Zero no Tsukaima - Volume 03 - The Founder's Prayer Book Page 2

  Saito's scream trailed behind as he fell, but before he smashed into the ground, Tabitha, who was reading a book, dully swung her hand and put a 'Levitation' spell on Saito.

  Saito landed gently onto the plains and saw Guiche, who had fallen before, walking on the grassy plain along the road with a bitter face.

  Then Guiche stopped and addressed Saito in his usual snobbish manner.

  “You fell too, right?”

  Saito answered in a tired voice.

  “I was pushed off.”

  “T-they're not coming back, are they?”

  Saito looked up into the sky. In the blue sky, the wind dragon quickly disappeared over the horizon.

  “…It looks like it.”

  “Well, let’s walk then. Sigh, it’ll take half a day on foot.”

  With a depressed look on his face, Guiche started to walk. Saito was not sure why, but somehow, he felt more impressed by Guiche.

  “By the way, you… that… well… There’s something I wanted to ask you. Please tell me.”

  Guiche mumbled to Saito as he fiddled with his artificial rose.

  “Huh?”

  “Did Her Highness... well... have anything to say about me? Is it true that she’ll reward me after the mission, with the letter where the promised secret date is?”

  For a moment, Saito felt pity for Guiche. Henrietta hadn’t even mentioned the letter “G” from Guiche’s name in their conversation.

  “Let’s go.”

  Saito, pretending he hadn’t heard anything, began quickening his pace. Guiche chased after him from behind.

  “Well, is the rumor true?”

  “Come on, walk. It’s good for your health.”

  “Wha-at, y-you, Her Highness, I...”

  Under the warmth of the sun, the two kept on walking towards the Academy of Magic.

  The Fortress of Newcastle, once known as a great stronghold, was now a tragic ruin. Though it had withstood the onslaught, it had become a disastrous scene.

  The castle walls, which were repeatedly attacked by spells and cannon fire, had turned into a pile of rubble, and corpses burnt beyond recognition littered the ground.

  Although the siege had been short, the rebels - no, since Albion had lost its king, 'Reconquista' was the new government in Albion - had suffered unimaginable damage. For every three hundred royal army soldiers, two thousand rebels were killed. And with an additional four thousand wounded. It was hard to call the battle a victory, given these statistics.

  Because the fortress was located on the very edge of the floating continent, it was possible to attack it only from one direction. Before the 'Reconquista' forces managed to get past the guards, they were repeatedly shot with magic and cannon fire and received huge casualties.

  However,in the end, they won through their sheer force of numbers. Once behind the castle walls, the king's defense was fragile. The king's army's mages were left to guard against the soldiers. But the mages' numbers were incomparable to the 'Reconquista' soldiers; they were gradually killed off, one by one, until they all fell.

  Though the damage dealt to the enemy was great… the price was the annihilation of the king's army. It was literal annihilation, because the royalists had fought up to the last soldier.

  In other words, the final decisive battle of the civil war in Albion: the siege of Newcastle’s fortress, where the royalists were outnumbered 100 to 1 and inflicted damage that was worth ten such armies… had become a legend.

  Two days after the civil war had ended, under the blazing sun and between the corpses and pebbles, a tall aristocrat was inspecting the old battlefield in Albion. His hat was pushed to the side and he was dressed in unusual attire: the uniform of Tristain’s Royal Mage Guard.

  It was Wardes.

  A female mage with a hood over her eyes stood next to him.

  It was Fouquet the Crumbling Dirt. She had escaped to Albion onboard the ship from La Rochelle. Last night, she had joined Wardes at a bar in Londinium, the capital of Albion, and now she had followed him to Newcastle’s battlefield.

  Around them, 'Reconquista' soldiers were diligently scouring for riches. A loud cheer came from the treasury nearby: it seems a band had found some gold coins.

  A mercenary with a pike on his shoulder was turning corpses over, then pushing them into a pile near rubbish as a decoration for the garden. When he found a magic wand, he cried out in joy.

  Fouquet, who was watching the scene disapprovingly, clicked her tongue in disgust.

  Noticing Fouquet's expression, Wardes laughed coldly.

  “What’s wrong, Fouquet the Crumbling Dirt? Aren’t these men who are hunting for treasure your colleagues? Robbing nobles of their treasures was part of your job, wasn't it?”

  “Do not compare me with them. I have no interest in the riches of the dead.”

  “A thief with a thief’s ethics.”

  Wardes laughed.

  “I’m not interested in that. I only steal valuable treasures because I love to see the frantic expressions of the nobles. But these guys…”

  Fouquet looked at the corpse of a royalist mage guardian with the corner of her eye.

  “All right, all right, don’t be mad.”

  “I guess Albion’s royal nobles are your enemies. Haven’t you, under the name of the royal family, disgraced your own family?”

  Hearing Wardes exaggerated words, Fouquet, regaining her composure, coldly said with a nod.

  “Oh well. Accidents happen.”

  And then Wardes turned. The lower part of his left arm had been severed off. The uniform’s sleeve was loosely fluttering in the wind.

  “It looks like it was a harsh battle for you too."

  Wardes replied in a unchanging tone:

  “An arm in exchange for Wales' life, I think, is a rather cheap trade.”

  “He must be something, that ‘Gandálfr’, to be able to so swiftly cut off the arm of a Square-Class Wind mage such as yourself.”

  “Because he was a commoner, I just got careless.”

  “Don’t put it like that. He even destroyed my golem. However, nothing within this castle could have survived.”

  When Fouquet said so, Wardes smiled coldly.

  “He is Gandálfr after all. The corps that attacked the castle didn’t report to have fought against such a person. Perhaps, during our fight, he had expended all his energy and was confused as a commoner. Probably, the soldier who killed Gandálfr didn’t even notice that he was the legendary familiar.”

  Fouquet, not convinced, snorted. An image of Saito, a strange looking boy, floated in her mind. Could he really die so easily?

  “And where is that letter?”

  “Somewhere around here.”

  Wardes pointed to the ground with the cane. That place, two days ago, had been the chapel, the place where Wardes and Louise tried to hold the wedding, the place where Wales lost his life.

  However, now it was just a pile of rubble.

  “Hmm, that La Vallière lass… your former fiancé, the letter was in her pocket?

  “Correct.”

  “You let her die? You didn’t love her?”

  “Loved, loved not, I’ve already forgotten such sentiments.” dismissed Wardes in a neutral voice.

  He drew his cane and chanted a spell. A small tornado appeared and started scattering around the rubble.

  Gradually, the floor of the chapel was unveiled.

  Between a portrait of Founder Brimir and a chair lay the corpse of Wales. It looked surprisingly unharmed.

  “Look, isn’t it the dear Prince Wales?”

  Fouquet said in a surprised voice. Fouquet, who was once one of Albion’s nobles, remembered Wales' face.

  Wardes didn’t cast even a single glance at the remains of the man he had personally murdered; instead, he searched intently for Louise and Saito’s corpses.

  However… their corpses were nowhere to be seen.

  “Are you sure they really died here?”

  Mutteri
ng so, Wardes began to search the surroundings carefully.

  “Hmm… Look, isn’t that George de la Tur’s ‘Founder Brimir's Visit’?”

  Fouquet picked up the painting from the floor.

  “I think it is a reproduction. Mmm, come to think of it, this castle’s chapel must have been built to worship him… Hmm?”

  Fouquet, having picked up the painting from the floor, discovered a widely gaping hole underneath, and called Wardes.

  “Hey, Wardes. What is this hole?”

  Wardes, with raised brows, squatted down and looked into the hole that Fouquet indicated. He realized that the hole must have been dug by that huge mole, Guiche’s familiar. On his cheeks, Wardes could feel the cold breeze emanating from the hole.

  “Could it be that both Vallière’s youngest daughter and Gandálfr escaped through this hole?” Fouquet remarked. It was the truth. Wardes' face contorted in rage.

  “Should we pursue them?”

  “It is useless. If there’s wind inside, it must mean it was dug clean through.” Wardes replied exasperatedly. Seeing him like that, Fouquet grinned.

  “It seems like you are capable of such expressions. And here I thought that you were a man without emotions… like a gargoyle… Why, oh why do such emotions appear on your face?” she mocked.

  Hearing this, Wardes stood up.

  From the distance, a person appeared while they talked.

  He said in a cheerful, limpid voice.

  “Viscount! Wardes! Have you found the letter yet? That… what was it... ah, love letter that Henrietta gave to Wales, the saviour that would prevent the union of Germania and Tristain. Have you found it?”

  Shaking his head, Wardes answered the man who had just appeared.

  The man was in his mid-thirties. He was wearing a round hat and a green mantle. From the first sight, one could tell that he was a clergyman. However, he also slightly resembled a soldier with his long aquiline nose and intelligent blue eyes. From the edges of his hat, curly blond hair peeked out.

  “Your Excellency, it seems the letter slipped through this hole. It is my mistake. I am deeply regretful for my error. Please, hand me whatever punishment you deem necessary.”

  Wardes kneeled down, bowing his head.

  The man addressed as ‘Excellency’, with a friendly smile on his face, approached Wardes and tapped his shoulder.

  “What are you saying? Viscount! You did a remarkable job! You single-handedly defeated the enemy’s brave general! Ah, isn’t that over there our dear Crown Prince Wales? Be proud! You defeated him! Apparently he loathed me deeply… but seeing him like that, I feel a strange sort of kinship to him. Aah, that’s right. Once dead, everyone becomes a friend."

  Wardes’ cheeks flinched slightly, as he noticed the sarcasm at the end of the speech. He quickly regained his composure, and once again repeated his apology to his superior officer.

  “However, the mission to obtain the Henrietta’s letter that Your Excellency so desires ended in failure. I’m sorry I was not able to meet Your Excellency’s expectations.”

  “Do not fret yourself. Compared to obstructing the alliance, killing Wales was by far more important. A dream is something that has to be obtained steadily, step-by-step.”

  Then, the man in the green robe turned to Fouquet.

  “Viscount, please introduce this beautiful woman here. Being a priest, it is inconvenient for me to speak with a woman.”

  Fouquet watched the man. Before her eyes, Wardes bowed deeply to the man. However, she didn’t like him. He had a strange atmosphere surrouding him. A sinister aura was radiating from the gaps of his robe.

  Wardes stood back up and introduced Fouquet to the man.

  “Your Excellency, this is Fouquet the Crumbling Dirt, before whom all Tristain nobles shudder.”

  “Oh! I heard the rumors! I am honored to meet you, Miss Saxe-Gotha.”

  Hearing him say her noble name that she had abandoned long ago, Fouquet smiled.

  “Did Wardes tell you this name?”

  “That's right. He knows everything about Albion nobles. Genealogy, coat of arms, property… it is hard for an aging bishop to remember everything. Oh, let's not delay my introduction.”

  Opening his eyes widely, and placing his hand over his chest...

  “'Reconquista' first general, Oliver Cromwell at your service. You see, originally, I was just a mere bishop. However, due to the votes of the baronial council, I was appointed as the first general, and I need to give my best. Though I am a clergyman who serves Founder Brimir, it is all right for me to ‘guide’ us through the dark times, right? If necessary, using faith and power for the better.”

  “Your Excellency, you are not a freelance first general anymore, you are now Albion’s…”

  “Emperor, Viscount.”

  Cromwell laughed. However, his eyes didn’t change.

  “Certainly, I really wished to prevent Tristain’s and Germania’s alliance, however, there are more important things. Do you understand me, Viscount?”

  “Your Excellency's thoughts are so deep that an ordinary man like me cannot measure them.”

  Cromwell opened his eyes wide. Then, he raised both hands and began talking with exaggerated gestures.

  “Unity! Unity of steel! Halkeginia is us, a union of chosen nobles that will get back the Holy Land from those menacing elves! It is a mission given to us by Founder Brimir! ‘Unity’ is our number one duty. Therefore, Viscount, I trust you. There is no blame in such a trifling failure.”

  Wardes bowed deeply.

  “For this great mission, Founder Brimir blessed us with a special power.”

  Fouquet's eyebrow rose. Power? What kind of power are they talking about?

  “Your Excellency, what power has Founder Brimir granted Your Excellency with? If it is all right, I would like to know.”

  Cromwell continued in a slurred tone, caught up in his own theatrics.

  “Do you know about the four great elements of magic, Miss Saxe-Gotha?”

  Fouquet nodded. Even children know of such things. Fire, Wind, Water, and fourth – Earth.

  “In addition to the four great elements, there is another magical element. The element that Founder Brimir used, the element of zero. Really, it was the first element of all things.”

  “Element of zero… Void?”

  Fouquet turned pale. The lost element. The magic of nothingness that, as dark legends say, disappeared. Did this man know something about the element of zero?

  “That is the power that Founder Brimir granted me with. For this reason, the Baronial Council agreed to make me the emperor of Halkeginia.”

  Cromwell pointed at Wales' corpse.

  “Wardes. I had wanted to make Crown Prince Wales my friend and ally. But alas, in life, he chose to be my greatest adversary; but now in death, he will become a great ally. Do you see anything wrong with that?”

  Wardes shook his head.

  “He should have never resisted Your Excellency's decisions.”

  Cromwell laughed with a smile.

  “Well then, Miss Saxe-Gotha. I will show the element of ‘Void’ to you.”

  Fouquet breathlessly watched Cromwell’s movements.

  Cromwell pulled out the cane that was attached to his waist.

  A low, silent aria escaped from Cromwell's mouth. He was chanting words that Fouquet never heard before.

  When the aria was completed, Cromwell gently lowered the cane and aimed it at Wales' corpse.

  Then… all of a sudden, Wales, whose body was already lifeless, opened his eyes. A chill ran down Fouquet’s spine.

  Wales slowly sat up. A once bloodless face suddenly sprang back to the life it had previously held. Like a withered flower absorbing water, Wales’s body gradually imbued itself with life.

  “Good morning, Crown Prince.”

  Cromwell muttered.

  The revived Wales returned Cromwell’s smile.

  “It has been a long time, Archbishop.”

&n
bsp; “How rude, I am an emperor now, my dear Crown Prince.”

  “Is that so? I apologize for that, Your Excellency.”

  Wales kneeled, taking the posture of a vassal.

  “I think I’ll make you my personal bodyguard, Wales.”

  “With pleasure.”

  “Then, let’s be friends.”

  Cromwell began to walk. Wales, who didn’t look like he was just dead, walked behind him. Then Cromwell, as if remembering something, halted and turned around saying,

  “Wardes, do not worry. Even if the alliance is formed, it is of no matter. In any case, Tristain is helpless. There is no change in plans.”

  Wardes bowed.

  “There are two ways of diplomacy - the cane and the bread. Let’s give warm bread to Tristain and Germania for the time being.”

  “As you wish.”

  “Tristain is a necessary area to add. That royal family has the Founder's Prayer Book. I need to have it in my hands in order to retrieve the Holy Land.”

  After saying this and nodding approvingly, Cromwell left.

  It was only after Cromwell and Wales were out of sight, that Fouquet was able to open her mouth.

  “That... was the void...? To revive the dead. That’s impossible.”

  Wardes muttered.

  “The void element manipulates life… That’s what His Excellency said, seems like he was right. Even though I cannot believe it as well, after witnessing this – how could I not?”

  Fouquet asked Wardes in a shaky voice.

  “A while ago you were acting very similar to this, perhaps you were affected by void magic too?”

  Wardes laughed.

  “Me? I am different. This is a result of a sorrowful life that I have led since birth.”

  After that, Wardes looked up at the sky.

  “However…many lives were sacrificed for the Founder’s Holy Land… what if they all will be revived by the element of ‘Void’?”

  Frightened, Fouquet clutched her chest. She felt a light heartbeat. She suddenly felt the need to confirm that she was still alive.

  “Don’t look that way. It was only my imagination. You could even call it my fantasy.”

  Fouquet sighed, feeling relieved. Then she glared at Wardes.