Chapter 153
“Hey, hey, is there a beggar living in your stomach or what?”
On one side of the garden, a whole pig was roasting to a golden brown. Romandro muttered in disbelief as he watched Beric devour the meat.
It was easy to understand what he meant by “possessed by a glutton.” Beric was clutching huge chunks of meat in both fists, shoving them into his mouth like a madman. He smiled happily and raised his glass.
“Another bottle!”
“Hey, cut it out! Do you have a beggar living inside you? You just walked a week’s journey in a few hours—don’t you have any shame?”
“Don’t you know that once the alcohol hits, it just keeps going?”
“You’re more likely to die from your belly bursting than from a sword wound. Good grief, I’m speechless. Really.”
Beric’s throat was clogged with meat, but Romandro was so dumbfounded he couldn’t speak either. Regardless, Beric, half out of his mind, kept tearing into the meat.
“Ian, feeding that guy is costing too much. The cost-effectiveness is terrible.”
“Still, hmm, I think we spent more earlier than what it takes to kill a whole pig. What was he thinking, saying all the slaves belong to Ian? Right? Wow, this meat is seriously delicious!”
Romandro’s face flushed bright red at Beric’s words. Yeah, he admitted it—he’d been so flustered and tense that he’d blurted out nonsense.
Putting aside the Astanians, they had to bring in slaves of unknown origin, which meant extra expenses were unavoidable. They’d assigned doctors to the dying, given clothes to the naked, and shared food with those on the brink of starvation.
“Do you even understand the hardships of a civil servant!?”
“Huh? What do I care? And what does that have to do with my slip of the tongue? Ian, I’m right, aren’t I?”
Romandro groaned, clutching the back of his neck and closing his eyes, when Ian gently tapped his shoulder.
“After some time outside, the kid’s gotten smarter.”
There was a smile in his voice. In other words, Ian agreed with Beric’s words. Romandro rubbed his forehead and apologized again.
“Sorry about that.”
“No worries. Thanks to you, the building was cleared out, so it’ll be easier for the guards to handle the aftermath. And Beric, just so you know, your one meal costs more than what was spent on the authors.”
“No way, that’s a lie!”
Beric said that while wolfing down a chunk of meat the size of his head. The plate was empty in an instant. Mini, flustered, flipped the firewood with a poker.
“Beric, please eat slowly! The Astanians have only just finished half a bowl!”
“My belly’s not even half full yet.”
The Astanians were chatting and eating with Hasha. Occasionally, laughter escaped, probably as they shared stories of home.
One of them caught Ian’s eye, nodded politely, and smiled shyly.
“Judging by how the Rugaspel guards are handling things, it won’t escalate into a major problem. After investigation, if any slaves were illegally taken, restore their identities and close the case.”
“Pakens, what about the authors?”
“Find out who the assisting necromancer is, then hand them over to the guards. Since they engaged in illegal slave activities, they should be punished according to the law.”
Pakens was confined in the mansion’s storage room. More precisely, he was unconscious and just holding his place.
Romandro, having heard Ian’s orders, nodded while taking a sip of his drink.
“Understood. I’ll take care of this. Ian, don’t worry—just focus on becoming the next Minister of Magic.”
Romandro set down his glass with a determined look, and Beric openly sneered, his laughter bright and carefree.
“Bet he’ll mess up again and bring back something weird?”
“You’d better shut up and eat, or this will be your last meal!”
“Ian’s the one feeding me, so why is he acting all proud? If no one’s home, I’ll raid the kitchen myself!”
“Do you think our Mini’s that easy to fool?!”
Their childish bickering flared up again. At first, the Astanians had been startled by the loud voices, but now they seemed used to it.
Hasha, who had been sitting, suddenly jumped down and ran over to Ian. A man staggered behind him.
—Ian!
“Hasha, is there not enough food?”
—No, we all have plenty. It’s not that. Do you remember that Astania has many shamans?
“Yes. You told me. Each sect worships different magic. You said that if I return, I might gain a new body with help from another sect. I remember that clearly.”
Hasha smacked the knees of the man trailing behind him with his tail. The man stuck out his tongue and opened his mouth wide.
A strange symbol was drawn right in the center. Beric and Romandro looked puzzled, but Ian understood its meaning.
—This man practices divination and says he has a message for Ian.
He was a kind of prophet. To predict fate was like trying to count waves in the sea—easily changed by a small breeze or the flick of a fish’s tail.
Ian noticed the man’s excited expression and gave permission.
“If it’s good, I’ll listen. If not, I’ll reject it.”
—Of course it’s good! If a benefactor’s fortune is bad, I’d rather cut out my tongue and seal it forever!
With Ian’s approval, the man spoke in an unknown Astanian language, foretelling the future. His prophecy was conveyed through Hasha’s voice in Bariel.
—Though you stagger and lose your way, turning this way and that, there is ultimately only one path. Even if the path seems changed, from the heavens all is connected. In the end, you will return to that place. Just as you wish.
“How’s that? Good, right?” Hasha laughed breathlessly, but Ian couldn’t help but wear a strange expression. For some reason, that path felt like “history” itself.
Though much had already changed, after a hundred years, everything seemed destined to return to its fate, recreating the world Ian knew.
“What is that? Not a prophecy, but a riddle.”
—Prophecies are always open to interpretation.
Hasha replied to Beric. The prophet bowed and returned to his place, and Ian quietly sipped his wine. Lady Vivianna, replacing his drink with water, looked worried.
“Ian, didn’t you say you had to enter the palace early at dawn? Dear, you should stop drinking. It’ll make it harder to get up.”
Romandro reluctantly put down his glass at Vivianna’s concern. She smiled and added,
“And Ian, I heard you’re running for the next Minister of Magic. Your current clothes are stylish and sharp, but they don’t quite suit a department head.”
“Madam, I was just about to ask for your help with that.”
Because of the New Year’s gathering, the clothes Ian had tailored were youthful and trendy. They weren’t quite appropriate for a public office.
“So, I’ve prepared something new. Wear it when you enter the palace tomorrow.”
“Since Romandro trusts and relies on you, I feel reassured as well. Thank you, madam.”
Ian kissed the back of her hand in thanks. Romandro smiled shyly, as if he’d been complimented. Meanwhile, Beric raised his empty plate again and shouted,
“One more plate!”
The next day, at the hour of the dawn moon.
Ian had barely slept a few hours before heading straight to the Ministry of Magic. Given the emergency, signs of overnight work were clear throughout the building.
Romandro’s administrative office was probably the same. As Ian entered the lobby, some mages walking by recognized him.
“Ian, did you get any special messages from the palace?”
“No. If there were, they would have summoned us magically. Is there a problem?”
“We found out while investigating forbidden magic materials. Anything over 300 years old was handed over to the administration. Wesley said it’s probably because the Ministry wasn’t established back then, and they need a cooperation letter.”
“Do all the captains need cooperation letters?”
“Yes. And it’d be good if you have one too, since you attended the palace meeting.”
“Understood. I’ll write one right away.”
With that, Ian pushed open the department door. Inside, mages were packed into chairs. This was the Office of Magic Operations, but why were they all here?
“What are you all doing here?”
“Oh! Ian, uh, you’re here.”
The first to stand was Akorella. She wiped the drool from her mouth and checked the clock. Three in the morning. Too early to come to work, too late to leave. She pressed her brows together, trying to shake off her fatigue.
“Let me introduce you. These are the heads of the Potion Research Department, Language Magic Research Department, and Magic Tool Production Department. Haam.”
At Akorella’s words, the others stood. Ian recognized their faces from passing by earlier. The Magic Operations staff were all sleeping together in the back on-duty room.
“Allow me to formally introduce myself. I’m Ian.”
“Ah, yes. We know you. No need for formalities.”
“We all know each other’s faces, right?”
“We’re close, so get along well.”
“We’re quite close,” she said, meaning that Acorella had personally recruited them to back Ian. You could say they were regular customers when it came to potion sales. Ian shook hands with them and took off his coat.
“If you’re that close with Acorella, then I suppose that makes us close as well,” Ian said.
“Ha ha, exactly. First, the Potion Research Department—they’re here solely focused on commercializing the Sil-dam potion, no questions asked. Then there’s the Magic Tool Production Department, which is interested in securing a large supply of Luron stones. And finally, the Language Research Department. They have a tiny budget because they study language, so they don’t require much funding. The next minister really hopes that part will be taken into consideration, or so I’ve heard.”
Each of the three departments had clear expectations of Ian. He nodded as if to say, “Just trust me.” Acorella began writing the names of the departments on the blackboard.
Scratch, scratch.
“And what about Captain Jean?”
“Yes, the head of the Magic Research Department.”
“I didn’t expect it, but he’s surprisingly popular. He merged with another department that had registered a candidate. I’m not sure how he managed to pull that off, but if we only count departments with a clear stance, we’re a bit short in numbers.”
Ian wholeheartedly agreed with Acorella’s assessment. Jean hadn’t left much of an impression on him either, so he propped his chin on his hand and nodded.
“What about the other departments that haven’t decided on a stance yet?”
“There are quite a few. Some don’t care who wins, some are too busy with investigations, and others insist on confirming magical power before making a decision!”
Acorella pounded the blackboard as she spoke, causing Tommy, who had been napping in the duty room, to jump up rubbing his eyes. But realizing it was nothing serious, he flopped back down.
Ian scanned the list of departments and fixed his gaze on the last one.
“What do you think will happen with this one?”
The Magic Support Department. It was directly under Minister Wesley and currently ignored by both the Magic Ministry and the royal court.
Acorella scratched her philtrum thoughtfully before answering.
“They’re probably going to abstain. They haven’t even shown up. They know how to sit this one out.”
Ian tapped his fingers as he counted the number of mages in the Magic Support Department. Other departments aside, didn’t they have the largest headcount?
“Does anyone have contact info for the head of the Magic Support Department?”
After a moment’s thought, Ian asked gracefully. Without realizing it, all the department heads raised their hands. Ian smiled with satisfaction and gave his order.
“Summon them. Here. Now.”
“Summon them? Do you really think they’ll come?” the head of the Language Research Department asked.
Ian answered without hesitation.
“If they don’t, it’ll only hurt them. I’m sure they can do the math. Go ahead and summon them. I expect them here within thirty minutes.”