Chapter 174. Not Ma(馬), but Ma(魔)
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A little later.
After beating the back-alley punks to a pulp, Aster stepped out into the street with a heavier pouch and a refreshed expression.
Maisellne watched him while hiding his presence, and not long after, his gaze shifted to Fury.
“…Is this right?”
It carried multiple meanings.
Whether that really was the savior who would rescue the spirits trapped for an unfathomable span of time. And whether that act itself was right.
As for the first—he didn’t know.
That wasn’t something he could judge.
He was only carrying out the will of the poor spirits.
But the second was something he needed to confirm.
‘No matter how evil someone is, they don’t deserve to be beaten without reason.’
If someone has committed a crime, it is only right they be punished—but that didn’t mean just anyone had the right to beat them.
So, for a more accurate judgment, Maisellne moved toward the scene.
The simplest thing would’ve been to grab Aster and interrogate him, but in front of force, no one could remain steadfast.
If he interrogated him out of the blue, that boy Aster would surely spit out only words convenient for himself.
So before confirming anything, Maisellne wanted to see the situation with his own eyes.
And so, he arrived.
“Hmm.”
Maisellne narrowed his eyes at the grim scene.
The punks lay sprawled there with nothing broken anywhere—only bruises and contusions. He’d beaten them with such skill.
Then, suddenly, something caught his eye.
Gleam.
A sharp blade reflecting sunlight.
The scene was grim, but…
‘…So he spared those who pulled knives on him?’
Maisellne silently stared at the scene, then moved again.
No—he tried to.
“Old man.”
“…!”
A voice, suddenly, right behind him.
Maisellne widened his eyes and slowly turned his head.
And there, leaning crookedly against the wall, was the boy who he thought had already disappeared—Aster, staring at him.
‘When…?’
For the first time in a long time, Maisellne felt a chill crawl over him.
He hadn’t even sensed it, and yet he’d been caught so blatantly behind the back?
No—what was shocking wasn’t only that.
He’d sensed Maisellne’s presence? A presence that even Nine Star Tohoman hadn’t sensed?
With his mind tangled in many directions, Maisellne watched Aster look at him with cold eyes and speak.
“What are you, old man, that you keep following me around?”
“Hmm.”
What should he do about this?
‘This wasn’t in the plan….’
It was, in every sense, a predicament.
In truth, it was a predicament for Aster as well.
‘Damn it—what the hell is this?’
He was putting on a calm face, but inside, it was anything but.
‘Just looking at him, he’s a spiritist.’
Why is a spiritist tailing me?
Honestly, at first, he wasn’t sure.
The back of his head kept itching, but no matter how he spread his senses, nothing got caught. More than that, even Sir Tohoman didn’t seem to have noticed anything.
Well, it was understandable.
Aster’s sense was unusually sharp, and Sir Tohoman’s was simply a bit dull for his level.
It was a characteristic of mages who handled earth-element magic—anyway.
After he felt the oddness, Aster kept his nerves wound tight, trying to identify what this itchy sensation was.
To put it bluntly, his spine went cold.
Something was definitely following him, but he couldn’t catch its trace… if the one tailing him were an assassin, it wouldn’t be strange if his head dropped at any moment.
It was a shiver he hadn’t felt in a long time.
At some point, he hadn’t felt anxious about this kind of thing at all, and then—
As Aster reached that thought, Maisellne opened his mouth.
“…Since when did you know?”
“Is that the important question right now?”
To tell the truth, he’d felt the “trace” since the moment they entered the festival street. And he’d started suspecting he was a spiritist at the astrology shop.
Other mages might find it unfamiliar, but the presence of spirits wasn’t unfamiliar to Aster.
“Hmm. I’m sorry. But I assure you, I had no bad intentions.”
“Hm. No bad intentions, you say.”
Aster pretended to read his intent while quietly calming his startled heart.
This was the strongest “acting tough” he could manage.
In his heart, he wanted to shout preemptive strike wins and go in, but even if it worked against a mage or a knight, it wouldn’t work against a spiritist.
Around a spiritist, there were always spirits—meaning this wasn’t a one-on-one fight.
It was like there was one more invisible enemy.
So he was being cautious to the point of caution, when Maisellne spoke again.
“I truly am sorry. As I said, I wasn’t following you with bad intentions. I swear on my spirit. Will you believe me if I say that?”
As he said it, Maisellne kept Aster in his gaze.
In fact, invoking the name of a spirit was the strongest guarantee Maisellne could offer.
A spiritist and a spirit were bound by a pure relationship forged through closeness. If you used a spirit’s name for something false, the spirit would leave the spiritist.
It was an oath on an entirely different level from a mage’s “I swear on my mana,” an oath whose meaning had long since faded…
“Do you have multiple spirits? Or are you not a spiritist?”
“…?”
“No, sometimes even vagrants from the Black and White Zone swear on their parents. Sometimes there are guys who swear on three or four adoptive fathers.”
“……”
Maisellne lost his words for a moment.
He couldn’t even imagine it.
A Black and White Zone vagrant would usually be an orphan without parents, and yet vagrants who swore on their parents? And multiple adoptive fathers, even?
What kind of twists and turns did you have to live through to end up with multiple adoptive fathers?
But those doubts only lasted a moment.
To prove his innocence, Maisellne manifested Fury.
Tzuzuz—
“Do you see? This child is my spirit.”
Aster looked at the “girl-shaped” spirit that appeared beside Maisellne—slightly larger than a handspan.
‘For now, he’s brought one out.’
So now, the question was how many spirits that old man actually kept.
As Aster thought that, he spoke again.
“The spirit you’re swearing on—is it that child?”
“It is.”
“So that’s how it is.”
Of course, he didn’t believe him.
It was possible the spirit he’d sworn on had already left, and he’d simply brought out another spirit.
Of course, the surest method was to make him swear “on all your spirits” or “on that spirit,” but—
‘That won’t do.’
In this case, if the other side had malicious intent, it could lead straight into a violent clash without any negotiation.
Meaning the key was leaving an escape hole.
Aster watched Maisellne while pretending to loosen his tension.
“Alright, I get that you didn’t have bad intentions. So—what did you want, following me around?”
Softening his hostile tone was a kind of feint.
Anyway, he watched Maisellne with the intent of striking out the moment something happened—
And Maisellne, letting out a low “Hmm,” kept Aster in his gaze.
For him, this wasn’t a pleasant situation.
‘I’d hoped, if possible, to talk in a calmer environment….’
But what could he do.
Things had turned out like this.
“In truth, I have a request of you—”
It was right then that Aster spoke.
“Stop.”
“…?”
Maisellne tilted his head.
What was it?
Just a moment ago, his hostility had softened, his voice had been gentler—and in an instant, venom rose sharply in his voice.
But what was even stranger was that the venom wasn’t ordinary.
“I didn’t hear anything.”
With those words, Aster turned away and strode off, step after step.
‘Tch. No bad intentions?’
If this wasn’t bad intentions, then what was?
Maisellne stared blankly at Aster’s retreating back.
He couldn’t even bring himself to grab him.
That’s how coldly he’d swept past without pause.
“Hmm… what a predicament.”
No matter how bad a first meeting was, to think he couldn’t even properly start a conversation…
‘What should I do?’
Maisellne sank into thought.
‘Do I have to act alone in the end?’
He’d originally planned to, but in truth, it wasn’t a very good method.
The spirits’ voices carried in with the fairies’ dance.
Because he could hear them, he had more information than others—but that didn’t mean he had so much information.
He only knew that the spirits were trapped in some kind of barrier, writhing in pain over a long span of time, and that the time of the fairies’ dance was the only chance to break that barrier.
He didn’t know how to save the spirits.
Even so, he’d come to Amera because he couldn’t guarantee he’d still be alive by the next fairies’ dance…
And at a time like this, to lose the savior the spirits themselves had chosen?
‘This is not good.’
If he hadn’t known, he wouldn’t have known—but now that he did, the regret washed in like an ebbing tide.
Maybe that boy could free the spirits trapped inside the barrier, suffering.
“If I’d at least been able to bring it up, I wouldn’t regret it as much… hmm.”
As he said that, Maisellne soon shook his head.
That was an easy lie.
If he’d at least brought it up, he wouldn’t regret it as much? How could that be true?
Then what should he do?
“I simply… can’t give up.”
But if he faced him one-on-one again like this, he’d surely avoid him.
Of course, he could force him down with strength and make him talk, but… that was never a just method.
“Fury, we have no choice.”
Maisellne made his decision.
To take out the name that time had buried, and show it once more.
“Fury, let’s go.”
With resolute steps, he left the alley. No—he tried to.
‘But wait… where are Brando’s people staying?’
Aster had already noticed his presence, so tailing him would be difficult.
Ngh.
Scratching at his head roughly, Maisellne stepped out into the busy streets.
For some reason, it was not an easy day.
Before he knew it, evening.
Aster, dragging his body—utterly exhausted from wandering Astrology Street—arrived back at Brando’s lodgings.
It had been a truly chilling day.
‘Where the hell did that spiritist come from?’
No, putting that aside—
‘A request for me? How does he know me?’
It was behavior and speech he couldn’t understand at all.
If he simply needed a strong mage, there would’ve been plenty elsewhere, but the fact that he’d tailed him all the way here meant he’d targeted Aster specifically.
And yet, in this life, he hadn’t gotten tangled with a spiritist even once.
How, exactly?
As Aster reached that thought, he shook his head hard.
‘How, what. Why does that matter?’
What mattered was this.
He’d refused the offer, and going forward, there was no reason for them to get involved again.
Of course, it was possible the spiritist might change his mind later and try to push with force, but that was something to think about then.
Even if it came to that, he wasn’t particularly worried.
Because—
‘Brando.’
Aster looked up at the luxurious mansion and smiled with satisfaction.
Demian on his left, Chenbi on his right.
But what mattered wasn’t Demian or Chenbi—it was Tohoman and the unknown Nine Star who’d come along with Demian.
That spiritist looked like he had some skill, but… what could he possibly do in front of this lineup?
‘If he’s been “today-or-tomorrow,” it’ll just become “today.”’
And with that petty thought, he strode forward with full confidence—
“Uahaha! Young Head of House, you’ve arrived? Why so late? Do you know how long we’ve been waiting?”
A Nine Star whose name he didn’t even know came running from the front entrance with a grin.
‘…What?’
Someone who hardly ever smiled was running up with a beaming grin? He tilted his head at the uncharacteristic sight.
Demian, sensing something interesting had happened, made his eyes sparkle.
“What? Is there something inside?”
“Hahaha, don’t be surprised. A guest came by, and do you know who it is? Ah, perhaps the Young Head of House wouldn’t know. It’s someone who made a name for himself a very long time ago.”
Grinning broadly as if he’d met an idol, the Nine Star said to Demian,
“The legendary spiritist—hero Sir Maisellne—who stood shoulder to shoulder with Duke Muspellun, the war-ending archmage, back in the old war! He’s here.”
The moment those words ended—
Aster thought,
‘…Fuck.’
Am I cursed? What is this?
Ah—and for the record, this “ma” wasn’t ma(馬)—a horse—but ma(魔). The ma in “devil.”
…That was life.
