[281] 3. Midnight Ball (2)
Most of the Black Line were wanted criminals. The Seven Magical Heretics, in particular, were branded as world-class fiends, so if they stayed in one place they absolutely needed a secure hideout.
If he kept working under such an incompetent master, he'd soon have his head on the guillotine. Once that thought arrived, he couldn't help worrying about his own safety.
"Hmm. Maybe it's time to clear this place out."
The reason Arius had never been caught, despite Red Line bounty hunters tracking him with fierce determination, was a kind of animal sixth sense for when to strike and when to flee.
That intuition, honed by over ten years on the run, warned him now that staying would be dangerous.
'Still, it feels like a waste to end it here...'
Ataraxia. The biggest prize of a tomb-robber's life had been caught in his net.
He hadn't turned to tomb-robbing for material gain alone; more than anything, it satisfied the Unlocker's intellectual curiosity.
In that respect, the Great Angel Ikael's power was an irresistibly tempting object.
'Should I pretend to lose my mind and dive to Level 1? No, impossible alone. A mage's unconscious is far stronger than a normal person's. And I can't attach myself to Orcamp, either.'
Chin propped on his hand, Arius slowly lifted his head. He glanced down the empty corridor, let out a thin, amused smile, and spoke softly.
"Something the matter?"
A nameless attendant—one of Zion's aides—appeared around the corner, and Arius couldn't help a scoff. The man was neither a mage nor an assassin. But, as always, until he announced himself first, you could barely sense his presence.
"Someone wishes to meet with Lord Arius."
Arius knew the name Zion. The attendant, however, left out his master's name.
It wouldn't do for word to leak that Arius, an Orcamp retainer, was secretly meeting with Zion, the core of the Teraze faction.
"A welcome proposal, then. Lead the way."
As the attendant turned and walked, Arius watched the old man's Achilles' heel.
He made no sound as he moved.
Light as a cat, perhaps, but the calves hidden under his robe were clearly well developed.
That didn't mean he was a martial master; it was the craft of a man who'd spent his life tending his master.
'Heh. This palace is an interesting place.'
@
"Damn it! That son of a—completely screwed me!"
A glass bottle Zion hurled smashed against the gallery door. The glass shattered and the cat that had been sleeping on the floor leapt away.
Whether he cared or not, Uorin sat at the table, lifted her teacup to her lips, and sipped.
"Why? I liked it. It was splendid."
Zion glared at his younger sister.
Her sly temperament was endearing at other times, but in a moment like this it was infuriating.
"I'll have to act myself. Shirone can't be left alone."
Uorin stroked the chin of the cat curled on her lap and said, "It was threatening. What if he had cast magic toward the stands?"
The memory flushed Zion's face.
Uorin was right—the power had been terrifying. No matter how skilled the guards, there would have been casualties.
"Exactly! It was a declaration of war! It was revenge for me pointing a sword at him!"
"Isn't that a stretch? He might just have been angry."
"Same difference! That lowborn ignored my proposal! I won't let it go!"
Someone knocked on the gallery door.
Sensing it was Arius, Zion calmed himself and returned to the table where his sister sat.
"Come in."
Arius opened the door and entered. It was the only place he could meet Zion without attracting notice, but today the atmosphere felt tense. He hopped lightly over the shards of glass on the floor and bowed politely.
"Long time no see, First Prince. Ah—my lady, as well."
Zion snorted. In the current state of affairs, the title "First Prince" was mere formality.
"Sit. I have something to discuss."
Arius gestured and took a seat; Uorin poured tea.
Cradling the cup in both hands, Arius turned to Zion and asked, "What did you call me about? Tired of the objet I procured for you last time?"
Uorin wagged a finger, correcting him, "No—it wasn't given. It was sold."
"Haha. If you want to split hairs, yes. But you know an objet like that isn't something money alone can buy."
Zion had no interest in idle chatter.
"The objet isn't the problem."
"Oh? Then what is it?"
"Don't dodge the issue—you know perfectly well. It's clear now why Father invited Shirone to the palace. It's to tomb-rob Ataraxia, isn't it?"
"It's Ataraxia, and 'tomb-rob' is crude. If you prefer, call it extraction."
Zion took a deep breath to steady himself. If he let Arius's facetious banter draw him in, they'd never get to the point.
"So... how far along is the plan?"
"Hmm, that's an awkward question even for the First Prince. I'm also bound to His Highness, so I can't divulge confidences."
Zion stretched his hand northward. Armand flew and stuck to his palm as if drawn in; he swung it up and aimed it at Arius's throat.
"I'm not joking. Speak plainly."
Only when steel was at his neck did Arius leisurely sip his tea as if nothing had changed.
But his mind was racing.
Zion was just an ill-bred brat. Armand, however, was an annoying weapon. He'd fetched it, but it was a pity for such a clumsy royal to possess it.
"If you want a progress report... about forty-nine percent, I'd say."
It wasn't a lie. Half the battle is getting started; since they hadn't truly begun, forty-nine percent sounded fair.
Uorin snorted, amused, but Zion—apparently thinking it much further along—pressed him, startled.
"Stop them at all costs. No—destroy Ataraxia outright. A tomb-robber could do that, right?"
Arius exhaled a breath.
What a pathetic notion. How could anyone 'destroy' the power of a Great Angel just because a prince ordered it? Ataraxia was a repository of humanity's knowledge that would need study sooner or later, even if he didn't do the robbing.
"As I said, I'm in His Highness' employ..."
"Money—I'll pay whatever it takes."
Arius closed his mouth.
He'd made a fortune dealing with Zion so far. He preferred the act of tomb-robbing to money, but he and Orcamp were done. One last big score could be a nice severance.
"Hmm."
Lost in thought, Arius finally revealed his true demeanor.
When the cold, snake-like eyes came into view, even with a blade at his throat Zion felt a chill.
But the pupils behind Arius's narrow eyes weren't fixed on Zion—they were on Uorin.
'Beautiful.'
It wasn't an emotion one expected for a fourteen-year-old, but she was striking. Her mysterious looks, amplified by the Teraze aura, made her a tempting fruit.
He'd analyzed countless minds, but Uorin was the one he couldn't read.
When he first worked as a diver, he'd indulged in peering nakedly into human desire.
So murky, so ugly, so grotesque those longings were.
After more than eight hundred dives, no human mind felt new.
In that state, Uorin seemed like raw material that could reveal a world he'd never seen.
If he could make one last dive before he died, it wouldn't be Ataraxia he'd choose—it would be Uorin.
"First, the exact status. Shirone's Ataraxia cannot be extracted by normal means. It's been encapsulated. But if you wish, I can remove Ataraxia whole and give it to you."
"Give it to me? Ataraxia?"
"Yes. It would mean the Great Angel's ability becomes yours, Prince."
Zion swallowed. For a moment his face looked exactly like Orcamp's.
Anyone who'd witnessed Ataraxia's power would react the same.
Uorin, however, wasn't fooled—she caught the flaw in his words at once.
"You just said extraction was impossible."
"By ordinary methods, yes. Ataraxia is presumed to reside in the deepest layers of Shirone's consciousness. In other words, it's too deep. The deeper you dive, the stronger the ego's resistance becomes. At abyssal levels you'll be buried the moment you enter."
Zion sheathed Armand and asked, "Then how do you plan to rob it?"
"There is one method."
Arius meant to propose to Zion what he'd once proposed to Orcamp.
But this time he drew out the moment.
If the situation could be turned, this was his last chance. The moment he voiced this plan, his ties to Orcamp would be severed. He'd also have to leave Kazra as soon as the job was done.
"Say it—how can I get Ataraxia?"
Pressed by Zion, Arius's voice grew cold.
"Extract Shirone's brain."
Both Zion and Uorin showed shocked faces.
"Extract his... brain?"
"To be precise, we'd collapse Shirone's unconscious. Consciousness is governed by the brain, but the unconscious is connected to the body. If you separate the brain from the body, even if you descend into the depths of consciousness, the ego's resistance will be greatly weakened. You don't need to open the skull—just sever above the neck."
Arius mimed slitting his throat with his thumb.
Zion nodded as if convinced.
"In short, you mean kill Shirone."
"I don't much trust inductive leaps. A severed neck doesn't always mean death. I'm not advocating killing Shirone; I'm explaining a way to enter the unconscious safely."
Zion stared as if the man had gone mad. Surely Arius wouldn't claim his suggestion had nothing to do with assassinating the First Prince.
"A severed neck doesn't automatically mean death? You're insane."
Arius laughed as if pleased.
"One thing life as a tomb-robber taught me: nobody in this world is sane."
Zion dismissed the madness and returned to the point.
"If we bring you Shirone's neck, can you extract Ataraxia?"
"If you're asking whether it's possible—yes, it's possible. But not if too much time passes. You must enter the moment the neck is cut. If he dies outright, the mind will vanish too."
"So fast? If his neck is cut, he might have only ten seconds of life at best."
"In the unconscious, time flows more slowly. We'll have the door set; the moment Shirone's neck is severed, we'll enter. We'll dive to Level 1, then truly rob Ataraxia. Then it will belong to you, Prince."
Zion puffed his cheeks, exhaled, and paced the gallery.
Assassination in the open—wasn't it too rash?
No. It was correct. As time passed, more neutrals would side with Orcamp. If action had to be taken before the paternity test came back, today was the day.
Arius read the murderous intent in Zion's eyes and allowed a satisfied smile. He was certainly closer to being a king than Orcamp was.
As if the answer had already been given, Arius asked, "Then—how much will you pay?"
Zion didn't object; his silence was assent.
Now the bargaining table was set. After a moment's thought he offered a bid.
"2.7 billion gold."
Arius echoed the figure with mild displeasure.
"Hmm. Wasn't Armand sold for three billion gold?"
"So what? You really think that brat's magic is worth more than my sword?"
The 2.7 billion Zion suggested came from that calculation.