[4] Meeting Magic (4)
Shirone heard every sound. Of course he had senses beyond that, but he couldn't tell Alpheas about them.
The moment that vague ideal became something he could grasp, every stray thought snapped back to reality and warned him that this was dangerous.
Maybe he hadn't entered the Spirit Zone properly. He still couldn't put a definition on what it was.
It felt as if his body split into particles and spread out. As his senses opened, a flood of information rushed in. He trembled at the enormity of a world utterly unlike the one his five senses knew. At the same time, a single truth pierced his mind.
I am infinite.
"Ugh… sob."
Overwhelmed, Shirone shed tears. He squeezed his eyes shut and ran. He didn't even notice that he was running. His awakened brain flooded him with adrenaline and he slipped into a temporary blackout.
Suddenly a dull impact hit his face.
"Ack!"
Shirone clutched his nose and landed on his rear. When he came to, he was in an alley — the nasty sort Vincent had warned him never to enter.
"What the—get lost!"
The youth who'd shoved Shirone snapped at him as he fell back. Ahead, some rough-looking men glowered.
One of them grabbed Shirone by the collar before he could even stand. He had slitted eyes and a sneering mouth.
"What's this? You crazy?"
"S-sorry!"
"Sorry and that's it? You expect us to buy that? Tell the truth. The Wolf gang sent you, right? You trying to set me up?"
"No! No, I didn't!"
The thugs grinned cruelly at Shirone's panicked eyes. Even sprawled on the ground, the kid looked pitiful; he didn't have the nerve to pull a knife, let alone fight.
In the back alleys they called this type the herbivores. Herbivores made a good income source for the carnivores. Now that he was shaking with fear, they only needed to strip him and take what they could.
'Hoho? Look at that.'
Despite shabby clothes, there was a certain refinement about him. A kid like that could fetch at least a gold coin if sold down in the southern quarter—a high-grade prospect.
"What are you lot doing? Something fun happening?"
"Miss Amy!"
The thugs all turned at once.
A pretty girl about Shirone's age stood at the mouth of the alley. Her reddish bangs fell over one eye, and she wore a high-collared dress that emphasized the length of her neck.
"Hehe. What brings you here? Bored again?"
Despite her light tone, the youth rubbed his hands servilely. Anyone who knew her would understand why.
Carmis Amy.
The youngest daughter of House Carmis, of the first noble rank. Born with everything, she had grown bored with life; lately, wandering the back alleys for entertainment was her only thrill.
First-rank nobility stood just below the royal family in status, so back-alley thugs trembled at her presence. On top of that, Amy was generous with money, which earned her the thugs' respect.
"This brat tried to kill someone. We were about to teach him a lesson."
Shirone hastily shook his head.
"Ah, no. I bumped into him by accident."
"Yeah right. You expect us to believe that?"
When the big man jabbed Shirone in the gut, he couldn't even scream—he curled on the ground, gasping. It felt like his breath stopped and his stomach was being torn. It was the first real violence he'd ever known.
"You gotta pay for that, punk! Where's your mother? Go fetch the woman who let a scoundrel like you be born and feed her bread!"
Shirone was shocked. How could they say that when they, too, had mothers? They were truly vile.
"Oh? This kid's eyes are changing. You feeling prickly?"
When Shirone's expression hardened, the thugs surged to trample him. Until then Shirone hadn't understood why they were careful not to touch his face.
"Stop. You'll kill the kid."
At Amy's command, the thugs stepped back.
Shirone stared at her with terrified eyes. She seemed untouched by pain, as if there were an invisible glass wall between them. He envied her.
"Hey! You okay?"
"I- I didn't do anything."
"Who said otherwise? I asked if you're all right."
"I don't know. Maybe I am?"
Shirone wanted to go home. Maybe this girl would let him. Nobles didn't necessarily mind hitting people—he hoped that would make her merciful. He prayed for her permission.
Amy looked the thugs over and said, "So, what now? No more interesting things?"
Shirone felt betrayed and terrified as he looked at Amy. She only grinned like a mischievous child. One of the thugs scratched his head and said, "We thought we'd rough him up a bit and sell him to a brothel."
Shirone went pale as cold soup. Even Amy felt a twinge of pity for the frightened boy.
But she had no intention of playing with back-alley trash. She planned to scare him a little, then send him home.
"If you're selling him to a brothel, you need to make sure there's nothing wrong with him. How about making him strip?"
Amy made the bold suggestion. Nobles were more worldly than commoners; at twelve she already had more than enough theory in her head to be curious.
And she was curious—she wanted to see for herself.
'Besides… he's kind of cute, isn't he? Honestly.'
The rough, grown man's naked body would have been a no-go even for money. Fortunately Shirone was about her age and good-looking. If commoner women liked burly men, nobles tended to prefer faces like Shirone's.
"Take them off. Who knows? If he does as he's told, maybe we'll let him go home."
Under a thousand staring eyes, Shirone went numb. He couldn't understand why he was being treated like this.
"Hey! The lady said take them off! You want more beatings?"
The thug barked, but Shirone didn't even react.
Amy felt uneasy. Twelve might be old for a noble, but a commoner was still a child. Maybe he had lost his mind from fear.
But Shirone wasn't crazy. He was more focused than ever. In his panic he had slipped into the Spirit Zone without realizing it.
The second time in the Spirit Zone was different from the first. A storm of information swirled around him. He felt even the thugs' blinking.
Shirone let his consciousness flow along the only path in that extrasensory mental world. At its end lingered the memory of Alpheas casting magic.
Shirone's insight pulled together the surface details of Alpheas's spellcasting—the emotions, sensations, mindset, actions, attitude, posture—everything from that moment.
As the external form took shape, the inner intent became somewhat predictable, and a concept clicked into his head.
"Hey! Hurry up and pull his trousers down—Miss wants to see!"
The Spirit Zone demands intense concentration and is vulnerable to physical shock. When a thug grabbed Shirone's collar and shook him, he nearly broke free from it.
A chilling light rose in Shirone's eyes. Amy reached out and cried, "Wait!"
But it was already too late.
Balanced on the razor-thin boundary between reality and the Spirit Zone, Shirone's mind sensed danger. Instinctively, a will twisted the situation.
Boom!
A concentrated burst of wind surged out, lifting everything in the alley. The thugs—and even Amy—were hurled away.
The alley was swept clean as if by a typhoon; wooden crates, stones, not even a speck of dust remained.
"Eeee! Help me!"
The screams from above snapped Shirone fully out of the Zone. When he came to, the alley lay desolately empty.
Moments later, the people who'd been thrown higher than the roofs began to fall, shrieking.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
The heavy impacts promised devastation. Gravity, that far more brutal force, broke limbs on impact; the thugs' arms and legs shattered.
"Aaaah—!"
"My—my arm. My leg…!"
Legs were grotesquely twisted; forearm bones jutted through skin by a hand's breadth. It looked like a heap of discarded wooden dolls.
Shirone was speechless. He hadn't expected a single instant of feeling to produce such a horrific result.
The only person who landed without serious injury was Amy.
Nobles train their bodies systematically from a young age. For a first-rank family, the training was intense.
Amy smoothed her fluttering skirt and looked at Shirone with a stunned expression.
"You… what on earth are you?"
The scene Shirone had created made crystal clear why mages were feared. Even she, proud of her athleticism, had been unable to resist the sudden surge.
"Answer me! Where did you learn magic? How could a commoner—!"
Amy stopped and turned. The screams had drawn a crowd. If it got out that she had been consorting with thugs, her family would make a scene.
"Tch!"
Amy planted a foot against a building, pushed off, ran up the wall, launched herself again with both feet against the opposite wall, and vanished onto the roof.
"Huh? Huh?"
Shirone, who'd been tracking her zigzagging path, didn't know what to do when she disappeared. If people had seen this, he'd be blamed for everything. The city was a cruel place to the powerless; no one would take his side.
He bolted down the opposite alley. He had only one person he could truly trust—his father—and he ran without thinking to find him.
* * *
House Carmis.
A powerhouse that had held first-rank status for two hundred years.
Their main house stood in Creas, but the family's talents had distinguished themselves across the continent.
Amy opened the door looking tired. Her father, Carmis Shakora, who had retired from politics and returned to the main house, was reading a newspaper.
"I'm home."
"Where have you been? Skipping lessons again?"
Shakora was well past sixty but looked almost ageless, not a white hair in sight. Tall, lean, with a sharp face—the pride of the kingdom's top noble showing in his eyes.
"I learned what I needed. It was boring."
"So you went off to play with ruffians? No matter how gifted you are, if you fritter your time away you'll be caught. Rough stones only become jewels after they're polished. If you're careless one day you'll get your backside handed to you."
"Ugh, that nagging."
Shakora smiled. Amy had inherited her mother's reckless streak, but the genius was from his blood. Once she realized what she had, the tipped scales would right themselves.
Such was the fate of prodigies.
Amy paused before entering her room. Her father's scolding had brought the day's unpleasantness back to mind.
'What on earth was that kid?'
From his clothes and terrified expression, he was definitely a commoner. The chance that a non-noble had been formally taught at the School of Magic was slimmer than a fool mastering treatises on rulership.
If so, what was the magic he had cast in the alley?
A random outburst? An awakening of talent? No matter how she thought about it, those seemed the only possibilities. Her father's warning stung anew.
- If you're careless one day you'll get your backside handed to you.
Amy bit her lip. The world was boring, yes, but she had no intention of falling behind.
"Dad."
Shakora set the newspaper down and pushed his glasses up. It was surprising that his teenage daughter spoke first.
"Yes? Do you have something to tell me?"
"Well… it's not that I really want to do something. There's just a field I'm curious about."
"Oh?"
Shakora's eyes lit with interest. From a young age she learned one thing and understood a hundred; whatever she tried she'd do well.
"Tell me. I'll support you fully."
"No, it's not that I want to—I'm just curious, really."
"Very well. Then I'll fully support your curiosity."
Amy licked her lips. The truth was she knew all too well: with the power and wealth of a first-rank house, there was almost nothing in the world she couldn't obtain.
Sometimes wanting parents to take on hardship for their child was just the whim of a teenager.
"Magic."
"Hm? What was that?"
"I want you to introduce me to someone at the School of Magic."