"Disgusting. A pack of trash trampling on a magus' honor."
Outside Rhodes' Mystic Code shop, a blond young man in a red trench coat muttered through clenched teeth.
In front of him stood magi examining Mystic Codes branded "Rhodes-made." Most were mercenaries from the Middle East. Only magi who lived on the battlefield truly understood how brutally practical Rhodes' equipment was. Every component existed for a reason. Nothing ornamental, nothing wasteful. They were weapons forged purely for killing and survival.
"Stop deceiving yourself, Mr. Alba."
A slightly hoarse, aged voice rose behind him, carrying the oppressive weight of something ancient stirring from sleep. Alba stiffened and turned.
An old woman stood there, thin as kindling, her skin etched with deep wrinkles. Yet her eyes were bright, alert, brimming with vitality, enough that one unconsciously forgot her age.
"You… no, why would you come to a place like this?" Alba asked, startled. He glanced toward the bustling Arcane Garden of Rhodes nearby, his face twisting with naked disgust, as if he had swallowed something foul.
"Alba, you shouldn't cling to prejudice."
The old woman spoke gently, like a teacher patiently correcting a student. In truth, Alba was exactly that—her student, even if only in name.
"But—" Alba opened his mouth, instinctively wanting to argue, then found he had nothing to say.
"Isn't this simply because your Cornelius line lost its Mystic Code market to Rhodes?" the old woman continued. "This is normal market competition. Even we, the Twelve Lords, have no justification to interfere. Endure it quietly."
A trace of self-mockery colored her words. She coughed softly, then strode past Alba and into Rhodes' Arcane Garden.
"Inorai, Master…" Alba tried to stop her, hesitation plain on his face. "If you intend to cause trouble for Rhodes, please bring the family forces with you. Several families have already tested the Arcane Garden and lost dozens of magi. Some were even Brand-ranked."
"No, you misunderstand, Alba." The old woman—Inorai—laughed softly. Beneath the rasp of her voice lay an authority that brooked no refusal. "I'm only here to purchase goods. The Valualeta family also needs to study Rhodes' techniques."
"And besides, even if I am a rotting old tree, I am not tender grass to be trampled."
"As you will." Alba bowed deeply, solemn and sincere. "It is my honor to meet you, Lord Inorai Valualeta Atroholm—one of the Twelve Lords of the Clock Tower, the ruler of the Eleventh Seat, Creation."
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A short while later, inside Rhodes' Arcane Garden—the focal point of the Clock Tower and the largest commercial hub in all of Britain—Inorai sat on a leather sofa, studying the boy across from her with open interest.
He looked fifteen or sixteen. He wore a pristine white suit, a mantle draped loosely over his shoulders like a cloak. The fabric lay rumpled on the sofa, yet somehow retained an air of restrained elegance, steeped in Mystery rather than slovenliness.
Dark crimson hair, eyes deep and unclouded, features cool and sharp. Within his gaze lingered a detached wisdom that made one forget his youth and meet him as an equal.
At least, that was how Inorai saw him.
At his age, she had never achieved anything like this.
"Before we discuss business," the old woman said with a light smile, "may I make a proposal?"
"Please." Rhodes lifted a cup of tea imported from the East. Compared to Britain's habit of polluting tea with everything imaginable, this pure flavor was rich and satisfying.
"Would you become my student—the chief disciple of the Lord of Creation at the Clock Tower?" Inorai asked flatly, her expression solemn. "More than that, I wish for you to leave the worthless Yggdmillennia and continue the Valualeta bloodline. As payment, I would even offer you the next headship of Valualeta, and the crown of one of the Twelve Lords."
"And then what?" Rhodes replied calmly, unmoved by the honeyed trap. "I hole up in this little town and become a machine designing Mystic Codes for the Valualeta family's benefit? What meaning does that kind of power have?"
"You refuse? What a pity." Inorai frowned slightly, clearly surprised that such bait had failed. Her appraisal of him rose another notch. "Then let us discuss a second proposal. Choose any direct-line Valualeta woman and leave behind a seed. In return, we will provide two billion pounds' worth of magical materials."
"Tch… breeding again?" Rhodes sneered. "So all magi really are the same. Can wisdom and ways of thinking truly be inherited along with Magic Circuits?"
Inorai nodded without hesitation.
"Of course. Magic can optimize the next generation to its fullest extent. That is true inheritance."
"…I see." Rhodes paused, then asked evenly, "Can we talk business now? The rest we can dissect later."
"Agreed." Whether she sensed his impatience or simply chose to postpone the topic, Inorai straightened. "We wish to purchase a large quantity of the Mystic Codes you produce, to equip our family's magus forces. What do you say?"
"Music to my ears." Rhodes smiled mildly, the earlier edge gone. "No merchant refuses pounds that walk into his wallet. We can negotiate pricing—but I want several live werewolves from Valualeta as part of the exchange. Acceptable?"
"Acceptable. As you wish."
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