v1c3 - 4

Moving from one hidden spot to another, connecting the dots, Toru navigated the mansion, relying on a mental map he’d predicted from its exterior.

The mansion’s structure wasn’t particularly surprising.

But—

……?

Toru furrowed his brow as the interior felt oddly understaffed.

The exterior had standard security, but inside, most lights were off, and there were no signs of patrolling guards. Even entering the mansion required only minimal locks, which Toru had easily picked which someone felt weird.

(What’s with this atmosphere?)

There was something strange about the air in the mansion.

If asked to describe it, Toru couldn’t put it into words but just a vague unease.

Then again, this was his first time stepping into the home of a noble or wealthy elite… so maybe it was just unfamiliarity making him uneasy.

(It feels almost… raw, somehow…)

Like being swallowed by some massive creature.

(No… now’s not the time for thinking stuff like that.)

Shaking his head slightly, Toru pushed the unease from his mind.

(Places where valuable items are kept are limited.)

It wasn’t art, so storage rooms or warehouses were unlikely.

Nor would it be displayed in a hallway.

Which meant—

(The central part of the mansion. The lord’s bedroom, studyroom, or any room nearby.)

And such rooms were typically clustered in one area.

(—Around here, then.)

Despite lingering doubts, Toru advanced toward the rooms clustered in the mansion’s central section.

(Akari and Chaika should be entering the mansion about now, right?)

With that estimate, Toru slipped into what seemed to be a studyroom.

Of course it was midnight, so no lights were on. The window shutters were closed, blocking out moonlight. Complete darkness creeped there.

But—

……!?

In the next instant, Toru spun around, stunned.

Something was there. A presence had suddenly emerged.

And then—

“—Hmph.”

Light flooded the room.

Not the flicker of candles or gas lamps. The blinding intensity, momentarily dazzling Toru, was unmistakably magical. Some mechanism must have been installed. It was a feature unthinkable in a commoner’s home but occasionally seen in noble or royal residences.

“Thieving rat.”

In the center of the spacious study—a middle-aged man stood. He had a tall, imposing figure with golden hair with his refined features and broad-shouldered, toned physique were clad in opulent sleepwear woven with gold and silver threads, betraying his identity. Likely the master of this room, and the mansion—Roberto Abarth.

“So you finally come to steal the day after being refused? Truly, rural nobles lack class.”

—?

Toru, confused, couldn’t grasp the meaning of his words.

“No matter. This ‘treasure’—having no use for it was getting dull. For a mere thief to infiltrate this far, you’re no complete amateur, are you?”

The lord said with amusement, pacing the study.

Toru noticed a collar around the lord’s neck. Attached to it was a thin cord, trailing down his back, along the floor, toward the study’s wall. Its end seemed to pass through the wall, vanishing somewhere.

It looked almost like the lord was leashed like a dog.

A bizarre sight.

But—

“…What?”

Toru muttered, bracing himself.

But—he didn’t understand.

What was this unfamiliar unease?

The moment the lord appeared, the vague unease Toru had felt since entering the mansion peaked.

And then—

—!?

Dodging it was sheer luck.

If he had to explain, it was because the lord’s approach was so unpredictable that Toru, wary of an ambush, had been scanning his surroundings—that’s when it happened.

Something shot from the wall with tremendous force.

Toru ducked instinctively, dodging it.

The projectile tore through the mask covering his face as it passed.

……!

Leaping aside to guard against follow-up attacks, Toru glanced at the projectile—and realized it was a longsword that had been hanging on the wall. Likely decorative, not practical and its hilt was encrusted with unwieldy ornaments, and its slender blade looked like it would snap in real combat. Now, it was embedded in the wall, trembling from the impact.

But—

“What!?”

No one was in the direction the sword had come from.

Nor was it near where the lord stood. He couldn’t have reached it.

How had the lord even launched that attack?

“Impressive. You look young, where did you train?”

…!

Damn, did he realised that I....

But—Toru had no time to panic over that.

Because…

“How about this?”

With the lord’s words, various objects in the room suddenly hurtled toward Toru.

A vase, an ashtray, a pen, a picture frame, a candlestick, knives, and more. Without the lord touching them, they floated up and flew at Toru with lethal speed.

“Tch!?”

Toru drew the twin short machine swords hanging at his waist.

The tattooed pattern on his palm aligned with the swords’ hilts, expanding his senses—his two blades, no metaphor, became extensions of himself. Gripping them tightly, he knocked the flying objects out of the air.

“…I see.”

Then Toru realized.

The lord’s collar. That was—

“You—you’re a mage!?”

“Of course. Did you think earning martial glory was a swordsman’s privilege?”

The lord said with a mocking smile.

Yes. The lord was using magic. That collar was likely a conduit linking him to a magical staff. The objects flying one after another were probably powered by magic.

But—

(How is he using magic like this?)

No matter how Toru knocked or deflected them, the objects persistently floated back up, attacking him back. It was almost certainly magic, but—

(No incantations? What kind of magic even is this!?)

Magic required precise calculations with fixing one’s position and the target’s, factoring in distance, direction, temperature, humidity, and other variables to activate the spell. That’s why mages couldn’t fight on the front lines. A mage adjusting their spell slowly, positioning themselves was easy prey for a swordsman specialized in close combat, who could cut them down humming a tune.

But this lord wasn’t chanting incantations nor did he seem to be adjusting for distance or anything else. The attacks were too fast. And this relentless barrage—what the heck was going on?

“Haha...A mage like me overpowering a swordsman face-to-face. Splendid, isn’t it?”

The lord laughed.

Toru’s expression twisted at the mocking, predatory tone like a cat toying with a mouse. The lord already assumed he’d won. He could kill Toru anytime. So he figured he could play a little.

“Don’t underestimate me!”

Knocking down the spinning objects, Toru crouched low, then—in the next instant, using the momentum of springing from the floor, he lunged at the lord. Though the room was large, it was still indoors but with Toru’s leg strength, he could close the distance to bring the lord within his short swords’ range in a moment.

But then—

—!?

In mid-air, Toru suddenly met resistance.

Something invisible caught him and flung him back with a twisting on his body, Toru landed on the wall, absorbing the impact and dropping to the floor. If he hadn’t braced himself, he might’ve crashed into the wall and broken a bone.

“That was…?”

Muttering with a groan… Toru had realized a few things.

The mansion’s interior security was sparse because it wasn’t needed. With the lord this powerful, lesser foes would be dispatched instantly. No… the fact that no one else had appeared despite all this commotion suggested that interfering would only hinder the lord. From what Toru had observed, the lord’s precision in hurling objects wasn’t high. If others got in the way, they’d likely get caught in the crossfire.

But…

“Hmm… quite resilient. As expected.” The lord nodded. “But now how about this?”

The objects that had been thrown one by one—now rose into the air all at once surrounding Toru.

“Die, disgusting thief.”

The lord declared with a sadistic smile.

At that moment—

“—Nii-sama!”

With a shout, a shuriken whizzed through the air.

Aimed straight at the lord, it halted in mid-air the next moment, its momentum killed, clattering pathetically to the floor. At the same time, the other floating objects dropped as if their strings had been cut, crashing noisily to the ground.

And…

“Don’t come in, Akari, this guy’s dangerous!”

Shouting, Toru retreated toward the room’s entrance.

There stood Akari, another shuriken in her left hand, her right gripping her beloved iron hammer.

“Nii-sama, this guy?”

“A mage. Probably—but he’s troublesome. No sign of wielding a staff or chanting incantations by the way.”

“…Hm?”

Akari seemed to grasp instantly how abnormal this was.

No pause for incantations, no aiming with a staff, yet the “throwing” effect triggered repeatedly. Could such magic exist?

But—

“—A mage?”

Chaika peeked out from behind Akari.

As a fellow mage, she likely reacted to Toru’s words.

But—

“Don’t show your face!”

Toru had no leeway to shield the clumsy Chaika. He hadn’t even had time to chant the key phrase for <Iron-Blood Transformation>. Even now, if he focused on the chant, a sword or something could come flying—

—!!

No. Nothing flew this time.

Instead, Lord Roberto Abarth staggered back, his face a mask of shock.

“—You.”

Gasping as if the arrogant, condescending demeanor he’d maintained until now had crumbled, the mage opened and closed his mouth like a fish washed ashore, finally managing to speak.

“Impossible, you were supposed to be dead!”

—?

Who was he addressing?

Not Toru. Nor Akari.

Then perhaps—

“—Dead?”

Chaika, tilting her head curiously, was the target of his words?

But…

“Impossible, I saw it, I saw it back then!!”

Once again, the room’s objects floated into the air.

“Fall back now!”

Shouting, Toru scooped up Chaika, and with Akari, they bolted down the hallway.

“Magic. Probably. Staff—mansion, itself.”

While being carried, Chaika crossed her arms deftly and said.

As they fled through the mansion, Toru had briefly recounted the recent fight. He wanted an expert’s opinion on that incomprehensible magic.

“The mansion itself?”

Toru muttered instinctively—

“—I see.”

It finally clicked for Toru.

No incantations. No visible staff.

Of course, The lord’s staff was the mansion itself.

A magical staff didn’t need to be a literal staff. As long as its functions were incorporated, it could take any form. While miniaturization was difficult, scaling up was easy.

And the magic. Toru had assumed each throw was a spell, but no.

It was simply an invisible hand, created and moved by the lord’s will. He wasn’t casting projection spells repeatedly.

Of course, maintaining a spell for long required immense magical power and a sizable staff, but the latter was hardly an issue now.

“The lack of incantations…”

Incantations were typically for precisely setting the spell’s effect point and the caster’s position—but for a stationary mansion, with effects within its interior, triggered simply by the lord standing in a designated spot where no adjustments were needed.

“In short,” Toru muttered. “This mansion is practically him…”

No wonder he felt uneasy. The lord’s magic—his invisible hand—likely enveloped the entire mansion. And the senses used to wield it. Toru and the others were, in effect, just scurrying around inside his body.

“No. Wait.”

Toru suddenly stopped.

“Nii-sama?”

Akari stopped too, turning back to Toru.

“The lack of people in the mansion… and that earlier…”

The absence of others in the mansion—or at least, no one responding to the commotion Toru and the others caused—was likely because the lord struggled to distinguish intruders from allies.

“It’s thoroughly a ‘hand,’ huh.”

Not seeing, not hearing, but sensing Toru and the others’ positions through touch alone.

And—

(He can only do one thing at a time…)

The lord’s “invisible hand” was singular.

Otherwise, there’d be no reason for the objects aimed at Toru to fall when he blocked Akari’s shuriken, perhaps that was the limit of the man’s magic. The many objects floating were merely “scooped up together,” not individually grasped.

“Chaika.”

“Wui?”

“If you were in the lord’s position, where would you place the staff and its core? In this mansion.”

“Place. External. Influence. Minimal.”

“Alright, the mansion’s center, then.” Muttering, Toru set Chaika down and said. “Akari, take Chaika and find his staff. I’ll keep him distracted. He probably—when it comes to attacking, he can only target one spot at a time. At least, he can’t use two ‘hands’ simultaneously. So while I’m engaging him, cut down his lifeline.”

“—Understood.”

Confirming Akari’s nod, Toru at the hallway’s corner, parted from them who ran off.

Lord Roberto Abarth was feeling irritation.

He couldn’t quite crush that thief, always one step short.

“A tool realized through ‘that’ at such great cost. I must enjoy it.”

During the war, swordsmen and knights had forced him to swallow bitter humiliation.

Mages wielded flashy power, but their skills required a fixed position, barring them from the front lines. Thus, mages fighting alone was nearly impossible—swordsmen and knights often looked down on them with contempt, and even commoners saw mages as mere “servants” or “backup weapons” for swordsmen and knights.

Mages, historically, were newer than knights or swordsmen.

Until magical staffs simplified rituals and incantations, mages could barely stand on the battlefield. The first nation to make this practical was the “Demon King’s” nation, the Gaz Empire. In short, mages always faced harsh societal prejudice.

The Abarth count family was a martial house.

Over its long history, many heads had earned martial glory. Not every head was a powerhouse, but most Abarth family members excelled in martial arts. A classic case of environment shaping people.

Naturally, Roberto was initially trained in martial arts but… at ten, he shattered his right elbow.

Thanks to treatment, he could move his arm enough for daily life, but a healer declared he’d never wield a sword properly again.

That day, Roberto’s hell began.

His father, mother, even vassals, stopped expecting anything from him as if saying, “You’re useless now.” Their basic demeanor didn’t change, but their disappointment seeped through in slight gestures and word choices.

He could no longer swing a sword.

At least, he couldn’t deliver powerful strikes.

Then he had to find a martial force to replace the sword. With that thought, Roberto turned to magic. If he excelled as a mage, he could uphold his martial honor despite his inability to wield a sword...or so he believed.

Thus, Roberto desperately joined the final war to earn martial glory as a mage. Surviving near-death experiences, he obtained that special “reward”—granted only to a select few.

And that “reward” which is now a family's scared treasure, linked to the magical staff’s control core in the depths of his bedroom—allowed him to turn the mansion itself into a giant magical staff, constructing its spell formula.

Finally, with this power, with his own hands—yes, these hands—he could strangle swordsmen and knights. In close combat, no less. To fully enjoy this, Roberto had ordered his servants to “stay out.” Allies wandering around would only complicate distinguishing foes.

Even so—

“…That girl.”

That girl behind the thief.

She was supposed to be dead. He was sure he’d killed her before.

No. Even if she’d somehow survived, five years had passed. How could she look unchanged? At her age, five years should bring significant changes. Her appearance being identical—why is that?

“…No.” Suppressing rising unease, Roberto muttered. “Either way… if I failed to kill her, I’ll just have to kill her again.”

She was a girl who should be dead.

No. A girl who had to be dead.

Then—killing her again would pose no issue.

“—Now then.”

Dragging the connection cord, Roberto walked down the hallway and said.

“This time, I’ll crush you, thief.”

The thief stood at the hallway’s end.

Not hiding, not fleeing.

Slightly bowed, he looked almost resigned, head hanging.

But…

“—‘Once I meet the enemy, with no hesitation whatsoever,’ ‘I am the weapon that destroys them all.’—”

The thief’s hair slightly changed colour, as he was muttering something—

…!

Roberto furrowed his brow in concern.

The thief’s hair turned crimson.

As if drenched in deep blood.

“You—”

He’d heard of it before.

Unbound by knights’ honor or warriors’ pride—pure war artisans who made fighting itself their raison d’être, battlefield handymen, <saboteurs>. One of their trump cards was a secret technique, enhancing themselves by chanting a spell-like key phrase.

“A saboteur!”

—!

With a sharp exhale, the thief lunged forward.

In other side, Akari smashed the door with a single blow of her iron hammer.

Having already exhausted the duration of <Iron-Blood Transformation>, this much was still well within her normal strength.

If the target didn’t move, there was no need to calculate direction or distance but considering magic was affected by temperature and humidity, the staff’s placement should ideally be in a location minimally influenced by such factors.

That meant the staff’s location was likely the mansion’s central section.

In other words the lord’s bedroom, adjacent to the study.

“Which one is it?”

Beds, desks, candlesticks—Akari smashed furniture one by one with her iron hammer, asking.

The lord’s magic was clearly troublesome. Akari didn’t believe Toru, using <Iron-Blood Transformation>, would lose easily, but either way, that magic—capable of blocking shuriken and hurling objects at lethal speeds, perhaps called the <Invisible Hand>—rendered shuriken and normal slashes useless. Toru had no means to defeat the lord.

They had to hurry, or Toru would either be killed once <Iron-Blood Transformation> wore off, or—his body would collapse from exceeding its time limit.

“This…!”

Chaika pointed at a crack in the wall, gouged by Akari’s hammer.

“Move!”

Akari stepped forward, spinning to hook her hammer into the crack and wrench it free. Wallpaper and wood splinters scattered as the false wall peeled away, revealing an overly large device, glowing with pale blue light coursing through it like veins.

—!

With a spirited cry, Akari’s strike swung down toward the device.

But…

“What!?”

Her hammer was repelled with a dull thud.

“This—is it the same force that blocked the shuriken earlier!?”

On reflection, it was obvious that destroying the staff would disrupt the magic, so the lord wouldn’t leave it unprotected.

“Magic—”

Nodding, Chaika lowered her magical staff—strapped to the coffin she carried—and readied it.

“Dispel. Then. Destroy.”

“—Hurry!”

Akari shouted.