Professor. (2)
Imperial Year 931, March 20th, Thursday.
Congratulations. There are no levels beyond this.
"Thanks."
The result of training right up until the day of the lecture.
I cleared the stages with nothing but Basic Telekinesis, and as a reward, I gained a bonus trait.
Grade
Common
Description
The fruit of relentless training. Telekinesis performance improved by 11%. Mana consumption reduced by 11%.
The description is straightforward, but it's more welcome than anything right now. Especially that '11%'. The value of traits amplifies as I grow.
I sat in my office chair and checked the clock.
10 a.m.
The lecture starts at 3 p.m. Plenty of time, but I don't need to go early today. I'll wait until around 3:30, show up when Allen signals me, and that's it.
It was my elaborate plan: the so-called "First Lecture is Self-Study."
Third floor of the Imperial University Tower.
Ifrin let out a sigh in front of the A-Class lecture hall.
"Hoo..."
Deculein was inside. And she would be in the same space as Deculein, listening to his lecture.
It was torment enough just being there... but did Deculein remember what happened at the lecture a month ago?
Or more importantly, first things first—did he even remember her family name?
Luna.
The family name of the mage he killed.
If the object of her revenge didn't even remember that name, it would make her even angrier, drive her mad with rage.
What should she do? Did she have to go through the trouble of reminding him of sins he didn't even know about...? Such tensions choked her throat.
"Ifrin, what are you doing standing here?"
Someone's voice snapped Ifrin out of her thoughts with a start. A female classmate in robes was tilting her head at her.
"Ah, just a bit nervous. Go on in first."
"Yeah, I get it. Me too. I searched Deculein on Wizaboard, and he's supposed to be brutal. But at least he's handsome..."
Ifrin stood there blankly as her muttering classmate walked inside. Then she spotted another woman approaching from down the hall.
And for a moment, she was speechless.
"...Ah."
Her well-maintained golden blonde hair swayed like a stream with every step. Her haughty gait evoked the scent of roses, and her soft elegance flowed naturally without need for show.
She was one of those whose very bloodline was recognized as nobility itself—one of the most exalted strata even within the pyramid called "nobility."
The daughter of the Illayde family, considered one of the most prestigious bloodlines in the empire.
Sylvia.
Sylvia von Yuseffin Illayde.
"..."
Ifrin already knew this lofty lady was her classmate, but she went on high alert anyway. She glared at her thinly and licked her lips.
Ifrin hated Sylvia. It wasn't some simple inferiority complex. It was a long, enduring grudge.
The Luna family had long been local magnates in the Illayde territory of Juhale. Rumor had it they were once relatives.
—But ten years ago.
Before she was even eight.
She remembered the look in Gilteon, head of Illayde, had given her. The way he surrounded their mansion with territorial troops, handling them like troublesome trash.
She remembered that mutter: "Lowborn filth."
All because that family feared her talent—and her father's.
But this wasn't their territory; it was the tower. And she wasn't a child anymore. Against this pretentious walker of "high society," when it came to pure talent, Ifrin wasn't inferior.
Above all, to the mages of the tower, family names meant nothing. Only one's own name and ability mattered.
So...
"...?"
Sylvia merely glanced at Ifrin and went straight inside.
There was no expression on her face. No emotion. It was perfectly natural, as if she didn't know a person named "Ifrin" existed at all.
Ifrin, who had been striking a kung fu pose alone, scratched the back of her neck awkwardly and followed her in.
"...Huh?"
And she was stunned.
It wasn't a classroom—it was like a vast gymnasium. The ceiling soared endlessly high, and the floor was littered with wells, trees, dirt, sand, gravel, and piles of metal.
"Whoa. Isn't Professor Deculein's class usually not like this? Weird."
"Yeah. Nothing like this on Wizaboard. Maybe because it's the first class."
Unlike Ifrin, who was purely flustered, the other mages looked half-amazed, half-amused.
"Hey, guys. Look at this."
One of them pointed somewhere. In the center of the space stood a signpost.
This professor seeks to measure your abilities in the first class.
Elements abound here. Do whatever you wish on your own power.
"Huh...?"
Ifrin approached, read it, and furrowed her brow.
"What the hell?"
What were they supposed to do here? "Do whatever on your own power"—what did that even mean?
But the other mages seemed somewhat familiar with this bizarre setup.
They must have had classes like this at the academy. She wouldn't know, having entered the tower through self-study.
"...Ah, no way?"
Suddenly, the person next to her muttered as if realizing something. A glance showed it was Gehalon, son of a fairly famous mage family.
Ifrin sidled up to him slyly.
"What~? Figure something out?"
"Huh? Yeah, I think so?"
Gehalon placed his hand on the ground. Water and earth gathered around it, forming a shape that rose slender and tall.
A mud spire.
"It said 'do whatever.' And the class is 'Understanding Elemental Magic.' So, probably make something with the elements here. Like 'Handling Pure Elements.'"
"Ah~ Could be."
Most of the mages, Ifrin included, nodded at Gehalon's words. The lecture title was Understanding Elemental Magic, after all.
"Easy then."
Ifrin laughed, swinging her arms.
Should she make a statue? Or a tower?
Big size? Or as intricate as possible?
Anything would do.
Ifrin fiddled habitually with the bracelet on her wrist.
A artifact her father had given her long ago. Now, it had become the "attribute" of the mage Ifrin.
Known as a Curio.
The most restrictive yet most versatile attribute.
As long as the bracelet was with her, she could wield "all elements" freely.
"You're the one."
Pondering which element to choose, Ifrin settled near a pile of metal. As she crouched to prepare her magic, someone tapped her back passing by.
"Ack, what the—?!"
She nearly fell, steadying herself on the metal and turning to see Sylvia.
Sylvia glanced at her like roadside trash and continued on.
"...Ridiculous. Why hit me? Blind or just big feet?"
Ifrin pouted and grumbled to herself. Then she grunted, gathering the metal pile into one spot.
"Ugh, heavy."
She dusted her hands and placed them on top.
Hoo... One breath to ready her body.
Then, eyes closed, she channeled mana.
Tzzzzzt—!
Mana sparked like fireworks. Her bracelet glowed blue first, then kuuuu-BOOM!
A small, ugly tower rose.
"Hmm."
Only three years since restarting magic, so she was still lacking in every way. But as a demo, it was satisfactory.
Got the feel—now make it as big as possible.
"...Huh?"
Then, suddenly, the tower she had built shrank slooowly and got sucked somewhere.
"Wha—where?!"
She tried to block it with her hand, but no use. Ifrin just stared blankly as the remnants of her tower flowed away.
"...What the?!"
Sylvia. She had absorbed Ifrin's tower as material and made some statue. A hollow laugh escaped Ifrin.
It would've been dismantled anyway, but why her specifically?
"Hey! What do you think you're doing? That was mine!"
Ifrin strode over. Sylvia blinked at her a few times, then replied languidly.
"Mistake. It was too small, thought it was scrap."
"...What did you say?"
Ifrin's brow furrowed.
What did this girl eat wrong? Even if her tower looked like scrap... no.
Wait.
A thought flashed through her mind, and she grinned triumphantly.
"Ah~ Sylvia. You know me, right?"
Sylvia didn't reply, just looked up at her own tower. Objectively, it dwarfed Ifrin's.
"Hey? You know me. Why pretend you don't?"
"..."
Only then did Sylvia's gaze shift to Ifrin. No emotion in those eyes. Or rather, pretending there wasn't.
Ifrin covered her mouth with one hand and laughed exaggeratedly. Her curved eyes looked sly as a fox.
"Aha~ I get it now~ Scared I'll catch up~? I took seven years off, only started three years ago. Meanwhile, you've had elite training from all the high mages, and now you're scared~?"
Sylvia stared silently. Her gaze grew heavier, more silent. No emotion shown, but that made her dark eyes pierce Ifrin deeper.
Sylvia's moist lips twisted, and an emotionless voice flowed out.
"I don't know you."
"Don't know me? Then why the casual speech since earlier? You don't know me, but casual talk?"
"I don't know you, but your dad does."
"...What?"
Ifrin thought she'd misheard.
Your dad?
Did she just say "your dad"?
"That arrogant guy. Baron by special grant."
"..."
"He's dead."
He's dead.
The voice had no rise or fall. Like addressing an inanimate object, or someone who was never alive—like a corpse.
Worse than scorn or contempt: utter dismissal.
Something snapped in Ifrin's head. Sylvia turned away, but mana had already gathered in Ifrin's bracelet.
As enraged Ifrin reached for Sylvia—mana surged in a ring shape.
"Wha—behind you!"
Someone's shout made Sylvia glance back. The mana torrent surged. But Sylvia simply released her own mana to block it.
The two forces collided and fizzled out.
"...Ptoo! Hey. Hey, you bitch. What did you just say? Say it again."
Ifrin spat sand and saliva from her mouth and growled. Her thuggish tone and swagger. Sylvia watched her roll up her robe sleeves with a typical you face.
"Insolent."
"Insolent? Tower doesn't care about status. Want more insolence?"
What came next probably surprised even Sylvia. Ifrin lunged and grabbed her hair.
Crunch!
Looking at her hair gripped in both hands... Sylvia said flatly.
"Let go before I cut your wrist."
"Do it."
"..."
"You bitch."
Their exchange was brutally hostile, yet strangely, no one paid them attention.
"Hey, hey, hey! That—that!"
Others were causing even more chaos.
Kya, kyaaak—! Uwaaak—!
Screams and footsteps echoed wildly. Only then did Sylvia and Ifrin look over.
"Gasp?!"
A "void" had formed where their mana clashed. A hole tangled with mana. It functioned like a sinkhole, sucking in dirt, trees, wells, rocks, and metal from all around.
"...What is that?"
Inside the narrow hole, everything ground crunch crunch. Wood, stone, water, and dirt sublimated from friction heat, but metal stayed intact, glowing red-hot.
"It's gonna—it's gonna blow! That thing's gonna explode!"
"Run—run—!"
Mana compressed to a point would eventually explode, shredding even metal.
When that void burst,
Metal shards would fly like bullets, piercing the entire space.
Foreseeing the carnage, the mages hastily erected barriers.
Trrrrk...
A sinister sound like something tearing.
The wail of crushed iron.
Then, a massive explosion roared.
——!
"Ngh!"
Ifrin squeezed her eyes shut. A barrier shot from her bracelet, enveloping her body.
Trembling like a penguin in prayer for 1 second,
2 seconds,
3 seconds,
4 seconds.
Whiiiish...
Wind blew.
And
the wind stopped.
That was it.
"...?"
No matter how long she waited, the expected impact never came. Shivering Ifrin slowly opened her eyes, puzzled.
"...Ugh!"
She jolted rigid. A sharp metal shard hovered right before her retina.
But strangely, it hung motionless in midair.
"What... is this?"
It wasn't just here. Everywhere was the same.
Shredded metal floated like asteroids in zero gravity, bound only by the space itself.
....
As calm seeped into the hellish chaos, the mages, hearts still racing, stiffly surveyed the area.
No words.
No sounds. Silence.
A world where metal shards from the mana explosion drifted like clouds.
This miracle—nay, this magical miracle—defied words...
"...You do it?"
Ifrin asked Sylvia. But Sylvia showed expression for the first time.
Doubt, curiosity, surprise.
"Telekinesis?"
"Nah. How could telekinesis stop all this?"
"Right? Just guessing."
Such an unreal sight piqued the mages' interest instantly. They dove into analysis, forgetting the recent brawl.
Peering at metal, poking it, trying to infuse mana—then.
—Do not move from your spots. Any of you.
A voice like frostbite echoed. Its piercing timbre gripped every mage's body.
Step—step—
Oppressive footsteps followed.
Gulp.
The sudden presence crushed the space; mages swallowed. Cold sweat beaded down their backs. Like tree roots binding their lower bodies...
"Attention."
One word commanded 150 mages at once.
As they all timidly turned—
There stood the lecture's overseer, the professor who quelled the incident with instantaneous magic.
Deculein.
"...You have committed foolish acts."
In his impeccably tailored suit as always, he swept his hawk-like gaze over them. That chilling stare clutched the freshmen’s hearts.
Then.
The metal that had hung in the air finally moved.
Shraaaash...
Countless shards paired and aligned, dancing like living things, like ballerinas, swirling beautifully before stacking neatly behind the professor.
Even to the very end.
Deculein hadn’t twitched a finger.
"Whoa."
"Wow."
Instinctive gasps erupted here and there. Even Ifrin, who despised Deculein, couldn’t deny it this time.
His magic was elegant.
Beyond elegant—artistic.
Laymen might call it "pretty magic," but as they say, you see as much as you've learned. Well-trained mages could feel it.
Seriously, chillingly precise. Beautifully, icily controlled manipulation magic.
Could I ever reach that realm someday...? Her skin prickled with overwhelming awe.
"I will cancel the lecture. Those who caused the disturbance, stay. The rest, leave."
That elation sank fast. All bowed their faces under Deculein's wrathful dignity.
As Ifrin hesitated to obey, someone in a pointed hat emerged from behind the tall Deculein.
"What! What happened?! I felt a huge magic surge!"
It was the Chairman.
The Chairman bounced around inspecting the room, and Ifrin realized she was utterly screwed.