7. Midterms on a Deserted Island, as Expected
7. Midterms on a Deserted Island, as Expected
Rewinding time slightly—day three on the uninhabited island.
The team of Princess Beatrice, the unknown quantity Rus Spero, and the commoner Milia...
"...Is this really all right?"
"Y-Your Highness? Is something wrong...?"
"I'm asking because nothing is wrong."
...was sailing smoothly.
Contrary to all expectations, there truly were no problems.
Beatrice surveyed the base camp they had built with their own hands.
A well-constructed log cabin. Meat drying on racks. Fish traps set in the adjacent stream. Even rough-hewn chairs, carved in moments of spare time.
At that very moment, she was seated in one of those chairs, sharing a coconut with Milia.
Smooth sailing.
Almost unsettlingly smooth.
I never imagined Milia would be this capable.
This success wasn't owed to Beatrice's resolve, nor to the strength of Rus, a 6th Rank powerhouse. Not that they hadn't contributed.
But the lion's share of the credit lay squarely with Milia.
Because, surprisingly enough, Milia wasn't one of the dime-a-dozen 2nd Ranks in the Administration Department—she was a full-fledged 3rd Rank mage.
"With this level of skill, wouldn't you have been better off in the Magic Department?"
"I-I could never..."
"Even if we accept that Rus cut and hauled the logs, the fact remains that you're the one who shaped them with magic and designed the cabin, the fish traps, and the drying racks. No wonder the Student Council tried to recruit you."
"You flatter me..."
With a 6th Rank like Rus and a nominal 5th Rank like Beatrice around, her abilities were easily overshadowed—but a 3rd Rank mage was no small thing.
1st Rank meant having virtually no mana in the body at all. 2nd Rank meant having enough to manage something resembling magic.
The vast majority of the continent's population fell into those two categories. Even the Finance Director Beatrice knew was a 1st Rank.
Commoners tended to cluster in the Administration Department, but most were 2nd Rank. True 1st Ranks were rare, since even minimal mana conferred significant advantages in physical ability and cognitive speed.
In the long history of the Administration Department, top-performing graduates were almost never 1st Rank. The most recent exception was Adam Caines, two years ago. Before him, you had to go back twenty years.
So Beatrice had expected a 2nd Rank. She had not expected a fresh 3rd Rank.
Though honestly, her talent plateaus past this point.
Still, the way she wielded telekinesis, cutting magic, and the like to craft objects was genuinely impressive. Enough that you'd believe she was a master in the Carpenter's Guild, not a first-year academy student.
Elated at having drawn a winning ticket, Beatrice asked brightly,
"Is joining the Carpenter's Guild your dream, by any chance?"
"Pardon? Ah... yes. That's right."
"With these skills, you could've walked straight into the guild without any trouble, couldn't you?"
"Well... I really wanted to attend the academy. It'll help with my credentials, too."
"That's certainly true."
A 3rd Rank mage carpenter was impressive, but a 3rd Rank mage carpenter who was a Grandis Academy graduate commanded a whole other premium.
Beatrice regarded Milia, whose eyes held a flicker of unease, and nodded in understanding.
Milia's eyes trembled badly, but that was only natural when faced with royalty. Beatrice had encountered that reaction countless times in her life and thought nothing of it.
They chatted idly and worked their way through the coconuts until—
Thud!
"...I've brought it."
"Rus! Another success?"
"I'll start butchering right away. Both of you, look away."
"Y-yes! Understood..."
Crunch!
Rus, who had naturally assumed the role of hunting—food procurement—began field-dressing a dead boar on the spot.
It was a brutal operation, but the two women had grown accustomed to Rus over the past few days and immediately averted their eyes. The visceral sounds of slicing meat and cracking bone filled the air.
About ten minutes later, perfectly butchered boar meat hung on the drying racks, while the blood and offal had been washed away or released downstream.
The smell of blood had been hard to take at first, but after a few days, it no longer bothered them.
"By the way, Rus, you're remarkably skilled at butchering and survival. You're the one who picked the site for the cabin in the first place, aren't you?"
"As expected of a 6th Rank...!"
"I've simply had many opportunities to do this kind of work. I've spent longer in environments far worse than this."
"Worse than this...? Have you been to a war zone or something?"
At Beatrice's puzzled question, Rus paused, freezing for a moment.
Then he shook his head and resumed washing his knife in the stream.
"...I've simply been through a few things."
"Well, you're wonderfully reliable either way."
"Yes!"
Milia had built the cabin, the traps, the drying racks.
Rus secured an overflowing supply of food through hunting.
So what, then, did Beatrice do?
"Ah, it's about time. I'll go clean up."
"Um... Your Highness?"
"Milia?"
"No matter how I think about it, that task should be mine... cleaning the latrine—it isn't work for Your Highness."
"I thought we'd already settled that. The least useful person does the chores. That's the rule."
"Your Highness! Calling yourself useless, that's..."
"But it's true, isn't it? Rus handles the food. Milia, you built everything for this camp. So everything else is my share. It's a simple division of labor."
"Your Highness..."
And she truly did handle everything else.
Fetching coconuts. Cleaning the latrine. Washing clothes. Checking the drying racks. Watching for food thieves. Tidying the camp. Preparing meals. Patrolling the perimeter.
Anything anyone with a working body could do—that was Beatrice's role.
...Magic is harder to use than I thought.
With artifacts forbidden for this exam, Beatrice had devised her own countermeasure:
Creating a space inside her body to store nothing but an artifact's mana.
Yes, it was exactly as insane as it sounded. A knight or martial artist who reached 7th Rank could create a danjeon—an artificial organ to store ki—but mages had no such need. Why carve out a danjeon when your entire body already functioned as one?
But for reasons unknown, mana stored in Beatrice's body—in her heart—resulted in spells she could not control.
So, over the past month, Beatrice's research had focused on a mana-storage space. She called it the Mana Heart.
A success, if you ask whether it succeeded or failed.
Perhaps because she was a genius even the Archmage acknowledged. By absorbing mana from her artifact, she had succeeded in carving out a small internal space without endangering her life.
Before this, the uncontrollable magic would have torn her body apart long before any space could be formed.
The mana stored in that space was somewhat unstable, but it didn't run wild or slip from her control.
It was her greatest achievement yet—a genuinely revolutionary method.
But it's too small.
The problem was that the space was painfully, absurdly small. Her current mana reserves were smaller than Milia's. One decent high-tier spell would drain her dry.
That was why Beatrice had volunteered for all the chores from the start.
...It was a calculated move. The princess herself doing this kind of work made a strong impression. It would be easy for everyone to accept that she had pulled her weight.
And it would certainly help with her scholarship.
Even so, cleaning the latrine is a bit much.
She was getting fairly used to it, though. Using an outdoor latrine, letting go of so many things—she'd found less resistance to it than expected.
Maybe I'm actually suited to this kind of life.
Just as Beatrice had that thought and moved to rise for her chores—
<<Supply drop commencing.>>
"...!"
"Th-this is—!"
"Let's go. Everyone, grab your gear!"
A magically amplified voice rang out, and something began falling from the sky above the island.
This was Rule Six. The reason they'd been told to watch the sky.
Supply crates dropped at random times and random locations.
Inside were food, water, survival kits, and all manner of other goods. For students with zero survival knowledge, these drops were the only reason they hadn't given up even on day three.
The moment they confirmed the drop, Rus, sword in hand, took the lead, with Beatrice and Milia dashing after him.
Leaving the camp unguarded risked having their stored food and water looted, but—
"Hng...!"
Crunch.
[Chain Barrier]
Beatrice's problem was a small mana pool, not lost talent.
She wrung every drop of mana from her Mana Heart and cast the highest-tier defensive barrier she could manage. A normal student—Chloe aside—would have a very hard time breaking through those multiple layers.
Seizing supplies never took long anyway. Rush there and back. In a supply scramble, every person mattered.
Seeing Beatrice's spell, Rus and Milia picked up speed. The acceleration magic Milia had cast shimmered beneath all their feet.
Swiftly.
How far did they run?
Before long, Beatrice's team found the dropped supply crate in the center of the island, in a modest clearing—
"I figured you'd be the first to arrive. Sir Rus."
"...I figured you'd be here."
"How in the world is he that fast...?"
"I-I can't... breathe..."
The time was evening, the sky already stained orange.
Rus had slowed his pace for Beatrice and Milia's sake, but he was still a 6th Rank swordsman. When it came to sheer running, the rules barely constrained him.
And yet, someone had reached the supply crate before them.
A madman in full plate armor in this sweltering heat, a greatsword as tall as himself strapped to his back.
The youngest knight in history, Kaern Deste.
He stood there with a savage grin, staring fixedly at Rus alone.
"Until now, our schedules never aligned, but today—today we settle this!"
"...I've told you countless times. The rules forbid the use of force between students."
"What does that matter! When knights duel, external fetters are meaningless! Now, cross swords with me, Sir Rus!"
His words made him sound insane, but Kaern was nonetheless a swordfighter on the cusp of 5th Rank. In the Martial Arts Department, discounting Rus, even Risha lost to him far more often than she won.
His speed alone, despite all that armor, rivaled the 6th Rank Rus.
Why he refused to remove the armor while sweating rivers. Why he called Rus a knight when he wasn't one. Why he wandered alone without the rest of his team—Beatrice had no idea.
But this objectively unhinged young knight forced all three of them into motion.
While Rus handled Kaern, Milia and Beatrice had to secure the supply crate, which was far too heavy for one person to carry alone.
"If you attack me, you'll be disqualified. Your grades should matter to you too—if you want to escape that baronetcy you despise so much."
"...Hm. Still a vexing way with words. I've no idea how you know my circumstances so well."
Thud!
"I can endure it no longer. Have at you!"
"...Of all the..."
Clash! Clang!
Kaern accelerated with the Earthquake Step, his greatsword swinging—and Rus's blade met it.
He had thrown his full weight into the charge, but Rus blocked it with one hand. That was only natural, given the one-hand restriction, but it also laid bare the gap in ability between them.
Naturally, Kaern paid no mind and unleashed a flurry of slashes.
"I will make you use both hands!"
"...The time isn't right yet."
"Then as a knight, I shall force that time to arrive!"
Vwom!
"You—!"
In an instant, something that looked exactly like a Sword Aura coalesced along Kaern's greatsword.
And came crashing down toward Rus!
KABOOOOOM!
A ferocious blast. Trees ripped out by the roots. A howling gale. Rising smoke. A crater carved by monstrous force.
It was more than enough to make Beatrice and Milia, who had been quietly securing the supply crate, recoil in shock.
"Sword Aura...? Don't tell me Kaern Deste has reached 6th Rank?!"
"...No, Your Highness. It's only a superficial imitation."
"Hm. As expected, it still looks lacking to a true 6th Rank."
The smoke cleared, revealing Rus, who had blocked even that strike with one hand.
After briefly answering Beatrice's alarm, Rus fixed Kaern with a subtly changed gaze.
"...Don't tell me. At the entrance ceremony?"
"Exactly! I merely skimmed the surface of the Sword Aura you displayed that day, Sir Rus! If I continue my training like this, I will surely reach 6th Rank before long...! Truly, choosing to fight you was the right decision! You are the finest teaching material imaginable!"
"Tch."
So he hadn't swung his sword without thought after all. Still, throwing away the midterm for it seemed profoundly stupid.
Refusing all of Kaern's constant duel requests might have been a mistake.
Other students, having only now converged on the supply crate, flinched at the massive hole gouged into the clearing. Beatrice and Milia, having secured the crate, warily scanned their surroundings—
"Halt! Kaern Deste! The use of force between students during this exam is strictly forbidden!"
"Ah, please, no more coconuts..."
"Lower your sword, Kaern Deste. You are disqualified."
From the distance, an Exam Officer and several professors came running, surrounding Kaern and Rus.
One female professor was lamenting something, but never mind that.
After only a single exchange, Kaern had been disqualified from the midterm exam—yet his expression was one of pure satisfaction. It was as though fighting Rus, even for a moment, had genuinely helped him. Still, something held him back; he did not sheathe his sword.
Kaern kept his blade locked with Rus's. As he continued to ignore their warnings, the Exam Officers each began mustering their mana or ki.
The atmosphere was growing steadily more heated when—
"What exactly is going on here?"
"Who... Adam, the Finance Director?"
"Finance Director, sir!"
"F-Finance Director! Weren't you with the Chairwoman? What brings you here..."
"I received word from Exam Officer Darcun. The Chairwoman is behind me; I came ahead to assess the situation."
Bleached hair. A worn robe. The Finance Director revealed himself.
"...Ah."
As the gathered students and Exam Officers whispered among themselves—who is that?—or fell silent or fidgeted—
Rus stared straight at the figure of Adam, walking out of the jungle.
The setting sun. A cigarette in his mouth. His head tilted slightly down, eyes glancing up as if to say, "What exactly are you doing?"
He looked as though he'd just woken from a nap somewhere; unlike before, there was no sign of fatigue. Even his bloodshot, reddish eyes were clear again.
It was the utterly ordinary Finance Director he had always known, the fatigue simply gone.
...And precisely because he looked like that, something overlapped.
"Ah, ahh..."
"R-Rus?"
"Lady Rus?"
Memories overlapped. Memories from "before." That scene forced itself over his vision.
Yes. It had been the same then, too.
After the academy collapsed. After the Chairwoman died. After news came that Chloe had followed Adam.
Rus had wandered for some time before circumstances brought him to a small kingdom on the frontier.
And there, he saw—
The same setting sun. A cigarette in his mouth. Head tilted slightly down, eyes glancing up.
And that face, utterly free of fatigue.
Behind him, a castle in flames. A village in flames. Corpses burning, crows circling to feast on them.
In a place where only death and ruin remained.
Rus had met Adam. He had met him.
And so.
Shing!
"W-Wait, Rus! Put the sword down! What is—!"
"Rus Spero! Sheathe your blade immediately! How dare you aim a sword at the Finance Director!"
"Protect the Finance Director!"
"..."
"...Student Rus?"
Rus could not tell at all.
Was the person standing before him—
The benefactor who had reached out to him, the perpetual last-place student, and offered help? The ordinary Finance Director, Adam Caines?
...Or was it the Adam Caines who had burned and destroyed the world alongside Chloe?
He couldn't.
He couldn't be sure.