History of Regression (2)
“……”
Sophien slowly opened her eyes.
Her body still felt languid, but a strangely peculiar sensation wrapped around her mind.
It felt as if she had dreamed of something from long, long ago… for quite some time.
“Your Majesty.”
“Hm…?”
The emperor lifted her gaze to the knight who had called her. Kairon stood like a statue.
“Have you awakened?”
“…Indeed. It feels as though I have dreamed a long dream.”
“Is that so.”
“That insolent professor.”
“He has returned.”
Kairon answered concisely, thinking of Deculein.
The emperor’s greatest secret, regression.
Deculein had learned of it.
“Returned?”
“Yes. The lesson ended, so he departed.”
Deculein of the next day—or rather, tomorrow—had said that Sophien’s regression history existed in the underground Devil’s Mirror.
After hearing those words, Kairon had slain the devil—Nesius—and regressed to this day.
“Is the languor any better?”
But it was still a secret from Sophien. At Deculein’s request.
Since it was for Sophien’s sake, Kairon had accepted.
“Somewhat improved… but it persists. Every time I fall asleep… I dream long dreams. It feels as if I am returning to the past, for some reason.”
Sophien murmured while gazing at the ceiling, lost in sentiment, trying to revive the thoughts and memories from her dream.
Yet those hazy scenes sank deeper the more she grasped at them. Like a small pebble dropped by a lakeside…
At last, her serene eyes shifted to Kairon.
“Kairon.”
“Yes.”
“You…”
As if questioning her own sudden, peculiar impulse, Sophien asked the knight.
“…Are you satisfied with your life?”
Knight Kairon.
He had been selected by the imperial court at the tender age of ten.
Selected, they called it—but in terms of life, it was no different from livestock in the palace.
Over a hundred young talents chosen from across the continent. They were raised in the palace, no, brainwashed, groomed solely as knights for the imperial bloodline.
“With your looks and skill, you could have claimed a far more glamorous life than this hollow honor.”
His part in his hair was a bit off-putting at five-to-five, but Kairon’s appearance was exceptionally striking. Even palace maids and eunuchs admired and adored him.
“You could have simply pretended to be a bit lacking, and the court would have cast you out on its own.”
“……”
Kairon silently listened to Sophien’s words.
It required considerable patience from him.
For the emperor herself—his life’s purpose, his utmost mission—to deny herself so utterly, with words far less considerate than usual.
“…Your Majesty. There is a term ‘dead fish eyes.’ I, Kairon, have always thought Your Majesty’s eyes resembled those of rotten fish.”
“Shall I gouge out your eyes myself?”
“However, Your Majesty once told me: ‘Even if I die, I do not resent you.’”
Kairon had the ability to read between the lines. Honed from serving the finicky, sensitive Sophien.
Sophien twisted her lips.
“Hmph. I merely said that to stoke your resolve.”
“I know that is not true.”
Sophien’s words seemed ordinary at first glance, but linked to her miraculous life, they transformed into something with clear intent.
“Someday, I will have failed in Your Majesty’s protection. And not just once, likely.”
“……”
“Your Majesty. I wish to be a consistent knight. To make myself my conviction. Thus, even to a nonexistent past, to an uncertain future, I swear as your knight.”
Sophien showed no expression.
“Even if Your Majesty’s time changes, I shall remain constant. Like a mere metronome.”
The emperor’s knight hoped her lord’s indolence would end soon.
Not wanting to see her suffocate from the sheer bother of breathing.
“This incompetent knight wishes to die before Your Majesty.”
“…Hmph. Fool. Dying before me is not your duty.”
Sophien rose with feigned scorn, staggering wearily down the palace corridor as if fatigued. Kairon followed behind.
Soon, they reached the palace hall lined with statues of knights standing in rows.
“Your Majesty. Where do you go?”
“To attend Deculein’s lecture.”
“The lecture is still two days away. Do you intend to go in person?”
“Do you think I would?”
Sophien halted abruptly and turned to Kairon.
“I go to find the cat. That red one is my possession body for outings, and when it disappears, it is always on one of these knight statues.”
No sooner had she spoken than—mrrrow!
A red-furred cat cried out from the shoulder of a statue. It leaped lightly onto Kairon’s head.
Mrrrow!
As if answering its cry, Kairon spoke.
“They say cats instinctively seek the safest place.”
“That would be your thick skull.”
“……”
Yukline Manor annex.
Late night.
Or perhaps dawn.
No, maybe early morning.
Scratch-scratch-
I was writing the lecture.
Time had long vanished from my mind, whether from trance or otherwise.
Scratch-scratch-
The fountain pen’s ceaseless traces on the walls, in the air. Intricate, subtle diagrams formed by lines upon lines.
From center to periphery, spreading infinitely outward in geometric magic circles and formulas.
I manipulated the penholder with Telekinesis.
Biweekly, only 4 sessions per semester. Yet I shall author this to reach at least Milestone grade in completion.
Scratch-scratch-
Milestone, true to the word, is a ‘milestone.’
An honor granted by the Floating Island only for ‘century-defining discoveries or knowledge.’
Whether a single lecture qualifies, I know not—but it is worth attempting.
It shall count as a quest achievement, after all.
Scratch-scratch-
Of course, this world’s millennium of accumulated magical history is no trifling thing for a first-year like me to lead.
Thus, I have prepared.
“…Entirely feasible.”
Magicalization of Traits.
In full, converting the Traits I have interpreted with my Understanding into ‘magical formulas.’
That is, magically observing the whole or part of a Trait, then fusing it with existing spells to transmute entirely new magic.
Thus, now I fuse aspects of the Iron Man trait into magic.
The property magic thereby gains is ‘unwearying.’
The fire of my theory shall not fade, nor the earth crumble.
Truly, the pure utilization of earth and fire.
Grrrrrind…
Yet the process of creation is intensely painful. As if extracting marrow, ripping out chunks of Iron Man from my body whole.
Weeeeeeng—
Tinnitus rang in my eardrums, my skull shook—but no time for whining.
“…”
Thanks to Ifrin from the future, I realized one fact.
In these times, with devils and the Altar clinging to Emperor Sophien, advancing into the main quest proper.
Growing strong alone cannot stop them.
“…Now.”
Thus, I shall utilize my Understanding thus.
Dedicate it to teaching this Trait.
Deculein has clear limits, but the continent brims with talents I can nurture. Many named ones will grow from a single word of advice.
Though born to a villain’s fate, unfit to stand as protagonist, they can serve as dark allies…
Crack!
Then the fountain pen snapped.
No need for another.
“…”
I stepped back wordlessly.
Insufficient.
Two steps back.
Still insufficient.
Three, four, five steps…
“…Complete.”
Only upon standing at the annex’s center did the result reveal itself.
My magic circle filling the entire space.
Records originating from the vast blackboard overflowed the inner walls, spreading into the air like embroidery on an alien celestial body.
At its heart, I closed my eyes and exhaled.
“…”
My theory lived, moved.
My magic asserted its worth.
A faint fulfillment, as if stepping one footprint nearer the world’s truth.
…A peculiar sensation.
I opened my eyes.
A light vertigo rose.
Mana nearly depleted, yet after submitting the plan to the Floating Island and preparing, I completed the ‘lecture’ after nearly a month.
“The difference between draft and final, I suppose.”
Conveying a theory known only to me to others is difficult.
Thus, the effort and mana invested were dozens of times the draft.
“…A bit too vast, though.”
A wry chuckle escaped. Formulas blanketing the annex endlessly. This immense scale strains even my mind to contain—but so what.
The lecturer’s duty is delivery.
Comprehension is the students’ burden.
If they grasp not even a fraction… discard them coldly. They offer no aid to the quest.
“What remains…”
I checked the memorization status with the Naked Eye.
├─ Beginner/Intermediate Telekinesis:79%
├─ Beginner/Intermediate Fire Control:53%
├─ Beginner/Intermediate Fluid Manipulation:48%
└─ Metal Reinforcement:89% ★
Still, damnable beginner/intermediate. How arduous is intermediate, to progress so pathetically.
Telekinesis memorization crawls.
Knock-knock—
Then, a knock announcing breakfast.
—Morning coffee, sir.
It was Julie.
I silently regarded the door.
“Hm…”
A moment later, a fine training method occurred to me.
—Professor. Coffee. Knock-knock.
Remaining mana: about 300.
Yet Telekinesis consumes scant mana, so ample enough.
I opened the door.
*
Clang-clang-clang-clang—
Fierce friction and rising sparks.
The sword moves, deflecting wooden steel. The steel probes the swordsman’s gaps, but elegant swordplay permits not even approach.
The swift blade dances softly, slicing petals.
Wooden steel touching that sword path bends. Loses trajectory, plummets. Not one of twenty blades so much as scratches her.
Clang-clang—
As long as Julie refrained from overusing mana, her body was ‘still’ fine—a decent sparring partner.
No need to adjust Telekinesis power. My magic yet lacked the technique to breach her.
Claaaang!
Finally, a sharp metallic ring. One wooden steel cleaved in two, and I halted as mana hit precisely ‘1.’
Telekinesis proficiency rose exactly 1%.
“Julie.”
“Yes.”
“Your skill is impressive.”
Julie grinned, sheathing her sword.
“Winter approaches soon. Winter is the Phairden season.”
“It is still September.”
“…You have grown stronger too, Professor.”
“Indeed. No need for mere escort now.”
Julie paused, then nodded.
“…Is that so. Ah, by the way.”
She drew a paper envelope from her bosom.
“A parcel from an adventurer arrived for you, Professor.”
I took the letter. Tearing it open revealed concise contents.
[It’s Al Ross. The Altar procured a body. I did not create it.]
That single line ignited in flames upon reading.
Whoosh!
Julie asked.
“What is it?”
“No need to know.”
The Soul of God exists. The Altar schemes the god’s revival with that soul.
An unavoidable Main Quest, so I cannot halt its progress—but this timing is far too early.
At this rate, mere half a year.
To maximally delay the quest, first and foremost: hunt down Nesius.
“I see.”
“…I shall tell you later.”
“If it is personal, that is fine.”
Fortunately, the mere imp Nesius lacks raw power; any decent named can dispatch it easily.
However, due to its flight and shape-shifting—appearing differently to each beholder…
Then.
“Knock-knock~”
Someone mimicked the sound with their mouth.
We turned simultaneously.
“Hello, Professor~ Hello, Julie~?”
It was Yuseffin.
“……”
I stared intently at her sudden appearance.
Yuseffin.
She is one who can spread ‘shadows’ into every dark corner of this world. Those shadows are all Yuseffin ‘one person,’ thus Nesius’s disregard toward her shadows is constant.
Moreover, Nesius’s defense mechanism adopts the form ‘most horrifying to that human,’ but Yuseffin harbors no such emotion as fear. A sociopath more bizarre than any devil.
In sum, she is a named practically Nesius’s natural predator…
“Oh my~ What do you stare at so?”
Yuseffin smiled brightly. Julie pursed her lips.
I said.
“Julie. Step out a moment.”
“…Yes.”
Julie withdrew without protest. Once she was far enough, I approached Yuseffin.
But before I reached, she strode forward, whispering in my ear.
—Deculein. You killed Veron.
With that declarative statement, wind blew.
Whoooosh…
Yuseffin’s hair tickled my nape. A chill grazed the back of my neck.
I glared at Yuseffin.
She continued with a smile.
—You haven’t forgotten who Veron is already, have you? The knight my dear sister cherished.
* * *
“…!”
Ifrin’s eyes snapped open.
It was morning before she knew, and she sat at the assistant lab desk.
“…?”
She tilted her head blankly.
Blinking only her eyelids, she surveyed around.
“A dream?”
Strange.
Profoundly bizarre.
Chased by ghosts all day… open her eyes briefly… and on a desk?
“…Did I really dream?”
Ifrin muttered, checking the clock.
Wednesday, 11:55 a.m.
“Huh?!”
Her body sprang like a coil.
Whatever it was, today was Deculein’s lecture day.
Late meant death!
“Huff, huff.”
Ifrin slung her bag and bolted from the lab.
Deculein’s ‘advanced’ lecture was on the 80th floor of the tower—the special level.
Ding!
“No sleeping! Let me on too!”
Boarding the elevator barely, Ifrin checked her appearance in the mirror.
“Advanced lecture… of course, it could drop from advanced midway…”
She poked her puffy face, chuckling. If the content proved lacking, it’d downgrade to intermediate, losing the 80th floor seat too.
Even the Floating Island said maintaining ‘advanced’ was grueling.
Ifrin wondered how long Professor Deculein would hold advanced.
Ding!
80th floor arrived.
Ifrin stepped out casually, then gaped.
Fitting the tower’s special floor, it resembled a stadium.
Vast space, immense ceiling height. No end in sight.
“Wow…”
Many people too. Among them, Soda rank like her, Drent, and senior ‘Leol’ only.
The rest: Grand Army Kreto, cats, palace mages, addict Astal, Professor Ruina, Rellin, even Roserio briefly reinstated for this class…
Countless luminaries sat in the lecture hall.
“Ifrin. H-here.”
Drent timidly raised a hand. Visibly cowed by the grandeur. Ifrin pulled her robe hood low and sat.
Right beside her: Ruina.
“Soda Ifrin. Nice to meet you?”
“Y-yes, Professor…”
Then, noon struck. No need for a clock.
Deculein’s arrival on 80 marked noon precisely.
Step-step-
Appearing without a second’s deviation, he strode with rhythmic gait.
Step-step-
Unintimidated even by high-rank mages, exuding unmatched dignity. Flawless suit.
At the podium, he addressed them as ordinary students.
“Greetings.”
Ifrin swallowed. The space’s atmosphere shifted in that instant.
“First, a prior notice on the lecture. This is the Magic Tower, my lecture; thus, you are all merely students. Cognize that.”
He would use informal speech unconditionally.
“Classes are biweekly, 4 hours each, but I may end early at any time.”
Deculein planned to halt and rush off if transmission paper from Kairon—i.e., contact—arrived.
“To here. Any complaints?”
“Yes.”
“Here too.”
Hands shot up as if waiting. Four total.
Ether ‘Roserio,’ addict ‘Astal,’ Ifrin’s senior ‘Roel,’ Grand Army ‘Kreto.’
Roserio first.
“Informal speech is fine, but ending class midway? That’s a bit much~”
Floating Island’s famed scholar and magic journalist, Astal took up her words.
“Agreed. We dispatched from the Floating Island must judge the class properly.”
Ifrin gasped seeing him. Knowing only his addict status and fame as an elder, but a strikingly handsome young man.
“However, abrupt endings hinder judgment. Please reconsider.”
Ifrin marveled anew.
All else fine, just hating midway cuts.
Truly prodigious scholarly zeal.
“Then.”
Deculein nodded.
As if understanding fully. As if it were natural… he gestured softly.
“Depart.”
The door flew open. The four raised-hand chairs slid with a rumble. Telekinesis escort.
“If complaints, exit that door.”
“……”
“……”
“Not leaving?”
Not one of the four spoke. Faces full of discontent, but hands slyly lowered.
Deculein nodded with a scornful hmph.
“Good. No complaints, then a few words before beginning.”
He set down his document case at the podium. Donned his glasses.
“First, the lecture title is Pure Elements of Earth and Fire: Manipulation Series.”
Some students pulled magic notes; others, trusting their heads, merely crossed arms.
Deculein continued slowly.
“For the first three sessions, I shall teach the meaning of this ‘pure utilization.’”
Pure utilization. Ifrin had found it vague too.
Utilization was utilization; what pure?
“What pure utilization entails. How it differs from ordinary. You shall realize it—or not.”
Ifrin glanced around furtively.
But then thought.
Not a babysitter.
Can’t keep up, quit on your own.
Here sat not just tower students, but palace mages, Floating Island addicts—arrogant words…
“We begin now.”
Snap!
Deculein snapped his fingers.