Chapter 277 – The Seed of Division (2)
“A preemptive strike...”
Medeia seemed deep in thought, as if Arthur’s suggestion had caught her off guard.
It was an unfamiliar term for the witches, who had long been crouched and hiding in the forest.
In contrast, a look of displeasure appeared on Fenry’s face.
“Then why did you let Modin go? If it's a preemptive strike, the fewer enemies, the better. We’re up against the Stars—actual Stars! You should’ve eliminated him instead of letting him go.”
When the wide-area bomb was launched around the World Tree, most of Demtor’s forces had already retreated.
But Modin had been momentarily held back by the spirits, unable to withdraw.
That was Modin’s misstep.
His position was near the center of the World Tree.
He was surrounded in an instant by multiple forces.
Lochter and Karl.
Medeia, Cordy, and Natasha.
Unable to withstand the full-pressure siege, he was captured alive by the witches.
“I’d like to hear the reason too. The witches weren’t exactly thrilled about it either,” Medeia added.
Apparently, she too was curious why Modin had been released.
The truth was, Modin had been captured at the funeral and was going to be offered as a living sacrifice to honor the souls of the dead.
I was the one who stopped that.
Two Ortain had died at the hands of the Stars.
The backlash was immense, but I had stood firm in my decision.
‘If he dies, Demtor’s flow will shift to her.’
To keep the Blood-Drinking Chalice in check, Modin was necessary.
There was no need for a long explanation.
My status was [Benefactor of the Witches].
The witches owed me a huge debt.
Fortunately, the issue with Modin went exactly as I intended.
I recalled the moment I saw him off before coming here—
Modin, the Star of Demtor and master of the Ivory Tower.
He had looked at me with eyes full of confusion, not understanding why he was being spared.
Even when he asked why I was doing this and what my plan was, I didn’t answer.
I merely told him a few things about Gram of the Black Tower.
“He won’t understand for now.”
He probably wouldn’t grasp the reason until he reached Demtor, but eventually, with time, he would.
Why I spared him.
It was to divide Demtor.
“...Divide them?”
“Yes.”
“What do you mean by that? What does Modin being alive have to do with the Stars splitting apart?”
As expected, neither Medeia nor Fenry understood.
The inner workings of the Stars—those who stood above—were classified.
That included the meaning of a Star’s vote.
“I need Modin’s vote.”
“His... vote? That’s important?”
“It’s critical. Demtor is essentially a political structure.”
The Stars of Demtor made decisions purely by majority vote.
Lindbergh of the Wind Tower, one of the Stars, was already dead.
If Modin were to die too, the six Stars would be reduced to four.
Any vote would result in a 2:2 tie.
With opinions locked and stalemated, the result would fall to the leader’s authority.
‘If there’s a tie, the head’s voice becomes decisive.’
That would shift things in Gram Seraphim’s favor.
Because her relationship with Grand Duke Clarke was, well, “special.”
“What if Modin figured out your intentions? He’s no fool. Among the Stars, he’s considered the most rational. He might act to prevent division instead.”
“Modin’s role has never been to control the board. He’s always been the one to choose.”
“Choose?”
“He has always maintained neutrality. Without a faction, he couldn’t influence the board. He instead secured his position through choices. This time too, when he returns, he’ll make a choice.”
“You talk like you know what kind of meeting Demtor will have.”
Fenry sneered with dissatisfaction.
But when she saw my expression, she paused, then asked with a hint of suspicion in her eyes,
“...You don’t actually know for real, do you?”
“If I didn’t, would I be crazy enough to let Modin go? By now, Demtor must be looking for a scapegoat to take responsibility for their defeat.”
“As a captured prisoner, Modin has to protect himself. He’ll have no choice but to take a side. His neutral stance will end in the next meeting.”
...Could that be why you didn’t take Modin’s artifacts?
“To make them believe we’re on the same side, that much had to be done. It’s another seed of division.”
“...You’re insane.”
Fenry clicked her tongue and shook her head.
The reason Modin’s artifacts weren’t seized was because only he could use them.
So rather than steal them, I gave them back—as bait.
Then Medeia cautiously asked,
“Which faction did you think he would join when you let him go?”
“He’s the most rational figure in Demtor. If it were me, I’d never side with Clarke.”
Smiling, I turned my gaze to the map, picturing Demtor.
If things were split 2:2, there’d be no division.
For a crack to appear, the balance had to shift—and Modin would be the one to tip it.
“In political terms, you could say he’s a ‘Gram sniper.’”
Naturally, my target was Gram.
***
A vast wall stretched endlessly—
Circular in shape and pure white, as if covered in snow.
Geometric patterns were engraved into the wall’s surface, and the magical formulas that adorned it exuded not just beauty, but overwhelming majesty.
This was Demtor’s symbol, the Mage’s Wall.
Inside the walls, countless towers rose like a forest.
Among them stood a particularly long and towering spire—
The only place where the Stars could reside.
At the summit of this so-called Tower of Stars, furious shouting had been echoing since the previous day.
“It’s absurd not to hold her accountable!”
Ren of Radiance, master of the Radiant Tower, glared at Gram with a distorted expression.
She stood with her head bowed like a criminal, but to Ren, it was nothing but a mocking act.
“Gram must be held accountable!”
“Who said she wouldn’t be? I only said we’d postpone the decision.”
At Clarke’s response, Ren scoffed.
The motion to hold Gram accountable was already underway.
The only ones who had raised their hands were himself and Ella of the Blue Tower.
A 2:2 tie.
Damn score.
Yet Clarke merely insisted it was “postponed.”
It was obvious he never intended to hold Gram responsible.
‘I’d heard the rumors but...’
Ren bit down hard, alternating glances between Clarke and Gram.
He’d heard that Gram had won the favor of the Red Tower’s master, but he hadn’t expected even in a moment this critical, her support would remain unchanged.
“If we keep avoiding responsibility, the mages’ resentment will only grow. We need to stamp this out now.”
“Gram doesn’t need to be sacrificed.”
“Her wide-area bomb plan failed completely. Lindbergh, master of the Wind Tower, died in the bomb’s preparation. Other influential mages were also involved. The towers that suffered losses are now openly expressing distrust toward the Stars.”
The distrust from the Wind Tower was particularly severe.
They returned in disgrace after losing to the witches—even with all the Stars mobilized.
They needed a sacrificial lamb, and Gram was the only viable one.
“To ease public unrest, she must be punished.”
“And why should I take the blame?”
“Are you seriously asking that?”
At Gram’s question, Ren stared in disbelief. Did she truly not understand her fault?
“The plan was flawless. When I proposed the bomb, was there anyone who opposed it?”
“I did, didn’t I?”
“You opposed the creation of Terremor, not the strategy itself. And as for the effectiveness of the plan, even you seemed convinced. Wasn’t that so?”
Ren fell silent.
He had followed the majority, not because he foresaw failure.
They’d assumed Terremor would wipe out the witches’ forest.
But the enemy had responded too swiftly, too decisively.
In the end, Terremor never detonated.
“There’s a spy among the Stars.”
“A spy?”
“They knew the attack would come from above through Veluga. They knew bombs would be dropped. Only the Stars knew the plan. And Modin of the Ivory Tower has yet to return.”
“You’re saying Modin is the spy?”
“I’m saying we should consider the possibility. Rumor says he was captured, but would someone like him be caught so easily?”
“Modin would never be a spy!”
“I’m just stating a possibility.”
“Enough, silence!”
As the room grew heated, Clarke stepped in to mediate.
Using his authority, he halted the meeting and postponed it until the next day.
Ren cursed internally.
Same thing as yesterday.
Gram would stir the discussion off course, tensions would rise, and Clarke would use his power to delay proceedings.
2:2.
With no majority, everything kept stalling.
‘If this keeps up, it’ll all be buried.’
Ren was aware—while Gram was buying time, the Black Tower was already reaching out to discontented mage towers.
As an alchemist, Gram had many tempting items for mages.
And since mages moved for profit, things were tilting in Gram’s favor.
‘You’re not ready to face me, Ren.’
As Gram silently sneered at Ren’s frustration—
“Mo, Modin?!”
Ella of the Blue Tower suddenly pointed and cried out, drawing everyone’s attention to the window.
“No way...”
“Modin!”
Modin stood at the window, calmly glancing around at the gathered Stars before nodding slightly.
“I’m late.”
“Where have you been all this time?!”
“In the witches’ forest.”
“...What?”
“I was captured. By them.”
His explanation was brief, but its impact was huge.
Startled, Gram quickly corrected her expression and asked in a rush,
“Did you say you were captured?”
Modin silently looked at her.
After a pause, he nodded.
Gram immediately followed up.
“Then how did you get released?”
“I don’t know.”
“You... don’t know?”
Gram studied Modin’s appearance.
Covered in dust but otherwise intact—his condition was pristine. His bracelet, ring, and belt were all still there.
In other words, his artifacts were untouched.
Gram’s eyes gleamed.
“You were captured by witches, yet your artifacts are still with you and you look fine. Two Ortain died, and you, who were captured, were safely released? How do we explain that?”
The more she spoke, the quieter the room became.
Modin’s release was already hard to understand.
And now, with suspicions of a spy fresh in the air, the topic became all the more delicate.
The one to break the silence was Modin himself.
Once doubt takes root, it brands like a scar.
If Gram kept dragging this out, his position would become precarious.
He had to end it decisively.
“I will stake my mana core.”
...!
Modin looked directly at Gram Seraphim.
“What is it you want to ask me?”
A mage’s vow, made with a spoken oath and their mana, was a grave matter.
Now that his core was on the line, his words were almost certainly true.
A lie would mean denying his own core—and with that, losing his magic.
Risking the loss of his mana, he had proved his innocence to the Stars.
When he asked what it was they wanted to ask—
Caught off guard, Gram hesitated.
Ren, sensing his chance, stepped in.
“Modin, will you speak only the truth under your mana core oath?”
“Yes.”
“Are you a spy for the witches? Did you reveal the bomb plan to anyone?”
Without hesitation, Modin shook his head.
“Absolutely not. If my answer is false, then I am no mage.”
The moment he gave his oath, all suspicion toward Modin vanished.
They could no longer use his absence as an excuse.
With the tables suddenly turned, Modin raised his hand.
“If the meeting is still in session, may I now participate?”
2:2.
With Modin’s return, the stalled proposals could now move forward.
But there was no longer any excuse to keep him out.
As Modin met Gram’s eyes, for the first time, her expression twisted in front of everyone.
She instinctively felt it—Modin had chosen to stand against her.
And now, the majority vote that had long benefitted her
was becoming her downfall.