Family (1)

Imperial University Tower, 77th floor.

Yeriel slipped into the Chief Professor's Office while Deculein was away on his business trip. The place was crawling with security magic since the owner was absent, but with a snap—! someone flicked their fingers, and it all shut down.

"What did he ask you to do?!"

Chairwoman Adrienne. Yeriel, who had been sneaking in, got caught by her by chance and had no choice but to accept her help. If anything, it was for the better.

"I cannot disclose that. It is a matter related to official duties."

"...Hmph! Then I'll just ask Professor Deculein himself!"

"Yes. Do that."

Yeriel replied calmly and placed the documents from her handbag on the desk. They were excuses—pretexts—related to the Marik and Rohalak detention camps. Sealed with a magic security device that recognized Deculein's fingerprints and irises, they were top secret.

She ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠turned to the chairwoman, who was still eyeing her suspiciously.

"Might you leave now?"

"...This is suspicious!"

The chairwoman's antennae twitched like a mantis's. Her instincts were kicking in.

It was almost comical, the way she stared like a praying mantis, but Yeriel just shook her head.

"It's official business anyway. Nothing interesting."

"...Hmph, fine! I'll go for now!"

The chairwoman pouted and stepped outside.

Only then did Yeriel begin her real work. There was something she needed to find.

"...This personality of his comes in handy sometimes."

She found 'that item' right away.

Thanks to Deculein's impeccable organization, it jumped out at her the moment she opened the drawer.

[ ]

This blank notebook. It looked like something you could buy for three elne at a stationery shop, but it was anything but ordinary.

It was one of the many tasks left behind by the former family head, Dikailen, during his lifetime. Yeriel, of course, had her own blank notebook—that is, task notebook.

"There it is."

She'd torn apart the mansion searching for it, but coming to the tower last had been the right call.

Yeriel planned to use it to gauge Deculein's intentions.

"...With this."

It had been about a year since that incident, and her resolve to force a rupture was still fragile, cautious, and burdened by practical issues.

So, she chose this surefire method: the 'diary.' Instead of acting rashly, she would peer into Deculein's final thoughts.

"Ahem..."

Glancing around to make sure the coast was clear, Yeriel slipped her own diary into the empty spot.

Both were magic artifacts handmade by their father, indistinguishable on the outside, with identical functions. But above all, Yeriel was certain Deculein wouldn't look inside this one.

Deculein—the one person he truly feared.

Their 'father' lurked within these pages.

"Now..."

The moment she stepped out of the office—

"!"

Yeriel ran into someone unpleasant.

The approaching figure spotted her and widened their eyes.

"Soda Yeriel?"

It was Ruina. She was heading to the chief professor's office with a few students in tow.

"..."

Yeriel thought about Ruina.

Given the circumstances, she'd been kidnapped by Deculein, yet lately she was suspiciously quiet. Rumors even swirled that she was his confidante.

Yeriel was curious about the truth behind that bizarre story.

"...Professor Ruina, what brings you to the 77th floor? This is my bro—... I mean, Lord Deculein's floor."

"The security magic was off, so I thought the professor was back. I have more documents that need his approval."

—"Ahh! You money pit!"

Then, from behind the wall, the chairwoman popped out, glaring. Ruina startled and stepped back, while Yeriel sighed.

What was she doing eavesdropping this time?

Truly, a total mess.

"Professor Ruina! Do you know how much you've spent so far?! And you want more approvals?! This one's for spending money too, isn't it?!"

"What can I do if it costs a lot, Chairwoman? Besides, this is under the planning coordinator's purview anyway. You can ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠just leave it to them~."

"...We shouldn't have made that planning office!"

"Aw~ But my projects have been profitable thanks to the planning office, right? All the professor's selected projects have been hits."

"And you're the one gobbling up all those profits!"

"Aw~ Not that much~"

"It is that much! We're heading for over 100 million elne at this rate!"

"Oh? Not even 100 million yet? Less than expected?"

"What?!"

Yeriel listened closely to their pointless banter—it was tower politics, after all—then quietly boarded the elevator.

A cloudless, brilliant summer afternoon.

After completing the exit procedures at Lokralen—inspection of departing goods and questioning—we boarded the train and arrived at the capital's Haileshi Station.

"Hooah! We're finally back!"

Allen stretched with a clear shout. I glanced up at the sky through the train window.

It was just an ordinary business trip, yet it felt like the end of a long journey.

"...Didn't expect him to take the diary too."

Allen caught Ifrin's grumpy mutter.

"He's worried it'll mess with your memories~"

"I get it, but... luckily, I remember a bit. My mental strength must not be that bad."

"Yeah~ I barely remember the lectures, but daily stuff from that day seems fine."

"...All I remember is passing out."

We chattered as we stepped onto the platform. Roserio and Kreto, who had been on the same train, approached.

Kreto extended his hand first.

"Professor Deculein. We owe you again."

"Indeed. Hey, Professor Deculein, you're mighty capable. Why're you still just Monarch Rank?"

"Grand Army Kreto, well done. Roserio, you too."

I bid them farewell. Allen, Ifrin, and Drent exchanged brief words with them too, then we split into two groups and headed down the boulevard.

"Oh my?!"

In the heart of Haileshi, Ifrin suddenly pointed somewhere.

"Pig's Flower."

It was different from the main branch near Imperial University. Tailored to Haileshi—the empire's richest district—with a luxurious, high-end restaurant vibe.

Ifrin stared blankly at the exterior.

"...Sluuuurp. Sniff. Sniff. Ah, why won't my mouth stop watering? Julie said she opened a new branch, but I didn't think it'd be in Haileshi..."

"Is it that good?"

At Allen's question, Ifrin nodded. Once, twice, three times, four, five...

I pulled my wallet from my inner pocket.

"Allen."

"Yes?"

"You feed them and send them off."

I handed him a 10,000 elne check. Allen jumped in surprise.

"That's too mu—"

"You'll burn through it eating. Haileshi prices defy imagination."

"Ah... Yes, yes! Thank you, Professor!"

Allen took the check with trembling hands. Ifrin, peeking over, couldn't hold back her giggles and shrugged.

"I'll go ahead."

"Yeees! Thank you! Safe travels, Professor!"

"Safe travels, Professor."

"Bye~"

Greetings from Allen, Drent, and Ifrin respectively.

I boarded the pre-arranged car without a glance back. Through the window, Allen led the two assistants into the restaurant.

—Let's go, let's go~ Hurry~

Ifrin's steps danced lightly on her shoulders, her face beaming with innocent joy.

"...That Ifrin."

They say she'll become an archmage in the future.

I let out a hollow chuckle.

"Professor. How was the trip?"

It was Julie's voice from the seat beside me, as if she'd materialized. I nodded at her.

"Not bad."

Julie smiled brightly, and I told the driver,

"To the tower."

Back in my office at the tower, I first pulled out the Advanced Trait Catalog.

"...A fine reward, but."

Unlike the Item Catalog, the Trait Catalog is an exceedingly important item. Even in the game, opportunities to obtain one were rare.

However, Advanced was a bit ambiguous.

Trait hierarchy: [Common > Low > Mid > Advanced > Rare > Unique > Inherent].

Common and Low are mere bonuses, barely qualifying as traits—like Telekinesis Artisan. Mid and Advanced are the first that truly count as traits, but...

I scrolled through, but nothing useful caught my eye. My gaze kept drifting down, down, down...?

"What is this?"

I spotted one unfamiliar trait.

Encryption.

The description was vague, but I liked that it scaled with 'Mental Strength.' Deculein's sole advantage.

"...?"

Suddenly—

I noticed a small note on the desk. It hadn't been there moments ago.

"...How did this appear?"

Mysterious, but I read the contents and slipped it into my pocket.

Knock knock—

Right on cue.

"Professor!"

I opened the door with Telekinesis, and Allen burst in, beaming like the world was his.

"Professor! They finished the grade evaluation on Floating Island! It's Advanced level!"

Ifrin and Drent followed. Drent bowed deeply; Ifrin fidgeted awkwardly and mimicked him.

"Impressive, Professor~"

To the fawning, noisy Allen, I said,

"Good. Then let us begin preparations for the proper lectures."

"Yes!"

"Assistants, out."

"...Yees?"

I told the assistants to leave, but Allen tilted his head in confusion.

"Wh—why me...?"

"Drent, Ifrin. Both enrolled in my lectures."

"Ah, right. Yes."

"Yeah, me too."

Drent and Ifrin nodded as our eyes met. I turned naturally to Allen.

"Thus, preparations fall to you and me."

"...Ah."

Allen's face fell, crestfallen.

Of course—he'd planned to dump the grunt work on the newbies.

"Yees. I-I mean... Ah."

Allen glanced back. The two assistants had already vanished.

"...Yes."

He smiled brightly again, resigned. I placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Worry not. Your name will be listed as co-instructor for this lecture."

"Whaaat?!"

His eyes went wide as saucers.

"A-An Advanced lecture...?"

"Indeed."

"Bu-but, uh, I, th-that, this, ah..."

Watching him fidget, I pondered quietly.

"Co-instructor... How could I possibly... Eek."

...The boy was born to act.

...The upper levels of Floating Island are beyond any mage's wildest dreams.

More precisely, they defy the common sense of this world.

Mejiseion is the core and engine of Floating Island—an endlessly ascending structure piercing the heavens above the heavens.

Yet higher floors shift from 'interiors' to 'terrain' or even 'worlds.'

Some floors vast enough for tens of thousands; others endless ocean; still others...

"Professor Deculein of Monarch Rank has applied for evaluation of his lecture, Pure Application of Earth and Fire: Manipulation Series."

A cramped conference room for judgments only.

"We approve 'unrestricted Advanced' status for this lecture."

Majority addicts and Floating Island executives present for the lecture grade determination.

Now, Deculein's Pure Application of Earth and Fire: Manipulation Series would be recognized as Advanced for all ranks of mages, with enrollment itself a career milestone.

"However, a Floating Island recorder will attend, and lecture data will be archived in our vaults."

Heh heh—Longdalp stroked his chin, chuckling softly.

Adrienne nodded in satisfaction.

"The lecture will be recognized as Deculein's original work, with a minimum protection period of 10 years. Enrollees, barring a select few chosen by Floating Island, will be decided by Deculein himself."

Deculein's work protected for a minimum of 10 years—enormous praise, considering the max was 15.

"In exchange for archiving, Floating Island promises conveniences such as providing desired venues and funding..."

...That day.

The 'Advanced Lecture' verdict from Floating Island plunged straight back down.

Famous mages like Roserio, Kreto, Betan, and Ihelm reacted with awe, envy, disbelief—stirring a minor uproar.

But one mage hadn't even heard.

Whiiiish—!

This was the 'Blade Trajectory,' razor winds howling.

One of Floating Island's satellite isles—dangerous, with scattered small islands linked in midair.

Thud—!

On one sheer cliff, delicate fingers like ferns gripped the edge.

Crunch—!

Clutching dirt and stone. The pale, fine hand was scarred; a missing nail oozed blood. It had to hurt, but sheer will against falling drove her.

Roooar—!

"...Ngh."

The hand's owner: Sylvia. Rocking in the gale, she held fast.

"You survived, somehow."

Then, black high heels splashed toward her.

Clack—displaced sand fell like mist.

"..."

Sylvia looked up at the woman in robes, who applied lip balm while peering down.

"Give up. You'll cripple yourself."

Despite the crude words, Sylvia shook her head.

"I won't."

"...You've got the fire to learn, at least. No wonder that geezer Rohakan dumped you on me."

The woman smirked.

"Fine then... endure."

A husky, heavy voice for a woman.

She crushed Sylvia's gripping hand under her heel.

"!"

Crack—fingers shattered, and Sylvia plummeted back into the abyss.

"To see if you're truly Ilayde's lion... or a broken wolf."

The woman muttered, lighting a cigarette.

Sizzle—!

Magic-lit, but the smoke scattered in the wind.

Yukline lord's castle.

Yeriel sat with her loyal retainers: butler Roy, knight David, mage Regillon, head maid Rachel... Their heavy breaths hung like fog; tension taut as a bowstring.

"This notebook was a task from Father."

Yeriel pointed to Deculein's Diary on the desk.

"It absorbs your daily soul and mana. No—the material itself is... our skin."

Retainers held their breath. Yeriel frowned, recalling the distant pain.

Literally flayed alive. No anesthesia worked; she wailed madly, but endured for Yukline.

"Skin, you say?"

Butler Roy asked, startled.

"...Yes. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Made from our skin, embedding circuits. An immense work called 'Remote Circuit.' Father was incredible."

Dikailen gave his children countless tasks. In life, and via will after death.

Those trials might still continue.

"No need to write daily, leave it afar, discard or tear it... our days and deeds record specifically."

Father called it an 'artifact to aid your self-growth,' but...

Yeriel wasn't a fool.

She knew.

Its true purpose: to monitor and evaluate them.

"Memories recorded are selective, subconscious—but never fake. Father's work at eternal—archmage level in artifact craft."

Dikailen, century's art mage, elevated artifacts via Specialized Magic.

Many had eroded over time post-mortem, but those using 'skin' as medium endured for his children.

"This key opens that path."

Yeriel drew Dikailen's key from her bosom—a treasure from the underground vault.

"Risky, but it's my only way now."

In short, she would enter Deculein's diary. But what memories, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠how—they were unknown.

"Is he the same as that day a year ago? Faking intent to discard us? Or truly changed by some event?"

Yeriel touched the diary.

"I need to know. Will you follow?"

Retainers nodded solemnly.

"Thank you."

Yeriel exhaled deeply, then inserted the key. The solid cover rippled like water.

Whoosh—!

Mana surged; she turned the key fully.

────!

The diary swallowed them whole.