The Victory Banquet (Part 4)
Hadn't the people who usually acted so friendly warned her never to look Junon's way, telling her to treat him like a blank wall? They claimed he was a violent brute who, after ruining another student's exam score, had turned around without an ounce of remorse and charged like a wild boar, throwing punches. The dunce of Class E. The weakest vanguard. Those were the sordid labels attached to his name.
Yet the man Renias had met was the polar opposite of the rumors. Take what had happened just a short while ago. He had grabbed her hand out of nowhere, but how had he handled it afterward?
"He recognized his mistake and offered a polite apology," she murmured to herself. "And the way he bowed his head didn't feel forced at all."
There were plenty of people so blinded by prejudice that they could never see their own faults. Add excessive pride to the mix, and they would rather make a scene than offer a proper apology. To Renias, someone who could apologize so readily and sincerely could never be a bad person.
"He does seem to be hiding something... but on the surface, he was completely decent."
You really shouldn't judge someone based on one-sided gossip.
With that thought, Renias shook her head at her peers' baseless bias.
"Still, what did he mean by feeling out of place?"
A victory banquet was held every time an expedition returned. From the perspective of the sponsors, the students were valued patrons—guests who came to celebrate and cheer. Yet their conversation had ended abruptly before reaching any real conclusion.
"Students are the guests of honor at the victory banquet anyway. Anyone enrolled can come and go as they please, so wouldn't it be fine?"
"I'm in Class E, you see. I'd stand out in a bad way."
"What does that mean?"
"Well... it's complicated. Either way, showing up late to such a massive event wouldn't reflect well on anyone, would it?"
There was only one reason for that exchange: Renias still knew only the sunny side of Lebrant Academy. Junon had realized at once that she knew nothing of the academy's shadows, and he had swiftly seized the moment to secure their training appointment.
There was no way a girl as sheltered and untainted as a polished jewel could have caught on.
"I can just slip away at the right time using training with Senior as an excuse. Sorry, Senior!"
Planning to use her partner as an alibi, the silver-haired girl cheekily poked out her tongue like a mischievous tomboy, offering a quiet apology toward the silhouette of the upperclassman who had already vanished toward Mizar Hall.
Renias appreciated the support from the nobles, professors, and students, but she had never truly enjoyed banquets. The ostentatious flattery and clamorous atmosphere always wore her out quickly. Slipping away unnoticed had become something of a habit, and this time, she planned to use end-of-term evaluation preparations with Junon as a legitimate excuse to make her escape.
"Mm-hmm♪~"
Humming softly as she headed back to the dormitories, she remained entirely oblivious to the uncomfortable truth that would soon confront her.
The following day, Lady Ophilia's expedition arrived back at Lebrant Academy, and the institution held an awards ceremony to commend their hard-fought success.
"Truly remarkable, My Lady. Thanks to your efforts, northeast Scheat is as good as secured."
"It wasn't my doing alone, Professor Flochan. The entire expedition made it possible."
"You are far too modest. Leading twelve teams from the center is not something just anyone can accomplish."
The current head of department, Professor Flochan, put on a genial face while heaping praise upon the young noblewoman. Ophilia showed nothing on the surface, but the compliment tasted foul. He had conveniently omitted any credit for the rest of the expedition.
Only the representatives of the twelve teams had been permitted onto the stage, with Ophilia standing at the very front to receive the highest honors. The entire spectacle felt like nothing more than an excuse to flatter the Ardelion name and her magical pedigree.
"What is truly beyond ordinary," Ophilia countered coolly, "is wading into the fray covered in the foul fluids of demonic beasts—ripping through carapaces and hides to drive weapons deep, and cutting off dangerous fangs and claws before they can ever reach the rear."
"Haah... My Lady, must you always be so stubborn?"
Close-combat vanguards who parried attacks to strike back, and close-range interception vanguards who neutralized enemy strikes entirely. Living up to their title, they were the ones who held the most perilous posts on the front lines, standing within reach of the beasts' lethal strikes. A position founded on absolute trust—offering one's exposed back to those behind, even when one's own life hung in the balance.
"I cannot fathom how many times I must say this before you relinquish such stubborn notions," Flochan said, sighing theatrically. "No matter how much mana a vanguard channels into a blade, or how thoroughly support mages hinder and weaken the beasts, the only ones capable of severing their life breath are the positions from the center to the rearguard."
First they placed shackles on the vanguards, and now they were reaching their claws toward the support mages? Swallowing the fury surging up her throat, Ophilia issued another warning.
"Even then, the correct understanding is that powerful magic can only be cast because the vanguard holds the line."
"You must have seen the simulations conducted at Mizar Hall. Vanguards are capable of nothing more than withstanding blows. When they wear down, they need only be replaced with new ones. They are mere consumables."
"Marquis Flochan!!"
Ophilia finally snapped, unable to stomach any more, but Professor Flochan merely smirked, completely unperturbed.
"My, my. If you shout like that, the students beneath the dais will overhear. It wouldn't look good for the Lady of Ardelion to lose her temper on such a joyous day."
Ophilia knew better than anyone that making this conversation public would change nothing. The collusion between the noble factions and the faculty, paired with the coalition of highborn scions, formed an impenetrable axis of public opinion that could bury any scandal without a whisper.
Even if someone stepped forward with righteous courage, the outcome would be the same. Public perception of vanguards was already in the gutter; any outcry would merely be framed as unruly rabble-rousing, shifting all blame onto them. It would only give Flochan and his ilk another excuse to tighten the leash on the support casters.
Six months ago, a female vanguard student had come to Ophilia, confessing that Professor Flochan was blackmailing her. In the end, crushed under the weight of his orchestrated smear campaigns, she had taken her own life. Even after such a tragedy, the academy's prevailing attitude remained unchanged. The Grand Duke himself had personally mounted the platform this time to address the issue, yet the conspirators shamelessly carried on, practically daring anyone to challenge them.
"Tsk!"
Knowing full well that vanguards never deserved such contempt, Ophilia clicked her tongue at Flochan's sneer.
To call himself an educator...
His hypocrisy was sickening. Watching him flaunt his brazen arrogance with an impassive mask made her stomach turn. A man who divided students not by merit, but by stoking resentment and sycophancy to engineer conflict between roles. A wretched excuse for a human being who codified that animosity into class assignments, cementing it into the academy's institutional doctrine. That was the true face of Professor Flochan.
Yet knowing this ugly reality, she could do nothing at present. Swallowing her bitter groan, Ophilia masked her expression and descended from the stage. Even the Grand Duke, lacking decisive evidence, had cautioned that they had to bide their time for now...
"Let us give a resounding round of applause to our greatest contributor, Lady Ophilia!"
Applause rippled through the hall.
"Next, representing Arkab Party, Miss Renias, please step up to the dais."
Once again, Marquis Flochan summoned only Renias from the two-person Arkab Party, deliberately excluding Ronelion from receiving an award. Ophilia recalled what Ronelion had told her before.
"Don't worry about me, Ophilia. I'm fine."
Fine? Nothing about it was fine. She would have preferred it if he threw a fit and raised hell over the injustice, but Ronelion was simply not that kind of person. He had even pleaded with her not to mention anything to Renias, claiming that if they made an issue of it, things would only spiral out of control.
"Phew."
Ophilia headed toward a drafty terrace to cool her boiling temper, drawing in a long, steady breath. As she tried to tamp down the rage stoked by Flochan, a deep, resonant voice reached her ears.
"Did Professor Flochan say something out of line again?"
The ones who should have served as true role models for Lebrant Academy's students were not the cowards who lobbed pre-cast spells from the safety of the rear lines. Nor was it the glory-hounds who insisted on claiming hunting trophies for themselves, only to get their vanguards injured in the process. The man who truly deserved an award was the one who had crossed over from the Artena Empire to the Principality, drastically reducing the expedition's casualties.
"...Yeah."
"I've already used the visual projection orb to report what's been happening in the Principality. I sent along the documents you gathered as well."
The burly, towering man approached and gave his report. He was Goden, Ophilia's childhood friend.
"Thank you, Goden."
"No need to thank me for something like this. Hold your temper for just a bit longer. Once word comes from the Empire, they'll all be forced to back off."
"I hope so. More importantly... did you grow again while I wasn't looking?"
"Haha, really? Well, I suppose I was quite the shrimp back in the day."
Goden chuckled easily, prompting Ophilia to stand on tiptoe to measure the difference between them. The gap was staggering.
"You were definitely shorter than me back then. Now I'd have to stack four of my heads just to match your height."
"If I may be so bold, My Lady, it's not that I'm too big—it's that you haven't changed at all. You're the little shrimp now."
"W-What did you just say...?"
"Besides, now that you're all grown up, shouldn't you be calling me your big brother—Gaaah!"
A vein popped on Ophilia's forehead. Unable to endure another syllable, she kicked him squarely in the shin.
"Are those your last words?"
"Why are you kicking me?! Hey, is this how you treat someone who came to help? You're trying to murder me! That's too much!"
"I stood here listening quietly, and you dare utter such nonsense? What? You want me to call you big brother?!"
With that, she aimed another kick at the exact same spot. Goden scrambled backward, whining that hitting the same place twice was foul play.
"Hey! Stand still!"
"M-Maintain your dignity, Ophilia...!"
"Dignity my foot!"
"I'm sorry! I said I'm sorry!!"
Goden's playful antics to lighten the mood finally brought color back to Ophilia's face, clearing away the gloom cast by Flochan. The sight of them bickering recalled their shared childhood.
A five-year-old Ophilia, and a runny-nosed six-year-old Goden, long before he grew into a hulking behemoth. The daughter of a ducal house and a commoner orphaned by war—an unlikely pair. The only daughter of one of the Empire's two greatest ducal houses, and the only son of a humble peasant farmer from the countryside. Though their stations seemed worlds apart, they had become inseparable friends. Just as they were now: Goden teasing mischievously, and Ophilia delivering swift retribution.
Separated due to the Principality's circumstances, the two had reunited after twelve long years to share fond memories. While they lost themselves in the past, the hollow awards ceremony drew to a quiet close.
The time had come.
The sun sank below the horizon, and hired laborers and maids bustled about, preparing the grand stage for the night's main event. The grand celebration known as the Expedition Victory Banquet filled the chilly winter air with cheers and laughter, warming the night.
Yet none could partake in the festivities without stepping past the threshold. Standing at the entrance were guards who vetted every guest, ensuring that only the chosen few could enter.
"Ugh... it really is chilly. I should have brought a shawl."
Meanwhile, a girl completely oblivious to the situation shivered in her plain white dress before making her way over to a brazier. Her expression relaxed in the warmth, and after a moment, she tilted her head as if looking for someone, murmuring under her breath:
"I wonder when Senior will get here."
Standing on the terrace—a spot perfectly positioned to witness any commotion at the main entrance—the silver-haired beauty blew into her cupped hands to ward off the cold. True to form, Renias had found no joy in the banquet and had slipped out to the terrace, claiming she had someone to meet.
Yet no matter how much time passed, the senior she was waiting for never arrived.
What greeted Renias instead was...
Boom—!
Not the voice of the senior she awaited, but a sudden, violent crash echoing from the entrance.