Those Pretentious Know-It-Alls with Terminal Intellectual Disease 014: 'Ah, Here We Go Again.'
Those pretentious know-it-alls with terminal intellectual disease started crawling out of the woodwork, convinced it was time to show off their erudition.
One student raised his hand with a grave expression.
"It comes from all over the world! The rain from the heavens, the energy from the earth, and the providence of the universe harmonizing together…."
A philosophical approach. Muller Viscountess furrowed her brow.
"What nonsense is that? This isn't a philosophy lecture. Stop grasping at clouds."
"Ah…."
The student's face turned beet red. Then, the bespectacled kid next to him seized the opportunity and stepped up.
"It arises from demand! Because there's a need, life force dwells in the soil and inevitably grows…."
An economic approach.
"This isn't economics either. I just told you not to grasp at clouds, didn't I?"
Sliced clean. The atmosphere chilled in an instant. The students fell silent as if they'd swallowed honey.
Not philosophy, not economics? Then what the hell was the answer supposed to be? The students started avoiding Muller Viscountess's gaze.
Of course, I'd hidden behind a pillar ages ago, gazing off at distant mountains.
No matter what you idiots think, it's probably none of that.
Just look at that professor's getup. Leather apron, mud-caked boots. Does that scream someone who enjoys Zen koans? She's clearly a hands-on type.
"No one? Is this the best the empire's elite academy can muster?"
Muller Viscountess clicked her tongue in disappointment. Her eyes scanned the students like a beekeeper hunting hornets.
Everyone bowed their heads, staring at the ground to dodge her gaze. Naturally, I'd been the first to do so. Basics, right?
A quick glance sideways showed Hector, Elisia, and the other high-and-mighty types still holding their heads high. Yeah, you tanks take the aggro.
"Well, looks like you've all gone mute."
Muller Viscountess flicked the brim of her hat with her leather-gloved hand. Her gaze swept over the students like a beekeeper on the prowl.
"I hear there's a very famous guest in our class. Even I caught wind of the hotshot freshman as notorious as the princess herself. Who is it?"
Swoosh.
All eyes snapped to one spot. Shit.
She'd gone straight for the bait I dangled. Cursing inwardly, I slowly raised my hand. Pretending not to notice would've made me look even more like a spotlight hog.
"Me."
"Oh? So you're the famous one?"
Muller Viscountess's eyes sparkled with interest. Giggles poked at me from the side. A sidelong glance revealed Elisia covering her mouth with her fan, shoulders shaking. That villainess treated my misery like a stand-up routine.
"What's your name?"
The professor memorizing names—total cringe.
"Kasian del Parne."
"Good. Then tell me, Kasian: where does the soil get herbs from?"
That question again. Not philosophy or economics, my ass—reeking of a Zen trap to trip people up. The students loaded smirks, faces screaming, What would a barbarian like him know?
I stared at the dirt floor and clicked my tongue. Time to spitball and bail. Wrong answer? Whatever. My rep was already trashed.
"From its own lifespan."
"…."
Silence. The students' faces soured in unison.
What's that edgelord crap?
Lifespan? Barbarian thinking is just brute force, huh.
But Muller Viscountess followed up.
"Lifespan, you say. Care to elaborate?"
God, this is annoying. Scratching my neck, I rattled it off.
"Soil fertility isn't infinite. You all probably don't know that. But what are herbs, really? Plants packed with insane energy per mass, right? That's why they have those extreme effects we call 'potency.'"
"Correct."
"Can't be free, though. Equivalent exchange. In reality, herbs suck up in half a year what regular crops take three or four years to deplete. They literally eat the soil's lifespan to grow."
Murmurs rippled. As I kept going, the students' smirks twisted into shock.
"Go on."
Muller Viscountess chimed in, clearly thrilled.
"That's why wild herbs sprout sporadically in mountains. To farm them artificially, you dump fertilizer, hire technicians, and overhaul the soil—or else it dies and turns to rock."
"By that logic, herb production ultimately comes from human labor, no?"
Muller Viscountess prodded slyly. Said it wasn't philosophy, but now she's twisting words? Looked like she'd decided to grill me.
"Fertilizer or tech—it's all just about boosting the soil's energy anyway."
I nudged the dirt with my toe.
"Herbs are selfish bastards. Feed 'em fertility, and they tough it out on their own. No need for special care. Just set the table, and they gorge themselves and grow."
Pure pragmatism, farmer-style. But to these greenhouse nobles, it must've been a shock.
"How does a barbarian know this stuff?"
"Soil fertility? Fertilizer?"
You idiots eat the results, morons clueless about farming's grace. Tch.
Then—
"Hahaha!"
Muller Viscountess burst into belly-deep laughter. She clapped with her gloved hands. Clap, clap, clap!
"Never expected a student to nail the answer before class even started. That question? It's actually the essay prompt for this semester's final."
"…Pardon?"
"You've pierced the essence. Exactly. Herbology starts with understanding soil, not herbs."
Ah. Shot myself in the foot again. Should've played dumb. Mouth runs faster than my brain.
I swallowed a deep sigh and looked away. Please, end it here. No more attention.
But Muller Viscountess crushed my hopes like a nail.
"Gotta give Kasian here an advantage."
Huh? No, stop.
"A+ for the semester, locked in."
Whoosh—the greenhouse air plummeted below freezing.
Ah.
Killing intent poured from the students' eyes. I was unjustly furious.
I didn't ask for it! She gave it, so why rage at me?!
As the mood turned ugly, Muller Viscountess wiped her smile and got serious. Her cool gaze gleamed under her wide hat brim.
"Think it's unfair?"
"…."
"Then tell me: half a year from now, if I asked that question, could any of you have pierced the essence like Kasian?"
The room went dead silent, like ice water dumped over it.
"What I teach here isn't desk-jockey bullshit—it's living knowledge. Complaints? Door's open. I won't stop you."
Muller Viscountess's charisma—no, sheer presence—overwhelmed the students. That lady's aura was no joke.
She nodded in satisfaction, then winked at me.
"Kasian, I'll hook you up with extra credit rewards next time too. Whatever you want, name it."
"…."
Ah, damn. Another leash.
Morning: full-makeup vampire prof. Afternoon: Seongsu-dong hipster prof.
"Yes, got it…."
Right after I answered—
Rumble, rumble!
Heavy wheels rolled from the far end of the greenhouse. Burly academy servants grunted, hauling an old cart.
With the crude noise came a familiar scent tickling my nose. Rain-soaked earth. Rusty iron tang.
"…."
My pupils quaked like an earthquake. Perched on the cart: those beautiful silhouettes. Sharpened plows, mud-clogged shovels, polished-handle pitchforks and hoes.
Farm tools.
Damn….
Farm tools at the academy. The scent of home. My chest swelled.
That instant, another fragment from the dormant original story surfaced in my mind.
Muller Viscountess.
Herbology professor, the 'crazy auntie' who forced nobles to plow fields.
Clang!
"Attention."
She declared to the panicking, murmuring students.
"As I said, herbs come from the soil. They don't sprout from desk pens."
She grinned fiercely.
"Thus, no classroom lectures all semester."
"Pardon?"
"What?"
"Gather here weekly at this time and farm herbs yourselves. Touch the dirt, sweat it out—only then will you grasp where herbs come from."
"No way…."
"Us… playing farmers?"
The noble kids' faces paled. Ladies who shuddered at dirt on dresses, young masters who'd never lifted heavier than a sword—this was a bolt from the blue.
But Muller Viscountess showed no mercy.
"No complaints. No time either—pairing up now. Form groups as called."
She unfurled the roster.
"Group 1… Group 2… Group 3…."
Please. Pair me with a normal extra. Please.
"Group 4."
Her gaze swept past me.
"Kasian del Parne. And."
And?
"Elisia von Rosenberg."
This shit?
The curse nearly escaped aloud. The area hushed instantly. And from afar, a murderous vibe. Hector.
He looked ready to charge the cart, snatch a shovel, and smash my skull. If you like her that much, confess already. Why vent at me, you spineless punk? I didn't bribe anyone.
I turned to Elisia. She peeked over her fan, eyes crinkling like crescent moons. Whee. More fun than a circus, apparently.
I'm dying here, and she's thrilled? What's her deal?