The meeting place was at the Miller family's mansion.

The Miller family is located in the central Harold region of the continent.

There are three main reasons why the Miller's were chosen: firstly, the family's rank is low, so they have no interest in purchasing Mistilteinn; secondly, they have no special ties with the families attending; and thirdly, they are located centrally among the attending families.

"Brother."

On my way to the carriage, I saw Azier.

"Do you also desire Mistilteinn, brother?"

Basically, Azier does not lie.

Being the most likely candidate to possess Mistilteinn, I was curious about his feelings.

"Well..."

It was only then that Azier seemed to consider it, tilting his head slightly.

"It would be nice to have."

─That response was so Azier like.

I nodded in satisfaction.

After a brief moment, the carriage stopped, and we arrived at the Miller family's mansion.

And upon seeing a certain figure in front of the mansion, I swallowed my breath.

The Iron Wall Patriarch, Enfer de Roach.

If Azier was a sword, then Enfer was the embodiment of a completed weapon.

His stern eyes and the stylish mustache that elegantly covered his lips.

His hair and mustache were white, proving his age, yet he didn't look weak at all.

Looking at it this way, it seemed incredibly unfitting that Frondier was Enfer's son and Azier's younger brother.

"Let's go."

Just two words.

I thought Azier was also rather blunt, but Enfer was even more so.

And he did not give me a single glance while speaking.

"Everyone is waiting. This way."

The mansion's butler guided us.

From Constel to here was the longest distance, so it was natural for our family to be the last to arrive.

...Actually, it wasn't so natural. We could have simply left a few days earlier.

This was merely a display of Enfer's pride and ego.

The only one who could make the distinguished families wait was Enfer, a proof of such.

The butler opened the door to the meeting room with a creak.

"Ah."

I almost let out a sound.

I can already feel it. The significance of the distinguished families of the Terst Empire gathering in one place.

It feels like the love of the gods they receive will soon overflow out of the meeting room as a crushing pressure.

"You've arrived."

A short greeting from an elderly man with white hair.

'Zodiac' Heldre.

"Late, are we? Seems no one has anything to say just yet?"

The head of the Roach family, guarding the opposite Frondier.

Ludwig von Urfa.

"Welcome."

The most friendly gaze among those present, from Enfer's rival.

Ortel de Rishae.

Behind him stood Elodie.

And besides, famous family heads and notable children, all gathered in one place...

"Ah."

My gaze then drifted to a woman.

...Among the notable characters, none are as easily recognizable as her.

Black hair, black eyes. Even the dress she wears and the fan she holds are black, a woman cloaked in darkness.

Quinie.

Quinie de Viet.

The only daughter of the Viet family, and a third-year at Constel. Known as the 'little devil' for reviving her family from the brink of ruin.

Surprisingly, she has achieved such feats at just two years older than me.

For some reason, the subtle smile hidden behind her fan, seemingly directed at me, feels suspicious.

Does she know me?

I think not, but it seems worth paying attention to...

"Let's get started then. Mr. Miller, where is 'it'?"

"Yes."

Ludwig looked at Miller with his characteristic dialect and light tone.

Though it might seem rude to some, Ludwig speaks to everyone regardless of their social standing in this manner.

Which is to say, it's rude.

The head gestures to the butler, and soon servants carefully moved the 'container' to the table in the center of the meeting room.

"Ho, so this is it."

Heldre's eyes sparkled. His gaze was as sharp and intense as during his prime, dark and brooding.

Yet, everyone's eyes shone with the same intensity.

"It looks quite convincing, doesn't it?"

According to someone, the branch inside the container indeed possessed a certain dignity in its form.

Above all, it perfectly matched the description of the legendary 'Mistilteinn'.

"So, the real question is who gets to have it? I'll say this first. I am willing to put up the mining rights to the Idus Mines. For five years."

Someone threw out an unexpected deal.

"Such impatience, then I will—"

From there, the competition for the family treasures and rights began.

Some had gathered various valuables and assessed their value in advance, while others, having no personal wealth, offered lands and buildings, saying it was fine to hand over assets if they had none.

Naturally, the children could only watch this unfold, keeping their mouths firmly shut and surveying their surroundings. They had no right to speak. It was merely a field trip for them.

Three houses remained unmoved: Roach, Rishae, and Quinie.

Ortel, the head of the Rishae family, had no intention of purchasing from the start, and Quinie was simply observing the situation around them.

As for Enfer, he was just biding his time.

─And it seemed that time was not far off.

"The Roach family will stake the sword."

"My lord, there are more than one or two swords,"

Ludwig, following his usual tempo, began to tease but stopped.

"Did you just say you'd stake your sword?"

"Is there a need to repeat myself?"

Click, Enfer detached the sword sheath he was wearing at his waist. The worn leather, the weight of the steel, landed on the table.

"...Exchange a divine artifact for another divine artifact?"

[=Chapter 5 (2)=]

Ortel smiled with interest.

The most notable expression was made by Azier.

"...Father."

"I decided this before coming here."

Azier had nothing to say and closed his mouth.

The expectation his father placed on him was heavy but not burdensome.

He wasn't obsessed with Mistilteinn, but it would be delightful to have it as his own.

However, truly,

Is that item truly worth offering up 'Gram'?

The hero 'Sigurd's' famous sword, Gram.

Sigurd is arguably the most famous hero in Norse mythology.

"It is not only gods, but 'divine relics' encompass even the weapons of heroes.

And 'Gram' would surpass the weapons of most gods.

"Now, hold on, just calm down."

Miller intervened in a fluster.

"The deal was proceeding so abruptly that I've been observing, but there's an issue that needs to be resolved first."

"That's right."

Quinie continued.

"First of all, is this really Mistilteinn?"

All eyes turned to Quinie. She stepped forward to mediate, having observed the situation until now.

"If this is not Mistilteinn, then this deal becomes an entirely different matter."

Indeed. It's too early to conduct a transaction based on the assumption that it's genuine. The value lies in 'not knowing' whether it is authentic or not.

"So, who will verify that?"

Ludwigg pointed to the transparent container surrounding Mistilteinn.

The simplest way to find out is just one. Breaking that container.

The current Mistilteinn does not give off any divine aura.

However, if the aura was 'erased' because of that container. Then Mistilteinn, including the transparent container, could be a 'divine relic.'

If so, breaking the container would be a perilous act. Nobody wants to incur divine punishment.

"We will not verify."

"What do you mean?"

"Whether this branch is Mistilteinn or not cannot be determined. It might be, or it might not be. The value of this item lies precisely in that. We must proceed with the transaction, keeping this in mind."

In other words, the value that arises from the item itself. If the expenditure matches that value, then the deal is valid.

This was Quinie's thought.

If the transaction were based on the assumption that this is the real Mistilteinn, Quinie could not possibly offer terms to match that.

Nor did she want to.

However, if it's assumed that this is merely symbolic of Mistilteinn, not actually usable. The price drops, and the families desiring it change.

Not the families who want to treat Mistilteinn as a 'weapon,' but as a 'sign.'

Precisely families like Quinie's.

'Good. If this is the flow, I might be able to get it quite cheaply......'

"It doesn't matter."

At that moment, a single sentence cut off her train of thought.

Enfer spoke as if he was passing judgment.

"Whether it's real or not, I'll prove it later."

"...Even so, you're willing to hand over your sword? What if it's fake?"

This time, even Ortel was surprised and asked back.

"If it's not real, then that's the end of it. Nothing more."

"Don't be ridiculous. Do you know what it means to hand over 'Gram'?"

"Ortel."

His voice was slightly breathy, and the air grew heavy.

"My era has long since passed."

These were words that no one dared to ignore.

Everyone looked at Enfer, their faces filled with bewilderment.

"Azier will surpass me. So what use is a sword to me?"

"...Are you really going to give up Gram?"

"How many times do I have to repeat myself?"

Enfer's eyes were resolute. They had never wavered, not even once.

"Mistilteinn belongs to Azier."

The words that silenced the room. They were clear and definitive as if a conclusion had been reached.

Quinnie let out a sigh.

She never expected the Lord of Roach to go to such lengths.

It can't be helped, it's time to back down. What can we do when he's offering to give up Gram?

There are other valuable items out there.

Everyone seemed to be following Enfer's lead.

Then, a voice as gentle as a blade of grass spoke out.

"There's no need for that, Father."

It was completely different from Enfer's voice, a comforting tone that felt like an everyday conversation.

However, the meaning behind those words was far from light.

The gap between the tone and the content was so great that everyone's reaction was a beat too slow.

"Frondeir, watch your words."

His older brother, Azier, warned him. Enfer also narrowed his eyes.

A simmering voice escaped Enfer's lips from deep within.

"Do you know what you're saying?"

"Of course."

Frondeir's voice remained calm, as if he was still unaware of the atmosphere.

Ludwig pushed his displeased face closer to Frondeir.

"Is this brat serious? The second son hidden away by Enfer."

For the first time, Ludwig directly looked into Frondier's face, which he had never cared to notice before.

It was a face of laziness and tranquility.

To put it nicely, that is. To put it bluntly, it reeked of laziness and negligence.

Could such a peaceful face really head into battle in the future?

"Kid, you don't understand what's going on and just barged in, huh?"

Frondier glanced at Ludwig's growling for a moment.

Just for a moment.

Then, he shifted his gaze to point at Mistilteinn.

"Father, there's no need to waste Gram on something that's not even genuine."

Ludwig was momentarily stunned by Frondier's words.

Is this a sign of disrespect towards me?

"How do you recklessly claim to know such things?"

"How I know, I cannot prove."

Frondier took a step forward.

With a step as natural as flowing water, as if he was leisurely going for a walk.

At the end of that peaceful stride, no one could feel certain that peace awaited.

He stood in front of the container and placed his hand on it.

"Verifying it is simple."

By the time he said that, everyone understood his intention.

They had been dreading it from the moment he stepped forward.

Enfer, Azier, Ortel, Elodie all moved simultaneously but stopped.

It was too late to stop Frondier. Nothing could surpass his lead now.

Unless they cut off his hand or killed him, perhaps.

"If that's truly a sacred relic, what will you do, aren't you afraid of the gods?"

Ludwig, flustered, his dialect became even more bizarre.

"Huh."

Frondier laughed. That laugh made the real atmosphere unclear and made everything around him seem languid.

"I have never been afraid of such things."

Crash───!!

The container shattered.

[=Chapter 6 (1)=]

A sharp tearing sound. The sound was enough to leave everyone present frozen.

Divine punishment is coming...

Everyone couldn't speak carelessly due to the tension.

"Huh?"

"W-what is this?"

At that moment, the branch that was in the coffin 'flowed down'.

Literally, what had been a branch a little while ago was becoming a black liquid and pouring down, pulled by gravity.

"I told you. It's a fake."

Frondier reached out to the black water that was flowing down.

The surrounding nobles screamed.

"C-can you touch that,"

Frondier received the black water in his hand. The water ran down his hand like that.

But the moment Frondier clenched his fist,

"Huh?"

The water in his fist became metal again, and when released, it became a liquid again and flowed down.

"Oh, this is a strange guy."

"......Ah."

Then, as if something came to mind, Elodie opened her mouth.

"Viscoelasticity."

"Hmm? What?"

Frondier smiled in agreement with Elodie's words.

"That's right. This material is a viscoelastic metal."

"What is that?"

"Simply put, it's a property that becomes hard when force is applied, but becomes liquid again soon when left alone."

However, it is impossible for a metal to have this property in the first place.

Viscoelastic materials are soft even when they become solid, as they have their original elasticity and viscosity. It can't be as hard as metal.

It wasn't Mistilteinn, but there was no doubt that this jet-black water was a magical metal.

"Then what about what looked like Mistilteinn just now?"

"Someone must have infused mana using a spell to imitate its appearance. Mana is also a power. Perhaps this coffin served that purpose."

"Whew..."

Only then did the air of relief spread around. Since it wasn't holy water, there would be no divine punishment.

Ortel asked.

"But how did you know? That this thing is a fake."

"The elders thought the same. Mistilteinn is the weapon that killed the god Baldur. If this really were that branch, the god Baldur wouldn't just stand by."

Frondier concealed the fact that he knew the original form of Mistilteinn.

Excessive truth kills persuasiveness.

"And I've never heard of Mistilteinn being stored in a coffin."

"But is that all?"

What Frondier had mentioned was common knowledge.

The chances of this branch being the real Mistilteinn were undoubtedly low.

However, no matter how slim the chances, one does not gamble with their life on the line.

A wrong gamble on divine punishment means a fate worse than death.

"As I said before, I am not afraid of divine punishment. And."

Frondier filled a glass bottle on the table with black liquid.

The liquid, which turns into metal when pressure is applied, was easier to contain in the bottle than expected.

Then, with a heavy look, Frondier said,

"To think this could replace my father's sword, I cannot bear it."

At those words, everyone fell silent for a moment.

But soon, a hearty laugh broke the silence.

"Ha-ha-ha! Completely fooled. Showing such an embarrassing side in front of these youngsters."

It was 'Zodiac' Heldre.

Despite his age, he burst into a hearty laugh and approached Frondier, placing a hand on his head.

"What did you say your name was?"

"It's Frondier."

"Frondier, yes, Frondier. I will not forget that name."

After saying this, Heldre looked at Enfer.

"Enfer, you have a son who is deeply filial."

"─I have nothing to add."

"You never had to put out Gram thanks to your son, shouldn't you give him a gift?"

Heldre's face, wrinkled with age, had a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Enfer looked quite displeased.

"I was originally going to scold him sternly."

However, in that short moment, only Quinnie had something different in mind.

"What for. Didn't you hear him? He said he wasn't afraid of divine punishment. Nobody present here has the courage to say that. Maybe even the gods would want a bold young man like this."

Enfer briefly closed his eyes.

As a result, it could be said that Frondier's actions were right. He did not have to sell Gram, and he prevented further conflict between the families.

Obtaining Mistilteinn was not the only problem. In these times when attacks on families were becoming more common, there was no need to draw attention to oneself due to petty jealousy.

However,

"It's too result-oriented to praise you, Frondier."

"......Yes, I'm sorry, Father."

"Your actions were very dangerous. Much more so than anything you have done before. Normally, I would hold you strictly accountable and educate you so that you won't make such a mistake again. You should be grateful that I'm not doing that."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Frondier stood still and listened.

Watching that gesture, completely devoid of childishness, Enfer sighed.

"However, considering the value of Gram, I can't just let this go."

"Ho?"

Ludwig attached himself to the conversation unnecessarily.

Enfer said,

"If there's anything that you want, go ahead and tell me."

Frondier's eyes held surprise at his words. It's an emotion that rarely appears in those emotionless eyes.

"Ah, well, then......"

Frondier briefly put his hand to his mouth as if in thought and then looked up.

"I would like to see Gram. The inside of its scabbard."

[=Chapter 6 (2)=]

"Huh."

"Wow!"

Short exclamations of surprise burst from the people around them.

Enfer's heirloom, the divine sword, 'Gram.'

It's a rare opportunity to see its true form.

At Frondier's suggestion, everyone's eyes sparkled.

"Would that be alright with you?"

"Of course."

Enfer pondered for a moment.

Even he himself had to admit that this felt insufficient as compensation for Frondier's actions.

Enfer reached out to Gram, which was placed in front of him.

The sword that was concealed within the scabbard.

Everyone watched Enfer's movement intently.

'......How?'

In that brief moment, only Quinie was thinking differently.

'How did he break it?'

Frondier was barehanded.

He had merely placed his hand on the coffin; it shattered in an instant without him even striking it with his fist.

Could it be magic? Without even a spell?

If not...

'Perhaps, Aura.'

Quinie swallowed hard.

Someone who can emit an aura with their bare hands is not at a student level.

But, it was too early to be certain. If it was an aura, it meant releasing Qi, but she had not felt any flow of such energy.

However, if Frondier really did use an aura just now, and it was an instantaneous release that others couldn't perceive.

At any cost, he must be brought to our side.

No matter what it takes.

Swiftly, the sheath was heavily stripped away. The pristine blade inside reflected the light.

"Ah, this is...!"

The nobles' eyes sparkled.

The legendary sword of the hero Sigurd, Gram.

Despite its fame, Gram looked more rustic than expected.

Although there was a rather beautiful pattern flowing like waves on the blade, it wasn't the kind of beauty one would attribute to divine craftsmanship.

Yet.

"..."

Silence settled among the audience.

This weapon couldn't be judged merely by its aesthetic beauty.

Merely placed there, it seemed to press down the air heavily.

The aura was chilly, and from top to bottom, the blade felt as though it was born with condensed power in its very shape.

'Even I, who do not wield swords, can tell. Indeed, divine artifacts are different.'

Quinie inwardly marveled.

It was her nature to inadvertently try to put a price on this weapon, but she let that thought pass for now.

What expression might Frondier, who first mentioned the weapon, be wearing?

Curious, she turned her gaze and,

"...!"

Quinie held her breath.

Worried that he might have noticed her looking, she quickly averted her gaze again.

'What's with those eyes?'

Frondier was also looking at Mistilteinn.

With a pure face. With pure eyes.

Yet, that 'purity' was far from peaceful.

Frondier gazed purely, as if he could swallow Gram whole. As if it were truly possible.

Those eyes longing for Gram, they were,

Eyes that transgressed a taboo.

* * *

"Aster, have you heard the news?"

"Huh? About what?"

Aster responded to his friend Thane's excitement.

Thane, like Aster, was a commoner, and the two quickly became friends.

Since Aster was quite famous, Thane almost approached him with the admiration of a fan, but their personalities meshed well, with Aster's affable nature.

"Didn't you see the news? About Mistilteinn!"

"Ah... I went to bed early last night."

Aster said with an awkward voice, scratching his head.

It was a lie.

Ellen had confiscated the Wizard View viewing rights the night before, insisting there was a romance movie she had to watch.

Then she said,

-It's not ours anyway, check it out later. There will be other chances.

Damn it. My sister is as rational as steel when it comes to others' affairs.

But she's a sucker for romance.

"Frondier broke the coffin!"

"...What?"

Aster's eyes wavered.

It wasn't displeasure or anger, but a sinister premonition: Is Frondier still alive?

"Are you talking about the coffin that stored Mistilteinn?"

"Yeah! Well, it's a bit different!"

"What's different?"

"Turns out it wasn't Mistilteinn. It was a fake!"

Thane still spoke with an excited voice.

But indeed, this was worth making a fuss over.

A fake. Then, there's no divine punishment, so no worries about Frondier, but,

"Wait. So, Frondier knew it was a fake?"

"Well, maybe he had some belief in it? I mean, I wouldn't do it regardless of any evidence!"

Exactly. No matter how strong the suspicion, who would do such a mad thing?

...So, it wasn't suspicion, but certainty.

Something only Frondier could know?

"...It was a fake."

Aster's eyes rolled.

He recalled Frondier's voice from the day before.

-Don't worry, Aster Evans.

-I'll take care of your worries.

He believed it was a minor consolation. It seemed impossible.

No matter to whom Mistilteinn would go, Aster Evans must have felt like there was a knife placed before his heart.

But, indeed. He broke that sword.

...Indeed.

* * *

In my dormitory room, I quietly observed the black liquid sloshing around inside a glass bottle.

A viscoelastic metal.

In the meeting room, I focused entirely on maintaining an indifferent expression towards it.

Originally, in the progression of the game, this fake Mistilteinn is highly likely to be exchanged for Enfer of Gram.

It is then temporarily placed in a visible spot in the Roah Residence, but its falseness is quickly discovered.

A spell without a sorcerer has a limit to mana input, so the vessel breaks on its own accord.

What happens to Gram afterward is truly unknown. It varied each time I played the game.

But in whosever hands it ends up, it triggers a sub-event—a terrifying entity.

For now, it is still safely in my father's hands.

"Now, then."

I placed a rectangular mold on the desk. Then, I poured the metal from the glass bottle into the mold, filling it.

Even when I was playing the game, I thought of this metal as 'quite a peculiar thing'.

It's a bit awkward to say this, but originally, this metal's most viable use was perhaps for 'forging' something to imitate Mistilteinn.

However, with Frondier, maybe.

This metal's properties could be enhanced beyond 100%.

I smiled, not hiding my anticipation.

"From now on, you will be called 'Obsidian'."

I placed my hand over Obsidian in the mold. The sensation of the temperatureless liquid still feels very unfamiliar.

From now on, I will add 'weaving' to this Obsidian.

Weaving, Obsidian

Workshop No. 1

Grade - Normal

Iron Dagger

The image of the dagger mounted in the workshop is engraved on Obsidian.

Magic is infused into Obsidian, and Obsidian began to change its shape.

And then,

"It's done."

In my clenched fist was a dagger.

Finally.

Not an illusion, nor an image.

A black dagger that exists as a clear reality.

[=Chapter 7 (1-)=]

Frondier played with the dagger a few times, feeling its weight and balance, everything was just like the original's Weaving.

Whether the sharpness of the blade was the same could only be known after testing, but it was likely very similar.

"However, it continuously consumes mana."

Obsidian is a material that solidifies while force is applied to it.

To maintain its form, a continuous supply of magical power is needed.

Frondier's mana level is that of an average person.

It's nowhere near the standards of Constel's students, but it should be sustainable for the duration of one battle.

The Weaving with Obsidian completely reverses the pros and cons of standard Weaving.

Weapons made from Weaving only appear in reality for the moment they make contact, so you can't block an opponent's attack head-on.

If you tried, the opponent's attack would penetrate the Weaving and kill you.

Moreover, if it doesn't cut in one go, it disappears, making it hard to inflict proper damage.

On the other hand, since Obsidian is a real weapon, you can use regular weapon techniques with it.

You can block normally, collide, and even if it gets blocked for a moment, you have the option to push through.

However, Obsidian continues to consume mana while it is maintained through Weaving, and being a real entity, it's visible to the enemies.

Depending on the situation, there's a need to discern when to use regular Weaving or Obsidian.

"......So."

I swallowed nervously. This is where things truly begin.

In my workshop now is the famous sword 'Gram.'

Seeing the real Gram was an unexpected gain.

As soon as I saw Anfer's Gram, I immediately inserted its image into my workshop.

I placed the Obsidian dagger on the mold and released the Weaving, naturally returning it to liquid form inside the mold. Then, I placed my hands over it again.

This time, I'm not replicating a regular dagger, but a hero's sword.

"If this is possible, it's a step forward in conquering this world."

Weaving, Obsidian

Grade - Legendary

Gram

Threads of mana stretched towards the Obsidian.

Imprinting the image and structure was simple.

[Gram]

• Grade: Legendary

• Description: The renowned sword used by Sigurd. The hero and the weapon's achievements surpass those of several deities.

Ability Details >

- Dragon Slayer: Kills dragons, absorbing their blood. Significantly enhances attack power against dragons and instills fear in dragon species of 'Unique' grade or lower.

And it's complete.

Up to this point, it's all due to Frondier's pure talent, with no interference.

The problem is,

"...Ugh!"

The moment I grasped the woven Gram, I was overwhelmed by severe dizziness and nausea.

Mana depletion. I couldn't maintain the weave for even 3 seconds and had to cancel it.

"Huff, cough! Cough cough...!"

The dry coughing persisted. It felt as if all the moisture in my body was drying up.

Yet, even amidst the pain, hope emerged.

"Cough, it, cough, works...! Cough!"

Yes. The weaving itself was a success. It just demanded an absurd amount of mana.

"Hoo... I need to think of a way to increase my mana."

The fastest way is to wear an artifact. However, artifacts that increase mana are prohibitively expensive.

Even for the Roach family, or rather, especially for them, pricey items are a sensitive issue.

If I were Azier, I might tolerate such an expense.

But I'm Frondier, so it's not possible.

"Then, for now, let's try a brute force method."

There's another way to increase the mana pool. Just like before, deplete all the mana.

When mana is depleted, the body grows the mana pool to prevent future depletions, much like muscles.

In fact, most characters in Etius are unaware of this method.

The amount of mana growing is very minimal compared to items or divine power. Just like how muscle growth from exercising doesn't become visible overnight.

And using up all one's mana is taboo here, for a good reason.

You never know when danger will strike, so having your lifeline, mana, completely depleted is extremely dangerous.

But well.

If you know mana can increase, there's no reason not to do it.

My plan is to weave Grams a few more times and repeat the mana depletion to grow it.

...However, there's a limit to this method.

Eventually, items are necessary.

"...Quinie."

That's the conclusion. To make a deal with Quinie de Viet.

She's my only trading route.

But without money, I'll have to trade something else.

Of course, building a rapport comes first.

Let's think about how to persuade her.

"Anyway, how do I carry this aroun-"

I stopped mid-sentence. My fingertips trembled.

Curious, I watched the trembling soon crawl up my arm and sweep over my body.

"What's, this, ugh!"

It was fear, nothing else.

The emotion that suddenly enveloped my body, I didn't recognize it as fear at first.

There's nothing around. No trigger for this fear exists.

'...No.'

Just a while ago, there was nothing, no one in the void.

Like slowly opening a curtain, the middle of the void split open.

Someone slowly squeezed through the gap.

"You, are."

A small boy with unfolded black wings.

Golden eyes fixed on me, a look filled with disdain and contempt as if tearing through my throat.

The fear swells.

With the last bit of my sanity, I quickly scanned the boy's appearance.

'He's not human. He's a god. One of the gods that actually exist in this game 'Etius'. But who could it be? Judging by the looks, he's one of the gods from Greek or Norse mythology. Try to remember, golden eyes, black wings, a god in the form of a boy...!'

In the world of Etius, the descent of a god is no easy feat.

It requires considerable preparation even from the god's standpoint. Yet, despite such obstacles, he appeared before me.

"Could it be, because I used Obsidian for weaving?"

If the act of weaving had been set as a 'condition' for the god's descent all along.

Then it means the preparations for his descent were in place from the start.

And if that's true.

This god knew that the weaving would have an impact on reality.

I don't know yet, but to this god, weaving is that dangerous.

The god in the form of a boy moved his lips.

I couldn't hear, and even if I could, I wouldn't understand the language of gods, but somehow, I felt as if the god was saying,

[You've really done it now.]

Just then, the god snapped his fingers. At the same time, my right hand involuntarily rose.

Frondier's unique skill

Weaving

Workshop Item Number 1

Rank - Normal

Iron Dagger

My hand weaved on its own.

The blade that was created pointed towards me.

'This bastard, he's trying to kill me...!'

[=Chapter 7 (2)=]

He's controlling my body, trying to make me kill myself with my own hand.

A perfect disguise for a suicide leaving no evidence behind.

My right hand just trembled, not following my will at all.

The blade was getting closer.

I tried to clench my teeth with force.

...Huh?

I can still bite down on my molars.

I changed my thinking. I couldn't resist with strength.

I am just a human, and not even a named one, just an ordinary person. Opposing a god is foolhardy.

So what I need to do is to make him stop his own actions.

It was still possible to bite through it.

I could bite through it while my mouth can still move.

I met his piercing golden eyes.

Holding my breath, I moved my lips.

"—Thanatos."

My voice was barely a whisper.

But the damn god should understand it.

If he is a god, he should be able to do that much.

[......!]

His golden eyes widened.

At the same time, the boy's body moved away from me.

The blade that was coming at me stopped.

"Gasp! Huff, gasp!!"

I regained my freedom and exhaled roughly.

Ho, holy moly, I almost died......!

[──!]

The god in the form of a boy shouted something at me with a face filled with panic and anger.

I have no idea what you're saying, idiot.

Then, he quickly made a troubled expression as if he had just thought of something.

He bit his lower lip, glanced at me once, and walked through the closed gap.

Soon, the gap closed and my room returned to its usual state.

"......Is he gone?"

I collapsed as my tension eased.

The Greek god of death, 'Thanatos'.

However, in Etius, he is not 'death itself' as portrayed in the original myth.

He is a powerful and high-ranking god, but if he disappears, death does not disappear. Despite being in charge of death, he can also die.

Anyway, I'm lucky I figured out his identity.

Golden eyes, black wings, and the form of a young boy.

There aren't many gods who possess all three characteristics, but I had to risk my life to find out.

The most important clue is the killing method.

Just like now, when a god possesses a human's body and makes them kill themselves, there will be no trace left, making it suicide.

That's Thanatos, the god of death, for you.

Among the gods, only a few know Thanatos' face. Those few are higher-ranking gods than Thanatos.

"I simply took a shot in the dark, but from Thanatos' perspective, it wouldn't seem that way.

To him, the fact that I know his face would appear as if I have a close connection with other higher gods.

Therefore, killing me now would be risky.

That's why I mentioned his name, hoping he would think this way.

...Yet, what I can say is,

I was really lucky.

"...It feels like a tremendous crisis but also a tremendous opportunity."

The attempt on my life was surely because of the 'Weaving'.

Why the Weaving angered a god, I don't know.

But there has never been a case in the history of Etius where a human has affected a god's emotions like this.

"Could it be that Frondier, lacking divine power, is despised by the gods?"

...Did I go too far?

Initially, humans with divine power are rare, and it's unlikely that Frondier is despised by all gods.

In any case, this ability called Weaving could be more dangerous and powerful than I thought.

"However."

I glanced down at my hands. The trembling wouldn't stop.

I mocked myself.

"I guess I need to get used to fear."

I don't know how far my bravado will take me.

Thanatos can't just directly ask the other higher gods about me, so I'll probably have some time.

But I need to prepare as much as possible until then.

* * *

'Frondier.'

Quinie thought about him in the classroom.

Frondier de Roach, the second son of the Roach family.

Now in her third year at Constel, she thought she wouldn't have to care about the Roach family anymore.

She only learned of Frondier's name after he enrolled.

She knew Azier had a brother but didn't think much of him.

She tried digging for information just in case, but there was nothing worthwhile. The only information was that he was very lazy and negligent, which seemed credible.

"Quinie, what are you thinking about so deeply?"

Quinie's friend spoke up beside her.

Quinie glanced at her subtly.

"Anne, what do you think about Frondier?"

"What? Don't tell me, Quinie, seeing that face of Frondier's, have you finally felt those fresh feelings? Have you experienced it? That sweet and sour, that lovely...!"

"I'm asking for information."

"Is that so?"

Anne chuckled, "Heh."

"Frondier, well, I don't know. He used to just sleep during class. Though it seems not to be the case recently."

"Anything but what everyone in Constel already knows."

"That's all I know too."

Hmm, that makes sense.

Anne wouldn't know much about Frondier.

Instead, Quinie asked another question.

"You know about the incident a while back, right? The one where Frondier broke the transparent case storing Mistilteinn."

"Oh, I know! It was really noisy until a few days ago."

"What do you think about that?"

"About his action?"

"Yes."

Anne tilted her head, pondering, then flashed a wide smile.

She cheerfully responded, "It was reckless! Stupid!"

"...Hmm."

Yes. That was the public's opinion of Frondier regarding the incident at the time.

Even if it was for his father, what if it really was a cursed item?

Who would want to see their son die?

'But to me, he seemed filled with certainty.'

He must have been. Otherwise, he wouldn't have dared to do such a thing fearlessly.

-I've never been afraid of such things.

"Pfft."

Quinie laughed. It was the first time she had seen someone talk like that.

Especially in a place where people who are loved by various famous gods gather.

Truly fearless.

"Alright, I've decided."

"What?"

"If I want something, I should go get it."

With her arms crossed, progressing thoughts in her head, and with shining eyes, Quinie spoke.

Watching her, Anne wondered, "Could Quinie really be after Frondier?"

[=Chapter 8 (1-)=]

The largest museum on the central continent, 'Remuze'.

It's a space that is like a collection of the past, where you can experience ancient weapons and culture at a glance, starting from artworks such as paintings and sculptures.

Quinie visited the Remuze Museum for both hobby and study.

By looking at high-quality artworks, one can develop a discerning eye to evaluate the value of items.

However, today she was a bit distracted, and Quinie gave a vague smile.

"You didn't have to come."

"No, no, it's fun, it's fun, really, really."

Anne, who was next to her, responded automatically, her repetition indicating her soul was about to leave her body with each answer.

"Why would a kid who's not interested in this kind of thing follow along?"

"My dad bought a painting a while ago, and it turned out to be a fake. So, I guess he was a bit embarrassed in front of his friends. After that, he suddenly came to me and said, 'Daughter, you shouldn't let this happen.' and told me to study about artworks. Apparently, there have been a lot of such incidents lately."

"He seems like a good person."

"......Well, I needed something like this too, and since it's my father's request, there's no reason not to accept it, right? Just to get to know a bit?"

Anne twisted her hair as she spoke. Quinie chuckled at her.

...But if you don't like art, you can't develop an appreciation for it. Because appreciation in art is a sense of feeling 'beautiful'.

Quinie debated whether to say this, but in the end, she swallowed it in silence. Who knows, maybe this experience might open her eyes.

"......Oh my."

Quinie stopped in front of a painting while walking.

It was a woman praying. But it was not a church or a cathedral. She was praying in the midst of golden grains. The woman was smiling, and her face was not solemn or serious, but bright and sunny.

All these elements were different yet harmonized, and it was both alien and magnificent.

Incredible. Quinie was flustered, afraid she might have inadvertently voiced that thought.

"Qui, Quinie, look, look over there."

"Yes, I'm looking. When you reach this level, you'll understand,"

"No, no, not the painting, next to you!"

At Anne's barely audible whisper, Quinie slightly furrowed her brows and looked to her side.

Indeed, when she looked to her side, Quinie was even more flustered than before.

Next to her was Frondier.

Frondier was in a place that was not Constel, in a museum, in front of an artwork.

Nothing made sense, and Quinie was frozen on the spot.

Just like Quinie a while ago, Frondier seemed unaware of Quinie next to him. His eyes were solely focused on the painting.

There was no particular admiration on Frondier's face. It was the same languid face he always had. If you looked at it differently, it seemed like he was observing the painting.

Whether Frondier had an eye for art or not, it was certainly not ordinary to stay this long on a single piece. This piqued Quinie's interest.

Yes, it was Frondier who knew that Mistilteinn was a fake. He might have some knowledge about art as well.

What's your impression of this painting?

"...Remarkable,"

Frondier's mouth opened gently. The sigh that came out with it seemed to contradict his admiration for the painting.

"It's a counterfeit."

It was a brief comment.

Frondier just said that and walked away.

His steps were as plain as ever.

"......?"

Quinie saw Frondier passing by her.

She looked at him, and then again,

"Wait! Just a minute! Hey! Wait! Stop! Hey!"

She strode briskly towards Frondier. Her words fluctuated between formal and informal speech.

"Oh, senior Quinie. Nice to see you here."

Frondier greeted her. Quinie flinched at his usual demeanor. She decided to return the greeting for now.

"Oh, yes, yes. What brings you here, Frondier? I didn't expect to see you in a place like this."

"Well, I came to see relics rather than artworks, I was on my way there."

"Relics?"

"Yes, like weapons, or armor."

At Frondier's words, Quinie finally understood.

Frondier, who had recognized Mistilteinn as a fake. He was an otaku who was interested in old things!

But there was a more pressing issue at hand now.

"Fr, Frontier, what did you mean by what you just said?"

"Huh? What did I say?"

"You said 'counterfeit' when you saw that painting! Clearly! I heard you loud and clear!"

Quinie pointed at the painting with a pop. She took another look at it while she was at it.

Even upon a second look, it was an outstanding painting. It was so good that it wouldn't be strange if it were placed in a hall of fame, let alone being a counterfeit.

"Ah, yes. I did."

Frontier replied.

His reply was again, refreshingly straightforward.

Does this guy have a habit of calling everything, including Mistilteinn, a counterfeit?

"Do you know where we are? This is the Remuze Museum! The best museum in the Central Continent! It's not a common occurrence to find counterfeits here!"

Upon hearing that, Frontier pursed his lips. He seemed to be pondering something.

"......So, Senior Quinie, you mean I should have formally protested against the museum for bringing in a counterfeit......"

"That's not what I meant!"

What's with him?

Doesn't he have even the slightest doubt that he might be wrong?

"Whether it's Remuze's Museum or the Louvre Museum, a counterfeit is still a counterfeit," Frondier said.

His tone implied that he was stating the obvious.

Well, it is obvious.

But where is the Louvre Museum? [T/N: A museum in Paris]

"You're saying that's a counterfeit?"

"Yes. A counterfeit."

"Really? Don't you regret saying that? Really?"

"Really. Absolutely. It's one hundred percent a counterfeit."

Quinnie looked at the painting once again.

...Indeed, no matter how you look at it, it's a remarkable piece of art.

Although her standards for Frondier have risen after the Mistletoe incident, she still trusts her own eyes more.

"...Then, how about a bet?"

"A bet?"

"Yes. A bet to determine whether the painting is real or fake. If Frondier wins, I'll send the amount indicated on the painting to the Roach Family in Loire. If I win, it'll be the opposite. How about it?"

"How do you plan to confirm its authenticity?"

"I'm going to buy it. That painting."

Anne, who had been quietly standing next to her, exclaimed in surprise on her behalf.

Quinie looked at Frondier with a confident expression.

In fact, she had been thinking about purchasing something since she came to the Remuze Museum. That painting was enough to satisfy her eyes.

...She was also angry to hear that such a painting was a fake.

"You can cancel it now and it will be as if it never happened,"

"Alright."

Frondier said.

Quinie blinked her eyes in disbelief, her mouth agape.

But then Frondier said something even more unbelievable.

"Could you send it to me personally instead of giving it to the Roah family? Like cash."

"You're really asking for a lot, aren't you?"

[=Chapter 8 (2)=]

The current highest stock price is being run by the Viet Trading Company.

However, that's a recent evaluation, and the Viet Trading Company had lost its brilliant heyday before it passed through Quinie's hands.

At that time, everyone thought that the Viet Trading Company was irrecoverable. And it was indeed true.

Looking at the flow of the Viet Merchant Association, it was impossible to return to its heyday.

So, Quinie completely broke it down and started over.

She eliminated all unprofitable trade relationships, fired people, and cut off all ties with the nobles she had been close to for a long time.

After removing all the bubbles stuck to the merchant association, the deficit was resolved. The problem was that the number of enemies increased accordingly.

Viet had been doing a lot of business with other merchant associations and families. Among them, there were many who would go bankrupt if the Viet family went bankrupt.

But Quinie cut them off without hesitation. Things like 'time' and 'affection' that had been traded for a long time were not considered. Naturally, the number of enemies had to increase.

Hence, she earned the nickname 'Little Devil Quinie'.

Afterwards, Viet grew impressively. And as the Viet Merchant Association grew, all the families that Quinie had cut off walked the path of downfall.

As a result, the world's evaluation of Quinie, who they had called reckless, changed.

'Cold-hearted, yet with a discerning eye that sends chills down one's spine. Her ability to judge people and evaluate abilities is comparable to foresight.'

If Quinie doesn't cut them off, or if she reaches out first, the family grows. If Quinie cuts them off, the family falls into ruin.

After such situations repeated, the families who tried to bring down Quinie found themselves in hot water.

Being cut off by Quinie became proof that they were not worth it. Naturally, their popularity fell, and they were labeled as incapable families.

Quinie, who had an eye for discerning people, was like a ghost.

Her ability was said to be comparable to foresight, but of course, it was not foresight.

So, naturally, she couldn't read all the incidents that occurred unexpectedly.

Such an obvious fact was particularly annoying to Quinie today.

"So, everything is mixed up?"

"Well, that is, by the time we arrived, it was already this bad."

"So it's mixed up?"

At Quinie's inquiry, the butler stammered and shut his mouth.

Quinie sighed.

"Let's go and see how much of a mess it is."

With that, Quinie led the butler out to the front of the mansion.

In front of the mansion, the servants were already busy sorting out the items that had been unloaded.

"......Unbelievable."

The front of the mansion was a complete mess.

Items that were not recorded as purchased from the merchant guild were visible to Quinie's eyes.

"Recently, counterfeit scams are trending. Especially, places like our merchant guild that purchase goods in large quantities are the main targets. They forcibly drive out the driver by bringing a similar vehicle, and swap similar items from the cargo of both vehicles. They even prepare separate counterfeit items that are hard to distinguish from expensive ones."

"So, if the counterfeits are prepared in advance, that means they knew what we purchased from our merchant guild."

"Yes. It seems there was someone who stole records from galleries or museums."

Sigh, Quinie let out a sigh.

Only then did she remember Anne's words that her father had been scammed by counterfeits.

It was too much to expect her to anticipate this situation from that one sentence.

Still, the situation was better for the Viet Merchant Guild. Because they discovered the crime scene.

The problem was that the scam artists were in the middle of swapping, so the cargo from both vehicles got mixed up.

They had brought both vehicles here and were sorting through the contents.

"......But what are they doing over there?"

Amidst the employees and servants busily sorting items, people were gathered in one spot on the other side.

"Ah, we hired a few appraisers. We found a lot of fakes that look very similar to what we bought."

"Hmm."

Out of curiosity, Quinie walked towards where they were gathered. She wondered how similar the fakes could be.

But then.

"Ah, wait, no way. No way this is..."

What was in front of Quinie's eyes were two paintings. The painting she bought from Remuze. It was a painting of a praying girl.

'This can't be...'

The two paintings looked exactly the same. Only, the girl's expression was different. One was smiling, and the other was expressionless. The painting Quinie bought was definitely of the smiling girl.

"Is the, appraisal finished?"

"Ah, Miss Quinie. I apologize. It was quite difficult, but the appraisal is finished. The painting was so good that I lost my mind without realizing it. Haha."

The appraiser smiled awkwardly.

Quinie swallowed. Which one could be the real one?

Quinie looked at both paintings again. To her eyes, the one with the smiling girl seemed more real. The act of prayer and the girl's smile. The dissonance was even more beautiful.

"So, which one is the real one? Which one has higher artistic value?"

"Um, the answers to those two questions are different."

"Pardon?"

The appraiser pointed to the painting of the smiling girl.

"The one with higher artistic value is this one. We all admired it as soon as we saw it. Not only the girl's expression but also the way the colors were used, the effort put into the underpainting, all of these accurately depicted the beauty of an unfamiliar combination. Above all, it borrowed the coloring method used in the original, yet elevated its sophistication. Most people wouldn't be able to distinguish it from the original."

Having said that, the appraiser then pointed to the painting of the girl with a neutral expression.

"The original is this one. This one is also a painting of excellent quality. However, the method is a bit old-fashioned, and above all, the girl's expression is regrettable. We also initially thought this one was the imitation."

"But how do you know it's genuine...?"

"Fortunately, we had someone among us who knew this work."

Another appraiser came forward.

"It's 'The Girl's Prayer' by Alain Bouchon. Both the artist and the work are quite obscure, and the artist has been dead for a long time. Very few people would know about it. The fraudsters who were trying to switch it with a fake must have brought the real one. They probably bought it cheap from some gallery."

A fake with higher artistic value than the real thing.

So, is that why Frontier called it a 'great counterfeit'?

...No, then.

"So, is there a way for an ordinary person to recognize this as genuine?"

"It would be difficult. Even museums have displayed fakes thinking they were genuine. To distinguish between fake and real in such works, you would really have to have been lucky enough to see the real one in the era when there were no fakes, or you would have to have conquered almost all the paintings on the continent."

At his words, Quinie blinked several times. She seemed to be thinking about something, then she finally spoke.

"It was good luck, wasn't it?"

"Huh?"

"I mean, it must have been good luck, right? There's no other way to explain it,"

She was fervently appealing a story that the appraisers couldn't understand.