His Test. (2)
Memories are buried in the smallest things.
The hand she clung to while walking the lord's castle corridors, fearing she'd get lost.
The flowers they grew together in the garden.
The fairy tales read to her before bed.
The stray cat she begged and pleaded to adopt.
…Looking back, Sylvia's memories span just eight years.
Because that's all the time she had with her mother.
Human memory piles up like grains of sand. The oldest settle at the bottom, buried under an endless cascade.
Layer upon layer, growing heavier with time.
Some memories crumble helplessly under the weight, but others remain sharp as shards, refusing to blend in. They pierce deep.
Sylvia's memories are that kind. They don't sink into the sand, don't wash away in the current. Even after ages pass, they never fade.
Not even after her mother left this world. They are the one part of her heart that will never change, eternally.
But lately, Sylvia senses a new presence sprouting in her barren sands.
From Rohakan, from Verhert, from the Ash Baron… the professor who protected her.
A man, perhaps, who harbors a sorrow like her own.
He took root in her heart like a seedling, sprouting a single tender stem in that desolate, parched place.
Before sleep,
when shivers rack her in the cold,
or when loneliness chokes her breath.
Now, she thinks of him.
Sylvia knows what this feeling is.
It's too vivid to mistake.
And that's why it hurts all the more.
…She slowly opened her eyes.
The ceiling was stark white. The lamp flickered hazily, her head spun.
Sylvia lay still for a long while.
Rustle—
The sound of a page turning. She blankly shifted her gaze.
Professor Deculein sat in a chair.
Sensing her stare, perhaps, he spoke without looking up from his book.
"The exam is over."
"…"
His blue eyes met hers. They gleamed like crystal, but cold as ice.
"Your midterm grades are flawless. An A is assured."
The final exam counts for 35% of the grade, but Sylvia aced the other 65%.
Her lead over second-place Ifrin before finals was a whopping 20 points. Even a zero on the final would only drop her from first to the top ranks.
"…Professor."
"Ascend to the Floating Island with these marks."
Deculein repeated words he'd once said before. Sylvia's lips trembled as she stared at him.
Cruel.
She'd never known the word until now. Never spoken it.
But now, she felt it in her bones.
Thud—Deculein closed his book and rose. As he turned to leave, Sylvia grabbed at him.
"…Father said why I can't stay under you."
She clutched the bedsheet, pressing on.
"Illayde and Yukline are blood enemies. They kill each other without mercy. Is that why?"
Deculein's eyes remained impassive. Sylvia didn't look away.
It stabbed like an awl to the chest, but from him, she could endure it.
"Sylvia."
"Yes."
"I have never once thought of you as an Illayde."
Sylvia's heart quivered faintly. Clutching a spark of hope, she asked,
"Then what?"
"…Sylvia."
She nodded at his call.
"Yes."
"Sylvia."
"Yes."
"Sylvia, right?"
"Yes."
At the odd repetition, Deculein tilted his head. Realizing the glitch, he specified.
"…The archmage's prime candidate, this year's rookie mage sensation, the miracle of the magical world, talent rivaling Authority, and the child of Illayde."
Deculein listed them one by one.
Praises that the old Deculein would have envied to madness, all heaped on Sylvia.
"So many phrases define you."
Of course.
He doesn't know the feelings Sylvia now holds for him. Deculein doesn't care for such things; he's simply indifferent.
"To me, you are merely Sylvia."
But as Kim Woojin, he had words for her.
"One under my protection and guidance, occasionally in need of sound advice."
He glanced at his hand.
Leather gloves. Proof of a closed heart, recoiling even from bare skin.
"My student."
Sylvia is still young. Her youth means more growth ahead—body, heart, skill as a mage.
"My role is to show you the right path."
Sylvia gazed at him.
His words were always cold, yet warm. Each time he said such things, the sprout in her heart grew more beautiful.
She didn't want to lose him. She wanted to keep him forever in her heart.
So she said,
"Father said you and House Yukline ruined my mother."
Hoping he'd call it a lie.
"That's not true. It's a lie, right?"
…But.
No matter how long she waited.
Waited and waited.
"Professor."
No answer came.
Patter patter patter…
Patter patter patter…
Only the rain drumming in the silent room. A suffocating tightness, like her heart might stop.
"Father's words are lies."
Sylvia forced a smile.
"Lies."
Repeating what he should say.
"…Lies."
An unknown emotion filled her chest, then drained her voice empty.
Sylvia turned silently to the window.
Torrents of rain. In the glass, Deculein's reflection. Still impassive, cold.
"…"
Gazing at his image in the glass, she said,
"Go."
I walked the dim corridor. Outside, rain poured in sheets. In that pitch-black sky, lightning flashed for an instant.
Flash!
Thunder illuminated the shadows. A man's silhouette emerged. He was watching me.
"Professor Deculein."
A refined middle-aged man. Golden hair, wine-red eyes. A named character, from the 'Madman' category.
Gilteon.
"I heard my daughter collapsed from overwork during the exam."
No trace of worry in his voice.
"Your fault? Or hers?"
His casual question sparked inexplicable contempt. A feeling shared by Deculein and Kim Woojin alike.
"What did you say to Sylvia?"
Gilteon's eyes sharpened like blades. His glaring blood-red pupils narrowed into a smile.
"Nothing worth mentioning, Deculein. Do you recall that day? Eight years ago, when Illayde and Yukline waged war."
Deculein's memories were still limited. Yukline and Illayde were enemies, yes, but the details eluded him.
The original Deculein and Sylvia had only hated each other, after all.
"That day, you killed Cielia as she tried to leave."
Cielia.
Sylvia's mother.
I knew nothing of Gilteon's 'that day.'
Yet his words ignited a scene like a fuse.
Rain battering the window overlapped with Gilteon's face.
Eight years ago.
A storm of rain like a gale. Gilteon speaks to Deculein, who looks at his hand—gloved in blood…
"You can't ruin Sylvia too."
Incomplete memories churned my mind, but I steadied myself. I wouldn't falter to this.
I ignored him and walked past.
"Deculein. Running away again?"
"…"
My steps halted as if gripped. Heat surged within. I turned and approached Gilteon.
"Gilteon."
"You've always been like that, Deculein. Looking down on the world with false nobility, yet more cowardly than anyone—"
"Gilteon!"
The shout was rage even I didn't expect. A fireball roiled from my gut's depths. It echoed down the hall; Gilteon widened his eyes in surprise.
I loomed over him, staring down. His eyes fixed on my jaw.
"I see right through you."
"…Through me."
"Sylvia is not your puppet."
Gilteon, the ambition-mad mage. For archmage status, no means too foul—this was just part of it.
"You just said I can't ruin Sylvia."
I muttered, jabbing his chest. He tried to resist, but Iron Man's strength forced him back.
"That's my line, Gilteon."
"What?"
"That damned house's ghost."
"…"
Gilteon's face chilled. A sneer curled my lips.
House Illayde—no, that house alone—was his reverse scale.
"I won't let you ruin Sylvia."
Perhaps a remnant of Deculein's personality.
Sylvia means nothing to me. Even she is just a pretext now.
I simply despise Gilteon from the heart.
"You killed Cielia, Deculein."
Gilteon hurled the same loathing back. No—identical hatred.
He stared with eyes from ancient grudge.
"The boy who used to tremble… you've grown."
"Gilteon. You've shrunk."
Then, lightning struck again.
The world blazed white.
In the corridor glass, I glimpsed a figure Gilteon couldn't see.
Behind the wall,
Sylvia was there.
The child trembling in shadows fully hid herself as the third bolt came.
The sky is clear.
Fragmented sunlight filters through the leaves of towering trees; the streets brim with energy and laughter.
Fresh summer greenery, 3 p.m.
A festival unfolds in the Empire's Romelot Square, marking the end of the first semester.
College students post-finals, workers on vacation, farmers done with fieldwork, travelers in season… the square teems with people. Imperial peddlers hawk curiosities, games like darts and indoor fishing offer prizes.
"Whoa."
Ifrin stood dazed amid it all. To a country girl like her, it felt unreal.
"Everything looks tasty…"
"Ifrin!"
Julie's call snapped her back. She turned.
Julia, Perit, Rondo—fellow Plain Magic Exploration Club members.
"Julie~ Perit~ Rondo~"
Ifrin beamed, then her face darkened at a sudden thought.
"She really ain't comin', huh."
"Huh? Who ya waitin' for, Ifrin?"
"Nothin'. Just…"
Sylvia. She'd sent a letter to the lady of that mansion, but no dice.
"Julie, you're on guide duty."
"Sure~ Tons of fun stuff today! Got your wallet stuffed, Ifrin?"
"Plenty."
Ifrin strolled the square.
Vibrant mood, joy everywhere. They laughed and chatted, soaking in the festival.
"Huh?!"
Then, a potato croquette stall caught her eye.
3 elne.
She bought one, bit deep. Crispy outside, moist within.
"Ooh, yummy~ Huh?! What's that!"
A dumpling stall next.
2 elne.
Snatched and scarfed. Meat flavors burst.
"This too~ Huh?! And that!"
Waffles.
2 elne.
Tore the corner. Sweet strawberry cream.
"So sweet, tasty sweet… Huh?! That guy! Thirsty anyway!"
Plum drink.
2 elne.
Glugged it down.
Julie, watching, asked incredulously,
"…Ifrin. Why buy so much?"
"Huh?"
Ifrin's hands overflowed with food.
The problem: barely touched.
She offered to clubmates.
"Ah~ Gonna share. Eat up? Croquette and dumpling each."
As Julie and the others took them with wry smiles—
—I, Rohakan, swear it!
A desperate cry pierced the din.
Ifrin sprouted a question mark; murmurs rose as all turned.
—Under this radiant sky, on this filthy earth!
Atop the square's monument, Briondel Independence Gate's arch, stood a freak.
Chain robe. Black velvet, a book chained across shoulder and hip.
Ifrin tilted her head.
"What's with that guy?"
"Dunno~ Street performer?"
Clubmates shrugged it off. Festivals had these gimmicks.
—I swear on Goddess Luanne!
"…Luanne?"
Odd line.
Luanne? Empire's state faith was Blet Orthodoxy of Raanion God. Luanne who?
"Julie. What's Luanne?"
She munched a dumpling. Julie shrugged.
"Dunno details, but Altiegue's god, right?"
"Altiegue? You mean those desert folk—"
Before Ifrin finished—
—Heaven's wrath on the heretics!
A roar like pollution, then—
BOOM!
Earth-shaking blast. Shockwave first, then demonic energy detonations chained.
Kyahhh!
Aaagh!
Heat blast and smoke surged madly. Buildings crumbled, debris rained.
The lively festival turned hellish chaos in screams and blasts.
"Ifrin!"
Julie's shout; Ifrin flung up a barrier.
She expanded it wide to shield civilians… but something was off.
"…?"
No impact hit the barrier.
The whole area was eerily still.
The piercing screams had been brief.
"What the…"
Ifrin gaped ahead, speechless.
Frozen.
The entire square.
Spreading smoke, collapsing buildings, surging explosions—all halted mid-air.
Debris crushing a child's head on the pavement, shattering an adult's body…
As if time stopped.
Not a speck fell.
Those awaiting death under rubble, doubting their eyes, wasted moments in stupor.
An illusion so perfect it erased even the thought to flee.
"…"
Ifrin blankly scanned.
Real yet not, an unreal world.
The square's masses shared dazed dream-thoughts. None moved, sharpening Ifrin's view.
"Ah."
Then, she spotted him.
In this mystical scene, one man moved.
A mage walked languidly.
Suit impeccable, he stole every gaze in the space. The frozen crowd fixed on him.
No magical sense needed; they knew.
Or realized.
The master of this dreamlike magic, holding time and space entire—that man.
Was Deculein.
How dare—! Heretics—!
Deculein reached for the spitting terrorist. He was yanked from the gate's top into his grasp.
Magic: Telekinesis. Target: the chain binding his robe's book.
"…"
Deculein peered into his eyes. No fear. No terror. No human dread of death.
"You."
"Keh—"
The man smirked, revealing a waist bomb. Deculein merely sneered in contempt.
Beep—
Pre-explosion, telekinesis shredded the innards first.
"Hmph. Vermin."
"You, Decule—"
"Shut your filthy mouth."
Slash!—Water steel needles pierced his throat.
"Keh heh heh…"
But in death, he laughed and detonated. Thick demonic energy leaked like smoke from his gullet. It clumped, lunging at Deculein—only to freeze in a sword gale.
Julie the knight's doing.
"Professor. Simultaneous terror attacks."
Deculein nodded at Julie's words. Both aimed to minimize casualties.
"Ah, I'll help too!"
Ifrin, watching, shot up her hand.
Julie smiled proudly at the bold cry; Ifrin stepped forward.
But.
"…!"
Thud! Her ankle snagged.
"Ow!"
Face-planting, Ifrin groaned up at—
"…"
Deculein's terrifying glare. Wrinkles like a raptor of prey, far from usual.
"Ifrin. This is no place for you. Get lost quietly."
Their terror: demonic bombs.
Demonic energy thick in the square; no leisure for Deculein to coddle her.
"Are you alright?"
Julie helped Ifrin up. Julie, a celebrity knight Ifrin knew well.
"Y-yeah. Thanks, Lady Julie. Big fan."
"Don't mind it. Professor's just keeping you from danger. Protect civilians here in the squa—mph!"
A gas mask slapped onto Julie's face, courtesy of Deculein.
Julie peeled it off, handed to Ifrin.
"…Here, take this. Focus on evac—mph!"
Another mask hit Julie. She gave it to nearby Julie.
"Y-yeah, got it. We'll guard the square."
"Yes, please d—mph—please do."
Third mask on Julie; only then did she leave with Deculein.
"…"
Ifrin watched their backs. Steel shards floated around the strolling Deculein…
"Whoa…"
Julia gaped in awe. Ifrin no different.
Deculein quelled the terror like conducting an orchestra.
Demonic smoke, crumbling buildings, leaping flames.
All bent to his gestures.
Lethal demonic clouds hung sky-bound; shattered buildings landed safe; inferno dwindled instantly.
"So that's the Empire's top professor…"
Late-arriving knights murmured in trance.
Ifrin dazed too, till a huge hand clapped her shoulder.
"Well now. Deculein's grown for sure. To that extent! Mana quality looks upgraded… yep, genius of effort like you said."
A robed weirdo peered grinning. Ifrin gawked in shock.
"Ro—"
"Shh. Gonna broadcast the continent's worst name?"
Rohakan clamped her mouth. Nodding furiously, Ifrin recalled her blunder.
"I-I sent the letter by mail. Shoulda delivered personally—"
"Hm? Nah, mail's fine."
"Y-yes… sorry. Too far, and exams, and—"
"Said it's fine. C'mon, follow. Saving lives first."
"No, got stuff to—"
Ifrin eyed friends for rescue, but they ogled Deculein.
"Heh heh. Follow. Got somethin' for ya."
Rohakan dragged Ifrin off somewhere.