Field Practice (2)
A short distance from the Old School Building stood several small wooden structures.
Even more dilapidated, shabby, and flimsy than the Old School Building itself.
They were little more than skeletal frames with scraps of flesh clinging to them—ruins that could scarcely be called buildings anymore.
"A place I'd only read about in the novel... It's strangely moving to see it in person."
But I knew these ruins marked the very origins of Mershu Academy.
Mershu Academy hadn't always been the grand institution drawing talents from across the continent.
Hundreds of years ago, the hero party that vanquished the first Demon King had a sage among them.
Upon declaring his retirement, that sage spent his final days in these very cabins.
And while living out his twilight years, he gathered children from nearby villages to teach them letters and magic. That was the precursor to Mershu Academy.
"If it's like the original story, it should be somewhere inside."
So why had I come to these cabins?
Obviously, because the ancient sage had left something behind here.
In the original story, one of the male protagonists would obtain it, but that guy hadn't even enrolled yet.
And it wasn't the kind of item that became unusable after one use.
I tapped the floor methodically with the back of my hand until I felt an empty space, then applied the magic Iruka had created for me.
The dust—thick as the rust of ages—vanished the instant I touched it.
"Is this why she told me to take good care of the kids?"
Only then did I realize my mistake.
Iruka might not be at her full original-story strength yet, but it was still magic crafted by that genius mage.
No wonder the academy teachers had gotten the wrong idea.
Of course, it couldn't be helped. If I hadn't pulled out something like this right then, Teacher Pelicica looked ready to slit my throat on the spot.
"Found it."
Where Iruka's magic had passed, a faint crack appeared.
To the untrained eye, it just looked like normal wear and tear from age.
I wedged my fingers into the crack.
"Uh."
In the original story, it had opened easily, but this was way heavier than expected.
Well, duh—a floor that had held its shape for centuries wouldn't be light. Thinking back, those romance-fantasy protagonists were freakishly strong.
Instead, I gathered several thin, sharply broken pieces of wood, jammed them into the gap like levers, and pried it open with agonizing effort.
"Huff... huff..."
Beneath the arduously lifted floorboards lay a stone staircase descending into darkness.
It screamed "dust pit," and I really didn't want to go in, but with my life on the line, I had no time for second thoughts.
I pressed the magic to my face and took a deep breath.
Thankfully, Iruka's spell even cleared the airborne dust; breathing was no issue.
I might have received something ridiculously powerful.
'When I get back, I should do something nice for Iruka.'
Silently thanking her, I descended the narrow, low stone stairs—barely passable by deeply crouching—until a vast underground space suddenly opened up.
This was the chamber the hero party's sage had prepared for his successors.
Mysterious glowing stones embedded in the ceiling illuminated the room at a glance.
Worn wooden chairs and desks everywhere.
And books scattered about.
That explained the lack of defenses guarding the "legacy"—it was just a handful of books, after all.
I pulled out the first book on the shelf.
Despite the passage of countless years, it remained pristine, as if preserved by some magical treatment.
Even 5-Year-Olds Can Do It! Understanding Magic!
Picking up the book with its oddly catchy title, I sat down right there.
The ancient sage had focused more on spreading magic than advancing it.
His efforts were arguably the greatest reason anyone could use magic today.
"In the original story, this is where the protagonist learned his first spell."
There, the protagonist stumbled into the forest, got lost, tripped, and tumbled into this room.
Seeing these books sparked his first use of "magic."
For me, someone who needed to survive in this world for at least three months, some basic self-defense was essential.
"They call me a 2nd Circle mage, but honestly, I have no idea how to use my own magic."
And if possible, I wanted to learn magic that was truly mine.
Brimming with excitement at the thought of finally casting my own spell, I flipped open the first sage's grimoire.
True to his reputation, it explained magic in an incredibly accessible way.
Magic unfolded in three stages: imagination, formation, and manifestation.
First, imagination.
The clearer the mental image of the spell, the more efficient it seemed to be.
Next, formation.
The step Iruka had guided me through—channeling mana into a magic circle.
The most crucial and difficult part of magic.
Magic might bend the world's laws, but it had its own rules.
Gratefully, our sage had included a simple magic circle anyone could use.
Skilled mages wove circles from raw mana in the air, but that was tough for beginners.
I reached into the sooty dust on the floor and drew the circle.
A large circle enclosing a single triangle.
A embarrassingly basic shape, just a triangle inscribed in a circle.
But as I infused it with a trickle of mana, the room filled with light.
"This is... Light."
A spell that simply emitted pure light. But it was my first magic cast in this world—mine alone.
Iruka's creations didn't count; those worked too perfectly, activating on their own without my real input.
My first step was finally taken.
From here, I'd build on it.
I carefully returned the book to its place and stood.
"It's night already."
Stepping outside, I saw the moon grinning down, though I'd entered in broad daylight.
Now I just needed to head back to the Old School Building, check if the kids were there, and crash.
But as someone once said, life never goes according to plan.
"Didn't expect to find someone out here."
On the path back to the Old School Building, a grizzled old man spotted me and spoke.
His eyes lacked the spark of youth, but that piercing gaze brimmed with unmistakable hostility.
"Who might you be?"
Running into someone in the forest wasn't unusual.
The woods belonged to no one, and chance encounters happened.
Yet the old man wore his displeasure openly.
Perhaps because he was the second-longest resident of the academy.
To him, this place was as good as his own home.
The pristine white robe marking him as an academy professor—something I lacked.
His staff was crude, but the blue diamond atop it was priceless, beyond a lifetime's earnings for most.
Even professors rarely possessed such a gem.
So how had he acquired it?
Simple: he was a "power player" with that level of influence.
"I'm Otto Becker, the new professor recently assigned to the academy."
"...Professor? Ah, yes. I heard they dumped some imperial reject here."
He spat rudeness as easily as breathing.
Age didn't excuse it, but I held my tongue.
"Pardon me, but may I have your name? I didn't see you at the last faculty meeting."
"A professor who doesn't know me? The end times must be upon us."
The old man chuckled.
In the dark night, facing a young man in the forest, he showed no tension whatsoever.
"I have nothing to say to you."
"...I see."
He brushed past me.
Or tried to.
If I hadn't blocked his path.
"...What is this?"
The old man made no effort to hide his irritation.
His voice and expression remained calm, but the forest trembled unnaturally.
His mana was shaking the entire woods.
Breath catching, I forced a blank expression and stood my ground.
"I can't let an unidentified person near where the kids are."
"Even with this robe and staff?"
"There are professors here without robes or staffs. And non-professors with them—I'd have no retort."
"How do you know I'm a professor?"
"You just said it yourself. That the empire sent a parachute professor."
"Heh heh. With mana weaker than a passing ant, your audacity knows no bounds."
The old man bared his teeth.
"My name is Adolf Rutman Makers. Vice-Director of the academy."
"I see."
I already knew.
That this old man was the academy's vice-director.
Evidently deeming that enough, he tried to pass again.
"...This is starting to get ridiculous."
If I hadn't blocked him once more.
"Sorry, but after 9 p.m., only the homeroom teacher can enter the students' dorm area."
The reason I blocked him was simple.
This vice-director standing before me didn't exist at the original story's timeline.
Yeah.
One of the six villains.
The very target of Iruka's vengeance.
He was right here.