Chapter 43 _ An Invitation from the Sleepless City, and the Memory That Froze the Room
Three days had already passed since we arrived in Irrablatis.
Cold rain swept down from the Northern Ridges, soaking the city and turning the roads into mud.
Following Roger’s judgment—
“Beyond this point, supplies become scarce. We prepare thoroughly here”—
we took a brief but necessary rest.
With the glow and clamor of the casinos at our backs,
we wandered through the market, carefully examining the goods on display.
“Oh! Roger, what about that silver rapier?” I said.
“I think it would suit Iris perfectly.”
“It’s not a bad blade,” Roger replied, arms crossed.
“But it’s too early to decide.
Besides… she still has a promise to her mother, doesn’t she?”
His words made me freeze.
“Ah… right.
Sorry, Iris.”
“It’s okay,” Iris said with a small smile.
“…I still want to become a mage.
That hasn’t changed.”
Her gentle smile didn’t ease the unease in my chest.
The God Wolf’s words echoed in my mind—
‘A talent that will bloom at the proper time.’
“Hey, Frey,” I asked quietly.
“Is it possible to be both a mage and a swordsman?
You know… a spellblade?”
“Hm? A spellblade,” Frey mused.
“They did exist in ancient times, but now they are nearly extinct—
an advanced path few can walk.”
She continued, lecturing with her usual confidence.
“Mana, the source of magic,
and aura—martial spirit—are like water and oil.
As aura strengthens, it disrupts the delicate circulation of mana.
Normally.”
Her gaze briefly settled on Iris’s slender fingers.
“…However,” Frey said slowly,
“what I saw in Iris the other day went beyond simple reflex.
She may possess the rare aptitude to synchronize mana and aura.
The path of the spellblade… might be open to this child.”
“Iris, that’s amazing!” I said.
“Eh?
But… that’s a lot to take in all at once…”
Seeing her flustered, I spoke gently.
“You don’t have to rush.
For now, think of it as learning self-defense from Roger and Hans.
We’ll take it one step at a time.”
As we continued our walk,
a well-dressed man appeared behind us without a sound.
“Excuse me…
Might you be the party of Sword Saint Wilfred?”
Roger immediately stepped in front of me, shielding me with his broad frame.
His eyes were sharp—like a hawk locking onto prey.
“If I were Wilfred,” he said coldly,
“you’d start by giving your name.”
“My apologies,” the man said, bowing deeply.
“I am a servant of Lord Adnan, who operates a casino in this city.”
He lowered his head once more.
“My master insists on meeting you, Sword Saint.
Would you kindly visit his estate?”
Roger glanced back at me.
“Mario.
This is your call.
You’re the leader of this party.”
My heart jumped at the sudden responsibility.
(It could be a trap…)
(But Roger is here. Frey too. Hans—and Iris, who is awakening.)
(Turning him down outright would only draw attention.)
“…All right,” I said at last.
“But we’ll go on foot, not by carriage.
If anything feels off, we leave immediately.
Agreed?”
“…Understood,” the servant replied after a pause.
“A wise decision.
Please, follow me.”
Leaving behind the city’s noise,
we climbed toward a wealthy residential district on a low hill.
There, separated from the frenzy below,
stood silent, arrogant affluence.
Among them rose an enormous white mansion.
Inside the guest room,
a portly man sat heavily on a crimson sofa.
“Oh! I’ve been expecting you,” he said with a broad grin.
“…Please, Mario-dono. Wilfred-dono. Have a seat.”
“Enough pleasantries.
State your business,” Roger said flatly.
Adnan’s lips curled into a fearless smile.
“Very well.
To be direct—
I want you to retrieve a treasure from the Morne Cave, east of this city.”
At that name,
the air in the room froze.
Roger’s shoulder trembled—
just slightly, yet unmistakably.
Hans went pale, gripping the armrest so tightly her fingers turned white.
(Morne Cave…?
I heard it was a beginner’s training ground…
So why this reaction…?)
“…What about the cave?” I asked, forcing my voice to stay calm.
“According to legend,” Adnan continued,
“the deepest chamber holds the sacred sword of Irrablatis,
the legendary Sword Saint from whom this city takes its name.”
“I’m a collector of weapons, you see.
I would dearly love for the current greatest Sword Saint
to retrieve it for me.”
“Payment is no issue.
Up to one million Fanan, in cash.”
“…Let us consider it,” I said quickly, protecting my shaken companions.
“And if we decide to keep the sword for ourselves?”
“I have no objections,” Adnan replied smoothly.
“A legendary blade at Wilfred’s waist
would itself prove the worth of my request.”
He rose leisurely.
“I’ve prepared rooms and dinner.
Take your time to discuss.”
After Adnan left,
a painful silence settled over the lavish room.
Only the sound of rain striking the windows echoed ominously.
“Roger… Hans…” I said quietly.
But neither of them could answer yet.
