16

Sophia closed her eyes and offered a silent prayer, while Ains kept his eyes open and watched every detail without missing a thing.

Some time passed.

Everything that had been Shiala became light, and in the end even the dazzling, scale-like glitter dissolved into the air.

Nothing remained.

All that was left was a battered corner of the commercial district—and Ains and Sophia standing there.

“…Shiala. Your end was unmistakably yours—yours alone.”

It was not a life of simply waiting to die in a slum corner, trading licks over rotten wounds with those who lived there.

As Shiala, and as a sorcerer, she met her end.

She had risen by her own will, and with intent had taken back her way of being. It was an ugly form, without question, but it was still far better than rotting away and dying in a gutter.

“Shall we head back soon, Sophia?”

Ains let out a small breath, then spoke to Sophia, who was still seated.

Sophia sprang to her feet and answered with her usual dignified expression.

“Yes. We didn’t find anything that looked like a school for ordinary citizens, nor any instructors, despite searching since morning. Shall we continue from tomorrow onward, Lord Ains?”

Then Sophia continued, scanning the area.

“Still, what was that fire earlier? An entire building burned to ash.”

“That’s true.”

“And… was that slum girl safe? She guided us this far, but I lost sight of her once the fire started. I only hope she wasn’t caught in it…”

Sophia spoke as though genuinely worried for the girl’s safety—someone she had known only briefly—but decided there was no need to search and confirm, and stayed by Ains’s side.

“That’s true.”

Sophia turned her face toward Ains, who was responding with flat acknowledgments.

She noticed the pendant in Ains’s left hand. It was a woman’s accessory—something she had never seen Ains wear before.

“Lord Ains, what will you do with that pendant?”

Ains held it up in front of him, raising it as if to show it to Sophia.

“This? I got it from that slum girl—Shiala.”

“Shiala, is it? For Lord Ains to remember her name, she must have been a promising girl.”

Sophia stared closely at the cheap-looking pendant with its crude decoration, then murmured,

“Even so, it hardly seems like something a slum girl would have had.”

Ains looked at Sophia with eyes that held a faint trace of loneliness.

“…That makes it sound like I can’t even remember people’s names properly.”

“Lord Ains… is something wrong?”

Hearing Ains’s voice lacking its usual vigor, Sophia worried for his condition.

“…No. I walked too much today. I’m a little—no, I’m pretty tired.”

Ains deliberately patted his thigh lightly with his left hand, as if loosening stiff muscles.

“Yes. I wonder what dinner will be tonight—I’m looking forward to it, Lord Ains.”

“Sophia, you should help out a little and learn how to cook.”

Sophia looked away to the side, embarrassed.

Ains started walking with a wry smile.

“Ah, right! I’ve got some pretty big luggage, so I want you to help carry it too, Sophia.”

“Things seem noisy since morning. Did something happen? Don’t tell me Darte went and twisted that loyalty of his again?”

Fresh morning sunlight illuminated an elegant nightgown adorned with frills and lace.

The woman wearing it ate breakfast at ease, having swept her hair over her shoulder so it would not fall forward.

As she cut and chewed red meat that sizzled on a heated iron plate—oil spattering audibly—she furrowed her brow while savoring it leisurely with deft knife-and-fork work.

The sight and smell alone felt as though they tightened the lower ribs of anyone watching.

“It seems there was a fire yesterday around the commercial district, Lizelotte-sama.”

Mireine, who was setting out soup, bread, and the rest on the table, was of course suffering from intense morning heartburn as well.

“Oh? Well, that’s something. But it’s hardly worth making such a fuss over, is it?”

“The area commonly referred to as the slums has been turned into scorched earth, leaving only dead soil behind.”

Mireine placed fine butter and a citrus jam with a pleasant tang beside the bread.

“In addition, one entire building used as a base by Darius Sobi and his attendant Talidge—along with Talidge’s companions—vanished without a trace.”

Lizelotte kept eating the meat as she half-listened.

“Judging from the extent of the damage, it seems impossible to reproduce even with the skill of the court magicians. The few witnesses may have been mistaken, but they claim they saw black flames.”

A spatter of oil hit Lizelotte’s finger, and she reflexively pulled her hand back. Her brow creased more deeply.

“If the slums are gone, isn’t that good news for you lot? The dead land could be put to use going forward, no?”

“The problem is that the individual with such overwhelming power has not been identified, and is still believed to be hiding within the Royal Capital.”

Just beyond the single door of Lizelotte’s breakfast room, guards, magicians, and civil officials ran up and down the corridor without pause, reporting and investigating.

It was fortunate the incident had been contained to a corner of the commercial district. If it were turned toward the royal castle, it would be a catastrophe—so each department had been sweating since early morning, hurriedly devising countermeasures.

“Mireine, did you just say black flames?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Hmph. Then this is not your stage.”

After wiping her mouth with a napkin, Lizelotte tapped the base of an empty wineglass several times with her finger.

Mireine saw the signal and poured wine into it.

“And what do you mean by that?”

“That was almost certainly ‘sorcery.’ The cause of this commotion is a sorcerer. If it’s sorcery, it won’t matter how many mages Wenceslav keeps on hand. …What about the Brandy house—uh, Kansas, was it? Did he report anything?”