Chương 63: Chapter 62: An Understanding

++Straight-forward negotiations were a rare treat in my previous life, and somehow rarer still early in my newer one. Equally productive in both. ++ - From the writings of Isabel Vornholt, 'The Great Lich'. 1, 891 A. E. I spent days repeating my introduction to Rebecca with the rest of the servants, or, as my parents referred to them, the 'help'. They seemed less like help and more like 'loadbearing pillars' to me, but I have never been one to much care about how the little people are regarded.

Provided they are too stupid to rise above their humble stations then I am not interested in them outside of how they can benefit me. Unfortunately, Garamon politics more closely resembled a popularity contest the older I got, and so I was forced to interact with them in order to maximize that benefit. The maids were, oddly enough, more difficult than the male servants such as kitchen boys. The former seemed more hostile to me by default, something I was rapidly adjusting to.

Women, in general, seemed to find me more offensive than did men. For men I was a curiosity, certainly something to be scorned in my unusual behaviour, but generally beneath notice. Women seemed to find me offensive on a much more personal and deep level. And yet, I was still an apparently-adorable twelve year-old, and I had a good deal of time spent memorising their preferences, or at least as best I could overhearing conversations. It was tedious work, but it was also good practice.

I had admittedly neglected the more conventional kinds of social interaction, and I was now running out of the years I would be forgiven for doing so. I never planned to be a simpering, whinging coward like my mother, but it would be useful if I could pretend to fit in more, on occasion. More enjoyable than this was my work on improving Qaigor and Victoria's levels of power. It was quite satisfying for me to find that my younger brother was actually gaining in overall ability faster than my sister.

Gaining in different areas, that was. It was hard to directly compare. Victoria was making less consistent progress. With the nature of magic being what it was, a lot of her time was spent training general skills that could be used to improve her powers, but did not grant more immediate abilities by themselves. Growing more magically dextrous raised the ceiling of complexity for what she could cast, but it did not immediately make her better in a fight.

Qaigor was the exact opposite of that, he had essentially only one basic ability, and everything we did together made that ability better. Each session was at least an incremental improvement in his immediate power. This was not the most convenient situation, I soon found. Qaigor was very much like a smaller version of our father, minus his impulse control and strong mastery over his emotions. The boy was a terror. I had called Victoria a demon for hugging me—and she was —but Qaigor redefined the word.

As soon as he noticed the first major spike in his power, a week into training, the boy put it to use in violently disassembling a dining chair by hurling it across a room. I left my mother to try and keep his destructive urges in check, while I focused mainly on noting down the trajectory of his growing power. So far, it impressed. Warrior growth patterns were actually easier to track, and less variable, than those of magicians.

The ultimate limit was not in their mana at all, but how their bodies could process it. This remained true for my treatment of Qaigor as well, though I was redirecting his magic manually, it still needed muscles and bones left strained and pressured to develop by harsh training for it to have any effect. What this meant was that I had an incredibly easy time pinpointing just how rare my brother's progress was. The answer to that question turned out to be; borderline unprecedented.

Warriors of the fifth order, of which there were only a handful in any generation, grew slower than Qaigor himself was. The boy was roughly as strong now as a grown woman ought to be, and at the rate he was improving I expected him to reach the strength of a man not long after.

It bothered me quite a bit to know that the drooling imbecile I was helping to teach already boasted more physical strength than I did, but being physically inferior was something I had grown used to long before my rebirth, and especially after my time as a baby. At least I could walk now, that was not an advantage to overlook. Victoria managed her first spell around the time Qaigor first beat me in arm-wrestling.

Both children were equally pleased with their achievements, though the girl seemed to have an edge of relief as she giggled about hers. It was a simple force bolt, a magic missile technique I had devised to regulate a somewhat-harmless level of kinetic energy between shots, with the intent being that my idiotic sister would not accidentally kill herself or her even-more-idiotic brother with it while I was away. That did not mean she did not wreak havoc. Stolen novel; please report.

"I'm a magician!" she laughed, throwing another jet of magic through the air. We were outside for the first major practice session, fortunately. Victoria had left a big enough dent in one of the inner walls that she had been forbidden from casting indoors on the spot. She did not seem to mind this, because all of her pent-up energy was being vented on clay pigeons cast high. And for once, to her utter delight, our father was present, shooting them right alongside her with his rifle.

He mostly ignored the younger girl, save to smile when she drew his attention to a shot she considered especially good. No, he seemed far more concerned with me.

"You kept to your word," he said idly between shots. Those shots seemed distracted and half-thought, but terribly accurate. I wondered just how much was skill and how much was his warrior's mind processing the world at such a rate. Oh to emulate that…

"I always keep my word," I told him quietly.

"You do?" he fired again, another clay pigeon perished. I was answering before the dust could land.

"I have decided it is important that I do, yes," I told him. He grunted.

"How…gentlemanly." Another shot. This time he was the next to speak, and did so only after the debris finished settling in the dirt.

"Gentlemanly, I said, Isabel, not ladylike. You understand?"

"I do." My reply was terse, because I did not see that he deserved anything more.

"Gentlemanly," he pressed, not getting the hint.

"Is that how you want to be known?" There were many ways to play this, and I was tempted to simply stamp my foot and declare that I did not care how morons knew me. That would not be productive, however.

"I want to do as I please and live life the way I would like." A shiver ran through me, that was the most true statement I had ever made. It had been true when I was a real child, in my first life, and was still true now.

"But you understand how difficult that will make your life?" my father asked. Another shot, a clay pigeon became a clay cloud.

"Of course I do."

"Then tell me what your plan is to avoid these difficulties." He sounded stern, but oddly sincere now. Was this an actually adult conversation we were having? I had to admit, the Baron was more likable like this.

"I need power and influence first," I told him.

"The powerful and influential can do as they please." He chuckled. Another shot.

"That's true," my father noted.

"But it's not really a plan, is it? More a…general notion. What is your plan, Isabel?"

"For the time being, I simply need to make this family great and powerful." He fired again, and this time he missed. His head was turned towards me as the pigeon continued its arc.

"And how will you be doing that? These aren't plans, what is your plan?" He did not fire again, seemingly more enraptured by the conversation now. Trying to get my measure, and, I thought, actually willing to take it in. Okay then. I would see just how open his mind was.

"The war is going to provide an opportunity for Agrian and myself, at least, to demonstrate the effectiveness of magical talent in battle. The effectiveness of warriors is already well known. My first plan is to make us the most gifted family in Garamon's history, once that is done we will have…a product to sell." He was listening and silent.

"I will deny marriages with the old bloods, with both the powerful Dukes and the wealthy Barons. Instead I will focus on tying our family to those of considerable talent themselves, and within one generation more we will be producing geniuses as a matter of course. I will turn this into leverage with the magicians, especially of Winzorth, and extract our wealth and influence from there.

The Winzorth Institute already plans to come out of this war stronger than it went into it, I am inclined to believe that they will succeed."

"And how will you keep the family afloat while you wait for this to yield fruit," he asked me carefully.

"That is simple enough," I replied, more thinking out loud than answering him directly.

"I simply need to get married soon, and whatever brideprice is negotiated for me will, inevitably, be enough to ensure that." Bride prices in Garamon were rather unchanged from before my imprisonment, which I suspected was down to the role of women being, if anything, even more focused upon the rearing of children. A magically gifted wife was a material asset for her husband, due to producing either magically or, even better, martially gifted children. That material asset demanded material payment.

It was such a simple, logical question that I forgot, for a moment, I was talking about what would happen to me as a result of the decision. The Baron was grinning at hearing that of course.

"So you still intend to get married?" he asked. Did I?

"Yes," I told him.

"To as powerful a person as possible." And I meant it. I had come to attain independence within the Vornholt household, I had no intention of leaving it there.

"In that case, I have someone I would like you to meet," my father suggested idly.

"He said he'll see you only in a few more years at least, but…well, would you be up to do that then?"

"Who is he?" I asked. He chuckled.

"Right, of course you want to know. The Duke of Wolsingham. The third, that is. His grandfather was the original." He needed to tell me no more than that, twelve years in this new era had been more than long enough for me to hear about this luminary of all people.

"... I don't want to be your enemy Isabel," the Baron added after a moment. I thought about that.

"I do not want to be your enemy," I told him.

"But I will not be controlled, I will not be hit, and I will not be used." He stiffened, and for a moment I saw all the old anger boiling back up. This was a man who did not see himself as speaking to an equal. A dog might have gotten snarky with him and inspired the same emotions I was seeing now. But he controlled them. There was fear beneath it all, and that fear kept the idiocy in check.

"Then I won't," he said at last.

"I'll let you forge your own path, and feel the consequences. But you will not endanger my family, is that understood? I'll sooner kill you than allow that." I did not blink.

"Fair enough," I nodded.

"And if you endanger me, I will kill you." We seemed to understand each other.