Chương 224: 5.23 Good neighbours

While the place Elizabeth had selected could not technically be called a mansion, it was still a sizable building. Spireholm built thin and tall to maximise space, therefore it was five stories tall, yet only about two dozen meters in diameter with a modest porch ending directly in the street. The surrounding buildings were all very similar, stacked next to one another with short fences that were more decorative than protective. In a way, it reminded Irwyn of claustrophobic back alleys.

It was all slim walkways with tall surrounding buildings all around. The actual ceiling just above their roofs and artificial lighting did not help the vista any. And yet, these buildings were still in such high demand that they were considered an utmost luxury. Outside the City, gardens seem to be standard issue for any half-aspiring noble, yet in the floating towers only those truly elevated could afford one, such as lord Emanuel—and even his was relatively anemic compared to Irwyn's limited frame of reference.

They arrived at the building at the same time as the staff. They were a small team consisting of a chef, a maid, and a butler, all in uniforms reminiscent of what Irwyn had seen in City Black. Except these three were all mages. Very weak mages, not one beyond a couple of intentions despite being middle-aged, but mages nonetheless. Irwyn had been doubtful hearing that only mages occupied the inner city of Spireholm, but he indeed had yet to see a single person without at least the baseline talent.

While the maid went ahead to make sure "nothing was dusty", and the cook to get started on lunch, the butler interrogated them about accommodations. Irwyn had little to say since he had no particular requirements and trusted everyone else to figure such things out. All he really cared to learn was that his sleeping place would be on the third floor, right next to the master bedroom—which naturally went to Elizabeth. He only noted that Waylan did not chime in for his own bedroom, but decided not to question it.

"That's what Emanuel was looking strangely at Irwyn for, wasn't it?" Desir asked when they were once again left alone. The butler had left to get everything prepared as had been instructed. Not that they had any luggage that wasn't already in their bags.

"Did I miss something?" Irwyn pondered.

"Master bedroom connected to a 'guest' one?" Desir said.

"I am not the most versed in noble doubletalk, but that probably carries an intimate implication."

"Yes," Elizabeth admitted.

"It is more along the lines of sending a message in this case. Why should I hide what I wish all the world to see?"

"Not that I mind personally, but isn't there a stigma about affairs?" Alice asked.

"So many people home would insist that anything before marriage was deeply improper."

"Please, this is the Duchy of Black," Elizabeth said, rolling her eyes.

"As if Void mages did not indulge in a bit of Lust. No, the nobility cares mostly about compatibility of talent and pedigree. Maybe a few feathers will be ruffled by such openness or take offense at Irwyn's lack of a preexisting title, but I am happy to start putting my so-called 'peers' in their place." That settled the topic. Soon enough, the butler returned to lead everyone into their rooms.

The first floor was taken up by a large dining hall that could, according to their guide, be easily repurposed into a very small ballroom by removing the table. The second had a proper lounge, or perhaps rather a parlor. Irwyn wasn't completely clear on the difference between the two. There were armchairs, small tables, wall decorations, and not much else. The third floor was taken up almost entirely by his and Elizabeth's spacious bedrooms. The rest of the group would sleep one floor above.

The fifth floor was a storage area, while the staff had their rooms as well as the kitchen in the basement. Irwyn did not have anything to unpack. Or rather, he preferred things remain in his bag, right at his side. Who knew how long they would actually end up staying? The rest of the group seemed to share the sentiment as they quickly gathered. The dinner they had been promised was well over an hour away, so the schedule would be a mix of bickering and practice. Except then the doorbell rang.

"We have moved in five minutes ago," Irwyn immediately grumbled.

"Neighbours," Desir determined.

"I don't think they get many people moving in, so they get curious. Someone must have seen us and quickly spread the word. Those here will be mostly nobility, presumably."

"Could be some families with just wealth and connections rather than real titles. Or not yet nobility. Anyone who embodies a Domain may claim the title of Magelord and start their own noble house, but some dally with official recognition to avoid the responsibilities. But their families would probably still qualify to be here."

"Check your clothes. These people will probably judge." Desir reminded. The shapeshifter was perfectly up-kept without overt effort as always. Elizabeth wore a dress conjured of her own magic, as did Irwyn, so they both looked sufficiently formal and imposing. Alice was the least socially attired, as she had long given up on most adornments during their Inquisitorial duties and wore practical but definitely not formal pants and a jacket.

"People can judge all they want, I am not putting on a dress," she challenged, gesturing at herself.

"I have certainly made up my mind. Though, don't get mad when they assume you are just a grunt." Desir shook his head with a teasing smile. As they talked, they still descended the stairways to the ground floor. The butler had still gotten there first, looking almost winded as he stoically stood by the doorway. When their group was arrayed properly and given agreement, he turned and opened the door, welcoming the crowd in. Yes, crowd.

There were actually seven people who easily barged into the house without a hint of fear or hesitation. All of them were mages with varied progress into Imbuement, between three and nine intentions. One pair was clearly a couple who seemed in their thirties—which might not even be too deceiving for once—from how they clung to each other and how their clothes matched in color and styles. Black dress and suit that felt familiar to Irwyn, as well as a vaguely familiar insignia subtly sewn into the cloth.

Nobility clear as day. There were also two older bodyguards, or something similar, both gruff men in clothing resembling uniforms. But different ones. The first, who was the most powerful visitor at nine intentions, wore all black leathers with a the same insignia sewn into it. The other's wear was more natural brown, eight intentions, and overall a bit less professional aura. If he had to guess, the weaker bodyguard was with the group of three in what seemed to be early twenties, two women and a man.

Rather than a singular color, their clothes varied in style and decoration. They all still looked decent, but again, it was lacking the unified presence that the other half held. Introductions were quickly had. The older pair belonged to House Belfar. It didn't sound familiar to Irwyn, but he had probably seen their insignia before, perhaps during the Exenn. With the family name in mind, he thought it actually kind of looked like an abstract bell.

Elizabeth, though, clearly recognized the name and quickly mentioned some of their famous relatives flatteringly. That probably implied old nobility and wide roots. The other three turned out to be siblings. Technically not nobility, but rather from a small clan of merchants with aspirations to one day actually produce a Domain mage. They listed off, rather smugly, several real noble Houses they had close ties with to establish themselves.

Not that Irwyn knew any of the names, but they seemed to think they deserved awe. Halfway through, Irwyn had also noted that their own side was holding back introductions for last.

"Elizabeth von Blackburg," she merely said, and that immediately stunned their crowd. Though the older pair recovered quickly, the mercantile siblings seemed both awed and intimidated by the lastname's sheer weight.

"Oh, dear," the older noblewoman oohed. Irwyn had frankly not even caught her name.

"So young, yet I already cannot even feel your magic! How have I not heard of you across the courts? Which lineage do you hail from?"

"Admittedly, I have not been the most proactive and skipped many gathering. Reputation bears little weight for me, I would rather just focus on magic. Though, I suppose I would have risen in the shadow of recent happenings. While I have not kept track, my rank in the succession should now be among the double digits." Elizabeth was definitely enjoying leading them along, at least.

After their recent contributions, she was probably a lot closer to one digit than three in the supposed line to the Dukeship, though she made it sound like the opposite. Nor did anyone miss she chose to not disclose her parentage. Just 'von Blackburg', could be rather misleading, after all. Any great House with a solid claim to the Bloodline of Wrath could choose to use it rather than their own monicker, as Alira once had.

Afterwards, they all retreated into the parlour, which barely fit everyone, even with the two bodyguards choosing to stand. Though Irwyn could have possibly made more furniture, had it been needed. Either way, Alice got some looks as she took a seat close to Desir, just as the shapeshifter had predicted. The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"We have actually been recalled from the War only very recently. Dress codes are far less strict on the battlefield, if you can believe it," Desir jested, pre-empting any questions.

"Yes, terrible business, the War," the older nobleman said, nodding along.

"I had fought in the previous one, and it still harrows me. I am glad you were able to receive a position here instead." Irwyn evaluated him again. After so long, the man was still at seven intentions. How useful could he have been twenty or so years prior? Even Conception mages were barely a step above fodder. But Irwyn wasn't in the position to judge. Their group had fled into safety at the start and was just starting to hide away again.

"There is not much a single mage our age can do," one of the young woman also lamented. One of the two. That was actually quite a conundrum. Irwyn couldn't call them both 'the younger woman' in his head. They were sisters to boot, so their outwardly features were similar. While that was, technically speaking, the point of names, Irwyn knew how to pick his battles and chose to look for something else distinctive instead.

Yes, the one who had spoken wore earrings with red gemstones while the other had several golden loops hanging over her wrists. That was distinctive enough for the moment.

"Fodder is always needed." Elizabeth shrugged.

"Even if you yourselves managed to get an exemption, numbers by themselves are at least a distraction. Or rather, countering the sheer numbers of lesser undead will stop them from being distracting in the fights that actually matter. None of us will contribute to that end here."

"Technically speaking, we are tasked with guarding Spireholm against any incursion," the younger man said with a slight chuckle.

"I expect you are not different."

"Indeed," the older noblewoman agreed.

"We still have a duty here."

"Please, what is the point of such pretense?" Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

"This is basically a vacation and everyone knows that. We are from the Duchy of Black: If you wear cowardice like a cloak, at least do it proudly." That made the Belfar woman frown.

"There is nothing cowardly in fearing death, that is only natural. What use is there to dying without impact now?"

"Even Named die. But I have to wonder whether another forty or eighty years will cultivate in you the courage needed to have an 'impact', as you say."

"I cannot allow such an insult to my beloved, young lady!" The old man exclaimed in outrage. He did not wear gloves, but he still retrieved a black one from somewhere and threw it at Elizabeth's feet. Then, for some reason, the entire room turned towards Irwyn. In fact, they stared, pausing the entire confrontation for some reason. It wasn't just the guests, but even their own group.

For the life of him, Irwyn had absolutely no idea why everyone looked at him as if he was the one who had just declared a duel against someone who could kill him with a particularly uncontrolled yawn.

"This, my clueless friend…" Desir stage whispered, "... is your cue to jump to Elizabeth's defense."

"Wouldn't that be an insult, to imply she needed protection from someone so non-threatening?" Irwyn retorted"Pfff," that caused Elizabeth to break her severe expression, laughing out loud. So that was a positive at least, faux pas notwithstanding.

"I see that neither of you have any manners to speak off!" The man exclaimed again, turning genuinely red in the face.

"Your lordship…" The bodyguard tried to speak up.

"Yes, I know. You might have surpassed me by a few steps despite your youth, so I would demand some restrictions to make this match equal. I think that is only fair for the repeatedly insulted party!"

"I would genuinely like to hear what kind of handicap on my part would let you win," Irwyn thus said with earnest curiosity. The increased redness indicated it had not been taken that way.

"Fine then. No focus, no incantations, no external items," the man declared. Irwyn had to take a moment to remember what a focus even was. Casting aid, which Irwyn had never used nor really noticed being utilised by anyone else. Or… perhaps the pendant would technically count since it could magnify spellcasting, even if it wasn't useful in that way to him. He followed Elizabeth's policy of avoiding anything external, and the Trial had only reinforced that.

He also wanted to question why it would be mentioned separately from 'external items', but decided to leave that for later.

"Now, now, that is quite silly." Elizabeth shook her head, drew everyone's eyes, but continued before they could speak up.

"It aims ridiculously low! Irwyn, you should figure out some actual restrictions."

"I could… lower myself to just seven intentions?" He thought out loud. Irwyn flicked his wrist and caused a wisp of flame to rise from his fingers. It was curious doing it with such extreme restraint. A few years ago, seven intentions would seem like a massive amount of power. Now he was actively struggling with outputting so little. Concepts had truly spoiled him, always able to take as much power as he could even channel. Though the returns were sharply diminishing, there was no such issue as complete saturation.

As for the intentions themselves, he went with simple numbers, one to seven.

"Five would be more reasonable," Elizabeth immediately countered.

"You shouldn't disable your mental enhancement for any reason during a Lich war, even here, so it is only fair to go a bit lower."

"Good point," he nodded, then did what he could to reduce the output another 42 times, down to what five intentions could withstand. The mild difficulty he was having told him that it was probably best to add that to his exercises. He was very good at stopping any power from escaping his control—lest he endanger those around him—but this was a different angle than what he had grown used to.

"This amount of taunting goes a bit too far," the older woman interjected, frowning. Her husband, on the other hand, was becoming more tomato than person by that point, staying silent.

"Does it?" Elizabeth inclined her head.

"You do not seem to realize what kind of insult it is to even imply that your husband could stand a chance against me or Irwyn. Dear, four intention spells only, no dodging. Stand your ground and show him what a farce it is."

"Of course," Irwyn nodded, and reduced the output fivefold again. Honestly, he wasn't as confident as Elizabeth seemed to be. There was a two-hundred-times difference in raw power between four intentions and seven, after all. But then… the wording was quite specific.

"There is a dueling hall…" the golden-banded younger woman started.

"That will not be necessary. We have a suitably sized dining room beneath us. Alice?"

"Sure." The Time mage nodded. Irwyn felt her mana flood into everyone and allowed her to bring him down a floor. In the same moment, she also removed the large table that previously took up most of the room, though Irwyn didn't see where she moved it. He was already standing near the center of the room, the enraged older man facing him. The crowd had been placed next to the entrance, still seated in their chairs. It caused quite a stir among them, to be moved like so.

Most of them probably hadn't even felt the mana fill them. Alice with her two Concepts was far above any of them. Even the challenger was quite startled, briefly cooling down. Then he looked at Irwyn, harshness immediately returning to his gaze. He reached into his suit, withdrawing a pitch-black ring with a smooth gem of the same colour, which he then placed onto his finger. Then he proceeded to take out five more pieces of various jewelry.

"If you would do the countdown, friend?" Desir said when those preparations were done, looking at the weaker of the two bodyguards. He was probably the closest thing to a neutral party. The man looked at his employers, then stepped forward when they nodded.

"On the go then," the man declared.

"Three, two, one, go!" Irwyn watched the man move in slow motion as the command was given. That was the thing about having a mind so inhumanly fast. Most of the time, he just processed things faster, but it didn't feel any different than when he had been just a nobony in Ebon Respite. The mind compensated for its own extreme speed until the world was perceived in the way that it wanted it to.

But when it detected something was off, or Irwyn wanted to truly focus, he could will the world to slow down when compared to his senses. He wondered how he should go about what was about to happen. He presumed Elizabeth wanted the man humiliated, not maimed or dead. It wasn't difficult to figure out just how the match was still impossibly rigged in Irwyn's favour. He waited for the man to glacially start casting his first spell lest his real speed be taken for a premature start, then channelled his own. Plural.

Four intention spells only. But no restriction on the number of them. Sure, his opponent would be using over 200 times the raw power in each of his own, maybe even more with all the items, but that was still miniscule in terms of actual quantity of mana. If Irwyn pushed himself, how many four-intention spells could he cast? He had no idea, but was certain it was literally more than physical space would allow. Possibly in the hundreds of thousands, or mayhaps millions.

He was at the peak of Conception, even with his Domain sealed. Irwyn could probably kill most Imbuement mages by staring too hard with his perception spell active. A blob of Void magic rushed at Irwyn, and he did not even bother analysing the intentions within. He just engulfed it with a swarm of Light bolts.

Though it would seem like an unceasing barrage to most of the people in the room, he was actually sending them one by one, making sure he only sent exactly as many as was needed to neutralize his opponent's spell. That number ended up being merely twenty. Void and Light annihilated each other after all. Especially with the right intentions. The old man stared in surprise for a moment, then cast again.

Irwyn noted how the spell was channeled directly through that first ring he had taken out and intercepted it just as it left. Then he did so again with even more precision, extinguishing his opponent's magic with such speed it would almost seem like the initial cast had failed.

"You are allowed to move, your Lordship, unless that wasn't clear from the rules," Elizabeth still taunted from behind. The man's jaw locked, but he did so. The room was a bit tight for maneuvering, but he could still technically circle Irwyn who wasn't allowed to dodge. He also tried moving his hand around, but the physical movement was even more clumsy than his casting speed. Not only was he failing to have an impact, it wasn't even remotely close.

"One intention," Elizabeth declared. Irwyn obliged. Another 24 times reduction in his output was not easy, but he had subjective forever to adjust before his opponent managed to recover from his surprise and outrage. When the next spell came, Irwyn had to sink hundreds of his own into it. Seven intentions meant about 5000 times more power went into each cast done by his opponent, so Irwyn had to compensate with even more quantity.

At that number, even needle-sized projectiles couldn't quite fit into close proximity, forcing Irwyn to curve most of their trajectories. It probably looked rather imposing from a few of the gasps happening behind him, though it wasn't even particularly straining. Then Irwyn just kept repeating that. Standing still, he did the same thing several more times as the nobleman in front of him desperately attempted to actually cast a spell.

He, of course, tried different shapes and some variations, but it was all fruitless. As soon as the mana tried to leave his body, Irwyn smashed it to pieces. Eventually, his opponent was left winded, breathing heavily, and staring with wide eyes. Irwyn looked back at their audience with a questioning look, then also countered the poor attempt at the sneak attack that his backwards glance evoked.

"Now then!" Elizabeth clapped her hands, all smiles.

"I am afraid we intend to dine soon. Since our chef was not expecting guests, it is regretfully time to conclude this little gathering. Of course, I hope you will come back tomorrow with the same attitude. It has been enlightening."