The veil of night descended. A time of tranquil darkness held sway over the world.
Owls hooted eerily, and a full moon cast its glow upon the world of shadows. Tonight, the sky was clear, revealing a beautiful full moon.
Beneath that moonlight, a man walked with an elegant stride.
One glance at his attire made it clear he was a nobleman. He wore a black suit and carried a high-quality leather bag in his right hand. His short brown hair was styled neatly, with his bangs swept back. His countenance gave the impression of a highly capable professional.
"Excuse me."
After a respectful bow, he passed through the gates. Following a maid, the man continued his leisurely walk, the steady clicking of his shoes echoing through the quiet space.
"This way, please."
"Thank you very much."
He was led to a study. After three sharp knocks, a man’s gravelly voice spoke from inside.
"You may enter."
"Excuse me."
With another respectful bow, he entered. Though the room was called a study, the walls were literally packed with books. One glance was enough to understand that the master of this house was a dedicated collector.
"Now then. Please, have a seat."
"Pardon me."
The man gave an enigmatic smile as he sat on the sofa and placed his bag on the floor. The man before him, Bruno Bradley, sat across from him. The two faced each other across a long desk.
"My apologies for the late hour."
"Not at all. For me, this time is actually preferable."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. I find it much easier to operate at night."
"I see."
The clock on the wall read 2:40 AM. As they had noted, it was the dead of night—a time for secrets. Why were these two holding a clandestine meeting at such an hour?
It was for a specific reason...
"Now, shall we proceed as requested, Lord Bruno Bradley, Head of House Bradley?"
"Yes."
"Very well. Then please sign this Covenant document."
The man took a single sheet of paper from his bag. The terms of the contract were written there, with clear spaces for a signature and a seal at the bottom.
"...Understood."
After a few seconds of hesitation, Bruno signed the document with his fountain pen. But there was one more thing they had to do.
—Covenant (Synvoreo).
That was the name of this magical contract. It required the blood of both parties as proof, invoking a magically binding effect of absolute obedience. It used the individual Prima Materia within the blood as a medium to forge the bond.
Normally, such a contract was unheard of. Even if both parties agreed to the terms, a Synvoreo was far too powerful. These contracts were technically illegal, a relic of the era of slavery. While slavery had long since been abolished, the magic remained.
"Now, the blood."
"...Right."
Bruno drew a dagger from his coat and placed the sheath on the desk. The blade emerged with a shimmer; it was reflective as a mirror and clearly possessed a lethal edge. Without hesitation, he lightly sliced his thumb.
Drip, drip. The blood that flowed out vanished as if it were being absorbed by the paper. A red crest materialized on the document.
"Then, if you'll excuse me."
The man spoke as he also lightly sliced his right thumb with a knife, letting his blood drip down. In an instant, the document glowed faintly. The Synvoreo was complete.
"The contract is finalized. I shall now execute the request."
"...I'm counting on you."
Bruno bowed his head. He was the head of one of the Three Great Noble Families. While he often received bows, he rarely offered them himself. Ordinarily, his pride would never allow it. But now, he bowed without a trace of hesitation.
The young man gave a pleasant smile. It wasn't a look of mockery; it was the kind-looking smile of a polite professional.
"The matter regarding your daughter, Rebecca-sama, will proceed as planned."
"Yes. I have already informed my daughter and the other nobles."
"...This is merely a personal concern, but are you sure about this?"
"There was... no other way..."
A look of agony crossed Bruno's face. He clenched his fists, suppressing the aimless rage welling up inside him. It was too late for regrets. Bruno understood that better than anyone.
"Then I shall—ah, pardon me. My apologies."
"No, it doesn't matter. I understand your circumstances."
"Thank you. Well then, I shall take my leave."
"Yes."
Standing up, the man carefully placed the document into his bag. He rose smoothly, gave a bow, and left one final word.
"I will handle the work at my own discretion. Once again, I ask for your understanding. Please understand regarding your daughter as well."
"...I have no other choice."
"I like people who are understanding."
With another pleasant smile, the man waved off the maid's offer to escort him and departed the Bradley estate alone.
Smiling enigmatically, the lurking wills began to move—
◇
"You're back. How did it go?"
"The matter with House Bradley is moving forward."
"Then it's true?"
"Yes."
Loosening his tie, the man tossed it carelessly over a chair and shed his jacket. Once he was in his shirtsleeves, he sat down in front of another man. A bottle of wine was already on the desk; the man drained a glass without asking.
"When is Rebecca Bradley's engagement announcement?"
"Tomorrow."
"I see."
The man across from him was heavily muscled, with his black hair cut into a deep fade. One look was enough to be overwhelmed by his massive physique. He, too, continued to drink the wine he had prepared.
"But is it for real?"
"There is no mistake. Judging by the signs at the Magics Chevalier, Rebecca Bradley is a being capable of becoming a Vessel."
"It's hard to believe, though..."
"Well, just trust me on this. I won't let it be a loss for you."
"I don't like you, but I trust your track record. Well, I'll make sure to get my fill of profit."
"Please do."
The large man gave a wicked grin. The slender man watched him with a detached expression while sipping more wine. He felt the heat of the alcohol passing down his throat. He had a high tolerance—so much so that he never truly got drunk—but he liked the ritual. He could get intoxicated by the atmosphere alone.
"The problem, however, will be the intervention of other Sorcerers."
"...Can't Eugenics pull some strings?"
"Eugenics is not a monolith. There are constant factional struggles there, with people fighting over a handful of seats. This job is part of that. If I can win this—if I can truly get my hands on Rebecca Bradley—my goal will be achieved."
"I see... So, do you have a plan?"
"Of course. I am never sloppy. However, there are complications."
"What kind?"
He took a small, folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and tossed it onto the desk. It contained the profiles of three Sorcerers.
"The Sorcerer of Scorching Heat, the Illusion Sorcerer, and the Ice Sword Sorcerer. In this job, we will likely have to face these three."
"Hoh... The Seven Grand Sorcerers? Those are big names. It's well known that Scorching and Illusion are at Arnold Magic Academy, but didn't the Ice Sword retire?"
With eyes devoid of light, the agent continued as if staring into the void.
"Rumor has it that the title of Ice Sword has been passed down."
"Passed down? Is the title of the Seven Grand Sorcerers hereditary?"
"No. The Seven Grand Sorcerers are singularities among Sorcerers, chosen for their unique magic. Heredity is impossible. Even if it were their own child, there is no precedent."
"Then what does that mean?"
"We should consider it an exception. However, even we haven't grasped the precise details."
"An information blackout?"
"Likely, the Kingdom's intelligence agency is... intentionally doing something. They are quite skilled."
"Hoh... Now I'm starting to get motivated. So, can I kill them?"
"If you can kill them, go ahead. My goal is Rebecca Bradley. However, when facing the Seven Grand Sorcerers, you must remember they possess an 'Essence' in addition to their 'Attribute.'"
"Attribute? Essence?"
The large man wore a blank expression. Seeing this, the agent explained as if to a child.
"The names of the Seven Grand Sorcerers are merely 'Attributes'—symbols, essentially. They are just abstractions of whatever leaks out from their true 'Essence' that have become fixed as titles. If you face them, do not be distracted by their names alone. After all, even the Grim Reaper was defeated at the Magics Chevalier."
"The Grim Reaper?"
"Yes. Be especially careful of Scorching and the Ice Sword, who specialize in combat."
"The top two even among the Seven Grand Sorcerers, huh... Ah, I want to kill them soon..."
"The Ice Sword is particularly dangerous. You know of his exploits during the Far East Campaign, don't you?"
"Yeah, it's a famous story. The Ice Sword can change the tide of a massive conflict single-handedly. Even I know he's the world's greatest Sorcerer."
"But rumor has it the current Ice Sword has even surpassed the legendary Lydia Ainsworth."
"Hah? Are you serious?"
"It's only a rumor. But there is no doubt we cannot afford to be careless."
"Hahahaha! Isn't that great! The Seven Grand Sorcerers are the best! Ah... I want to fight them to the death already...!"
In his excitement, the large man crushed the glass in his hand. Shards spilled onto the floor. Normally, blood would be dripping from a man's palm, but his hand was uninjured. He gave it a light shake to brush off the debris.
At the same time, the slender man spoke.
"—Now, let the scramble begin."
Their designs began to gain momentum—