Upheaval. (1)
“Please... appear in my dreams... always.”
Ifrin’s words carried layers of possible meanings. I gazed at her, pondering.
“Ifrin, you’re awfully bold.”
But Ihelm spoke first, his voice laced with amusement.
“No, that’s not it... If we manifest the Professor in my mind, couldn’t we beat him too?”
“Manifest Deculein? The more you talk, the bolder it gets.”
“...Why are you even here, Mage Ihelm?”
Ifrin narrowed her eyes at him. Ihelm shrugged.
“You testified for me as a witness. Thought I’d return the favor—”
“Enough.”
I cut Ihelm off.
“It’s a fairly plausible method.”
Manifesting Deculein—myself, that is—in Ifrin’s subconscious. Not a bad idea.
Not impossible, but it would take considerable time.
So first, I planned to establish a ‘consciousness link’ with her.
Implant an alarm in her mind, so if Dikailen ever appeared, I could shift into her consciousness as well.
“Enter this for now.”
“Yes.”
The magitech brainwave scanner. Ifrin stepped hesitantly into the cylindrical device.
Tsssssh—
The door sealed with a mechanical hiss, and she fell instantly asleep.
I placed my hand on the machine. Closing my eyes in this state would transmit the memories inside the scanner to me.
...Ifrin appeared.
A very young Ifrin.
Her small frame, like an underdeveloped wild animal, stood blankly before a gravestone.
[Lerien Luna]
Her mother, who had passed soon after giving birth.
But the child’s face held no sadness. To her, her mother was just a stranger she’d never met.
Thud, thud—
Footsteps approached, and Ifrin’s ears perked up.
A man drew near and placed a hand on her tiny shoulder. She looked up at him.
—Daddy!
No reply came to the beaming child. The silence hardened her expression.
Tears welled up then, one drop falling onto her head.
—...Daddy, are you crying?
He didn’t answer. To the child, his grief hurt more than the unknown mother’s stone.
She reached for him.
—It’s because of you...
His voice was faint, barely audible—or perhaps she refused to hear it.
Ifrin simply smiled brightly and hugged him. That ordinary moment’s joy touched me too.
...The scene shifted.
“Filthy, lowly thing.”
Gilteon’s contemptuous gaze, as if at a bug.
Ilayde private soldiers surrounded the Luna estate, torches blazing in their grips.
“I’m not filthy! Not lowly!”
“Think of it as the sin of being born to a powerless house.”
“What’s wrong with that?!”
The still-small Ifrin faced Gilteon, shielding her grandparents.
Fear filled her face, tears brimming, but she wouldn’t back down for her family.
“I’d planned to burn you all at first... Tch. What a hassle. Hey!”
“Yes!” Soldiers bellowed, hurling torches into the estate garden.
“Leave this house. Living quietly on the frontier like the dead will be best for you.”
The garden Ifrin had tended with seeds from her grandparents—her clumsy but heartfelt flowerbed, home to blooms and butterflies—caught fire.
“Don’t! You bad people, don’t! You jerks—!”
Ifrin sobbed, staring into the flames. But tears didn’t quench them.
She rushed to douse the garden.
One bucket, two, three.
Pathetic streams against the inferno. Before the blaze reached her small body, before burns set in, her grandparents pulled her back.
“It’s okay, Ifrin. This is enough...”
“Waaah... Waaaaaah...”
...The child’s wails faded as the scene changed.
This one was fragmented, cracks like a shattered frame filling the memory.
—Ah...
In that dim, jagged space: a coffin-trapped figure.
Her father, returned as a corpse.
Ifrin stared blankly at the body. The father she’d believed would return and restore the family... neck bound in a noose, wretched...
“...”
I opened my eyes. The magitech brainwave scanner had revealed Ifrin’s subconscious.
This was enough to embed a magic circle in her mind.
I infused mana waves into her brain.
This [magitech brainwave scanner] went beyond detection—it could manipulate waves.
I’d made it so with Midas’ Hand.
I inscribed a magic circle in Ifrin’s brain.
The advanced auxiliary spell Link. Augmentation wasn’t my specialty, but as long as she didn’t resist, it was simple.
Stitch by stitch, I carved meticulously. The process took nearly an hour.
“Hm...”
Mana expended: three thousand, excluding Midas’ Hand.
I verified it worked, then opened the scanner.
Tsssssh—!
The cylinder’s door slid open. Ifrin awoke, staring blankly at the sky.
“Ugh!”
Pain furrowed her brow. She rubbed her temples, groaning. “Professor... is it done...?”
“It is finished.”
Now, if Dikailen appeared in her subconscious, I’d know.
Of course, the best would be for Ifrin to truly manifest a ‘copy of Deculein’ as her subconscious guardian—but that would take years.
Until then, I’d intervene directly.
“Do not neglect mental training henceforth.”
“...Yes.”
“And.”
I handed her a wooden sword.
This wooden sword resonated uniquely with me. It knew me better than anyone in this world, perhaps—perfect for mental training.
“Use this to envision me. A medium aids greatly in forming a guardian.”
“...Thank you.”
Ifrin took it shyly.
Then, the door creaked open, a small voice slipping in.
“All... done?”
It was Yeriel. Ihelm smirked at her.
“Well, well. The empire’s most capable proxy lord. Honored to see you after so long?”
“...What?”
“That Marik underground passage. I went once. Nice.”
“Hmph. It is. You’d lose your mind knowing a month’s revenue.”
Yeriel pouted. I handed her a book.
“Take this.”
“...What’s this?”
Yeriel eyed the cover.
Yukline’s Second Thesis: Advanced.
The sequel to my earlier Yukline Thesis.
“The writing is complete. I won’t publish it, so study this. Other professors’ works would only hinder you.”
“...Yeah.”
Yeriel accepted it, face flushing bashfully.
* * *
After Deculein left.
Ifrin stared at the wooden sword, checking her mind.
Something had settled in her brain.
Not a powerful formula, though.
One of magic’s axioms: ‘Direct interference in a human requires immense mana.’
Thus, Deculein’s meddling could be undone if she tried.
But she had no desire to. No need.
Bang—
The cabin door flew open.
Sylvia, face sullen for some reason, glared at Ifrin.
“Insolent Ifrin.”
“...What now?”
Ifrin was dumbfounded. But a bit glad too.
Showing up to pick a fight—same as ever.
“What did you do with him?”
“Huh? Oh~ Professor Deculein?”
She must’ve seen him outside. Ifrin waggled her brows mischievously.
Like gull wings, twitching side to side—
“You~ mad I didn’t call you~?”
“Why would I—”
“You like the Professor.”
Sylvia faltered briefly. Then she puffed up like a pufferfish.
“Stupid idiot Ifrin. I have something to say. You hate Deculein. Forgot that?”
“...”
Ifrin gave a wry smile.
True enough.
Sylvia liked Deculein, but she’d hated him fiercely. Back in the first semester.
“Yeah. But... hate isn’t exclusive, y’know.”
“...”
“Trying to hate him, loathe him... it doesn’t stick that easy.”
Sylvia clamped her mouth shut. She could relate—somewhat.
“What’s it like... Feels like applause. Can’t clap with one hand, right? I wanna hate him. Really hate him. But if he understands everything, repents...”
“You like that professor.”
Sylvia asked. Ifrin waved frantically, chills racing up her spine.
“Crazy? How could I? Obviously not. Still hate him. Might forever. He drove my dad to death... But still.”
Ifrin paused, gazing at the wooden sword. She murmured softly, smiling faintly.
“I think the Professor apologized first.”
“...”
Sylvia disliked this gentle side of Ifrin. Watching quietly, she suddenly lunged—!
“Ah!”
Ifrin yanked the sword back, but Sylvia’s grip was fierce. She clawed at it two, three, four times with both arms, then stood abruptly.
“What the—?!”
“...”
Without a word, she stormed out.
Ifrin watched her back, utterly exasperated.
“Jealous much...?”
* * *
...The next day.
Julie arrived at the Prenheim Knights headquarters. Her body ached slightly from last dawn’s events, but duties as captain left no rest.
She sorted ledgers, drafted training schedules, assigned missions. The paperwork alone ate two hours.
“Whew...”
Stretching contentedly—
Bam—!
The captain’s office door burst open. Nearly splintered.
Julie sprang up reflexively. Vice-captain Rockpel rushed in, sweat-drenched, shouting.
“Captain! Big trouble!”
“Rockpel. What—”
Suit-clad agents—three or four—followed.
“Now, now. Vice-captain, step out.”
“Let go!”
“Tsk. Resist and it’s obstructing official duties.”
“...”
They shoved Rockpel out, scanning the office. Disappointed by the spartan decor.
“What is this?”
Julie growled. One agent smirked, flashing ID.
“Russo, Knights Special Audit Team. Private knight orders audit season, so here we are.”
“Audit? Us?”
“Yes. Got a tip.”
“Tip?!”
Julie was floored.
They’d done nothing auditable. Prenheim prided itself on incorruptibility.
“Yes, tip. So... Hey! Pack it all.”
“““Yes sir!”””
At Russo’s order, agents boxed ledgers, mission docs—nearly everything. Julie bit her lip hard.
“Prenheim has no issues! This is a mistake—”
“We’ll see when we check. Stay put; clean bill gets you a commendation.”
“You can’t just—”
She started to protest, but suddenly recalled Deculein’s words.
—Do as you will, but steel yourself. You’ll regret it.
“No way...”
“Come on, plenty more to comb! Move!”
Agents bustled. Julie stared blankly, thoughts swirling in her heating head.
Something was going wrong.
* * *
The grand hall, where imperial ministers and officials gathered.
Today, Sophien participated in state affairs in person for the first time in ages. She’d decided key matters via possession—her cat—in the snow globe, but facing retainers here was too tedious.
“Your Majesty. The Altiegue tribes’ rebellion grows excessive. We need thorough suppression.”
“Your Majesty. Marik’s ruin is unspeakable. Too many rogue adventurers. Please close the opening now.”
“Your Majesty. Merchants of the empire...”
Sophien loathed these wretches.
Three in ten sought only personal gain, ignoring subjects. One in ten brainwashed by the Altar. Four in ten clueless, chasing factions. Only two in ten truly cared for governance.
“Petitions from the provinces, Your Majesty. Please receive them.”
“Hand them over.”
Sophien took them grudgingly.
Altiegue with demonic powers plundered villages, knights died resisting...
In short: slay the Altiegue.
“Also, soaring prices worry many.”
“Ah, well said! For prices, I shall have the imperial house directly control mana stone supply and raise interest rates.”
Rate hikes would curb liquidity. Subjects would save more, buy less; merchants drop prices on unsold goods.
Sophien’s greatest weapon wasn’t imperial might, but the continent’s largest ‘empire’—its ‘key currency’ and ‘mana stones.’ Rates stemmed from that too.
“Your Majesty! Mercy! Sudden hikes will—”
“Words once spoken are not retracted.”
She was also planning war on the Altar. Unsold weapons from hikes? The palace would buy them.
“Your Majesty. At least forewarn—”
“Forewarn? For whose benefit?!”
Next: real-name bank accounts.
To purge shady scum and screw corrupt officials. A plan she admired herself.
But it mustn’t leak; once Kairon returned, consult Deculein and strike decisively.
“I’ll remember the fool prattling ‘forewarn.’ What if I do? Profit from it?”
Retainers fell silent. Sophien spoke gravely.
“I know how my late emperor treated you. Harmony of sovereign and subjects. But succession means a new era. Now is not Krebaum’s—it is Sophien’s. In my time, retainers are but the emperor’s tools.”
“...”
“Ask why.”
“...Why so, Your Majesty?”
“Because I surpass you a hundredfold. In a superhuman’s politics, ordinaries serve best as tools.”
Silence blanketed the hall. Not just her vast confidence—her mana’s pressure crushed all.
“Yet on Altiegue, we agree. I dislike them too. Thus, for the newly found Altiegue hideout...”
Sophien paused.
Time stretched in quiet, retainers’ eyes and ears fixed on her.
“I shall dispatch Deculein.”
She declared.
The empire’s seventh-strongest mage. A rakshasa eviler than the Tiger Calamity Mother, whom Altiegue trembled at mere name.
The so-called ‘Altiegue’s Demon.’ At those words, retainers bowed deeply.
“““We are grateful for Your Majesty’s grace...”””
* * *
Clack, clack—clack, clack—
Imperial northeast frontier. En route to the Altiegue hideout. I experimented with Iron Man’s authority.
Karla’s authority was intriguing.
First, the fused Iron Man authority was spreading to other traits. Indeed, Naked Eye, Artistic Sense, Midas’ Hand, etc., were somewhat enhanced by it.
Also—
“Arriving soon.”
The driver said. I nodded via rearview.
Today, no suit—uniform. Medals dangled everywhere.
This garb meant emperor’s guard. Total commander for annihilating Altiegue.
Screech—
Car halted. Outside knights rushed, opening the door. Stepping onto pavement, I tipped my cap brim, surveying ahead.
A guard beside me spoke.
“...Altiegue scum built a secret village. Surface looks normal, but underground hideout.”
Flames roared, smoke rose.
Knights and soldiers occupied the vast village entirely.
“And that’s their leader.”
Guards dragged a man, forcing him to kneel.
“...Kgh!”
I eyed his face. He glared back.
Desert race. Obvious Altiegue traits.
“How dare this scum! Who do you think you’re staring at?!”
A guard slapped him. Typical overzealous loyalty.
Smack—! Lips split, head snapped; he bowed.
I said:
“He needs interrogation. Send to Rohalak.”
“...!”
He gaped, biting his tongue to suicide.
Crack!
But his mouth stayed shut. My Telekinesis on his teeth.
I sneered down at him.
“...Live.”
Boom—! Distant blast.
Magic or sword strike. Amid it, I peered into his face.
“Live, and chance comes someday. Die, and I must kill the whole village.”
I released Telekinesis.
He ground his teeth but didn’t suicide. Just wept, mumbling through burst lips.
“To Rohalak.”
“Yes!”
Salute, and he was dragged off.
Boom—!
Another explosion.
I gazed distantly at spreading smoke and embers.
My mind grew tangled.
As a modern Earthling, hard-to-shake memories revived.
“Professor! Intel. Interrogation found a nearby tunnel.”
A rat-faced man scurried up. I furrowed my brow. “Tunnel?”
“Yes! Emergency escape tunnel. Send forces there—”
“No need. Risking troops creates gaps in encirclement—disaster.”
“Ah, brilliant! Of course! As expected, Professor!”
Durin agreed blindly, no thought. He’d suicide-bomb if ordered.
“I’ll go alone.”
“...Alone? Safe? Guards—”
“No. Knights for trash? Just the coordinates.”
“Ah, yes. Here’s the map.”
I took it from Durin. Ordered trailing knights to hold the line, then went alone.
To the marked ‘tunnel’...