Chapter 114

Lecture Request

Long-distance communication technology, in some ways, resembles mental magic.
Just as a caster’s mana influences the mind of a target, communication also works by having a message encoded into a magic device affect another device, which then outputs it.

The key lies in stable mana transmission and connection strength.

Until now, researchers had attempted various methods—direct mana transfer, converting mana into elemental forms, using mana stones as signal amplifiers, or placing intermediaries.

However, every approach had its problems.
Excessive mana consumption, poor accuracy, heavy dependence on individual mages, low complexity making it difficult to transmit a common language—
they ran into walls every time.

“Magister Koelle, what do you think about creating an artificial circuit?”

Marcel Reich sought the opinions of scholars in various social settings—luncheons, dinners, banquets, academic gatherings.

Could an artificial circuit truly be created?
What kind of impact would it have?

Each gave different answers.
But the conclusion was always the same.

“Creating a circulation structure is only possible within the vessel of a mage.”
“To sustain circulation, you need the self-regenerating structure of a mage’s vessel—but we don’t yet have the technology to replicate that flow.”
“Even the Empire has yet to achieve it.”
“You can forge iron, but how would you stabilize the uneven flow of mana?”
“It is impossible.”

Different perspectives, same conclusion.

Impossible.

But Reich thought otherwise.

It felt possible.

If they could create an object that matched the theory Isaac had written on that cotton-fiber paper—
then perhaps they could build an artificial circuit and overcome the limitations of long-distance communication.

“Heh.”

Reich couldn’t suppress the laugh that escaped him.

The scholars who repeated that it was impossible seemed powerless.
Magic and magitech that lagged behind the Empire and the Republic.
Rather than clinging to even the faintest possibility, they chose to turn away—driven by inferiority and stubborn pride.

It was easier that way.

Better than facing endless failure.
Better to lock away possibility than risk both body and mind.

In that sense, they were older than Reich.

Age and youth, maturity and immaturity—
they are not determined by how long one has lived.
The same applied to one’s understanding of magic.

Seated in his office, Reich reviewed the cotton-fiber sheets Isaac had given him.

This was no simple theory.
The combinations and logic were refined, as if shaped through actual experimentation.
The formulas and hypotheses did not feel like empty speculation—they pointed toward something achievable.

Isaac—barely twelve years old—possessed insight broader than any scholar Reich had met.

Was he truly a genius?

Or was Reich simply too old and foolish, mistaking things?

He could not tell.

But there was no time to hesitate.

If Isaac’s words were true, the Empire might already be considering mass production of magitech swords.
A future where ordinary soldiers possessed power comparable to knights might not be far off.

The artificial circuit Isaac proposed was not just for communication.
It was the birth of a new method of mana transmission.

It could usher in a new era.

After some deliberation, Reich declared a sabbatical.

Then, within the Blue Magic Tower, he gathered a few trusted scholars and began secret development of the artificial circuit.
There could still be spies within the Academy’s laboratories.

Cut off from the outside world, he shut himself inside the tower and devoted himself to research day and night.

A strange vitality filled his withering body.
He forgot to eat, forgot to sleep, repeating failure and revision endlessly.

Magical artisans, casters, blacksmiths, rune engravers, and magitech engineers moved in and out of his laboratory constantly.
The magic lamps never went out, and hundreds of pages of research records piled up.

The tower’s accountant protested the endless drain of funds.
The elders issued repeated warnings.
Reich was rapidly consuming decades of accumulated wealth without revealing the purpose of his research.

Yet thanks to the Tower Master’s mediation, Reich finally succeeded in completing the first stage of development.

He had lost all sense of time.

When the exhilaration faded, his body—exhausted and worn—reached its limit.

His entire body burned like fire, yet his limbs were cold as ice.
His muscles were stiff, even moving his fingers was difficult.
Every movement made his joints scream.

Though he hadn’t eaten, bitter bile rose in his throat.
Even at rest, he struggled to breathe.

Reich collapsed into a near-unconscious sleep.

Whenever he briefly woke, he ate porridge just to stave off hunger.

Then—three days later—

A letter arrived.

Isaac had come to the royal capital.

His head was still heavy, and a faint ringing lingered in his ears.
Dizziness and fatigue pressed down on his aging body.

But Reich felt it.

His old heart was beating strongly once again.

The first stage—the framework of the artificial circuit—was complete.

He wanted to show Isaac as soon as possible.
The moment he received the letter, he wrote a reply.

***

“…Marcel Reich? Who is that?”
“He’s the head of the Royal Academy and one of the royal advisors. I’m planning to meet him—would you like to come?”
“I’ll pass. I need to return to the prison and finish the interrogation.”

At Isaac’s question, Raphael shook his head without interest.

“Gaspard intended to have me dealt with through Botmer from the beginning. That’s why he dared to burn the bishop’s testimony records so openly. He planned to kill me during the escort, and pass off the bishop’s death as sudden illness. My death would’ve been blamed on heretic attackers.”

“Do you feel betrayed?”

“Only regret. Gaspard already distrusts the Church. Just as the young deacon’s death was buried, he thought mine would be as well. Especially with the bribe Botmer offered.”

Raphael crossed his arms, staring off into the distance.
It was a hollow gaze.

“If you had died, would the Church have acted? Unlike the young deacon’s case?”

“…I should go to the cathedral. Once the investigation is finished, I’ll return to the Papal State. If you plan to come along, prepare yourself.”

“….”

Raphael did not answer the young baron’s question.

No matter the answer, it would only leave doubts.

If the Church acted, it would mean a special inquisitor’s life was worth more than a young deacon’s.
If it did not, then even a special inquisitor was nothing more than a tool for the Church’s interests.

The contradictions within him were already more than enough to bear.

“Enette, let’s go.”

Isaac spoke as he looked out at the scenery from the second floor of the inn.
It was still broad daylight.

***

“M-monster!”

A vagrant with a broken wrist dangling limply shouted that before fleeing in panic.
The other vagrants, collapsed on the ground and gasping for breath, couldn’t even stand.

“What a nuisance.”

Carlson said, dusting off his hands.

“Seriously. It looked fine when we came in, but walking around is a whole different story.”

Isaac agreed.

When they first entered the capital, they had reached the inn without issue.
That was thanks to Raphael’s platinum medal engraved with a sacred sigil.
It was not something that could be bought through simony—it was a holy token granted directly by the Papal Office.

But without Raphael, they couldn’t even walk a hundred steps without being stopped for inspection.

Isaac had no proof of title, no signet ring, no family crest, and no local connections.
He didn’t even have the kind of fine equipment or horse that would make him look like a noble, and his clothing was too plain.
As for Enette and Carlson, it went without saying.

The three of them stood out as country folk wandering the capital.
They didn’t smell, thanks to bathing at the inn—but their shabby appearance couldn’t be hidden.

On top of that, the capital’s inspection system was divided between the royalist faction and the parliamentary faction, making things extremely complicated.

The same person could receive completely different treatment depending on the checkpoint.
Royalist checkpoints would pick fights with imperial-aligned factions, parliamentary supporters, or those backing the Second Prince.
Meanwhile, parliamentary checkpoints would refuse entry to royal loyalists or supporters of the First Prince, boldly telling them to turn back.

Which checkpoint one passed through effectively declared one’s political stance.

In this situation, the only thing Isaac had to prove his identity was a single document bearing the seal of the Royal Academy’s head.

Naturally, that drew suspicion from both sides.

Trying to avoid checkpoints, they ended up passing through back alleys and slums.
Even that wasn’t easy, thanks to gangs and vagrants.

“This place isn’t much different from Bern City.”

Carlson said, looking around the slums.

Narrow, winding alleys.
Dilapidated wooden buildings.
Foul odors.
Beggars sitting in the streets.
Exhausted prostitutes.
Men with swords at their sides.

“People live the same everywhere.”

“If we go this way, we should reach the main street again.”

Enette guided them.

While it was Isaac and Carlson’s first time in the capital, Enette had survived in these slums before meeting Isaac.

“Another checkpoint…”

A single passage separated the slums from the commercial district.

Merchants and nobles draped in silk.
Shining carriages.
Bustling yet orderly shops.

In contrast to the slums, it looked even brighter.

“Is this the only way?”

Isaac asked Enette.

To enter the commercial district, they had to pass the guards.

“I think it’s the only way.”
“What a hassle…”

Isaac sighed and approached the guards, handing over the academy letter.

“The Royal Academy? A student?”
“Not a student. I have academic business.”
“The seal is legitimate. You may pass.”

Fortunately—or unfortunately—
this checkpoint belonged to the parliamentary faction.

Since the Royal Academy was composed of pro-imperial scholars, Isaac’s group was allowed through easily.

“This should be it.”

Isaac said as he looked at the front gate of the Royal Academy.

A massive stone arch stood above the grand iron gate, engraved with the academy’s emblem—
an owl clutching a laurel wreath, rising with eight stars behind it.

Below the stone emblem, a metal plate bearing the Empire’s insignia had been affixed.

“Whew…”

A journey that should have taken less than an hour on foot had taken two or three.
Both Carlson and Enette looked exhausted.

“It’s huge…”

That was all Enette could say.

Carlson, on the other hand, had no interest in the academy’s architecture.

“If they even mention another inspection, I might kill someone.”

He eyed the guards warily.

“That won’t happen.”

Fortunately, Isaac was right.

The guard recognized the headmaster’s seal and politely guided them inside.

The Department of Magic building was located at the very back.
Inside high stone walls lay a spacious garden, and at its center floated several orbs rotating in the air.

Each orb represented an element.

“Professors don’t like kingdom-style magic anyway. It’s inefficient.”
“Even so, our family has always followed the kingdom’s traditional methods.”
“Still, it’s outdated. Keep being stubborn and you’ll fail again.”

Everywhere, students talked about the Empire.

Most agreed that the kingdom’s magic lagged behind, while imperial magic was practical.
Conversations about internal royal conflicts were also common.

“Whether it’s the First Prince or the Second Prince, neither can escape the Empire’s influence.”
“Still, not the Second Prince. I heard he tore apart another boy in his chambers yesterday.”
“Watch your mouth.”

Just by overhearing them, Isaac could roughly grasp the situation inside the academy.

Portraits of past kingdom mages hung alongside those of imperial mages.
Rather than a royal academy, it felt more like a joint academic institution between the kingdom and the Empire.

The headmaster’s office of the magic faculty was at the end of the first-floor corridor.
A metal nameplate reading Marcel Reich was affixed above the door.

“It’s been a while, Enette. And you—I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Reich gave a brief greeting to Enette and Carlson, then had a guard escort them to another reception room.
Only Isaac and Reich remained.

At first glance, Reich looked unwell, but his eyes shone like a child’s.

Isaac was about to speak about himself and Goethe—but Reich spoke first.

“Before that, may I speak first?”
“Of course.”

He was visibly excited.

“I have good news—and a request.”
“You’ve created the artificial circuit?”
“Indeed. The design is complete. The framework is in place. All that remains is repeated calibration and verification.”

Reich nodded vigorously, a bright smile spreading across his gaunt face.

“Then what’s the request?”
“Give a lecture.”