Why isn't it there?
Why is it gone?
Why?
Why, in the world?
'....'
Until now, the prophecy book had never once been wrong.
No—there had been times, but those were the result of butterfly effects Fernan himself had caused.
But this time was different.
There was no reason for the elixir, which should have been rooted quietly in the ground—well, in this case in rock, but still—to suddenly vanish.
Could it be it never existed in the first place?
'Does that even make sense…?'
He knew he had been relying too much on the prophecy book lately. But how could he not?
Even if altered slightly by his own butterfly effects, its contents had always proven true.
'Could it be…?'
Fernan hastily infused mana into his eyes.
And realized.
It wasn't gone.
On one side of the rock wall was a hole. A fissure-like tunnel bored inward, shaped as though roots had once dug deep.
Not just the fruit and leaves—but even the smallest rootlets had been ripped out without leaving a trace.
'Which bastard dared… to take what's mine…!'
"…Is something wrong?"
As Fernan stood staring at the broken cliff, a patrol member voiced concern.
"…I thought I saw some strange traces there."
"Over there…?"
"Looks like something had been lodged there. A monster, perhaps?"
The scouts examined the traces, but all they could tell was that something had been rooted there and then ripped free.
"Seems like a plant had dug roots through the stone…."
"If it was pulled out, maybe it was a monster or beast."
Since Itarium was such a rare plant, none of the soldiers could recognize it from traces alone.
"Let's head back. We've checked everything we needed."
"Yes, sir."
Thus, the patrol ended.
That night, once everyone had fallen asleep.
Professor Grad had assigned even night watch as training. Fernan, unable to rest anyway, volunteered for the first shift.
Sitting by the fire, watching the flames dance, he fell into thought.
There were two possible reasons for Itarium's disappearance.
'First—something I did caused a butterfly effect, and someone else found it first.'
Or—
'For the first time, the premise of the prophecy itself was wrong.'
The rock's traces confirmed that the elixir truly existed. That much was undeniable.
But could he really be certain the prophecy's flow was bound to time's flow?
Perhaps Aint had originally acquired the Itarium much earlier, but because Fernan had disrupted things, the timing slipped—allowing someone else to seize it.
'But if that's the case, then it's strange the timeline had always matched until now….'
His head throbbed.
'It's a variable. But this isn't the first variable.'
The sudden summoning of Andromalius had been one. Zismond Ert, popping out of nowhere to ruin his wagers, had been another.
'…Wait.'
Zismond?
'…His sudden rise in the rankings—they said it was because of an elixir.'
Originally, Fernan had assumed it was magi. That he had become an Accursed Breed and grown stronger overnight.
Frankly, nothing else could have explained it.
But Aint had claimed his power came from elixirs. From a concoction of so many mixed essences it couldn't be defined as just one thing.
'And if one of them was Itarium?'
It was only a faint possibility.
But even the slightest suspicion demanded checking.
'Zismond's final report should be filed soon….'
He would have to confirm it.
"Time for the shift change. Please wake the next watch and pass things over."
"Yes."
His watch ended just then. By coincidence, the next shift belonged to Aint.
"Wake up, Aint. It's your turn."
"Ah, yes."
Rubbing his drowsy eyes, Aint rose. Fernan watched him prepare, then whispered:
"You said no trace of magi was found in Zismond, right?"
"Eh? Oh, yes. Senior Zismond was just someone who overdosed on elixirs. No idea how he managed to consume so many rare ones to the limit, though."
"Those rare ones? You mean you know what kind of elixirs they were?"
"Not all, but some."
Aint nodded.
"Then… could you tell if one of them was Itarium?"
"Itarium?"
—It was.
Struggling to recall, Aint was about to hesitate when the answer popped into his head.
"Yes. It was."
"…It was?"
"Yes, it was. But why are you asking all of a sudden?"
"…No reason. Forget it."
So it had been.
Aint, busy settling in for his watch, didn't notice the expression on Fernan's face.
Aside from Fernan's missing elixir, the night passed uneventfully.
The next day, they broke camp and reached the barrier before noon.
"This is the wall that Altriorc boasts of."
The colossal fortress guarding the Empire's western frontier was a mighty bastion in itself.
But even that was only part of the whole.
Not one wall, but seven fortresses, each standing tall at strategic points, together forming the Empire's "Barrier."
The one they arrived at was the largest, closest to the capital—Mediorc.
"Welcome. Mediorc greets the Academy's delegation."
The gates of the fortress opened.
"Let me guide you to your quarters."
Upon arrival, the Academy party parted ways with the Iron-Blood Knights.
The fortress, unlike a lord's castle, lacked many amenities, but the Academy students were assigned an entire annex.
"My lord."
As they made their way to the annex, someone quietly approached Fernan.
"Rapelle?"
"My lord. This way, if you would."
Rapelle tugged him aside. Professor Grad noticed but said nothing.
"It has been a while, my lord."
"Rapelle, yes—it has."
Altriorc and Pellenberg had maintained dealings for quite some time, and through that, Fernan had come to know a few individuals personally.
Rapelle, a knight of Altriorc, was one of them.
"It's nothing else, my lord. His Excellency wishes to meet with you before he sees the others."
"Is that so?"
So it had come at last.
"Let's go."
"Yes, sir."
Rapelle escorted Fernan to the fortress's office.
"Your Excellency, Young Lord Fernan has arrived."
"Send him in."
A voice answered the guard at the door.
Creak—
The Marquis of the Altriorc March was a middle-aged man with a grave, commanding presence. His brown hair was neatly combed back.
He was reviewing a stack of documents, signing them one by one.
Fernan bowed his head politely.
"It has been a while, my lord Marq—"
"What do you want?"
The marquis didn't even lift his head as he spoke bluntly.
"Straight to the point, then?"
"Didn't you hand that to my steward because you wanted to get straight to the point?"
The marquis pushed the papers aside.
Thud— A slip of paper dropped onto the desk.
It was the same note Fernan had given the steward, proposing a deal concerning the Accursed Breed.
"You believe me, then?"
"Only fools try to dazzle people with lies that will be exposed in an instant. The more a man has to lose, the more he knows how foolish that is."
"I didn't think you would regard me so highly."
"I don't regard you highly—I regard Pellenberg highly."
Fernan's lips curled. The marquis might phrase it differently, but in essence the two were the same.
Because Fernan would one day be Pellenberg.
"Speak. What do you want?"
"I want the Iron-Blood Knights, the Mad-Blood Knights, and a thousand soldiers."
Those were Altriorc's pride—its greatest knightly orders.
"The purpose?"
The marquis did not say no.
"To lead them in eliminating the target of this deal."
"So Altriorc does the work, and Pellenberg takes the glory?"
"No."
Fernan shook his head.
"I don't care much for glory. For money, perhaps."
"Glory becomes money."
"This particular glory brings more trouble than profit."
It was the matter of destroying the first publicly revealed Accursed Breed. Of saving Altriorc, even the kingdom of Alfrosen itself.
That was the making of a hero—and heroes attracted expectations. And enemies.
"Then who?"
"I won't be the one leading."
"Who will?"
"Aint Armean."
The marquis's hand, which had been stroking his chin, stilled. A faint crease appeared on his brow.
A second passed. Then the silence broke as the marquis resumed speaking.
"You."
His eyes hardened like ice.
"You're being greedy."
"No."
"What isn't?"
"I have no grand plan to make Armean into emperor."
"Don't play word games. We've cast our votes for Swabian in the last three elections."
"So have we."
"And we've no complaints with things as they are. Swabian promised us greater support, and they've delivered."
War devoured much. Even if most were small in scale, waging them more than half the year was no easy feat.
"They promised us many concessions as well. We've made more money thanks to them."
"And yet you would abandon Swabian for Armean, who is a husk of a house."
"As I said, I have no grand design to put him on the throne."
"Speak plainly."
"This continent needs a hero."
The marquis fixed his gaze on Fernan in silence. A gesture: continue.
"Do you believe this monster wave is mere coincidence?"
"I know enough to say the Accursed Breed is pulling strings."
"Only a guess. You don't know how long they've been preparing, or how vast their numbers have grown."
There was no proof. Altriorc had yet to uncover the Accursed Breed.
But Fernan knew otherwise.
"The headmaster must have informed you. That the Academy uncovered Accursed Breed in its ranks."
"He did."
"Twelve of them. Three separate bases within the Academy. Do you think that's mere chance?"
Fernan did not avert his eyes. The marquis's oppressive aura pressed down, forcing a groan from his throat.
"So."
The pressure vanished as suddenly as it came.
"You believe demons will descend upon this land once again."
"For the Accursed Breed, long stamped out for a thousand years, to resurface as if waiting—surely they've had cause and preparation."
"Then it's best to let the dog-catchers deal with the dogs?"
"Knights fight best. You can't slaughter cattle with a knife made for chickens."
"Most would argue the reverse."
"But the world doesn't always flow in one direction."
Fernan shrugged with feigned ease. The marquis watched him in silence.
For a time.
"…Very well."
The marquis nodded.
"Since you're here under Academy dispatch, the students will all be allowed to take part."
"A wise choice."
"You don't even ask why not only Aint Armean?"
"And you don't ask why I'm not opposing you, do you, my lord?"
"Don't you ever tire of this repertoire? It's so worn-out it stinks."
"The fact it's still used means it's proven effective. And it worked here, didn't it?"
"…Unbelievable."
Fernan had known from the start it was impossible to elevate Aint alone.
The marquis let out a hollow laugh.
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