Chapter 267
Chapter 267
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 267
Chapter Title: The Grand Assembly (1)
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"Goddamn, there are so many."
The midday sky was clear. Ronan narrowed his eyes as he surveyed the grand plaza. By the time he and the club members arrived, Phileon's plaza was already packed with the entire student body. Students, suddenly summoned and bewildered, were murmuring among themselves.
"Yaaawn... What the hell is going on?"
"Eek...! I-it's suffocating... Marya..."
Marya yawned languidly and muttered while hugging Asel. The club members, still half-lost in their dreams from the hangover, had barely washed their faces before being dragged out by Ronan.
Schlieffen swept back his bangs and let out a low groan.
"...To indulge in such unseemly drunkenness. How shameful."
"Heh, even the little Duke of Grancia has been tainted by the mortal world. Losing your refinement—something unthinkable in our Acalusia."
"Eri. Why'd you tie your hair into twintails?"
"Gasp...!"
As they were chattering away, whooooom! The space in front of the platform suddenly warped, and a bearded old man stepped out. It was Krava Kratir, the principal of Phileon Academy.
It had been nearly a month since they'd last seen him, and his beard had grown even longer. Dark shadows under his eyes suggested he hadn't slept well the night before. Kratir opened his mouth.
"It's good to see you all. Thank you for gathering on such short notice. I have important matters to discuss, so please quiet down."
Snap! As Kratir snapped his fingers, waves of mana rippled out from him. All eyes turned to him, and the plaza fell silent. After a brief pause, Kratir continued.
"Starting today, Phileon Academy will be on indefinite suspension. Students who wish to remain under the academy's protection and support may do so, but if possible, please return home and stay indoors."
"What?"
Ronan's eyes widened. Adeshan and the club members beside him showed similar reactions. Even when the continent was blanketed in winter for a year because of the Winter Witch, Phileon had operated normally—this sudden suspension was utterly bewildering.
It felt like a joke, but Kratir's expression was more serious than ever. The once-silent students began murmuring again. A senior student raised their hand and asked.
"May I ask why?"
"I'm sorry, but this time I can't give you an answer. This decision came after deep deliberations by myself and the faculty, for your own sake. Please understand. Your dormitory managers will provide the details."
Several more questions followed, but only responses about circumstances preventing full disclosure came back. Kratir assured them that tuition and missed classes would be fully covered by Phileon before turning away.
"Now, dismissal procedures will begin. Please follow the guides' instructions!"
As soon as Kratir exited, guides appeared throughout the plaza. They led the confused students to their assigned areas. Asel, still unable to process it, stammered.
"W-what? Suspension?"
"This doesn't feel right..."
Marya's eyes narrowed. The other club members looked visibly flustered. As they drifted through the crowd, a familiar voice suddenly echoed in Ronan's mind.
"Kratir?"
Ronan raised an eyebrow. It was unmistakably Kratir's voice. Almost simultaneously, Asel and Adeshan flinched in surprise beside him. Asel, looking around like a meerkat, turned to Ronan.
"R-Ronan... Did you hear it too?"
"Yeah. I did."
"I heard it too."
Adeshan nodded. Schlieffen, who had been quiet, started walking toward the principal's office. Ronan asked.
"You too?"
Schlieffen nodded silently. Clutching his head with one hand, he still seemed to be suffering from the hangover. Four people had received Kratir's summons.
"Looks like something big is brewing."
Ronan rubbed his chin as he glanced at them. All four had made significant contributions against Nebula Klazie.
Though fatigue from Adren lingered, there were no other options. A bad feeling that something huge was about to happen gnawed at him. He patted Asel and Adeshan's backs.
"Alright. Let's go."
***
The four headed to the principal's office. Contrary to expectations, escaping the plaza didn't take long. Phileon's students, now recognizing them as celebrities, parted ways to let them through.
"Come in. Faster than I expected."
"Damn, you scared me."
Ronan cursed as he reached for the doorknob. The door suddenly burst open as if hit by a gust of wind.
Kratir was pacing the room with his hands behind his back. He looked like an old dog desperate to pee—rather pitiful. Ronan asked.
"What's going on? Why the sudden suspension?"
"Good thing I called you ahead. You almost caused a disaster like that."
"Pardon?"
The unexpected reply came. Kratir scanned them up and down and sighed in relief. Ronan frowned at the cryptic words.
"What the hell? We even washed our hair."
"Not enough."
Snap! Kratir snapped his fingers. Their uniforms smoothed out wrinkle-free, stains vanished, and the lingering alcohol stench disappeared.
"Oh."
"Now you're presentable. I'll explain everything there, so gather 'round."
Kratir beckoned them closer. They complied. Confirming they were within range, he snapped again.
Snap! With a crisp sound, space flipped. Vision darkened briefly, then an unfamiliar scene unfolded.
The vast space, large enough for a building lobby, was made of unidentified black ore. Asel unwittingly shrugged his shoulders.
"W-where is this?"
"Phileon's secret conference hall. Can't enter by normal means."
Kratir answered. Indeed, no doors or windows were visible anywhere. The grounds were vast, but he hadn't known about this facility.
A long table dominated the center, long enough to serve as a bed if flipped. A hundred chairs lined it, all but six occupied.
Yet their faces were all familiar. Ronan raised his eyebrows at the lineup.
"That's my seat, you mangy cat. Move your furry ass."
"Don't be picky and just sit anywhere. That's why you can't beat me—nitpicking like that."
"You bastard!"
The first bickering sword saints caught the eye. Zaipa stretched ignorantly as Naviroje fumed. Nearby people restrained her as she reached for her greatsword.
"C-calm down, Sword Mistress! I'll yield my seat!"
"Huh?"
Ronan's brow furrowed. If his eyes weren't deceiving him, two of those intervening wore crown-like hats. Adeshan said in admiration.
"The monarchs of Phail and Tansien. Why are they here..."
"No way, real kings?"
Adeshan nodded. Ronan let out a disbelieving chuckle. Phail was at the southern tip—why come all this way?
Zaipa, catching Ronan's eye, waved.
"Long time no see, Ronan. I owe you big in the north. Thanks to you, I could properly bury my son."
"Glad to hear it. Doing well?"
"Getting by. Killing cultist scum is my new hobby."
Zaipa nodded. After parting with Ronan, he'd razed dozens of Nebula Klazie branches with his subordinates. Ronan had expected lingering grief from his brother's betrayal and burying his son twice, but Zaipa seemed fully recovered—thank goodness. Kratir glanced at the head seat and said reassuringly.
"Good, they haven't arrived yet. Sit."
"Sure. But you haven't answered any of my questions, you know."
"Sorry. Had to rush. Simply put, the suspension is to protect students from the impending war."
"War? Ah, you don't mean..."
Ronan gasped faintly, recalling Adren. The other two, except Adeshan, seemed to catch on. Kratir nodded silently.
"Yes. The time has come. Now sit."
His curiosity sated, Ronan stopped questioning. Their seats—Ronan, Asel, Schlieffen, Adeshan—were near the head, prestigious positions.
Sitting revealed magic circles etched on walls and ceiling. Flawless security design. Suddenly, a familiar voice echoed from across.
"Hello... Ronan..."
"Huh? Ophelia?"
Ronan, gazing at the ceiling, whipped his head down. The familiar girl sat opposite, staring at him. Her silver hair and red eyes were as beautiful as ever.
"You came too?"
"Yeah... The Night Clan doesn't tread imperial soil usually, but circumstances..."
Pale-skinned beauties flanked Ophelia. Spotting vampires was easy. Suddenly, the man to her left giggled at Ronan.
"Nice color on you, snack. Looks like you've been eating well."
"Balzac."
Ronan's eyes widened. It had been ages since seeing that smug face. The one-eyed vampire had once lost a bet to Ronan over prime blood essence.
"What're you doing here?"
"Following clan orders. As your lovely Ophelia said, not ordinary times."
"Huh... So you're good now?"
Recalling the past, Ronan alternated glances between Ophelia and Balzac. Their distance had closed considerably.
Balzac had killed Ophelia's sister, yet despite adoring her, couldn't approach within five steps. She used to look at him like vermin—had they reconciled? She nodded slowly.
"Yeah... The misunderstanding cleared up recently."
"Misunderstanding?"
"More like... realizing Balzac wasn't the one to hate. My sister went mad because of those cultists."
Ophelia's voice sank. Killing intent threatening to spill, shrinking mortals. Suddenly, the man to her right raised a hand to stop her.
"Enough, Ophelia."
"...Yes."
The intent subsided. Biting her lip once, Ophelia closed her eyes. Commanding the princess suggested high status. The mystery man smiled warmly at Ronan.
"Isran von Barshava. Heard much, but first time seeing you."
"Barshava? You're..."
Same surname as Balzac. Ronan paused mid-handshake.
Boundless power pulsed beneath his black tailcoat. Even Ophelia and Balzac's mana combined wouldn't match. He could fight Orsay. Instinctively sensing it, Ronan grimaced.
"...The Shadow Archduke?"
"Oh, you know me?"
Isran bared fangs in a grin. As suspected. The vampire lord ruling the night world, oft-mentioned via Ophelia and Balzac.
"Pleased to meet you. Hero who saved the Dragon City."
"...Likewise."
Unlike the mad Balzac, Isran was remarkably courteous. The room brimmed with powerhouses beyond them.
Phileon professors like Baren and Jarodin, former Sword Saint from the sword festival, tower lords like Awn Pila. Continental top forces assembled.
"T-they're all really here..."
"Awe-inspiring. The host matters, huh."
Asel shuddered under the pressure. Schlieffen didn't hide his admiration. Adeshan, knowing least, quietly held Ronan's hand under the table.
The wall clock struck noon. Whoosh! Flames erupted over the empty head seat, revealing a sensual woman.
"Ooh... really..."
Navardoje wore a dignified uniform from her Adren ruling days. The mildly noisy room hushed instantly. She scanned the attendees.
"Right on time."
Navardoje smiled with her eyes. Nearly everyone's eyes in the room bulged at Ronan casually chatting with the Mother of Fire. Sweeping back her hair, she spoke.