Each One's Encounter. (2)
“Everyone, have you all gathered?”
Having finished their audience with the emperor, Julie and the knights reassembled in the imperial secret chamber.
A hidden room crafted personally by Sophien to evade the eunuchs and ministers. There, Ahan distributed the emperor's authorization badges.
“These are authorization badges that grant the cooperation of the Intelligence Agency. With them, you can access information up to 3rd Grade and receive assistance from informants spread across the continent.”
Julie nodded and tucked hers into her bosom.
“Your individual assignments will differ, so please refrain from sharing them with one another. Additionally, we will provide you with imperial guard uniforms and identification.”
The emperor's personal guard.
A position every knight yearned for at present, yet Julie's heart was not entirely pleased.
“Of course, you will not be mobilized for routine missions. However, having entered the imperial service and accepted these tasks, you must possess the qualifications, dignity, and loyalty befitting such roles. Thus, we have obtained your consent to join the guard.”
Of course, no one would refuse to serve His Imperial Majesty.
It was simply that she knew who stood at the pinnacle of this pyramidal guard...
Julie: Basileta
Imperial Guard Identification
“Your rank is ‘Basileta.’ A runic term meaning agents who operate independently. Your privilege is ‘solo action.’ Even if you join other guards in large-scale operations, you will not be bound by rank hierarchy.”
Julie examined her own identification.
Golden engravings and antique motifs. Its beauty was matched by the potent aura of mana emanating from it.
“These are magical artifacts crafted personally by His Majesty. Do not lose them under any circumstances. Reissuance equates to immediate expulsion from the guard.”
“...Ah. No wonder. The identification pulses with mana.”
Julie and the thirty other knights marveled in unison. And were deeply moved.
In a way, it was akin to receiving a gift directly from the emperor's hand.
“Yet, these privileges pique my curiosity. Does each ‘rank’ come with its own distinct rights?”
MountainJeryun, the mightiest knight of the south, inquired. His physique dwarfed even Zeit's massive frame.
“Yes. Privileges vary by rank and by individual.”
“Ho, that raises another question. What is Professor Deculein's privilege?”
Ahan answered his query.
“‘Power over Life and Death.’”
...Everyone recoiled in shock.
─Everyone, please sit! Sit down!
Ifrin, ascending the podium, seated the examinees. Using Telekinesis, she distributed pamphlets while calming them.
“Ahhh...”
Lia wore a grave expression still, while Maho glanced at me with a beaming smile.
“...”
I surveyed the hall.
Among the hundreds gathered, there had to be an archmage or someone close, yet none stood out.
“Well then...”
Lia bit her thumbnail. I watched silently.
“Oh no, what do we do...”
Her muttering, the frantic rolling of her eyes, the nail-biting habit—it was identical to that girl from long ago.
Crack!
Her thumbnail, severed by her front teeth.
I seized her small hand as it reached for her index finger.
“...?”
Lia stared at me with wide eyes.
“Filthy habit.”
“...Ah, yes.”
She hastily withdrew her hand.
“Stay put. No solution will come from your fretting.”
At least here, there was no ‘death flag.’
Though someone like Yuseffin might conceal murderous intent, it was unlikely. If they truly meant to kill, there'd be no reason to let her live this long.
“...Still—”
“I am responsible for this place. I bear the responsibility and resolve it.”
I ascended the podium once more, snatching Ifrin's microphone.
And declared:
“I shall now recommence the entrance exam orientation.”
The examinees stared blankly for a moment.
....
“Wow, he really does it.”
Behind the podium curtain, Ifrin chuckled wryly as she watched Deculein.
—The theoretical exam will consist of common and series-specific questions, as will the practical.
He was genuinely explaining the exam guidelines. Utterly composed even within this barrier.
Absurd, yet so very Deculein.
—If you have questions regarding series selection, ask.
No one did, of course... except one.
—Yes, hello~
Maho, princess of Yuren. She waved cheerfully with a grin, and Deculein pointed to her.
—Proceed with your question.
—Yes yes yes~
That very instant.
“...!”
Ifrin's body stiffened. Her throat constricted as if stabbed with a kitchen knife.
—If I enter the tower, can I take Senior Professor Deculein's class right away~?
—No.
—Gasp! Why why? I wanna take the senior professor's class~!
Their exchange continued, but Ifrin's focus lay solely behind her.
Sweat poured like rain; saliva swallowed involuntarily.
Gulp.
Someone was there.
Approaching without a sound.
“Greetings.”
His voice was chilling.
His identity was obvious.
The mage who cast this Perfect Isolation Barrier.
“...Who are you.”
“Murkan, at your service.”
Murkan.
At that name, Ifrin's legs buckled. Murkan caught her as she collapsed.
“I am kin to Rohakan, slain by your professor.”
“...”
Rohakan's death.
Ifrin knew of it, and it pained her. Not devastating, as they weren't close, but bitterly so—especially knowing his ‘reason to die.’
“Are you afraid?”
“...If I said no, I'd be lying.”
Who wouldn't fear Murkan, the man disqualified as archmage for his temperament?
Ifrin couldn't finish the thought.
“Here for... revenge.”
Her words kept breaking off.
“That could have been.”
“...Pardon?”
“But seeing you, and him... no need.”
“What do you...”
“He was born under a deathly fate.”
Ifrin's eyes widened. Murkan gazed at Deculein on the podium and continued.
“More pitiable than my nephew's.”
“...Why?”
“Hatred is his daily bread; tragedy, his end.”
Murkan turned to Ifrin.
His eyes lacked sclera—pupils black as spilled ink, eerie.
“Shall you experience his fate?”
“No.”
Ifrin declined swiftly. Murkan nodded.
“Naturally. Your fate is no smoother.”
“Pardon? Ah... yes. True enough.”
“You are entwined with ‘time.’ Such is your fate.”
“...Huh?”
“Sun and moon shall repeat.”
“Uh... repeat?”
Vague as prophecy.
Murkan closed his eyes briefly, then intoned gravely.
“A bomb shall detonate.”
“Bomb?!”
“‘Nesius,’ a bomb forged from demon material.”
Nesius. Demon. Bomb. A string of incomprehensible terms furrowed Ifrin's brow.
Murkan spoke calmly.
“Its meaning will dawn in time. Realization changes naught.”
“No no. What does that mean? If a bomb, where and when...”
It ended.
Murkan vanished before her eyes; the barrier dissolved.
—Huh? Barrier's gone!
Voices echoed through the hall.
Sighs of relief rose in unison.
“...”
Ifrin, blinking dazedly, snapped to at Deculein descending the podium.
“Ah, Professor!”
Deculein looked puzzled by the sudden barrier's end. Ifrin rushed to him.
“What happened.”
“Professor! I met Murkan!”
“...Murkan.”
“Yes! He said there's a bomb here—somewhere, I dunno! Something like a four-wheeled bike? Anyway, a bomb with demon power!”
“...”
Demon. That word froze Deculein's expression. A heavy tension crushed the air.
“Come.”
“Yes!”
Ifrin shouted vigorously, following Deculein's stern face...
...That day.
Ever since encountering Murkan.
Nearly ‘two months’ had passed.
Much had transpired in that time.
The university had opened for the semester; oppression of Altiegue had intensified brutally; ‘erosion of the Voice’ worsened; I visited the ‘world of the Voice’ with Deculein and cleared that damned mental trial cave.
“But... but, Professor.”
And today.
Dusk falling. In the car from the tower to Yukline Manor.
“You know.”
Ifrin fidgeted her fingers, glancing at Deculein beside her.
His hands were empty today.
No book, no paper, nothing.
“It's just.”
“...Speak. Do not dawdle.”
Deculein turned to her. Under his impatient glare, Ifrin stammered.
“That... ‘bomb,’ what could it really have been?”
Nearly two months ago, at the orientation.
Ifrin relayed Murkan's words verbatim; Deculein mobilized the university and guard for a massive search.
“Who knows. Nothing.”
The entrance exam delayed a week because of it...
“...Sorry.”
It became Deculein's sole blemish. No bomb anywhere in the university; Adrienne mocked him each encounter.
Even headlines blared.
Grand title: “Deculein, Finally Fails.”
“Not your fault. Misinterpretation of Murkan's words.”
“...Yes. He clearly said there was a bomb. One powered by demon force. Four-wheeled bike or something?”
“No such demon exists.”
“Ah... yes.”
Deculein nodded faintly.
Silence followed. He merely gazed at the sky outside.
“Oh right. He also said ‘now sun and moon shall repeat.’”
Suddenly, the car halted. A gentle stop, unnoticed even as brakes engaged.
Ifrin glanced absently at the scenery beyond.
“...”
She pursed her lips. Her chest grew heavy for no reason.
A cemetery.
“Ifrin.”
“...Yes.”
Today was April 9th.
The death anniversary of the woman Deculein loved.
“Go on ahead.”
“Yes. Take your time.”
He exited first, striding to the cemetery entrance.
Ifrin leaned on the window frame, watching him.
“Then, we depart.”
Said Ren from the driver's seat.
“...Yes.”
Vroom—the car resumed down the road.
Deculein entering the cemetery.
As his figure faded past, Ifrin looked to the sky. At the sunset dyed pink.
“...Huh?”
Then, abruptly, she spotted it.
A massive mana current filling the heavens seamlessly.
“What the...”
A huge mana pillar surged skyward with a whoosh, its head billowing like clouds. Reaching for the sun. Like a thick mushroom.
“Festival?”
As she stared blankly at the bizarre shape,
Whoosh!
The true ‘explosion’ erupted.
“Whoa?!”
Mana and heat swept into a dome by gale winds; immense light flooded her retinas. Scorching the car's metal clamorously.
...A blinding flash, eye-searing.
Amid that world-incinerating eerie wave, Ifrin recalled belatedly.
‘A bomb shall detonate.’
Murkan's eerie warning from two months prior.
“...Gasp!”
Ifrin opened her eyes. She bolted upright from the waist.
Huff huff—huff huff
Panting, she scanned her surroundings.
“Dream... just a dream?”
77th floor of the tower, Deculein's office.
She sat in the assistant's chair.
“Dream. What a nightmare.”
She clutched her chest.
Phew...
Why dream of a bomb exploding?
Was I that obsessed?
“You dreamt.”
Deculein's voice pierced like an arrow, his gaze sharp.
Ifrin scratched her nape.
“Nothing much. And Professor, no plans tonight. Go alone, relax. I have stuff to do this evening.”
“...”
Deculein stared wordlessly.
An odd gaze.
Ifrin tilted her head. Huh? Huh?
“Why stare like that?”
“Rotheo Hall entrance exam orientation.”
“...Pardon?”
“Tonight's schedule.”
“...Pardon?”
“...Still drowsy?”
His eyes narrowed sleepily. Ifrin cocked her head.
“No no? I'm fine. What's wrong?”
“...”
But Deculein's expression seemed off. Like beholding a madwoman.
“Why...”
As she meant to ask what the issue was,
Ifrin spotted the paper on her desk.
“...Huh?”
Why is this here?
The paper I slaved over for three days straight, submitted to Deculein for review and corrections—why back here?
“...”
Thinking he'd finished revisions already, she opened it: incomplete.
The paper was unfinished.
Eerie.
No—grotesque.
The calculations, spells, arrays into which I'd poured time and soul—gone.
“Uh...”
Dazedly reading her own paper, her handwriting, Ifrin suddenly looked up at Deculein.
Still eyeing her suspiciously, she asked:
“Professor. What day is it—”
“Wednesday.”
Then, at last, Ifrin sensed something was wrong... profoundly, irrevocably wrong.
April 9th wasn't Wednesday.
Wasn't Wednesday at all.
Thursday.
“Such varied antics.”
Deculein shook his head, preparing to leave, but a voice echoed in Ifrin's mind.
Repeating.
—Sun and moon shall repeat.
—Sun and moon shall repeat.
—Sun and moon shall repeat.
Murkan's riddle, once cryptic.
“Ah, ah, ah!”
Hairs standing on end, Ifrin dashed to the full-length window behind Deculein's desk, plastering herself against it.
“...”
His contemptuous glare reflected in the glass, but no time for that.
Too strange.
An utterly implausible phenomenon unfolding before her eyes.
“Why... no cherry blossoms?”
Late March to early April. Cherry blossoms blanketing the campus. Blessing freshman-senior encounters.
No pink petals.
Not a trace, even squinting.
Just yesterday, they'd bloomed blindingly amid those damn couples.
“...Professor.”
Ifrin murmured blankly. Eyes fixed on the view beyond the tower.
“What month—”
“February 17th.”
“...Ah.”
I see.
No—not ‘I see.’
This is the dream.
The prior was no dream; this is.
Yes, that fits.
I dozed in Deculein's car.
Close eyes, wake up.
“...That must be it.”
If not a dream, then redo the paper.
Redo those head-splitting calculations.
Prep classes again.
Redo all the work, the ‘Voice’ cave, the exams.
“Wake from the dream quick. Yeah.”
Ifrin nodded vacantly, then thunk! forehead to glass.
“Are you deranged? Ifrin, snap out of it.”
As Deculein approached in disdain,
“...Why won't I wake.”
Thunk!
One more to the glass, and she passed out.