Chapter 90

Spectacle (2)

“Hoo—”

Jonas slowly inhaled and exhaled.

Even though the demonstration had begun, the murmuring of the crowd did not subside.
The impressions left by Enette and Beltran were simply too overwhelming.

“Looks like he’s nervous.”
“Can’t blame him. The ones before him were too dominant.”
“I can’t get that ice mass out of my head.”

The audience, still excited from Beltran’s demonstration, showed little interest in Jonas.

Jonas took another deep breath.
He closed his eyes.

The mana filling his vessel—
he focused on the mana flowing through his circuits.
The surrounding noise faded one by one.
He shut out his subjective senses.

And within that—

The spirit he had contracted with.
Poplus alone remained vividly present.

Stage 1: Mana concentration.

Stage 2: Elemental transmutation.
Compression. Condensation. Expansion. Evaporation.

Like Beltran, a mass of ice formed in midair.
However, compared to Beltran’s, its size was pitifully small.

Beltran’s had been large enough to conceal his entire body,
but Jonas could only create an ice mass barely large enough to cover his face.

“Another Glacier?”
“That’s way too small.”
“He completely messed up his strategy.”
“Unlucky. He probably didn’t expect the Büchtner second son to pull off such an outstanding Glacier.”

The scattered chatter echoed in Jonas’s ears.

It wasn’t easy to maintain focus.

At that moment—

A familiar melody hummed within his mind.

‘Poplus.’

The voice of the spirit.

More precisely, it was resonance through mana.
A kind of tone produced through the soul.
A melody Jonas used to play.

A lonely, sorrowful dragon.
He vividly remembered practicing that piece together with his brother.

The tension in Jonas’s face softened into calm.

Crack—!

The sound of frost screaming filled the Great Hall.

The already completed ice mass began expanding in real time.

“Ha—”

Reich let out a breath of disbelief.

Spell modification.

Altering a spell that had already been completed, according to the caster’s will.
It was the third stage—something none of the previous participants had even come close to.

The ice mass, once no larger than a candlestick, grew until it rivaled the size of Beltran’s.
Unlike Beltran, Jonas showed no sign of agitation.
He was calm and composed.

The ice mass, which everyone expected to crash to the ground, instead rose toward the distant ceiling.

Whooooom—

Suddenly, a violent gale swept through the Great Hall.
The floating ice mass was gradually shaved away, scattering into the air.

“A-after Glacier… wind magic as well…?”

Confusion spread among the people.
Some crouched against the fierce wind, others shielded their faces with their arms.
Some even cast defensive spells.

“Two spells at once?”

Reich blinked.

Even seeing it with his own eyes, he could hardly believe it.
There had been countless theories and debates about dual casting,
but the conclusion had always been the same—impossible.

Sequential casting of different spells was possible,
but simultaneous casting was, both theoretically and practically, beyond reach.

And yet, here it was before his eyes.

In that instant, the standards by which Reich had judged dullards, mediocrities, talents, and geniuses over decades were shattered.

Perhaps it was an illusion spell.
Or perhaps Jonas was using an unknown artifact or magic tool.

As Reich struggled to rationalize it with his knowledge—

The ice mass that had risen to the ceiling vanished without a trace.

The raging gale subsided.

“I-is it over?”

The crowd cautiously relaxed, glancing around.

“The wall of the Goethe family is this high?”
“Isn’t he the one truly blessed as the eldest?”

Some couldn’t hide their astonishment.
Others raised doubts.
But even those whispers soon faded into silence.

Reich felt the chill touching his forehead.

“…Snow?”

Large snowflakes were falling.
When he opened his palm, the snow that touched his skin melted softly.

It wasn’t an illusion.
It was real snow, stimulating the sense of touch.

From the ceiling of the Great Hall, thick flakes of snow were pouring down.

People stared blankly at the falling snow.

Silence settled over everything.

It was as if the snowflakes absorbed all sound.

Sunlight of various colors filtered through the stained glass of the Great Hall, illuminating the interior.
The snowflakes fell, holding that light within them.

Red, blue, yellow, green—
snowflakes of every color drifted like flower petals.

Magic that seemed to belong only in fairy tales.

It was a spectacle.

‘So this is how far he’s come…’

Isaac, who had been watching the competition, was also deeply moved.
Under normal circumstances, Jonas would only have realized such talent past the age of forty.
There had been no one to teach him, no precedent to follow.
He would have struggled alone for decades.

Thunderous applause poured forth.

Through the crowd, Jonas could be seen—

Brilliant golden hair.
A bright, innocent face.

The people cheered wildly.

Amid that fervor, Isaac’s lips curled slightly.
Even though it wasn’t his own achievement,
it felt as if decades of pent-up frustration had been released.

Satisfied with Jonas’s performance, Isaac quietly left the Great Hall.
There was something he needed to finish.

When Emil, Botmer’s servant, regained consciousness, he found himself in a small clearing deep within a forest.
It was utterly deserted.

Just moments ago, he had been entrusted with an important task by the head steward—to deliver an “item” to Beltran.
It was an ordinary stone.
Even the steward hadn’t explained what it was, only that it had to be delivered.

But after entering the Great Hall and taking only a few steps—

A sharp pain struck the back of his head, and his legs gave out.

“Oh dear, it seems our guest isn’t feeling well.”

Someone joked lightly as they dragged him outside the estate.

He wanted to resist, but his body wouldn’t respond.

“No hard feelings, friend.”

When he was dragged beyond the stone walls of the estate, a man with a neatly groomed mustache spoke.

“Y-you… who are you?”

The moment Emil barely managed to move his lips,
a dull blow struck his head again.

His vision went black for a moment—
and when he opened his eyes, he had been thrown into this unknown place.

“Tch. What a dreary spot.”

Pallich muttered as he looked at a rock in one corner of the clearing.

A flat stone slab with an artificially carved groove—
it looked like a place used to secure the necks of condemned prisoners.
The area around the groove was discolored,
oxidized from blood.

“H-hey! Do you even know who I am?!”

Still unable to grasp the situation, Emil struggled and shouted desperately.
Though he had regained consciousness, his arms were bound behind his back, and his ankles were tied.

“Don’t you think I’m doing this because I know who you are?”

Pallich brought the blade of his sword close to Emil’s face, then stabbed it into the ground.

“W-why are you doing this? I—I’m Emil von Brauger, of Viscount Botmer—”
“Doesn’t matter what you say to me.”

Pallich pulled out some dried jerky from his pocket and chewed on it.
He tapped his foot against the ground, staring down the path leading into the clearing.

“Is it money? I—I’ll give you everything. I have quite a bit of gold saved up. Just let me go—”
“I said it doesn’t matter.”
“D-do you have a grudge against Botmer? Then you’ve got the wrong person! I’m nothing—nothing at all! Just a servant working at the estate!”

Emil cried out desperately as he struggled.

“Sorry. Not my call. Hey, young master!”

Pallich waved his hand.

Along the path leading into the clearing, Isaac walked in.
A wooden box was tucked under his arm.

“…Young master?”

Emil barely managed to turn his head and look toward where Pallich had waved.
It was someone he had never seen before.

The title “young master” meant that, at the very least, his father held the rank of count or higher.
But among all the notable figures Emil knew, there was no noble heir who looked like that.

Ash-gray hair. Sharp eyes. Blue irises.
A face that seemed both cold and burdened with deep thoughts.
A sturdy build—yet his face still looked young.

He was too tall to be called a boy who had just come of age,
yet slightly too small to be considered a fully grown man.

From his aura, he was clearly from a knightly family,
but Emil had never heard of anyone of that age with such an appearance.

“Took you long enough.”

“I had to watch everything. It was my younger brother’s competition, after all.”
“I’m hungry. Hurry up and finish.”

Pallich spoke in a careless tone, like a back-alley thug.
It was as if Emil’s life meant nothing to him.

“W-wait… sirs, please. If you would show mercy and tell me what situation I’m in… Aren’t we all people of the same god? I beg you, I beg you…”

“People of the same god?”

Pallich let out a scoff.

“If you knew what you were about to do, you wouldn’t be asking for mercy.”

“W-what?”

“What do you think, young master? Should we kindly explain it to him?”

“No time. Botmer’s head steward is waiting for his report. If word doesn’t get back in time, they might try something else.”

“Want me to handle it?”

“P-please, sirs…?”

Emil’s eyes trembled.

“I’ll do it. It has to be known that way.”

Isaac set down the wooden box and pulled out the longsword Pallich had stuck into the ground.

“Shall we drag him to the rock?”
“No. That place is used for official executions by the Goethe family. I don’t have the authority.”

Isaac shook his head.

“Can you cut it clean in one go without fixing him in place? Even executioners struggle with that.”

“I—I’ll tell you anything! I’ll do anything! Please, please!”

Emil struggled desperately.

“Hey, stay still. Otherwise, you won’t die in one strike. I’ll have to cut multiple times. It’ll hurt a lot.”

Chewing on the jerky in his mouth, Pallich pressed Emil down and forced his head against the ground.

“This better?”
“Yeah. Hold him like that.”
“Don’t end up cutting me too.”
“Don’t worry.”

Isaac gripped the sword.

“I swear, I’m not involved! Killing me won’t change anything—!”

Slash!

Isaac cleanly severed Emil’s neck.
Blood sprayed in all directions.

“Clean.”

Pallich casually wiped the blood off his face with his sleeve,
still chewing on the tough jerky.

“You’ve got a strong stomach.”
“What, this? Want one?”

At Isaac’s words, Pallich grinned and pulled out another piece of jerky.

“No thanks. Just pack it properly and deliver it. Tell them it’s a gift from Isaac von Goethe.”

Isaac gestured toward the wooden box.

***

On a narrow path far from the main road,
a lone carriage stood waiting.

It belonged to Gutrert, the head steward of the Botmer family.

“Is no one coming?”
“No, sir.”

A retainer standing outside the carriage answered.

“They should have arrived by now…”

Gutrert muttered to himself, trying to suppress his unease.
The servant who should have returned long ago with a report had yet to appear.

“It’s just delivering a stone… why is it taking so long?”

Had something gone wrong?
Or had he been caught in the wrath of a spirit and lost his life?
If it were the latter, it would be unfortunate—but manageable.
But if it were the former…

Then it would be something far worse.

Knock, knock.

“Head steward.”

Suddenly, someone knocked on the carriage door.

“Is it Emil?”
“No. Someone unfamiliar.”
“Unfamiliar?”

Gutrert lifted the carriage curtain and looked outside.

A strange man approached, holding a wooden box.
He wore leather pauldrons, looking no different from a roadside mercenary—
yet his neatly groomed mustache and slicked-back hair felt oddly out of place.

“Who are you?”

An armed retainer placed his hand on his sword hilt.

“I have something to deliver.”

The man paid no attention to the retainer’s hostility.
From his demeanor, he was clearly experienced in combat.

“Who are you, and what do you claim to deliver?”

Gutrert narrowed his eyes at him.

Judging by the green tint of his eyes, he wasn’t from the kingdom.

“A gift from Young Master Isaac. I have no intention of fighting. I’ll leave this and be on my way.”

The man gently placed the wooden box on the ground, raised both hands, and calmly stepped away from the carriage.

“…Check it.”

At Gutrert’s command, the retainer opened the lid of the box.

“H-head steward…”

The retainer’s face stiffened upon seeing what was inside.

“What is it?”
“You should see for yourself.”

He handed the box to Gutrert.

“…Hah.”

Gutrert let out a hollow breath.
His face turned pale.

The servant he had been waiting for so desperately…
was inside the box.

…Or rather—

It was the severed head of Emil.

Botmer’s plan had failed.

“…That man earlier.”

Gutrert looked toward the direction the man had gone.

But he had long since disappeared.