Preparation. (2)
“Pathetic lot...”
Deculein spoke with utter contempt and halted the lecture. The auditorium fell silent at the head professor’s blatant disappointment.
Only heavy sighs escaped the students.
The debutante mages, who had entered the tower full of puffed-up dreams, now felt a stark wall before them.
Deculein’s magic was that impenetrable. His Telekinesis was a fortress of iron, so solid it made one blurt out, “How can Telekinesis be this—”
Common knowledge held that Telekinesis was easy to learn and master, but if it didn’t suit one’s aptitude, its output was middling at best—hence its minor reputation.
So if even plain old Telekinesis was a masterpiece like this, what must his other spells be like? What level of purity did his mana reach?
It was skill befitting the head professor, but recalling his gaze—like he was handling filth—the mages sank into self-loathing.
The sullen silence lasted all of three minutes.
“Ugh, he’s such a dick, seriously.”
“If I could do that, I wouldn’t be a debutante.”
“What’s the head prof’s deal, getting off on bullying debutantes?”
“Dude, how’d he buy 150 mana stones? Must be loaded.”
“He’s famous for his money. Heard he dropped 200 million at the auction. In one day.”
“200 million?!”
The auditorium buzzed with backtalk like that.
“I’m dying here... Hey, Ifrin, how’d you do it? I’m about to keel over.”
Julia, who’d apparently passed out for a bit, asked Ifrin. Ifrin glanced at the girl beside her and shook her head.
“...Dunno. My tongue’s numb as hell.”
Of course, when she’d pulled it off, she’d been thrilled half to death.
A bit of exaggeration, but it felt like the triumph of passing the tower entrance exam.
It was Deculein’s magic she’d matched, and she’d poured every ounce of effort into those 30 minutes.
“Just tell me what it felt like.”
“Like pushin’ a train with my bare hands or somethin’.”
“Like pushing a train barehanded?”
Ifrin nodded.
Deculein’s magic was like a Roahawk wild boar—distinct from any other pig, standing out sharply from any other professor in the tower.
“Hoo...”
Anyway, once that intense focus ended, Ifrin collapsed in exhaustion.
“But seriously, wasn’t that too hard? Felt like he was just screwing with us.”
Julia grumbled. Ifrin took a sip of cold water.
“...I kinda get it now. Ah, tongue’s loosening up.”
“Huh? You get it?”
“Had some kinda epiphany.”
At that, not just Julia but nearby ears perked up. Ferrit and Rondel in the front row even spun around.
“Epiphany?!”
“Yeah. Honestly, I only knew beginner Telekinesis? But trying to break through Deculein’s... like, something just clicked inside.”
An instinctive realization.
Beginner Telekinesis was no match for Deculein’s. But refusing to give up and pushing desperately...
“Like your circuits unlocking automatically? Insight?”
In short, her circuits had “opened.”
New lines formed in her Telekinesis magic circle on their own, circles multiplied, and the incantation interfered with Deculein’s spell.
An insight transcending intuition.
With it, she’d at least jostled the mana stone. Ifrin succeeded—not far off from Sylvia’s time, so she could feel proud.
Her proof: the 3,000 elne mana stone clutched in her hand.
“Whoa, for real? That’s wild.”
“Dunno the details, but yeah, that’s how it went.”
By now, eyes around her sparkled.
Mages loved the words “epiphany” and “insight” most—first and second place. She’d dropped both; no wonder.
Last place did it, so I can too!
“Anyway, seems like the right way. Like chess—you improve playing masters. Sticking with newbies just keeps you at their level, flipping back and forth.”
“Flipping back and forth.”
“Ah, yeah. Tongue’s still kinda numb.”
Ifrin was convinced.
Deculein’s path was correct.
To hone their mage’s fundamentals, knowledge, and skill, just follow him...
—However.
Other mages in the room—nobles, precisely—found Ifrin’s attitude grating.
Even rare, Sylvia glanced at her with clear annoyance.
Sylvia had heard a weird rumor once.
Last class’s last-place Ifrin got private lessons from Deculein late into the night. A professor had seen him leave late.
She hadn’t believed it at first, but without that rumor, Ifrin’s sudden leap made no sense. Private tutoring from Deculein explained it...
Sylvia couldn’t hold back her frustration and shut her eyes briefly.
Why give last place the reward meant for first? Unknown bubbles boiled inside.
“Hey! Why haven’t you cleaned up?!”
A sharp voice cut in suddenly. A male mage near Sylvia—‘Beck,’ mimicking Deculein’s style poorly.
He’d been watching Sylvia’s face, then abruptly targeted Ifrin and the commoner group.
“We cleaned our spots.”
Julia shot back.
“What? You gotta empty the back trash bins too! Don’t you know Prof Deculein hates that crap?”
The tower had no formal class divides, but nobles subtly looked down on commoners like this.
Ifrin, frowning, replied.
“Lid’s closed anyway—no one sees. If it bugs you so much, do it yourselves.”
“What? Ha. You, bitch. In society, you’d—”
The door opened then. Beck scrambled to his seat.
Deculein, mid-stride, eyed Beck—the one who’d been yapping.
“...”
Precisely, Beck’s nose—nostril still bloody, nose hairs poking out.
“Sorry! So sorry! Won’t happen again!”
Beck bowed frantically, terrified by the gaze.
“Move to the back. You’re an eyesore.”
“Yes, sir!”
Beck was isolated instantly; commoners inwardly cheered. They ignored his fuming from the rear.
“See? Doesn’t matter noble or commoner—he chews everyone out.”
Julia nudged Ifrin. She frowned and shook her head.
“Told you, that’s not a good thing. I don’t like it.”
At the podium, Deculein resumed.
“What think you was the reason you failed at magic interference just now?”
“Defense has the advantage.”
An unexpected retort—from Sylvia, no less.
She was deeply dissatisfied with Deculein now. Her eyes burned bulldog-fierce.
Ifrin went “Ooh,” eyebrows twitching.
Sylvia said.
“Professor, show us a demonstration.”
Offense vs. defense, defense was far easier.
At least three minutes—maybe five—she could hold out easily. Seeing Deculein tremble in that time would satisfy her.
“Indeed. Defense is common sense as the superior side.”
Ifrin chimed in. Sylvia fumed more at that.
“Very well.”
Deculein nodded.
He brimmed with confidence. His Telekinesis far surpassed any debutante—no, anyone at the university.
“Proceed.”
Sylvia maxed her Telekinesis like she’d been waiting. The mana stone floated, caught in her mana—
Whoosh!—
Snatched by Deculein instantly.
“Huh.”
Sylvia panicked.
Too fast—she couldn’t even process what happened.
Snatched without knowing why.
The time: one second... no, less.
“Ifrin. Will you try?”
Now Ifrin.
She glanced around nervously, rummaging desk, book, pencil case, notes. Then bowed, shamefaced.
“Sorry. Lost my mana stone. Must’ve misplaced it in that short time.”
“I shall return it.”
“...Ah, in my pocket. Sorry. I’ll try.”
Ifrin floated her stone with Telekinesis, focusing hard enough to nosebleed. But Deculein snatched it just as swiftly.
No different from Sylvia.
“What the...”
Ifrin felt hit by a train—a near-collision.
Deculein continued calmly.
“When magical skill gaps are this vast, ’tis not interference. ’Tis unilateral violence.”
Ifrin and Sylvia scowled in unison.
“Thus, know your place. You require not ‘magic interference,’ but comprehension of ‘Mana Interference.’”
Deculein snapped his fingers, darkening the room. Three Telekinesis magic circles floated: beginner, intermediate, advanced.
“No need to dismantle spells. Nor counter with the same.”
Another snap—red lines traced the core circuits.
“Simply eject ‘mana’ to disrupt the magic circle’s center—the ‘core circuit.’”
This ‘Mana Interference’ was fairly well-known. A technique most tower mages picked up.
But not versatile.
Only works on known spells; combat’s too rushed. Most opt for barriers or matching counters.
Yet no pain, no gain.
“The essence of this technique: distinguishing the magic circle’s ‘core circuit.’ Now, I shall demonstrate identifying it across various circles.”
Deculein detailed it accessibly, explaining core selection.
“Even facing an unfamiliar spell, view it through a mage’s eyes undaunted. By type—destruction, support, element—it forms fixed ‘core circuits.’ Predict, target, disrupt.”
From magic tomes and primers pored over,
Rare ancient texts few nobles could access, devoured,
Game systems and lore consulted,
Understanding comparing hundreds of incantations for insights—
Deculein’s personal playbook.
“Master this ‘Mana Interference,’ and ‘magic interference’ grows far easier. Now, behold this ‘Gale Blade Drill’ circle again.”
His professional nature laid bare what most—nearly all—mages would hoard as trade secrets.
“Destruction spells always expand outward explosively, so with that in mind...”
Time for notes again.
They hung on his every word, enunciation piercing ears.
Deculein’s ever-fascinating allure.
The positive side of his Intimidation and Dignity trait.
Thus, time flew.
6:00 p.m. sharp.
Deculein stopped precisely then.
“Dismissed.”
“...?”
The mages panicked. The lecture felt unfinished.
Yet Deculein’s time obsession was near-pathological—no tardiness, no early departures.
Arrives exactly at 3:00, leaves at 6:00.
No more, no less.
“...A bit remained, and I wished to explain simplifying ‘Pure Elements’ interference.”
He scanned them. His gaze still pitied the debutantes.
“You wasted time, so no complaints. Imagine and realize the rest yourselves.”
With that, he straightened his attire and exited amid their stunned stares.
...Usually, everyone would rise and leave post-class.
Not today. No one moved.
“...Ah.”
Someone sighed. Probably Ifrin.
Sylvia blinked, pencil gripped. The cutoff sentence nagged. Nagged relentlessly.
“What the hell. What’re we supposed to imagine?”
An nameless mage muttered. The whole room felt the same.
They’d trash-talked him without leaving, but realizing he wasn’t returning, they cursed the world itself.
* * *
The Empire’s imperial demesne ‘Impurium’ linked south to the capital, north shielded by rugged Kidia Mountains—the heart of imperial administration.
Foreign Affairs, Justice, Interior—key agencies based there. Beneath the city lay the Security Bureau’s criminal interrogation room.
...Lokhark was confined underground.
“You’ll be sent to Recor Dak.”
The interrogator: Lilia Premien. Infamous even in Impurium as Security vice-director.
“You’ll never emerge. Might not last a year.”
Lokhark met her eyes.
Ponytailed deep-blue hair, ice-cold clear eyes rippling with a strong one’s aura.
“...No objections?”
Her tone clipped, voice soft.
Softer than her look suggested.
“Asked if you object.”
Lokhark stayed silent.
A vein pulsed at Premien’s temple.
“Activate it.”
“...What.”
“Your ability.”
Lokhark smirked, eyes closing.
Instantly, all nearby magic cut out. Purpose: the surveillance crystal orb. Confirmed dead, Premien snapped.
“You fucking retard.”
“...”
“Told you not to harm the clan. Why’d you do it?”
Lokhark stared silently. Premien continued blankly.
“I wanted you dead. Expose you, fuel the persecution. You live for research only. So never utter ‘Altiegue’ from that mouth.”
“...Think we can leech off this empire forever?”
“If undiscovered, yes. Altiegue are normal humans post-birth.”
“No. Born with demonic talent. They fear it.”
“Fuck off. Talent abounds without Altiegue.”
Premien grumbled angrily, face impassive.
“One more: why touch Deculein? We’d marked House Yukline.”
“...Clan plans to kill him?”
Lokhark asked. Premien’s brow twitched.
“Just watching. If that bastard keeps bastarding, no reason not to.”
“No need. He’s no fake—a ‘true’ noble.”
“True noble... bullshit, you moron. Crimes I’ve gathered fill a basket.”
Lokhark shook his head.
He recalled that Deculein.
Declaring Altiegue human, not demon—with dignity. Eyes piercing only righteousness, untainted by doubt.
If more such nobles existed in the past—
Altiegue could blend into the world.
“He knew I’m Altiegue yet spared me.”
“...”
Premien’s eyes widened—her sole surprise today.
Regaining composure:
“...Unaware Yukline ancestors led Altiegue massacres?”
“Didn’t know. But judging him by diluted ancestor blood agrees we’re demons, as they claim.”
“You won’t shut up, huh.”
Premien swept back her hair. Lokhark smirked.
“How long till you’re exposed in that post?”
“Eternally. No distinguishing by looks or blood.”
“Clan avoids certain foods.”
“Just don’t eat.”
“If they invent another way? That’s why you’ve eyes everywhere.”
“Wrong, you dumb fuck.”
Edge entered Premien’s gaze.
“Emperor’s condition worsens. Might die soon.”
Current emperor ignored Altiegue utterly. No response to persecution petitions.
But his successor—who knew?
“Rot in Recor Dak.”
Recor Dak.
Frozen hell, worst prison on earth.
“Clan policy sets post-emperor’s death. Doubt you’ll survive till then.”
Then—
Bang bang bang! Bang bang!
Magic surveillance gone, Security staff sensed trouble, pounded the door.
“Deactivate. And bite hard.”
“Clan fists? Anytime.”
Lokhark grinned; Premien grabbed his hair, slam! into the desk.
Door opened perfectly timed.
“Wha— Vice-Director! No! Stop! Enough!”
“Fucking trash. Skull-crushing time.”
Slam! Slam!
Staff rushed the pestle-pounding Premien on Lokhark.
“V-Vice-Director! Calm down!”
“Outta my way. Gonna rip this dog’s guts and choke him.”
“No! Grab her! Grab heeeer—!”