Chapter 61
Chapter 61
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>Translator: Lord First
>Chapter: 61
>Chapter Title: Saint Yansk University and the Secret Room (4)
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*
Esidis stared blankly at the sky. A clear blue summer sky. The students on campus were laughing about something, birds were chirping, flowers were blooming, and bad children like you…
“No, that’s not it.”
She struggled to sort out her tangled thoughts. What was important right now wasn't how beautiful the day was.
It was Uncle Ivan!
She had spent the entire weekend agonizing over him. Mainly, about what on earth to do with her uncle.
He had spread rumors of his own death far and wide and was even enshrined in the national cemetery, and then what?
Ta-da, I was actually alive! (And I grew a beard.)
It was a surprising event that doubled the shock and tripled the frustration. Esidis felt her head spin every time she thought of her uncle.
His speech had grown blunt, his expression grim.
And his new hobby? Stalking female students.
“He needs… he needs to be corrected.”
Someone had to look after that pitiful old bachelor (he is 34 years old).
Someone had to make him shave, feed him a warm meal, and stand firmly by his side to keep him from chasing after other women…
And that was clearly her role, the woman who had known him longer than anyone else in the world. No, logically speaking, what woman in her right mind would understand and embrace a man like that?
*I have to do it. There’s no one else.*
With firm resolve, Esidis began to write a letter.
-Dad.
>-I hope you’re well. Thankfully, I’m doing fine. Frichenkaya is a nice place. The buildings are tall, there are lots of people, and the streets are full of shops.
-There are many people who love music. Oh, not the kind you sing while drinking. I mean string instruments, not drums. The kind of music that makes a warm, pleasant sound and is played with many people.
-How are my brothers? They’re well, right? They have to be. Unlike me, they always loved to fight.
Esidis hesitated, then squeezed her eyes shut and let her hand move without restraint.
-By the way, it’s nothing serious, but I’m thinking about getting married.
>-I’ve met… I’m going to meet… a good… a man who was good…
>-Don’t worry. If you were looking into other marriage prospects for me, please cancel them.
>-That’s all for now.
>-Esidis.
Good. With this, she had her parents’ permission. (No, she didn’t.)
Esidis nodded in satisfaction and stood up. A single dagger was once again in her hand.
“Where could Uncle have gone off to now?”
For the past few days, Ivan had been suspiciously hard to find. It seemed that not long after he had started ardently stalking her, he had already found a new target.
“Ahaha.”
Naturally, such a bad habit had to be corrected as quickly as possible. The man was already a cause for concern about how he would live his life from now on.
The biggest obstacle to Ivan’s wandering eye (their relationship was not one where the word ‘affair’ could apply) was, sadly, her once-closest friend… Isabelle.
Ivan also seemed to be quite fond of Isabelle, as he was personally giving her weapons training. Isabelle, too, seemed to follow him.
No, to say she *followed* him was an understatement.
Having grown up in the royal court for many years, a master of its intrigues and politics, she could tell. Her sharp eyes had thoroughly analyzed Isabelle’s feelings.
She was pretending not to, acting all casual and laid-back. But she was subtly ‘flirting’ with Uncle Ivan. This was unforgivable. How dare she covet a man who had started a family (he had not).
If this were Droan, she would deserve a demonstration of the homeland’s traditional games. For reference, Droan’s traditional games included hanging from a pole, burning, drowning, and the blood eagle.
Considering their past friendship, she couldn’t do anything *that* drastic, but she still needed to teach her a sharp lesson.
With that scrawny, dried-up little body of hers, how dare she.
Besides, while the barbaric Tilles prided themselves on their debauched and lewd culture, enjoying public ‘romances’ in the name of chivalry, Droan was different.
Droan, a morally advanced nation, valued fidelity, purity, and the innocent love between a man and a woman. (This meant that cheating men were castrated, and their illicit partners were executed.)
“I’m going to be busy…”
She had to teach Ivan about fidelity and common sense, and she had to teach the women flocking around him, including Isabelle, about Droan’s domestic culture. She was a very busy person indeed.
*
*Gnash.*
Isabelle stood with a wooden training sword slung over her shoulder, glaring at a corner of the campus.
She had tailed Ivan and confirmed that he went into the chancellor’s office. And if she shifted her gaze just a little, there, under a tree in front of the main building that led to the chancellor’s office, she could see a silhouette.
That detestable woman who ‘was’ her friend, standing with her hands demurely clasped, gazing at the entrance of the main building with a warm smile.
“Traitor.”
Isabelle muttered quietly in a toneless voice. Biting the tip of her thumbnail, she glared at that insufferable barbarian.
The only thing she knew how to do was push around that foolish, dull body of hers.
*Mister is a thoroughly trained soldier.*
It was a fact one could discern after exchanging just three sentences with him. He was a man who loved efficiency.
And, naturally, Esidis’s body was the epitome of inefficiency. The only person she had seen who was more inefficient was the Saintess, whom she had only observed from a distance.
Her useless fat was a symbol of her sloth. And Isabelle was confident she would not lose to such a lazy, dim-witted woman.
Even if she was shamelessly imitating her methods to get close to Mister, hah. As if.
A copy can never beat the original.
And the relationship between a man and a woman is proven by the time and memories they share. Did Mister even remember Esidis’s name? (He did.)
“Hoo… hoho.”
Isabelle straightened her back with a confident smile.
Yes, this was a battle she couldn't lose. In fact, it wasn't even a battle to begin with. Is it a duel when an adult hits a child? No, this was simply discipline.
“In the Tillesian court, this is merely the foundation of politics.”
The barbaric and uncivilized court of Droan relied solely on the authority and charisma of a single Great King for its decision-making, but Tilles was different.
Tilles was a great cultural power that had built its civilization on a strict legal system and a strong sense of ethics. It was a nation with a complex and beautiful government, entirely different from the simple political system run by a single absolute ruler.
Therefore, as a representative of a great cultural power, Isabelle decided to teach the barbarian’s daughter about ‘culture.’
“Ah!”
Ivan emerged from the main building, walking with purpose. A faint smile unknowingly escaped her lips at the sight of his expressionless face, which betrayed no thoughts but was surely thinking of nothing at all.
She waved her hands wildly and ran toward him.
“Mister—!!”
*
He needed to take a mage with him.
Ivan was a rational man, so he had no intention of trying to conquer an ‘academy’s underground dungeon sealed with an ancient spell’ all by himself.
He was a man of many talents, but unfortunately, he had never learned magic. Not the simple spells for lighting and extinguishing fires, but what could be classified as true ‘magic.’
He was an agent trained in the field during the war. But magic was in the realm of academia. It was the kind of thing that required precise formulas, incantations, rituals, reagents, and other complex knowledge.
*Where can I find a mage?*
Ivan walked, lost in thought. He didn't know the nature of the ancient spell, but he was certain it was powerful enough to instantly disintegrate a dwarven artifact.
He couldn't dismantle such a spell with his bare hands. He needed a mage, specifically one skilled in ‘deciphering.’
The most trustworthy mage for the job was Veolgrin, but he had no way to call him, nor any desire to do so.
If he had to, there was the dean of the magic faculty… but that would go against the nature of a secret mission. The moment he received help from an elf, information would leak to the Calion archipelago.
“Mister—!!”
“Hm?”
Ivan looked up at the sudden voice. Isabelle was running toward him, a wooden sword in hand and a cheerful smile on her face.
Then, something strange caught his eye. Ivan frowned and snatched Isabelle’s wrist as she approached.
“Aah?!”
“Don’t move.”
Ivan gripped her right wrist with one hand and reached into his coat to pull out a bandage. There was no need for unnecessary torture, so he didn’t use a healing potion.
With practiced hands, he wrapped the bandage around Isabelle’s thumbnail. The bandages of this primitive, pre-modern era were little more than small pieces of cloth smeared with ointment, but their function was similar to their modern counterparts.
And he was an orphanage director. Children had a strange affinity for high places, so he had more than enough experience applying bandages to their minor scrapes.
“You’ve developed a bad habit.”
“Ah… ngh… yes…”
Isabelle avoided his gaze, her eyes spinning. Her entire face was flushed as red as if it were about to burst.
A superhuman’s hearing could pick up a person’s heartbeat at this distance. Ivan studied Isabelle’s complexion and heart rate, his brow furrowed.
“Do you have an arrhythmia? Cardiovascular disease can cause serious problems if left untreated. You should go see the Saintess.”
“Wh-What?! What is this… what…”
Isabelle’s expression instantly turned cold as she pulled her hand away. Despite that, she started fiddling with her bandaged thumb, grinning to herself.
*Has she… never seen a bandage before?*
Ivan lamented. It seemed the Tillesian court had a tendency to raise its children too comfortably.
Then again, she had a personal priest. Why would she have ever needed a bandage for a mere scratch? A single healing spell from a priest could mend a much deeper wound in an instant.
“Oh, right, Mister. I had something to tell you.”
“Hm?”
Isabelle stared suspiciously at a point far behind Ivan. She shot a glance in that direction, her eyes glinting with cunning malice, then turned to Ivan and spoke.
“I like your beard, Mister.”
“…?”
*Did you hear that, Essie?*
*This is Tillesian ‘politics.’ Different from you barbarians.*
*When you have to compete for someone’s heart, telling them what they want to hear is ‘common sense.’*
*But at the same time, taking a different position from your competitor gives you the ‘upper hand.’*
*You just stand there and watch with that look of utter defeat on your face.*
Isabelle chuckled, *huhu,* and took a step closer to Ivan.
“I think so, too.”
“Pardon…?”
“Is that all you had to say?”
“What? Ah, no. Just a moment. Um, uhm… H-Have you had lunch? I happen to know this really, really delicious place…”
“I’ve eaten.”
Ivan was an efficient man, so he consumed almost all of his meals in the form of nutrition bars.
The nutrition bar was the masterpiece of Ivan’s life. This primitive, pre-modern fantasy world had no such thing as the science of ‘nutrition.’
Lacking the concept of essential nutrients, people would visit priests for physical ailments caused by nutritional imbalances. Surprisingly, a priest’s ‘healing’ would often perform the miracle of temporarily alleviating even those imbalances.
But for Ivan, a poor farmer’s son, such a luxury was impossible. Thus, he had devoted himself to creating this ‘nutrition bar.’
Even on the battlefield, where supplies were unstable, this nutrition bar played a huge role in keeping his combat abilities consistent.
*‘Though no one in the Hero’s Party ever ate it with me…’*
Such primitive, pre-modern citizens.
Those people had insulted his nutrition bars with the harsh words, “worse than pig feed.” They had rejected this amazing food of the future—a concoction of grain-based carbohydrates, generously packed with semi-dried fruit (mostly wild strawberries), and solidified with pork fat! A miraculous product that boasted a perfect nutritional balance and a low production cost.
It was even a visionary technology that transcended civilization, praised by the late king himself… Every time he had such thoughts, he was reminded of what an outstanding person the late king had been.
“Uh… uh uh… You’ve… eaten? But it’s only ten o’clock? Lunch already?”
“Mm.”
When deployed on a mission, eating at a set time was a luxury. Thus, Ivan would break up things like hardtack and nutrition bars and consume them in several small portions to replenish his energy.
It was a habit ingrained in him over many long years. Now, it was practically routine.
“Then what about, what about dinner? Wh-When do you eat…?”
“I’m busy this evening.”
He had to find a mage and scout the entrance to the underground ruins immediately.
“Then tomorrow… what about lunch tomorrow…”
“I’ll probably be busy.”
Assuming he found the entrance this evening and was deployed to the site right away, he would likely be occupied for at least a day or two.
“The weekend, what about the weekend?!”
“I’m busy.”
On weekends, he had to catch up on all the orphanage work that had piled up while he was providing full-time protection for the children of the Hero’s Party on weekdays.
The orphanage was not an unmanned business that ran itself. He had to secure a week’s worth of food supplies for the residents’ meals, mend the clothes that had inevitably been damaged during the week, check on the children’s educational progress, and listen to their concerns.
It was something close to his only hobby. A time that brought him mental comfort. That was why he ran the orphanage.
It wasn't that he was genuinely worried about and cared for the war orphans. He was just doing it for his own personal satisfaction.
That’s why it was hypocrisy. Ivan knew he was a hypocrite. It was nothing more than self-soothing, an act to lessen the weight of the blood on his hands.
“*Sob… hic…*”
Isabelle suddenly burst into tears and ran off somewhere.
Hm.
Teenagers in this other world are hard to figure out.
Ivan shook his head slowly and started walking again.
Where to find a mage…
*