Back at his quarters, Fernan began jotting down everything he could recall from his vision.
"I've got a rough idea what fortress it is."
There had been plenty of hints—the height of the walls, the people present, and the broad plain stretching out before them.
"The Iron Cross Knights. About 20 meters high walls. And a vast plain in front. Though blackened by demonic energy, it had clearly been fertile farmland before."
The Iron Cross Knights were one of the knightly orders of the Kingdom of Frazia.
And among Frazia's fortresses, there were seven with walls over 20 meters high.
Now, if I can narrow it to those with plains before them…
If multiple candidates came up, he could simply send people to sketch or record their features. It wouldn't take long to confirm.
The real problem is timing.
No matter which fortress it was, if he miscalculated the when, everything would go wrong.
It wasn't raining or snowing.
He couldn't sense the temperature—perhaps because of the suffocating demonic energy, or perhaps prophecies didn't reveal such detail.
But he could infer somewhat from people's clothing.
Not summer.
Frazia's summers were sweltering, yet no one on the wall had been sweating.
Not winter either.
None had worn winter coats or furs.
Spring or autumn, then.
No—spring.
If it had been autumn, the plain should have been filled with golden crops bowing heavy with the harvest. But the fields had been bare.
Don't tell me… next spring?
That would mean barely half a year left.
Fernan forced down the unease creeping up inside him.
The Dusky Spear Mercenaries and Varus Dren were there…
Looking relatively fine.
If Varus Dren, who was still injured and bedridden now, had stood upon that battlefield, it meant considerable time had passed.
Six months should be enough. Wait—hold on.
In the original timeline, Varus had never been injured. That was a change caused by Fernan's interference.
Even if I discount Varus…
Aint's appearance had been slightly different too.
A little more mature, his hair grown longer.
But six months was enough time for that change as well.
Damn it. If you're going to show me, show the result too. Don't cut off halfway.
If there had been a clear prophecy, like with Andromalius, showing Aint's eventual victory, he wouldn't have been so on edge.
No, surely he will win.
That final image he had once seen in lightning—Aint fighting demons to the very last—that had been real.
But then again—
Even Andromalius had turned out far stronger than Fernan had expected. Summoned in a different way, at a different time.
Could the same not be true of this new demon? Could Aint really prevail?
Since the moment the future had been twisted, there was no end to such doubts.
For now, I'll prepare as best I can… and drop subtle hints to Aint.
That was the best he could do.
More than anything—if Frazia falls, the next target will be the Empire.
And within the Empire's Pandrein continent lay…
…the Duchy of Pellenberg.
True, between Frazia and Pellenberg lands stretched distances greater than many kingdoms. But still—there was always the "what if."
"I cannot allow that… never!"
Whatever happened, this demon could not be allowed to move beyond Frazia. It must not.
"…What must not happen, my lord?"
"Hyde—when did you get here?"
Fernan coughed, straightening his wrinkled clothes.
"…You summoned me, didn't you? Said you had a task."
"Ah."
That was true.
"Are you unwell, my lord?"
"I'm fine. Send word to the Golden Pillar branch in Frazia."
The Golden Pillar—Fernan's private intelligence network, the same one he had used when persuading his father over the Ruina affair.
"Why Frazia all of a sudden?"
"Find any fortress with walls over 20 meters high and a vast plain before it."
"A… fortress, sir?"
Hyde tilted his head at the sudden order.
Fernan couldn't say he'd seen it in a prophecy, so he improvised.
"Yes. It's a lead on the abominations."
"...!"
"The Chancellor shared some clues. Among them was a sketch of a fortress."
"I'll send the message right away."
"Do that."
"Yes, my lord!"
Hyde hurried off. Fernan ran a hand through his hair, forcing his breathing calm, steadying his racing heart.
There wasn't much he could do immediately. For now, he would have to wait.
Which meant—
"…I need to make money. Preparing for war takes more than ever."
Time to return to his main business.
Dressed and heading toward the company, Fernan's eyes gleamed with resolve: during this festival, he would empty the pockets of every visitor to the Academy.
"…Ah. I had a lecture, didn't I."
Damn it.
Having reached the company entrance, his steps turned back toward the Academy.
"…Then, with this, I hereby declare the Founding Day Festival begun."
Ba-bam, ba-bam, ba-bam—!
After seven repetitions of "one last thing," the Chancellor's declaration was followed by the orchestra's grand music.
Magical fireworks burst skyward, illuminating the heavens in brilliance.
"Woooooooh!"
"It's the festival!"
"Ten days with no classes!"
Some ran off to family, others to friends, still others to the amusements in the streets.
Like fish returned to water, the students scattered.
The festival had begun.
The Academy's role was strictly hands-off—only providing guidelines so students could freely organize events. How they enjoyed themselves was entirely up to them.
"This year the Academy really spent a lot."
Compared to last year, the decorations were far more extravagant, the stages and competitions more numerous, the fireworks and magical shows every night more dazzling.
Not that Fernan minded. After all, most of the supplies and preparations had gone through the Golden Turtle Company.
The bulk of the Academy's spending had flowed into Fernan's coffers.
"But, young master, aren't you doing anything special for the festival?"
"Making money, of course."
Tournaments and such mattered less than seizing this golden opportunity.
"Let's head to the betting house."
Fernan had set up a temporary betting hall right beside the arenas where the Magic Tournament and the Jousting Competition were held.
On the walls he had pasted the brackets from the preliminaries onward, so anyone could walk up and place bets.
Inside, the air was hot and stifling with the sheer body heat of the crowd. Though he had built the place quite spacious, the press of people brought an involuntary smile to his lips.
"Packed to bursting from the very first day."
Everyone dreamed of a windfall, and Academy betting was the only legal way to strike it rich overnight.
Some called it gambling and scorned it, but even such people tended to loosen up amidst the festival's atmosphere and with modest stakes.
Fernan pushed through the crowd and checked the bracket sheets covering the wall.
"Number of entrants—256 for the joust, 128 for the magic duels."
The Academy always capped participation. Originally both had been 256, but interest in the magic duels was weaker, so they had cut it down to 128.
"Ah, senior, did you come to place a bet too?"
Someone tapped him on the shoulder. The cheerful elf, Aria Fridien, smiled brightly.
"A gambling elf."
"Elves and gambling go hand in hand, you know. Want a bit of advice? First-years probably don't know the field that well."
"There's no one I don't know."
Fernan shook his head, but glanced at the betting slip Aria was holding.
[Magic Tournament – Round of 128
Aria Fridien vs. Keldric Erimis
Prediction: Aria Fridien – 10 gold]
"Quite confident, aren't you."
"I am the Magic Department's runner-up, after all. Place your bet on me, senior. That's the way to make money."
"Hm."
Fernan shrugged, but of course he already planned to bet on Aria.
From his prophecies, he knew the round of 16. There were 16 certain names who would make it that far—32 if you counted both joust and magic tournament.
Aint and Ruina, Verian and Aria, even Carlo.
Even those whose fates had shifted somewhat due to Fernan's meddling were still within that group. At least until the round of 16, he didn't need to worry about upsets.
So he received exactly 32 betting slips, and on each of those 32 names he placed the maximum stake of 10 gold.
"Those are your top picks, senior? Mind if I copy them?"
"If you pay a fee."
"…You're such a crook."
"Information costs money. Naturally, it has a price."
"…Well, when you put it that way."
After a moment's hesitation, Aria nodded. There was no way Fernan would bet on anyone meaningless.
These were sure bets—just placing money guaranteed winnings.
Even after paying a fee, she would still profit. Only a fool would refuse.
"Alright!"
Aria took 31 slips and copied him exactly.
After Fernan placed his bets, he left the betting hall and strolled the festival street.
"Hyde, you do the same."
"Me, sir?"
"You, and all the staff. I'll bankroll everyone. Split the winnings and return half to me as commission. I doubt anyone will object."
Who would refuse free money?
"Misusing company funds is prohibited."
"It'll all be from my personal money. Just draft contracts properly."
"Yes, understood."
Hyde asked no more and nodded.
It's a pity the per-match cap is only 10 gold.
But it couldn't be helped. The Academy opened betting halls only as part of festival entertainment, not for serious gambling.
I need more people.
The Academy branch only had about a hundred staff.
"Call over all the Golden Pillar men who have leisure and have them do the same."
"Yes."
"And also the students under Pellenberg sponsorship."
"You'd go that far?"
"When there's money to be made, you seize it while you can."
Especially since company funds and his own personal fortune were different matters altogether.
"Understood. Will you return to the branch now?"
"No, I'll browse the festival a bit. Check if my shops are doing well."
He meant the shops he had opened through the Golden Pillar, not the Golden Turtle.
Three hours later.
After confirming that his ten shops and inns were packed with customers, Fernan smiled in satisfaction and returned to the Golden Turtle branch.
"Starting tomorrow, I'll need to meet some dignitaries."
Among the festival's visitors were many big names—high-ranking nobles, heads of merchant guilds.
Fernan intended to attend the various banquets held during the festival and weave connections with them.
Especially—
"Hyde, bring me the list of those who came from the Kingdom of Frazia."
"Frazia, sir?"
Yes. The nobles of Frazia.
I need to build ties to Frazia to intervene more smoothly later. At least gain some level of cooperation.
For the demon must be stopped, whatever it took.
But the next day—
"Senior! Two of them lost! Well, I suppose thirty right out of thirty-two is still amazing. Duels aren't always about who's stronger, after all."
"..."
Fernan froze. An upset he had never anticipated had occurred.
Sure, someone might lose due to poor condition or a mistake, even to a weaker opponent.
For most competitors, that was possible.
But not for the 32 he had chosen.
…One of the destined round of 16, eliminated in the preliminaries?
Something had gone terribly wrong.
The future had changed.
And now, his money was on the line.
A cold sweat trickled down his cheek.
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