Progress. (1)
Rellin sat before Deculein, like a student summoned to the principal's office. His obese body hunched over, curling into a pillbug.
Ifrin, half-asleep, wondered if this scene was a dream.
"Yes... that section references Jora the Mage's paper."
"Yet there's no citation."
"Ah, well... I meant to add it, but time was short..."
"I also notice references to other mages' papers."
Rellin wiped sweat with a handkerchief and forced a smile. But his pride as a professor had been pricked—he seemed a bit angry.
"Haha... which parts, exactly...?"
Ifrin kept pretending to sleep and watch. Suddenly, the door to the right bookshelf burst open, spilling documents and books in a cascade.
"Your paper's theme is 'engraving auxiliary-series spells onto mana stones for a perpetually active security system.' Yet your incantation borrows from 'Circuits Engraved on Objects.'"
Deculein presented ironclad evidence. Rellin gaped blankly for a moment.
Circuits Engraved on Objects.
A paper published five years ago by an unknown university mage. It received no research funding, yielded poor results, and was practically abandoned.
"Ah... um..."
"Is this another partial citation? If not, it could be a problem."
"Of course... it's cited. Haha... I developed the idea further, and my... yes. My assistants must have slipped up. Hahaha."
"Your paper is written by you. Not your assistants."
Ifrin clamped both hands over her mouth to stifle laughter.
That hippo-pig professor—serves him right.
"...Yes."
"There are many more references, like 'Equation Theory' and 'Dukan's Compendium,' but citations for Ihelm or other famous mages are notably sparse."
"......"
Rellin bowed his head. Deculein rejected the paper outright.
"Revise it thoroughly and resubmit."
"...Yes."
He rose unsteadily, shuffling out like a piglet robbed of its breakfast, utterly dejected.
Click—
The moment the door shut, Ifrin bolted up with a grin.
"Kuhuhu. Serves him right."
"Ifrin."
Deculein called her just then. She whipped around, responding energetically.
"Yes!"
Whoosh—!
A bundle of papers flew from Deculein's desk, dumping onto her crown like confetti.
"...?"
As she blinked dazedly, Deculein delivered his verdict.
"Yours is rejected. Start over from scratch. No—when the semester begins, learn composition from the basics. Your lowly origins seep through your prose..."
* * *
The Yuren Duchy. A duchy perched in higher altitudes than other continental nations.
Its territory rivaled the Yukline lands in size, bolstered by highland specialties and its geopolitical position between empire and kingdoms—a sturdy little country with some renown.
"Prepare this too. And that."
The duchy's princess and confirmed heir, Maho—fleeing from Leok—bustled through the palace.
"Shall we prepare ball attire too? Yes, we must."
She'd solidified the nation's policies and inner strength, but her personality remained unchanged.
Charlotte watched her prancing and flailing, unease gnawing at her.
"...The empire is dangerous."
"Nah~ It's not anymore~ Even Leok wouldn't dare assault me there~ Besides, Leok's succession is settled~ All done~"
The Leok Kingdom. The lineage that threatened Maho's life was now resolved.
The second prince had won. With succession secured, no need remained to kill her.
"Entrance ceremony~ I'm a university student now~ Oh right! My files."
Maho scurried to the bed, opening a secret door she'd covertly remodeled.
Rumble—
A classified archive emerged, stuffed with mysterious files—a magical space manifesting her talent.
"Hehehe~"
Maho had a collector's passion. Not for money or treasures, but for 'people.'
For a cramped nation to survive, the trade in human talent was key.
Not literal trafficking, but elevating individuals and recruiting the able.
In that regard, Maho's talent—Files—proved invaluable for governance. It magically assessed personal strengths and weaknesses.
"...Hmm."
She pulled the thickest file: titled [Deculein].
"Princess. Be careful that talent doesn't get spotted by Deculein. He'd hate it. His personality's rotten."
"Yes, yes~"
Maho barely knew Deculein. Their one direct encounter was a single rescue; otherwise, mere brushes in passing.
Thus, her expectations soared.
"I'm so excited~ What will Professor be like~ They say he even beat Rohakan in that war~"
She'd sneaked into the Floating Island exam last time, earning Candle rank. This time, she'd enter the Magic Tower as a special international student.
But it wasn't mere study. Nor solely to meet Deculein.
"Time to go~ To the entrance ceremony~"
A weightier, graver purpose.
One tied to the duchy's—and continent's—fate.
Heading to discuss the Altar and Altiegue.
* * *
I processed the flood of papers crowding the Magic Tower's 77th floor. Absorbing countless mages' thoughts and claims revealed just how many books I'd read, how much knowledge I'd acquired.
Unbiased reading, voracious learning.
My Understanding synced with my foundational knowledge. Now vast as an ocean, at least at the Tower's level, nothing eluded me. If something did, I'd know it soon enough.
"Master. We've arrived."
Ren spoke. I set down the paper.
"Yaaawn..."
Ifrin's drawn-out sigh echoed. Then the car door flew open.
"Hey, I have stuff to say—why're you so late?"
It was Yeriel. With Ihelm in tow.
"Ah~ Aren't you the genius of incantation interpretation, Deculein the Mage? Your books sold well up north."
Ihelm grinned slyly, tapping Ifrin's head.
"Long time, Ipari."
"...Huh? Why're you here?"
"That's what I want to ask. Why are you here?"
"I live here now. Oh, Lady Yeriel!"
Ifrin belatedly spotted her and clung on. They'd grown close; Yeriel tolerated it.
"Yeah, yeah. You, stay inside. I have business."
"Huh? Oh... sure. I have papers to write anyway... Bye!"
Ifrin scampered off. Yeriel watched her go, then handed over a document.
"An Altiegue village found in the southern frontier. Heavy resistance, they say. Temples, battle priests. Requesting firepower support."
Location: [Barahala]. Imperial order to exterminate all Altiegue there.
Yeriel continued calmly.
"Real oppression's about to start."
Barahala.
I rummaged through my memory.
"Oppa... I mean, what will you do?"
This world's Altiegue fell into two camps: Altar collaborators and non-collaborators.
Barahala was the former. Brainwashed, beyond persuasion.
"Kill them."
No need to waste time on humane methods. No redeemable potential—just backstabbing scum.
Yeriel's shoulders twitched faintly. Ihelm flashed a thick smile.
"Haha. Exactly. That's why you're my partner, right?"
"...What're you on about."
Yeriel narrowed her eyes at Ihelm.
"You're the assistant."
"What? Hey, still got that attitude?"
"Yup."
"...Tch. You two are alike."
"Yeriel."
I called her. She looked up anxiously.
"Return to Hadekan."
"......"
"Leave the capital to me. Do your duty."
Chin—
I placed a hand on her shoulder. Meeting her faintly trembling eyes, I spoke softly.
"Nothing will happen."
Sunset bathed Yeriel. Her shadowed face crumpled as if to cry.
"......"
She bowed silently.
Then a smile bloomed on her small lips.
"Yeah. I trust you."
She replied, forehead-butting my chest. Bonk—she rebounded, face bright and chirpy again, boarding the waiting car.
"See ya!"
"Ah, miss."
Ren called Yeriel then.
"What?"
She leaned out the window. Ren produced a receipt.
"The bill."
"What bill?"
"By master's order, but account funds were short, so charged to family check. Signature required."
"...What're you saying?"
She took it anyway.
"......"
Her already large eyes widened at the long paper.
And then.
"Wh-what the hell is this———!"
Her scream shattered the sunset.
I nodded to the driver of her car.
"300 million elne?! Mana stones, premium mana stones, crystals—why buy so many?!"
She bellowed, glaring at me.
"The Tower gives mana stones too! More importantly, why spend 300 million—argh, I'm losing it! We're short on cash now too—!"
Vroom. The engine started. Startled, Yeriel glared at the driver.
"Hey, what're you doing? Stop. Kill the engine. Open the door. Open it..."
I said,
"Sign it when you get back."
"What?! Hey, open this door!"
I restrained her door-opening attempt with Telekinesis, shooting the driver a killer glare.
"A-hem. Departing."
The driver floored it. As the car glided away, Yeriel's shouts trailed.
"Stop! I said stop! I need an explanation! Why 300 million elne?! Why spend it! Tell me why! Gotta know or I'll feel wronged! Another spending spree? Hey! Hey! Hey..."
Her voice faded into the wind. I cleared my throat with a cough.
"Man. 300 million elne on mana stones and crystals? Impressive. Cash must be tight with postwar recovery."
Ihelm muttered admiringly. I shot him a glance.
"You too—go home."
"Ah. Sure. But as partners now, let's be friendlier than before."
Ihelm grinned sleazily, offering his hand.
"Hunt some Altiegue together? You know manipulation and auxiliary series synergize—"
I ignored him. Turned away without listening.
* * *
I carved a cave in the estate's densest mana spot. Using psychokinesis and woodsteel, I quickly dug a deep underground passage.
"Hm."
The tunnel gleamed blue, plastered with premium mana stones and crystals. My innate Aesthetic Sense made it less a cave, more a pristine temple.
"No food needed?"
"No."
"Understood. I'll go."
Ren left. I synthesized a chair at the training room's center. Sat still, staring into space.
Qualitative Enhancement of Mana (Stage 3)
'Qualitative Enhancement of Mana (Stage 3)' applied.
Just a single system message.
Thump—!
My heart surged. My face twisted naturally; pain flooded every vein.
A sensation of shattering every bone, flesh, and muscle—then rebuilding. Pain that crushed even my Iron Man trait.
With lesser mental fortitude, I'd have blacked out dozens of times. The agony persisted relentlessly.
Ripping organs, splintering them, shredding like minced meat. Heart sawn by a chainsaw, torn, gouged.
"......"
Blood pooled in my mouth.
I spat it out to clear my airway but didn't hunch. Didn't lose posture.
Just endured, seated...
......
......
Time passed. Late night under a full moon.
"......"
Ifrin blinked at the underground passage.
She'd sought Deculein to sleep—and stumbled on it.
"...What's this."
Estate corner, a blue-tinged tunnel.
Hand to mouth, head tilted, she crept forward. Slowly advanced.
"Whoa. All mana stones? Crystals?"
Mage's instinct—no, instinct drew her. Immense mana surged below.
Professor Deculein's training room? Blinking, she called.
"Professor~ You here? Wow, real mana stones?"
Amazed by the stone-crystal walls, calling his name.
"Professor~ Professor~ Can I write papers here too~?"
Descending deeper into the tunnel...