[V8C13] Pretty

Monica woke up earlier than usual, got ready, and headed downstairs. But despite her intention to wake up first, she found Isaac in the kitchen, in the middle of preparing breakfast.

“Good morning, Monica.”

“Good morning, Ike. Cyril-sama is…”

“Still asleep, it seems.”

Isaac replied while skillfully peeling a carrot.

Talking to someone while handling a knife would be an extremely dangerous act for Monica, but Isaac handled it with ease. And unlike Monica, he would never end up with overly thin carrots after peeling them.

“Cyril’s usually an early riser, but I guess that’s a sign of how tired he was. Let’s have him sleep a bit longer.”

“Cyril-sama usually wakes up early?”

Monica blinked a few times in surprise, as Isaac nodded while tossing the chopped carrots into a pot.

“Yeah, he was usually the first or second to wake up in the boys’ dormitory. Then he always ended up scolding Elliott and Dudley-kun for waking up so late.”

Since Monica and Cyril were in different grades and dormitories, she had only seen the half of Cyril that was visible at the student council. Even such everyday stories felt fresh to her.

While watching Isaac prepare breakfast, Monica contemplated whether or not it would be okay to ask for more details, until she heard a weak voice from behind.

“Girl… girl… help… you must save me…”

Startled, she turned over to see, at the corner of the countertop, Sophocles resting on a pie dish.

“Um, Ike, this is…”

“It would be a disaster if we lost an artifact, right? This way, we won’t have to worry about forgetting where we put it.”

Monica could only watch as her disciple nonchalantly threatened the ancient artifact. She had some qualms about the situation, but more importantly, there was something she wanted to ask Sophocles.

“Ike, I have something I want to ask Sophocles… Can we talk for a bit until breakfast is ready?”

“Sure. Let me know if something happens. I have the pie crust ready and waiting.”

Monica thought this was just another of Isaac’s jokes, but she was surprised to see a pie crust actually resting under the kitchen towel. Meanwhile, Sophocles let out a pitiful gasp upon seeing this.

Monica departed the kitchen with the Key of Knowledge in her palm, then sat down on a chair in the living room. This was something she didn’t want Isaac to hear.

“Phew, that was terrifying… Girl, I must compliment you for rescuing me from the pie dish. You have my thanks.”

“Um, there’s something I want to ask you…”

“Oh? Feel free to ask me whatever you want. Many call me the Keeper of Knowledge, as I know everything contained within the boundaries of the Ascard Great Library. From scholarly disciplines to tonight’s menu, I can assist with anything.”

Apparently, he was quite dissatisfied with being placed on a pie dish. Noting this improved mood, Monica whispered her question.

“Yesterday, about what Ike said… is it true that there are no ancient artifacts which can identify specific bloodlines?”

The talkative Sophocles suddenly fell silent. Monica could faintly hear a hum of contemplation coming from the gemstone.

Eventually, he answered in a slightly lowered tone.

“Girl, just who in the world is your disciple? The fact that ancient artifacts can be used by anyone is a national secret, something which that man casually exposed. Is he truly a mere pie baker?”

In all likelihood, Isaac only revealed this secret because Monica was one of the Seven Sages, who were among the few allowed to possess knowledge of ancient artifacts.

Moreover, Monica was also the creator of the Black Chalice, a magical tool capable of investigating bloodlines. Considering the future research and development of the Black Chalice, Isaac probably thought it was best for Monica to be in the know.

“Girl, keep this fact hidden in that flat chest of yours. Exposing it carelessly might get you erased.”

Ancient artifacts can be used by anyone. Monica could easily imagine why this fact was kept confidential.

The first reason was that ancient artifacts had the tendency to possess individuals with low magical resistance. Therefore, only skilled mages with abundant mana could manage them properly.

And the second reason was to maintain the authority of the nobility.

Ancient artifacts with immense power became symbols of authority. For example, the ‘Treasured Sunblade’ once wielded by the founding king. Acting like only those from the royal family could use the artifact helped preserve the prestige of the crown.

Following this line of thought, Monica was eventually led to Princess Cecilia of the Empire.

“…Do you know about the Mirror of Bern?”

“Ah yes, that ancient artifact created around the same time as I. What an arrogant, pompous, and ill-tempered piece.”

Setting aside the ring’s hypocritical insults, Monica continued in a serious tone.

“I heard that the Mirror of Bern can only be contracted to the women of House Achenwall.”

“That is what the public believes, yes. And by keeping it that way, Duke Achenwall gains a monopoly over the Mirror of Bern’s power.”

“B-But the Mirror of Bern takes the life of the contractor, right? Why would they want to monopolize something with such a heavy cost…!?”

“Why do you think it is always the women of House Achenwall who contract the Mirror? The answer is simple. Because women cannot inherit the estate.”

“…!”

Monica gasped at the horrifying realization.

“So you have realized the truth? Indeed, House Achenwall has maintained their position of authority for so long by sacrificing a woman every generation. They even get church’s support by flaunting their contractor as a so-called saintess.”

Cecilia had formed the contract, ready to sacrifice her life for the country in times of crisis. Yet the Mirror of Bern rejected her, and her grandfather wanted her dead so he could appoint a new contractor.

Just how much determination did it take for Cecilia to contract the mirror?

When in reality, the existence of the Saintess was merely a lie to maintain House Achenwall’s authority. It didn’t have to be Cecilia; anyone could contract the artifact.

(Did Cecilia-sama go through all of that for nothing…?)

“Ancient artifacts may lack the ability to identify bloodlines, but it’s a known fact that some are fixated on specific bloodlines. The Mirror of Bern is a prime example. It had a connection to the wife of the first Duke Achenwall, so it has stayed with House Achenwall for generations. How ironic though. It only lends its power to those with the Achenwall blood, thus taking their life in the process…”

Monica gasped in surprise, as this had to do with her second question.

“Um, d-do you also… reduce the lifespan of your contractor…?”

“As much as it pains me to admit, I am among the weakest of the ancient artifacts… N-No! I mean to say my greatest weapon is the knowledge accumulated over the ages! Thus, my power as an artifact matters little in the long run!”

“…Um, so what does that mean?”

Sophocles answered Monica’s question in a slightly disgruntled tone.

“The barrier I create is at most the size of a library. Hence, any burden on the contractor is minimal. I cannot deplete anyone’s lifespan like the Mirror of Bern.”

Upon hearing this, Monica heaved a sigh of relief. There was no need to worry about the Key of Knowledge shortening Cyril’s lifespan.

“I see, so last question…”

Monica was about to ask why Sophocles refused to contract with Cyril, when footsteps sounded from the staircase. Cyril had woken up.

“Good morning, Monica.”

Monica closed her hand tightly to conceal the Key of Knowledge, then turned towards Cyril.

“Good morning, Cyri…”

Before she could finish her greeting, Monica’s eyes went wide.

Cyril had descended the staircase with his hair untied. The silver hair, flowing down his back, shone brilliantly in the morning sun pouring in through the window.

This sight brought Monica a sense of surprise and admiration.

(It’s a slightly different Cyril-sama.)

It was akin to the feeling of finding morning dew sparkling on flower petals when waking up earlier than usual: a simple and modest joy.

“…Monica?”

Cyril tilted his head in confusion as Monica continued staring absentmindedly. Then, like a child finding dew on a flower, she muttered…

“Glistening and pretty.”

The expression vanished from Cyril’s face. Noticing this, Monica came back to her senses and went pale.

(Oh no, Cyril-sama hates comments about his appearance! I just learned that yesterday!)

Why in the world had she said that? She was causing trouble for Cyril again.

While flailing the hand not holding the ring, Monica began a panicked explanation.

“S-Sorry! What I meant was, seeing the morning sun glistening on your hair made me think about the spectral reflectance of fibrous substances. Spectral reflectance is the ratio of the spectral density when light enters and is reflected from the surface of an object, and it also applies to reflection barriers… G-Give me a minute, I’ll write it down in a magic formula!”

“Oh Cyril, you’re awake. Good morning.”

Isaac peeked in from the kitchen, causing the frozen Cyril to immediately straighten up and return an energetic greeting.

“Good morning, Your Highness!”

“How unusual. You’re not tying your hair today?”

“My apologies for the unsightliness. I seem to have lost my hair tie…”

Cyril frowned and swept his hair back over his ear.

After tilting his head in contemplation, Isaac replied, “Did you check under the bed? You can have the two weasels help you since your eyesight isn’t that good.”

“Eh?”

“Huh?”

Upon hearing the casual remark from Isaac, Cyril and Monica gasped simultaneously. Monica had never heard anything about Cyril having poor eyesight.

Cyril was also looking at Isaac in confusion.

“Your Highness, how did you…?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You always furrow your brow when you look at distant objects.”

Monica hesitatingly looked up at Cyril and asked, “Cyril-sama, do you have poor eyesight?”

“Not to the point where I need glasses. I can see your faces clearly at this distance…”

Despite claiming that his sight was fine, Cyril squinted slightly when looking at Isaac, who stood a bit farther away.

Cyril was often seen wearing a stern face with furrowed brows, but perhaps some of that was simply due to difficulty seeing.

As Monica was slightly stunned by this realization, Isaac made another casual remark.

“Well, Cyril did have the worst eyesight among the student council members. By the way, Monica, you actually have pretty good vision.”

“Oh, um, yes, my eyes are good.”

Despite constantly reading books in dim places, Monica’s vision was actually well above average.

Monica became impressed that Isaac noticed such details. Meanwhile, the two weasels descended from the stairs, and Thule was carrying Cyril’s hair tie in his mouth.

“Cyril, the hair tie was hidden under the pillow,” Pikeh said in place of Thule, since his mouth was full.

Thule jumped onto Cyril’s shoulder and held out the hair tie with his tiny hands.

While watching Cyril tie up his hair with practiced hands, Monica suddenly realized that she hardly knew anything about both Cyril and Isaac.

＊　＊　＊

Around the time they finished breakfast, Claudia, who had been staying at the inn, came to visit.

“…This entire situation is an absolute farce, but I’ll at least stay until the end.”

Claudia said this while glaring at the ring placed on the table.

Meanwhile, Cyril was staring intently at the ring with great anxiety, placing his fists on his knees.

Monica was nervous too, but in a different sense, glancing between Sophocles and Isaac.

Isaac was the only one in the room wearing a pleasant smile. However, he kept his apron on. This was his way of implying that he could start making pies at any moment if Sophocles happened to misspeak.

The weasels, on the other hand, were busy rolling around on the sofa. They seemed to have taken a liking to Monica’s sofa. How very peaceful.

“Ahem. I have pondered over the subject all night. Cyril Ashley, I have many qualms about you, but it would be narrow-minded of me to deny you outright. Thus, I will give you a trial.”

“…A trial, you say?”

In response to Cyril’s nervous question, Sophocles continued with increased grandeur.

“Cyril Ashley, if you desire my recognition, you must battle the descendant of the witch who once ruled Ridill from the shadows, and emerge victorious!”

“The descendant of… a witch?”

Cyril crossed his arms and thought to himself for a moment. Then, as if a light-bulb went off in his head, he gasped in realization.

“Indeed, the Thorn Witch once slaughtered armies with her Man-Eating Rose Fortress, and a descendant of her bloodline serves as a member of Ridill’s Seven Sages! If you manage to achieve a splendid victory against that Sage, I will acknowledge you as my master!”

The thought process behind Sophocles’s trial went like this.

Sophocles didn’t know the identity of the current Thorn Witch, but she was bound to be a wicked lady who didn’t hesitate to turn everyone she disliked into fertilizer, and extract the blood of her enemies to feed her roses. There was no doubt about it.

Challenging the descendant of such a terrifying witch was clearly an impossible task. Besides, arranging a meeting with a Sage wasn’t something that could be done on a moment’s notice.

However, Cyril’s stubbornness would lead him to agree to the conditions.

Then, once Cyril started making the arrangements to meet with the current Thorn Witch, Sophocles would step in when the moment was right, saying, “Even if you stand no chance, I cannot help but commend your spirit in challenging the terrifying witch head on.”

Or something like that. This would give Sophocles an excuse to acknowledge Cyril.

…But for some reason, the atmosphere in the room felt strange. All four of them had indescribable expressions on their faces.

Clearly the correct response was, “W-What did you say!? I have to fight that terrifying witch!?” They should be trembling in fear at the impossible task being thrust upon Cyril.

However, Claudia fell limp against her chair, saying, “…I can’t deal with this anymore,” as the pie baker muttered, “If I’m heading to their house, I’ll need a thorough disguise.” The little girl who was supposedly some kind of master simply fidgeted with her fingers while staring at Cyril.

As for the person in question, Cyril Ashley didn’t show any sign of fear or panic, only bewilderment.

In the midst of this awkward atmosphere, Sophocles cleared his non-existent throat again.

“Ahem. Well, we all know the Seven Sages are the country’s most powerful mages. It won’t be easy to arrange a meeting with one, so I can understand your confusion…”

For some reason, everyone turned toward the little girl simultaneously. She quickly found the piercing gazes unbearable, hunching up into a ball and mumbling something to herself.

Meanwhile, Cyril put on a look of determination and finally spoke up.

“Monica, sorry, but can you lend me a pen and paper?”

Cyril is actually a bit nearsighted. He has a hard time searching for people, like in [V9C15] of the main story.

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