University Tower (2)
Imperial Palace, the hall of learning.
Sophien received Deculein's message from the palace servant.
"My deepest apologies..."
"...Pay it no mind. That professor has always been such a man."
He wouldn't come today, but on the next lecture day—Wednesday of next week.
She understood. Deculein was a man who prized principles above all.
A steadfast soul, unyielding as an ancient oak, with convictions as firm as iron. He would never bend what he deemed right.
"Moreover, seeing this, any desire to meet him has quite vanished. Nay, it is for the best."
A wooden box containing Rohakan. Sophien gazed upon it, her mouth turning bitter for reasons she could not fathom.
What a peculiar thing.
This wretch deserved death a thousand times over. A cur whose name would stain the empire's history—the assassin of the empress...
Clunk—
Sophien opened the box's lid.
And for a moment, she fell silent.
"..."
At first, she thought it wasn't Rohakan. The head inside bore the face of a boy.
But soon enough, she knew it for certain.
The lingering mana aura on the serenely closed eyes of the severed head. It was Rohakan's remnant.
"...So you are truly dead."
Sophien peered into Rohakan.
Even as a corpse, he seemed not quite dead. As if at any moment he might snap open his eyes and mutter something to her.
Just like that time. "I killed you."
"You damned cur..."
On the day Rohakan assassinated the empress, Sophien's memories were fragmented.
She, who excelled at inferring plots and reading between the lines, could not recall those moments. The faintest attempt to remember triggered a switch, forcibly ejecting the thoughts.
"Dead with a face even younger than mine."
Yet one fact stood clear: the Blue Moon—or Azure Moon—that had risen in the sky then.
And Rohakan's confession that she had killed the empress.
"...You."
Sophien lifted her gaze to the servant, who flinched and bowed lower.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
In that instant, Rohakan's voice echoed faintly in Sophien's ear once more.
—Sophien. You know it too. All who stay by your side meet misfortune. Without exception.
Those she wished to keep close. Those she longed to share her path with.
Rohakan had once been one of them. And he had proven his words himself.
"What is your name?"
For the first time in her life, Sophien asked a servant's name. The woman replied in a frail voice.
"It is Ahan, Your Majesty..."
"Ahan. I shall give you one command."
At the emperor's words, Ahan prostrated herself even lower.
"Yes, Your Majesty. I am eternally grateful. I shall obey any—"
"With resolve to die, shun misfortune."
"...Pardon?"
Ahan's words trailed off in confusion. She peeked up timidly, met Sophien's eyes, and slammed her face back down.
Sophien repeated.
"Never, ever, become unhappy."
"...Yes, Your Majesty. But how could that be? Simply being by Your Majesty's side is already..."
Sophien ignored the perfunctory flattery.
She simply closed the box's lid, placed Rohakan in a desk drawer, and opened Advanced Life and Death Problems once more.
The Go puzzle collection Deculein had prepared for her.
Crunch—
As she solved them one by one, a sudden, inexplicable rage surged.
Nay, something she had been holding back had burst.
"...They say patience is a virtue. Yet when I summon him, he does not come."
Deculein. Muttering of that vile man, she worked through the problems, and before she knew it, turned the final page.
"..."
All puzzles solved, leaving a blank white page.
In its center, two lines of text that Sophien now beheld.
For you, nobler than any other.
May this serve as a diversion on your wandering path of solitude.
An unusual inscription at the book's end. Words clearly dedicated to her.
Reading those two lines, Sophien let out a pfft—a bright smile feigning a scoff.
The grounds of the Imperial University sprawl vast. One could call it a city unto itself, self-sufficient enough to stand alone on the continent, with every facility in place.
Even excluding enrolled students, hundreds of thousands pass through daily, and trends from the university district ripple out to become the empire's youth culture.
The empire's pride, the heart of culture, cradle of countless talents.
I strolled its campus.
"...Huuuuh?!"
Alongside the chairman eyeing me suspiciously, and Ifrin, her face heavy with sleep from whatever she did yesterday.
"No way!"
After glaring for a long stretch, she asked in a shrill, shouting voice.
I answered simply.
"What is it?"
"How could Professor Deculein kill Rohakan?! It doesn't make sense!"
"Does it not?"
"Of course! I thought he'd lose to Rohakan and come begging me for help!"
Adrienne looked quite indignant, steam practically puffing from her nostrils.
Well, fairies were a warrior race at heart, in the grand scheme.
"I employed physical force."
"What?! Physical magic?!"
"I cleaved him with a sword."
"..."
Not a lie. At that, the chairman gaped, then poked my forearm with a finger.
"...Whoa."
Her eyes widened in admiration.
"You are in fine shape! But is ambushing a careless Rohakan truly a victory?!"
"I never said it was an ambush."
"You did it!"
"Yaaaawn— Ugh!"
"You ambushed him!"
"You did! You did!" Adrienne kept repeating, while Ifrin yawned and stumbled over her feet.
Amid the chaos, we steadily made our way to the chief professor's office.
"You did—!"
Ignoring the persistent Adrienne's shouts as she trailed me, I sat in the office chair.
"You d—"
"More to the point, the Altar will soon stir."
"...The Altar?"
"Indeed. The force agitating the southern descent."
"..."
Adrienne's face turned peculiar.
"...Agitating the southern descent?"
"Yes."
With Rohakan dead—well, not entirely, confined to the vineyard now—the Altar would move in earnest.
"...I never thought Professor Deculein would buy into conspiracy theories!"
Her tone carried a hint of pity. I pondered briefly, then nodded.
In the current continent, the Altar was akin to the Illuminati in the modern world.
Not that they truly exist, of course. Most dismissed the Altar as some vague religious sect or cult lurking somewhere.
Precious few Named knew the truth: the Altiegue massacres, the suppression, the southern agitations, nearly all social upheavals were the Altar's schemes. No proof, either.
"Yes. In any case, if there is naught else to convey, pray depart. I have much to do."
"...There is!"
Adrienne pulled a ledger from her bosom.
"The entrance exams this time! Nobles and even royals from duchies and kingdoms will take them here! The rest are festival admission docs!"
I read it.
Yuren Duchy, Leok Kingdom, Gahala, and more... names of high nobles and royals aplenty.
Their gathering in the empire would inevitably trigger side quests.
"You're on the judging panel!"
"Am I."
"Yes! Be fair but firm! Some are donation admits—marked with gold stars!"
Gold stars. Tiered by donation amount—one, two, three. In this world, donation admissions were routine.
"Give those a little leeway!"
"You would do well not to ask that of me."
"...Aw, come on!"
Thud— I closed the ledger.
"If they have skill, they will pass on merit."
"...You know nothing of tower politics! We need those donations to fund the tower! That's how I became chairman!"
"Indeed. That suffices. Now go."
"Jeez! Professor Deculein's gotten so boring lately!"
At this point, it felt like she was picking a fight just to spar.
The chairman narrowed her eyes slyly, glared, then whirled away. Ignoring her stomping exit, I took up my fountain pen.
"Ifrin."
"...Huh."
Ifrin, dozing at her assistant desk, turned bleary half-lidded eyes to me.
"Submit your paper."
"Ah..."
She shuffled over, handing me a wad of papers.
Now began the spring paper review season in earnest.
As chief professor and director, I would personally review not just assistants like Ifrin, but professors across the university—and mages equivalent to grad students.
"Yet why do you look such a wretched mess again."
"...Why do you keep forgetting? You said no sleep without you. So I didn't."
Ifrin's puffy, sullen face glared at me with a zzzzing.
"...You obey well. Rest."
"Yessir."
With that, Ifrin face-planted back at her desk, and I began reviewing her paper.
...The next day.
The Imperial University Tower faced an unprecedented crisis before the semester even began, descending into pandemonium.
"Professor Rellin. Have you submitted your paper?"
"...Right n—"
"Professor, did you hear? Chief Professor Deculein is—"
"I know! That's why I'm rewriting it, you fool!"
The uproar stemmed from the official notice from the 77th floor—office of the chief professor, near-certain next chairman.
All tower professors, or affiliated mages aspiring to professorships while studying here, submit your spring papers to the 77th floor.
I, Deculein, shall review them all personally. I shall annotate deficiencies, and discard the hopeless.
The chief professor himself would "personally" review professors' and grad students' papers.
How? Combined, they numbered hundreds—nay, thousands of pages.
"The audacity of it."
Rellin and the professors grumbled.
Spring papers usually passed with a wink. And with royals incoming for enrollment, preparations alone were overwhelming.
"...At my age, rewriting like a student."
Rellin clutched his hastily revised paper. His direct assistant chimed in slyly.
"Right? A full audit's basically an investigation."
"Aye. Nonsense. Come, submit it. Who knows what that professor'll say if we're late."
Rellin fiddled with his mustache, stepping into the hall. Complaints unending.
"Papers numbering tens of thousands, all personally reviewed? If he becomes chairman, I'm off to a kingdom."
"Yes. I'll follow you, Professor Rellin."
"Good. As you should... Eh? Hey! Professor Ciarel!"
Professor Ciarel, heading for the elevator.
Her face was wan, exhaustion etched deep—like wilted green onion.
"You pulled an all-nighter revising too?"
"Yes. So it seems."
"What madness."
Rellin shook his head, boarding with her.
"Heard you're tied to Leok, Professor Rellin?"
Ciarel opened enviously. Rellin cleared his throat pretentiously.
"They offered chief professor if I join their tower. Still mulling... but if Deculein keeps pushing like this, I'll go."
"Lucky... Why's he doing a full audit, torturing us?"
Personal review—a total audit. Deculein judging every professor's spring paper.
Absurd. Even peers took a week to grasp another's work.
Different magic lineages made advanced theories a nightmare.
Yet Deculein...
Ding—!
The elevator halted at the 77th. Rellin and Ciarel stood before the office, sighing deeply.
Exchanging glances, Rellin nodded and knocked.
—Enter.
Deculein's voice. The chief professor fresh from northern duties and executing Rohakan.
Yukline's prestige now pierced the heavens. Even if headed to the palace, one must appear flawless before him.
"Yes. Rellin and Ciarel."
Rellin straightened his tie, opened the door. Deculein sat in the chair, staring.
The tower's most intimidating, terrifying blue eyes. Rellin approached with a servile smile.
"Chief Professor Deculein! Heard the news. Rohakan—"
"Your paper."
"...Yes."
Rellin and Ciarel submitted in turn. Deculein skimmed Rellin's first.
Rellin watched his gaze, then ventured.
"Professor. Page 13 might be tricky. Even I struggled with the calculations there..."
Deculein glanced up, flipped to 13.
"Even for the chief professor, it'll take time... You're truly doing the reviews alone—"
"13%. 173."
"...Pardon?"
"Required mana density in the stones, and circuit count. Was that not your query?"
"..."
Rellin swallowed hard.
Mana stones with 13%+ composition, precisely 173 spell circuits.
Correct.
It had taken me three days.
"Ah, ahaha... Yes, correct, but ordinary calculation takes ages. You must've mastered 'Deron's Reverse Calc' alr—"
"I calculated ordinarily."
"...Pardon?"
"Deron's Reverse Calc's been out three months? Flawed formula. Riddled with holes. A workaround, not the royal road. It'll bite you eventually. Stick to standard math in equations. The royal path."
"..."
I'd spent three days on ordinary math—switched to Deron's out of desperation.
Rellin looked baffled, turning to Ciarel.
"...Ahem."
Ciarel eyed Deculein and Rellin alternately, slyly retrieved her paper.
"Mine needs more work, so I'll revise and return. Good luck, Professor Rellin. Fighting, Chief!"
Rellin watched her flee in disbelief.
Bang—!
The chief professor's office door shut.
"..."
"..."
Alone with Deculein, sweat beaded on Rellin's brow.