Bittersweet Return
It was a bit regrettable, but they were heading back. This wasn't some achievement from training inside the academy as students. It was precious experience earned by striking at enemies as ability users—their first true victory.
Normally, they might have celebrated together, maybe even hoisted each other on their shoulders in triumph.
"What on earth is wrong with all of you!"
But not right now. As Seria raised her voice, four male students knelt before her up to their knees, silently enduring her sharp words.
"We almost let the enemy slip away! Abel told you over and over to hold your positions!"
"B-but, Lady Seria, you were in so much danger…."
"Fine, I'll give Rel a pass. But what about the rest of you three?! That's a blatant disregard for the plan! In real combat, no less! Are you ignoring Abel or something!?"
As if that could be true, but Flam protested his innocence at her words. Meanwhile, Portus maintained a somewhat composed demeanor, coolly remarking, "As if we'd think that." He was trying to act nonchalant, though his expression was anything but relaxed. Finally, Kalligo invoked his imperial honor, desperately denying it as well.
Anyone seeing this would think Seria was the empire's one and only princess, and those three were imperial nobles who couldn't move a muscle for fear she'd take their lives with a single word.
In reality, among them, Seria—the so-called commoner with the weakest "family backing"—was the least intimidating.
"Classic romance fantasy."
Abel nodded as he watched the scene, only to feel a gaze from beside him.
"What's a rofan?"
"What's rofan?"
The twin duchesses, Irshu and Tarshu, had held the rear and played their roles admirably despite their position. Seeing how much more reliable they were than the male leads, Abel waved it off casually.
"Just mumbling to myself. Anyway, thank you. We would've lost the enemy without you two."
In this operation, hitting the complacent foes in sequence had been crucial above all else. Similar attacks on the Supremacists would have started around the same time from other locations, by fellow students and ability users. If an escapee had gotten away and word spread that they were under assault? The enemy might prepare countermeasures elsewhere, leading to more allied casualties. Even a hypothetical mishap could have derailed the academy's meticulously planned sweep.
'I get why Seria's so mad. And it's only natural that the other four meekly admit their fault….'
Hm. On second thought, maybe not the last part. Those guys might just be getting scolded because it's Seria doing the scolding. The plan didn't matter—Seria did.
"Abel. That was amazing."
"Amazing. Abel."
"Huh? Oh, uh, thanks."
"I saw it all."
"We all saw."
"Swinging your sword like that."
"Fighting the enemy like that."
Abel had begged them to speak one at a time. And they'd been doing pretty well at it. But not this time. Their voices were a notch more excited than usual, their faces slightly flushed—they were clearly thrilled.
"So cool. Really cool."
"Incredible. As expected, incredible."
He was a man worthy of the Winter Duchy. One they absolutely had to bring home—a man among men. He had the qualifications. With his essence, their next child—boy or girl—would be the most beautiful and powerful imaginable.
It was decided. From now on, they'd pull out all the stops to take Abel with them.
The two duchesses exchanged glances and smiled faintly. No words needed—they were in sync.
"Hm."
Ludwig Rich, the principal, stroked his chin as he reviewed the operation report. Quite satisfactory. No—exceptionally impressive results.
The academy had been attacked. Many were injured. Some lost their lives. The mad Supremacists must have aimed to sow chaos this way, or perhaps use it for blackmail. Whatever the method, they believed it'd benefit them somehow.
'They probably wanted to shake the inexperienced students, make them cower in fear and avoid fighting back. Or at least coax some passive cooperation.'
But they were wrong. These students were ability users too. And ability users unleash their greatest power when their position and strength are denied—especially in moments of crisis. A crisis those very Supremacists had provided themselves.
Thanks to that, the students gained real combat experience. And with this sweep operation, they secured an official victory—along with the belief that they could win. Now, the Supremacists weren't formidable foes anymore; they were beatable.
"Principal. New intel just came in."
"…We found the Supremacists' core force?"
"Yes. As we hit their remnants from all sides and captured a few, one of them spilled the beans."
Hm. After a moment's thought, the principal nodded in approval. The academy's students had done more than enough. Anything further was for the national ability users to handle. The students craved combat experience, sure—but so did the pros. Without proving their purpose, they'd lose prestige and hefty rewards.
Besides, assaulting the core force would unfold on a whole different level from this skirmish. The prior revenge op had zero student casualties thanks to perfect surprise. No guarantee that luck would hold again. Time to pull back when needed.
"Recall all the outbound students."
"Already sent the word. But…."
The secretary trailed off. Something awkward had cropped up, apparently.
"Remember Abel?"
"Of course. The one who, right after recovering from severe injuries, came straight to me demanding if the academy was closing shop. Said if we were hitting the enemy, send him too."
"That guy's insisting on joining the next fight as well."
The principal let out a thoughtful "hmm" and rubbed his chin. Clear signs of deliberation.
"Y-you're not seriously thinking of sending him, are you?"
"It's tempting. His skills are skyrocketing, he's gaining experience steadily. And his will is ironclad—no arrogance or overconfidence. We could push him hard without issue. Might even turn him into the academy's hero to lift the gloom."
They hadn't persuaded empires and nations just to deploy students. In this heavy atmosphere, they needed a spark. Hero-making was cliché, sure—but clichés worked, which was why they endured.
Initially, he'd planned to pick from upperclassmen. Freshmen were too green; unfair to expect much from kids enrolled mere months ago. Yet one of those freshmen had stepped up—no less capable than the veterans, if not more.
"You have high hopes for him, Principal?"
"Very high. Can't help it. Think back to our academy days. That confidence at his age, that skill level. No complacency, and a rock-solid sense of purpose. Failing to back a kid like that? I'd be failing as an educator—and a senior."
The secretary nodded in agreement. Makes sense. Even she saw Abel the freshman as hugely promising. Worth promoting. No wonder the principal was mulling redeployment.
But there were hitches.
"That said, Principal—if you send Abel, a few others will tag along."
"Did Abel request them? Already got a trusty crew, huh?"
"Er… doesn't look like it. He hasn't asked for any extras."
Abel hadn't requested anyone? Then why the entourage? The principal waited, and soon heard something baffling.
"If Abel goes, they want in too—starting with Seria from the same Ascal Kingdom."
"Seria? Oh, the freshman who awakened a new ability form?"
"Yes. Rare case, right? Lots say bring her back quick and observe rather than risk her in pointless fights."
"True. Plus, she's shown some rough edges in spots, so deploying her worries me."
"Next one's worse."
The secretary continued, rubbing her temples as if it already gave her a headache.
"The Winter Duchy duchesses. They want to move with Abel too."
"…That's trouble."
Up to this op, they'd convinced nations to allow students. No further. Especially not against a core force with serious ability users. Too risky—had to nix them.
"More."
"More? Who's next?"
"Hearing Seria's going has four guys volunteering like crazy. Imperial prince Kalligo. Flam and Portus from the Phoenix and Sparrow families. And Rel, son of the southern republic's prime minister."
"…."
At that, the principal unhesitatingly ordered Abel recalled to the academy. The kid was dragging around an unmanageable crowd.