“The number of personnel dispatched from the Imperial Mana Institute was recorded in detail, but the records of the original village residents were lacking in some areas. That’s why we still don’t know exactly how many children lived in that village at the time. Still, if it’s Helrem, who was Chief at the time, he probably figured it out as thoroughly as possible.”

“I suppose so.”

“But there’s one child. Just one—who was most certainly there.”

There had been sixteen people officially dispatched. Among them, eight Royal Mages, seven support staff, and then—

“...One family member of a dispatched mage.”

“Right. The child that Helrem’s son and his wife brought along. We couldn’t determine the child’s exact age, but I found another document from the Imperial Mana Institute that helps us make an educated guess.”

It was a record of a leave request.

“Two mages from the Institute’s investigation team based at Caspir Castle submitted maternity leave requests about a year before the incident. It was a document they wouldn’t have needed to submit if they’d been staying in the capital—so it was filed during their assignment in the field. They took about a month off, then resumed work as scheduled.”

They were traveling, working—and took only a month off to give birth?

“...That’s unusual.”

“Exactly.”

Even ordinary laborers wouldn’t typically return to work so quickly. From Melach Cantinto’s research logs, investigation team duties mostly involved measuring ambient mana concentration regularly—not physically demanding work, but still, work was work. And they brought a newborn child along on that?

Were mages just wired differently? Yuder had never been close with any mages, so he couldn’t say.

In any case, maternity leave is usually taken ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ before childbirth. So the child in question would have been less than a year old at the time of the accident. Which would mean...

No. Wait.

Yuder’s thoughts, which had been returning to reason, suddenly came to a halt.

“...Are you saying... you think I might be that child?”

He had hoped Kishiar would laugh—but he didn’t.

“In terms of probability, I think that’s the most likely conclusion.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

The words came out reflexively, before he could even think.

“Why is it ridiculous?”

Why? Because he had always assumed, without a doubt, that he couldn’t possibly be of noble birth. Wasn’t that reason enough?

Even after receiving a title and becoming a noble, Yuder had never once forgotten his origins. He had proudly endured being called a rootless commoner by arrogant nobles whose only claim to status was the accident of their birth. And now, what—this?

No. No, don’t forget what you resolved earlier.

The sudden surge of rejection rose to dangerous levels, but Yuder tried to suppress it by looking at Kishiar’s face. He stared hard enough that someone might’ve thought he was glaring in anger, breathing heavily—but thankfully, Kishiar didn’t ask why.

No matter what, he was still himself.

And Kishiar would always see Yuder Aile as Yuder Aile, no matter the situation.

That alone was enough. That was all that mattered...

“...All right. Please go on.”

“What I said was only the most likely answer, not a confirmed fact. A village with around fifty residents must have had more than one child.”

“Of course.”

“In fires, children's bodies often don’t leave even bone fragments behind due to their fragility. So there might have been infants whose births hadn’t yet been registered—making them impossible to count. In rural areas, it’s not uncommon for families to delay reporting a child’s birth.”

“Yes, that’s true as well.”

“There are no magical relics that can mysteriously detect blood ties, like in fairy tales. The victims back then were reduced to ashes. Even if we wanted to compare now, there’s no way to do it. Family resemblance might mean something, but not always.”

After laying out all the reasons why certainty was impossible, Kishiar paused.

“But Yuder.”

“...Yes.”

“Your mana sensitivity is extremely high. Far beyond what one could call ordinary. You know that, don’t you?”

“...”

Would it have been better if he could have said no?

Yuder still remembered what the mage Lorna had said to him in the West.

‘You seem to have an extraordinary affinity for mana. I wonder what would’ve happened if you'd undergone mana sensitivity testing as a child. ...You haven’t, have you?’

No, he hadn’t. And yet, in the West, Yuder had been able to see traces of magic. Later, during the process of purging the poison in his body, he’d acquired the “mana insight” said to be possessed only by Great Mages.

It was a result of Kishiar’s mana influencing him—and it was only in one eye—but how many strange phenomena had he witnessed through that eye alone? He had even recently seen through Great Mage Luma’s spells with it.

He certainly wasn’t a mage... but as Kishiar said, his mana sensitivity couldn’t be considered normal.

“Magic ability isn’t always inherited by blood, but it can be related. It’s fairly common for children of two mages to have strong mana reactions. And House Caspir is a rare example of a family where mages married across three generations.”

Most of Helrem’s children and grandchildren became mages. That meant their aptitude for magic had indeed passed down through blood. Yuder already knew that.

“After I had this thought, another occurred to me.”

Kishiar’s voice softened.

“Maybe one of the reasons they raised you in such isolation was precisely because of that extraordinary mana sensitivity.”

“...I don’t quite understand. Why would that—”

“Melach Cantinto was originally renowned for his ability to perceive mana. The Royal Mage Office selected him for that skill alone. If that ability remained intact in any form, even after the accident, then don’t you think he could’ve recognized at least one of your latent traits right away?”

So—was Kishiar suggesting that Melach Cantinto, upon realizing Yuder’s exceptional mana sensitivity, had chosen to avoid outside contact for that very reason?

Yuder was struck hard by the idea.

Mana sensitivity is believed to be largely innate. If a mage is nearby when a child is born, they might notice it immediately. But mages aren’t exactly common—and even among mages, only the perceptive ones can recognize that kind of potential clearly. That’s why people travel far to undergo sensitivity testing.

But Yuder’s grandfather—the man who raised him—had once possessed exceptional perception. He hadn’t used magic again after the accident, but... had he truly lost all his abilities?

If, as Kishiar said, Melach Cantinto’s skill had survived to any extent, then there was no way he wouldn’t have noticed Yuder’s sensitivity. Which meant... he had noticed—but never said a word.

What did that mean? It was almost as if...

...As if he was trying to block me from ever becoming a mage.

Why?

To stop Yuder from seeking his past? But if that were the case, his grandfather wouldn’t have chosen to live so close to the accident site, or asked Yuder if he was curious about his parents. Even after his death, Yuder could’ve easily returned to the area where he was raised and sought out his roots.

It may have just been a gut feeling—but Yuder believed that if he’d ever answered “yes, I want to know about my parents,” then his grandfather would have told him everything. He had never once sensed any hostility from the old man toward Yuder’s parents or anyone else.

If he had, Yuder wouldn’t have felt that having only his grandfather was enough.

Then... was it really just that his grandfather had deliberately kept Yuder away from all things magical while he was alive?

A child raised alone on a mountain, with no one else around, would never even think to believe he had a talent for magic. In truth, Yuder had never once considered himself to have the aptitude to become a mage. Even in his past life, he had gone his entire life without realizing it.

And if it hadn’t been for the unique circumstances of this life, he probably wouldn’t have realized it this time either.

Because—

I’m an Awakener.

There had been cases of mages becoming Awakeners.

But never the other way around. Magic was too difficult, something you had to study for years to wield.

If Yuder hadn’t awakened, who knows what would have happened. But he had. So it was a moot point.

“As we already know, Great Mage Luma feared the recurring disasters that would come in the future. He sought a way to leave behind a warning that would never be erased. That became the Blessing of the Great Mage. If your grandfather’s appearance is truly a result of that...”

Kishiar’s voice continued. Yuder found himself unable to look away.

“...Then maybe, just maybe, he succeeded in what he had hoped to do. He saved a child—an emerging hero—who possessed a new form of power akin to the magic of old, and protected him from the world until he became an adult.”