Proof. (2)
“……Wow.”
Ifrin, freshly returned from the world of voices, stared blankly up at the Yukline mansion.
The grand estate rose majestically across vast grounds, flanked by annexes that blended seamlessly into the scene. Marble paths stretched from the main gate to the entrance. Exotic gardens bloomed with vibrant flowers, butterflies flitting amid pollen clouds, fountains spraying from ponds.
If she had to sum it all up in an idiom… sparkling clean? Gaudy galore?
Nah, those aren’t idioms.
Anyway.
The Yukline mansion had become almost routine since returning from Recor Dak, but it still felt fresh every time she arrived—every time she laid eyes on it. She still couldn’t quite get used to it.
“Sort this out by the end of the month.”
At that moment, Deculein pulled a thick tome from his briefcase.
Theory of Magical Refinement. Ifrin scanned the cover top to bottom, tilting her head.
“What’s this? No author, and I’ve never seen it. Refinement theory? I’ve read pretty much every book in the tower library.”
“A translation of an ancient text.”
“……Huh?”
Ifrin looked at the book again.
The binding was simple, but definitely high-grade leather. Not a speck of dust on the cover.
“But ancient—which era?”
“Pre-empire.”
Deculein opened the entrance door. Ifrin followed, asking as she went.
“Whoa. Pre-empire? So the kingdom era?”
“Before that.”
“……Before that?”
Before the Zifrein Empire was the Zifren Kingdom. Before the Zifren Kingdom… what, nothing?
Deculein said,
“A bound translation of inscriptions from the Holy Era.”
“What? Who translated something like that? It’s not some fake or scam, is it?”
He stopped and fixed her with a stare. Under that gaze, Ifrin realized.
“Oh. You translated it, Professor…?”
“A translation of inscriptions in rune language. For now, you alone have the right to peruse that book. Do not lose it.”
“……Yes, sir.”
Ifrin tucked the book under her arm with a vigorous nod.
“As a translation, what’s its value? 300,000 elne?”
“Even at 300 million elne, the Floating Island would snap it up. The fact of its translation hasn’t been announced yet.”
“…….”
Her mind went blank in that instant.
300 million elne.
An amount she wondered if she could earn in a lifetime.
Ifrin swallowed hard, trembling as she adjusted the book’s position—from her side to snug against her chest, clutched tight with both arms as she climbed the stairs.
“300 million…… 300 million…… 300 million……”
Cold sweat beaded as she reached the mansion’s fifth floor.
This floor was her lab and bedroom combined. She still lived close to Deculein, unsure when the Dikailen in her head might pop out.
“……But Professor.”
Ifrin sat in her chair and asked,
“When do we go back to the world of voices?”
Deculein answered simply.
“The intervals will shorten gradually.”
The world of voices. She and Deculein had awakened right at the first save point in that cavern. They still had far to go.
“Work hard.”
With that, Deculein glanced at the book clutched to her chest and headed up to the next floor.
“……Hey, wait.”
That casual glance suddenly terrified her.
“300 million elne…… what do I do with this.”
As she went to set it on the desk, she flinched, glancing around.
She levitated a bedsheet cover with Telekinesis onto the table—no dust, no scratches—only then gently placing the book down.
“…….”
Theory of Magical Refinement. With trembling hands, she opened the cover. Spells filled the first page, but surprisingly, they were easy to grasp.
There were annotations.
[This part may be unfamiliar and hard to grasp. Do not be bound by convention. Also, segment the spell formula. ‘Refinement’ is not about making things rigid. Rather, it loosens them into greater flexibility. First, break down the spell above into 17 parts.]
Tasks in the book. Written as if teaching her directly. Ifrin stared at the sentence, then nodded and opened her notebook.
She divided the single spell formula into seventeen ‘cores,’ just as Deculein had instructed.
[Think for yourself before turning the page.]
Reading that final line, Ifrin realized this was no mere translation.
The only copy in the world. Perhaps a textbook Deculein had written solely for her.
“…….”
In that moment, Ifrin felt a small certainty amid the thoughts welling in her heart.
His harsh pushing, his occasional harsh words about her father—they were all for her growth, in the end.
Looking back, Deculein had always watched her fairly. Even when she’d nearly been expelled foolishly over a fight with Sylvia, or when she’d founded the commoner club…….
Ifrin refocused on her studies. Not quite repayment for that trust, but even as master and disciple doomed to be enemies, she’d read it once in a book.
A teacher’s greatest joy is seeing a student surpass them—blue outshines the green.
So her goal was simple now.
Endless effort, relentless study, surpassing Deculein. Truly becoming an archmage.
Weeeeng—
Then, the Mokgang steel in her pocket vibrated faintly. Ifrin chuckled and pulled it out.
“……Huh?”
Suddenly, its surface caught her eye.
Mokgang steel was originally wood-like in hue.
Had it faded while she wasn’t looking?
“Why’re you turning gray?”
Mokgang steel was gray—no, ashen.
More precisely, shifting to a color like her own hair.
……Sophien took the newspaper from her attendant after a long while. The headline shook the continent that week.
The very next day’s follow-up exclusive.
Sophien set the paper down. From her seat, she opened the windowed door.
“……Good grief. What’s all the fuss about.”
Deculein’s thesis. The perfectly refined theory had arrived at the palace last night.
Escorted by a hundred palace knights on its way from the Floating Island, or so they said.
“……The world sees it as a monumental event, Your Majesty.”
Her maid, filing her nails, spoke up. Sophien stared silently at the top of her head.
“They say Professor Deculein is utterly loyal to Your Majesty……”
She wondered if this maid might suddenly draw a blade—or slip poison into her cup.
Of course, this girl lacked such power, and Sophien wouldn’t fall victim anyway. Even if she did, she’d revive.
Sophien’s body twitched.
“Enough.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. My apologies. Just finishing this thumbnail.”
Deculein had petitioned in a memo to trust her retainers. One couldn’t do everything alone. Better to find and keep those offering even small aid than endless suspicion.
This was part of that.
A small help.
What help was smaller than nail filing?
“……It tickles. Leave now.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. But…… will you refuse visitors again today?”
The maid asked innocently. Sophien met her eyes.
An impertinent question, but no malice. Far purer than the eunuchs’ scheming.
“Busy with duties today, no visitors permitted.”
Every Wednesday, Deculein visited the palace. For lessons, he claimed.
“Then. Must Your Majesty study the thesis alone?”
The maid pointed to the paper on the desk. Sophien shot back sharply.
“Think I cannot handle it alone?”
“N-no, never. My apologies, Your Majesty……”
“Enough.”
Knock knock—
“What now.”
—Your Majesty. Professor Deculein seems prepared to wait quite a while today. Your duties are pressing, yet he’s headed straight to the palace library……
The eunuch’s voice. Outside grew noisy too.
“Who else besides you.”
—……Yes, Your Majesty. The court mages are here as well.
—Your Majesty, perhaps that thesis. Review. Review—
“Out.”
The court mages had lost their minds when the thesis arrived. A theory for the emperor’s eyes only, yet they coveted it among themselves.
“Much work remains. Cease interrupting while I’m gracious.”
—……Yes, Your Majesty.
Footsteps receded in droves.
How many? Closing her eyes, she counted by ear: exactly 57. Sighs of regret echoed like a collective breath.
“…….”
Sophien shook her head and began work on the Mieolji expedition. Deculein had defended Recor Dak with his life; she must maximize that foothold.
Thus, she first drafted policies to isolate internal foes—the Altiegue—resolve old grudges, and select expedition personnel.
“……Your Majesty. Might dessert be needed?”
Nearly three hours later, having sketched three years’ plans, the maid approached with perfect timing.
Sophien belatedly understood why the eunuchs sent this girl.
Sharp instincts.
“No need.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“…….”
The maid bowed, crown of her head exposed. Sophien gazed at it and murmured lowly.
“Deculein hasn’t left yet, has he.”
“No, Your Majesty. Still in the library. And here.”
The maid placed a single letter on the desk—one she hadn’t had before.
“A letter just sent by Professor Deculein.”
“……What letter from the underground palace prisoner.”
“Exactly. Hehe.”
The maid laughed. Sophien found the smile grating and replied in a chill tone.
“Why laugh.”
“……Pardon?”
“I asked why you laugh.”
The maid’s face stiffened. Sophien examined the child’s muscles and wrinkles.
No intent, just fear.
“I-it’s just—”
“Answer honestly. I despise lies.”
“It’s……”
The maid stammered, lips trembling.
“You two seem to be tugging emotions like a tug-of-war, so I……”
“……Tug-of-war?”
Sophien furrowed her brow. The maid continued without daring to look up.
“Y-yes. Professor Deculein keeps pulling, but Your Majesty keeps pushing away……”
“Keeps pulling, does he.”
“……Yes.”
Sophien picked up the thesis on her desk. She read page by page, slowly.
Suddenly, she set it down.
“……Pulling the rope means.”
And then, the one thing she alone admitted ignorance of—perhaps the one thing this child knew better than her.
She feigned ignorance and asked.
“That professor harbors admiration for me?”
Imperial Palace library.
I pored over the Imperial University reports left here. Checked handover materials. Organized tower staff and rosters. Designed the impending ‘new mage entrance exam.’
“……Historic. Nearly 200 years of university history, all here.”
The librarian, Lekshil, responded to my murmur.
“Yes. The Imperial University and its tower fall under palace jurisdiction…… for surveillance, most materials are stored here.”
As future chairman, much to learn.
“But…… it’s been nine hours already.”
Glancing at my pocket watch at Lekshil’s words: arrived at noon for regular lessons, now 9 p.m.—spot on.
“No matter. Waiting is ever the retainer’s lot.”
“…….”
Lekshil clasped her hands, seemingly moved. Nearby, Premien yawned with profound boredom.
“When will you leave? The world’s starting to feel hateful.”
“Study yourself. You’re here thanks to me; rare books abound you’ll never see again.”
“……The librarian’s watching.”
Premien glared sullenly at Lekshil. The librarian had Premien’s consent for ‘thought storage’ too.
Sharing all thoughts while reading.
I asked calmly.
“Hiding anything from the empire?”
Premien replied with equal calm.
“Privacy is strictly protected.”
“…….”
My face hardened.
Silence blanketed the library.
“……What’s wrong.”
Premien tensed at the chill. My eyes fixed on a page in the current report.
[By now, Deculein, you're reading this page, right? It's me, Rohakan.]
[Feels like I saw this scene from the future. Anyway…… I'm in the empire's northeast, the vineyard. Map's here—come find me. Let's talk there. Oh, I know about that baggage beside you.]
[No worries, bring 'em along. Got one last gift for you. Not from Rohakan, but as your master…… Ah, I know. I ain't done much to earn "master." Still, what can ya do. Promised your old man when you were a kid, took money for it too. Said I'd be your teacher……]