Chapter 183
Chapter 183
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 183
Chapter Title: Strolling the Grounds
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"My adjutant here has something to say. About what happened that day."
Zaifa patted the captain's shoulder. Ronan noticed Adeshan's breathing quicken. Remembering her trauma belatedly, Ronan whispered,
"Should we tell them to talk later?"
"No, it's fine."
Adeshan shook her head. She stared straight at the two beastmen as if confronting her fear head-on. Nemeia, the captain who approached with heavy steps, bowed his head. This lion beastman was so massive he seemed like a towering wall.
"First off, I must apologize. I'm sorry."
His demeanor was courteously polite, mismatched with his bulk. It was an apology for fainting at the sight of Ronan during the massacre. Ronan replied,
"It's fine."
"No. I was terribly rude back then. Even in that situation, I should have kept my composure... It was my own immaturity."
Nemeia continued with his head still bowed. As expected, the reason he'd panicked at Ronan was that the attackers' eye color resembled Ronan's. His deduction had been spot on. The attackers were Darman, Azier, and Stormblade Croden. Nemeia explained that every time their crimson eyes flashed, comrades sprayed blood and died.
'Damn it.'
Ronan twisted his lips. Having experienced his entire unit wiped out except for himself, he knew how devastating the captain's feelings must be. Listening silently, Ronan waved it off.
"Really, it's okay. Raise your head. I'd have lost it too."
"...Thank you."
Nemeia finally lifted his head. To think of apologizing to others after such an ordeal—former Imperial Knights were something else. Looking up at her, Ronan spoke.
"There's more, right?"
"...Yes. You don't look well, so I'll keep it brief. By chance, I overheard the attackers' conversation that day."
"Pardon?"
"It was muffled by the rain, but I heard it clearly. Mostly chit-chat, but some alarming bits slipped through."
It was possible only because she was a were-lion with exceptional hearing. Nemeia said they'd mentioned a specific location. He couldn't confirm if it was Nebula Klazie's next destination, but it was valuable intel nonetheless.
Nemeia promised to compile what she'd heard into a document soon. She added that Azier—the sole survivor from Parjan aside from themselves—had been transported to Rodolan, so they'd gather intel from her too. Finishing, she bowed again.
"Then, I'll visit again soon. Please take care."
"Thanks for your hard work."
The two beastmen left the room. Zaifa left a bottle of millennial snowflower distillate on the nightstand as a "get-well gift," apparently unconcerned that this was Phileon Academy. Mad tiger.
For some reason, Ronan had a feeling he'd be seeing a lot more of Zaifa. Suddenly, Adeshan beside him sighed. Ronan asked worriedly,
"Hey, you okay?"
"Huuu... Much better now."
Adeshan steadied her breathing. She'd kept her eyes on Zaifa until the end. Maintaining composure like this was impressive. After all, Zaifa was the one who'd sparked the Fang's Night that shattered her family.
Ronan often forgot that Zaifa, whom he got along with so casually, was the leader of the Northern Beastman Alliance behind that event. He held Adeshan's hand until her breathing normalized. Soon fully composed, she beamed.
"Yeah. I'm really fine now. Your hands have gotten bigger."
"Good."
"By the way, I heard you awakened your aura. What kind?"
"Uh... Hard to show here. I'll demonstrate outside."
Ronan glanced at Lamancha leaning against the wall. It felt too flashy for indoors. Adeshan said,
"Oh, right. Your club members all went out on activities together. They'll be back tomorrow, probably. Erzsebet's at Dawn Tower for training."
The elite adventure club was running smoothly without Ronan. Their mission: scouting (raiding) a griffon nest that had caused casualties. Not as intense as with him, but mad enough for regular students.
"Glad they're all busy living their lives."
Ronan nodded with a satisfied smile. Then the infirmary door burst open, familiar faces pouring in: Schlieffen, Naviroje, and Iril. Spotting Ronan, his sister clapped and shouted,
"My little brother's finally awake!"
"Sis?"
"Do you know how worried I was? Huh?"
Iril rushed over and hugged him tightly. Tear tracks were already clear on her cheeks. He'd worried her again. Stroking his face for a while, she turned to Schlieffen.
"Thank you so much, Lord Schlieffen. For saving my brother."
"Just... did my duty."
Schlieffen replied like a broken machine. Ronan raised an eyebrow at the cryptic words.
"Saved me? What're you talking about?"
"Schlieffen carried you all the way to Gran Parjan. You're fine now, but back then, your condition was severe. Classic mana overload—burning up with fever."
Naviroje explained for the dementia-stricken Schlieffen. Having pulled his potential forward with Lynn's power, Ronan had been in critical condition, but Schlieffen's one-hour carry enabled prompt treatment. Ronan looked at him in surprise.
"I owe you. Thanks."
"You were heavy."
Schlieffen grunted. His gaze fixed on Iril. His steadfastness made Ronan chuckle. Naviroje eyed the transformed Lamancha and spoke.
"Is that the holy sword?"
"Yep."
"Impressive. Thought it was just fairy-tale stuff."
She expressed genuine admiration. Naviroje shared that all survivors from that day, including Alogin, were safe.
They talked at length about the Parjan incident. As the conversation wound down, Adeshan tugged Naviroje's sleeve as she moved to leave.
"Um, I've been wondering since earlier..."
"Hm?"
"Isn't this... Ronan's coat? Why does the instructor have it...?"
Adeshan trailed off. Her awkward smile carried unease. Naviroje raised an eyebrow.
"Ah, this?"
It was what Ronan had given Naviroje after her clothes tore fighting Stormblade. About to brush it off, she paused. Glancing between Ronan and Adeshan, a mischievous smile formed.
"...Eh, no big deal. I just wore what he gave me 'cause I felt bad for the poor naked guy."
"Pardon? N-Naked? What do you...?"
"Exactly that. That day, he was a total beast. Bursting with energy—took me back to my youth."
True, but twisted. Adeshan clapped hands over her mouth. Breathing far harder than facing Zaifa, she turned to Ronan.
"You...!"
"No, fuck, hold on. There's a limit to omitting subjects."
Ronan laughed awkwardly. Tears already welled in Adeshan's eyes. Naviroje patted her shoulder, chuckling.
"Kidding, kidding. I'll head out then. Enrollment ceremony's soon—rest up, no overdoing it."
Naviroje left still wearing the coat. Then Ronan spotted the pipe handle poking from the outer pocket.
Right. Gotta get that back too. As he started to rise—
"Where you going."
"Senior?"
"You need rest."
Adeshan grabbed his wrist. Her grip was fierce from wielding crossbows and whips. Ronan gestured desperately.
"You don't actually believe that crap, right? She said it was a joke."
"Yeah. But you still need to explain. In detail."
Her sudden calm was chilling. Her shaken eyes had turned icy. Refusing might trigger mind control.
Ronan sat back down. He had to recount the Parjan events from start to finish. Permission to stand came three hours later.
****
Discharged, Ronan headed straight to the dorm. Despite nearly a month away, his room was spotless—no dust. Thanks to his dedicated maid, Lucy. He greeted her warmly as she played fetch with Cita.
"Long time no see, Lucy."
"Oh my god, Lord Ronan! You still look tired—are you okay?"
"Still got work. Here, take this."
Ronan shoved a tip near her monthly pay at her, then shooed her out. Pale-faced, she pounded the door refusing it, but he ignored her.
"Damn, handwriting's shit after so long."
First task: summarize Parjan events for the Emperor. Courier Cita delivered to the palace in five minutes flat, then returned. Mission done, she rubbed her face furiously on his cheek to make up for lost time.
"Prr! Prraaaw!"
"Yeah, yeah. Missed you too."
Ronan petted the now great dane-sized Cita. She seemed even bigger—could probably carry a person soon.
The reply came fast. The white hawk bearing only imperial edicts knocked on the dorm window less than an hour after Cita's return.
-Tok tok. Tok tok tok tok.
"Impatient bastard. Hold on."
Ronan checked the letter on the hawk's leg. Report received; conference results soon—rest up. Emperor's handwritten praise for his efforts and thanks.
Whoosh! The enchanted paper burned away after reading. Stroking his chin, Ronan muttered,
"What now, Nebula Klazie."
He could easily predict massive changes ahead. Parjan survivors alone included influencers from all walks. They'd spread the bizarre tale to their contacts.
'They'll truly make the world their enemy.'
Having faced Lycopus, Ronan was certain. They could still win. Strong as they were, they lacked to topple a nation. Explained why no all-out war.
'Reason they picked off powerhouses one by one.'
Strike while odds favored—crush their momentum. Killing giants was good, but preventing the Descent best. Finishing urgent business, Ronan left for Kratir's office.
'Time to inform him directly.'
Kratir knew, but in-person was precise. Phileon after a month felt utterly peaceful.
Students reclaiming spring shed heavy coats. Flowerbeds bloomed vibrantly. Parjan's chaos felt like a nightmare.
Suddenly, Ronan's gaze fell to the clinking sword at his waist. Lynn-infused Lamancha retained its odd form. About seventy percent of the blade was pristine white, like wood banded with splints. Staring, Ronan spoke.
"Lynn."
No reply despite waiting. Ronan smiled wryly. Lynn hadn't spoken since leaving Parjan. Losing her body to Darman hit harder than thought.
Unknown if permanent. But he felt her living presence in the sword. As proof, the scabbard smacked his butt perfectly with each step.
'...That's why the butt obsession.'
Explained the groping habit. Strolling campus, Ronan chuckled. Instead of mourning, he'd focus on sword duties. Maybe blood would revive her.
'She and Senior would clash hard.'
Imagining Lynn back in body, sexually harassing as usual—Adeshan's eyes would flip. Picturing the chaos, Ronan snickered.
'Might be fun.'
Lost in thought, he reached the principal's office. As he raised a hand to knock—
"...Come in."
Kratir's voice was weak. Ronan tilted his head entering. Kratir stood at the desk, hands covering his face.
"Long time, Ronan... Glad to see you, forgive this unwelcome old man."
"What's up? Something wrong?"
"Ahh... Dear god."
Kratir groaned instead. Removing hands revealed indescribable worry etched on his face.
Ronan spotted a paper clutched in Kratir's hand. Fine crimson stock, far superior to imperial decree paper.
Re-reading, Kratir staggered, steadying on the desk. Fed up, Ronan frowned.
"Damn it, what's going on?"
"Sorry... Can't keep calm. You know the new enrollee: Red Dragon Itargand."
"Yeah. So?"
Ronan cocked his head. He'd brought him personally. Setting the paper down, Kratir wiped his face.
"His... mother is visiting."
"...Pardon?"
Ronan's eyes widened. Misheard—or the old man had brain disease. But Kratir enunciated clearly, proving his mind sound.
"Navardoje herself is coming."
"Fuck."
Ronan cursed. Kratir's reaction made sense. Mother of Fire, Navardoje. In his past life, during the Descent, the sole survivor Red Dragon who'd slain giants.