Chapter 12
Fly Away (1)
The next morning.
As promised, Simon came to my study.
“Make yourself comfortable.”
“Yeah.”
At my words, Simon sat down on the sofa. Across from him, Lucis was busy coloring on paper.
Yellow, purple. The colorful scribbles looked very much like he was drawing gemstones.
“Did you sleep well, Madam?”
“Yes.”
Unlike Sia, Simon used the utmost honorifics when speaking to Lucis.
I quickly skimmed through the documents in my hand to the end and set them down. They were about the enterprises I would inherit from the former count once I returned to the capital.
“So. Why did you want to meet?”
“Now that you’re the family head, I wanted to talk about the Circuit Foundry.”
A few years ago, when Simon had come of age, he inherited one of the enterprises from the late count and had been running it since.
The Magical Circuit Foundry.
It was a business that researched, developed, and inscribed “magic circuits”—a fundamental element of this world’s magic—into people.
Simply put, it’s like tattooing magical scrolls onto the body.
Semi-permanent magical tattoos that could activate spells with just a flow of mana—that was what magic circuits were.
When they were first developed, they were so expensive only nobles could afford them, but now even common adventurers had them inscribed.
I guess you could call it popularization and mass adoption.
The magical circuit business was one of the Mausoleum family’s primary sources of income.
Simon had been put in charge not only because he was a direct bloodline member, but also because he had shown great talent for circuits back at the Academy.
“As you know, Father always ordered research into offensive magic. So the most recent project we were working on…”
Even though Simon was the head of the Foundry, the ultimate “chairman” of all businesses was the family head.
So this was him reporting on projects he had been pursuing with the previous head.
“…the one closest to completion is the Torture Circuit.”
The Torture Circuit.
I knew that one.
It was the magic the protagonist suffers from in the tutorial, and the very first reason the Mausoleum family’s name is remembered with infamy.
I tapped my chin for a moment, then said:
“Let’s scrap the Torture Circuit.”
“Scrap it?”
Not only was it a vile spell, but there was no reason to pick a fight with the protagonist unnecessarily.
“We already have more than enough offensive circuits, don’t we?”
“Well, yes, but…”
Simon hesitated, then said:
“The next showcase is only a few weeks away.”
A showcase—basically, like a product launch event back on Earth.
The Foundry had to sell to countless clients, so they held regular showcases to present new products.
I nodded and asked:
“Simon. What kind of circuit do you want to create?”
“…Huh?”
“I’m asking what you want to make.”
Simon blinked several times, dazed, then repeated blankly:
“What I want to make…?”
From the vacant look on his face, it was clear he had never thought about it before.
He had probably just been mechanically making offensive circuits he didn’t even like, all because of the late count’s orders.
Talented, yet obedient. The perfect child for the late count’s tastes.
“Think about it carefully. From now on, the Foundry will follow the direction you want.”
“The direction I want…?”
Simon repeated my words dumbly, but soon, a glimmer of excitement lit up his eyes.
Ideas were bubbling up.
“But still, Brother…”
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Simon asked:
“If we scrap the Torture Circuit—the one closest to completion—then what do we show at the next showcase?”
Despite hearing something sweet, he still prioritized the current problem.
Not just a puppet of the late head—he carried responsibility for his work. He had a backbone.
“Present this.”
I pulled out a sheet of paper I had kept in the desk drawer and handed it to Simon.
His eyes widened as he studied the drawing.
Small rune letters interlocked like ants, forming the shape of a cross.
“A new circuit? Don’t tell me you made this, Brother?”
“Well, yeah.”
Strictly speaking, this was a circuit the original Seymour would have created in the novel.
“Absorption and application… a formula that helps absorb mana?”
As expected from an expert, Simon immediately read the formulas embedded in the design.
“Absorption and application of mana…”
He murmured, lost in thought.
“This could be a huge help for adventurers absorbing mana potions… It could even assist many research projects at the Tower… Ah, if refined, it might even become a solution for people born with mana insensitivity!”
I smiled faintly at his excitement.
“So? Good enough to show at the showcase?”
Simon nodded vigorously, a bright smile on his face.
“Of course! This could help so many people! How did you even come up with this? Brother, you’re a genius!”
Seeing Simon’s joy—someone who usually felt uneasy around me—made me unexpectedly proud too.
In the original, this was a circuit Seymour created to fully absorb Lucis’s dragon heart. Knowing it could instead be used for something positive filled me with relief.
That’s also why I could perfectly remember and redraw such a complex circuit.
Seymour had inscribed it across his entire body.
For the record, ever since circuits became widespread, nobles sneered at the practice, believing it lowered them to the level of commoners.
Seymour, steeped in elitism, was no exception. The modern-style suits he designed to cover himself from head to toe likely served to hide these tattoos as well.
That’s how badly he coveted Lucis’s power.
The circuit’s cross shape originally symbolized a syringe—since it was meant to aid “absorption and application.”
But inscribed all over Seymour’s body, it resembled a massive graveyard covered in tombstones.
A graveyard that had swallowed countless innocent lives.
“Simon, how was your time with Brother Seymour?”
Sia asked as Simon sat blankly in his room afterwards.
“Brother Seymour?” Simon repeated absently.
It all still felt like a dream.
“…I still can’t believe it.”
That Brother would tell him to stop making offensive circuits.
That he would create something to help people.
Had Father’s death taken away Seymour’s cruel side as well?
Seeing Simon’s dazed face, Sia smiled softly.
“Thank you, Brother. For pushing yourself.”
At his sister’s gratitude, Simon waved his hands.
“No, don’t thank me. I didn’t push myself for you. I… just as much as you…”
His voice faltered.
“…Just as much as you…”
Unable to finish, he fell into silence—until Sia gently took his hand and lowered it.
“Brother. Trusting in people isn’t a flaw of yours.”
“….”
“It’s proof of your goodness. Never fear it, never be ashamed of it.”
“…Alright.”
Simon looked down at the circuit he still held.
That cross-shaped design looked almost like a token of Seymour’s repentance.
Lucis, despite being a child in appearance, wasn’t very childlike in emotions.
He rarely demanded things, and almost never cried.
And yet, in some moments, he was nothing but a child.
It must be the gap between his conscious age and his soul’s age.
Lucis had been sealed the moment he was born. During that long slumber, his reason and consciousness remained infant-like.
But the truth was, he had still existed for a thousand years—so his soul carried the weight of centuries.
The exact opposite of an old man with dementia reverting to a baby.
What I mean is: normally, Lucis acted mature beyond his years, but if his body experienced pain or shock, his soul’s age didn’t matter—he reverted straight back into a child.
“…Ugh.”
Exactly like now.
Look at those big teary eyes, about to spill any second.
Well, he did hurt himself.
Just a moment ago, when I heard a loud bang! in the study, I thought my insane uncle had finally thrown a spell in my room and run away.
But the culprit was Lucis, clutching a crayon.
He had dropped one under the desk, bumped his head trying to grab it, and now…
He brought this on himself, yet looks so pitiful.
Perhaps that made it worse—because he had no one else to blame.
“…Uuuh.”
He had even lost focus on maintaining his polymorph, so his wings and tail popped out.
Worse, he tried to rub the sore spot with his hands, but his arms were too short to reach his head.
That only made him more miserable, lips trembling, tears welling bigger.
“Oh dear, Lucis.”
I thought he really might cry if I left him, so I scooped him up and rubbed his head.
“Hiccup.”
Lucis buried his face into my chest, holding back his tears.
It was my first time soothing a child like this.
What should I do? While stroking his head, one little spell of comfort came to mind.
Still rubbing, I raised my hand dramatically toward the ceiling and declared:
“Pain, fly away!”
“…?”
Lucis blinked up at me through teary eyes.
I rubbed his head again and repeated:
“Fly away!”
“Fly… away…?”
“All the pain, fly away!”
The next moment, I nearly laughed.
At the word fly, Lucis’s wings began to flap unconsciously.
“Fly away! All the pain, fly away!”
After a few more chants, his little body even lifted slightly off my arms.
“…Oh?”
“Hahaha!”
I hugged him tightly before he could really float off, rubbing his head with my cheek.
“…Mm.”
Lucis, comforted and calmer now that the pain had eased, snuggled closer.
“Heheh…”
Not far away, the butler Alfred chuckled like a grandfather, recording Lucis with a camera.
Lately he’d been carrying a mid-range model around to film Lucis, so I had even allocated budget to buy him several top-grade ones.
The camera was one of the Grand Workshop’s bestselling artifacts, functioning much like a video camera on Earth.
The resolution wasn’t even close, of course, but here it was cutting-edge magitech.
“Butler. Don’t forget the 3-2-1 backup rule.”
“Yes, of course.”
Copies onto three memory stones. Stored separately in the capital estate and the territory. Another set preserved in print form at the Central Bank.
That was the 3-2-1 backup rule.
Overkill for just a video, you say?
Fool. This isn’t just a keepsake—it’s a national treasure in the making.
A video of the Empire’s most handsome man doting on the Empire’s cutest child? If that doesn’t become a national treasure, then this country is doomed.
“Right, Lucis?”
“Hm?”
Lucis tilted his head at me, puzzled.
After comforting him for a while, I prepared to leave as scheduled.
“Young master, why are you suddenly heading out into the territory?”
“To hunt.”
“Hunt…? But isn’t this still the mourning period?”
Tradition dictated that for two weeks before and after the family head’s funeral, festivities like parties and hunts were forbidden.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to hunt beasts.”
“…Then what do you mean?”
As the butler helped me dress, I grinned.
“I’m going to hunt lords.”
Alfred swallowed hard, robes in hand, face tense.
