Imperial Palace (2)
……Three months had passed since the professor promotion review began.
The Imperial University Tower was still abuzz with debates over the next chief professor.
Deculein boasted unparalleled formula interpretation ability and a robust theoretical framework, backed by the mighty Yukline family. Yet in overall capability, Ruina surpassed him—and the difference in their characters made her the overwhelming favorite in public opinion.
Deculein was already nearly insufferable in his arrogance; the professors feared what he might become as chief and thus rallied behind Ruina.
Moreover, the tower's evaluation criteria prized personal merit and achievements over family or status. Even Chairman Adrienne, the head of the board, hailed from a baronetcy.
Trusting in the fairness of the selection process, Ruina had fought back.
She refused to yield to the Yukline family's relentless pressure and threats. She would die before submitting.
But today…
—If that position matters more to you than your family, then quit now.
Your father's voice—so frail and parched, stripped of its former strength—shattered her resolve.
The Yukline pressure had spread beyond Ruina herself to engulf her entire house.
The McQueen family had once been among the traditional twelve great houses, but everything unraveled the day they were expelled from the Verhert council ten years ago.
Her father had suffered a grievous injury, losing his mana in the process, and the McQueens lost their prestige.
They no longer had the power to stand against the Yuklines.
It wasn't something she could endure alone.
The crisis she'd realized too late was far graver than she'd imagined.
Not just her father, mother, and siblings—the retainers, servants, and the family's entire territory were collapsing.
Drip… drip…
It was a day of drizzling rain.
Drenched to the bone in a downpour heavier than her sense of powerlessness, Ruina sought out Deculein.
"Impossible."
At the outer gate of the Yukline mansion—one of the capital's grandest estates—a guard blocked her path.
"I have something to say."
"No prior appointment, no entry."
"I know, I get it. But I have something to say!"
"Impossible."
"……Get out of my way! Tell them Ruina's here, and Deculein will—"
The guards swarmed her. Ruina shoved and was shoved back in a prolonged scuffle, until a single voice halted the commotion.
"What is this?"
It was Deculein.
He stood beyond the gate, under his valet's umbrella, gazing down at her. That condescending stare, brimming with disdain and contempt, filled her with loathing.
"You again, Ruina."
His brow twitched. Ruina brushed past the guards and shook out her clothes.
"……"
She glared at him, lips trembling. The words she loathed to utter circled in her mouth. She hated them so much she could die—but…
Finally, she spat them out like blood.
"……I'll withdraw."
"'Withdraw'?"
"Yes."
Deculein looked down at her like a stray mutt.
"I'll withdraw. Then it'll all be over, right?"
Ruina pressed on in a trembling voice.
"So let's just end this."
"……'End'?"
A sneer curled from Deculein's twisted lips.
His next words dripped with venom.
"End what, exactly?"
"……What?"
The Yuklines had pushed the McQueen house to the brink. Loan deadlines had been slashed absurdly short; family checks were now worthless scraps.
The territory teetered on total bankruptcy.
"Ruina. I haven't the foggiest what you're on about…"
Deculein advanced slowly, step by deliberate step. Cold scorn settled in his eyes.
"If you've come to apologize."
Apologize.
The filthy word stunned her.
"You'll need the proper posture for that."
Under the umbrella his valet held, Deculein's blue eyes gleamed coldly.
"You're far too upright at present."
Ruina bit her lip until her teeth pierced flesh and blood welled.
"……Apologize?"
"Indeed. After the McQueens fell from Verhert, they survived on Yukline support. They didn't collapse then solely due to our grace. We forgave the McQueens' ingratitude once before—but now that pup reverts to its old habits, snapping like a dog. An apology is only natural."
His tone was calm, aristocratic. Ruina clenched her fists, glaring. Deculein narrowed his eyes.
"……A tree rotten from the roots cannot survive. Very well. Watch and see—your house will wither to mere weeds."
With that, he turned away.
The world spun. The sky seemed to crash down.
She wanted to flee far away. But for her family's sake, she couldn't run.
Ruina cried out at his retreating back.
"Wait!"
Deculein halted, glancing back over his shoulder.
"……I'll do it."
Ruina knelt slowly, blood trickling from her lip.
Splash—
Mud mixed with rainwater seeped into her clothes.
"……"
Even Deculein seemed faintly surprised.
"……I'm sorry. I… apologize."
Ruina bowed her head, tears flowing. They mingled with the rain, unseen.
A small scoff followed, laced with contempt.
"Tch. How base and pathetic."
Deculein approached through the intensifying downpour.
"A mongrel from a godforsaken house not even a century old, without roots or history."
His bootheel came down on her knee.
"That presumptuous crawling, clutching at scraps of pride…"
He ground it in, stamping like a brand: press, press.
Ruina felt her heart tear with agony.
"It was revolting to behold."
Crunch—!
The heel smashed her knee. Flesh tore, ligaments snapped, blood oozed forth.
Ruina stifled a wretched groan.
"Begone. If you seek your house's revival, never show that wretched face before me again."
Deculein spat the words like curses and departed. But Ruina remained rooted.
The guards resumed their posts at the outer gate as thick rain engulfed her. Vomited blood mixed with the deluge and flowed away.
The next day, after begging forgiveness until the rain stopped, Ruina submitted her resignation to the Imperial University Tower. Two days later, she left the empire. A week after, all returned to normal.
But Ruina never forgot that day's humiliation.
She toiled like a madwoman.
As chief professor of the kingdom's magic tower, she penned treatises, developed spells, amassed wealth to rebuild her house—and earned the kingdom's people's reverence. The result stood before her now…
The Imperial Palace.
Ruina stood in the imperial city, savoring the thrill of reversal. She flashed her credentials to the guards, who saluted and opened the gates.
From the palace entrance to the inner sanctum took a full forty minutes, passing multiple checkpoints and even changing carriages midway.
At last, she reached the "Path of Humility," leading to the secluded heart of the palace.
"Ruina von Shurot McQueen!"
When the emperor called her name, she felt like she owned the world, overwhelmed by his favor.
But the next instant—
"Deculein von Grahan Yukline!"
Hearing that name, seeing that face.
"……"
Ruina vowed once more.
She wouldn't lose this time.
No—she would repay that day's humiliation twofold, threefold.
Sharpening the blade in her heart, Ruina quietly walked the "Path of Humility."
I watched Ruina from the palace hall. Outwardly, she cut a prickly figure.
"Don't stare."
Her tone was razor-sharp. I withdrew my gaze without a word.
"Yet you cling to that seat stubbornly. I heard your 'brain' killed himself three years ago."
This time, Ruina spoke first. I replied curtly.
"Don't talk to me."
"……"
No need to play nice with enemies. Feigning kindness amid ignorance would only backfire.
A simple truth I'd learned living as Deculein for nearly half a year.
"We shall conduct a light search."
Maids approached then.
Ruina shed her coat first for inspection. The maid eyed the bag brimming with items.
"What are these?"
"Gifts and lesson materials for His Majesty."
Glancing over, I saw grimoires and thick stacks of notes. A palace mage beside the maid examined them magically.
"Approved. Now, Lord Deculein?"
I rose and approached the maids. Their search of me dragged on unusually long.
The maid regarded the velvet bundle in my hands.
"What is this?"
"A gift for His Majesty."
She unpacked it: a bottle of Prudu 33-year vintage, among the continent's finest.
"……Liquor requires extra scrutiny. We'll inspect it thoroughly before presenting."
"Understood."
"Tch. We're here to teach, not drink."
I ignored Ruina's barb.
The searches concluded, and we followed the maids up the palace stairs.
The emperor's study chamber, dubbed the "Hall of Learning," was set apart.
Before a door carved with a golden lion, the maid knocked.
Knock-knock—
"Your Majesty, the two tutoring mages have arrived."
—Enter.
"Yes."
Eyes closed, the maid bowed and opened the door. The emperor sat in his chair, fixing us with his gaze.
I stepped forward and bowed.
"Deculein von Grahan Yukline greets the glorious emperor."
"Ruina von Shurot McQueen greets the glorious emperor."
"Good. Welcome."
With his guard knight Kairon standing statue-still behind him, the maid shut the door.
Ruina and I drew nearer. The emperor asked casually,
"Magic, eh… Well, first lesson today. Where to begin?"
Ruina jumped in swiftly.
"First, we'll assess Your Majesty's preferred series and attributes."
"Series? Attributes? Ah, the eight series."
"Yes."
"Unnecessary. Magic on first meeting? No. Let's talk instead."
"……?"
Ruina's eyes widened in confusion. She glanced between her armful of materials, lesson plans, and the emperor, pondering her response.
"Sit. Let's chat."
As Ruina's lips twitched silently, the emperor gestured to chairs.
I shook my head.
"We are the mages selected to pursue magical truth alongside Your Majesty. If not for lessons, we have no need to remain."
The line must be drawn now.
I couldn't let the emperor ensnare me. Indulging his laziness would spike the game's difficulty exponentially.
The emperor's brows furrowed in an eight.
"I said I don't want to."
"Tradition, etiquette, study—all demand we do what we dislike."
"……"
The emperor glared. Tap-tap-tap— He drummed his fingers on the desk in irritation.
Ruina signaled me wordlessly from behind: the Wizard Code, Morse for mages.
I offered no reply.
The emperor scratched his brow and spoke.
"Very well. Do you play chess?"
Chess. I knew the basics and standard openings.
Not from Kim Woojin, but Deculein's memories. Noble pastimes like riding or chess were ingrained in this body.
"Yes. Poorly, but I can manage."
Ruina answered. A smile tugged at the emperor's lips.
"Splendid. Then let's settle it with chess. Win, and we'll lesson as you wish. Lose, and you leave now—no words, lesson over for today."
"……"
Ruina shot me a venomous glare.
I merely wondered.
How far would Understanding apply to chess?
"Agreed. Ruina, you first."
I nudged her forward. She stumbled out, cursing me with her eyes, but soon bowed and approached.
"My meager skill dares to face Your Majesty—"
"Team up if you like."
I shook my head at the emperor's words. I planned to observe their game first, gauge Understanding's reach.
"Hm. One-on-one's dull anyway. Begin."
"Yes."
Ruina had white; Sophien, black.
Clack—
The pieces rang crisply on the board.
Ruina mulled each move deeply; Sophien glanced and played. Her poise foretold the outcome.
……An hour later, perhaps.
"Checkmate."
Only black pieces remained.
"……I lose."
"Ruina, you're too safe, too analytical. More fun with Kairon. Next—you, Deculein?"
The emperor eyed me, faint hostility flickering in his intrigued gaze. He already resented me.
"Yes."
"Entertain me, or face punishment."
I took Ruina's seat.
"One chance each."
"One?"
"Yes."
Insurance against mana exhaustion.
"If I lose, I withdraw cleanly. No rematch, no review."
"……Fine. Suit yourself."
His vulgarity grated.
I had white, so first move. I played by instinct. Black responded; I followed suit.
Then, unbidden—
My vision tinged blue, like ink seeping into my pupils.
Understanding had activated.
……Sophien thought.
An inscrutable bastard.
Like a feral dog. His play was savage, incomprehensibly swift and ruthless. Fierce and wild, yet crude.
Untamed ferocity, sharp as shattered glass.
A lethal blade if you slipped even slightly.
Compared to Ruina, dozens of times more vicious, more threatening.
He'd forced chaos from the opening, charging offensively. He exploited gaps, tore at anything he could seize.
Sophien alternated between board and his face, deploying her bishop.
Clack—
Clack—
Her queen followed seamlessly.
Queen in under three seconds from conception to move. Reckless, yet sound.
Sophien peered into his eyes.
The Yukline head stared at the board, unshaken.
Starved for prey?
Or just bloodthirsty?
Either way, a temperament clashing with his facade.
"……Hmph."
But Sophien knew the flaw in such biased aggression.
A starving stray blinds itself with fury, self-destructing in petty traps.
Clack—
Sophien exposed a gap in her steady buildup—a feigned blunder.
Irresistible bait; stepping in meant encirclement.
Sophien held her poker face, awaiting his plunge. The dog didn't hesitate, following her lead into the snare.
Oblivious, it gnawed relentlessly; Sophien smiled.
Clack—
Knight captured his queen.
Game over.
It should have been.
……Yet.
"……"
Sophien found the prolonged board eerie. What should have ended swiftly dragged on.
He moved without pause.
She, the emperor, couldn't lag in deliberation.
Sophien matched his tempo out of pride, but he assailed endlessly.
She parried successfully, devouring pieces—yet strangely, she felt mired, sinking slowly.
The position remained, always, superior.
But this uncanny atmosphere—what was it?
Victory imminent, yet dragged along by him… this bizarre sensation…
Then.
Deculein halted. The game entered endgame; Sophien eyed the sparse board.
Why stop now?
Sophien pondered, simulating his moves from the setup.
One, two, three… Pieces danced in her mind.
His bishop linked to her king; her queen took it—but precisely on the eighth move.
"……"
The emperor saw her defeat.
If Deculein played on, no counter could save her.
No.
Not "if"—he'd steered her here. That explained the eerie mood.
Sophien couldn't fathom this exquisite arrangement. Every piece he'd left, every position, brimmed with intent.
Had she underestimated him too lightly?
Since when had she been led?
Sophien lifted her eyes amid silence.
"……"
Deculein met her gaze squarely. His eyes, once board-fixed, now pinned her.
Expressionless.
All he needed was to move.
……But.
His next act shattered her expectations once more.
Thud—
He toppled his own king.
The white king tumbled across the board and fell.
Sophien's eyes followed it, then rose to Deculein.
"What do you think you're doing?"
To her flat query, Deculein replied,
"I lost."
As if it were obvious.
Sophien countered,
"My king isn't taken yet."
"No further solution presents itself."
……Whose solution—yours or mine?
Before she could ask, Deculein stood abruptly.
"We've both lost to Your Majesty, so regrettably, we withdraw. Until next week."
No further words, as promised.
No review, no rematch.
Deculein honored his word. The emperor glared at his retreating back.