Upheaval. (3)
“Snow's falling, snow~ Snow snow snow~”
On the way to Deculein's lecture, in the middle of the university campus already blanketed in snow, Ifrin spread her arms wide to welcome the still-falling fat snowflakes.
Drent, who had been reading his major textbook while following behind her, chuckled softly.
“What, first time seeing snow?”
Ifrin spun around with a vigorous nod.
“Yeah! First time!”
“Hm? ······Oh, right~ Your hometown's Juhalle.”
It didn't snow in the Illayde territory. Renowned alongside the Yukline territory as one of the best places to live, but small in area, it enjoyed a consistently mild climate year-round—rather monotonous, in a way.
“You learned your geography sloppily, huh?”
At Ifrin's jab, Drent shook his head with a grin.
“Let's just get going. Be late, and we're in deep shit.”
Not just for students, but professors too—this lecture was held outside the tower today.
“Okay.”
Ifrin stepped on the fresh snow, crunch—crunch—the cute sound echoing.
By the time they arrived at Robheim Hall, nearly all the attendees were already there.
In Deculein's classes, where time was strict, even a second late meant tardy; one tardy meant expulsion.
Drent and Ifrin took seats in the back.
“······Everyone's reading the paper, I guess.”
Drent murmured, scanning the room. Sure enough, almost everyone was poring over Deculein·Luna's new elements paper.
“Yeah. Takes them a while, huh······.”
Ifrin had secretly hoped the senior mages would grasp it first, then share materials to boost her own understanding.
But as expected, since the magic required talent in all four elements[Earth Wind Fire Water], even the professors seemed to be struggling.
“I've been at it for one or two years.”
“That long?”
Ifrin blinked in surprise. Drent shook his head.
“Optimistic estimate? Mages usually learn theory by casting spells themselves. But this needs all four primal elements to implement······ No answer. Even senior mages can't suddenly gain missing talents.”
“······Yeah?”
Well, even proving Two-Kan's support spell took years.
As Ifrin nodded glumly—
Bang—
The door flew open, and Deculein entered.
“Greetings.”
He strode to the podium and set down his materials. Everyone tucked away their papers, eyes fixed on him.
“Today's first session is light Q&A. I shall question specific attendees on comprehension; failure to answer deducts points. Persistent deductions lead to expulsion.”
Q&A. He called it light, but it would be anything but.
“Any volunteers?”
Everyone subtly averted their gaze. Ifrin did too, ducking her head until her part was visible.
“You there. The mage visible over the lectern.”
Ifrin flinched. Slowly, she raised her face. Deculein's eyes were fixed on her.
“······Yes?”
“Stand and examine this ritual.”
“Y-yes!”
Ifrin shot to her feet. Deculein projected the Iron Man magic circle in the air.
Terribly complex and arcane. Hundreds of lines, dozens of circles linked in one continuous stroke.
He enlarged and pointed to a section.
“Question. What is the role of this triple circuit?”
Sudden, but Ifrin recalled her lessons and stammered an answer.
“Uh······ It connects the caster's mana to the ritual······ No, more smoothly links them.”
“Then, what is the dynamics structure linking the mana?”
Mana-linking dynamics. Ifrin eyed the airborne triple circuit.
Triple in name, but overlapping circuits meant hundreds of cases. Every point, line, surface contact had to be considered.
“This ritual's dynamics······.”
“You may draw the ritual yourself.”
“Ah, yes. So······.”
Ifrin sketched in the air, glancing at her notes.
Scribble-scribble—scribble-scribble—
Impatient, Deculein slammed the podium.
“Too slow.”
“Yes! Sorry. So······.”
She knew it. She'd learned it.
Ifrin swallowed hard.
“······The dynamics start from this double circuit······ First······.”
“Cannot speak properly? Or is your head empty?”
“No, no······.”
Deculein stepped forward. He approached slowly. Ifrin's heart pounded with each footfall.
“If you know not circuit dynamics, how comprehend my lectures?”
“I know, I know.”
“Then answer properly.”
He was nose-to-nose now. Ifrin looked up, startled.
Unnatural intimidation, mana aura.
This was the test.
“······Mana dynamics begin from the double circuit. This connection point—the weakest—reinforced—”
“Why is the double circuit weak? In magic theory, it is deemed 'safest structure'?”
“This ritual is not the magic itself, but an 'enchant' enhancing a specific spell.”
Ifrin recited instinctively, unaware of her words.
She glanced up mid-answer; his expression wasn't too displeased.
“Good. Then describe the triple circuit dynamics again. Why use triple specifically?”
“Th-that······ So······ Um·····.”
“Mumbling again.”
Deculein's voice chilled. Ifrin shuddered.
“One more delay, and expulsion. Again. Why did I use triple circuit here?”
The icy warning swept the room.
“Three seconds.”
Cold sweat beaded on Ifrin's forehead. Her back burned.
“Three.”
Deculein loomed, counting down.
“Two.”
Other mages prayed not to be next for this 'pressure question'.
“One.”
And······.
Break time.
Drained, Ifrin slumped in her chair. Steam hissed from her flushed face—zzzt—zzzt—.
“······Ifrin. You okay?”
Drent asked cautiously. Ifrin shot him a sideways glare.
“Don't call me Ipari.”
“Ah. Sorry. Feels more endearing.”
“······Nearly died for real. Head's spinning.”
Ifrin recalled Deculein's brutal pressure. Heart squeezed, throat choked.
She'd scraped by, but six others were expelled after.
Today, Professor Deculein clearly aimed to thin the herd.
“But my question was the hardest, right?”
“Yeah. Triple circuit's tough. Even profs might not know, for Candles like us—”
“Exactly!”
Ifrin bolted upright again.
“Why grill me with the hard one······.”
But the words trailed off.
Suddenly, an overheard voice echoed.
—Seems he thinks of her as disciple.
Disciples trained harder.
Was that it? Would the pressure intensify?
She'd never asked to be disciple. Was Deculein drinking kimchi soup?
“Even so, too······.”
Ifrin mumbled, sighing.
Suddenly, a distant future voice whispered.
—No professor in my world.
Future self's words to present her.
What happened that day?
“······.”
Dazed, Ifrin levitated Deculein's throat steel with Telekinesis. Whirr—whirr—like a butterfly, she played. Then Deculein returned.
“Professor!”
Roserio shot up her hand.
“Learned somethin' from this class. Mind checkin'? My own variation.”
Deculein checked the time, nodded.
“Proceed.”
“Aigoo, yes. Behold. Iron Man enchanted into Softening.”
Roserio softened the wall. It moved like slime.
Solid yet fluid. Mystical, Roserio-style. Ifrin went “ooh” in awe.
“······Could trap professor with this.”
Roserio asked seriously. Deculein nodded again. Instantly, the wall enveloped him.
“Kuhuhu. How's that?”
Roserio smirked—then her wall crumbled. Vanished without trace.
“?”
Roserio gaped.
Mana interference? Or crushed the wall with another spell?
Too instant to tell.
“Roserio.”
Deculein called.
“······Y-yes? Ah, yes, Professor.”
Pityingly, he shook his head.
“Sluggish variations are worse than none. Rash changes highlight vulnerabilities clearer. Your circle was likely thus.”
A similar magic circle appeared in air. Horror in Roserio's eyes.
“Holy? How'd ya know?!”
He'd replicated her exact cast—from a mere glance.
“Silence. Listen. Good lesson material.”
“······Yes.”
Deculein began lecture on her variant circle.
“Circuit junctions birth vulnerabilities. Yet also singularities.”
Every word—distinguishing errors from traits, explanations, metaphors—nothing to skip.
Ifrin and mages scribbled furiously, capturing 'all of Professor Deculein'.
After class.
Back in my office, I checked the 'Frenheim Knights' roster.
Lugel, Daniel von Gesel, Brian Deron, Grills, Rose, etc······ All would be bailed by mystery influencers or old ties.
Frenheim's crimes pinned on Julie, they'd resume normal careers.
Except.
“······Rockfel.”
Former vice-captain Rockfel.
I planned to kill him. Yuseffin's duke plot was his inflated crimes.
Once fallen, his corruption: ledger fraud, embezzlement, bribes······ Fled to Illayde knights post-collapse; he'd come on Veron’s orders.
Yuseffin's go-ahead; no mercy needed.
My numbed self felt odd, but resolved.
—Knock knock. Professor. Allen here.
I opened the door. Allen approached, clutching upper echelon mail.
“Next chairman selection notice.”
“Very well.”
I skimmed the papers.
······So Professor Deculein!!! Professor Ihelm!!! Settle it this winter!!!!!!!!!!
Roughly: final exam this winter. Excessive exclamations evoked Adrienne's voice.
“······But y'know, Professor.”
Allen spoke. Unusual tone.
I looked up from the notice. He eyed the medal on my desk.
Award for suppressing Altiegue.
“Altiegue suppressed just 'cause they're Altiegue?”
Allen's flat question. I set the notice down silently.
“······.”
His attention waned? Or my suspicion confirmation bias?
I knew now.
Why he stayed by me.
“Allen.”
“······Yeees?”
“History is vast current. Like waves. Individuals swept cannot tell tide or ebb.”
Altiegue: complex tribe.
Shunned for trace demonic blood, resistance begets rejection—vicious cycle.
Mainstream: cycle peaks at Altar.
Many Altar lunatics from Altiegue splinters.
“Against the flow drowns meaningless; survivors on land learn history's direction.”
“······Now that vast flow?”
I nodded.
“Indeed.”
“······I see.”
Allen bowed. Fresh demeanor. Or natural acting.
I added, considering all angles.
“Yet not all flows righteous. Someday this tide may turn. Live long enough, opportunity comes.”
“······.”
Allen looked up, eyes wide like deer's—shocked.
“You asked if Altiegue suppressed merely for being. True. But 'right'—time will tell.”
Allen's demeanor shifted oddly. He clenched hidden hands behind.
Then tiptoed, gazing intently······.
“Then Professor······.”
Nothing followed.
Allen scratched his nape, grinned brightly.
“Nah! Saw weird news today.”
“Four-year-old Altiegue?”
“Ah······. You saw too?”
I nodded.
Article with photo: four-year-old Altiegue, brow pierced dead.
“One truth holds in any world.”
I gazed at Allen.
Complicated face—or feigning—or truly? This mysterious assistant.
“······Children bear no sin.”
I wondered his true name, this 'Allen'.
······Busy day. Lectures overlapped Sophien's tutoring.
“Read this book today.”
Imperial Palace snow-deep, yet spring-bright.
Sophien faced me sprawled worm-like, wriggling.
“Bored from reading?”
“That too; tussled with retainers. Anyway, bestseller Blue Eyes······ Your eyes blue too?”
Sophien eyed mine. I hers.
Brilliant red diamond eyes. Priciest gem irises.
Beautiful.
Sophien frowned, grumbled curtly.
“······Staring why. Read. Mana in this book—sentences precisely.”
“Yes. Understood. After tutoring.”
I pocketed it. Ahem—began rune prep.
But.
“Rumors your fiancée corrupt spread wide.”
Unwanted topic from Sophien. I chanted runes nonchalantly; emperor continued.
“Julie I know no such knight.”
“······Yes. Correct. I know.”
“Why leave so? Why let fiancée ruined?”
I met Sophien's gaze. Doubt thick.
“Reason cannot tell Your Majesty.”
“······.”
Sophien narrowed eyes, rose languidly. Cascading hair mane-like.
“······Deculein.”
“Yes.”
“Hiding something?”
Emperor pierced me. But no desire for this talk.
“You know, Your Majesty. I hide heart, but no deceit.”
“······Know my thoughts?”
“······.”
Sophien unfinished character. Died hundreds, no normal human.
Quest progress: emperor's ills—paranoia, suspicion—surface. As in story.
No death flag yet, but 'marked means dead'.
“Whatever Your Majesty's thoughts, always sincere to you. That unchanging.”
“······.”
Sophien silent. Hid emotion, but flustered.
Good answer?
Sophien ahem-ed.
“Then, done. Yet you plant certainty in me. Not good certainty.”
“Grateful. But runes—”
“Homework done. Go today. No repeat.”
“······Yes.”
No defying dismissal.
I bowed, rose, backed away back unseen.
But glimpsed door-crack.
“······.”
Sophien watched through.
Thud—!
Till door shut.