In short, it meant there was no sense of brotherhood to speak of—use them freely as a ruler, then discard them when done.
It was a ruthlessly cold statement, but in a way, it was also a wise approach to survival.
Only now had the groundwork barely been laid for mages to revive as a force.
And yet you would shelter the incompetent just because they were "kin," forming a faction around them?
"Then the rebellion from three hundred years ago would just repeat itself."
They were people who, despite possessing the talent to recreate miracles, had been persecuted for generations.
Even a low-grade mage with paltry ability was bound to develop some sense of entitlement.
It wouldn't have been strange for them to rally around Colin—the first to be appointed—and start making demands of all kinds.
Colin had decisively drawn a line against such potential sources of future instability.
"Good."
Lucian didn't know whether those words were carefully chosen for political maneuvering or spoken from pure sincerity.
But whichever it was, he found it deeply satisfying.
Because it meant swearing loyalty to Lucian as an individual, not as a member of the collective known as "mages."
Even if they were fellow mages, anyone who became a threat to Lucian would be cut down without hesitation.
"Your position is Chief Mage."
"If you know your history, you should know what that position entails. Or do you need me to explain it?"
"N–no, n–not at all!"
Colin answered in a rush, bit his tongue, and writhed in pain.
Even as tears welled up in his eyes, the position Lucian had named kept echoing in his mind.
Chief Mage…
A post that, three hundred years ago, could only be seen in ducal households or greater noble families that employed numerous mages.
It was the position that oversaw all hired mages, and the highest-ranking mage a house could put forward.
Even the imperial family—the last place where a mage still remained—had abolished the title of Chief Mage.
Is this really all right? If I take the Chief Mage position just because I came first, the mages who join later are bound to be furious…
A flash of anxiety struck Colin, and he continued hesitantly.
"Y-Your Majesty. I apologize, but the position of Chief Mage is usually decided through ability and competition—"
"Do you lack confidence in your ability?"
"How could that be?! I may not look it, but I am a Magister!"
"Magister?"
"It's the ranking system among mages. After being tested for aptitude as an apprentice and going through the disciple stage as an adept, one advances step by step—Mage, Magister, then Magus."
It was the first time Lucian had heard of such terms.
But then again, humans always divided themselves by ability.
Even knights, whose realms were notoriously ambiguous, had titles like Sword Master and the like—there was no way mages wouldn't have their own hierarchy.
"What's the difference?"
"It gets complicated if you go into detail, but… simply put, a Mage is a beginner, a Magister is an experienced practitioner, and a Magus is a master."
At Colin's explanation, Lucian tilted his head slightly.
Taken at face value, even a Magister was merely an experienced practitioner, wasn't he?
Not even a master, yet confident he could win the position of Chief Mage through sheer ability.
At Lucian's gaze, which seemed to say something was off, Colin let out a sigh.
"Your Majesty, the mage hunts lasted a full three hundred years. At this point, most schools don't even retain the minimum body of knowledge required for someone to be recognized as a mage."
"Ah, I see."
If sword techniques had nearly vanished from the world, then someone who fully mastered even a second-rate style would be treated as a Sword Saint.
In that sense, even someone labeled merely an "experienced practitioner" like Colin had become one of a very small number of truly capable individuals in this age.
If anything, it was remarkable that the Celestial School had somehow preserved that much knowledge until now.
"Either way, it's good to hear you're confident. You should be able to suppress anyone with complaints through ability alone."
"That's true, but…"
"If you're really that worried, then have a drink of this."
Lucian pulled out a vial of nektar from his clothes and shook it in front of Colin.
Colin flinched at the softly glowing liquid.
"W-what is that?"
"Nektar."
"That's quite the grand name. It certainly is beautiful enough to match it."
"Before I give it to you, let me ask one thing. I've heard that mages also use mana for their magic—does a medicine that's good for knights work just as well for mages?"
"Of course it does."
At Lucian's question, Colin gave a wry smile.
"Mages don't avoid learning both magic and sword techniques because the two conflict with each other. It's because a human lifespan isn't long enough to master both, and constantly switching methods of manipulation can cause confusion."
"Then what if there were a potion that could greatly widen only the path of mana, without requiring the circulation methods knights use?"
"That would be a miraculous potion. It would make mana control easier, and the user wouldn't experience any confusion at all. Every mage would rush for it with eyes bulging. Well… such a potion couldn't possibly exist."
At those words, Lucian let out a quiet chuckle and handed over the Nektar.
Colin accepted it reflexively, then stared at Lucian in confusion.
"What kind of potion is this, that you're taking such pains before giving it to me?"
"A miraculous potion."
"…Pardon?"
"Just drink it. And while you're at it, think about how you can be of use to me as Chief Mage."
Leaving only those words behind, Lucian departed the guest room.
After eyeing the Nektar with suspicion for a moment, Colin finally opened the cap and gulped the potion down.
A short while later, a sound that was neither quite a scream nor quite a shriek echoed through the room.
***
When news spread that Glen had returned to the capital, the northern nobles began preparing to leave.
With the inspector—the imperial family's representative—gone, there was no point in staying any longer, as no new information would be forthcoming.
More importantly, Norbek, whose malice had reached a boiling point, had successfully escaped from prison.
If I leave my territory unattended for too long, that old man might pull something again.
If he's hostile, that's one thing. But if he approaches amicably, it could lead to unnecessary misunderstandings.
I've gotten all the information I can. It's about time to head back and think about how to conduct myself.
Lucian did not stop the nobles who were preparing to depart.
The balance of power in the north had already been decided, and they had accepted that fact as well.
Having acknowledged Lucian as the clear victor, there was no reason to forcibly keep them here.
There were plenty of unexpected developments along the way, but all in all… it ended rather well.
He had extracted everything that could be wrung out of the Emperor, and contact had been cut off at precisely the right moment.
Even allowing for some margin of error, this meant the final objective had essentially been achieved.
Lucian was smiling at the fairly satisfying outcome when—
KWAANG!
"My lord!"
"T-this is bad!"
Three vassals burst through the door, their faces drained of all color.
Lucian looked at them with a displeased expression.
Hugo and Raymond were one thing, but even Felicia reacting like this?
"What on earth happened?"
"Th-the Sword Saint… Sir Aizen is on his way here!"
"What?"
Before he realized it, Lucian had sprung to his feet.
Sword Saint Aizen Brightner was coming to the north—now, of all times?
He turned his head in disbelief, and Felicia, her face pale, nodded.
"There are far too many eyewitness accounts for it to be just a rumor. It really seems Father is coming here."
"No—why?"
"I don't know that either. The rumors say he's coming to see me, but…"
Lucian nodded toward Felicia as her voice trailed off.
The Aizen they knew was a man who despised commotion and empty ceremony.
If he truly were coming to see Felicia, he would have come quietly—there would have been no reason to spread word so widely.
And yet he was deliberately making his presence known, stirring up a stir, and announcing his destination?
"Then it's one of two things. Either someone forced him to come… or Sir Aizen himself judged it necessary."
"The former is impossible. The only person who could issue orders to the Sword Saint was His Grace the Grand Duke—and he has already passed away."
"That's true. Which means it's the latter. But what could possibly have happened for him to—"
Lucian's expression stiffened mid-sentence.
As if the others had reached the same conclusion, the rest of the vassals froze as well.
There was only one reason the Sword Saint would abandon the family he had served with unwavering loyalty.
Rebellion.
If he had judged that the newly installed master was unworthy of his service, then even a Sword Saint would leave.
The problem wasn't the Sword Saint's judgment—it was the timing of his arrival in the north.
Wasn't it far too fast for a rebellion to have occurred, for the Sword Saint to have grown disillusioned, and for him to have reached the vicinity of the north already?
Unless Jordi had learned of Sigmund's death at almost the exact same time as Lucian had…
"Jordi, you bastard."
Lucian clenched his fist until it nearly crumbled.
It was the moment suspicion turned into certainty.
Raymond, Felicia, and Hugo showed reactions much the same as Lucian's.
Each of them, to varying degrees, had been indebted to the Grand Duke.
And now that very Grand Duke had died by the scheming of his own child.
"Ah… Second Young Master. You truly are…"
Raymond's words trailed off as his eyebrows trembled.
Having served under Grand Duke Sigmund for the longest time, his anger seemed all the deeper.
Lucian suppressed the boiling blood within him and opened his mouth to speak.
"When the day comes that we kill that bastard Jordi, I'll give you one of his limbs. But for now, focus on this matter."
"…Yes. Waiting for that day can be a form of entertainment in its own right."
"Wine and revenge both grow richer in flavor the longer they're aged."
With excuses like these, Lucian's group pushed the topic of Jordi off to one corner of their minds.
Ventilating their anger now would have no effect on him whatsoever.
Rather than wasting time cursing him, it was more important to find out what he had done within the family.
First, we should send someone to check.
If they waited until the Sword Saint finished receiving all the honors and hospitality along the way, it would take ages.
They needed to dispatch someone ahead and receive word as soon as possible.
"For now, Hugo—you go out and meet Sir Aizen."
"W-what!? Me!?"
Hugo pointed at himself, utterly dumbfounded.
With a knight who had served the same house and the Sword Saint's adopted daughter right there, why him of all people?
"Y-your Grace, I've never even exchanged a single word with Sir Aizen!"
"You've spoken with everyone else around Sir Aizen, haven't you?"
"…What do you mean by that?"
"I'm telling you to check whether Hans and Ian are with him. And while you're at it, see if any of the ones who used to be under your command are there too."
Hugo's eyes widened as he grasped Lucian's meaning.
"You don't mean to say you think those guys will be at Sir Aizen's side?"
"Probably. I don't know whether both of them will be there—or just one—but still."
Otherwise, there would be no reason to stir up this much commotion.
Old as he was, Sword Saint Aizen was a superhuman who could take on an entire knight order by himself.
Someone like Jordi wasn't even remotely capable of dealing with him.
"If Sir Aizen were alone, he would have come quietly. Whether someone sent pursuers or tried some cheap trick, he could just carve his way through with his sword and move on."
And yet Aizen was spreading his name in every direction.
By drawing attention through noise and leveraging his reputation, he was preventing others from trying anything foolish.
If he didn't need to worry about other people's schemes, then behaving this way meant he was dragging along some other burden.
The only things that could be a burden to Sir Aizen are the ones under my command.
Other knights would be left to make their own choices, and there was no reason to go out of the way to save mere servants.
From Lucian's perspective, there was no choice but to assume that Hans or Ian were at Aizen's side.
It was only a conjecture, of course—until someone checked directly, there was no way to be certain.
"That's why I'm sending you. You're the only one who can accurately count how many are sticking close to Sir Aizen."
"I-I see."
For a task like that, there truly was no one better suited than Hugo.
Raymond, being a knight by birth, couldn't remember the faces of every servant, and Felicia hadn't been a vassal for long either.
The only one who could precisely determine who had been rescued and who had been left behind was Hugo.
As Lucian finished his explanation and was about to issue his orders once more, a sudden thought struck him.
Wait. Then what about Thorkel and Lesta, whom I sent ahead?
They had been dispatched to provide escort if Hans, Ian, or the other retainers under his command came looking.
But it was entirely possible that the very people they were meant to guard were now traveling safely at the Sword Saint's side.
If that were the case, they wouldn't just fail their mission—he'd be lucky if they weren't mistaken for nothing more than tagalongs who'd come to gawk at the Sword Saint.
"…If it really does turn out that way, I suppose I'll have to at least offer them some words of consolation when they return."
Lucian muttered to himself, recalling Lesta as she had dashed off earlier, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
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