Model Student of the One-Eyed Kingdom (4)
The story of Chrome Midas and Caspar Hundert quickly spread throughout the academy, and many students expected that Chrome would be summoned by a professor, given a stern lecture, and disciplined for excessive violence.
They still had no idea what kind of hell they had stepped into.
“Let’s see… the duel was conducted by mutual consent, no fatalities, no permanent injuries, no civilian casualties, no property damage, and no skipping classes. Hmm. No issues at all! Oh, you used reinforcement magic that wasn’t taught in class? I’m not so narrow-minded that I’d scold students for receiving private tutoring.”
The madwoman professor—who had once snapped a candidate’s neck ninety degrees for calling the exam applicants “trash” and talking back to her verdict—delivered this judgment. Upon hearing the news, the students trembled at the title of “Campus Security Officer” attached to Istal von Lebenstein’s name.
Of course, it was undeniably the perfect appointment for maintaining order. After all, anyone who broke the rules would simply get beaten to death.
The head of the Hundert family, after grasping the full story, wisely chose not to voice dissatisfaction with Istal’s ruling or demand punishment for Chrome—actions that would have tarnished the family’s dignity. Instead, he summoned his son home and gave him a warm, loving beating with the rod of parental affection. With the student count dropping from 184 to 183, the incident came to a close.
Of course, just because the event had ended didn’t mean its aftermath vanished.
Some were displeased that Chrome Midas had beaten a noble. Others frowned at the brutality he displayed during the duel itself. Still others shook their heads at his persistence in forcing a surrender from his opponent, even going so far as to use potions.
Some paid attention to the outstanding skill Chrome had shown. Others observed the princess’s reaction that had triggered the duel. And though they were few, there were also those who felt refreshed that an arrogant noble had been thoroughly beaten down.
Whether the reactions were positive or negative, this was the moment when the name “Chrome Midas” became imprinted in many people’s minds—not as “the wicked upstart from the Midas family,” but as an individual in his own right.
As I had mentioned several times before, the Greedy Prodigal template wasn’t particularly well-suited for combat. Whether one leaned toward physical or magical paths, it remained mediocre, and it lacked any exclusive traits that directly aided fighting. While its owner had plenty of money and excelled at item farming—making it easy to arm oneself with powerful gear—when evaluating pure specs without items, it ranked at best as a 3rd-tier reserve soldier. At a generous estimate, maybe 2.5-tier.
It couldn’t even be compared to pure combat templates like Unnamed Battle Demon, Heir of Red and Blue Blood, or Proud Barbarian. It also fell short when measured against top-tier colleague candidates in their respective fields, such as Crow Vein or the Pendevig siblings.
However—
That assessment only applied when the comparison was against the protagonists of Planetarium or geniuses on their level. At the very least, it wasn’t weak enough to be looked down on by some random, third-rate magic user.
Even a mid-tier pro boxer who had never held a title after his debut could massacre amateurs if thrown into their ring. The same principle applied here.
Even the original Greedy Prodigal would have won without much difficulty if he had downed a few reinforcement potions before the duel. So there was no way the current me—who had spent two additional years raising my specs—would lose to a guy like that.
On top of that, the fact that “dyeing” hadn’t properly taken hold yet worked in my favor. If it had been a proper fight between Red Light and Blue Light, I wouldn’t have been able to trample him so one-sidedly. His reinforcement efficiency would have multiplied several times over, while mine would have plummeted to rock bottom.
Regardless, I had won. I had driven off the wild boar that had charged at me with bloodshot eyes, and I had also managed to spread my name far and wide.
“You certainly made your name known, but it feels more like infamy than fame.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s better than going soft here and getting treated like a pushover.”
“It’s true. Ever since Brother fought, the open whispering has decreased a lot compared to before.”
People dislike villains and look down on the weak. If I had hidden behind the princess as that bastard suggested, or if I had simply let the insult slide, the situation would have worsened. The guy who already had a bad reputation would have been stamped with the additional labels of “no pride” and “easy target.”
In that case, it was far better to be seen as a venomous snake right now. And the academy had a very simple metric for proving one’s competence.
The alchemy class I had chosen as an elective subject held a rather ambiguous position.
First of all, it required a lot of money to learn. Just as scientific experiments had limits when done with only a single beaker, proper alchemy demanded various instruments, each one costing a fortune. Even after acquiring the tools, one needed to secure various materials and reagents, and to process them stably, a workshop was also necessary. At this point, it was clearly not an academic field that ordinary people could casually dabble in.
But did that mean wealthy nobles could easily take it up? Not at all—because there was simply too much to learn.
Even among those called alchemists, some specialized in potions, others in magic stone processing, and still others in scroll creation. Even within potion-making, specialties diverged into wound-healing types, detoxification types, or those with miscellaneous effects. Naturally, it demanded vast amounts of time and effort, and the social recognition for that effort wasn’t particularly high.
It was the same logic as how, even though logistics are crucial in the military, people would rather earn glory on the battlefield than become a supply officer. To noble standards, an alchemist who spent their days shut in a room touching various chemicals and repeating experiments was simply too plain a profession.
And it was precisely this ambiguous position of alchemy that made it the optimal stage for me to shine.
During alchemy class, Professor Faust Hemming was evaluating the students’ works.
“The heating time was too long. The medicinal effect has been ruined. Be more careful next time.”
“The ratio of dried forget-me-not petals to pine resin powder is off. Even a slight difference in weight can alter the effect, so get used to using the scale properly.”
“Wait, why did you add the ingredients in reverse order?”
Most of the students who received criticism wore subtle expressions. They thought Professor Faust was nitpicking over trivial details.
‘It’s only a few minutes’ difference. How much could it possibly change?’
‘Isn’t he overreacting over a handful of powder?’
‘We’re just going to mix it all and stir anyway. Does the order even matter?’
Contrary to what the students thought, the fact that alchemy class was far more boring than expected also played a part. All they did was process set ingredients in set quantities according to a set procedure. On top of that, they had to personally wash every single tool used and wipe them completely dry without leaving a single drop of water. For students from noble families, this was work fit only for servants.
‘Tsk tsk. This is exactly why I suggested that alchemy shouldn’t be treated as an elective but should have its own dedicated educational institution established.’
Professor Faust was well aware of what the students were thinking. The talent to wield magic power was a rare gift, and many of the items produced through alchemy required the maker to possess that very talent. So the idea of nurturing magic users while simultaneously cultivating those with aptitude for alchemy seemed reasonable at first glance.
The problem was that the students currently remaining in this academy were the ones who had survived Istal von Lebenstein’s brutal selection process. The entrance exam itself had been structured so that those without martial strength could hardly survive, meaning the remaining students all possessed genuine skill and were overflowing with vigor and ambition.
Handing such people beakers and scales instead of weapons and telling them to follow precise recipes—was that really going to work?
Of course, if a talented fighter with outstanding combat ability also possessed deep knowledge of alchemy and could create various magic tools, the synergy would be tremendous. But from a teaching standpoint, there was no greater torment.
‘It’s fortunate that they’re pouring in resources so we don’t have to worry about materials, but no matter how good the environment is, if the students are like this… it’s going to be tough. …Hm?’
While inwardly grumbling and continuing to evaluate the students’ works, something caught Professor Faust’s eye.
“Oh-ho, excellent. The completion is hard to believe for a first attempt.”
What was surprising wasn’t just the potion itself. The desk used for the experiment had been cleaned spotlessly, and the instruments had been thoroughly organized and sorted by type, ready for the next experiment at any time. In a sense, this deserved even higher praise than simply making the potion well.
After all, even among professional alchemists, quite a few were skilled at creation but terrible at cleanup, constantly leaving their workshops in disarray.
“It was Chrome Midas, wasn’t it? Flawless work.”
“You flatter me, Professor.”
The boy wearing the golden monocle smiled brightly.