Gion stood in the dark corridor, lit by not a single torch, and looked at Ron kneeling before him. And at the child Ron had gently laid on the floor.
'......Rohan?'
Rrrumble— Crack!
Lightning struck outside the window and lit up Gion's face. Surprise spread across a face that stayed calm even when facing the monsters beyond the Wall. His lips were still pressed into a straight line, but his wide eyes gave him away.
Kneeling, Ron made no report. There was no need.
Gion already knew someone had entered the cave. And the jade-green egg in Rohan's arms meant that someone was this very youngest son.
"You are telling me the one who opened the stone gate is truly Rohan?"
Even so, Gion asked. That was how hard it was to believe.
No matter how much of a genius, an 8-year-old could not produce magic power equal to the 5th Stage of the White Ice Ring. What was more, Rohan had not even formed a single ice ring in his body, let alone reached the 5th Stage. Wasn't this the same Rohan who had been called a dullard from the start?
"I did not see him open the stone gate with my own eyes. But I could find no trace of anyone else, and only the young master lay collapsed inside the cave."
Gion took a step closer to Rohan. Bending his knees and leaning down, he reached toward his son's body.
Rohan's body was giving off a hot energy. The Guardian Knight Ron took it for a fever, the body's natural reaction after collapsing somewhere cold.
But Gion, the Northern Grand Duke, knew what it really was.
'......Fire mana.'
The polar opposite of his family's. A kind of mana no one in this North could ever acquire by normal means.
For the first time since completing his coming-of-age ceremony at eighteen, Gion's hand trembled. His mouth went dry.
'Father. Is this the possibility you spoke of?'
There would be no answer. His father, Jeron Baltran, had already gone to his eternal rest.
His gaze settled on Rohan's body. Back when the boy had been even smaller than now. Gion had once stood like this, looking down at his sleeping youngest son.
Rohan had been fated to die as soon as he was born.
***
A disease that froze the heart.
It was the family's own illness, handed down from ancestors long past. One in five children born to the Baltran family died of it.
Gion had already lost one child to this disease. Rohan had it as well, and once Gion realized it, he had prepared to let him go.
All he could do was send the child off peacefully before his heart froze and he suffered.
There was no great sorrow. It was a newborn. As head of a great family, he had never grown attached to a child while it was still in the womb.
The sword he drew caught what light there was and gleamed even in the darkness. The keen edge touched the child's skin. The tender skin bled even at the lightest touch.
Gion's eyes wavered slightly. His hand hesitated for an instant.
In that instant, a tall white-haired man stepped in.
Gion's eyes went wide. Search the entire continent and you would hardly find anyone who dared to block the Northern Grand Duke's sword. Within the Baltran family especially, there was only one such person.
"Grand Elder!"
His father and the previous family head. And now the Grand Elder of the Council of Elders, Jeron Baltran.
"Hasty as ever."
He wore loose, faded yellow clothes. His face was a wrinkled old man's, but his eyes were clear and sharp.
"I greet the Grand Elder."
Sheathing his sword, Gion respectfully went down on one knee.
Jeron smiled at the sight.
"You are the head of the Baltrans now, and you bear the title of Northern Grand Duke. Do not kneel so lightly."
Jeron turned his back as he spoke. He was looking at Rohan, breathing softly in his sleep in the cradle.
"This child will live. Ice has covered his heart, but it still beats strongly. As long as his heart beats, he will never die."
Gion did not ask why. His father was not a man to speak without grounds.
But at what came next, Gion frowned.
"However, in this state, the child will never grow strong."
For one born a Baltran, never growing strong was as good as a death sentence.
"Haha. In our family, failing to grow strong is as good as being told to die. But not right now."
Gion remained calm even at his father's words. It was the family's long tradition, and not even the family head could meddle in the competition among siblings.
Naturally, it had been the same for Jeron when he was the family head. Knowing his son's feelings well, he went on in a calm voice.
"Besides the title of Grand Duke, there is one more story that must be handed down to the family head. I have been holding it back for a while, but I cannot put it off today."
Jeron broke off and looked out the window, taking his time. His intense gaze faltered for a moment.
His own time was running short. Jeron thought of this as his final duty.
Soon he turned toward his son and spoke.
"The disease your youngest son suffers from arose when Gondor, our family's founder, was creating the White Ice Ring. In the beginning, the White Ice Ring was not shaped like a ring. Naturally, it was not called the White Ice Ring either, and they say that when the founder first used it, it had no name at all. The third family head, Amon, saw how the founder used his magic power, thought his grandfather was killing himself, and prepared a funeral...."
Hahat. Jeron burst out laughing in the middle of speaking. This story had been handed down from Amon.
Following Amon's final wish that his words be passed to the next head exactly as spoken, Jeron was conveying what Amon had felt back then without softening any of it.
"The founder made his mana pulse the way a heart pumps boiling blood, and drew it out of his body that way. Apparently he attached the mana to his heart of all places because he enjoyed the thumping."
He truly was an old man whose heart could have burst at any moment, and no one would have been surprised.
Jeron muttered it quietly, as if to himself. It showed how hard it was for him to be obliged by Amon's wish to say such flippant things about the founder.
"Amon knew well how dangerous this technique was. So he went to a family in the south that handled fire mana and asked for their help. That is why our family's mana cultivation method changed to the ring-forming method."
"You are saying our family's supreme art copied what those worthless southerners had?"
"Yes, that's right."
Jeron answered calmly and moved on. It was a fact he had accepted long ago.
"The problem was the children who now and then came out of the womb with mana already caked onto their hearts. None of them could endure it, they all died, and Lord Amon never found an answer either."
Jeron let out a deep sigh.
"It is our family's tragedy. The most gifted children are fated to die young."
Gion looked at the child in the cradle in surprise. If what his father said was true, this tiny child was the most gifted of the nine siblings.
Seeing him like that, Jeron smiled faintly. Who would have thought he would learn this and do no more than widen his eyes a little?
"Even though Lord Amon created the White Ice Ring, he said this method could never surpass Gondor Baltran. And that, if so, it could not stop 'that' either."
"What is it?"
Even as he asked, Gion somehow felt he already knew the answer. And his instinct was right.
"The evil beyond the Wall. You feel it too, don't you? That what lies beyond is not just monsters and White Revenants."
Jeron took a step toward Gion. He looked at his son with a gentle smile. But the smile soon vanished, leaving only darkness on his face.
"A mere wall like that cannot stop that evil. Nor can your skill cut it down."
"Tell me the countermeasure."
He did not ask what the evil was. Or why it would come down.
Gion demanded the answer outright, and Jeron, who knew his son's nature well, nodded.
"This child is the answer. A child who survived with the founder's mana covering his heart. The only child with the potential to surpass Gondor Baltran."
"B-But didn't you say this child could never grow strong?"
It was the first time Gion had ever stammered in front of him.
"Yes. Unless the mana wrapped around his heart is removed, he will be short of breath after running even a little, so he cannot build stamina. He will feel as if his heart is bursting whenever he exerts himself even slightly, so he cannot build strength either. And the flow of his mana will lurch with every heartbeat, so even forming rings will be hard."
Gion understood Jeron's explanation at once. Put simply, it was the worst possible situation for a warrior.
Rohan was destined to live his whole life like an ordinary person, walled off from martial strength and magic power.
But Gion did not question him again. Surely his father had called the youngest son the answer precisely because there was a way.
Watching Gion like that, Jeron smiled once more.
'I am glad it was you who inherited the headship.'
Without letting it show, he went on with an indifferent face.
"I do not know the answer either. No, rather, Lord Amon thought there was no need to pass it on. I do not really know why. Perhaps he thought that anyone who would stop the evil beyond the Wall had to be able to overcome at least this much on his own."
Gion looked at his father's back; at some point the old man had turned away.
He went straight back to the Council of Elders, and that was Gion's last memory of standing face to face with his father.
"...My lord!"
At Ron's call, Gion returned to the present. At some point Ron had taken the youngest son into his arms. He must have been worried Rohan would catch a chill.
In truth, Gion's son was merely exhausted for the moment and perfectly healthy.
Gion went to Rohan, bent down, and placed a hand on his chest. Then he put the recklessly scattered energy back in order.
"Take Rohan to his bedroom and have him drink this potion."
He took a potion of red liquid from inside his coat and handed it to Ron. Ron's eyes widened.
It was a top-grade potion. Even the Baltran family could obtain only about one a year.
Yet Gion's face stayed calm as he handed it over. Glancing at his youngest son, he straightened up.
'I don't know how he did it, but he melted all the mana covering his heart.'
Because Rohan had sent his mana out of control and drained every last trace of it from his body, even Gion could not sense the fire rings.
He looked at his Guardian Knight Ron. Cool-headed and dignified, fully worthy of the title of Northern Grand Duke.
"I must announce to the members of the family that Rohan has obtained an heirloom. First thing tomorrow morning, go to the administrator and tell him to prepare a Succession Ceremony."
"Yes, sir!"
Ron bowed his head, receiving the order. A moment later, after Gion had left the villa, he rose to his feet.
He carried Rohan to his room and laid him on the bed. He carefully trickled the potion into his mouth.
Asleep and breathing softly, the boy looked no different from any other child.
'A Succession Ceremony at ten.......'
It was unprecedented. Even Gion, who was expected to reach the 10th Stage that no one had reached in 200 years, had held his Succession Ceremony at fifteen. Even the eldest, Rohas, considered the genius among the siblings, had held his at sixteen.
What did this mean? One thing was certain.
The Baltrans. A great storm was going to sweep the North, with this child at its center.