Progress. (2)
A subterranean space made of mana stones and crystals. No one knew when or why it had been built.
Ifrin descended through its passage.
"Huff... huff..."
The deeper she went, the more labored her breathing became. A side effect of the overly dense mana concentration—and her own exceptional mana sensitivity.
"...?"
As she sweated and trudged downward, she suddenly reached a slick floor.
Something squelching and wet touched her feet in the darkness below.
"...What is this."
Ifrin released her mana to illuminate the gloom.
A green glow revealed a trail of thick, vivid red fluid on the stone floor.
"...Blood?"
It was sticky like blood, a fresh streak. No, actual blood.
Ifrin blankly followed its path.
"..."
In the heart of this underground lair stood a lone chair.
Her eyes widened slowly as she stared at it.
"Professor...?"
Deculein sat in the chair as if reading a book, just like always. But this was utterly different from the norm.
The blood pooling on the floor was proof enough. Deculein would never allow his domain to fall into such disarray.
Gulp—
Ifrin swallowed hard and hesitantly approached him.
From behind, where only his back was visible, to the front, facing his face.
"..."
Her heart pounded fiercely for a moment.
Her breath caught involuntarily.
"...Professor?"
Deculein's eyes were closed. He sat rigidly still, without a twitch.
His face was deathly pale, veins bulging blue as if about to burst.
"Ah..."
Ifrin instinctively reached out with her fingers, pressing her middle and index against his throat. To check his pulse—whether he was dead or alive.
...But then.
—I knew you would avenge me.
Her chest heaved violently, a voice echoing from her heart outward.
Snap—something broke.
Ifrin slumped like a ragdoll.
"..."
Her retinas tinted blue. The world blurred, mana gathering in her fingers. A sharp line of light flared straight from her nails.
The moment it grazed Deculein's throat, drawing a tiny scratch—
——Wheeeeeen!
His throat steel vibrated violently. It snapped Ifrin back to clarity, her limp eyes sharpening as her original consciousness returned.
"...Ah, Professor!"
Ignorant of what she'd just done—or nearly done—or the 'phenomenon' that had seized her, Ifrin placed her hands on Deculein's shoulders.
"Guh—"
"Ifrin."
"Whoa, you scared me!"
His eyes met hers. Those half-lidded blue pupils were like a serene sea.
Ifrin stumbled back, clasping her hands demurely for no reason.
"...Are you okay?"
Unintended pity slipped into her voice. A strange fog clouded her mind.
Deculein's short remaining lifespan.
She knew the end, of course—but witnessing the process firsthand felt profoundly lonely.
Sad.
"..."
Deculein gazed at her silently.
"Sorry. I was so sleepy... Uh, what's that? Looked like beast blood. Were you doing chimera research here...?"
Ifrin blabbered to cover. She didn't want him knowing she'd been caught.
"...Professor?"
Yet Deculein remained silent for a long time.
Was speaking too difficult? Was his illness that severe? Or...
"Ifrin."
"...Yes?"
"..."
Silence.
Deculein closed his mouth again, eyeing her with uncharacteristic fatigue—as if weighing her, peering into her soul.
Then, abruptly, he shook his head.
"No."
"..."
Ifrin bit her lip. She averted her eyes and pointed at the blood on the floor.
"I'll clean this up."
High-grade spell Gaze of Ignition. With a stare, she evaporated the blood entirely, then scratched her nape and turned back to Deculein.
"There, all... done."
By then, Deculein had closed his eyes again.
"..."
Approaching cautiously, she heard faint breathing.
Thankfully, not dead—just asleep.
"Phew."
Ifrin plopped down beside him with a thud, spreading her robe on the floor.
Her breathing had adapted somewhat; she lay down for the sleep she'd missed last night, but glanced up at Deculein again.
Overlapping his future and present in her gaze.
"..."
Deculein's death.
A year ago, she'd have cheered it as karma.
Clapped at his comeuppance.
"Sigh."
Now, her chest felt tight for some reason. Sighs escaped unbidden, her face souring needlessly.
It wasn't her fault, nor his.
Ifrin simply murmured the words that fit this moment—to the terminally ill Deculein, words he couldn't hear—in a small, shy voice.
"...Sleep well, Professor."
I opened my eyes. The lightless underground remained dark, Ifrin's snores rising from below.
I glanced her way.
Snooore... snooore...
Hair a tangled mess from rolling around. The robe she'd laid like a sheet was flung aside; she lay horizontally on the hard floor.
Why bother laying it out then.
I regarded the beastly sleeper steadily.
Recalling last night's sudden 'aura.'
"...Death variable."
Death variable.
Ifrin had clearly harbored intent to kill me, unleashing a dense death variable in that instant.
An aura dozens of times thicker than any threat I'd faced.
This girl still held a 'definite kill' death variable against me.
"..."
But I'd resolved as much. If I'd feared reprisal, I wouldn't have kept her near.
Deculein had sinned against her—and her father. Her grudge would likely last eternally.
"Catch... kill..."
Ifrin muttered in her sleep right on cue.
A meaningful dream. I shook my head.
"No matter. Even if you surpass me someday—"
"Roahawk... come here, you plump..."
"..."
I checked my body first.
Mana Quality Enhancement (Stage 3)
Mana quality enhancement. The effect was tangible.
My internal mana pathways were clearer, the flow's velocity surging.
If before was ordinary cable, now it was fiber optic.
Of course, this short-term 'construction' left lingering pain.
Activating mana brought bone-crushing agony, like fire in my organs—but bearable.
"...Let's see."
Next, magic output test.
Basic manifestation: Telekinesis.
Target: the crystal-and-mana-stone outer wall.
I extended my hand into the air.
Rooooar...
Heat haze shimmered in my grasp. The air warped entirely.
A power leagues beyond basic Telekinesis, its might visibly surging. Even I, who'd wielded it like limbs, struggled to control—
Bam—!
A chunk of outer wall tore free, flying into my hand.
"..."
I blankly stared at the blue fragments. At the gouge in the wall. Back at the fragments.
Top-grade crystals and mana stones resist magic fiercely. Yet torn like by a giant...
"Whoa!"
The noise woke Ifrin.
"..."
"Wh-what?! Who?!"
She peered around, eyes crusted shut.
"...Rise."
Her pathetic face was unchanged—but belated doubt stirred.
Was the Ifrin I saw last night truly Ifrin?
"Ifrin. Who permitted you to come here."
"...You always when I'm sleeping."
"Clean the crust first."
"Ah."
Ifrin used Cleanse to wash her face.
"When sleeping, beside professor—"
"Out."
"..."
I exited the cave with Ifrin.
"Yaaawn..."
She shuffled along—still Ifrin.
As dumb as ever, mouth agape in a pitiful yawn.
"Huh? It's raining."
Plip—platter—
Emerging into the garden, rain fell from the capital's sky, as she said.
Early morning, sun not yet up; damp wind approached.
Falling rain always carries earth's scent—the garden brimmed with flowers, grass, soil.
"Mmm~"
Ifrin closed her eyes, tilting her head up.
Rain on bare face, inhaling cozy smells, a strange smile formed.
And I called the still-foolish one's name.
"Ifrin."
"Yes?"
She whipped around, eyes wide.
"Why?"
I met her eyes.
Clear, transparent—seeing straight through.
The Ifrin I knew couldn't lie. As dumb as she was honest; expressions and words were truth.
Thus, last night's Ifrin was a clear anomaly.
"...One question."
"Huh?"
To the blinking, head-tilted Ifrin, I asked.
No hesitation, no circling.
"How much do you hate me."
Premising hatred, questioning its scale.
Her pupils quivered faintly. Startled, she fidgeted with her shoulders, licking her lips.
"Uh... well..."
She pursed and parted her lips repeatedly, then bowed her head. Flicked thumbnails, sighed low.
Tok—tok—cold rain shattered on her shoulder.
"...Can I ask first?"
Her pondered words.
"Irrelevant."
Ifrin looked up. Matching the pattering rain's rhythm, she stammered on.
"Do... you hate me, Professor?"
Not scale, but existence of hate.
I gazed down emotionlessly.
My answer.
"No."
I neither hate nor like. Deculein's emotions aren't so simply wired.
Love to Julie; respect to the Emperor; hate to demons; brotherly thoughts to Yeriel; contempt and loathing to filth and corruption.
Little room for Ifrin between.
"You're not worth it now."
"..."
But Ifrin seemed not to grasp.
Clear words best for her.
I said.
"I do not hate you."
"!"
Her body trembled sharply. Looking up, strange expression: faint smile on lips, eyes scrunched like to cry.
"...Th-then! Then I'm going nowwaaah—!"
Suddenly shrieking, she bolted across the garden. Fled without looking back.
"..."
Watching her moth-like retreat, my brows furrowed.
Why flee after her answer?
Random noble origins make her so?
"You still need proper education..."
I muttered with a sigh, strolling the garden.
Three days later, the Imperial Palace.
"...His Majesty, at the university entrance ceremony?"
Sophien nodded at Ahan's shock.
"Indeed."
"Forgive my dullness, but... not merely attending..."
"I shall attend university myself. Experience lectures and classes firsthand."
"..."
Ahan gaped.
Utterly unlike Sophien's infamous laziness and ennui—
"Why so surprised? The previous emperor attended too. To hide his status, live as a subject and student."
"Yes, but... Your Majesty has already ascended..."
"Irrelevant. If I will it, it is done."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Ahan never questions twice. Just bows, forehead to hands.
Admirable. Not quite Deculein's unquestioning obedience, but close.
Sophien propped her chin, smirking.
"Where is Deculein now?"
"The Professor is in Barahala."
"Barahala."
"Yes. Rumors say... it's gruesome."
"Gruesome?"
"Yes."
Ahan pulled a report from recent ministers—knowing her favor, they'd dumped it on her.
"He... exploded the Altiegue resistance."
"Exploded?"
Sophien snatched it, frowning. Flipped the first page, chuckled dryly.
"...Ha. Just how furious is he at these Altiegue vermin."
Literally exploded. Corpses ambiguously human—flesh and muscle shredded, organs pulped. As if bombs detonated inside.
"The Professor is Your Majesty's loyal vassal... He shares Your disgusts and approvals. And in Verhert, he defended Altiegue—only for their kin to betray that faith—"
"You know well."
Impressed by Ahan's recitation.
"Yes. I study diligently."
"Enough. He'll handle Barahala. Prepare an identity for you."
"Identity...?"
"Can't use mine; ministers would blab. Find one fitting university enrollment."
"Yes, Your Majesty. As you command..."
First real order from the Emperor.
Resolved to perfection, Ahan bowed.
...The Emperor's 1st Guard reached the battlefield: Barahala.
Blood reeked; sky and earth dyed red.
"Tch."
I clicked my tongue, removing leather gloves. Tossed them to the ground like trash.
"Blood splattered."
Droplets on the surface.
Telekinesis output spiked, but I hadn't adapted—hard to finely block every splash like before.
"...Blood on gloves is your issue?"
Ihelm scoffed incredulously. I turned to him.
His face was priceless; knights' gazes held thick fear. Altiegue prisoners shit themselves.
Urk—
A nearby knight retched.
Likely from the piled corpses.
"No major issues."
Entering Barahala, Altiegue—Altar pawns—ambushed. I countered their first strike.
In other words, killed most.
"Even so, this to people... too much?"
The process perhaps excessive. Even Ihelm grimaced, shaking his head.
"...Not my intent."
Precisely, couldn't control power. Lacked throat steel finesse, relied purely on Telekinesis—foes burst like fireworks.
"They deserved death. Consider it exemplary execution."
"Exemplary... Fine, do as you like~ I'll follow my partner."
Ihelm shrugged. I addressed the knights behind.
Straightening at eye contact.
"Advance again."
"""Yes! Loyalty!"""
Marching to Barahala's heart—
"..."
Suddenly, felt a gaze.
It vanished quickly, but I knew who.
Too long together; instinct knew.
Allen.
No, Eli.
She's here.
—