Valerio watched as the duke poured him a cup of the famed Sunshine Sap wine, his eyes never leaving the waterfall of fragrant golden-purple filling his cup. The wine was something Valerio hadn’t expected to see a second time, and he blinked his eyes several times at it, ensuring his eyes were not deceiving him.
“Surprised?” The duke seemed to notice his daze, and Valerio could see the corner of his lips curl out of the corner of his eye.
Valerio opened his mouth, wanting to voice something, but no words came out. Surprise? That would be severely understating it. The duke’s choice to present him with such a priceless commodity dealt a heavy blow to his rationality.
Sunshine Sap wine was not something to be brought out so casually, even for a family as obscenely wealthy as the Aldritch. The ingredients required to brew it were exceptionally scarce, and the concoction took nearly half a century to ferment. Not to mention that it was impossible to create without Fusion magic, another rarity.
Rumor had it that a cup of this divine wine could bring even the hardiest of Frorinn barbarians to their knees, thoroughly intoxicated. And that said a lot, as the Frorinn race had alcohol metabolism rates that dwarfed humans’ by several degrees.
But what made the wine so precious was its inconceivably high cost. Only the family of the far-famed Vestan enologist, Lando Toselli—the wine’s creator— could brew it, and they charged a king’s ransom, enough to bankrupt entire city-states and minor kingdoms. The people who could afford such a luxury were few and far between.
The only other time Valerio had been fortunate enough to get a glimpse of it was during a private party hosted by the current President of the Grand Marian Republic upon his recent re-election.
That day, the Di Fazio family was feeling particularly generous, and the only reason he was able to taste it was because his family were one of the President’s staunchest supporters. It was a reward, the kind obedient dogs received from their masters.
Valerio’s eyes remained magnetized to the wine, his mind blitzing through multiple scenarios that would warrant the duke’s actions. He didn’t for a second think the nobleman was acting on simple ‘generosity’.
The higher up the social ladder you went, the more ambiguous the meaning of that term became, and Valerio was no stranger to this fact, having come from a family at the heart of the political undercurrents of Grand Maria.
The duke definitely wanted something from him, and the wine was a dampener for any unfavorable prejudices. What was it though? Valerio got into a heated debate with his mind.
He’d assumed that this trip would be nothing more than another routine business trip for a special client, but the cup of wine before him changed everything. Whatever the duke was going to ask him had to be big.
“Yes, I’m indeed…surprised.” Valerio finally managed to find the words, and he met the Duke’s eyes. “I didn’t expect Your Grace to be so hospitable.”
“Ah, please.” The duke waved a hand dismissively, flashing a smile that actually looked genuine. “It’s the least I could do for requesting your presence on such short notice. House Aldritch always treats its guests well.”
Valerio couldn’t stop his brow from lifting inwardly noting the duke’s usage of “guest”, but outwardly he showed no expression. He joined the nobleman in raising his glass cup and taking a sip of the delectable liquid sloshing around within it.
A powerful flavor and aroma assaulted his senses so fast that he found it impossible to halt the “Mmm” from escaping the tip of his tongue. He felt his mind brighten, as if columns of morning sunshine had been unleashed upon it, and joyful memories of his childhood forced their way into his mind’s frontline.
This wine, Valerio had realized, was a special kind of Sunshine Sap. Perhaps fermented for an extra half a century and infused with more flavors and emotions.
“So what’s your prognosis about my son? Were you able to verify what I asked?”
The duke’s sudden palm of questions slapped Valerio back to reality, and he abruptly opened his eyes, stuffing all the resurfacing memories into an inconspicuous corner of his mind and composing himself.
He dropped his glass cup, momentarily thinking of how to phrase his next words, before shifting his eyes to the duke and deciding to go with the unfiltered option. If the aristocrat was trying to get something from him, a few blunt words would do no harm.
“The boy will still be able to use magic. Both his Mind’s Eye and Spark Expanse were not affected by that…” Valerio paused, feeling the hair on his neck stand and his skin crawl. “...baleful aura. You can be rest assured.”
The Mind’s Eye and Spark Expanse were two constituents of the human soul crucial for performing magic. Without the Mind’s Eye, practitioners could not cast spellforms or sense aether properly, and without the Spark Expanse, they would be unable to use magic entirely. It was where their aether was stored.
Valerio watched as the duke hummed and downed a mouthful of wine. “As for my prognosis on his condition…” he forced the words to move past his throat, “...he has about fifteen years to live. If he’s lucky.”
Valerio half-expected to see glass shards flying past him the moment the words left his mouth, but was surprised to see the duke show no expression, simply taking another sip of his drink.
“You know…” the nobleman chuckled. “...the last arcane physician said thirty. I wonder why.”
Valerio cocked a brow, taken aback by the duke’s seeming amusement, and unsure whether it was genuine or just a front, a mask to hide his true emotions. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was. People often grieved that way.
A sudden silence befell the room, and Valerio watched as the duke’s jaw tightened, before the latter got up and walked to the sword rack in the far corner of the study. His heart leapt to his throat, seeing the nobleman pull out and unsheath a saber, and only returning back to his chest when he noticed him stopping a few feet away from the rack.
The duke caressed the saber’s blade, like a mother would her child, before gracefully working through a series of parries and thrusts that looked more like art than swordplay, no trickle of sweat visible across his face. The room’s air whistled all the while, and Valerio had to hold onto his top hat to prevent it from joining in the serenade.
The Marian doctor’s mind was constantly running, reassessing his evaluation about the duke’s son’s condition, and ensuring he was interpreting it properly.
He was sure he was. As an arcane physician with a scarcely ever seen Soul Spark, conditions pertaining to the soul were his speciality. He could see things—things on a microscale— no one else could, and he was sure of what he saw. It was something he’d never seen in his less than ten years of being an arcane physician.
The human soul was composed of three parts—the Mind’s Eye, the Spark and its Expanse, and the Soul Marrow. This was elementary knowledge in soul theory. The Soul Marrow was the most mysterious of the three, and even after centuries of research, a lot of its secrets still remained veiled by mystery.
What was known, though, was that it was unique to every human being. Two individuals could have identical Sparks or the same-sized Mind’s Eye, but not the same Soul Marrow. It was the essence of a person’s existence.
The duke’s son’s case was one that would be lenient to call an outlier. It was…abnormal. The boy’s Soul Marrow could regenerate itself seemingly without end. Valerio had seen people with sturdier soul marrows, able to withstand aetheric backlash from the overuse of their magic more easily, but not a marrow that could repair itself. That was extraordinary.
But that wasn’t what made his case abnormal. What did was the boy’s Spark. Bar its shocking legendary status of being white-cored, it provided the boy with no benefits, only danger. The greenish-red fissures scattered across its surface constantly emitted a sinister aura that eroded his Soul Marrow faster than it could repair itself.
His soul was in a state of disunity, a supposed impossibility by contemporary soul and arcane theory.
Valerio still found himself shivering from that aura. The duke had warned him before he inspected the boy, but that didn’t make it any less disturbing. He had to use his soulcaster artifact to shield himself from its ravenous grip, and he was left with more questions than answers even after rigorously examining it.
What the piss was the aura? And, more importantly, why was the boy’s Spark passively emanating it? It didn’t help that the duke seemed just as clueless as he was. Perhaps he needed to consult the repository to get some real answers.
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Regardless, the boy was destined to die young. The body and soul were inextricably linked, so a discordant soul would undoubtedly weaken his immune system and diminish his physical strength, a golden invitation for disease to stake its claim on his life.
What's worse, the boy would probably have to live in constant pain, and having your Soul Marrow eroded continuously wasn’t exactly the easiest sort of pain to bear.
Valerio sighed inwardly. It was pitiful for a little boy to have to live through such a poor life. The kid’s only silver lining was that he was born into wealth, to a family at the very tip of the social iceberg.
All his condition’s symptoms could be remedied with elixirs, potions, artifacts, or other magical means, and for a family like the Aldritch, obtaining these things was all too easy. Perhaps the boy’s life would not be as miserable as he painted.
The whistling air suddenly fell silent, and Valerio glanced over his shoulder to find the duke walking past him, eyes looking clearer and calmer. The aristocrat took his seat and began drumming his fingers on the study desk, giving Valerio a vacillatory look.
“Doctor Venturi.”
“Yes, Your Grace?” Valerio subconsciously straightened his back.
“Tell me…” The drumming stopped. “...can my son’s condition be cured? Give me the unvarnished truth.”
Valerio opened his mouth for a moment, then closed it again, shoving the “It’s impossible” back down his throat. He looked the duke in the eye, mentally pruning his next words, before taking another sip of his wine.
Logically speaking, the boy’s condition could be “cured” in two ways: either get rid of the destructive aura, or somehow boost his soul marrow’s regeneration ability to the point where it regenerated itself faster than it got eroded.
But both were impracticable— controlling the aura seemed a bit far-fetched seeing as they didn’t even know what it was, and boosting the boy’s soul marrow regenerative capabilities to the necessary extent seemed daunting.
Valerio was unsure if it was even possible to begin with. If it was, then it would require some extremely potent soul mending magic, and soul mending was one of the most obscure areas of soul magic.
Little advancements had been made with regards to improving its current capabilities, and the most it could do for the moment was restore a portion of a person’s soul. A very small portion.
Valerio considered his words again, then cleared his throat and crossed his legs. “If I were to be completely frank with you, Your Grace, it’s nearly impossible. The only plausible way I can think of involves soul mending, and I’m sure you’re aware of the difficulties involved with that.”
“I see…” the duke hummed, and Valerio could see a flicker of hope flash across his pupils. The aristocrat pursed his lips. “As long as there’s a way…”
Valerio could already guess what the nobleman was going to ask next, and his brows inwardly creased suddenly realizing it. It all made sense now: the duke’s somewhat vague invitation, the politeness, the wine…he’d been strung along without even realizing it.
“You’re going to ask me to find him a cure, aren’t you?” he suddenly interjected, eyes narrowing.
Normally it was discourteous to interrupt a fellow gentleman, but the duke didn’t seem to pay it any heed. The man’s lips morphed into a gentle smile, “You’re a smart man, Doctor Venturi. I like smart people.”
Valerio ignored the “compliment”, trying his best to hide the outrage beneath his face. “Why me?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” the duke chuckled, plucking a fountain pen from his desk and twirling it between his fingers. “You’re the youngest, and most talented arcane physician in the Tetrad. At the tender age of thirty-two, your credentials make a mockery of specialists twenty years into their careers.
“You’re a genius. If anyone can find a cure….” He took a sip of his wine, then tipped his cup toward Valerio, lips curling. “...it’s you.”
Valerio fought the urge to curse aloud and clenched his jaw, inwardly wishing he’d never accepted the duke's “invitation.” He was trapped. Refusing the duke’s request at this point was out of the question.
He’d seen and heard too much, way too much, and a refusal now would be the same as signing a death warrant. Except, it would be for himself.
The information he currently had—information about an Aldritch scion with a white-cored Spark— could be exchanged for a fortune to be reckoned with, and Valerio didn’t even bother questioning whether the duke would let him leave with it with his head intact.
Pondering about it was a lost cause. Powerful families with centuries of history under their belt such as this one were worse than beasts when it came to securing their interests, and the Aldritch were almost untouchable, even for the Venturis.
There were probably, Valerio deduced, more soldiers surrounding the estate than when he first entered. Probably some right outside the study too. Valerio immediately forecasted his situation.
There was really only one possible course of action for him: fleeing. Taking the duke —a sorcerer many times more powerful than he was— in his own home was tantamount to suicide. He’d be eviscerated before he could yelp “Maria”.
But fleeing was not that much better than facing the aristocrat head on. He’d probably be downed within minutes, imprisoned and killed, his murder framed as some crime, or the duke would fake being harmed, then have him imprisoned. That was actually way worse.
Valerio considered the worst case scenario.
Duke Aldritch was a member of the Pruvian Parliament, so an attack on him would be painted as “an attack against the government” and he’d be declared an enemy of the state within days. His medical license might then get revoked by the International Order, and the Pruvian government would leverage him to advance some of their foreign political interests.
His family, no doubt, would be the prime victims. They’d be denounced— their assets seized— and sacrificed by the Grand Marian government in a bid to avoid any form of concessions to the Empire.
His parents, siblings, and cousins would all become destitute within weeks, and centuries of Venturi family legacy would go up in smoke just like that.
The air suddenly felt thicker, and Valerio could feel sweat drops forming on his neck’s backside. He had truly been caught in a pickle, and he hated it. He despised not having control over his own actions.
The duke’s letter of invitation was supposedly about a “concerning new revelation that would revolutionize the shipping industry as we know it”, and he’d been invited to discuss its details in person.
Initially he’d thought nothing of it, as the Venturi shipping businesses were part of his family responsibilities, and the Venturis and the Aldritch were long-time business partners. So the duke contacting him personally wasn’t out of the ordinary.
But once he’d actually gotten here, it quickly became apparent that he’d been invited for something entirely different. The duke had anxiously asked him to inspect his recently indisposed son as a minor favor, and he’d thought nothing of that as well.
Having a doctor as a business partner was convenient, and it wasn’ the first time a business partner had asked him about health concerns during official visits. They were minor favors.
He only started to get suspicious after inspecting the boy’s soul. The duke had been quiet the entire time, and he’d found it somewhat odd especially after he discovered the boy had been blessed with a white-cored Spark.
Valerio couldn’t think of a single family that would allow an outsider to discover said information so easily. It was a symbol of their future rise, a statement that—if the child was nurtured properly—other factions should start preparing to cozy up to them.
There wasn’t a single point in time where the duke had actually made mention of any business. In fact, that was the major reason they’d reclined to his study. To “discuss” business.
Valerio wagered that the duke had been acting all along. Asking questions which he probably already knew answers to, feigning emotions, wantonly tossing about lie after lie…it was all an act. He was probably the only arcane physician to have come here.
At this point, the animosity Valerio was trying to hide began to reveal itself, manifesting in the form of flaring nostrils. The duke—who’d been carefully watching him— seemed to notice it and suddenly laughed, pouring both himself and Valerio some more wine.
“You act as if I’ve done you a great injustice…” the aristocrat smiled, dropping his masterfully constructed facade.
It’s because you have.
“...but I haven't. I’m simply offering you the opportunity of a lifetime. Your research will revolutionize soul magic, and children a hundred years in the future will be reading your name in history books.” he took a sip of his wine.
“I’ll cover any cost associated with the project and your reward…” he raised his cup to Valerio’s eye level, twirling the wine inside it around. “...will be at least ten times the value of what’s in here. So what do you say? Do we have a deal?”
So this was the “business” his letter was referring to.
Valerio’s head fell to his hand, his mind reviewing the duke’s proposal. Now, it was a tempting one, he’d have to admit. A reward at least ten times the value of Sunshine Sap wine? He’d multiply his family’s wealth in one go, priming himself for a future position of Venturi family patriarch at the same time. That would feel...ethereal.
Still, the task at hand remained daunting. He was literally being ask—forced to do what thousands of arcane physicians were unable to: advance the obscure field of Soul Mending. He could already picture the lorryload of resources he’d need to carry out the project. Thankfully, it wasn’t on his tab.
This….was a chance. The benefits it would yield were simply too enticing. Truthfully, he was about ninety-nine percent sure he would fail— Soul Magic was complex and dangerous, and if it were that easy to make advancements, he wouldn’t even be in this position to begin with.
But he was one percent sure he’d succeed. He was a prideful man, and as one of the most promising arcane physicians in history, he had some faith in his own abilities, enough to cajole him into taking the gamble of a lifetime.
He couldn’t refuse even if wanted to anyway.
Valerio took a deep breath, momentarily closing his eyes. “We do.”
“Excellent.”
Valerio groaned inwardly. With just a letter he’d been enslaved by his supposed business partner. Sure he was getting paid for his work, but being forced into it with no option to opt out left a really sour taste in his mouth.
Adgar Aldritch was a dangerous man, even to his “allies”. Valerio would argue that his enemies were actually better off. At least they knew they were a part of his grand chess game.
“You have five years, Doctor.” The duke’s tone suddenly seemed to drop several degrees, and he took another sip of his wine. “I look forward to your results.”