Morning, on the outskirts of London—within the Clock Tower.
Once upon a time, this supreme academy of magi had been the picture of elegance. It had never been anything like this.
—Yes. Noisy.
A word that seemed utterly unrelated to the Clock Tower now described its mornings perfectly.
Dozens of mercenaries clogged the roadside, radiating the sharp edge of battle. They were packed together like sleepless fanatics camping overnight for a convention opening—except these were not frail civilians. They were mercenaries who wielded Mystery, bona fide magi who lived by killing.
The street teemed with them. Large-caliber firearms hung at their sides. A few, scattered among the crowd, even carried rocket launchers and plastic explosives. They looked ready for war.
Or rather, for them, this morning was war.
Their goal was simple. Be diligent middlemen. Buy up every Mystic Code produced by "Rhodes' Arcane Garden" at a low price, then resell them to comrades fighting to the death in distant deserts.
To protect that business, they came armed to the teeth—just in case their fellow mercenaries decided to steal customers.
"Out of the way! You worthless trash!"
A low, arrogant shout rang out from behind the mercenaries. The crowd blocking the entrance to Rhodes' shop turned as one.
Their gazes locked onto the offender.
Like wolves.
Cold, feral green glints flashed in their eyes.
"Ghk…"
Faced with dozens of mercenaries turning in unison, the noble with lemon-colored hair—of the El-Melloi lineage—hesitated.
Though addressed as the head of a Lord family, Lord Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald was, at heart, a sheltered aristocrat. He possessed none of the combat instincts his title implied.
He had been raised in comfort. Magi under his command handled all the dirty work. The fiercest battle he had ever experienced was a regulated duel with another noble—nothing resembling a true battlefield where survival demanded blood.
So despite his rank, fear crept in.
And the moment he sensed it, his suppressed rage surged.
"You scum," Kayneth growled. "Do you want to be dragged away by the Enforcers?"
The mercenaries ignored him.
They knew who he was. Of course they did.
They simply didn't care.
To them, Kayneth was harmless. Power without the will to wield it was no threat at all.
"Damn it…"
Kayneth's expression twisted. Just as he reached for the convenient Mystic Code at his disposal—Volumen Hydrargyrum—the gilded doors before him swung open.
"Oh? Lord Kayneth himself?"
A boy stood there, no more than fifteen or sixteen. His voice was youthful, yet carried an authority that demanded attention.
"Why linger outside? Won't you come in and talk?"
"I…"
Kayneth faltered. Looking at Rhodes' young face filled him with a deep, wordless frustration. Still, he stepped into the Arcane Garden.
He was, at least, a proper magus. He knew better than to let petty emotions cloud his judgment.
"Excellent."
Seeing Kayneth yield without protest, Rhodes smiled brightly. He sat back on a plush sofa and spoke in a businesslike tone.
"So, Mr. Kayneth. What brings you to my humble shop today?"
"I need Mystic Codes," Kayneth said. His voice was rigid, aristocratic. "Not inferior products. And I have no use for permanently enchanted items. Single-use consumables will suffice."
"Of course," Rhodes replied smoothly. "But surely the Archibald main family—and its branches—can provide such consumables. Why come to me?"
Bang.
Kayneth slammed the table, his face twisted with fury that carried no real menace.
"Damn those lowly branch families! They dared to question my authority as head of the house!"
"I see…"
Rhodes paused, as though something had clicked into place—perhaps the outline of a Subspecies Holy Grail War that would one day force the convergence of worldlines.
"The Mystic Codes I'm buying must remain confidential," Kayneth continued sharply. "And I don't want to see any of those crude, lowly modern firearms."
"Certainly," Rhodes replied. "Payment for goods rendered—that's my creed."
Under Kayneth's disdainful gaze, Rhodes produced a document.
"A Self-Geis Scroll. If there's nothing else, please sign here. Your total comes to eighty-six million pounds sterling. Will you be using a Royal Bank of Scotland draft, or cash?"
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A short while later, inside the most prominent Mystic Code shop of the Clock Tower—the Arcane Garden—Rhodes sat silently on a leather sofa in a room adorned with luxury goods.
He seemed lost in thought.
"Mariannene…" he murmured.
A shadow spread across the floor. From it leapt a crude, roughly stitched doll.
"Master."
Its body was simple, almost shoddy. Yet it slipped through shadows with ease.
"Deliver the Sword of AZOTH and Queen Medb's Holy Relic to Waver Velvet."
"Yes, Master."
The doll did not ask why. She vanished into the shadows at once.
Rhodes leaned back.
"Let's hope Waver gets along with Medb. I'm doing this for his own good. Being crowned the king of cuckolds is still better than ending up as someone's riding companion, isn't it?"
◇◇◇