Story. (2)
“······Surveillance target Sylvia is currently residing in the nameless island she herself created.”
The base of the
—established by the Intelligence Agency in coordination with the Security Bureau—is an ordinary house.
One of the red-brick apartments on ‘Bayjin’ Street, where Imperial bureaucrats reside. The interior decor and furniture arrangement are utterly mundane.
“She does have a mansion on the Floating Island under her family’s name, but it doesn’t seem like she visits often.”
I sat on the living room sofa, scanning the members of the surveillance team.
Security Vice Director Lilia Premien. Intelligence Agency named agent Lukhal. Alongside these two, six other agents of notable skill formed the team.
Premien spoke.
“What about the monster her subconscious created?”
“It’s gone into hiding, but according to witness accounts, it looks like this.”
A tall woman all in white. A massive maw teeming with shark-like teeth.
Premien shot back.
“Ugly bastard. Get rid of it. What about the ‘nameless island,’ her achievement for Monarch promotion?”
At that, an Intelligence agent infused mana into a crystal orb. The orb projected the scenery of the nameless island.
“Hm······.”
Premien crossed her arms and fell silent for a moment. I simply watched.
The red-haired agent Lukhal asked.
“What do you think, Vice Director Premien?”
“······I get why that kid became a Monarch in just three months.”
The other agents nodded in admiration like Premien, but to me, the essence of the nameless island felt familiar.
Wheat stalks and falling leaves swaying vividly like an oil painting. Sunlight descending in intense, blazing rays.
It was a technique from a test I had once set. Sylvia had transplanted Van Gogh’s canvas onto that island.
“······She learned well.”
Premien and the agents turned to me. Their expressions were subtle.
Premien sneered.
“Pretending to have taught her, or did you actually teach her?”
“If you’re curious, buy my old exam papers. They come up for re-auction on the Floating Island from time to time.”
“······Auction?”
Premien glanced at Lukhal. He nodded to another agent, who promptly left the room. Probably heading to the Floating Island.
“Professor Deculein.”
The red-haired Lukhal spoke. I turned to him.
“What surveillance level would you recommend assigning? Your expert opinion, please.”
Surveillance levels. Simply put, assessing the target’s ‘danger level,’ ranked from highest to lowest: Black—Red—Blue—Green.
“We were considering Red level.”
Lukhal’s words drew a nod from Premien.
“Five people have fallen victim to the monster Sylvia created. Red level should suffice.”
Red meant ‘armed surveillance at close range, acknowledging the target’s danger.’
I shook my head.
“No need for that. Green is enough.”
“What?”
Green, by contrast, simply meant ‘distant observation.’
Both Premien and Lukhal looked incredulous. Lukhal spoke first.
“Any basis for that?”
“A girl who created an entire island won’t fail to notice someone watching her nearby. Blue level or higher could unnecessarily stress her.”
“But—”
“And.”
I cut off Lukhal, fixing him with a low, steady gaze.
“She’s a good child.”
“······.”
This time, every agent’s eyes locked on me. Their stares were downright eerie.
“We need only watch from afar. How much Sylvia grows, how far she rises.”
“······Pardon?”
“No need to treat a child who isn’t a monster like one.”
I rose from my seat. Lukhal scratched his head and nodded.
“Well, an expert’s opinion. We’ll go with Green level for now.”
“Good. Carry on.”
I exited the house calmly. Vice Director Premien followed behind.
“······Do you feel guilt toward that child?”
Premien’s characteristically dry voice. I pondered as we walked.
Sylvia.
Had I grown inexplicably attached to her? Did I regret our past?
Or······.
“Poor girl.”
Pity is no virtue. As Deculein, I scarcely feel it at all.
But it is simply the truth.
Sylvia’s past was anything but smooth.
A child who endured too many wounds in too short a time. One who dried up and withered herself through all those days.
“No need to torment her further.”
“······.”
Premien said nothing. We walked side by side until she departed at some point.
······.
Meanwhile, the wind Sylvia invented reached that distant ground.
A magic without a name. Merely ‘wind,’ unbound by distance or obstacles, transmitting the world’s sounds through her mana alone.
—······She’s a good child.
The echoes it carried to her.
—We need only watch from afar. How much Sylvia grows, how far she rises.
Deculein’s timbre, eternal as time itself.
—No need to treat a child who isn’t a monster like one.
Sylvia had eavesdropped on it all. Monitoring the distant archipelago from thousands of meters in the sky.
—Do you feel guilt toward that child?
A question from someone other than Deculein.
Deculein paused once before answering.
—······Poor girl.
The moment she heard those words, her fists clenched. Her heart pounded fiercely.
Such pity. I never wanted it, not once.
I just······.
—No need to torment her further.
Each word pierced her heart.
Sylvia gritted her teeth. A tiny curse slipped through her clenched jaws, on the verge of shattering.
“······Bastard.”
“?”
Idnik, brewing tea at a nearby tea table, turned to her. Moisture glistened in Sylvia’s weary eyes.
Idnik clicked her tongue and approached.
“Sylvia. Practicing hatred?”
Snap—! Sylvia whipped her head up with a glare.
Idnik chuckled and handed her tea, then sat beside her, gazing at the island’s scenery.
Beautiful as an oil painting.
Swiftwings flying beyond the wheat, bear-pandas frolicking in the fields—peaceful.
Amid it all, only one: Sylvia, face twisted. Idnik sipped her tea and said.
“Ease up that face.”
“······Mind your own business.”
“Business? Sylvia, this world has physiognomy.”
“Don’t believe in that.”
“Not belief. Fact.”
Idnik tilted her head to peer at Sylvia’s face. Sylvia scowled and pushed her away.
“People make expressions as they live, and expressions stem from the heart. A rotten heart rots the face.”
“······.”
“If the face stays rotten long enough, those rotten marks etch in. That’s physiognomy. You’re carving it now.”
Sylvia rose wordlessly and entered her house—the oil painting mansion she’d made herself.
Idnik smiled faintly.
“Yes. Rest well.”
New moon night, hanging like a croissant.
Ifrin returned to her dorm after ages. The bread-like moon made her buy three loaves on impulse.
“Haa······.”
She set down her backpack and bread bag with a small sigh, then reached under the bed.
A worn travel bag, stiffly pulled out. After fiddling, it clicked open.
“······.”
Inside, her father’s letters. Ifrin recalled reading these countless papers with joy or fury.
Childhood dreams: he’d return someday, they’d be happy together.
“······Achilles’ heel.”
Ihelm had called himself Deculein’s. Said Deculein’s kindness was mere appeasement.
But her future self from Lokralen—memories now faint—hadn’t treated Deculein like an enemy.
“I don’t know······.”
Phew—her sigh lifted her bangs. Idly fidgeting, Ifrin pulled a sponsorship certificate from her drawer.
Proof Deculein sponsored her. Beside it, Ihelm’s [Character Reference Request].
“······Dad. I don’t get it.”
Ifrin ruffled her hair roughly.
“What the······.”
But no matter how she pondered, options were few.
The surest path to Deculein’s true intent, her father, their past.
Clutching the [Character Reference Request], she gazed at the moon outside.
“······.”
The bread-like new moon. Ifrin tore open the bag and bit into a croissant.
······The next day.
I commissioned mirrors from the capital’s artisans and erected a ‘Mirror Tower’ in the Yukline manor’s rear garden.
To seriously train Talent.
“Master. Anything else you need?”
Butler Roy asked. I shook my head.
“No. This suffices. Let no one enter.”
“Yes.”
As Roy bowed, I opened the Mirror Tower door.
A space filled with countless mirrors reflecting within. Standing at its center, I nodded in satisfaction.
“······Indeed.”
My body and mana felt lighter.
Origin meaning ‘mirror’ implied all mirrors’ properties, attributes, characteristics were my talent. Thus, surrounded by mirrors, I became a fish in water.
A purely one-dimensional affinity.
“······.”
I drew wooden steel from my pocket.
Snap—!
Flicking my finger, the wooden steel shot straight, then refracted right.
One piece moving like two blades.
“Add mana here.”
The straight path splintered into dozens of trajectories. Sword gleams flashed endlessly.
Now, the ‘reflection’ effect.
“Lethal power is excellent.”
Immensely useful against humans or beasts.
Still required mirrors as medium, but with more polish, I could use the wooden steel’s surface itself as mirror for refraction and reflection anywhere.
“Hm.”
Yet mere stepping stones.
Ultimate goal: apply this Origin to the Frost Stone. That clear, transparent metal inherently held ‘mirror’ properties—feasible.
“······Again.”
I resumed training.
Clang—! Clang-clang-clang—!
In the Mirror Tower, wooden steel refracted and reflected repeatedly. Telekinesis moved sharper than ever.
After expending 90% mana, I ended the session.
├─ Intermediate Firepower Control (72%)
├─ Intermediate Fluid Manipulation (71%)
└─ Metal Reinforcement (95%)
“This much······.”
Not only Intermediate Telekinesis, but Metal Reinforcement neared completion. Plenty of time before winter’s ‘beast wave.’
I brushed off sweat with Cleanse and exited. Night had fallen.
“Oh my. Finally out?”
An unexpected visitor awaited.
“Nice to see you~”
Yuseffin at the tea table, waving as she sipped coffee.
“I’ve been waiting to see when you’d come~”
“······You look pleased.”
I straightened my tie and attire, approaching her.
“Why are you here?”
Yuseffin beamed.
“I’ll tell Julie we recovered Veron’s body. She’ll hold the funeral again.”
“······.”
“All Phairden knights will attend. That’s where I’ll do what you want.”
I nodded silently. Yuseffin pouted like a sulk.
“But is this really right? If Julie’s shocked to death—”
“Utterly correct.”
Eternal winter. I knew its nature better than Julie herself.
“······Okay~”
Yuseffin traced words on the table with her finger.
“Truth is, I have no choice but to trust you. I know there’s no cure for Julie’s curse.”
Her finger repeated one word. Curse. Curse. Curse. Curse. Curse······.
Then she looked up, staring intently.
“Well, since it happened protecting you, you should take responsibility.”
Her chanting voice chilled. Her eyes, empty ice—transparent voids devoid of emotion. Pure abyss.
I said.
“Trust me. Julie will recover.”
“Yes. I will. But······if she doesn’t. I don’t know what I’ll become.”
Then, like a lie, she smiled fresh and pure. Rising, she vanished into shadow without a step.
“······Mad bitch.”
The world’s most dangerous named lunatic, Yuseffin.
Muttering sincerely, I entered the manor. Butler Roy approached at once.
“Professor. Assistant Professor Allen is here.”
“Allen?”
“Yes.”
Roy pointed. Allen dozed on the parlor sofa.
“Allen.”
“······!”
He snapped awake, sitting up. Grinning like a puppy.
“Profe~ssor~”
“What is it?”
“Ah! Now’s the time—class prep! How’ll you prepare? Second class soon!”
Class preparation.
I answered without thought. Schedule predetermined.
“Quiz.”
“Quiz? We’ve only had one class?”
“Those who didn’t grasp the first lack value for the second. Follow.”
“Ye~s!”
I walked with Allen to the third-floor study. Leaving him fidgeting, I drew a paper from the drawer.
“Solve it. I made it myself.”
“Y-yes~.”
Allen took it, face tense. And······
Wednesday, Deculein’s biweekly lecture.
Ifrin arrived at Tower floor 80. First, the cat by Kreto caught her eye.
“The Grand Army’s cat? So cute!”
“Ah. Not mine—His Majesty entrusted it.”
“······Pardon?”
Ifrin flinched, withdrawing her hand from scratching its chin.
The red-furred Munchkin snorted—how dare you—and glared.
“······Sorry.”
She slunk back to her seat.
By then, all students arrived. Noon sharp.
Exactly 12:00:00.
Professor Deculein appeared without a second’s delay.
“Greetings.”
“Ah, Professor! That cat trolled last class, you know!”
Roserio pointed at the red cat. Other mages glared harshly too. But the cat just swished its tail mockingly—meow.
“Look at that. So annoyi—ng—”
“Silence. Sit.”
Deculein gestured restraint. Roserio pouted and sat.
“Class begins.”
Assistant Professor Allen entered. His face haggard. Dark circles like sleep deprivation, hands trembling.
Ominous······ Deculein said.
“Quiz today.”
“Quiz?”
A quiz from the second class?
Ifrin tilted her head, scanning around. Others looked baffled too, but whatever.
Everyone knew Deculein’s classes were unique, on his whim.
“Allen.”
“Y-yes······.”
Allen distributed quizzes with shaking hands. Ifrin peered closely. No magical seals.
“All distributed.”
Deculein nodded, gripping a timer in the room’s center.
“No questions. Begin.”
Click—
Timer pressed. Ifrin flipped hers.
“······What is this······ alien language?”
Only two problems.
But absurdly arcane. The first held not a single Imperial common tongue letter—pure equations and operations.
Mouths agape, Deculein added.
“Open book, consultations allowed. But fighting means all fail.”
“······.”
Ifrin slowly raised her head, gauging the mood.
Like her, eyes desperately seeking allies(?) abounded.