There was also the possibility of treating the two girls as superb broodstock: once they matured, people would attempt to breed more excellent magical bloodlines from them.
Both outcomes were absolutely unacceptable to Tohsaka Tokiomi, which is why he had never told anyone at the Clock Tower about his daughters' conditions.
He wasn't familiar with places like the Wandering Sea or the Atlas Institute, but their reputations were hardly better than the Clock Tower's. If the girls fell into those hands, their fates would likely unfold exactly as Rovie predicted: specimens for madmen's experiments until nothing remained.
In the original timeline, precisely for those reasons — with nowhere else to turn and no solution in sight — Tokiomi eventually entrusted one daughter to another mage family. The Matou family, whose line was failing, seemed the best choice and a possible salvation for Tohsaka Sakura.
Rovie could only think that Tokiomi's reasoning had been correct in one sense.
When you can't trust the Mage Association, handing a child to another magical house to raise and cultivate as a stepping stone into the mystic world is a defensible option.
But Tokiomi had been foolish in one way: he didn't see the true face of the family he entrusted his daughter to, and he handed her over in haste.
He thought he had found a good home for his child — but it turned out to be a pit of horror that would trouble them for life.
Rovie judged Tokiomi harshly for it; no matter how well-intentioned, he remained an incompetent father in Rovie's eyes.
Yes, the Tohsaka house had only one magical imprint to pass down, and Sakura's constitution made her incompatible with a normal life — but hadn't Tokiomi considered cultivating from zero? Passing the imprint to the elder daughter while guiding the younger one, teaching by example and building up a new founder — wasn't that an option?
Of course he had thought of it. Even an onlooker like Rovie could come up with that plan; a father should surely think of it first.
But Tokiomi didn't accept it. He couldn't let go of Sakura's unmatched talent.
Training a founder and establishing a new magical lineage is gruelling and enormously difficult. Even if Sakura were a prodigy, there was no guarantee she could create a true legacy from nothing.
A magus's most important work is accumulation and succession — but the hardest thing is to create. Going from 0 to 1 is an entirely different kind of challenge compared to going from 1 to 2. Even prodigious talent can be wasted if forced to start a school from scratch.
Tokiomi valued the continuation of his bloodline more than his daughter's immediate happiness.
He loved his daughters, but he loved the Path even more.
That ideological sickness was one reason Rovie disliked him. Compared to outright monstrous magi, Tokiomi still counted as "normal," but only in appearance; at heart he was twisted by his faith in the Path. In Rovie's view, himself and his junior were the true outliers — at least they felt more human than this.
Still, Rovie had exploited Tokiomi's obsession with magical succession to prepare his pitch and come in person to ask for adoption. Had Tokiomi cared more about family than lineage, things would not have gone so smoothly.
Everything had indeed gone according to Rovie's plan.
After a few minutes of brooding, Tokiomi relaxed his grip on the jewel-topped cane. A sincere smile spread across his face.
Rovie met his gaze and smiled back. He knew this meant the deal was nearly done.
He decided to press home the point.
"Master Tohsaka, you're well aware of the Crowley family's situation, aren't you?" Rovie asked.
"Of course," Tokiomi replied. "The Crowleys are among the Clock Tower's established noble mage families."
To him, the Crowleys were a known quantity.
"A six-generation magus lineage with achievements in alchemy; one of the few families outside the Atlas Institute that has an independent alchemical tradition. You even hold a private leyline in southern London and have your own research room at the Clock Tower — truly a noble magical house."
Tokiomi, a frequent visitor to the Clock Tower, knew the landscape of noble families and their spheres of influence well. That included the small-but-notable Crowley house.
Although their number of generations was not high — six in Rovie's case, only one above the Tohsakas — their alchemical accomplishments could not be ignored.
This family rose during the Renaissance, seizing an era of scientific and chemical awakening. They combined occult study with chemistry and, ahead of their time, developed a rudimentary alchemical system by the second generation — a family tradition of magical alchemy.
What an astonishing feat.
With that inheritance they flourished, and their alchemical materials became a staple in Clock Tower research. Though the family had declined slightly after the sudden death of the previous head, a lean camel is still larger than a horse; Tokiomi could not dismiss the Crowley house.
Not long ago, the Matou house had come to him expressing interest in adopting one of his daughters. As one of the three families tied to the Holy Grail War, the Matou were well known — but, to Tokiomi, they were a regional house and somewhat inferior compared to the Clock Tower nobles. Compared to command-water rites, Sakura's Imaginary attribute was much more suitable for Crowley-style alchemical development: broader choices and a brighter future.
So handing Sakura to the Crowleys seemed a fine idea.
Tokiomi remembered the two previous Crowley heads he'd met at a Clock Tower symposium and admired their mastery. But they had since died; the family's mantle now rested with this young man in his early twenties, Rovie Crowley.
Though Rovie had some renown and a lordly patron, that didn't guarantee his security. Apprenticeship ties are not guaranteed refuge in the magus world. With the Crowley family weakened, a patron might well be eyeing the family inheritance for himself. Maybe that was why Rovie urgently sought a talented heir — to break the current impasse.
And in talent, Tokiomi's daughter was ideal.
"Surprised the Tohsaka head knows my family so well," Rovie said with mock modesty. Then he explained his situation.
"After the previous two heads passed, I—bearing the Crowley blood—had to shoulder this family's responsibilities."
"I'm ashamed to say I'm mediocre at managing a house. In wizardry I may be tolerable, but in running a family I'm poor — Master Tohsaka is far more competent."
Tokiomi dismissed the flattery. "Compared to feats of magecraft, mundane management is trivial."
Rovie continued: "Because of several incidents the family has visibly declined. That's why I came to petition to adopt your daughter. I can keep it together this generation, but whether the house can return to its peak is uncertain. I would rather entrust the Crowley magical imprint to a true prodigy to carry our name toward the Root. I believe you, as a magus, can understand that."
His tone was earnest; his eyes resolute. He'd rehearsed every line. The outcome now lay with Tokiomi's choice.
He was confident. Magi are rational—actually, selfish and calculating. Present the Path as the highest aim and frame the exchange properly and they'll weigh benefits coldly. If Matou could take a daughter in the original line, his offer should be more than adequate.
Before coming he'd been almost certain of success — he trusted Tokiomi's rational obsession.
To a magus, what are children? They are vessels to inherit blood, to bear on the Path to the Root. What is happiness? That one's offspring walks the Path, pushing ever closer to truth, even if one day they stand on opposite sides of a conflict. Tokiomi wanted that happiness.
Rovie, resigned to the pathology, didn't intend to be some moral crusader trying to fix Tokiomi's values. Better to exploit them and take what he needed.
"So, what is your decision, Master Tohsaka?" Rovie tapped the table lightly and asked.
Faced with Rovie's sincerity and rationale, Tokiomi had no grounds for refusal.
"It is an enticing offer, Master Crowley. As Sakura's father I should be glad," he said. "However, for safety, I must have you sign a self-binding magical writ in the family's name — a covenant ensuring you accept Sakura as an heir, will pass on the Crowley magical imprint, and inherit the family's magical patrimony. I will also sign, severing Sakura's ties with the Tohsaka house: no future contact, and no use of blood-relational links to harm the Crowley family."
"What do you think?" Tokiomi asked after careful thought.
When transferring a child, he would not be careless. Magi are self-centered and unreliable — only a self-binding writ is ultimate protection.
A magical writ works like a contract written on parchment with clauses describing binding formulae, the objects of the binding, oath content, conditions triggering the covenant, and the signatories. Using their magical imprints, both parties cast a Geas-like binding upon themselves. Once the magician signs and the conditions are met, the writ takes effect and cannot be undone by any means. Even death won't release a signee — the binding can persist through inheritance to the next generation, and even the dead's soul could be constrained.
If Rovie signed, it would prove his seriousness, and Tokiomi would have no grounds to refuse.
"Reasonable," Rovie smiled and agreed without hesitation.
Tokiomi exhaled with relief. Though he felt pangs of melancholy, satisfaction followed. A smile appeared on his face.
"This is excellent," Tokiomi said. "Such matters cannot be treated lightly."
Rovie nodded. With Tokiomi at ease, he felt likewise. His first goal in the Far East had been accomplished. He hoped the rest of his plans would be as smooth.
Chapter 5 — To Obtain True Happiness
— Every gift the heavens bestow has a price secretly tagged to it.
…
"Very well. The covenant has been drafted. Master Tohsaka, please review."
"If there's no objection, we can sign."
Because he had prepared in advance, Rovie moved swiftly. Within ten minutes of Tokiomi retrieving parchment, Rovie had the self-binding magical writ ready.
He pushed the parchment — densely covered in Latin written in a mercury ink — toward Tokiomi and invited him to inspect and sign.
"Alright."
Tokiomi eyed the rapid work with surprise, but knowing Rovie had come prepared, he found nothing odd.
He picked up the scroll and studied the dense Latin lines. Among magi, Latin or French were the conventions for composing magical contracts; Eastern alphabets or English introduced too many ambiguities. Latin and French were more precise and, for historical reasons, Latin had become the prestige tongue among old noble magi.
To reassure Tokiomi and to avoid future disputes, Rovie had had a household steward proficient in Latin teach him a sample covenant beforehand and helped him prepare the writ.
As for whether Tokiomi could read Latin — that was no worry. Tokiomi was a magus aristocrat who took pride in his station; he almost certainly knew the old noble tongue fluently.
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