Chapter 93 – The Ice Duke’s Mindset (4)

During Esther’s childhood, the continent was ravaged by war. Formal academies were a luxury reserved for times of peace. Instead, children of influential noble families received their rudimentary magical training through connections forged with the various magic towers scattered across the land.

Esther’s training had taken place within the hallowed halls of Dubhe Tower.

Among her cohort of aspiring mages, none could match her innate talent, her relentless drive for perfection.

***

“Rochear’s Unique Magic is rooted in elemental manipulation. Ice, after all, is but a transformation of water, and water magic, like Water Ball, draws its power from the heavens, one of the Three Originals.”

Even after she’d fled the tower, the news of her father’s death a chilling weight in her heart, the lessons continued. The battlefield, a gruesome tapestry of corpses, maggots, and restless undead, became her new classroom.

Magic wasn’t learned through rote memorization. It was forged in the crucible of experience, honed through relentless practice, ignited by a spark of…enlightenment.

Esther’s spear work transformed, evolving from the clumsy flailing of a novice to the precise, deadly dance of a master. Her strikes were swift, accurate, imbued with an almost mystical force, a stark contrast to the awkward swings of the boy soldiers, their ill-fitting helmets offering little protection against her icy wrath.

By the time the Demon King fell, his head severed by a triumphant warrior, Esther had already ascended. The heir to Rochear’s Unique Magic, the Ice Duke, a warrior forged in the fires of war.

***

“But our magic isn’t simply ice manipulation. It transcends the conventional elements, drawing its power from the Tree of Sephiroth, the very heart of humanity.”

The tree symbolized mankind.

Sephiroth magic wasn’t about complex formulas or intricate spell structures. It was about spiritual transcendence, a connection to something…more. While magic circles provided a framework, the true power came from within, a spark of enlightenment, a blossoming of understanding.

Some likened it to the delicate sprouts and vibrant flowers that adorned the branches of a tree.

“Unlike other mages, we have no heart. There are no metaphorical sprouts to nurture, no emotions to fuel our power. So, what is the source of Rochear’s Unique Magic? An unyielding conviction.”

“Conviction…?”

“Indeed. A singular, unwavering purpose, a burning ambition, a mission that cannot be extinguished, not even by the agony of having your heart ripped from your chest.”

The eradication of demons. That was the driving force, the unshakeable foundation of Rochear’s Unique Magic.

Esther gracefully twirled her spear, planting it firmly in the ground. She’d imparted the essential wisdom, the core principle. Surely, Adela would understand.

“Do you comprehend?”

“Um…”

“A question, perhaps?”

Like countless others before her, the professors, the friends, all those who’d attempted to…guide…Adela, Esther had assumed her explanation was sufficient.

“What exactly are the Three Originals?”

***

“Preposterous! To waste my time with such…pedestrian inquiries! Does the Rochear name hold no weight? Am I to be treated with such disrespect?!”

Darling’s voice, laced with indignation, echoed through the Ruhillen estate as I arrived to meet with Bill. Apparently, my timing was…less than ideal.

Bill, his face a mask of apologetic helplessness, excused himself and hurried off to placate the irate Viscountess.

“Should we return the ambergris, my Lord?”

“Certainly not. While individuals may be guilty of transgressions, objects are not. Besides, it’s already here. What else am I to do with a giant lump of whale vomit?”

“And what of Rochear’s…demands?”

“Inform them that their presence in Farencia is…tolerated. However, there will be no formal receptions, no acknowledgment of their…noble status.”

“What message shall I convey, my Lord?”

“Tell them I’m busy!”

She certainly seemed to be.

Dressed in a crimson, L’anglaise-style outfit, white gloves peeking from beneath her sleeve, she appeared poised for an imminent departure.

“Store owner?”

“Viscountess. A pleasure.”

I rose and offered a polite bow. She paused, her trajectory shifting, and settled onto a nearby settee. She rang a small bell on the table beside her, summoning a servant.

“You’ve arrived at an opportune moment. Two o’clock is the ideal time for tea, meteorologically speaking.”

“I thought you were busy.”

“I was scheduled to attend a meeting of the Rye and Iron Merchants’ Union, but it’s been…postponed.”

The Rye and Iron wasn’t a local guild. It was a powerful consortium of merchants, their influence spanning the central and southern regions of the kingdom. Her elegant attire suddenly made sense.

“I’m only here for a moment, so stop making excuses and go.”

“It’s not an excuse. As chairwoman, my absence necessitates the postponement of the meeting.”

“…”

“So, what pressing matter requires my attention?”

I decided to get straight to the point. I produced the teddy bear, the suspected Demonic Idol.

I’d initially planned to entrust it to Bill, but since the investigation would likely involve Darling’s trade network, it was best to involve her directly.

“This was recovered from the western forest.”

“A gift? How…thoughtful. I shall cherish it always…”

Crackle!

“Ah. Not a gift.”

As she took the doll, the protective amulet she wore, an artifact designed to nullify curses, activated, a faint scorch mark appearing on its surface. Darling, lacking exceptional magical talent, relied on such safeguards.

“The western forest?”

“Yes. It appears to be an ordinary doll, but it’s a Demonic Idol.”

“A Demonic Idol…”

“There must be a manufacturer, a designer, someone behind this…brand.”

She understood, her sharp mind grasping the implications without further explanation.

Darling retrieved her hat and placed it on her head. She sighed as the servant arrived with her tea, then stood.

“Store owner, I have a pressing engagement.”

“The Rye and Iron Merchants’ Union?”

“Indeed. With merchants gathered from across the continent, it’s the ideal opportunity to…make inquiries.”

The western forest. Demonic Idols. These were sensitive topics, triggers that ignited her protective instincts.

She would investigate thoroughly.

Darling, who usually delighted in disrupting the peaceful monotony of the store, possessed a certain…allure…when she adopted this serious demeanor.

Though, seated on the settee, she was barely taller than me, which somewhat diminished the effect.

“Are you entertaining…inappropriate thoughts?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Not at all.”

Still, holding a doll in one hand like that…she looked remarkably…

“Store owner?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

***

Liv sat alone in the library, the vast space echoing with the silence of summer break. Most students had returned home, leaving the usually bustling rows of tables and stacks of books deserted.

It was the ideal environment for study, yet her desk remained empty, save for her father’s cane, a worn, wooden staff that she absently rolled between her fingers.

Memories of Baldur’s Nightmare, the unsettling blend of reality and illusion, continued to haunt her.

Sigh.

The Great War had irrevocably altered her.

The immense power of her Unique Magic had come at a cost, a heavy burden of responsibility, a constant vigilance against the seductive allure of its power.

Reuniting with her father had brought a measure of peace, but it had also left her adrift, her previous goals, her relentless pursuit of the truth, now seeming…meaningless.

And the countless deaths she’d witnessed, the horrors she’d endured, had sharpened her edges, leaving her… brittle.

She hadn’t yet realized that her current state mirrored Louis’s post-war struggles.

“Ow! Unni! That hurts! Let go of my hair!”

“Read your books, you imbecile! What have you learned in your six months at the academy?!”

“I’m reading! I’m reading! Just let go!”

The familiar voices jolted Liv from her reverie. A commotion near the entrance of the library.

The few remaining students murmured, their heads turning towards the source of the disturbance.

“Is that…the Ice Duke?”

“No way! Is she here to…inspect the students? A representative from the Rochear family?”

“See! I told you we should have stayed and studied during the break!”

The library erupted in a flurry of whispers, the students’ excitement palpable.

Even a visit from a senior mage from a mid-tier tower was a noteworthy event. The Ice Duke’s appearance in Farencia was practically a miracle.

Beep!

“I-I apologize, Lady Esther!”

The librarian, his face pale, stood trembling before the imposing figure of the Ice Duke, who stood clutching her younger sister, Adela, by the hair, her expression a mask of icy disapproval.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Esther demanded, her voice cold and sharp.

“W-well…the freshman…she hasn’t obtained an access card yet.”

“Access card?”

“Yes. All students must present their identification upon their first visit to the library. If you’ll just wait a moment…”

Esther’s head swivelled, her movements stiff and mechanical, her gaze settling on Adela, who offered a disarmingly sweet smile.

“You’ve…never…been inside the library?”

“Hehe…it looks nice in here…”

A moment later…

“Owwww! That hurts! Unni! Stop ittttt!”

Adela’s wails echoed through the library, the sound amplified by the high ceilings and vast, empty space.

***

The library buzzed with excitement, the Ice Duke’s presence creating a ripple effect. Even the librarian, normally a stickler for silence, eagerly sought an autograph, a pearl of wisdom from the renowned mage.

Liv, however, remained at a distance, observing Adela, who now sat sniffling, her head buried in a book, feigning studiousness.

While she longed to speak with Esther, approaching the Duke after witnessing such a…vigorous display of familial discipline seemed…ill-advised.

Esther, after issuing a stern warning to the students to maintain decorum and informing them of her intention to frequent the library during the break, dismissed them with a wave of her hand. The students dispersed, casting longing glances at the impressive collection of tomes, hoping to catch the Duke’s attention with their newfound…scholarly pursuits.

Sniffle. Sob.

The library settled into an uneasy quiet, punctuated only by Adela’s occasional sniffles.

Liv sat at an empty table, her father’s cane resting across her lap, her gaze fixed on the worn wooden staff, lost in thought.

“Intriguing magic,” a voice said from above.

“Huh?”

Liv looked up, startled. Esther Rochear, the Ice Duke, stood before her, her expression unreadable.

“M-magic?”

Liv hadn’t even opened a spellbook.

“Indeed. That.” Esther’s slender finger pointed at the cane resting in Liv’s lap.

“Image magic, perhaps? Manifesting a tangible illusion is…relatively straightforward. Maintaining it, however…that requires considerable skill.”

“Oh, this…this isn’t mine,” Liv explained. “It belonged to my father.”

“If it holds such significance, then it is yours. Why else would you cherish half of an ordinary wooden staff?”

Esther’s unwavering conviction was…disconcerting. Liv found herself nodding in agreement.

Esther settled into the chair opposite Liv, her gaze piercing.

“You have questions.” It wasn’t a question.

“I…do?”

“Indeed. I’ve seen that look before. Many times.”

The look of a green recruit, fresh on the battlefield, clutching their weapon, their fear masked by a facade of bravado, too terrified to voice their doubts to their commanding officer.

Esther’s years of command, her experience forged in the crucible of war, had honed her instincts. She recognized the signs.

Perhaps it was Esther’s unexpected…approachability…that emboldened Liv. She hesitantly recounted her recent experience in the dungeon, carefully omitting the more…personal details, replacing them with a sanitized version involving monsters and a near-death experience.

“So…this happened…”

Esther listened intently, her gaze unwavering, as Liv recounted her ordeal.

The fear of death, the horrors of war…how they could twist and reshape a person, leaving them…broken.

And how one could possibly…recover.

As Liv finished, a mixture of relief and lingering apprehension clouding her features, Esther offered a blunt assessment.

“You can’t go back.”

“What?”

“Even if you erase the memories, your body remembers. If you’ve faced true horror…you must use it, fuel your strength, lest it consume you.”

Only then could one regain their equilibrium, their…joy.

“I don’t smile,” Esther added, her tone matter-of-fact.

“And if you’ve lost your purpose…as many soldiers do after the war…you must find another.”

“Another…purpose?”

“Indeed. You must discover your reason for being. Your reason to…continue.”

Liv’s gaze drifted to the medal pinned to Esther’s chest, the Four Laurels, a symbol of extraordinary courage and service, the second-highest honor in the kingdom. The three interlocking triangles, adorned with four laurel leaves, represented a level of achievement few ever attained.

She’d witnessed her father’s death, his honor tarnished, his legacy…incomplete.

Esther, noticing Liv’s gaze, allowed herself a small, almost imperceptible smile.

“A lofty ambition. A medal such as this…is not easily earned.”

“I’ll manage,” Liv replied, her eyes shining with newfound determination. She clutched her father’s cane, the worn wood warm beneath her fingers.

“I have magic.”

“A commendable attitude. Your name?”

“Liv Labre de Greenwood. Daughter of Paris Greenwood.”

“I’ll remember that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to…” Esther turned towards her younger sister, then paused, her gaze hardening as she noticed Adela slumped over the table, her oversized hat concealing her face, her blue hair a tangled mess.

Crack. Grind.

Frost spread across the floor as Esther approached, the sound of grinding ice…or perhaps teeth…filling the sudden silence.

Liv, for a brief, terrifying moment, wondered if she’d made a terrible mistake.

Perhaps she hadn’t needed to lecture Adela about the harsh realities of the world.

The girl seemed destined to freeze solid regardless.