The Strongest Gun Magus: I Cast Bullet!-Chapter 9: Grandpa’s Precious Princess

To Reynard’s relief, Serge didn’t try to look into the barrel, or even take the gun from Reynard’s hands. He looked at it from several angles, tapped his nail on the steel barrel, and then stepped back.

"Ah, I recognize that smithing technique. You didn’t have enough mana to work with molten metal directly, so you used implements of common smiths and then Black Salt to strengthen the steel. But for your means, it’s excellent work. I can see that it truly isn’t stolen, as some wondered."

Reynard pulled the gun away, but he was still suspicious. The teacher’s reaction was too good to be true...

"Teacher Serge, and this is it? You won’t try to confiscate this mysterious artifact? Or tell me to explain its secrets? Or ask me to make another one for you?"

Serge huffed and scowled.

"Preposterous! What, you think that I have nothing better to do with my life? I only asked in the first place because there was a rumor that you store it. The outrage—to think that some Nigredo-stage artifact would be of interest to me, an Albedo-stage magus. Seriously, the kids these days! They see a shiny toy and start squabbling over it like it’s the most important thing in the world—"

"I’m sorry, Teacher..."

Serge seemed not to even hear Reynard.

"—When you should be practicing spells instead! Artifacts can be lost, but spells are with you forever! You Earth Magi and your love for the artifacts—you just can’t see the forest behind the trees... Well, why are you still here? If you don’t have any other questions, then be gone! I will see you in class tomorrow."

Reynard did as asked.

***

Marien strided into her grandfather’s office. It was a room in which she had spent many hours previously, studying the magical trinkets and books on the dozens of shelves, but today her eyes were only on Bartholomew Canseliet, her grandfather.

He was sitting regally at his desk and looking at Marien with disapproval that made her huff.

"Grandpa! I was about to go out in the city. Why did you summon me like something was on fire?"

"Because I know if I asked you to come visit your grandfather when you have time, you’d do it only a week later, Mari," Bartholomew grumbled lovingly. Then he caught himself and added sternly:

"Marien, we must talk!"

Marien walked up to the desk and put her hands on her hips.

"What? I did nothing to scold me for, Grandpa! Or is it about the Autumn Beast Hunt? I’m going, I said this already! It will be my first real—"

"No, it’s not about the Hunt. Although we will be speaking about that again, too! This is about the company you are keeping, Marien."

"Huh?"

"Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about! You are being too close to this orphan boy Artemy."

Just thinking about this made Bartholomew’s face darken. First, some students claimed that Artemy Reynard was outrageously flirting with Marien...

Which Bartholomew could have dismissed at first. After all, these were just two claims, and Marien didn’t complain about anything like that to him.

But then he heard that Marien gave Reynard her protection!

At this moment, Bartholomew understood why she didn’t complain earlier. For some reason, clearly, his precious granddaughter became smitten with Reynard! Reynard, who was merely an orphan. Until his recent stroke of luck in the dueling arena, he was barely above servants who cleaned the school’s compost pits.

Marien blushed.

This was all Bartholomew needed to become absolutely sure about his earlier guess.

"Too close! Grandfather, you are outrageous—we only spoke once! What, can’t I even speak with other boys now? What about the teachers? No, no, what about the girls? What, will you say that I’m "too close" if I make a friend, hm?!"

Marien slammed her hands on the desk. Her blue eyes were shining with unshed tears.

"It’s always ’Marien, don’t do this’, and ’Marien, don’t do that’, and ’Marien, even if you have reached the Final Cycle Nigredo, you shouldn’t go to the Autumn Beast Hunt, it’s too dangerous’! If you could, you would have put me in a basement and never let me out, hmph!"

Suddenly, Marien pulled back and sniffed.

"Mom and dad wouldn’t have treated me like this..." she whispered.

This was the final blow.

Bartholomew clutched his chest with a pained expression. There, under his white robe, was a medallion with a tiny portrait—the portrait of his only daughter and her husband, done after their death.

The old man could still remember this day ten years ago as if it happened yesterday.

They were standing in his office, just like Marien now. Julia and Rudolf, who have reached Final Cycle Albedo and even dreamed of becoming Citrinito magi.

"Father, it’s only eleven years until the Four-Moon Realm Gate opens again. Rudolf and I have decided already—we can’t sit still and keep waiting until this happens. We have become stronger than even you... So don’t try to stop us anymore! Now, farewell—we will see you soon."

Their faces were so determined... So hopeful... They truly believed in their power, and for a moment, Bartholomew began to believe, too.

So he didn’t try to stop them, and he regretted it to this day.

Nobody ever saw Julia and Rudolf again...

Bartholomew stared at the face of his beloved granddaughter, who looked so much like Julia...

"Grandpa?" Marien’s voice pulled him to the present. She was leaning toward him, looking worried.

He turned away.

"I’m fine, Mari... Just an old man thing. What am I, almost a hundred now? Go, make friends... I won’t stop you anymore."

Marien smiled.

"What an old pile of bones you are, grandpa! But don’t worry, I love you anyway! Now bye, I gotta run before the market closes!"

She waved her hand at him and dashed out of the office.

Bartholomew slumped in his chair, thinking.

’I... No matter what I said, I can’t let Mari get close to this awful boy. I have seen his face in the arena—he’s dangerously reckless! Not only is he way below her station, but he will also make Mari’s reckless tendencies ten times worse... He must go. But Mari can’t know that I did something like this, or she won’t forgive me...’