Daily Life (2)
Yeriel had successfully hidden herself, but Ifrin and the club members had no suitable spots. They scurried about in confusion before hiding in clumsy fashion.
One ducked behind the door, another behind the coat rack, and Ifrin floated up with a low buuuz—clinging to the ceiling like a starfish.
It was self-application of Telekinesis.
The door flew open with a bang.
Deculein entered. Without twitching a finger, he hung his overcoat on the rack with psychokinesis.
"Professor! How will this week's general lecture proceed?!"
"Leave the documents and go."
"Yeees!"
Though accompanied by the assistant professor, Allen soon exited. Deculein then halted in the center of the office.
Everyone held their breath.
"......"
Deculein, lost in thought, suddenly tilted his head upward.
There, on the ceiling, was Ifrin.
"Ah...... Ahahaha......"
Caught, Ifrin forced a bitter smile. Deculein stared at her intently, simultaneously dismantling her telekinesis.
"Gyaaak!"
Before she could plummet, he slowed her fall somewhat with Fluid Manipulation. She nose-planted softly onto the floor unharmed, but Deculein felt a twinge of surprise.
The mana he'd expended interfering with Ifrin's telekinesis just now— an astonishing 300.
At the semester's start, she had been all raw talent, her magical finesse still that of a fledgling chick.
Even accounting for his own improved skill in the interim, this was remarkably steep growth.
As expected of a 'named' one.
A pang near jealousy arose, but he brushed it aside.
"......The rest of you, come out."
Deculein summoned the other club members.
"......"
In the end, four debutantes stood before Deculein.
He glared at them terrifyingly and spoke.
"Unauthorized intrusion into the chief professor's office merits discipline at minimum, expulsion at worst."
"S-Sorry!"
Julia shouted first and dropped to her knees. Ifrin, Ron, and Perit followed belatedly.
"Apologies are unnecessary. State your reason properly."
"Uh, well......"
Ifrin hesitated.
Yeriel, hidden under the desk. Betraying Deculein's sister might get them off the hook, but Ifrin had her code.
"We came to deliver this."
First, she pulled a photo from her bosom. Deculein fetched it with telekinesis.
"Expect the Wrath of Ashes. The moment to test your frailty and weakness has arrived."
"......That incantation on the liquor formula brought up the phrase, 'Expect the Wrath of Ashes. The moment to test your frailty and weakness has arrived.'"
"A warning from the Ashes Heap."
"Yes. We assumed as much and rushed to inform you......"
Deculein examined the photo closely.
Even he—even precisely because he was Deculein—would react like the other professors, Ifrin figured.
The Ashes Heap was their Achilles' heel, after all.
"......Mitigating circumstances are warranted."
Yet Deculein's response diverged sharply from the others. He even nodded as if understanding.
"Even so, unauthorized entry demands demerits, and above all."
His tone remained cold but had distinctly softened. Deculein scanned the four in turn.
"This is no concern for debutantes like you. Even if from the Ashes Heap, it falls to professors and above."
"......The professors wouldn't even listen to us."
Ifrin clenched her fist in frustration. Deculein smirked, twisting his lips.
"I know. Those old dogs would."
Everyone was stunned by the remark.
"However, this tower has professors beyond them."
Mid-tier tenured professors had stagnated in skill long ago, focusing on research and projects.
But the fresh young professors in their mid-to-late twenties. Among them were reliable named ones like Jennifer of Harmony, bespectacled Kelodan, and Grant.
"Seek Kelodan. He can guide you."
Kelodan, set as a player ally from the start.
He would lead Ifrin and her club well.
"One demerit point each. Moreover, this discovery shall count as achievement for your Flat Mana Exploration club."
"......Yes. Thank you."
"Now leave."
Ifrin and the members bowed and exited.
Deculein strode to his desk chair and sat, peering at the photo they'd provided.
Mid-Boss Clear Rewards
✦ Item Catalog (1)
✦ Shop Currency +2
Mid-boss event.
Grand in name, but mid-bosses weren't invariably special.
Deculein himself was one, and dozens more qualified besides.
Yet this 5th-grade event posed some difficulty.
Mage players had to overcome it with student named ones, sans aid from professors or external named figures.
And therein lay this tower's greatest issue.
There was no 'player'.
A player was an out-of-the-ordinary existence wielding the system. Named ones gathered around them as the core, but absent that, stagnation.
"No helping it."
Deculein exited the office to prepare countermeasures.
......Five minutes or so passed.
Yeriel stealthily emerged from under the desk.
"Phew. Close call."
She tried brushing off the dust, but there was none. Her obsessive neatness was insane.
Aish, seriously. Not like she'd die if it wasn't spotless.
Sighing, Yeriel toddled to the door and opened it.
"Yeriel."
"Kyaaah—!"
The voice right beside her froze her heart. Yeriel spasmed and flattened to the ground.
Deculein looked down at his pitiful sister with disdain.
"What is it."
"N-N-No, I mean—if you knew, say so ahead! Aish, my heart......"
"I asked what it is."
Yeriel glared at Deculein and stood, brushing herself off. He removed clinging lint with telekinesis.
Pouting, she stammered.
"......Y'know, Ruina. Ruina."
"Ruina Macqueen."
"Yeah. Just checking, but you didn't kidnap her, right? Rumors are flying, but bullshit, yeah?"
Deculein said nothing. Didn't even pretend to hear.
Yeriel rephrased politely.
"You didn't kidnap her, did you?"
"......They say Ruina will be released soon."
"Huh? What?"
"Return."
Deculein shut the door, leaving Yeriel outside. Alone, she pondered his words.
Ruina will be released soon.
Ruina will be released soon.
Ruina will be released soon.
Grasping the nuance in phrasing and tone, Yeriel's eyes widened.
"No way, that crazy bastard really......!"
So you did kidnap her!
* * *
......Meanwhile, Sylvia studied magic at the estate.
The bookshelf held Deculein's lecture notes, sorted by theme. Her notebook, too, reviewed his lessons intently.
Knock knock.
A sudden knock shattered her focus. Sylvia glared at the door. It cracked open, revealing a familiar face peeking in.
Gilteon.
"......Ah! Studying?"
Gilteon chuckled, scratching his cheek. Sylvia narrowed her eyes and shook her head.
Break time was near anyway.
"Hahaha. Good timing, dear."
Gilteon entered. Surveying the room, he frowned at the notes on the shelf.
"......Deculein summaries?"
"Yeah."
"I've heard the chief professor's lectures are all the rage in the tower lately, but you've compiled them diligently."
"Yeah. They're really helpful."
Sylvia replied calmly. Gilteon twisted his lips.
Dissatisfaction brewed inwardly.
"With Deculein, practical combat over theory might suit you better."
"Learning practicals too. Probably starting this week."
"......I see."
Deculein's prowess now eluded even Gilteon's predictions.
Just three days prior, he'd shattered a demonic barrier single-handedly—rumors of his combat ability rife even in mage circles.
The chairman herself had said in an interview—
"Professor Deculein's combat power is right below mine! Incredible!"
Right below the soon-to-be archmage Adrienne.
Lip service bordering nonsense upon reflection, yet young mages believed and feared it.
Deculein's trajectory had been that unprecedented.
Creeeak......
The door opened again. Gilteon and Sylvia turned. It was Sylvia's half-brother, Gilrand.
Sylvia said to the little boy,
"Potato's here."
"......I'm not Potato!"
Gilrand flung the door wide, yelling. Sylvia replied expressionlessly,
"Whole potato."
"I said no—!"
As the kids bantered, Gilteon glanced at the art notebook on Sylvia's bed. He picked it up casually.
"......"
His face hardened.
The flipped-open art notebook sketched an 'unpleasant face.'
Not one page.
Not two.
The entire notebook...... Deculein.
Gilteon set it down. With a complex, rigid expression, he watched Sylvia fuss over potatoes and corn with the boy.
"Dear."
"Yeah."
"Thinking of visiting the cemetery now. Care to join?"
"Already went."
"......I see."
Gilteon forced a smile.
"Then I'll go alone. Get along, you two."
"Take Potato."
"Not Potato!"
"Potato's being loud."
He left the kids behind.
"......"
Gilteon's mind blanked for some reason. The world felt distant from him.
"We're off."
He ignored the driver's words.
The car moved, soon reaching the cemetery.
"We've arrived, family head."
Gilteon descended and walked the paths.
A soul-shaking emotional residue.
The gravestone he reached was pristine.
The stone was clean, grass well-kept.
Sylvia's handiwork, naturally.
"......Complicated."
Kneeling, Gilteon muttered at the grave.
Sylvia's Deculein drawings.
Admiration? Affection?
Respect?
Or a childhood fever, fleeting?
He recoiled from distinctions; mere thought hurled his mind to the cosmos.
"Ciel. I thought I lost you because I deserved to......"
He closed his eyes briefly.
As father, he yearned to deny reality, but Gilteon was ever pragmatic.
"......Another method you'd despise has surfaced."
When he opened his eyes.
A thick smile curled his twisted lips.
"Yet I deem it not ill. Ultimately, thanks to you, our child—and Ilayde—shall rise greater."
Gilteon laid a flower on her grave.
"You tired of such as I and left, but...... I am Ilayde still."
Cielia, even in death, rejected burial on Ilayde soil.
She regretted eternally becoming wife to a magic-mad ghost.
"Whether you tired, loathed, hated me—blood ties...... kin do not change."
As Yukline hunted demons, Levairon ruled seas, Phairden melted in warmth.
For Ilayde, ambition was their bloodline.
"The child you loved is Ilayde kin in the end."
With a fitting 'enemy,' a rival to shatter against.
Sylvia could grow swifter.
Nearer to archmage.
Trials endured fortified Ilayde.
"No need forgiveness or understanding."
Gilteon knew this best.
"If I can be fertilizer, gladly I'd cast even myself to the flames."
Her radiant golden hair and innate temperament mirrored primordial Ilayde; Sylvia bore their blood deepest—a jewel.
Her entirety, Ilayde's essence.
"Thus this time......"
The 200-year curse of mage nobility—archmage.
Obsession to some, folly to others; Gilteon's life, mere vessel for it.
"Be my fertilizer."
Gilteon recalled Cielia's death.
Yukline lineage.
And Deculein too, unbound from her demise.
No soul could claim utter innocence brazenly.
......No.
Deculein.
Even if you killed Ciel, you'd find no rebuttal.
'Tis fact.
That slaying and slain—Ilayde and Yukline's fate.
"Thanks to you, the you Sylvia loves, we'll fulfill the curse."
Whatever feelings Sylvia held for Deculein, all would fuel Ilayde's blaze.
A fiercer, luminous inferno, rising sun-like to illuminate the world.
......If insufficient.
If selling his dead wife's corpse fell short.
His own life he'd yield.
"Cielia. Deculein killed you. Now, our turn to exploit it."
A torch self-destroying in fierce blaze.
Such was Ilayde resolve......
* * *
Early dawn, inside a car driven by Ren.
I glanced at the seat beside me.
"......"
Ruina forced her gaze out the window, but a teardrop trailed from her eye.
No pity stirred in me.
Yet I dredged up old Kim Woojin experiences, feigning scant sympathy.
"Don't feel too aggrieved."
"......"
Ruina whipped her head around.
"For five years, you'll grow sheltered in Yukline's fold. A blessing, one might say."
"Wh-Wha, Bles, Bles-Bless, ing? Celeb-Blessing?!"
Ruina recoiled in horror, but I was shameless.
Ruina's pedigree was impressive, sure. Early academy graduation, incumbent chairman's endorsement, tower entry four years ahead of peers.
Yet per my knowledge, her end was grim. 'Erosion' would target Macqueen first.
Thus, staying near me might truly be safest.
"Five years—not so long. In salary terms...... about 400 million."
"......"
"Could you earn 400 million yearly? If so, poor self-assessment—rethink it."
Ruina gnawed her lip silently. Meanwhile, the car reached her estate.
"Also, I'll recommend you as external hire for the Imperial University Tower. Nothing left in the kingdom tower; work the university one."
Click—Ruina opened the door and stepped out.
"......You know that?"
She peered back at me.
"Was planning to anyway."
Bang!
Ruina slammed the door.
"......"
I rolled down the window. Gestured at her departing back.
"Stop."
"Why, boss?"
Ruina sneered.
"Again."
"......What again, boss."
I stared silently. Ruina approached smirking, slammed again.
Bang!
No different.
"Again."
"Hmph."
Bang!
Three times now.
"Again."
My voice sank deep.
"......"
Ruina fidgeted her lips, reopened, closed gently this time.
"Good work."
Only then praise.
"......"
"Respond."
"......Yes, boss. Satisfied?"
"Yes."
The car departed instantly. In the rearview, Ruina glared murderously.
The humiliation of such a subservient pact as a mage.
I couldn't imagine.
* * *
Clear Monday. Summer sun blazing, today was Darkness Mountain practical.
Recent incidents dubbed it 'Devil's Mountain,' avoided, but imperial directive came.
Practicals monthly at least. Fleeing fear ill-befits mages. Evade devils, never fight them—
Emperor Sophien's order.
"Free practice. Report incidents to my steel posts."
Fortuitously, today's overseer: Deculein.
He floated wooden steel posts across Darkness Mountain. For signaling trouble.
One versatile use of Midas' Hand-enhanced wooden steel.
"“““Yeees!”””"
Debutantes beamed relieved. Indeed, Deculein's combat prowess proven.
Any monster, beast, ghost, devil—'Chief Professor Deculein' would slay effortlessly, they trusted.
Even the chairman rated him 'tier below mine'?
Thus practice began.
"......What're you doing there?"
Mid-mountain streamside.
Ifrin paused fish-spearing, turned. Lucia's gang mocked her.
"Catching fish."
"Who can't see? Why the beggar act? Rags much?"
"Catching to eat. Can't think of that?"
"......Ha."
They knew not: Darkness Mountain fish's exquisite taste, mana benefits.
"Eww, real beggar. Hey, money—buy some."
"Gimme. Thanks."
"......What? Ugh, freak—scram!"
Nobles recoiled past Ifrin. Fine enough, but suddenly her propped stone spun lazily.
Magic.
"Eek!"
Splash!
Ifrin's whole body dunked in the creek. Laughter echoed nearby.
"Aish, hate those guys......"
Sighing, Ifrin gripped her spear anew.
Caught two more.
"Good bites today."
Gutted the plump ones, scaled, skewered, kindled fire...... flaunting survival skills.
"......?!"
A queer sensation grazed her mind. Body sparked like static surge.
"What was that......?"
Temples quivering with mana intuition.
Ifrin stood.
Crackle—crackle—
"Slurp. Salivating."
Meat-roast sounds drew her back down.
Then.
Nearby brush rustled; an intruder emerged.
"Who's there again? No funny business. Watching."
The heavy stepper was familiar to Ifrin. She glared thinly.
"......Insolent Ifrin."
"......Sylvia?"
"What are you doing here."
Sylvia furrowed brows deeply. Ifrin cocked her head.
"Why? Hours left. Practice over?"
"You're a true fool. Practice isn't the issue......"
Pausing, Sylvia eyed the roasting meat. Sensing it, Ifrin offered one skewer.
"Want some? Tasty."
"......"
Sylvia forgot her words, sat demurely on a rock. Her attire oddly soiled, as if long here......
"Eat. Fully cooked."
"Okay."
The two ate together.
Crunch—
One bite, Ifrin shuddered in bliss; Sylvia closed eyes serene.
"So good......"
Darkness Mountain fish: peerless flavor.
......Not quite Roahawk level.
Number two, maybe?
Crunch—crunch—
They devoured the fish voraciously.