Chapter 210
Chapter 210
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 210
Chapter Title: How to Survive as the Second Son of a Magical Noble House (210)
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"No matter how you look at it, His Majesty's decision is just incomprehensible. Aren't they supposed to be a wizards' organization prioritizing safety? Isn't this going too far?"
At the words of the man seated across from him, the young old-blood who had been listening quietly broke into a smile. Wearing glasses and a suit, he exuded the refined image of an educated upper-class individual. He called over a waiter and placed his order for dinner before replying.
"You're right. I had the same thought."
"Exactly, right? No one thinks otherwise these days."
"Yes, but..."
The door had only just opened, but as evening approached, the place filled up quickly. The sudden swell of noise made them turn toward the entrance.
Old-bloods entering the shop laughed boisterously as they chatted.
"You see the footage? He did pretty well."
"Nah, it's all about brains these days. Kids from the Kimnasium are sharp as tacks—if you just pick anyone off the street, they'll handle it. With all the talent out there, why pick a Pleroma?"
"He's not Pleroma, is he? Sure, he's a bit untrustworthy, but since he's genuine, that's why His Majesty chose him."
"Maybe he coordinated with the hospital to spout nonsense. Who knows? To me, it looks like they volunteered just to suck some blood."
There were questions about how they'd drink the blood of rampaging victims or if the Imperial Household would allow it, but no one dwelled on that. What they craved wasn't truth—it was stimulating gossip to shake off their fatigue.
"Ha ha, you're pretty fired up. Shouldn't you be throwing eggs at the launch ceremony?"
"Those middle school kids are already sharpening their knives. Just wait till they step out of the palace after..."
"Kids these days."
The old-bloods snickered as they took their seats.
The evening paper was out, but since it was freshly printed, everyone was still steeped in the morning's reports.
The media's ignited hostility was manifesting like this.
The young man, whose conversation had been interrupted, glanced at them and muttered.
"Same topic over there."
The capital today buzzed entirely with talk of the wizarding world.
Above all, the fact that a Pleroma student had taken first place was electrifying the mundane lives of countless old-bloods.
Listening closely, every single person in this shop was discussing it. His companion shrugged with a laugh.
"Bet the whole country is talking about nothing else today. His Majesty bringing a Pleroma into the palace..."
The bespectacled old-blood nodded along appropriately before tossing out a speculation that hadn't come up yet.
"But isn't it a bit strange?"
"What is?"
"Knowing it'd cause misunderstandings like this, why let Lucas Ascanien into the palace?"
"..."
His companion sitting across tilted his head slightly.
"The key is why they let him in despite knowing he'd face this backlash."
"Right? That's the puzzling part. The palace probably didn't think it through."
"The palace didn't think? That sounds like an insult to them."
His remark shattered the mood, and even the chatter from nearby tables hushed for a moment. As the two old-bloods looked around in surprise, the tavern gradually filled with conversation again.
Yet even as they resumed talking among themselves, the patrons' attention subtly remained fixed on the young intellectuals.
"From the palace's perspective, maybe they had no choice but to take in that Ascanien? I think there must be something we don't know."
"Like what?"
"Last year, that student changed completely—like he was reborn. Isn't that suspicious on its own? It was hard to believe it was the same person. And now the palace... Maybe there was some deal between His Majesty and Anhalt."
"What kind of deal?"
Now too sensitive to speak openly, the bespectacled youth lowered his voice further. His companion shook his head in shock upon hearing it.
"Nah. Come on... Ha ha ha, even if that's true, why give him first place in the exam? A key like that's too valuable to reveal publicly."
"That's exactly it. Don't those high-and-mighty types want reactions like this? We'll keep criticizing the student anyway, so no issue there. But now it's time to use him, so they have to acknowledge his abilities. Can't exploit him if they keep him hidden."
Though no one knew the exact content of their exchange, all eyes were glued to them.
"How else could a Pleroma enter the palace? There must be something only the nobles know. We all know they don't share info with us."
The man, lost in serious thought, lowered his voice.
"...That thing you mentioned earlier—doesn't seem like just your hunch. Where'd you hear it?"
"..."
The bespectacled youth glanced around and beckoned. His companion leaned in.
Even though their whispers were inaudible, the tavern's noise began to die down. Excluding those too far away and uninterested, the people nearby exchanged meaningless chatter while stealing glances.
"...Huh?"
The listener's expression had completely changed after the whisper.
He shook his head faintly, eyes wide with disbelief. Then he exchanged looks with the youth and cleared his throat as if nothing happened.
"..."
At this odd reaction, the old-bloods secretly observing them traded glances.
They couldn't make out the words, but it was clear they were sharing undisclosed information.
One old-blood signaled his tablemates, and upon reaching the same conclusion, called out to the two youths.
"Excuse me."
"Yes?"
"Tell us more. What's that about?"
At the same time, a similar scene unfolded far from the previous tavern.
Shouts erupted from a rundown diner in the slums.
"They're insane! The Imperial Academy 2 professors have all lost their minds."
"Hahaha, those guys aren't even a hundred yet? If anyone's senile, it's you—a sixty-year-old non-wizard."
One man laughed while dipping meat into sauce. The clink of forks on trays was quickly drowned out.
"Not a hundred? Then they should stay sharp. Who's protecting who now? Letting a Pleroma roam Berlin? If not senile, they've got holes in their heads."
"Hmm, I think it's worth watching, but this guy's stuck on..."
"No! You must not have heard. Word is, the palace baited that Pleroma kid on purpose to catch solid proof."
"What?"
At that, a middle-aged man at a back table turned. He stood out in a suit that screamed money.
The old-bloods, deep into Ascanien talk, were already tipsy on appetizers and bellowed.
"To lower his guard! Once they nab proof he's Pleroma, they'll off him. Why else would the palace let one in? Right?"
"Whoa... If that's true, His Majesty's got some deep plans."
"That Ascanien's a slippery eel. The Magic Bureau vice minister protects him, so they've caught nothing. That guy's nuts too. To climb, kill your brother first—why keep that guy alive? Now he's grown, untouchable. Force the palace to handle it!"
"...Wait, where'd you hear that?"
"Yeah, source? Is it legit?"
Buoyed by the interest, the old-blood raised his voice higher.
"It's legit. Wanna bet? I say that kid causes a Pleroma-related incident within a month..."
"That's not what I heard."
The sudden interjection made the old-bloods turn.
A middle-aged man sat there—face unfamiliar in the area, vaguely new-blood vibe yet wand at his side suggesting otherwise—old-blood-like but ambiguous.
The old-bloods frowned slightly.
The man from the back laughed and shook his head.
"You think His Majesty didn't anticipate this gossip before placing the student in the palace? If you were the Emperor, what would you do?"
"What's with the interruption..."
"I said it's not what I heard. They knew the backlash was coming yet took him in anyway—there must be a reason. Chosen by the Emperor himself. You can't seriously think he'd put a Pleroma there?"
"..."
What I heard?
The old-bloods' faces twisted.
"His Majesty is dead set on eliminating Pleoramas. Ever think 'the elites know something we can't—that's certain'?"
"Then what do you know..."
"I said bet. Hey!"
At his call, the owner emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands, ledger in tow.
This place doubled as a gambling den, so he was used to this.
Without specifics, he asked routinely.
"Yes. Wager type?"
"Simple yes/no. Whether Lucas Ascanien causes an incident in a month."
"Ha ha... We already have one on a similar bet. Join that?"
"Pot?"
"Ten in, at 100,000. All on Pleroma side—need opposite. Take that and join."
"Ten for 100,000? Move it to my pot."
"Pardon?"
He pulled bills from his wallet.
"700,000. On the student not being Pleroma. Decent to lure eels?"
Enough for over a year's rent—the tavern fell silent.
Gambling was illegal even at 1 fel, so no upper limit; locals' low income rarely saw big stakes.
The owner, eyes wide in surprise, chuckled and approached.
"Don't know the neighborhood? Solo 100,000 is big here. Lose half a year's pay—family okay? Though maybe not for a teacher..."
"Take it!"
"Don't stop him!"
Patrons whipped out wallets, shouting.
The middle-aged man snapped his fingers at the turning owner, drawing attention.
"So you all think he'll cause trouble in a month? Confident, huh. With so many like you, I'll be rich soon."
"I'm just warning you won't profit, sir."
"Won't do."
He beckoned the owner closer.
After a hushed exchange, the old-blood pulled back.
Unlike before, the owner's expression flipped—skeptical facade failing to hide his intrigue.
"..."
"Now we can round up bettors."
"...Ha ha..."
"You know which side you're on. With so many betting incident, can't lose?"
The middle-aged eyed patrons beyond the owner.
Would-be bettors exchanged looks.
He'd mentioned 'what I heard.' Attire suggesting status, casually tossing half-year salary.
Fine so far, but the owner's reaction was off.
Everyone saw: Ascanien's Pleroma, entering palace means revealing true colors—obvious bet.
Yet this man insists opposite, and now the owner's face agrees.
Faces stiffened.
Hesitation spread.
* * *
7 PM.
After dinner at the palace, as Team 1 headed to Elias's room for a break, a servant approached.
"A letter from the academy."
Elias tore open the Imperial Academy 2 envelope and scanned it.
His lips curved up.
"...Does this prof only do restaurant tours? Magic Swordsmanship my ass—it's Berlin gourmet."
I took the paper he handed over.
Berlin map marked with colored X's in ink.
Roughly twenty spots.
I chuckled lightly.
'Nice work.'
Evidence of four hours' diligent collection from 2 PM.
Earlier, I'd tasked Trout with scouting Berlin spots where layers gathered, dispersed, birthing gossip and rumors.
Bourgeois, workers—above average and slums. Strategies vary by class.
Trout's long-time Berlin resident, network concentrated there.
Sure, I could've asked students...
'Why would I?'
Delegate when you can, avoid burnout.
Plus, mere requests wouldn't yield this speed.
Threats made it possible.
He's desperately keeping "tied Jürgen Beck's arteries to sabotage Ascanien's second son" from family ears.
Stepping into the hall, Elias slung an arm over my shoulder.
"Making profs map Berlin eateries—you're no saint, Luka."
"Not eateries."
"So~ what's next? Spread rumors?"
I nodded.
As Elias said before, battles hinge on info.
Make lies seem truth, truth seem lies—that's victory's path.
People consume my criticism for thrill?
Another thrill changes the tune.
Both lies? Better spread mine.
"Elias. Warp us to the estate now?"
"Huh? Sure~"
He halted toward his room, gripped my shoulder tight, snapped fingers.
Instantly, before the manor entrance.
Warping freely from palace isn't ideal, but as academy-vetted students, we had clearance.
'Stuck in annex anyway—no reason to deny.'
Thinking that, I entered, climbed stairs.
Elias whispered.
"I know why you're here."
"You do?"
He would. Elias gets it.
Biggest plan flaw: Using Trout's network for old-blood flyers risks backlash.
Trout used brother's loyalists to bury my article.
Thought of asking homeroom prof—ironically Berlin native, weaker network, apolitical.
Trout: Anhalt native in Berlin, Adrian Ascanien backer—deep ties with similars.
Overuse that manpower...
'Gives brother's supporters pretext: 'Unfairly manipulated opinion.''
Burning house for bedbugs. 30 points tempting, but no obvious blunders.
Use divinity to erase memories?
Good, already mixing mental magic slowly while ordering "restaurant map" from Trout—Elias's term works.
Fine for one, but scouring Trout's network and subs for mass divinity? No.
Better efficiency?
I elaborated to vigorously nodding Elias.
"Your guess is right. Asking an old-blood I know."
"Ooh, as expected."
Here for Marian Baum letter.
Trout's map request was for this: Perfect target, but info-lacking.
'Tricky for him.'
Novelist always in Bayern—how's Berlin geography?
Requesting Katakomb Berlin old-bloods? Overreach.
Like my "block articles" to Trout—same overask.
Need courtesy. Prep first, persuade.
"You're here."
Past navy halls to my room, another servant greeted.
I smiled, entered.
"Hm?"
Unfamiliar sight here.
Letter on desk.
Casually flipped: unfamiliar script.
[To D.G.]
"This..."
Wrong address.
Pushing aside, Elias shook head.
"Nope, yours. Luka, one step late."
"..."
One step late?
I opened envelope.
"...!"
Name inside made me chuckle softly.
Addressed to Dietrich Granach.
"...Yeah, one step late, as you said, Eli."
Fixed on letter.
He'd executed my plan perfectly.
Without request, mobilized Prussia Katakomb old-bloods to known hubs—not solo, teams.
[...Two weeks since inviting to Katakombs—haven't shown? Come February.]
Playful line at end.
When Marian Baum invited me before, worried Katakomb folk aversion.
Now reaffirming they don't.
Makes sense. Reading his actions confirms.
Prussia Katakombers wouldn't do this sans his will—for me alone.
'...Who knew then it'd loop back like this.'
Hard to believe despite seeing.
Days feel like fresh drop here. Used to wrenching everything myself, never considered unthreatened aid.
"His timing's insane? Insight talent?"
"Not bottom-image time anymore."
Status +10,000 prompt timely. Perfect flip moment.
Whatever palace schemes, Friday I'm palace-endorsed safe wizard.
Leverage gains? Marian Baum likely thought same.
'Still, how he knew to help—worth asking.'
Not now.
This fast? Move faster.
Trout's intel: Pol/lmedia elite informant drops only.
Katakomb Berliners know turf, but petty folk.
Share pol intel, intersect incidents—easier.
Tucked Trout map in warp-mail envelope, penned short thanks, sent.
* * *
Decent weekend passed.
Doubted such calm days return.
Too short for team bonds/affections—like school routine, thus comfy.
'Not comfy now.'
One hour pre-launch.
Stylist fussing hair for an hour.
During his break, whispered to friends.
"You live like this daily?"
Miss original body...
Here: wash face, dash class. This tedious.
Tchーリングgen laughed.
"Luka's on stage later~ Prep early."
Royal pains...
Unsure nobles, but royals—ruling houses—fussy appearances. Wax till dizzy, jewels galore.
'Well... Royals can't slum it officially.'
Impress matching status boosts favor—smart, free gain.
Realized flaw.
'No...'
Thud—!
Others lack favor UI, I think naturally.
To snap mind, bashed wall. Elias panicked.
"W-What? Why?"
"Just... thing."
Flipped proposal quick. Caused it, but no choice.
Proposal 2: Favor +10,000 in time (552/10,000) (111h 59m 52s)
0.0552% done.
'Natural rise shocking.'
Momentum.
10k seems nil, but school/palace gains—fast vs prior.
Reason here.
Lucas René Ascanien
Title: Sir Nikolaus
Stamina: +4.0 [+7.0]
Mentality: +4.3
Mana: ?
Skill: +5.1 [+8.1]
Impression: -4.1 (+1.7) [+3] [+8.126]
Luck: +5.0
Traits: Dawn777, Divinity, Charm (Lv.5), Retry (Lv.3)
Impression: 1.2 in 2wks → 1.7 in 48h.
Media positive keywords—wizard quals.
Katakomb works too.
Unfolded today's Dasrote.
[Palace Plans: How Far?]
—Palace-Anhalt secret pact... Student A confirmed Pleroma traits: Palace's bold counter?
'A? Obvious.'
Dasrote tanked my impression before—knows masses' sway.
Profit.
'...If not Pleroma beliefs, traits ok—sides with subjects. Some question: Palace accepted A's eval for Pleroma research, into palace wizards?'
Copied rumors verbatim. Usual, Katakomb goal—thanks.
Mid-read, Elias's stiff voice: looked up.
"Wondered why clothes late post-hair. Giving 30min prior? Absurd."
Servants brought uniforms, retreated at Elias glare.
Closed paper, eyed chilled lounge.
"Ahem... Kids. Anyone explain sour mood?"
Ullrike glanced team.
Per usual, blank Haike, Prussia Junker Ullrike aside—Elias, Leo, Yulia tepid.
'Fair.'
All-black longcoats, red ties.
Shirts white-ish, trio colors: stark political.
Black-white-red: 2nd Reich flag.
Opposite our white-blue uniforms.
"Look at outfits."
Elias tsked, cold smile.
Leo calm.
"Not Prussian blue—at least."
Palace likely wanted. Prussian blue: old Prussia army, past palace wizard teams.
But three non-Prussian ruling heirs? Used Reich colors.
Not empire—Prussia 'army' evoke risky; yielded.
Post-select palace transfer unnegotiated—Prussia vassal overture invites Baden/Bayern ire.
Sure, 'democracy' loyalty: Reich=Emperor. Reich black-white=Prussia, +red=Hohenzollern.
A fig leaf; Elias reacts naturally.
Handing pre-ceremony: no protests. Diplomacy risk even trivial; stubborn.
Elias no rebellion here. Circled us, deep breath, beckoned.
Servants approached.
Thence, pondered till launch.
Prepped weekend for today—time to pop.
Fail proposal today? 30pts gone.
'Within my awareness.'
Prior favor metric.
Awareness scope? Daily radius, visible/interactable folk.
Experiential.
'552 not total. Thus...'
Protocol entered.
Friends hushed at move time.
Sunlit corridor to massive brown doors.
Drum swells neared.
Doors opened.
Palace throng, guards flanking—hazy distance.
'Missed points now mine.'
"...Waaaaah—!"
Ding—!
Favor 1,000 (1,000/10,000)
Windows stacked atop. Cheers drowned in alerts.
Update frenzy blinded text—final ding.
Ding—!
Favor 10,000 (10,000/10,000)
Congratulations!
'Proposal 2: 'Favor +10,000 in time (10,000/10,000)' success!
Locks 'Route 1 — 〈 Proposal 3 〉'.'