Chapter 5 — An Afternoon Confrontation, an Evening Lecture, and a Night’s Relaxation

Zenjirou did his best to only attend formal events, but doing so gave rise to unavoidable obligations.

Today he found himself forced into a buffet luncheon in the palace.

“Oh my, so you have created an entirely new alcoholic drink, Sir Zenjirou. That’s absolutely wonderful.”

Standing in front of him and praising him effusively with her hands clasped in front of her chest was a tall woman worthy of the moniker “supermodel,” Fatima Guillén.

“Not at all,” Zenjirou answered as unaffectedly as possible without causing offense. “It’s a mere hobby; nothing worthy of such praise.”

He tried to end the conversation there, but—not surprisingly for the hungry wolf’s sister—her forcefulness and strength of character were much the same as her brother’s.

“My, how humble. Alcohol is often equated with culture, so a new drink is wonderful. It could well be a significant cultural and economic benefit to our country,” she insisted, her cloying praise giving him no respite.

“Ha ha, you shouldn’t flatter me so. I dread to think what such honeyed words from a woman of your beauty might do to my ego.”

In the end, he could only defend himself with platitudes and a forced smile. This is a pain, he thought as he broke into a cold sweat.

Informal events meant that manners and etiquette were not exactly required. While that offered the advantage of his own minor mistakes (often due to the hastiness of his preparations) being overlooked, it also made these overbearing approaches from others more socially acceptable. He felt it had been a mistake to attend and regretted the folly of his decision too late.

He had, in fact, looked over the list of attendees beforehand and had decided there wasn’t anyone who would curry favor so aggressively, but the downsides of such a gathering were showing all too clearly now. In the end, Fatima Guillén, a younger sister of one of those ambitious nobles, had decided to attend at the last minute and thus had free rein when it came to her interaction with him.

Still, I’m impressed she can pursue someone she doesn’t even like this aggressively. I really can’t follow a noble’s perspective, Zenjirou thought as he watched the taller woman continue to speak passionately.

Truthfully, of the people he had met in this world, she was far and away the worst at controlling her expressions. That was hardly unreasonable, considering she was only seventeen, but from Zenjirou’s perspective, she just couldn’t keep a poker face.

That was particularly noticeable from the strong will in her dark almond eyes. However much she praised him, or however charming her smile, the look in those eyes was one of a predator ready to pounce. She was attempting to gain his favor on her brother’s orders. She wanted honor for the Guillén family but saw no value in creating a happy household with Zenjirou. At the very least, that was all he could see of her motivations.

However beautiful she was, taking a woman like her as a concubine would be no laughing matter. He felt a little immature thinking that about a girl who was seven years younger, but that was his instinctive reaction.

Fatima seemed to sense his thoughts and hurriedly strengthened her offensive, making him recoil even more. It was a vicious cycle.

“I don’t personally have the palate for alcohol, but there have been many in the Guillén family over the generations who have. The current head, my brother, often discusses it in the evenings.”

“Oh, many people don’t match their appearance, but it would seem the general is an exception. No matter what I hear, the anecdotes always have the luxury of befitting his looks,” Zenjirou replied, apparently impressed, after deciding that being too blunt wasn’t the right approach.

Fatima’s expression brightened. “Quite true. When he was eighteen, he had a drinking competition with our uncle, Lord Emidio. Our uncle was known for being a heavy drinker, and my brother drank him under the table, even winning our uncle’s jeweled spear from their bet. Ever since then, our uncle has refused alcohol completely, and his wife, Lady Deborah, was very grateful.”

As ever, the girl couldn’t stop herself from lauding her brother’s deeds. General Pujol had been one of the other candidates for prince consort, so Zenjirou wasn’t particularly well-disposed towards him, and having him praised so highly wasn’t all that pleasant.

Oh? If he’s that good with alcohol, how about I brew up some eighty-proof and have him chug it in one go?

That and other such spiteful thoughts passed through his mind. Getting a man like Pujol—who practically wore confidence and an air of intimidation much the same way he wore his clothes—blind drunk would have been quite enjoyable.

Ignorant of the pettiness of the thoughts of the man before her, Fatima continued, now with passion as she gushed about her beloved brother. “Also, songs are sung about his successes during the war. If you like, you could invite a minstrel and listen to them. Any of the minstrels associated with the palace should be able to sing them.”

All Zenjirou could manage in the face of this beauty extolling her brother’s virtues was a sardonic smile. “Lady Fatima, I can see that you respect your brother deeply.”

The warm words, much the same as one would direct to a child in one’s charge, made her realize that she had completely digressed. Although it was rather late at this point, her cheeks flushed red.

“Ah, m-my apologies. I lost my composure...”

Her embarrassment as she bowed her head in apology was far more charming than her flattering smile had been. Regardless, the lack of such charm during the effusion of praise for her brother still grated.

“There is nothing to apologize for. General Pujol is a leader of leaders in military circles, so such anecdotes are worth hearing, to say nothing of my own interest.”

“My thanks, Sir Zenjirou,” the tall woman answered his supportive reply, folding in on herself slightly as she did.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆

After somehow making it through the horrendously tiring buffet, Zenjirou returned to the inner palace but, unfortunately, he couldn’t yet relax for the day.

“Sir Zenjirou,” a maid called through the door, “Lady Octavia has arrived.”

“Okay, I’ll head right over.”

He had magic lessons with Lady Octavia scheduled for that afternoon. The room had, over the course of the year, become their classroom. Soon, the two of them were seated on either side of a table, as usual, quietly going about their lesson.

“Please try using magic, Sir Zenjirou.”

“Very well,” he answered, slowly taking a deep breath as he remained seated and followed his teacher’s instructions.

Now that he could perceive mana, he was able to see the flickering glow being given off by his own. Keeping the glow from his folded hands on top of the desk in the corner of his eye, he fixed a clear mental image of the results of the spell in his mind and then spoke the incantation.

“With my fingertip as the center, demarcate a sphere of space away from the world. As compensation, I present 359 offerings of mana to the spirits of time and space.”

He had chanted in the language of magic. The language itself could pack volumes of meaning into a single syllable, so while the chant was only a few words long, what he heard from the Soul of Language became a chant of greater length.

A moment later, the spell was enacted successfully. A translucent dome of light burst into life, centering on Zenjirou—or more precisely, his vertical right index finger.

It was one of the spells of Capua’s domain of Space-Time Magic: a dimensional barrier. It was a spell that created a powerful “wall,” cutting off space itself to prevent any interaction between the two sides. However, the spell remained effective for less than thirty seconds, so it was one with no real utility.

“Yes!”

Yet Zenjirou had successfully cast magic, so he couldn’t hold in his shout of joy.

“Wonderful, Sir Zenjirou. You can now use dimensional barriers without any significant problems.”

“I suppose. This spell is the easiest for me from a mana perspective.” He wasn’t entirely used to receiving blunt praise, so he protested reflexively as he happily scratched his cheek.

Spells in this world that required mana close to a person’s natural mana flow were simple. In truth, he was still incapable of one of the indispensable skills for a mage: controlling his mana output. However, in response to his words and shrug, his graceful teacher smiled and spoke in a much more teasing tone than usual.

“Not at all; you have already succeeded at a base level of controlling your mana flow. Have you not noticed? A person’s mana does not remain constant each day. Depending on one’s condition and feelings on any given day, there are slight fluctuations. The mana you used for your barrier today was slightly more than was required.”

Zenjirou was momentarily lost for words, her statement contradicting his expectations. “In that case, why did it work?” he asked.

Octavia, having instructed him on the social mores and graces of this world, was deeply satisfied to see that even in his shock, he had worded his question as a royal should.

“It is as I said,” she explained. “It is only a slight amount, but you controlled it subconsciously and corrected it yourself. Why not try again? This time without moving your attention from the mana leaving your body.”

The short-lived barrier had long since faded.

“Right...” he said, still not quite believing it as he followed his teacher’s instructions and cast again. “With my fingertip as the center, demarcate a sphere of space away from the world. As compensation, I present 359 offerings of mana to the spirits of time and space.”

This time, however, he focused on the mana as it left his body. And while doing so, he saw the light of it floating off his entwined hands lessen slightly, then an instant later, the spherical dome of light appeared.

“I see...so this is me moderating the mana flow?”

“It is, only slightly, but once you have the technique ingrained, you should be able to control it freely. That is the second step of becoming a mage. Once you can sense mana and control its flow, the rest is about learning individual spells. This is the greatest turning point for the moment.”

“I understand. Continue your instruction.”

Octavia bowed respectfully in response to his command. He had only recently been able to speak in the imperative like that.

“Very well. I would be beyond honored if I am able to help you in my own humble way.”

Her behavior was without a single breach of etiquette, and her words were only describable as gracious. Excessive perfection in behavior could make someone come across as cold and distant, but it felt like more of a virtue coming from her. A simple smile engendered a sense of warmth for the young woman.

“So, let us begin training your control. This is the method. Can you see? You increase and decrease the amount of mana like this.” As she spoke, the mana coming from her body dimmed and brightened in accordance with her will. “You make an attempt now, please.”

“R-Right... M-mghhh!”

Zenjirou tried to do the same thing he had done earlier and control his mana flow, but the result wasn’t particularly noteworthy. Not that there was no result at all, but it was at a level where if one looked closely enough, the change was just about visible but could perhaps be dismissed as a trick of the light. It was absolutely feeble compared to Octavia’s display of going from nothing to multiple times her usual amount. However, the young instructor praised her student’s struggle regardless.

“Just like that. In much the same way as they call sensing mana ‘opening your eyes,’ controlling your mana is spoken of as ‘learning to move another body,’” she explained. “So unlike with the former, where after attaining the ability, you are done, the true difficulty of mana control begins after actually gaining some ability in it. You are controlling a whole body that you have never moved in your life. If I may say, it is rather like a child learning to walk. A baby must first learn to roll over, then crawl, and then walk with help. It takes a long time to do the same with your ‘body’ of mana.”

There were no shortcuts on this path. Rather, it required an accumulation of steady effort. And much like moving a physical body, part of the learning process was predicated on natural talent. People without that talent, even with training, would not be able to push out more or less than a certain amount of mana and would be unable to make fine adjustments.

“Grgh!”

Therefore, there was a relatively high probability that his training could all come to nothing. Even so, Zenjirou had no intention of foregoing the effort despite his awareness of that possibility.

If I don’t learn this, I won’t be able to cast teleportation magic, he reminded himself. He shied away from imagining what would happen if he couldn’t learn the spell before Aura’s next birth; how he would once more be able to do nothing but pray to the heavens.

“Mrgh... grrk...”

This is for Aura! he thought, throwing himself into it with all his strength, oblivious to the soft look in Octavia’s eyes as she watched him.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆

Zenjirou had spent his half-day relatively busy considering the sweltering heat, what with the afternoon buffet and his evening lesson, so when Aura returned, he was wearing a T-shirt and pants as he lounged on the black sofa watching a DVD.

“I am back, Zenjirou.”

He reflexively used the remote to pause the TV and sat up to look in the direction of her voice. There, he found his wife in an outfit he had never seen.

“Welcome back. What’s up with the clothes? I’m pretty sure you were wearing your normal dress when you left.”

When he had seen her off this morning, she had been clad in her usual evening dress in a bright red, with the slit across the chest, but now she was wearing a set of the sari-like clothing that Octavia wore. However, unlike Octavia, who tended to prefer her clothes to have a blue-based color scheme, Aura’s attire was red.

Her mood seemed to improve at his reaction, and a smile made its way across her lips. “Hmhmm, did it surprise you? There was a traditional event that required my attendance this afternoon. Normally, our country considers dresses to be sufficient formal wear, but there are several functions that require more traditional attire.”

She spread her arms and threw her chest out, allowing her uncharacteristic outfit to be seen in full by her husband.

Zenjirou wasn’t so dense as to miss the implied question of whether it suited her. But lacking a silver tongue, all he could do was honestly give his opinion without succumbing to embarrassment.

“Huh, I haven’t seen you in that before, but it looks really good on you. Your dress suits you too, but it’s good to see you in something different.”

Fortunately, his clumsy praise seemed to have landed well.

“I see. It is more restrictive than a military uniform or a dress, so I usually wear those, but if you feel that way, I will perhaps wear this from time to time.”

Even now, her bright smile fascinated him. Zenjirou hadn’t realized it, but despite her queenly first impression, Aura had a certain naivete when it came to the intricacies of a relationship. Normally, as soon as she returned, she would shuck her formal wear and change into something more comfortable. Today, for some reason, she kept her red sari on as she sat next to him on the sofa.

Zenjirou’s arm snaked naturally around her, and she followed the movement, resting her head on his shoulder with a soft sigh. The night was still hot despite the usual fan and bucket of water, but they enjoyed leaning against each other like this nonetheless.

That said, the power of love had its limits. Either they had finished enjoying the feel of each other or they could no longer stand the heat, and they eventually separated.

“You were watching a dee-vee-dee, no? Do you not wish to continue?” Aura asked, remembering what she had walked in on now that they had parted.

Zenjirou shook his head. “Nah, I was just killing time until you got back. I’ll watch the rest on my own tomorrow.”

“Hmm, I see.”

She understood that he was merely being considerate but decided to accept it. If it was a game or music, they would both have been able to appreciate it, but that wasn’t the case for a DVD. After all, the Soul of Language had no effect on recordings. There were very few shows that one could enjoy without understanding the words. Sports like soccer or baseball matches and game shows were mostly self-explanatory, but without the fondness for the teams of his world, they weren’t particularly engaging.

If I’d known about this, I’d have bought some silent films like Chaplin’s, Zenjirou thought mournfully.

Either way, Aura changed the topic and moved on to another one of their customs: asking him questions. “So, how was your day? Was there anything novel?”

“Hmm? Well, nothing much at the buffet, I guess? Guillén’s sister, Fatima, came in and upset things a bit.”

The name of that woman, now that she was pursuing her husband more aggressively, made Aura’s expression harden.

“Fatima? Did she get any commitments out of you?”

“It’s okay. I managed. Well, partway through the conversation, her obsession with her brother flared up. We were talking about the alcohol I distilled, though; is that a problem?” he asked, with a slightly chagrined expression.

The queen considered it for a moment. “No...that should not be an issue. We had intended to make it available at an event at some point regardless.”

“Phew, that’s a relief.”

Even so, she didn’t forget to offer a warning. “However, take care when it comes to mentioning such things. While distillation and soap should not be a problem, I would like to keep glassmaking a royal secret.”

If he were to speak of things that could profit the country so openly, the factions against the queen could set Zenjirou up as a puppet. He was well aware of the risks.

“Right, sorry, it was a bit rash,” he said meekly. He had been growing complacent, and such lapses in judgment had become more frequent of late.

“Well, it was nothing serious this time; you simply need to take more care in the future. So, did anything else transpire?”

Zenjirou rather gratefully took the blatant chivvying along of the conversation, and he answered, “I made some decent progress with Octavia. I can cast a dimensional barrier nine times out of ten now, and I can control my mana flow at least a little. See?”

Putting actions to words, the mana flowing from his body strengthened and then weakened slightly.

“Oh! You have progressed significantly in such a short time. Impressive. When I learned from the old man, it took over two years before I could control my mana consciously to some extent,” she said with praise.

However, Zenjirou was aware of the truth and could only smile despite himself as he countered, “But you were seven then, right? I’m already a grown-up, so I’ve got the understanding and willpower that comes with age. ’Course I’d learn quicker.”

If it took him the same amount of time to learn something in his twenties that it had taken a seven-year-old Aura to achieve, he would be a little depressed. He had a firm goal—a goal to be able to cast teleportation magic by the time his wife had her second child. To reach that objective, he would put in all possible effort.

“It’ll be okay. I’ll do my best.”

“Hmm, try not to go too far,” she warned him lightly as his determination renewed itself, feeling fairly worried. Good grief, if I leave him be, he will exhaust himself with “self-study.” He is always so quick to exert himself.

That was one of the reasons she asked for an overview each day and sometimes had to tell him to rest.

Honestly, he is far more work than a dullard would be.

Despite her mental criticisms, her gaze as she looked at him was as soft as ever.