Second Semester. (3)
"What are you searching for."
In the dark laboratory, Deculein asked. Ifrin quietly released her grip on the shoe she'd been clutching. Then, like swimming through water, she swept the floor with the hem of her robe sleeve.
"I was... cleaning the floor like this..."
"Do you think that makes any sense."
"...It does get clean— Sorry."
Ifrin stood awkwardly, fumbling through her excuses.
"I thought the door was open, so I was standing in for patrol... and you turned off the lights..."
"There are times when the lights must be extinguished."
Snap—!
Deculein snapped his fingers, and the laboratory lit up. The darkness within was revealed, and Ifrin gaped in shock.
"Whoa..."
Floating in the air of the laboratory were magic papers inscribed with formulas and magic circles.
There were thousands of them at least, and what result this immense aggregate of calculations would produce was beyond Ifrin, whose skills were still lacking.
Snap—!
Another snap of his fingers, and all the magic papers were sucked into Deculein's briefcase.
That briefcase itself must be a magic item. Ifrin looked at Deculein in admiration.
"Is this Professor's personal research, by any chance?"
"No. Lesson preparation."
"Pardon? Lessons?"
"Return."
That was all from Deculein. No scolding, no reprimand, no demerits—just the steady sound of his footsteps as he walked out.
He's not going to punish me?
Ifrin stared at Deculein's retreating back, then quietly crouched down.
Tap-tap—
She hastily flipped over just a couple of tiles before leaving the laboratory.
"...Huh."
"Come."
Deculein was waiting in the elevator. Ifrin scratched the back of her neck and said,
"Y-You waited."
Deculein said nothing. As Ifrin stepped in, he merely pressed the close button.
Vrrr—
The elevator descended.
"......"
"......"
An eternity for Ifrin.
She stole glances at Deculein, recalling something Longdalp had once said.
That Deculein actually valued her—ridiculous nonsense.
But ever since hearing it, every one of this professor's actions felt strangely different.
Of course, he was still undoubtedly her father's enemy, an insufferably unlucky, evil professor who assigned impossible research tasks... but...
"Professor Deculein."
Ding—
The elevator doors opened then. Deculein took one step out and turned back. Ifrin hurriedly shook her head.
"...It's nothing."
"......"
Then he did something unexpected. He pulled a ticket from his inner pocket.
"Take it."
Ifrin looked at the ticket.
Lokralen Conference Invitation
Lokralen. Ifrin had heard the name somewhere before.
"You will attend with me."
Deculein left those words and strode away. His long legs made for wide strides. Ifrin alternated between his quickly receding back and the ticket in her hand.
"...I just don't get it. Why's he like this?"
She muttered and sighed.
The next morning, early, at the topmost floor of the Imperial University Tower.
"Hm!"
The chairman accepted my lecture plan and first lesson materials.
[Pure Utilization of Earth and Fire: Manipulation Series]
◆ Overview: Advanced utilization of earth and fire elements. A high-level course for in-depth understanding of attributes.
◆ Grade: Advanced.
◆ Description...
"The intent is good! But 'advanced' grade approval comes from the Floating Island, not me! It might drop to intermediate!"
"It is fine."
I nodded at the chairman's words. Indeed, 'advanced' courses were rare even in this imperial tower.
"What about the materials?!"
"Here."
I submitted the materials that formed the core of the lessons, compiled using my full Understanding. Focused solely on earth, fire, and the manipulation series, they were nearly theses in depth.
"I hope it gets advanced approval! It'd boost our tower's prestige!"
Thud—!
As she spoke, the chairman stamped the lecture plan.
"Yes."
"Now go! I'm sleepy!"
Her tiny hands busily unfolded bedding right on her desk.
"Adrienne II! Here!"
—Woof! Woof!
Adrienne II jumped onto the desk. The chairman fell asleep with her little dog, and I took my leave.
......Six hours later.
Rumors spread quickly on the Floating Island.
But only for magical-academic topics.
They ignored mundane gossip—who did what in the empire, who cheated with whom—but a groundbreaking magical discovery or theoretical paper would blanket the island in half a day.
"An advanced lecture?"
The news of Deculein's advanced lecture had reached Roserio via the same logic, from a chance encounter with Grand Prince Kreto.
"So it seems."
"Will it get approved? This is the tower, not the Floating Island."
Tower lectures usually capped at beginner to intermediate. Of course, not all beginners were equal, nor intermediates, with vast difficulty variations within grades—but advanced was another level.
In the magical world, 'advanced' meant a grade capable of 'qualitative generational advancement or creating new value.'
Thus, the Floating Island was ruthlessly strict on grading, with advanced-or-higher courses exclusive to it for nearly 20 years.
The fixed notion that the Floating Island pursued transcendent scholarship while the tower handled worldly research wasn't coincidence.
Even on the Floating Island, advanced lectures were few.
Rare were high mages with the leisure and skill to teach well—and even they only lectured when they felt like it.
"Who knows. With Professor Deculein, it might pass."
"Huh? If even Your Highness calls him 'that one,' who in the imperial family can admire him? You can't."
"I'm a fan. Haha."
Kreto laughed. Now that she looked, his attire was oddly Deculein-esque too.
"Now that you mention it, you're dressed like Deculein."
"No one in the capital isn't chasing the Deculein trend these days."
"Anyway. If it gets advanced approval, that'll be something. Skeptical, though."
Roserio slurped her spaghetti. From the next table came similar talk: Deculein preparing an advanced lecture.
"Couldn't you attend? I'm long graduated, but you're nominally on leave."
"Well, but if it truly gets 'advanced' approval, the Floating Island will panic first. They'll snag holograms or recordings or whatever. Right?"
The Floating Island was the world's richest isle, packed with academic obsessives whose stance was 'if they won't sell, we'll take it.'
They'd pay any price—or deem you enemy if you refused.
"Probably."
"Oh, right. They're holding the Lokralen conference again. Not going, Your Highness?"
"Didn't get an invite. Been neglecting research lately."
"...Hm. Is that so?"
Roserio narrowed her eyes and pulled a Lokralen invitation from her bosom.
"Want one?"
Two weeks before the semester started.
Soda-rank Ifrin peered into her Wizboard in the flat exploration clubroom.
—From Soda rank, series is paramount. Unless attributes are extremely unique, differences arise from series. Thus, classes must focus on series...
Senior mage advice.
"...Series establishment is key."
Ifrin crossed her arms, pondering her own series.
A mage's basic series fell into eight categories: 'Summoning and Spirits,' 'Destruction and Support,' 'Manipulation and Synthesis,' 'Illusion and Harmony.' From Soda, distinctions solidified.
—Half of tower mages choose one series, called 'series deepening.' The other half pursue 'multiple series' equally, or 'main and sub-series' with one primary.
Ifrin nodded.
Most mages stuck to two or fewer series.
One could feign madness and tackle three or more, but the class load? Her mouth ached just thinking.
"...What was Professor Deculein's series again."
"Deculein? Manipulation and Synthesis, Destruction and Support. Four series."
Julia chimed from beside her. Ifrin glanced over. Around Julia's neck hung a new artifact necklace.
'Pig's Flower' had skyrocketed lately. She'd bought something that pricey.
Jealous.
"So Deculein's four-series?"
"Yeah."
"...Then me too."
Ifrin decided.
Destruction and Support, Manipulation and Synthesis.
If Deculein did it, so would she!
"Hah? Crazy, Iphi? How many classes is that?"
"Hmph. It's fine. Don't you know what I've been studying?"
The thirteen advanced tomes from Professor Deculein.
If she didn't understand, she'd scour papers; if not those, sub-papers; if not, visit upstarts like Kelodan.
"True... Iphi, you practically live in the clubroom now."
"Yeah."
Pillow, blanket, bedding, toothpaste, toothbrush— the room reeked of Ifrin.
Julia said,
"Enrollment then? Four series means at least 12 classes per semester. All series-required."
"...Ahem."
Ifrin cleared her throat and checked her Wizboard enrollment list.
"...Huh? This prof's not teaching Debutantes anymore?"
Deculein's lecture caught her eye.
◆ Text: Chief Professor Deculein's personal work.
◆ Enrollment: Selected by Deculein from applicants.
◆ Grade: TBD.Advanced?Selective
Enrollment Deadline: [Date]
"Whoa, a 6-credit course?"
Julia laughed in surprise. Ifrin gawked at the description.
"Biweekly but 6 credits? Chief prof perk?"
"Yeah~? Skip it, Iphi. Looks insanely hard."
"...Hmm. 6 credits in manipulation covers the quota with one basic 1-2 credit filler."
"Sure, but biweekly 6 credits? Brutal. One slip and you're sunk. Selective too—no guarantee."
"It's fine."
Ifrin brimmed with confidence. She'd devoured two advanced magic books fully, midway through a third.
Advanced books and lectures differed in scale, but...
"I can do it. Who do you think I am."
Ifrin clenched her fist and nodded.
Imperial Palace, Hall of Learning.
"I've heard the Rohalak Detention Camp is nearly complete."
Sophien said. I looked down at her with faint amusement. As lessons progressed, her posture had relaxed; today, she lay fully flat.
"...Yes."
"Thus, Marik mana stones now circulate smoothly in the markets. The cartels that manipulated prices through unity should suffer massive losses."
"Yes."
Sophien smirked.
"Yet many show no losses. Naturally, they mined without cost."
She traced a finger in the air, continuing.
"How? They got stones cheaply—or free—from Altar thugs in the Mieolji ruins."
"Yes."
"One Marik opening filters out many cartels."
Sophien's faint smile hardened.
"Deculein."
"Yes."
"Here. List of cartels taking Altar money."
Thirteen in total. Sophien intoned coldly.
"Brand them Altiegue traitors or criminals. Kill as you see fit."
"Yes. Confiscate their assets to the crown."
Sophien frowned, tilting her head.
"You could take them; no issue."
"Better not hold ill-gotten gains."
Too much power concentrating in Yukline bore watching. Sophien knew but suggested anyway, her face dissatisfied.
"...Fine. Do as you will. But I begin full Altiegue internment soon."
"Yes."
"You must capture Altiegue too."
"Investigation complete. Good news soon."
"Oh? Is that so?"
Sophien raised a brow at my words.
Indeed, Kariksel's appointed day neared. I'd arrest and intern him at Rohalak.
"Yes. Success means exemplary internment. But first."
I gazed silently at Sophien. She caught on, smirked, and murmured one word.
רֶטֶט
⟨ Vibration ⟩
A brain-rattling Rune Language word: רֶטֶט, meaning 'vibration.'
"Well done."
I rose. Sophien looked up from her recline.
"...Deculein."
"Yes."
"You always burden me with nuisances... No, only you trouble me."
Disheveled hair, pupils lazily dilated with ennui. The emperor seemed especially bored today.
"Deculein."
She asked me.
"Yes."
"Are you not afraid of me?"
A loaded question that would make any imperial subject quake. But I pondered no implications.
No hesitation.
I merely nodded.
"I am not."
"Insolent... Why?"
"Who knows. Strange, isn't it."
Meeting Sophien's eyes, I said,
"I fear nothing in this world."
No lie.
Not even distant death, the vague loss of my Kim Woojin self, or Julie leaving me—just aversion, not fear.
A manifestation utterly Deculein's: disgust before dread.
"Farewell."
Today's lesson ended in one word.
"Yes. Begone, insolent thing. But next time, bring Altiegue."
Sophien smiled as she spoke.
......Late August.
A road in the continent's east.
Kariksel hid in the wagon's cargo, steeling himself once more. His three children were safely with wife and sister; Cradle of Trees duties delegated to Elesol.
Now, the rest was his.
"...Leader. Truly trust that professor? Still time to back out."
Clan member Drohal, accompanying to the camp. Kariksel shook his head.
"Already decided. Don't undermine. Or rather, mere transaction—no trust needed. Drohal, you told no one?"
To fool the world, fool allies first. Not even wife, children, or Cradle of Trees knew.
Leaks inevitable somewhere.
"Yes. Just us two...!"
Thud!
The wagon halted.
Kariksel and Drohal swallowed.
Step, step, step.
Exactly three footsteps.
The driver arguing with someone—
────!
Suddenly, the wagon shattered skyward.
Time stretched; debris and body afloat.
Kariksel glimpsed eyes staring from below.
Deculein.
Rumble—!
Crashing amid wood shards, Kariksel clutched his back.
"Does this look like ordinary cargo to you."
"Ah, that is..."
"Professor! Look at this scum's face!"
A knight timely pointed at Kariksel, holding Deculein's pre-given sketch.
Kariksel's beard and hair matched it.
"Altiegue conspirator executive Brollin!"
"......"
Deculein wordlessly sneered contemptuously. Kariksel admired the performance.
...Maybe not acting.
"Indeed. Should've kept quiet."
At the signal, Kariksel bolted up, thrashing—but knights swarmed, pinning him. As he struggled desperately, Deculein took his bag.
"Nothing else besides this bag?"
"Many mana stones."
Deculein dumped it out: mere gear and utensils.
"Setting up house?"
"Pro-Professor. These stones...? Quite a few."
Knights asked, voices dripping greed—why Kariksel brought them: distraction.
Packing via Telekinesis, Deculein said,
"All evidence. Leave enough stones for handover; dispose otherwise."
"Y-Yes! Thank you!"
Knights bowed unquestioningly.
Kariksel smiled inwardly.
Once the bag's contents reached camp, he'd feed his clan...
"Filthy vermin!"
A knight's toe smashed Kariksel's brow. He blacked out instantly.
Three days later, Imperial Palace. Emperor's lounge.
"That insolent fool executes orders like fetching ice cream... Captured Altiegue casually."
Sophien smirked, eating Herod territory's specialty pearl ice cream.
"As reported. Most capable professor."
Kairon replied, bandaging his right wrist.
"That Brollin goes straight to Rohalak...?"
"Yes. Conspirator guilt, but no other crimes—avoids execution. Though Rohalak's worse."
Sophien nodded, then flopped back, discarding half-eaten ice cream.
"But lately... even food bores me... Why the bandage...?"
She drawled yawnily.
Kairon shrugged, fiddling his swollen right hand.
"Zeit visited the capital. Sparred."
"You lost?"
"Any knight best Zeit on this continent? He's a monster beyond my father."
Sophien snickered.
"Emperor's knight losing pathetically... If I trained harder, I'd beat him."
"Why not train, then."
"Why was Zeit here?"
"Scouting wedding venues."
"......"
Sophien chewed her lip silently. Wedding venue—Deculein and that knight Julie, surely.
"I see."
That one marrying.
Fears nothing, even lifelong marriage bonds.
Sophien nodded impassively; Kairon subtly scanned her face.