Episode 66. Question
A man in shabby attire knocked on the gates of Ayaksen.
“Who goes there? Reveal your identity.”
He slightly pushed back his hood to show his face.
A hideously scarred and split face was revealed, as if from burns.
In contrast, the man’s hair was a bright silver. If only his face had been unblemished, he would have had the kind of bearing to make women weep.
“What are you gawking at? I told you to hand over proof of identity.”
“What is your name.”
“I asked what your name is.”
The guard at the gate was slightly intimidated by the man’s confident bearing.
Just who was he to be so brazen?
“It’s Thomas.”
“Can you not even recognize your former superior’s face?”
Thomas, who had been muttering complaints, hurriedly snapped to attention and saluted.
“M-my apologies! Commander Dominique! I failed to recognize you!”
“As you were. I am no longer a commander.”
Dominique raised a hand to acknowledge the salute, then pulled his hood back down.
It was angled so that if he just barely covered his eyes and lowered his head, his face was almost impossible to see.
He tapped the guard on the shoulder and passed through the gate into Ayaksen.
Once inside the count’s mansion, far more people recognized Dominique.
Dominique roughly ignored the successive salutes and went straight to the count’s room—now an office without a master.
When he opened the door and looked inside, a stranger was sitting there.
“W-who are you!”
Dominique surveyed the office.
The house sigil of Count Sillar had been completely removed. It was understandable.
After all, it was for the best to clear away the emblem of a noble house involved in treason as quickly as possible.
Was he angry about that? No.
Dominique did not harbor much lingering loyalty toward Count Victor Sillar.
He had simply worked like a dog, never once disobeying his orders, merely as a vassal to the lord who had accepted him.
“Are you the newly appointed Free Lord?”
“Y-yes, I am… but who are you?”
Count Sillar’s territory had been torn apart city by city and divided among the influential figures of each.
These people came to share Count Sillar’s authority, taking the titles of “Free Lord” or “City Lord” for themselves.
“My name is Dominique.”
“Th-the Knight of Platinum, Dominique Sillar!”
He shook his head.
“That family name exists no more.”
Contrary to the usual practice of executing all family members and retainers of traitors, the Regent had handed down a lenient punishment.
Only the two counts who were the ringleaders were executed. The remaining retainers and soldiers were disarmed and sent home, or stripped of their positions and released as free citizens.
Thanks to that, Dominique was no longer the Knight Commander of House Sillar.
If he wished, obtaining a position in Ayaksen would not be difficult… but that was not why he had come.
Dominique began removing his armor.
“W-why are you doing this!”
Chest plate, surcoat, knee guards, and elbow guards. Each one was an expensive artifact engraved with anti-demon enchantments.
Finally, he set down a sword with a platinum hilt, broken in half. It was his beloved blade, a symbol of Dominique himself.
Before long, all that remained on him were light cloth garments and the hood drawn over his head.
“These are the things Count Sillar bestowed upon me. I’ve come to return them.”
The Free Lord stared at him blankly.
“With this, my duty is fulfilled. I shall take my leave.”
He turned on his heel and left the mansion without a shred of attachment. He headed straight for the square of Ayaksen.
He remembered a blacksmith’s forge he had long frequented since entering the count’s service.
“Is the owner in?”
“Who is it?”
“It is me.”
Dominique lifted his hood to briefly reveal his face.
The taciturn, middle-aged owner glanced at him, then turned his gaze back to the sword he was sharpening.
“It’s the former commander, sir.”
“How did you know?”
“A person has an air about them. Even if the face changes, even if they wear a mask, I remember that air.”
If he could be recognized, the matter would be much simpler.
“I wish to purchase a sword.”
“Pick one you like.”
The tone was quite impudent for a commoner, but Dominique no longer cared about such things.
Dominique inspected the displayed weapons. Each one was of fine quality.
He picked up one among them.
It was a plain arming sword, devoid of decoration or distinguishing features.
He ended his deliberation with a single test swing.
*A good sword.*
It was not the famed blade with the platinum hilt bestowed upon him by the count.
That sword was no more.
Dominique recalled that before he was called the Knight of Platinum, he had felled countless enemies with a single crude sword.
It felt like a distant memory, yet at the same time as vivid as yesterday.
“How much?”
“Ten silver florins.”
“This costs only ten? It could fetch a gold coin.”
“I do not inflate prices like a peddler.”
His resolute answer pleased Dominique.
Dominique placed a gold florin on the anvil and spoke.
“Keep the change. I do not carry silver. It is heavy.”
The sight of the owner’s wry smile lingered in his eyes.
After leaving the forge, he purchased a mask from a nearby shop that could suitably cover his face.
Without hesitation, he left Ayaksen then and there.
Thomas, the guard who had met him upon entering the city, failed to recognize him this time as well.
Dominique resolved never to return to Ayaksen again.
Now, he had become a wandering knight with nothing but a single sword.
“I obtained it, but what should I do with it now?”
Regent Charlotte did not delay Bi-naeril’s request for even a moment.
True to her fiery nature, she visited the royal treasury in her nightgown and brought him the Royal Horn.
—Break the seam.
“What? Is that okay?”
The Royal Horn was made of ivory below and gold above, joined by a central seam.
—The page is inside.
With the feeling of doing something forbidden, Bi-naeril gripped the middle of the Royal Horn and snapped it clean in two.
The inside was hollow like bamboo, and a bundle of paper was rolled up within.
—That’s it!
Bi-naeril unfurled the old, weathered bundle and examined its contents.
…He could not read it.
There were letters written on the paper.
But it was not a language Bi-naeril understood. In fact, it seemed like a language no one could interpret.
The letters were crooked and irregular, like a child’s scribbles.
—Found it!
Veritas’s cry of delight rang out.
“Uh… what does this mean?”
The Book of Truth did not answer, instead opening its mouth wide like a ravenous beast.
A powerful suction force erupted between its spread pages, pulling in the surroundings.
The weathered bundle of paper Bi-naeril held was sucked inside.
And so was Bi-naeril, who had been holding it.
“U-uwaaah!”
The Book of Truth, having swallowed Bi-naeril along with the paper from the Royal Horn, fell silently onto the bed as if nothing had happened.
Bi-naeril, having landed on his backside, rubbed his tailbone.
That Veritas, committing such a bizarre act without a word of warning.
He had swallowed Bi-naeril along with the page.
“Where is this?”
It was an unfamiliar space, yet he recognized it immediately.
The place where he had first met him.
The secret place within the Great Library.
Bi-naeril had landed at the entrance to the secret area.
A long corridor with bookshelves lined up left and right like toy soldiers.
If he followed the corridor, a large cavern would open up. There was no use sitting around, so Bi-naeril stood up and walked.
The cavern was exactly as he remembered.
A terrain descending in concentric circles. In the center, a lonely reading desk.
The only difference from his memory was the boy sitting astride the reading desk.
“Hello!”
Veritas greeted him cheerfully. He seemed to be in a good mood.
Curly black hair, mischievous eyes sparkling like a prankster’s.
Had he grown a little shorter? Or perhaps Bi-naeril had simply grown.
“Let me out.”
“We meet after so long, and you can’t even greet me nicely first?”
“We’re together every day, so why the fuss. Why did you swallow me? You did it on purpose.”
“I needed a space where we could talk quietly.”
Bi-naeril grumbled. Being eaten by the Book of Truth was not a pleasant experience.
“Listen well, Bi-naeril. After meeting Priya in the Thorn Winter Marsh, you have achieved considerable growth as a mage.”
Before, he had been a half-baked mage relying solely on Veritas’s mana, but no longer.
He was now capable of pulling his own weight even without Veritas’s help.
“Compared to when you were a fledgling greenhorn ignoramus, you’ve practically become a human being now.”
“…That’s praise, right? Why does it feel so backhanded?”
“Put another way, it means my influence over you has decreased.”
“My influence has decreased?”
“It means the mana you possess has begun unconsciously resisting my influence. I can no longer read all your thoughts and emotions as I once did.”
“That is welcome news.”
“I have unwelcome news as well. The stronger you become, the less mana you will be able to draw from me.”
When borrowing Veritas’s mana, Bi-naeril could wield magic one to two tiers higher.
Currently, Bi-naeril was at the edge of the 3rd tier. Considering that an average mage takes over ten years to rise a single tier, it was a remarkable growth rate.
“It is what is called a power balance.”
“Power… what?”
“It exists.”
Indeed, Bi-naeril recalled that after mastering magic bullets, his dependence on Veritas had decreased tremendously.
Magic bullets did not require much mana to begin with, and when fighting people, grand magic beyond magic bullets was often unnecessary.
“Anyway, good. So this means you’ve recovered the second page?”
“You haven’t given me one yet.”
The pages found so far numbered two in total.
One was the Spirit’s Ring on Bi-naeril’s finger, and the other was the parchment found inside the Royal Horn.
“I have the ring anyway, so I’ll give it to you later.”
Since it was a ring housing Eden, he could not thoughtlessly feed it to Veritas.
“Fine. In any case, the item found this time holds considerable value. It was a ‘map.’”
“A map?”
“A map to locate the other pages.”
In Veritas’s hand was the old bundle of paper from before, as if it had always been there.
“With this, our journey now has a far clearer destination.”
“When all the pages are collected, the contract ends, right?”
“Ah, and come to think of it, there was one more condition you promised, wasn’t there?”
Veritas smiled, leaning back against the reading desk.
“I called you here to speak of that.”
“You definitely said you would give one answer to any question.”
He nodded.
He had already decided on the question.
It was the question he should have asked when he first met Veritas.
He posed his question.
“These things you call pages—what exactly are these fragments?”
Veritas wore an expression that said, *As expected.*