19

As though looking down on them, the study of Zoin had self-portraits of the successive heads of the Sobi House hanging upon its walls. Every one of them was a remarkable figure, those who had survived without falling to the “Curse of the Sobi House.”

“Zoin, was that really fine with you? Even if the brat severed ties from his side, your son is still alive, you know? Is he not a nuisance?”

The woman set her glass on the table. She lounged back arrogantly, but the sturdy sofa accepted all of her weight as though enveloping it.

“A nuisance, hm. Until now, that one had never been an obstacle to me. If he became an obstacle to me, that would mean he had grown. Is there any parent who would not feel proud of their son’s growth? Hm?”

“A family of death-curses talking about parenthood—what a masterpiece. Zoin, have you even awakened to a talent for comedy now? I’m holding a banquet at my place next time, so why don’t you do a little comic routine for us? I’ll give you plenty of the banknotes you use as toilet paper for tips.”

“Hm. Even if I received too much toilet paper, it would only clog things up. I shall refrain.”

Once that foolish exchange had spread out, there came a brief silence.

Then the woman spoke. In a slightly more serious tone.

“…What are you going to do from here on? If your brat, Darius, has left your side, then he won’t move the way you want anymore, will he?”

Sensing the change in the subject, Zoin set down the glass he had been holding and spoke while looking directly at the woman.

Utterly black, and never allowing others to see a single thing hidden in the depths of those eyes, that wise gaze was turned straight upon the woman.

“…The seeds have been sown. It was worth provoking him. Reaching sorcery was beyond expectation, but this is a windfall.”

“Yeah, I heard that too. I wanted to see it in person, though. But up against that old hag, my subordinates still weren’t enough after all.”

“It ended just like that,” the woman said.

“And besides, even if that one has left my side, he went to the ‘Next-Era Luminaries,’ did he not?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“To those ‘Next-Era Luminaries,’ you know? Hm?”

Receiving head-on the gaze from Zoin that would make other nobles tremble, the woman replied.

“Yeah, to us, the ‘Next-Era Luminaries.’”

“Hmm. Then there is no issue. …If anything, should I lower my head and ask that you look after my foolish son from now on?”

“…Stop that. I’d end up spending every day genuinely fearing a night raid.”

Zoin snorted at the woman, who shrugged and played it up theatrically.

Perhaps he had been overcome by the fierce alcohol of the distilled liquor, because he became aware that he was far more talkative than usual.

“As for the Brandys, they do not matter for now. You are not particularly interested in them either, are you?”

“No. The only one we find troublesome is that old hag. Once we cut down the old hag, we can play with the rest afterward. Hell, if we just spread poison in Brandy’s precious wheat fields, it’d all be over.”

“To do something so cruel to the wheat that God entrusted to the earth for us to make into our flesh…”

“Even God probably feels like taking a vacation and going out to the pleasure district sometimes. Hell, I could even arrange it for Him myself. Gods are surprisingly vulgar creatures. While He’s out, that’s when you spread it. Then He’ll surely send down blessed rain and mourn for them—after everything is already over.”

With absolutely no sign of impatience, Zoin continued his banter, and the woman understood as she watched him.

Surely Darius’s actions this time had gone exactly as Zoin had planned. And on top of that, because Darius himself had awakened to sorcery, Zoin must have been delighted. Delighted that the current situation had exceeded expectations in such a favorable direction.

The woman stood up and began to walk.

“Then that’s fine, right? From here on, Darius is going to work like a cart horse under me.”

“If you want to think of a pony as a proper horse, do as you like.”

“…Zoin. You’re underestimating sorcerers, aren’t you? Understand that once your head’s been separated from your body, you won’t be able to make those little jokes anymore. Your brat is a sorcerer, you know.”

“Heh heh heh. I am Zoin Sobi, you know. Lydia?”

The woman—Lydia—stood in front of the fine standing mirror placed in Zoin’s study.

“…I really do think the world is fortunate that you never seriously became a sorcerer,” Lydia muttered.

Lydia spoke in a voice too quiet for Zoin to hear as he had already looked away from her and drained the remaining distilled liquor from his glass.

“Ahh! I ought to be hurrying back so I can watch Rubelmel’s face as she endures the humiliation and lick all over the spell mark with a tongue soaked in plenty of saliva! If she’s not coming back, then there’s no point in me going back at all, damn it!”

Lydia licked her lips and delighted in her own imagination. Her hot breath struck the mirror before her and fogged it over.

“You truly have tastes that I cannot understand at all. I will not tell you not to drown in lust, but should you not show a little restraint? Hm?”

Zoin looked at Lydia with cold eyes, as though gazing at filth. He thought with annoyance that he would have to wipe down the standing mirror later.

“Hey, hey, why the hell not! I’m the one who carved that spell mark into her, you know? Enduring the pain, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, and even then those little moans spilling out. When a maiden gives you a reaction like it’s her first time, it’s ruder not to do anything, isn’t it!”

“…Do not spit while speaking. It makes cleaning troublesome.”

Lydia felt like spitting at Zoin, who so utterly failed to understand her preferences.

“You really don’t get it at all, Zoin. Sorcerers are people who are faithful to their own desires. And lust is one of the three basic desires, right? What’s the point if you don’t pursue it?”

“Such a thing has no use other than leaving behind descendants.”

“Nobles drenched in lust are cuter, you know? There’s nothing scarier than ambition for power after lust has dried up, Zoin.”

“Haah. Just go home already.”

Zoin waved his hand as though brushing her away, looking thoroughly annoyed.

Lydia realized that he truly was fed up with her this time, so even she decided to wrap it up.

“See you, Zoin. The bread at your place tastes like crap, so next time order some from the Brandys instead!”

“…Hmph. Bring it yourself.”

Lydia spoke before the mirror.

“Release of limits—”

In the next instant, Lydia’s figure had vanished from Zoin’s study.