first one.”
There were several possible scenarios.
If the false father managed to deceive Rubian and bring her to the Mage Kingdom, that would have been the fastest and easiest way.
‘But as long as Leviathan stands his ground, it won’t be so simple.’
In that case, the role of the mage as the spark for these events would have been sufficient.
Whether sooner or later, the “seventh one” would discover the truth about her bloodline and would walk here to meet him. Alone, without the Leviathan trapped in the cave.
There might be some other riffraff, but, well.
Of the swords and shields protecting the “seventh one,” only Leviathan was a real threat to him.
That cave was teeming with dreadful, high-class magical beasts. If Leviathan died in the cave, or at least was gravely injured, that would be ideal.
‘Of course, if by some miracle the Duke received help from the “seventh one” and managed to escape the cave unscathed…’
Did he know?
That from the moment the “seventh one” set foot in the south, the outcome was already decided.
The Mage King summoned his now fully recovered magical power.
The power, black and unimpeded, surged forth—yet, at a certain moment, it stopped as if blocked by something. He redirected his power through another crest.
He could not understand how the “seventh one’s” crest had failed to grow until now.
But it didn’t matter.
‘Soon, it will grow all at once.’
He bared his teeth in a grin.
“Hear me! Decorate the bedchamber of my ‘seventh one’ with flowers! Lay out jewels and silks—burn the finest incense! Fill the wardrobe to bursting with only the best dresses and ornaments. I shall bestow them all myself!”
A chamberlain bowed deeply and withdrew.
“Haven’t I told you, Leviathan Zevert.”
The Mage King’s smile was black as night.
“You will lose, for all eternity.”
The Alifa Mountains, south of Babylon.
The range stretched from east to west, marking the beginning of the south.
Somewhere within those deep and rugged mountains lived an old man with graying hair.
Long ago, alongside Asha Drukan, the outpost mage of the East, the old man had dwelled in the Empire for many years…
“Heurgh.”
He had once been the southern outpost mage.
His duties as an outpost mage had ended in his youth, and it had been decades since he’d secluded himself here, seeking to spend his old age in peace.
“What—what is this!”
The old man squealed.
He had been sitting at the table reading a book, but upon coming to his senses, he found himself clutching a pen.
Moreover, droplets of red blood, not ink, dripped from the pen’s tip…
“Eeaaah!”
Looking around, he nearly fainted on the spot.
Dead chickens lay sloppily strewn about the floor near the table.
“So the day has finally come for me to croak.”
He had no recollection of breaking their necks in the coop, nor of using their blood as ink to write something.
As the mage staggered and looked about, he caught sight of writing scrawled in blood.
“Th-this is…”
He had not written it of his own will. It was a message from someone else.
“The—the Mage King has regained his power!”
Hurriedly, he checked the inside of his forearm and sensed traces of a black crest, still faintly aglow as it vanished.
This glow meant the Mage King had used the crest to control his actions. It seems this writing was a new order for him.
‘They say he lost much of his strength a few years ago while moving the “second one’s” crest. Looks like with me, he only issued the order, then withdrew his power.’
“But… what on earth does it mean?”
Looking again at the paper, he saw two strange magic sigils.
“A modified nullification sigil, and this… an automatic navigation sigil?”
Nullification magic was a high-level spell that could disable all magical devices, and this one had been adapted for use even by a low-level mage, but only once.
Moreover, the accompanying automatic navigation sigil was just as the name suggested—it enabled automatic sailing to a set destination.
The coordinates pointed to the northern port of Arcadia, the Mage Kingdom.
Was this a recall order?
Muttering to himself, he read the next line of instructions, then shook his head.
“It’s not a recall order for me.”
It was addressed to his “seventh” child and weapon.
This order was meant for Lady Rubian Zevert.
His role was to cast the nullification spell to break all devices limiting the control of her crest, then create and deliver an artifact engraved with this automatic navigation sigil.
‘The Mage King has regained enough strength to control a crest… He must now be seeking to rule the “seventh one” in earnest.’
Goosebumps ran all over him. The Mage King had withdrawn his magic, but the old man knew without doubt.
Should he defy the crest’s command,
the only thing waiting for him
was death.
Port Rencia, the southernmost harbor city of Babylon.
The butler of the venerable Marquis Weber, the greatest southern lord, raced down the corridor and knocked on the office door, looking far more agitated than usual.
“Lady Mariel! Massteeerrr!”
“What is it? Why all this commotion?”
The marquis frowned and looked up from her paperwork. Disliking fuss and disorder, she found the butler’s frantic display extremely distasteful.
“T-the—that is—the Duke Zevert has sent an urgent messenger!”
“What? Duke Zevert?”
Mariel cocked her head.
“We’ve already received a report the battle is over. Didn’t he return directly to the capital?”
“Yes, yes. It seems he was drawn into another battle. According to the messenger, there were casualties while subjugating the cave beasts… so the Duke does not have the strength to reach their villa and urgently requests a visit to our estate and a physician’s attendance.”
“Surely His Grace hasn’t been injured?”
The middle-aged woman rose to her feet with measured precision.
And without a moment’s hesitation, she commanded in a resonant voice,
“See to them at once. Have the maids prepare the fourth-floor salon without delay…”
“M-my lady. If I may offer my humble suggestion…”
The butler nervously licked his lips before continuing,
“I think you should open the annex.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are… too many people…”
Too many people?
Mariel’s brow furrowed in perplexity.
“Is he bringing his entire knighthood?”
“No, it’s as if the whole ducal family has come…”
“Hmm?”
Though she listened, she could not comprehend.
The entire ducal family?
The whole family?
It wasn’t even a holiday.
“…Why?”
Moments later,
seeing a group of figures approaching in the distance made her confusion double.
“Seriously… Why?”
Mariel rubbed her eyes in disbelief, her mouth gaping in utter loss. Her butler, too, looked much the same.
“It’s been a while, Marquis Mariel Weber.”
The man at their head, Duke Zevert, greeted her in his usual tone.
Though he was spattered and bedraggled with the blood of magical beasts, it only enhanced his raw, wild charisma, the uniquely dangerous air about him was on full display—no, wait, that wasn’t the point.
“If you’ll pardon me, but has the ducal family been… cursed, by any chance?”
Mariel asked in her usual brisk, fastidious tone.
Her golden eyes scanned the cluster of people huddled together like dough.
“If any of you let go of His Grace, you die… Is it that kind of curse?”
The Duchess was hanging tightly to the right arm of Duke Zevert, while on the left, their son, Void, clung to him with stubbornness writ large on his face. But that wasn’t all.
When Mariel noticed Balok awkwardly embracing the Duke from behind, she felt a wave of dizziness.
“What in the world is this?”
She was beginning to suspect they had come down with some sort of top-grade tick-like magical parasite, when—
“Pfft! Hello, my Lady Marquis!”
A face suddenly popped up from Duke Zevert’s broad shoulders.
“My Lady?”
The Duke’s family often vacationed in the south, so she and the young lady were rather familiar.
“Ah, I injured my leg a little. Sorry to greet you this way without much decorum!”
“No, no, that’s quite all right… But why are you in the south, my Lady?”
“Ruby, don’t move. Your wound will reopen.”
Duke Zevert hitched the young lady up once more on his back. At this, the family members who had been clinging to him fell away like autumn leaves swept by the wind.
“No! My daughter! I can’t let you out of my sight for even a second!”
The Duchess quickly latched herself once again to the Duke’s arm. Only then did it become clear—they hadn’t been clinging to His Grace, but rather, to the young lady on his back.