healingbonds (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
healingbonds) wrote2023-02-13 10:14 am
healingbonds) wrote2023-02-13 10:14 am
Entry tags:
Main Story 2 | Chapter 13 | The Wizards’ House and Its Troubling Guest
MahoYaku Masterpost & Translator's Notes
Chapter 12 << | index | >> Chapter 14
Chapter 13: The Wizards’ House and Its Troubling Guest
13.1 Figaro’s Manual
13.2 Sweet Regrets of the Past He Let Go
13.3 When He Discovered His Destiny
13.4 A Lonely, Farcical, Bizarre Night
13.5 On Eating Mana Stones
13.6 Praying for Happiness
13.7 A Hair-Raising Reunion
13.8 Walking Through Town With a Starving Bear
13.9 I Want to Be With Humans
13.10 A Question With No Answer
13.1 Figaro’s Manual
Figaro: The Sage’s Manual, huh....
.......
I gently stroke the cover of the sage’s manual Akira gave me.
Until just recently, I kept a simple log of medical records for my clinic in Southern Country.
But it’s been a long time since I last kept a personal diary, or anything resembling one.
✦✧☾✧✦
Back when I began developing Southern Country, I kept a running record of how far people traveled.
Records are important.
Even if they look like rows and rows of mere factual statements, later observations can reveal important truths.
It takes three days to get to the neighboring town. One week to get to the town by the lakeside. Travel by horse is 20% faster.
That patient’s stomach aches only when they eat certain foods. And so forth.
✦✧☾✧✦
Akira’s request is abstract. What does he want to know? What does he want to study? How much numerical data does he want?
He simply wants to do something about the vague sense of anxiety looming over him.
✦✧☾✧✦
Akira: And so I don’t repeat any mistakes when the day comes for me to take on the same role......
I’d like you to report all the happenings around how you conducted or brought your group together.
✦✧☾✧✦
My lips curve into a bitter smile as I recall Akira’s gentle expression.
Figaro: (You want me to teach you about what I’ve witnessed?)
(Sir Sage, you’ll go mad if you view the world through my eyes.)
I leave the sage’s manual behind when I exit the room.
✦✧☾✧✦
I just need to provide a simple record, one that’s good enough to avoid disappointing Akira.
Alternatively, I could just give him the whole truth.
I like Akira. He’s pleasant and hardworking, and he’s trying his best to be our ally.
I want to protect him and make him as happy as I can.
But I won’t be with Akira for very long.
If I tell him everything — If I pour the truth into his goblet and fill it to the brim, and Akira grows fearful and disappointed...
The goblet will tip over. The Sage will disappear. And he will never be seen again.
I like how simple it is.
It’s convenient: I can dump all my thoughts on him and then release him without regrets. I like relationships like that.
Figaro: (But.... I kept choosing easy relationships. And now I don’t have much left.)
(Something irreplaceable. Something that belongs only to me.)
Records are important. I stopped keeping a diary because I grew sick of the same cycle repeating itself.
I met someone. I got hurt. I grew tired of them. I lost hope. I disguised my disappointment, and laughed again....
And then, a goodbye akin to a gentle push away.
I’m sick of the world that repeats itself ceaselessly.
But I’m even more sick of myself.
Lennox: Good morning, Dr. Figaro.
As I walk around the magic headquarters’ tower on my way to our meeting place, I run into Lennox.
Lennox used to be a Central wizard. He’s better with his hands than with magic; currently, he works as a shepherd.
This man once wandered for four hundred years searching for his lost master.
He had no reason to believe his master was alive: his stubborn faith was what kept him going.
Figaro: (How is that even possible?)
I decide not to think about it. Only a fool could accomplish such a task; I could never do the same.
I think he’s stupid — but at the same time, I believe this world still has some value because there are guys like Lennox out there.
What a strange man.
Figaro: Good morning. You’re early.
Lennox: ....Your expression looks lukewarm. What is it?
Figaro: What do you mean, lukewarm? You’re so rude.
Lennox: I mean, you look like you’re thinking, "I don’t like it, but I guess I should praise you."
Figaro: What? You’ve got the wrong idea. Don’t be so self-deprecating.
Lennox: Okay. ....Hm? Self-deprecating?
Figaro: What were you doing?
Lennox: I was seeing Sir Faust off.
Figaro: ....Oh....
I follow Lennox’s gaze up to the tower.
I can see him in the corner of the window. Faust was once my disciple.
Thinking about Faust makes my heart hurt. As if I’m longing for my lost hometown. As if I’m remembering seeds I drove to extinction.
back to top
13.2 Sweet Regrets of the Past He Let Go
Figaro: (I’ve been let down by all sorts of guys, but Faust never disappointed me. He was my ideal.)
(He was perfect: so perfect that I thought the twins had sent along a magic familiar just to mess with me.)
(He had high aspirations. A fair and just mind. A compassionate soul for the weak. A heart that loved and respected me as his honorable master of magic....)
✦✧☾✧✦
(Flashback)
Let’s say there’s a great river that has flowed through the land since ancient times.
Nobody would think twice about drawing water from the river; doing laundry in the stream; building ships to cross from one shore to the other.
Even those who express gratitude for the blessings granted by the river would tremble in fear the moment the river flooded, and grant it the name of a malevolent deity.
But Faust was different.
He served me without artifice; he expressed his gratitude while knowing he could die by my hands any moment.
Perhaps it was because he worked to protect his mother, his grandmother, and his little sister in an era of turmoil; he stoically offered himself up to both me and the revolutionary army....
With gratitude for every last droplet of water from the river, he never let success get to his head, and honored the kindness bestowed upon him for his entire life.
Faust: Sir Figaro.
My great master. I beg you to impart your wisdom upon me, unfamiliar though I may be.
I ask that you forgive my imprudence for seeking your knowledge, with no understanding of the admonition, the remonstrance — the pain you have suffered, living for countless ages.
Figaro: You are forgiven, Faust. Ah, if only there were others who respected me the way you do....
Faust: Sir Figaro.....
Figaro: All and sundry see us as echoes of this world; when they ask, we answer.
If we do not answer, they believe it is due to our cruelty, or our twisted weariness with life.
They have forgotten that our teachings contain our blood and bone; the tales of our lives.
So they peck at our bodies like crows, and cry, over and over again:
Tell us. If you know, tell us.
If you do not want us to fail, hurry. Tell us. If you will not....
Then, if we die of our foolish acts, one man after another — it is on you.
Faust: ....There are men who speak to you with such impudence? Even though they seek your knowledge?
Figaro: Indeed. That is why I came to loathe the people I once wished to protect.
....But in truth, I did want to save them. For a very, very long time.
Perhaps you can accomplish what I failed to do for them.
Faust. Let me grant you everything I know.
✦✧☾✧✦
Figaro: ........
I narrow my eyes, brilliant sunlight trickling through the shadows of leaves as my mind wanders through memories of that fateful day.
I tried to guide him carefully and dutifully, to craft a wizard who would one day engrave his name into the pages of history.....
But I was the one who let him go.
And that sweet, regretful affection still lingers.
Lennox takes his eyes off the tower and looks at me.
Lennox: Your expression says you have some lingering regrets.
Figaro: ...........
Now I’m silent and sullen. I can’t deal with this guy.
But the fact that I can freely let my dissatisfaction show in my attitude is proof that we’re on comfortable terms. I look angry. He apologizes.
Lennox: I apologize.
Figaro: It’s fine.
I can practically hear the, "Yeah, I thought so," from Lennox’s nonchalant attitude. I really can’t deal with this guy.
Lennox: You should have a proper talk with Sir Faust.
Figaro: How? He’s avoiding me.
Lennox: Sir Faust may be a curseworker now, but at his core, he has always been unchangingly honest.
If you truthfully and earnestly tell him that you wish to talk to him about something important, I’m sure he’ll oblige.
Figaro: Maybe so. Thanks for the tip.
Lennox shrugs off my unenthusiastic response and starts walking.
Lennox: .....Dr. Figaro, you’re a difficult man......
Figaro: And you’re too straightforward. Also, he tries to avoid you just as much as he avoids me.
Lately he seems to be caving to your indomitable persistence bit by bit, but.....
Lennox: If he’s caving, doesn’t that mean I employed the right tactic?
Figaro: This guy...... You’re making me look like a fool for keeping my distance because he told me to.
I can’t believe you’re succeeding by ignoring his requests and pestering him instead.
But I guess that’s just how this world works.
Lennox: I’m not succeeding. ....I need to exercise more self-control.
Or else I’ll drive him into a corner again.
Lennox mumbles. He sounds like he’s speaking to himself.
back to top
13.3 When He Discovered His Destiny
Four hundred years ago, a certain incident left Faust heavily wounded. Faust deserted Lennox while he was tending to his wounds.
Lennox thinks it’s his fault that Faust disappeared. To some extent, I agree.
Lennox’s sincerity can feel really good, but his innocence can also knock you down.
Especially when you’re shouldering a back-breaking burden of despair: his simplicity can feel like both salvation and dead weight.
But maybe I’m biased. Maybe I’m just resentful because Lennox managed to do what I couldn’t.
Sometimes a powerful, unrelenting grasp can be more comforting than a hand withdrawn out of kindness.
In truth, I was pretty turned off when Oz broke off our quest to take over the world together, without a word of gratitude for my efforts....
And I was saved when Faust sought my guidance.
Both Lennox and I have lingering feelings for Faust, because he was the one who brought about the era of passion in our lives.
Figaro: (Or I should say, they were the ones.)
Alec Granvelle, the nation’s founding hero. He was Faust’s friend, and a beloved star of history.
Alec and Faust sparked the spirit of revolution in everyone’s hearts, and carried them forward into a new era.
Even if you have eyes that can oversee the ends of the world, and power that can build a towering pillar of miracles, without ambition, your heart remains barren.
Swapping out the individual sitting upon the throne; burning half the world into a devastated wasteland; being loved by the indistinguishable masses with know-it-all faces....
Without ambition, such acts are mere trivialities, used to pass time in a slothful, idle life.
Figaro: (That’s why I was so happy when I thought, raising this boy must be my destiny.)
(Because I felt like.... My life had meaning; I had something to look forward to.)
Lennox must feel the same. That’s why this fondness lingers for both of us.
Figaro: What are Rutile and Mitile up to? We told them we were heading to the Central market today, right?
Lennox: They did say they’d join us yesterday.
We’re heading to the vacant house that was gifted to us, right?
Figaro: That’s right. There were several other supporters in addition to the actual owner — today we’re going to talk to them.
I think it’ll put their minds at ease to see a gentle young man like Rutile and a bright young student like Mitile.
Lennox: I agree.
Figaro: I guess we can check their rooms. We can shift our visit to the afternoon, but....
As we’re chatting, I sense Rutile and Mitile’s presence nearby.
I turn around to see Rutile running towards us, grasping Mitile’s hand tight.
I thought Rutile would exclaim, Sorry we’re late~, out of breath, with a big smile on his face.
But when he looks up, I see tears.
His gentle, soft eyelids are tinged bright red, making his face look more brilliant and unyielding than usual.
Rutile: ..........
I see Tiretta in him.
Figaro: Rutile....? What’s wrong?
Rutile opens his mouth, only to draw his lips back together in silence. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head.
Rutile: ....I’m fine. It’s nothing.
Rutile draws Mitile into a protective hug by his shoulders.
Mitile: ..........
Mitile gazes up at Rutile in a daze; words lingering at the tip of his tongue.
Something feels wrong.
It’s strange for Mitile to look like this when his beloved brother is crying.
"Listen, Dr. Figaro! Something horrible happened to nii-sama!"
Alternatively: "Nii-sama, what happened!? Who did this to you!?"
But Mitile isn’t surprised by Rutile’s tears; nor does he seem to share his feelings.
I lock eyes with Mitile and ask.
Figaro: Mitile, what’s going on? Can you tell me what happened to Rutile?
Mitile: Um.... Mister Mithra.....
Figaro: Mithra?
I turn to look at Rutile in surprise. Lennox also looks alarmed.
Rutile struggles to find words, his face twisting in agony. His shoulders tremble as he covers his mouth.
Mitile continues to stare at his brother in dumbfounded silence.
Rutile: ....I’m sorry. It’s nothing, Dr. Figaro. Please forget it.
Figaro: All right. If it’s too painful to explain, I won’t ask any further.
Neither of you are hurt, right? Did you see something shocking or eat something strange?
back to top
13.4 A Lonely, Farcical, Bizarre Night
Mitile: ........
A jolt of nervousness shoots through Mitile’s face, and Rutile hugs him even tighter.
Rutile: Yes. We’re all right.
I’m worried about them. It looks like they’re still in shock, so I’ll ask them about what happened again later.
Figaro: (What in the world did Mithra do?)
Rutile and Mitile. The Flores brothers’ mother was a great witch named Tiretta.
She was a bold, demonic, and erratic woman who was fond of the strong, the gentle, and the beautiful.
So naturally, she once told me that she loved me. That was before she met Mithra.
I was handsome, after all, and strong — though not as strong as Oz — and I was relatively gentle, compared to many of the other wizards around at the time.
I was fond of her too. But we couldn’t have become lovers.
Because we both knew that if we let our guard down, the other would kill us.
No matter what fondness we might have shared, we could never trust each other.
Tiretta married a human and lived in the South, but she couldn’t trust me even in her final moments.
She must’ve thought I would kill Mitile.
Figaro: All right. I won’t press any further. Rutile, do you want to rest a little before we head out?
Rutile: No, I’m fine to go.
Rutile rubs his eyes with the back of his hands and smiles with his usual charm.
Figaro: Don’t push yourself, okay? Let’s go.
We take out our brooms and fly into the sky.
Lennox: Ah... There’s Mithra.
Lennox mumbles right as we ascend high above the magic headquarters.
Mithra’s eyes are fixed on us. His gaze always makes me instinctively nervous.
Because I don’t know when he’ll appear right before my eyes, ready to blast me with countless attacks.
But the Flores brothers are different. Rutile looks apologetic, while Mitile’s eyes are shining.
That’s when I come to a realization.
Figaro: (Damn it, Mithra... He must’ve tried to make Rutile and Mitile eat a mana stone.)
When wizards die, they become mana stones. Eating those mana stones can increase another wizard’s magical power.
Back in the day, it was natural for wizards to eat mana stones.
But young wizards nowadays don’t seem sold on the idea.
They want to bury mana stones underground, just like human bones.
Tiretta’s husband, Morris Flores, buried her stone under her grave.
Or at least, most of it.
I still remember that night — lonely, yet somehow fanatical and bizarre.
✦✧☾✧✦
Morris: ....I still can’t believe.... That Tiretta is dead.....
Figaro: I understand.... It’s very sad. I knew Tiretta for many years.
Morris: ....I don’t know if I can raise Rutile and a newborn baby all on my own.....
Figaro: The townsfolk will help. And I’ll do whatever I can, too.
Mr. Flores.... No. Morris. I’m really sorry to say this when you’re still grieving, but.
There’s something I want to get out of the way as soon as possible.
Morris: Ah, yes.... I need to take charge as the chief mourner.
Figaro: There’s that too, but I’m talking about Tiretta’s mana stone. What do you want to do with it?
Morris: What... do you mean?
Figaro: Do you want to bury it under her grave? These days, they bury wizards who have turned to stone, just like humans, right?
Morris: Yes.... I believe so....
Figaro: Roger. Got it. But someone’s going to dig up her grave. Because she was a truly powerful wizard.
Morris: You mean there will be grave-robbers? I’ve heard that mana stones are valuable jewels, but....
Figaro: No. Her closest ties will want to eat her stone. I’m talking about Mithra and the Northern twins.
Morris: ............
Figaro: That’s how we pay our respects as wizards.
Of course, we also don’t want to hand over quality mana stones to other wizards.
So can I secure a portion of her stone before they come to dig up her grave? You don’t want that to happen, right?
Morris: Y... Yes.....
Figaro: Thanks. Also, one more word of warning. I think there will be others who will try to ravage her grave.
Morris: Wizards....?
Figaro: Yes. And they won’t be trying to pay their respects. That lot is simply scavenging for valuable, quality mana stones: they’re going to sense it from under the earth, and dig it up.
You don’t want that either, right?
Morris: Yes.....
Figaro: Got it. Do you mind if I set up a barrier?
Morris: A barrier?
Figaro: I’m going to cast a spell akin to a curse to keep anyone from ruining her grave.
back to top
13.5 On Eating Mana Stones
Figaro: Ah... Oh, does it bother you to have another man cast a barrier over your wife’s grave?
If so, sorry. Just tell me. I don’t really understand how people nowadays feel about certain things.
Morris: ........... I’m sorry.... I’m feeling a bit unwell......
Figaro: Ah, I’m sorry! You’re deathly pale, Mr. Flores. You haven’t slept for a while, have you?
I got ahead of myself. I just wanted to protect Tiretta’s stone.
Morris: No, I apologize for getting so shaken up.
I thought I was prepared for a difference in values when I married a witch, but.....
Figaro: It’s not your fault. People just see things differently: humans run into the same problem with other humans, and wizards run into the same problem with other wizards.
Morris: ....Dr. Figaro, may I ask one question?
Figaro: Sure. Ask as many as you like.
Morris: Will you eat Tiretta too?
Figaro: ....That’s what I intend to do. Does that bother you?
Morris: .........
Figaro: I’d like to feed her to Rutile too, but.....
Morris: But.... Rutile is Tiretta’s son!
Figaro: Yes, that’s why I was going to!? D... Does that bother you!? Should we not? I think it’s what Tiretta would want, but.....
Morris: .....Uu....... This is.... too cruel......
Figaro: Don’t cry, Mr. Flores..... How about the barrier....? Does that also feel wanton....?
Morris: ....But we need to do it to keep her grave safe, right....?
Figaro: I think they’ll take everything if given the chance. She was a very powerful wizard.....
Morris: ...... Uu........
Figaro: D... Don’t cry.....
✦✧☾✧✦
In the end, I didn’t have Rutile eat the mana stone. And of course I didn’t give anything to Mitile either; he was just a newborn.
The Northern wizard Mithra promised Tiretta that he would protect her children.
That’s why he wants to feed them mana stones and make them stronger.
Mithra is terrified of someone going after the Flores brothers.
If I wanted to kill Mithra, I would start by taking the lives of the Flores brothers to rob him of his magic.
Of course, that’s putting aside my feelings. I adore both Rutile and Mitile, and I want to care for them until they’re all grown up.
Figaro: (Knowing Mithra, I bet he tried to feed them a really good stone.)
(But feeding overwhelmingly powerful mana stones to weaker wizards like Rutile and Mitile would turn their hearts to stone.)
(I need to warn both Mithra and the brothers....)
(Especially Mitile.)
Judging from Mitile’s expression, he’s not nearly as uncomfortable with the idea of stone-eating as Rutile is.
Mitile admires powerful wizards. That’s why he studies hard, and practices seriously.
But an ominous prophecy looms over Mitile.
He will annihilate the Southern wizards.
The prophecy came from the Northern twins. They are never wrong.
But I want to push that inevitable, tragic fate as far into the future as possible.
Thinking about Mitile makes my heart hurt.
Figaro: (Mitile is such a good boy; he doesn’t deserve this.... When the time comes, I won’t leave it to someone else. I’ll be the one who ends him. )
(I recall feeling this way about someone else. Ah, that’s right....)
(It was Oz.)
✦✧☾✧✦
Rutile: There are a lot of people at the market today. I feel like the city is returning to its old, lively self!
By the time we arrive in the city, Rutile is back to his cheerful self.
Lennox: The city was covered in rubble, but it bounced back in no time.
Mitile: The people of Central Country really keep a positive attitude! It always impresses me when I help out.
Figaro: I agree. That’s probably why they offered to lend us that broken-down, empty house — they’re always looking forward.
Mitile: Dr. Figaro, is the empty house the one that we cleaned together?
Figaro: That’s right.
I narrow my eyes and smile. Wanting to make Mitile happy, I begin to describe a certain event.
Figaro: Remember how you and Leno took the extra scrap wood and built a table together?
Mitile: Yes. The yard was really clean after we fixed it up, so we thought it would be a good place for a resting spot.
Figaro: The person who lent us this house was very moved by your efforts.
"In Southern Country, even such young boys are capable of carpentry? That’s amazing."
The Central capital is a fast-moving market; people come and go all the time, so there were quite a few people who just abandoned their homes after the last disaster.
So they were very pleased to see you treasuring scrap materials instead of throwing them away.
That’s why they said, "Please use the house as you wish — you were the ones who fixed it."
Mitile’s eyes glitter with zest. His passion makes me happy too.
back to top
13.6 Praying for Happiness
I want to carefully teach Mitile one lesson at a time. Mitile, I want you to know...
That the strength of your magic is not the only thing that marks a wizard’s honor. I want you to realize that you are already a great wizard.
Mitile: I didn’t know that.... We don’t have many materials available in the City of Clouds, so we just try to use what we can.....
Figaro: I know. I remember when you used the leaky pail as a pot for your plants — that was a good idea.
Thank you, Mitile. Your careful work brought this house to us.
Mitile: Ehehe.....
Mitile smiles happily. But he also looks a bit tearful, and I regret my actions just a bit.
I don’t want Mitile to grow up to be an unfortunate wizard.
But maybe I was too fixated on that one point; maybe I’m restraining him too much.
Figaro: (Even if obtaining great magic will bring Mitile closer to a looming tragedy, he should still be free to do what he wants.)
(And so it should be his right to want to grow.)
(Perhaps it’s wrong of me to manage his development and suppress his desire to improve.)
(Even if what awaits us is destruction....)
In that moment, Mitile’s profile reminds me of Oz’s, before he grew up.
I felt the same way about Oz. But I did not go easy on Oz. Because he was a threat.
I wonder if Mitile will also become a threat to me one day.
I wish for his happiness. I wished for Oz’s happiness too. And Faust’s as well.
Sir Snow and Sir White. Lennox. Tiretta. Rutile. Arthur. All the people I’ve loved throughout my life.
I pray for their happiness.
Mitile: Woah.... It looks so nice!
Lennox: The neighbors painted over all the bare patches and faint spots for us. It looks great.
Rutile: It looks like a new building! We’re allowed to use this place as we please?
Figaro: Yep. We don’t have a signboard yet, but we should make one. What do you think we should call it?
Lennox: I think The Wizards’ House is a good name.
Rutile: I agree! This is a house where wizards live. We’re here to lend you an ear and a hand to solve your problems.
...I’ve seen a sign like that in front of a house in Southern Country. I think it’s simple and to the point.
Figaro: I like that. People might be a little surprised at first, but give it some time, and I’m sure we’ll blend right in.
So this will be The Wizards’ House.
Mitile: Nii-sama, look! I built this table.
Rutile: Wow, it looks amazing! Mitile, you and Mister Leno are both precise and thorough, so you always make such nice furniture.
Mitile: But the nail here is a little crooked.
Rutile: I wouldn’t have noticed. I would’ve ended up with a whole crooked table leg.
Mitile: Haha, you wouldn’t be able to use the table!
Rutile: Yeah! It would fall over!
The Flores brothers’ laughter brings a smile to my face. That’s when a few people appear from the back of the house.
They’re the citizens of the capital market who worked with us on reconstruction efforts.
Central Country citizen: Hello, Dr. Figaro! And welcome to all the other wizards, too.
Figaro: Hello, it’s been a while. Thank you for this lovely house.
Central Country citizen: No no, thank you for all that you do for us.
We don’t mind if you want to live here, but we heard you planned to make this a... gathering spot....?
Figaro: Yes. We want to make it a place where people in need of magical assistance can drop by and air their concerns.
???: So would you say it’s a wizard-style handyman shop?
Someone new butts into the conversation.
He’s a young man I’ve never seen before — he’s basically a boy. He’s dressed properly, and looks smart and refined.
His eyes are shining with awe, the same way Mitile’s eyes shine when he’s exploring somewhere new for the first time.
???: I apologize for interrupting. My name’s Luchino Anderson, and I’m a journalist in the making.
Rutile: It’s a pleasure to meet you, Luchino. I’m Rutile Flores. You said you’re a journalist?
Luchino: I turn the latest newsworthy stories into articles, and deliver them to my clients who like to stay up to date with happenings in the world. Information is valuable, after all.
Newspapers might change the world one day. Journalism is an amazing career!
I can sense Luchino’s pure admiration and pride for his job. He shrugs, seemingly embarrassed about his impassioned speech.
Luchino: Oh, I apologize. I got a little excited there.... Let us continue our introductions.
back to top
13.7 A Hair-Raising Reunion
Lennox: Let me start off. I’m Lennox. Pleased to meet you.
Mitile: I’m Mitile, Rutile’s little brother. Happy to make your acquaintance.
Figaro: I’m Figaro. Nice to meet you.
Mitile is still looking with Luchino with a bit of apprehension.
Luchino beams with excitement as he looks at each one of us.
Ah. He wanted to meet a wizard.
Luchino: I’ve actually always really wanted to meet a wizard, you see. I’m fascinated by wizards.
Thought so. Considering his proper attire, he might be the son of a noble family.
Luchino: So when I heard you’d be opening a wizards’ gathering place, I couldn’t sit still. I just had to come see.
Prince Arthur, the former general Cain.... The Sage’s Wizards are the saviors of our world! Thank you for protecting us.
I’m not yet in a position where I can easily publish my articles, but I hope to write about you all one day.
So please, let me do whatever I can to help! Thank you!
Luchino offers us a refined bow. He seems like an honest, good child.
I touch Mitile’s nervous back and smile at Luchino.
Figaro: Thank you, Luchino. But before we talk about news articles, can I ask that you and Mitile become friends?
Luchino: Of course! Nice to meet you, Mitile. Can you tell me all about Southern Country? I want to visit one day.
Mitile: Really....? If I can help, please ask away! Should I talk about the City of Clouds?
Luchino: I’ve heard of the City of Clouds! It’s the biggest province in Southern Country, right? Please tell me all about it!
Their conversation grows lively, and Mitile’s nervousness seems to melt away. Rutile watches over them with a smile.
Lennox: News articles.... Are you all right with this, Dr. Figaro?
Figaro: It’s better to have a friend on our side than let folks write lies about us. He seems like a good boy, too.
I’m looking forward to seeing his stories about me. Dr. Figaro, the gentle physician of Southern Country....
???: Sir Figaro.
Out of nowhere, a deep voice strikes from behind my back.
It sends chills down my spine. I hadn’t even noticed until I heard his voice.
Figaro: .............
He grabs my shoulder before I can turn around.
A white, dry hand, even bigger than Lennox’s.
Capable of breaking the fragile neck of a woman or child.
A familiar leather armlet is strapped around one of his thick arms.
I hold my breath and look up. He’s so tall that even I have to crane my neck to see his face.
Pale, emotionless blue eyes like icey knives.
Beneath the peaceful, sun-kissed shadows of the trees, the man who towers behind me is a giant Northern wizard.
My whole body freezes up.
But I smile.
Figaro: Hello! If it isn’t Isaac.
Isaac: It has been a while, Sir Figaro.
He’s right. It’s been at least a hundred years since we last met. Maybe more.
Isaac is a Northern wizard. He’s no match for Bradley, but he’s still powerful enough that I can’t let my guard down.
If Isaac really wanted to, he could decimate every last life in this corner of town.
But Isaac is a little strange.
With an unreadable, cold, colorless gaze, Isaac grasps my hand.
Holding it with both his arms, he looks at my face from above.
Isaac: You look as wise as always..... But I.... I’m a failure. I’m still a failure.
Isaac keeps hold of my hand as he clumsily gets on his knees.
He rests his behind on the ground once, before rising to a kneel.
He pulls my hand to his face, ready to rub it against his nose.
He must be trying to pray, or express his erudition.
Isaac: Sir Figaro. Sir Figaro. I have once again been so foolish.
I... I realize. I’m going to die soon. I feel it in my bones.....
That’s why I want to become wise. Just once is enough: I want to know about this world.....
And so I came here. And found you.
Isaac smiles. His murderous gaze holds no warmth.
back to top
13.8 Walking Through Town With a Starving Bear
I’m at a loss. Isaac is a dangerous wizard. He’s short-tempered and violent.
I’ve witnessed him render a jeering opponent incapable of smiling ever again, without batting an eye.
When he was furious and irritated, he would kill smart wizards and eat their stones.
Apparently, he thought it would make him smarter.
Figaro: (What to do... Isaac isn’t the kind of wizard who can live in a town full of humans.)
Isaac is not deliberately cruel. In fact, he’s probably more mild-mannered than most Northern wizards.
He’s a bit strange. Even though he’s a Northern wizard, he likes to learn.
He once said that smart people looked relaxed, like they were living an easy life.
He thought that learning about the world would allow him to live in peace, without his heart being disturbed.
I like that about Isaac. He’s sincere, pathetic, and foolish.
Lennox: Dr. Figaro....
The Southern wizards are staring. I pause for a moment before pulling my hand away from him.
Figaro: Come along, Isaac. Let’s talk over there.
Isaac: Sir Figaro....
Figaro: Call me Doctor Figaro.
I whisper in Isaac’s ear, before tugging at his arm to urge him into standing.
He won’t move, so I slap his back.
Figaro: Stand up. You’re drawing attention.
Isaac: Yes, sir.
Figaro: Sorry, Leno! I met an old acquaintance. Can I ask you to take care of things over here?
Lennox: Of course. Take care.
Mitile: His friend is really big... I’ve never seen anyone that tall.
Rutile: See you later. We’ll prepare some tea — your friend is welcome to join us later.
Isaac: ..........
Isaac stares at Rutile in response to his graceful invitation.
The intelligent and gentle-looking Rutile is probably Isaac’s type. I quickly shake my head.
Figaro: You can’t, Isaac. He belongs to Mithra.
He actually doesn’t. But this is the fastest way to get through to a Northern wizard.
Isaac: ....Mithra? You mean the Northern wizard Mithra?
Figaro: Yes.
Isaac: But... He invited me to tea.
Figaro: Isaac. I’m telling you because I like you. If you accept that invitation for tea, Mithra will kill you.
Isaac: Over a cup of tea.....
Figaro: Never step foot near this house again. Let’s go.
Isaac: Yes, sir.
✦✧☾✧✦
Isaac and I push our way through the crowd on the busy streets.
Isaac: Have you been here for long, Sir Figaro?
Figaro: Dr. Figaro.
Isaac: Dr. Figaro.
Figaro: Hm. I was living in Southern Country, but I come here pretty often lately.
Isaac: Heheh.... A few people.... Spoke to me. They gave me flowers, and water....
Figaro: That’s great. Central Country lies at the heart of the continent, so everyone here is very friendly.
Isaac: Heheh.... Someone might talk to me again.....
Figaro: You’re right.
Isaac draws attention with his thick, heavy body, like a giant’s.
His straw-like hair and swaggering shoulders make him look like a hungry bear out on a hunt.
The good citizens of Central Country who reconstructed the city with their positive, diligent efforts look at Isaac with fear in their eyes.
A mother carrying her child and a young man carrying some large luggage turn pale and make way for Isaac as we cross their path.
Each time someone moves out of his way, the short-tempered, brutal Isaac grows more irritated.
Isaac: ....But everyone gave me stuff before......
Figaro: Everyone’s busy because it’s noontime. And you shouldn’t assume people will just offer you their goodwill.
Isaac: ....I know that. But if they give me something, I’ll offer some of it to you, Sir Figaro.
No matter how many times I correct him, Isaac won’t drop the "Sir." So I stop trying.
Figaro: Thanks. But I don’t need anything.
Isaac: ......... I apologize....
Isaac doesn’t want things. He has the power to take anything he wants by force.
I think he probably likes this city. That’s why he wants everyone to welcome him.
He must’ve taken their charity as affection. He wants me to witness people expressing their affection for him.
But instead, they avoid us.
I understand how both sides feel. These people just want to protect their treasures from the terrifying, from the unknown.
back to top
13.9 I Want to Be With Humans
At times like these, I feel like I hear the sea roaring in my ears.
You might tread through the frigid winter waves, or mingle with the bustling crowds in the streets. But loneliness will persist as loneliness.
A promised paradise might not exist, but you have to keep taking steps forward. Or else your soul will freeze over.
Figaro: (I wish I could let Isaac stay here, but...)
(Blood would be spilled in no time. Isaac isn’t used to living in a city with this many people.)
(Should I deport him back to Northern Country before something happens? Or....)
Isaac: Look at this, Sir Figaro.
Figaro: What is it?
Isaac is pointing to something.
A worn-out book lies in his giant palms.
I blink, and exclaim in surprise.
Figaro: You’ve learned to read?
Isaac’s lips twist into an awkward, tiny smile.
Isaac: Yes.
I laugh, and draw his shoulder close to mine. We move so we’re not blocking traffic.
There are still plenty of people in this world who cannot read. Even in progressive pockets of the continent, it was only in the past hundred or so years that people who were not nobles could access a proper education.
Farmers only needed to know how to farm; hunters only needed to know how to hunt. Trade workers had to master the tools in their workshops. That was all people needed to know in order to survive.
And a wizard who can survive in Northern Country all alone has no need to read or write.
But Isaac loves to learn. And I like that about him.
Figaro: Can you show me? ....Oh, wow. You can read at this level?
Isaac: Is it a difficult book?
Figaro: No, even a child could read it so long as they learned the alphabet. But you couldn’t even write your own name.
Good job. Wasn’t it fun reading the book?
When I smile at him, Isaac holds his breath, his eyes open wide in awe.
It reminds me of Mitile’s expression earlier. Isaac must’ve worked very hard.
That’s why he’s overjoyed by my praise.
I find that touching.
Isaac: ....Thank you, Sir Figaro. That makes me very, very happy.....
Figaro: I’m happy too. Where did you study?
Isaac: ....In Northern Country.... And Central..... It was annoying, but I tried my best to contain my frustration. Sometimes I couldn’t, but.....
Figaro: Did someone teach you?
Isaac: I asked travelers to teach me. Those guys are homeless, so.....
Figaro: Oh, I see. You paid them to teach you how to read.
Isaac: Well, yes. Yes. And... When I arrived in Central Country, humans gave me a few books.
You want to read? Then here’s a book. Sometimes... I meet them and speak to them. And ask them how to read.....
Figaro: I see. You know, there aren’t many Northern wizards who are capable of that kind of thing.
Isaac: Haha....
Isaac laughs. When he laughs, his emotionless eyes light up like a bright, subglacial lake.
But his hair and clothes still smell a little. I’d warned him over and over again, but he never made a habit of washing his body or his clothes.
Figaro: Isaac, you need to cleanse yourself. I taught you how to do it with magic, remember?
Isaac: But.... I don’t like bathing or cleansing. And it doesn’t bother me if I don’t.
Figaro: It might not bother you, but it bothers others. People will avoid you.
Isaac: But why?
Figaro: Because they find smelly or dirty things unpleasant. Poor hygiene can lead to sickness, after all.
Isaac: I find children squealing unpleasant. It’s always sudden, and it surprises me.
Sometimes it makes me feel good. But I still instinctively brace myself. Is there any difference?
Figaro: Humans live short lives. They remember being children, and they’re always surrounded by children.
Most people probably feel happy when they see smiling children.
Isaac: Not me. So are you saying people will avoid me just because they’re not used to seeing guys like me?
That’s annoying. It’s not fair. If that’s the case, then I really don’t want to cleanse.
If people want to frown at me, then that’s fine. I’ll let them frown. That makes me feel better.
Figaro: If you want to mingle with people, why would you do things that make them frown?
Isaac looks irritated. His glare spells aversion and resentment.
Isaac: Then give me a satisfying answer. Sir Figaro, you’re a smart man. You must know the right answer.
Tell me: why do people forgive a child that laughs out of nowhere, but not me? You have to know the answer. Tell me.
Isaac has a habit of begging for an answer without much thought. I patiently try to explain to him.
Figaro: Isaac. There are several reasons for that. And there’s no guarantee that any of them are "right."
It varies depending on the era and the region. That’s why you need to learn these sorts of things yourself.
Isaac: Why are you withholding the answer? That’s cruel. I’d follow your instructions if you would only teach me properly.
I’m fed up with the piping-mad Isaac. I’m fed up, and also sad and hurt.
There aren’t many people in the world who will gaze at you with serious eyes, and listen to your words with a pure heart and an unslothful mind.
Even as they call me "Sir Figaro."
Isaac: Sir Figaro. Quick, please teach me. I want to become knowledgeable.
Figaro: There’s no point in just accumulating knowledge. Isaac, you only want how people won’t dislike you.
But that would be the same as trying to learn the entire range of human temperament, or the entire span of human history. You need to consider that when....
Isaac: All right, I know. You don’t want to teach me. You should just say that, then.
Figaro: That’s not it.
Isaac: You’re lying. But I’ll obey your commands. Because I can’t go against your word.
I treasure your teachings more than any mana stone, Sir Figaro. I love learning from you.
Figaro: Now you’re lying. You’re just trying to get me to offer you a theory that will validate your way of life.
Isaac: Don’t be so cruel. I am not.
Figaro: But as a matter of fact, you’ve forgotten what I taught you before. You’re beckoning illness by being unsanitary. Your hands and legs will rot.
Isaac: ......Ah, so that’s why....
Isaac’s sharp eyes suddenly cloud over with despair.
That’s right — he said he thought he was going to die soon.
Is he like me?
Figaro: Are you feeling unwell?
Isaac: Yes. I don’t know how to put it, but.... There are times when my body won’t move the way I want it to.
One time I got angry, and punched it. But ever since I did, my stomach won’t stop hurting....
Figaro: You silly thing... Where did you punch yourself? Show me.
Isaac: .....You’re worried about me....?
Figaro: Well, I am a doctor.
Isaac: Please fix my stupidity, then.
I look up at him as I touch his stomach.
He is not nearly as foolish as he believes himself to be. He likes learning, and he has a keen desire to improve. He studied and learned how to read.
He might be ferocious, hot-blooded, and ill-tempered, but he’s trying to learn self-restraint.
Figaro: You are not a fool. I just wanted to tell you that you shouldn’t hurt yourself.
Isaac: I just grew tired of everything.....
Isaac looks exhausted. It’s not so much sadness reflected in his expression — rather, it’s an unsalvageable hopelessness.
His life is about to end.
Isaac: I.... This is it for me. That’s why I wanted to change. At the end of my life. That’s why.... I... Ah....
Figaro: Isaac?
back to top
13.10 A Question With No Answer
That’s when Isaac’s armband catches my eye. A delicate chain is wrapped around it.
There are little blue stones on that delicate chain. The craftsmanship is too pretty for his taste.
I sense a wizard’s presence.
Isaac: ....I’m sick of doing crap that makes no sense, of thinking endlessly about questions with no answers....
I’m sick of being tricked and fooled!
He shouts and punches the stone wall next to him.
Instantly, screaming ring across the marketplace.
Man: Wo...ah, what’s going on!?
Woman: Aaah, my clothes are torn...!
I spin around: the cloth on the nearby canopies is torn and the boxes containing fruits are broken. It’s like someone slashed them with an invisible knife.
Isaac did this.
Figaro: ..........
I conjure my magical tool without a word.
Isaac immediately turns pale. He grips his head and huddles up on the ground.
Isaac: ....That’s not it....!
I’m not doing this on purpose! I’m trying my best to hold back, just as you said....
I’m sick of it. ...I’m sick of it! I bore it for so, so, so long, but now Sir Figaro’s going to leave me too....
His mouth wide open, Isaac’s face weakly twists into a sorrowful expression.
It hurts my heart to see him like this.
I’m touched. I’m also tired of his foolishness. I think it might be better to finish him off.
Faust was my ideal student. He was noble and ambitious; a hero, equipped with both pen and sword.
I wanted to teach Faust everything I knew.
Because I felt like it would allow me to connect to this world once more.
But perhaps the people who truly need my guidance are people like Isaac.
Isaac prostrates himself on the ground. He clings to my leg like a desperate man drowning at sea.
Isaac: ....Sir Figaro, I beg of you. Please, please. If you’re going to kill me, please teach me....
Figaro: Teach you what?
Isaac: What is happiness?
How can I attain it?
Why was I born in this world?
What do I have to do for good things to happen to me?
How can I become intelligent?
If I eat the Western Wizard Murr’s stone, will people praise me the way they praise him?
I.... I just wanted to know everything the way you do, Sir Figaro.
Before I turn to stone. Just once is enough. ....I want to gaze at this world with the feeling that I know it all.....
Ah, so that’s how it was. Oh, I see — I understand now. I want to experience that sense of calm....
I exhale and turn my face upwards.
The clear blue sky is unbelievably beautiful.
If I could answer those questions — I would not be standing here alone.
But such a response would disappoint Isaac. So I quietly smile at him instead.
Figaro: I won’t turn you to stone. You need to find the answers to each of those questions on your own.
Keep up your studies. You finally began reading books. You have plenty of time left.
Wonderful days await you.
As I stroke Isaac’s giant, trembling back, I let out a quiet sigh.
It might seem like I’m granting him words of salvation, but I feel like I’m lying.
Everything will work out. That’s probably true in most cases, if you don’t wish for too much.
But I don’t think that’s what we want; we don’t want for things to just work out.
Isaac is affecting and pitiful. He’s also unpleasant and infuriating. Most of all, he’s a threat to the people in this city.
I don’t know when he’ll commit a heinous crime.
And if a wizard commits a heinous crime, Vincent will harden his stance. Arthur’s position will be put at risk.
It might also threaten the Southern Wizards’ hope to connect with civilians through our Wizards’ House.
But.....
If Isaac is a danger to society, then Oz and Mithra are true threats.
As am I. And Owen, and Bradley. Any of us could destroy this city if we so desired.
Yet we are allowed to roam free. What’s the difference between us and Isaac? The fact that we’re the Sage’s wizards?
One could say the same about Mitile, too. He will annihilate the Southern wizards one day.
But does that mean it’s okay to strip Mitile of all opportunity to grow, when he so desires it?
Mitile and Isaac are the same. They want to learn; they want to grow. They want to be loved.
I want to respect their freedom.
But if I do that, the natural progression might be tragedy.
This is a problem I’ve faced numerous times over the course of the past thousand years.
Should we eliminate dangerous individuals to ensure the peace of the greater population?
Or should we grant equal freedom to dangerous souls?
And most of all....
For how long do I intend to be the warden of this world?
I can’t even define love or happiness.
back to top
Chapter 12 << | index | >> Chapter 14
Chapter 12 << | index | >> Chapter 14
Chapter 13: The Wizards’ House and Its Troubling Guest
13.1 Figaro’s Manual
13.2 Sweet Regrets of the Past He Let Go
13.3 When He Discovered His Destiny
13.4 A Lonely, Farcical, Bizarre Night
13.5 On Eating Mana Stones
13.6 Praying for Happiness
13.7 A Hair-Raising Reunion
13.8 Walking Through Town With a Starving Bear
13.9 I Want to Be With Humans
13.10 A Question With No Answer
13.1 Figaro’s Manual
Figaro: The Sage’s Manual, huh....
.......
I gently stroke the cover of the sage’s manual Akira gave me.
Until just recently, I kept a simple log of medical records for my clinic in Southern Country.
But it’s been a long time since I last kept a personal diary, or anything resembling one.
✦✧☾✧✦
Back when I began developing Southern Country, I kept a running record of how far people traveled.
Records are important.
Even if they look like rows and rows of mere factual statements, later observations can reveal important truths.
It takes three days to get to the neighboring town. One week to get to the town by the lakeside. Travel by horse is 20% faster.
That patient’s stomach aches only when they eat certain foods. And so forth.
✦✧☾✧✦
Akira’s request is abstract. What does he want to know? What does he want to study? How much numerical data does he want?
He simply wants to do something about the vague sense of anxiety looming over him.
✦✧☾✧✦
Akira: And so I don’t repeat any mistakes when the day comes for me to take on the same role......
I’d like you to report all the happenings around how you conducted or brought your group together.
✦✧☾✧✦
My lips curve into a bitter smile as I recall Akira’s gentle expression.
Figaro: (You want me to teach you about what I’ve witnessed?)
(Sir Sage, you’ll go mad if you view the world through my eyes.)
I leave the sage’s manual behind when I exit the room.
✦✧☾✧✦
I just need to provide a simple record, one that’s good enough to avoid disappointing Akira.
Alternatively, I could just give him the whole truth.
I like Akira. He’s pleasant and hardworking, and he’s trying his best to be our ally.
I want to protect him and make him as happy as I can.
But I won’t be with Akira for very long.
If I tell him everything — If I pour the truth into his goblet and fill it to the brim, and Akira grows fearful and disappointed...
The goblet will tip over. The Sage will disappear. And he will never be seen again.
I like how simple it is.
It’s convenient: I can dump all my thoughts on him and then release him without regrets. I like relationships like that.
Figaro: (But.... I kept choosing easy relationships. And now I don’t have much left.)
(Something irreplaceable. Something that belongs only to me.)
Records are important. I stopped keeping a diary because I grew sick of the same cycle repeating itself.
I met someone. I got hurt. I grew tired of them. I lost hope. I disguised my disappointment, and laughed again....
And then, a goodbye akin to a gentle push away.
I’m sick of the world that repeats itself ceaselessly.
But I’m even more sick of myself.
Lennox: Good morning, Dr. Figaro.
As I walk around the magic headquarters’ tower on my way to our meeting place, I run into Lennox.
Lennox used to be a Central wizard. He’s better with his hands than with magic; currently, he works as a shepherd.
This man once wandered for four hundred years searching for his lost master.
He had no reason to believe his master was alive: his stubborn faith was what kept him going.
Figaro: (How is that even possible?)
I decide not to think about it. Only a fool could accomplish such a task; I could never do the same.
I think he’s stupid — but at the same time, I believe this world still has some value because there are guys like Lennox out there.
What a strange man.
Figaro: Good morning. You’re early.
Lennox: ....Your expression looks lukewarm. What is it?
Figaro: What do you mean, lukewarm? You’re so rude.
Lennox: I mean, you look like you’re thinking, "I don’t like it, but I guess I should praise you."
Figaro: What? You’ve got the wrong idea. Don’t be so self-deprecating.
Lennox: Okay. ....Hm? Self-deprecating?
Figaro: What were you doing?
Lennox: I was seeing Sir Faust off.
Figaro: ....Oh....
I follow Lennox’s gaze up to the tower.
I can see him in the corner of the window. Faust was once my disciple.
Thinking about Faust makes my heart hurt. As if I’m longing for my lost hometown. As if I’m remembering seeds I drove to extinction.
back to top
13.2 Sweet Regrets of the Past He Let Go
Figaro: (I’ve been let down by all sorts of guys, but Faust never disappointed me. He was my ideal.)
(He was perfect: so perfect that I thought the twins had sent along a magic familiar just to mess with me.)
(He had high aspirations. A fair and just mind. A compassionate soul for the weak. A heart that loved and respected me as his honorable master of magic....)
✦✧☾✧✦
(Flashback)
Let’s say there’s a great river that has flowed through the land since ancient times.
Nobody would think twice about drawing water from the river; doing laundry in the stream; building ships to cross from one shore to the other.
Even those who express gratitude for the blessings granted by the river would tremble in fear the moment the river flooded, and grant it the name of a malevolent deity.
But Faust was different.
He served me without artifice; he expressed his gratitude while knowing he could die by my hands any moment.
Perhaps it was because he worked to protect his mother, his grandmother, and his little sister in an era of turmoil; he stoically offered himself up to both me and the revolutionary army....
With gratitude for every last droplet of water from the river, he never let success get to his head, and honored the kindness bestowed upon him for his entire life.
Faust: Sir Figaro.
My great master. I beg you to impart your wisdom upon me, unfamiliar though I may be.
I ask that you forgive my imprudence for seeking your knowledge, with no understanding of the admonition, the remonstrance — the pain you have suffered, living for countless ages.
Figaro: You are forgiven, Faust. Ah, if only there were others who respected me the way you do....
Faust: Sir Figaro.....
Figaro: All and sundry see us as echoes of this world; when they ask, we answer.
If we do not answer, they believe it is due to our cruelty, or our twisted weariness with life.
They have forgotten that our teachings contain our blood and bone; the tales of our lives.
So they peck at our bodies like crows, and cry, over and over again:
Tell us. If you know, tell us.
If you do not want us to fail, hurry. Tell us. If you will not....
Then, if we die of our foolish acts, one man after another — it is on you.
Faust: ....There are men who speak to you with such impudence? Even though they seek your knowledge?
Figaro: Indeed. That is why I came to loathe the people I once wished to protect.
....But in truth, I did want to save them. For a very, very long time.
Perhaps you can accomplish what I failed to do for them.
Faust. Let me grant you everything I know.
✦✧☾✧✦
Figaro: ........
I narrow my eyes, brilliant sunlight trickling through the shadows of leaves as my mind wanders through memories of that fateful day.
I tried to guide him carefully and dutifully, to craft a wizard who would one day engrave his name into the pages of history.....
But I was the one who let him go.
And that sweet, regretful affection still lingers.
Lennox takes his eyes off the tower and looks at me.
Lennox: Your expression says you have some lingering regrets.
Figaro: ...........
Now I’m silent and sullen. I can’t deal with this guy.
But the fact that I can freely let my dissatisfaction show in my attitude is proof that we’re on comfortable terms. I look angry. He apologizes.
Lennox: I apologize.
Figaro: It’s fine.
I can practically hear the, "Yeah, I thought so," from Lennox’s nonchalant attitude. I really can’t deal with this guy.
Lennox: You should have a proper talk with Sir Faust.
Figaro: How? He’s avoiding me.
Lennox: Sir Faust may be a curseworker now, but at his core, he has always been unchangingly honest.
If you truthfully and earnestly tell him that you wish to talk to him about something important, I’m sure he’ll oblige.
Figaro: Maybe so. Thanks for the tip.
Lennox shrugs off my unenthusiastic response and starts walking.
Lennox: .....Dr. Figaro, you’re a difficult man......
Figaro: And you’re too straightforward. Also, he tries to avoid you just as much as he avoids me.
Lately he seems to be caving to your indomitable persistence bit by bit, but.....
Lennox: If he’s caving, doesn’t that mean I employed the right tactic?
Figaro: This guy...... You’re making me look like a fool for keeping my distance because he told me to.
I can’t believe you’re succeeding by ignoring his requests and pestering him instead.
But I guess that’s just how this world works.
Lennox: I’m not succeeding. ....I need to exercise more self-control.
Or else I’ll drive him into a corner again.
Lennox mumbles. He sounds like he’s speaking to himself.
back to top
13.3 When He Discovered His Destiny
Four hundred years ago, a certain incident left Faust heavily wounded. Faust deserted Lennox while he was tending to his wounds.
Lennox thinks it’s his fault that Faust disappeared. To some extent, I agree.
Lennox’s sincerity can feel really good, but his innocence can also knock you down.
Especially when you’re shouldering a back-breaking burden of despair: his simplicity can feel like both salvation and dead weight.
But maybe I’m biased. Maybe I’m just resentful because Lennox managed to do what I couldn’t.
Sometimes a powerful, unrelenting grasp can be more comforting than a hand withdrawn out of kindness.
In truth, I was pretty turned off when Oz broke off our quest to take over the world together, without a word of gratitude for my efforts....
And I was saved when Faust sought my guidance.
Both Lennox and I have lingering feelings for Faust, because he was the one who brought about the era of passion in our lives.
Figaro: (Or I should say, they were the ones.)
Alec Granvelle, the nation’s founding hero. He was Faust’s friend, and a beloved star of history.
Alec and Faust sparked the spirit of revolution in everyone’s hearts, and carried them forward into a new era.
Even if you have eyes that can oversee the ends of the world, and power that can build a towering pillar of miracles, without ambition, your heart remains barren.
Swapping out the individual sitting upon the throne; burning half the world into a devastated wasteland; being loved by the indistinguishable masses with know-it-all faces....
Without ambition, such acts are mere trivialities, used to pass time in a slothful, idle life.
Figaro: (That’s why I was so happy when I thought, raising this boy must be my destiny.)
(Because I felt like.... My life had meaning; I had something to look forward to.)
Lennox must feel the same. That’s why this fondness lingers for both of us.
Figaro: What are Rutile and Mitile up to? We told them we were heading to the Central market today, right?
Lennox: They did say they’d join us yesterday.
We’re heading to the vacant house that was gifted to us, right?
Figaro: That’s right. There were several other supporters in addition to the actual owner — today we’re going to talk to them.
I think it’ll put their minds at ease to see a gentle young man like Rutile and a bright young student like Mitile.
Lennox: I agree.
Figaro: I guess we can check their rooms. We can shift our visit to the afternoon, but....
As we’re chatting, I sense Rutile and Mitile’s presence nearby.
I turn around to see Rutile running towards us, grasping Mitile’s hand tight.
I thought Rutile would exclaim, Sorry we’re late~, out of breath, with a big smile on his face.
But when he looks up, I see tears.
His gentle, soft eyelids are tinged bright red, making his face look more brilliant and unyielding than usual.
Rutile: ..........
I see Tiretta in him.
Figaro: Rutile....? What’s wrong?
Rutile opens his mouth, only to draw his lips back together in silence. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head.
Rutile: ....I’m fine. It’s nothing.
Rutile draws Mitile into a protective hug by his shoulders.
Mitile: ..........
Mitile gazes up at Rutile in a daze; words lingering at the tip of his tongue.
Something feels wrong.
It’s strange for Mitile to look like this when his beloved brother is crying.
"Listen, Dr. Figaro! Something horrible happened to nii-sama!"
Alternatively: "Nii-sama, what happened!? Who did this to you!?"
But Mitile isn’t surprised by Rutile’s tears; nor does he seem to share his feelings.
I lock eyes with Mitile and ask.
Figaro: Mitile, what’s going on? Can you tell me what happened to Rutile?
Mitile: Um.... Mister Mithra.....
Figaro: Mithra?
I turn to look at Rutile in surprise. Lennox also looks alarmed.
Rutile struggles to find words, his face twisting in agony. His shoulders tremble as he covers his mouth.
Mitile continues to stare at his brother in dumbfounded silence.
Rutile: ....I’m sorry. It’s nothing, Dr. Figaro. Please forget it.
Figaro: All right. If it’s too painful to explain, I won’t ask any further.
Neither of you are hurt, right? Did you see something shocking or eat something strange?
back to top
13.4 A Lonely, Farcical, Bizarre Night
Mitile: ........
A jolt of nervousness shoots through Mitile’s face, and Rutile hugs him even tighter.
Rutile: Yes. We’re all right.
I’m worried about them. It looks like they’re still in shock, so I’ll ask them about what happened again later.
Figaro: (What in the world did Mithra do?)
Rutile and Mitile. The Flores brothers’ mother was a great witch named Tiretta.
She was a bold, demonic, and erratic woman who was fond of the strong, the gentle, and the beautiful.
So naturally, she once told me that she loved me. That was before she met Mithra.
I was handsome, after all, and strong — though not as strong as Oz — and I was relatively gentle, compared to many of the other wizards around at the time.
I was fond of her too. But we couldn’t have become lovers.
Because we both knew that if we let our guard down, the other would kill us.
No matter what fondness we might have shared, we could never trust each other.
Tiretta married a human and lived in the South, but she couldn’t trust me even in her final moments.
She must’ve thought I would kill Mitile.
Figaro: All right. I won’t press any further. Rutile, do you want to rest a little before we head out?
Rutile: No, I’m fine to go.
Rutile rubs his eyes with the back of his hands and smiles with his usual charm.
Figaro: Don’t push yourself, okay? Let’s go.
We take out our brooms and fly into the sky.
Lennox: Ah... There’s Mithra.
Lennox mumbles right as we ascend high above the magic headquarters.
Mithra’s eyes are fixed on us. His gaze always makes me instinctively nervous.
Because I don’t know when he’ll appear right before my eyes, ready to blast me with countless attacks.
But the Flores brothers are different. Rutile looks apologetic, while Mitile’s eyes are shining.
That’s when I come to a realization.
Figaro: (Damn it, Mithra... He must’ve tried to make Rutile and Mitile eat a mana stone.)
When wizards die, they become mana stones. Eating those mana stones can increase another wizard’s magical power.
Back in the day, it was natural for wizards to eat mana stones.
But young wizards nowadays don’t seem sold on the idea.
They want to bury mana stones underground, just like human bones.
Tiretta’s husband, Morris Flores, buried her stone under her grave.
Or at least, most of it.
I still remember that night — lonely, yet somehow fanatical and bizarre.
✦✧☾✧✦
Morris: ....I still can’t believe.... That Tiretta is dead.....
Figaro: I understand.... It’s very sad. I knew Tiretta for many years.
Morris: ....I don’t know if I can raise Rutile and a newborn baby all on my own.....
Figaro: The townsfolk will help. And I’ll do whatever I can, too.
Mr. Flores.... No. Morris. I’m really sorry to say this when you’re still grieving, but.
There’s something I want to get out of the way as soon as possible.
Morris: Ah, yes.... I need to take charge as the chief mourner.
Figaro: There’s that too, but I’m talking about Tiretta’s mana stone. What do you want to do with it?
Morris: What... do you mean?
Figaro: Do you want to bury it under her grave? These days, they bury wizards who have turned to stone, just like humans, right?
Morris: Yes.... I believe so....
Figaro: Roger. Got it. But someone’s going to dig up her grave. Because she was a truly powerful wizard.
Morris: You mean there will be grave-robbers? I’ve heard that mana stones are valuable jewels, but....
Figaro: No. Her closest ties will want to eat her stone. I’m talking about Mithra and the Northern twins.
Morris: ............
Figaro: That’s how we pay our respects as wizards.
Of course, we also don’t want to hand over quality mana stones to other wizards.
So can I secure a portion of her stone before they come to dig up her grave? You don’t want that to happen, right?
Morris: Y... Yes.....
Figaro: Thanks. Also, one more word of warning. I think there will be others who will try to ravage her grave.
Morris: Wizards....?
Figaro: Yes. And they won’t be trying to pay their respects. That lot is simply scavenging for valuable, quality mana stones: they’re going to sense it from under the earth, and dig it up.
You don’t want that either, right?
Morris: Yes.....
Figaro: Got it. Do you mind if I set up a barrier?
Morris: A barrier?
Figaro: I’m going to cast a spell akin to a curse to keep anyone from ruining her grave.
back to top
13.5 On Eating Mana Stones
Figaro: Ah... Oh, does it bother you to have another man cast a barrier over your wife’s grave?
If so, sorry. Just tell me. I don’t really understand how people nowadays feel about certain things.
Morris: ........... I’m sorry.... I’m feeling a bit unwell......
Figaro: Ah, I’m sorry! You’re deathly pale, Mr. Flores. You haven’t slept for a while, have you?
I got ahead of myself. I just wanted to protect Tiretta’s stone.
Morris: No, I apologize for getting so shaken up.
I thought I was prepared for a difference in values when I married a witch, but.....
Figaro: It’s not your fault. People just see things differently: humans run into the same problem with other humans, and wizards run into the same problem with other wizards.
Morris: ....Dr. Figaro, may I ask one question?
Figaro: Sure. Ask as many as you like.
Morris: Will you eat Tiretta too?
Figaro: ....That’s what I intend to do. Does that bother you?
Morris: .........
Figaro: I’d like to feed her to Rutile too, but.....
Morris: But.... Rutile is Tiretta’s son!
Figaro: Yes, that’s why I was going to!? D... Does that bother you!? Should we not? I think it’s what Tiretta would want, but.....
Morris: .....Uu....... This is.... too cruel......
Figaro: Don’t cry, Mr. Flores..... How about the barrier....? Does that also feel wanton....?
Morris: ....But we need to do it to keep her grave safe, right....?
Figaro: I think they’ll take everything if given the chance. She was a very powerful wizard.....
Morris: ...... Uu........
Figaro: D... Don’t cry.....
✦✧☾✧✦
In the end, I didn’t have Rutile eat the mana stone. And of course I didn’t give anything to Mitile either; he was just a newborn.
The Northern wizard Mithra promised Tiretta that he would protect her children.
That’s why he wants to feed them mana stones and make them stronger.
Mithra is terrified of someone going after the Flores brothers.
If I wanted to kill Mithra, I would start by taking the lives of the Flores brothers to rob him of his magic.
Of course, that’s putting aside my feelings. I adore both Rutile and Mitile, and I want to care for them until they’re all grown up.
Figaro: (Knowing Mithra, I bet he tried to feed them a really good stone.)
(But feeding overwhelmingly powerful mana stones to weaker wizards like Rutile and Mitile would turn their hearts to stone.)
(I need to warn both Mithra and the brothers....)
(Especially Mitile.)
Judging from Mitile’s expression, he’s not nearly as uncomfortable with the idea of stone-eating as Rutile is.
Mitile admires powerful wizards. That’s why he studies hard, and practices seriously.
But an ominous prophecy looms over Mitile.
He will annihilate the Southern wizards.
The prophecy came from the Northern twins. They are never wrong.
But I want to push that inevitable, tragic fate as far into the future as possible.
Thinking about Mitile makes my heart hurt.
Figaro: (Mitile is such a good boy; he doesn’t deserve this.... When the time comes, I won’t leave it to someone else. I’ll be the one who ends him. )
(I recall feeling this way about someone else. Ah, that’s right....)
(It was Oz.)
✦✧☾✧✦
Rutile: There are a lot of people at the market today. I feel like the city is returning to its old, lively self!
By the time we arrive in the city, Rutile is back to his cheerful self.
Lennox: The city was covered in rubble, but it bounced back in no time.
Mitile: The people of Central Country really keep a positive attitude! It always impresses me when I help out.
Figaro: I agree. That’s probably why they offered to lend us that broken-down, empty house — they’re always looking forward.
Mitile: Dr. Figaro, is the empty house the one that we cleaned together?
Figaro: That’s right.
I narrow my eyes and smile. Wanting to make Mitile happy, I begin to describe a certain event.
Figaro: Remember how you and Leno took the extra scrap wood and built a table together?
Mitile: Yes. The yard was really clean after we fixed it up, so we thought it would be a good place for a resting spot.
Figaro: The person who lent us this house was very moved by your efforts.
"In Southern Country, even such young boys are capable of carpentry? That’s amazing."
The Central capital is a fast-moving market; people come and go all the time, so there were quite a few people who just abandoned their homes after the last disaster.
So they were very pleased to see you treasuring scrap materials instead of throwing them away.
That’s why they said, "Please use the house as you wish — you were the ones who fixed it."
Mitile’s eyes glitter with zest. His passion makes me happy too.
back to top
13.6 Praying for Happiness
I want to carefully teach Mitile one lesson at a time. Mitile, I want you to know...
That the strength of your magic is not the only thing that marks a wizard’s honor. I want you to realize that you are already a great wizard.
Mitile: I didn’t know that.... We don’t have many materials available in the City of Clouds, so we just try to use what we can.....
Figaro: I know. I remember when you used the leaky pail as a pot for your plants — that was a good idea.
Thank you, Mitile. Your careful work brought this house to us.
Mitile: Ehehe.....
Mitile smiles happily. But he also looks a bit tearful, and I regret my actions just a bit.
I don’t want Mitile to grow up to be an unfortunate wizard.
But maybe I was too fixated on that one point; maybe I’m restraining him too much.
Figaro: (Even if obtaining great magic will bring Mitile closer to a looming tragedy, he should still be free to do what he wants.)
(And so it should be his right to want to grow.)
(Perhaps it’s wrong of me to manage his development and suppress his desire to improve.)
(Even if what awaits us is destruction....)
In that moment, Mitile’s profile reminds me of Oz’s, before he grew up.
I felt the same way about Oz. But I did not go easy on Oz. Because he was a threat.
I wonder if Mitile will also become a threat to me one day.
I wish for his happiness. I wished for Oz’s happiness too. And Faust’s as well.
Sir Snow and Sir White. Lennox. Tiretta. Rutile. Arthur. All the people I’ve loved throughout my life.
I pray for their happiness.
Mitile: Woah.... It looks so nice!
Lennox: The neighbors painted over all the bare patches and faint spots for us. It looks great.
Rutile: It looks like a new building! We’re allowed to use this place as we please?
Figaro: Yep. We don’t have a signboard yet, but we should make one. What do you think we should call it?
Lennox: I think The Wizards’ House is a good name.
Rutile: I agree! This is a house where wizards live. We’re here to lend you an ear and a hand to solve your problems.
...I’ve seen a sign like that in front of a house in Southern Country. I think it’s simple and to the point.
Figaro: I like that. People might be a little surprised at first, but give it some time, and I’m sure we’ll blend right in.
So this will be The Wizards’ House.
Mitile: Nii-sama, look! I built this table.
Rutile: Wow, it looks amazing! Mitile, you and Mister Leno are both precise and thorough, so you always make such nice furniture.
Mitile: But the nail here is a little crooked.
Rutile: I wouldn’t have noticed. I would’ve ended up with a whole crooked table leg.
Mitile: Haha, you wouldn’t be able to use the table!
Rutile: Yeah! It would fall over!
The Flores brothers’ laughter brings a smile to my face. That’s when a few people appear from the back of the house.
They’re the citizens of the capital market who worked with us on reconstruction efforts.
Central Country citizen: Hello, Dr. Figaro! And welcome to all the other wizards, too.
Figaro: Hello, it’s been a while. Thank you for this lovely house.
Central Country citizen: No no, thank you for all that you do for us.
We don’t mind if you want to live here, but we heard you planned to make this a... gathering spot....?
Figaro: Yes. We want to make it a place where people in need of magical assistance can drop by and air their concerns.
???: So would you say it’s a wizard-style handyman shop?
Someone new butts into the conversation.
He’s a young man I’ve never seen before — he’s basically a boy. He’s dressed properly, and looks smart and refined.
His eyes are shining with awe, the same way Mitile’s eyes shine when he’s exploring somewhere new for the first time.
???: I apologize for interrupting. My name’s Luchino Anderson, and I’m a journalist in the making.
Rutile: It’s a pleasure to meet you, Luchino. I’m Rutile Flores. You said you’re a journalist?
Luchino: I turn the latest newsworthy stories into articles, and deliver them to my clients who like to stay up to date with happenings in the world. Information is valuable, after all.
Newspapers might change the world one day. Journalism is an amazing career!
I can sense Luchino’s pure admiration and pride for his job. He shrugs, seemingly embarrassed about his impassioned speech.
Luchino: Oh, I apologize. I got a little excited there.... Let us continue our introductions.
back to top
13.7 A Hair-Raising Reunion
Lennox: Let me start off. I’m Lennox. Pleased to meet you.
Mitile: I’m Mitile, Rutile’s little brother. Happy to make your acquaintance.
Figaro: I’m Figaro. Nice to meet you.
Mitile is still looking with Luchino with a bit of apprehension.
Luchino beams with excitement as he looks at each one of us.
Ah. He wanted to meet a wizard.
Luchino: I’ve actually always really wanted to meet a wizard, you see. I’m fascinated by wizards.
Thought so. Considering his proper attire, he might be the son of a noble family.
Luchino: So when I heard you’d be opening a wizards’ gathering place, I couldn’t sit still. I just had to come see.
Prince Arthur, the former general Cain.... The Sage’s Wizards are the saviors of our world! Thank you for protecting us.
I’m not yet in a position where I can easily publish my articles, but I hope to write about you all one day.
So please, let me do whatever I can to help! Thank you!
Luchino offers us a refined bow. He seems like an honest, good child.
I touch Mitile’s nervous back and smile at Luchino.
Figaro: Thank you, Luchino. But before we talk about news articles, can I ask that you and Mitile become friends?
Luchino: Of course! Nice to meet you, Mitile. Can you tell me all about Southern Country? I want to visit one day.
Mitile: Really....? If I can help, please ask away! Should I talk about the City of Clouds?
Luchino: I’ve heard of the City of Clouds! It’s the biggest province in Southern Country, right? Please tell me all about it!
Their conversation grows lively, and Mitile’s nervousness seems to melt away. Rutile watches over them with a smile.
Lennox: News articles.... Are you all right with this, Dr. Figaro?
Figaro: It’s better to have a friend on our side than let folks write lies about us. He seems like a good boy, too.
I’m looking forward to seeing his stories about me. Dr. Figaro, the gentle physician of Southern Country....
???: Sir Figaro.
Out of nowhere, a deep voice strikes from behind my back.
It sends chills down my spine. I hadn’t even noticed until I heard his voice.
Figaro: .............
He grabs my shoulder before I can turn around.
A white, dry hand, even bigger than Lennox’s.
Capable of breaking the fragile neck of a woman or child.
A familiar leather armlet is strapped around one of his thick arms.
I hold my breath and look up. He’s so tall that even I have to crane my neck to see his face.
Pale, emotionless blue eyes like icey knives.
Beneath the peaceful, sun-kissed shadows of the trees, the man who towers behind me is a giant Northern wizard.
My whole body freezes up.
But I smile.
Figaro: Hello! If it isn’t Isaac.
Isaac: It has been a while, Sir Figaro.
He’s right. It’s been at least a hundred years since we last met. Maybe more.
Isaac is a Northern wizard. He’s no match for Bradley, but he’s still powerful enough that I can’t let my guard down.
If Isaac really wanted to, he could decimate every last life in this corner of town.
But Isaac is a little strange.
With an unreadable, cold, colorless gaze, Isaac grasps my hand.
Holding it with both his arms, he looks at my face from above.
Isaac: You look as wise as always..... But I.... I’m a failure. I’m still a failure.
Isaac keeps hold of my hand as he clumsily gets on his knees.
He rests his behind on the ground once, before rising to a kneel.
He pulls my hand to his face, ready to rub it against his nose.
He must be trying to pray, or express his erudition.
Isaac: Sir Figaro. Sir Figaro. I have once again been so foolish.
I... I realize. I’m going to die soon. I feel it in my bones.....
That’s why I want to become wise. Just once is enough: I want to know about this world.....
And so I came here. And found you.
Isaac smiles. His murderous gaze holds no warmth.
back to top
13.8 Walking Through Town With a Starving Bear
I’m at a loss. Isaac is a dangerous wizard. He’s short-tempered and violent.
I’ve witnessed him render a jeering opponent incapable of smiling ever again, without batting an eye.
When he was furious and irritated, he would kill smart wizards and eat their stones.
Apparently, he thought it would make him smarter.
Figaro: (What to do... Isaac isn’t the kind of wizard who can live in a town full of humans.)
Isaac is not deliberately cruel. In fact, he’s probably more mild-mannered than most Northern wizards.
He’s a bit strange. Even though he’s a Northern wizard, he likes to learn.
He once said that smart people looked relaxed, like they were living an easy life.
He thought that learning about the world would allow him to live in peace, without his heart being disturbed.
I like that about Isaac. He’s sincere, pathetic, and foolish.
Lennox: Dr. Figaro....
The Southern wizards are staring. I pause for a moment before pulling my hand away from him.
Figaro: Come along, Isaac. Let’s talk over there.
Isaac: Sir Figaro....
Figaro: Call me Doctor Figaro.
I whisper in Isaac’s ear, before tugging at his arm to urge him into standing.
He won’t move, so I slap his back.
Figaro: Stand up. You’re drawing attention.
Isaac: Yes, sir.
Figaro: Sorry, Leno! I met an old acquaintance. Can I ask you to take care of things over here?
Lennox: Of course. Take care.
Mitile: His friend is really big... I’ve never seen anyone that tall.
Rutile: See you later. We’ll prepare some tea — your friend is welcome to join us later.
Isaac: ..........
Isaac stares at Rutile in response to his graceful invitation.
The intelligent and gentle-looking Rutile is probably Isaac’s type. I quickly shake my head.
Figaro: You can’t, Isaac. He belongs to Mithra.
He actually doesn’t. But this is the fastest way to get through to a Northern wizard.
Isaac: ....Mithra? You mean the Northern wizard Mithra?
Figaro: Yes.
Isaac: But... He invited me to tea.
Figaro: Isaac. I’m telling you because I like you. If you accept that invitation for tea, Mithra will kill you.
Isaac: Over a cup of tea.....
Figaro: Never step foot near this house again. Let’s go.
Isaac: Yes, sir.
✦✧☾✧✦
Isaac and I push our way through the crowd on the busy streets.
Isaac: Have you been here for long, Sir Figaro?
Figaro: Dr. Figaro.
Isaac: Dr. Figaro.
Figaro: Hm. I was living in Southern Country, but I come here pretty often lately.
Isaac: Heheh.... A few people.... Spoke to me. They gave me flowers, and water....
Figaro: That’s great. Central Country lies at the heart of the continent, so everyone here is very friendly.
Isaac: Heheh.... Someone might talk to me again.....
Figaro: You’re right.
Isaac draws attention with his thick, heavy body, like a giant’s.
His straw-like hair and swaggering shoulders make him look like a hungry bear out on a hunt.
The good citizens of Central Country who reconstructed the city with their positive, diligent efforts look at Isaac with fear in their eyes.
A mother carrying her child and a young man carrying some large luggage turn pale and make way for Isaac as we cross their path.
Each time someone moves out of his way, the short-tempered, brutal Isaac grows more irritated.
Isaac: ....But everyone gave me stuff before......
Figaro: Everyone’s busy because it’s noontime. And you shouldn’t assume people will just offer you their goodwill.
Isaac: ....I know that. But if they give me something, I’ll offer some of it to you, Sir Figaro.
No matter how many times I correct him, Isaac won’t drop the "Sir." So I stop trying.
Figaro: Thanks. But I don’t need anything.
Isaac: ......... I apologize....
Isaac doesn’t want things. He has the power to take anything he wants by force.
I think he probably likes this city. That’s why he wants everyone to welcome him.
He must’ve taken their charity as affection. He wants me to witness people expressing their affection for him.
But instead, they avoid us.
I understand how both sides feel. These people just want to protect their treasures from the terrifying, from the unknown.
back to top
13.9 I Want to Be With Humans
At times like these, I feel like I hear the sea roaring in my ears.
You might tread through the frigid winter waves, or mingle with the bustling crowds in the streets. But loneliness will persist as loneliness.
A promised paradise might not exist, but you have to keep taking steps forward. Or else your soul will freeze over.
Figaro: (I wish I could let Isaac stay here, but...)
(Blood would be spilled in no time. Isaac isn’t used to living in a city with this many people.)
(Should I deport him back to Northern Country before something happens? Or....)
Isaac: Look at this, Sir Figaro.
Figaro: What is it?
Isaac is pointing to something.
A worn-out book lies in his giant palms.
I blink, and exclaim in surprise.
Figaro: You’ve learned to read?
Isaac’s lips twist into an awkward, tiny smile.
Isaac: Yes.
I laugh, and draw his shoulder close to mine. We move so we’re not blocking traffic.
There are still plenty of people in this world who cannot read. Even in progressive pockets of the continent, it was only in the past hundred or so years that people who were not nobles could access a proper education.
Farmers only needed to know how to farm; hunters only needed to know how to hunt. Trade workers had to master the tools in their workshops. That was all people needed to know in order to survive.
And a wizard who can survive in Northern Country all alone has no need to read or write.
But Isaac loves to learn. And I like that about him.
Figaro: Can you show me? ....Oh, wow. You can read at this level?
Isaac: Is it a difficult book?
Figaro: No, even a child could read it so long as they learned the alphabet. But you couldn’t even write your own name.
Good job. Wasn’t it fun reading the book?
When I smile at him, Isaac holds his breath, his eyes open wide in awe.
It reminds me of Mitile’s expression earlier. Isaac must’ve worked very hard.
That’s why he’s overjoyed by my praise.
I find that touching.
Isaac: ....Thank you, Sir Figaro. That makes me very, very happy.....
Figaro: I’m happy too. Where did you study?
Isaac: ....In Northern Country.... And Central..... It was annoying, but I tried my best to contain my frustration. Sometimes I couldn’t, but.....
Figaro: Did someone teach you?
Isaac: I asked travelers to teach me. Those guys are homeless, so.....
Figaro: Oh, I see. You paid them to teach you how to read.
Isaac: Well, yes. Yes. And... When I arrived in Central Country, humans gave me a few books.
You want to read? Then here’s a book. Sometimes... I meet them and speak to them. And ask them how to read.....
Figaro: I see. You know, there aren’t many Northern wizards who are capable of that kind of thing.
Isaac: Haha....
Isaac laughs. When he laughs, his emotionless eyes light up like a bright, subglacial lake.
But his hair and clothes still smell a little. I’d warned him over and over again, but he never made a habit of washing his body or his clothes.
Figaro: Isaac, you need to cleanse yourself. I taught you how to do it with magic, remember?
Isaac: But.... I don’t like bathing or cleansing. And it doesn’t bother me if I don’t.
Figaro: It might not bother you, but it bothers others. People will avoid you.
Isaac: But why?
Figaro: Because they find smelly or dirty things unpleasant. Poor hygiene can lead to sickness, after all.
Isaac: I find children squealing unpleasant. It’s always sudden, and it surprises me.
Sometimes it makes me feel good. But I still instinctively brace myself. Is there any difference?
Figaro: Humans live short lives. They remember being children, and they’re always surrounded by children.
Most people probably feel happy when they see smiling children.
Isaac: Not me. So are you saying people will avoid me just because they’re not used to seeing guys like me?
That’s annoying. It’s not fair. If that’s the case, then I really don’t want to cleanse.
If people want to frown at me, then that’s fine. I’ll let them frown. That makes me feel better.
Figaro: If you want to mingle with people, why would you do things that make them frown?
Isaac looks irritated. His glare spells aversion and resentment.
Isaac: Then give me a satisfying answer. Sir Figaro, you’re a smart man. You must know the right answer.
Tell me: why do people forgive a child that laughs out of nowhere, but not me? You have to know the answer. Tell me.
Isaac has a habit of begging for an answer without much thought. I patiently try to explain to him.
Figaro: Isaac. There are several reasons for that. And there’s no guarantee that any of them are "right."
It varies depending on the era and the region. That’s why you need to learn these sorts of things yourself.
Isaac: Why are you withholding the answer? That’s cruel. I’d follow your instructions if you would only teach me properly.
I’m fed up with the piping-mad Isaac. I’m fed up, and also sad and hurt.
There aren’t many people in the world who will gaze at you with serious eyes, and listen to your words with a pure heart and an unslothful mind.
Even as they call me "Sir Figaro."
Isaac: Sir Figaro. Quick, please teach me. I want to become knowledgeable.
Figaro: There’s no point in just accumulating knowledge. Isaac, you only want how people won’t dislike you.
But that would be the same as trying to learn the entire range of human temperament, or the entire span of human history. You need to consider that when....
Isaac: All right, I know. You don’t want to teach me. You should just say that, then.
Figaro: That’s not it.
Isaac: You’re lying. But I’ll obey your commands. Because I can’t go against your word.
I treasure your teachings more than any mana stone, Sir Figaro. I love learning from you.
Figaro: Now you’re lying. You’re just trying to get me to offer you a theory that will validate your way of life.
Isaac: Don’t be so cruel. I am not.
Figaro: But as a matter of fact, you’ve forgotten what I taught you before. You’re beckoning illness by being unsanitary. Your hands and legs will rot.
Isaac: ......Ah, so that’s why....
Isaac’s sharp eyes suddenly cloud over with despair.
That’s right — he said he thought he was going to die soon.
Is he like me?
Figaro: Are you feeling unwell?
Isaac: Yes. I don’t know how to put it, but.... There are times when my body won’t move the way I want it to.
One time I got angry, and punched it. But ever since I did, my stomach won’t stop hurting....
Figaro: You silly thing... Where did you punch yourself? Show me.
Isaac: .....You’re worried about me....?
Figaro: Well, I am a doctor.
Isaac: Please fix my stupidity, then.
I look up at him as I touch his stomach.
He is not nearly as foolish as he believes himself to be. He likes learning, and he has a keen desire to improve. He studied and learned how to read.
He might be ferocious, hot-blooded, and ill-tempered, but he’s trying to learn self-restraint.
Figaro: You are not a fool. I just wanted to tell you that you shouldn’t hurt yourself.
Isaac: I just grew tired of everything.....
Isaac looks exhausted. It’s not so much sadness reflected in his expression — rather, it’s an unsalvageable hopelessness.
His life is about to end.
Isaac: I.... This is it for me. That’s why I wanted to change. At the end of my life. That’s why.... I... Ah....
Figaro: Isaac?
back to top
13.10 A Question With No Answer
That’s when Isaac’s armband catches my eye. A delicate chain is wrapped around it.
There are little blue stones on that delicate chain. The craftsmanship is too pretty for his taste.
I sense a wizard’s presence.
Isaac: ....I’m sick of doing crap that makes no sense, of thinking endlessly about questions with no answers....
I’m sick of being tricked and fooled!
He shouts and punches the stone wall next to him.
Instantly, screaming ring across the marketplace.
Man: Wo...ah, what’s going on!?
Woman: Aaah, my clothes are torn...!
I spin around: the cloth on the nearby canopies is torn and the boxes containing fruits are broken. It’s like someone slashed them with an invisible knife.
Isaac did this.
Figaro: ..........
I conjure my magical tool without a word.
Isaac immediately turns pale. He grips his head and huddles up on the ground.
Isaac: ....That’s not it....!
I’m not doing this on purpose! I’m trying my best to hold back, just as you said....
I’m sick of it. ...I’m sick of it! I bore it for so, so, so long, but now Sir Figaro’s going to leave me too....
His mouth wide open, Isaac’s face weakly twists into a sorrowful expression.
It hurts my heart to see him like this.
I’m touched. I’m also tired of his foolishness. I think it might be better to finish him off.
Faust was my ideal student. He was noble and ambitious; a hero, equipped with both pen and sword.
I wanted to teach Faust everything I knew.
Because I felt like it would allow me to connect to this world once more.
But perhaps the people who truly need my guidance are people like Isaac.
Isaac prostrates himself on the ground. He clings to my leg like a desperate man drowning at sea.
Isaac: ....Sir Figaro, I beg of you. Please, please. If you’re going to kill me, please teach me....
Figaro: Teach you what?
Isaac: What is happiness?
How can I attain it?
Why was I born in this world?
What do I have to do for good things to happen to me?
How can I become intelligent?
If I eat the Western Wizard Murr’s stone, will people praise me the way they praise him?
I.... I just wanted to know everything the way you do, Sir Figaro.
Before I turn to stone. Just once is enough. ....I want to gaze at this world with the feeling that I know it all.....
Ah, so that’s how it was. Oh, I see — I understand now. I want to experience that sense of calm....
I exhale and turn my face upwards.
The clear blue sky is unbelievably beautiful.
If I could answer those questions — I would not be standing here alone.
But such a response would disappoint Isaac. So I quietly smile at him instead.
Figaro: I won’t turn you to stone. You need to find the answers to each of those questions on your own.
Keep up your studies. You finally began reading books. You have plenty of time left.
Wonderful days await you.
As I stroke Isaac’s giant, trembling back, I let out a quiet sigh.
It might seem like I’m granting him words of salvation, but I feel like I’m lying.
Everything will work out. That’s probably true in most cases, if you don’t wish for too much.
But I don’t think that’s what we want; we don’t want for things to just work out.
Isaac is affecting and pitiful. He’s also unpleasant and infuriating. Most of all, he’s a threat to the people in this city.
I don’t know when he’ll commit a heinous crime.
And if a wizard commits a heinous crime, Vincent will harden his stance. Arthur’s position will be put at risk.
It might also threaten the Southern Wizards’ hope to connect with civilians through our Wizards’ House.
But.....
If Isaac is a danger to society, then Oz and Mithra are true threats.
As am I. And Owen, and Bradley. Any of us could destroy this city if we so desired.
Yet we are allowed to roam free. What’s the difference between us and Isaac? The fact that we’re the Sage’s wizards?
One could say the same about Mitile, too. He will annihilate the Southern wizards one day.
But does that mean it’s okay to strip Mitile of all opportunity to grow, when he so desires it?
Mitile and Isaac are the same. They want to learn; they want to grow. They want to be loved.
I want to respect their freedom.
But if I do that, the natural progression might be tragedy.
This is a problem I’ve faced numerous times over the course of the past thousand years.
Should we eliminate dangerous individuals to ensure the peace of the greater population?
Or should we grant equal freedom to dangerous souls?
And most of all....
For how long do I intend to be the warden of this world?
I can’t even define love or happiness.
back to top
Chapter 12 << | index | >> Chapter 14