The Festival (1)
Though the duel had promised grandeur and spectacle, it came to an abrupt, anti-climactic end.
Because of that, some swallowed lingering disappointment, while others slunk away stewing in fury and disbelief.
Lady Ophelia took full charge of the crowd gathered in the courtyard, dispersing them cleanly and efficiently. Thanks to her crisp, decisive handling, not a whisper of complaint could take root.
Just as Ophelia finally found a moment to catch her breath, someone bounded over.
"How was it? Senior fights amazingly well, doesn't he?"
It was Renias, another highborn daughter of the realm, who seemed to have known of his true skill long before anyone else.
The conversation between the two young ladies, reunited after some time apart, was refreshingly candid. Naturally, the topic centered on the spectacle they had just witnessed.
"His movements were flawless, and his execution was quite dashing. It made for excellent entertainment."
"Right, right? But wasn't there something more?"
"To be honest, I had hoped it would go all the way. That part was a bit of a shame."
"Exactly, exactly! It felt like such a breath of fresh air. It was a pity it was cut short midway through. I'm certain he was about to show everything he had."
Renias chimed in enthusiastically, punctuating her words by throwing a few practice punches into thin air.
"Ophi, Senior Junon's training is insanely grueling. He could probably go toe-to-toe with seasoned knights from prestigious houses!"
"Was it really to that extent?"
"Uh-huh! You'd be shocked if you saw it yourself, Ophi. You know what? Senior dedicates practically his entire day to training—"
Renias rarely chattered about other people like this, yet here she was, gushing about him like a bard reciting an epic. Clearly, the two had grown remarkably close.
A sly, fox-like smile crept onto Ophelia's lips as she snapped up the bait.
"Just what sort of relationship do you two have? It feels rather... curious."
"Huh?"
At the question, the single stray cowlick atop Renias's head sprang straight up. She was thoroughly flustered.
Why else would she ask such a thing? The sight was so delightfully amusing that Ophelia momentarily covered her lips to stifle a chuckle.
"Th-that!! It's not at all what you're thinking, Ophi! Senior and I are strictly an upperclassman and underclassman! If anything, I'm just the one receiving advice on physical conditioning and other things...?!"
Renias was someone utterly honest with her feelings, which made teasing her an irresistible pastime for Ophelia.
Yet today, her reaction was unusually flustered.
Watching Renias scramble desperately for excuses out of sheer panic that the misunderstanding might spiral, Ophelia found herself unable to simply laugh it off as usual.
"Ah."
Noticing Ophelia's sudden silence, the antenna-like strand of hair atop Renias's head finally drifted back down.
Realizing she had been fluttering about in a panic only to get played for a fool once again, Renias puffed out her cheeks and glared at Ophelia with aggrieved eyes.
"You're mean, Ophi."
"Ahem. It's always so rewarding to tease you whenever we meet, Reni."
"Says you! Aren't things way sweeter between you and Sir Mikhail?!"
"My goodness. We're actually married, you know. Jealous?"
"Ugh...!"
Renias had tried her best to strike back by bringing up Ophelia and Goden, but Ophelia deflected the blow with effortless wit.
As close as they were, Renias stood no chance against Ophelia's silver tongue in a contest of words.
Yet inwardly, Ophelia's expression turned grave.
To think Reni would open her heart this much.
Bright and cheerful though Renias appeared, very few truly understood what lay beneath that sunny exterior.
Only a handful knew that her outward persona wasn't the whole story, and Ophelia was one of that select few.
Unless dealing with an irredeemable villain, Renias treated everyone with warmth and affection. Even toward those who had erred, she showed generous mercy if they genuinely repented.
Righteous. Beautiful. Benevolent, yet pure.
She was worthy of every flattering title showered upon her, but boiled down, it meant she was someone beloved by all. That was the public mask she presented to the world.
Viewed another way, it meant she showed the exact same face to everyone. That was the hidden, somber depth of Renias Lantana.
In other words, Renias had never directed such passionate, undivided interest toward a single individual before.
—Ophi, are you listening? If you tell Senior, I'm going to be really mad!
Yet now, things were unmistakably different.
Displaying this sort of singular fascination meant Renias considered Junon to be someone profoundly special.
The pile of love letters Renias had received over the years could easily fill armfuls, yet had she ever shown even an ounce of such curiosity toward any of those suitors? Ophelia racked her memory, but those who held a place in Renias's personal world were extraordinarily rare.
Could it be... No, surely not?
She clearly held fond goodwill toward him as a person, but...
This was the first time she had ever shown such a visceral reaction toward an outsider.
"I'm leaving. I hate you, Ophi."
Oops. Snapping back to reality, Ophelia found Renias puffing her cheeks to their absolute limit, thoroughly sulking.
"Alright, alright. I'm sorry for teasing you, Reni."
"Hmph. You always do this."
"Fufu. It's just that you looked exceptionally adorable today, Reni. More importantly... would you finish what you were saying earlier?"
"Huh? About Senior Junon?"
"Yes. I'd like to hear a bit more."
Watching Renias express her feelings with her entire body—right down to that perkily twitching cowlick—Ophelia couldn't help but feel a twinge of genuine concern.
The vocal discontent surrounding the contentious end-of-term evaluation erupted into fresh grievances during the phantom duel system.
Needless to say, the fundamental criteria Professor Muniher had insisted they grasp were applied without exception once again.
Patience. Judgment. Adaptability. Vigilance. Practical combat viability.
Because it was not conducted in pairs, teamwork was omitted; and because it took the form of a duel, directional tactical roles were excluded. Aside from those adjustments, almost identical standards dictated the grading.
Since the evaluation framework remained unchanged, the results of the Class Assignment Exam were published swiftly.
Despite being granted two opportunities, those who stubbornly clung to elemental magic and sheer destructive output—like wearing ill-fitting garments—were cast down to the very lowest tier.
This should be enough for now.
Though he had only stepped into the arena twice, Junon estimated it was more than sufficient to serve as an object lesson.
It was the ideal demonstration to crush any ground for protest from the factions bound to contest the exam results.
Now that such a glaring precedent had been set, things would remain quiet for the time being.
With this, Professor Muniher would be able to set the next phase of his plans into motion with ease.
From here on out, it was time to stay one step ahead.
"A festival, huh..."
Around this time of year, Lebrant Academy always hosted its annual festival.
A welcoming party for incoming freshmen. A celebratory banquet for students promoted through the Class Assignment Exam. Words of encouragement for those who tasted bitter defeat. A commendation of effort for every student who endured the trials.
Under these banners, the student body kicked off the new term with festivities.
In previous years, for students relegated to the lower classes—particularly those assigned to the vanguard position—this period brought nothing but humiliation and stress rather than celebration. But this time would be different.
"Which only makes it all the more problematic."
By introducing the phantom duel exam, Professor Muniher had swept away the academy's toxic customs and entrenched biases.
Unlike Professor Muniher, who stood with the Principality, the Noble Coalition would undoubtedly push back against this shift.
Furious at their slipping dominance, it was painfully obvious they would scheme behind closed doors.
All to preserve the traditions and privileges monopolized by noble casters and midguards, ensuring their iron grip on power remained unbroken.
What needed to be prepared for was actually quite simple.
"As long as the merchant guild arrives in one piece, that is..."
The trouble was that this particular guild was shrouded in extreme secrecy... there was barely any information on them.
When the guild targeted by the Noble Coalition arrived in the past timeline, the catastrophe had already unfolded.
Though the Grand Duke set out belatedly, the guild failed to arrive intact.
Furthermore, seizing upon the pretext that the festival could no longer be postponed, the Noble Coalition took over hosting duties, resulting in the entire event falling right back into their grasp.
So what choice was there? It had to be prevented before it began.
During the hectic chaos of the festival's opening days, moving in secret was the only viable path forward.
"Excuse me. Could you tell me what paying part-time jobs are still available?"
"Right now, only positions with the merchant guilds remain."
"That works fine. Just let me know which guild it is and what kind of work needs to be done."
That way, he could naturally establish contact with that merchant guild under the guise of casual labor.
"We have quite a lot of cargo today."
"You felt it too? I thought it was just me..."
"Come on. How many years have I worked in this guild? How could I miss something like that?"
"Well, that's true enough."
"Even with all our personnel mobilized, we're still going to be shorthanded."
Two veteran officers of the merchant guild tilted their heads in puzzlement as they reviewed the ledger.
"Hello."
"An outsider? Did you call for someone?"
"No, wasn't me. Why would I know a young fellow like this?"
Naturally, both officers turned their eyes toward the youth, expecting an explanation. The young man answered calmly.
"I'm here for work. Your guild posted a notice requesting extra hands, didn't it?"
"If extra labor was hired..."
"Then the Guild Leader must have summoned him personally."
The two men asked him to wait a moment while they went to confirm the hired hand with their leader.
A short while later, having consulted the Guild Leader and verified the youth's paperwork, the two returned and addressed him.
"Good grief. Solving a labor shortage with academy students? Your name is Junon, a third-year at Lebrant Academy... correct?"
"Yes. Here are my off-campus pass and student identification."
"Looks like you came looking for quick pocket money, but we've got a mountain of cargo today. The pay is generous, but the labor will be grueling. Are you sure you can handle it?"
"I don't mind. As long as you provide scheduled breaks and meal times."
"Plenty of grit for someone your age. Follow me. We'll start with hauling boxes. Tsk, I wonder why the others who said they were coming haven't shown their faces yet."
Following behind the grumbling officer, Junon surveyed his surroundings. Everything was precisely as he had anticipated.
Everyone is concealing their identity.
The Lewen Merchant Guild.
As a merchant outfit responsible for deliveries to the Principality, it wasn't particularly renowned.
However, its defining characteristic was that virtually none of the Guild Leader's directives or internal classified information ever leaked to the outside world.
Normally, when a merchant guild leader hired personnel, they would inspect the recruits personally before handing them over to officers, wary of spies planted by rival factions.
Yet in an industry where merchants lived and died by trust and information, was it conceivable that a guild wouldn't even check the face of a hired laborer? There had to be a reason.
Which only magnified the guild's strategic importance.
Though allied with the Principality, even before his regression, Junon had never managed to uncover what truly transpired within its ranks.
Pretending to seek casual labor and selecting the Lewen Merchant Guild out of so many choices had been entirely deliberate.
"Here. Put this on, and change out of your uniform into these work clothes. From this moment on, you are Number 229. While working for the guild, using real names is strictly forbidden. Understood?"
"Understood."
Another hallmark of the Lewen Merchant Guild.
They wore uniform work clothes, pulling hoods and masks over their heads to veil their faces entirely. Furthermore, rather than using names, they identified themselves solely by the numbers stitched onto their attire.
Name, age, combat prowess, social origin, medical history...
All personal information regarding members of the guild was kept strictly between each individual and the Guild Leader, thoroughly obscuring their true identities from the rest of the world.
The underlying reason remained unknown, but whether it was an eccentric custom or an old convention, the ability to hide one's identity was an immense advantage for Junon.
Once he finished changing, another person had arrived beside the officer.
"Introduce yourselves. Starting now, this person will be your escort."
It might seem ironic to assign a personal guard to an ordinary laborer while obscuring their identity, but that was their policy.
It spoke volumes about how seriously the Lewen Merchant Guild took the safety of its workers.
"I am Number 229."
It was a standard greeting, adhering strictly to the guild's established protocol.
Yet something felt strangely off.
"...?"
Not with himself, but with the person standing before him.
Junon had planned to exchange brief pleasantries, receive his assignments, and quietly slip away from his escort's notice... but the person assigned as his guard was staring back in dead silence, offering not a single word.
What's with this reaction?