15. Finance Director Fan Club (Not Really)
15. Finance Director Fan Club (Not Really)
After the Chairwoman's opening declaration punched straight through the ceiling.
The ballroom, briefly thrown into disarray, soon settled into a pleasant hum of warmth.
The decorations weren't much to look at, the food wasn't exactly outstanding, and the music was unremarkable, but no one complained.
Not because they feared the Chairwoman who'd organized it, but because everyone knew the academy had suffered a terrorist attack barely a week ago. If anything, people were surprised they'd managed this much under such difficult circumstances. No one found it laughable. The nobles who'd have lacked the class to understand weren't invited in the first place.
Besides, this was the first event in decades where the Chairwoman—who'd been holed up inside the academy for years—had properly shown her face in front of the nobility.
"Madam Chairwoman, I offer the deepest condolences from the House of Cruton regarding this latest act of terrorism. You may not recall, but I myself am a graduate of Grandis Academy, so by way of a modest—"
"Class of Year 57, correct? I remember."
"M-Madam Chairwoman!? How could you possibly...?"
"I am the Chairwoman of this academy. I remember every student who has ever attended, every graduate, and every member of the faculty."
"Good heavens!"
The Chairwoman who stood before the nobles now had transformed completely. Or rather, from the nobles' perspective, there wasn't much transformation to speak of.
The era when she'd been called the Human Butcher, the Mad Dragon, was at least several decades ago. Unless one reached the 7th or 8th Rank, a human lifespan rarely exceeded a hundred years. Those who had known the Chairwoman of that era had mostly grown old and died, or were far too frail to make the journey here.
And so the Chairwoman the nobles "knew" was one they'd only heard about from their parents. An 8th Rank war hero, a Mad Dragon who had once run rampant, and now the head of the kingdom's most prestigious academy.
People, after all, believe what they see with their own eyes far more than what they merely hear.
Seeing her present herself as the very picture of a proper, dignified academy head, few had any cause to recall the infamy of her past. Her youthful appearance—she looked to be in her early twenties, at most—only added to the illusion.
The fact that every last bit of this was a performance coached into her by a certain Finance Director was, of course, a secret.
Even so, the detail about memorizing every graduate and student roster was entirely genuine, so it wasn't really a lie. It was, as she'd put it herself, "something even a dim-witted Chairwoman could manage."
And so, while a great many nobles approached the Chairwoman to express their condolences, their fury at the terrorists, and their pledges of donation—
A very small number remained seated, making no move to approach her.
Slosh.
"The Mad Dragon indeed. Such an exquisite Polymorph."
"...Master of the Tower. It has been some time."
"Look upon her, Villend. I have lived a considerable span, and yet this surpasses all astonishment. That the Mad Dragon, of all beings, could Polymorph so flawlessly."
"You call it a Polymorph?"
"I know her. How could I not? A woman who once stormed into a village with a swordsman, a spearman, and a mage, demanded something or other, and the moment the conversation went long, her fists started flying. I understood exactly why humans call her a mad dragon."
"...Is that so."
"And now she comports herself with such docile grace. A nature such as hers cannot have simply vanished. I have no doubt it is buried somewhere within, which is what makes her concealment truly formidable—worthy of being praised as a Polymorph."
Clap. Clap.
The green-haired youth, the Elf Archmage, lifted a glass in one hand and gave a small round of applause, as if genuinely moved. From the look of him, he really was impressed. This was no jest.
A small lump protruded from his head as he spoke, but it shrank in time with his clapping, fading as though it had never existed at all.
"By any chance, were the 'two fools' the Chairwoman mentioned..."
"Myself and the spearman. The spearman could have dodged, yet chose to take the blow. I, for my part, produced the lump with magic. Had I not, the Mad Dragon would have only charged at me with greater fervor. A truly prudent measure."
"What on earth did you do to make the Chairwoman use her fists?"
"Nothing of consequence. I merely did what any parent must do for their family. It is a pity, Villend. You once rose as far as a candidate for a candidate for the family... a great pity that you could not become one of us."
"...I would be lying if I said the name Villend Pisti held no appeal. But I prefer things as they are now."
"So it seems. That is cause for congratulations."
The Elf Archmage took a sip from the champagne in his glass, then set it quietly down.
His eyes were intelligent, but at the same time held something immeasurable, unfathomable.
Was it simply because he belonged to a different race, or was it because of the peculiarity of the Elf Archmage himself?
He had never quite fit in among elves. He got along far better among humans.
"The Mad Dragon has weakened. I would say she is now at the level of a mad hatchling."
"What do you...!"
"Villend, you cannot see it, but my eyes do. In her prime, there would have been no need to deceive with magic—my head would have been seized and sent flying in truth. Perhaps she has simply rusted, or perhaps she has sustained some injury..."
With a faint gesture from the Elf Archmage, all manner of magic circles flickered into the air and vanished. Every one of them was beyond the comprehension of even Villend—dean of the magic department, once of the Empire's Magic Tower.
The 8th Rank "Archmage." The Empire had two other 8th Rank mages, and yet this one young otherworlder was the sole figure called by that title. Why?
Recalling the ties of old, Villend could not stop his entire body from trembling in instinctive terror. Unlike the Chairwoman, who restrained her aura and killing intent out of consideration for the faculty, the Elf Archmage did not.
And so it had been with the Magic Tower as well. The wrangling and political infighting among mages vying to become the Elf Archmage's disciple—his "family"...
Wasn't that precisely why Villend had left the Tower and come to the academy?
Quaking in fear, yet inwardly resolved to lay down his life should the Elf Archmage ever target the Chairwoman—
"...Still, that does not mean I could defeat her."
"Pardon?"
"Weakened or not, she is a hatchling. Young or old, I have no wish to challenge a dragon and die for it. I imagine most of the Empire's 8th Ranks feel the same."
"'Most,' you say."
"Surely there are some whose appetite for combat gets the better of them. Out of ten, there must be at least one fool consumed by his own recklessness."
Let's see, now.
Almost as though this was a welcome turn, the Elf Archmage tilted his head and, with a trace of amusement, began murmuring names.
"The Surveyor and the Sculptor abhor combat itself to begin with. Several others know the Mad Dragon well and would likely think as I do... As far as I can recall, only two names come to mind. The Guardian Dragon, and the Honorary Emperor."
"The latter I can understand, but the former...?"
"You must not be aware. Long ago, when the Mad Dragon was earning that name of hers, the Empire sought out a reasonably strong creature of its own and bestowed upon it the title of dragon, or so I heard. A farce, truly, but the name 'Guardian Dragon' has endured. Given the absurdity behind its creation, it is bound to harbor a crushing sense of inferiority—or rivalry—toward the Mad Dragon."
"You're saying they're an enemy of the Chairwoman?"
"An enemy? Hardly. Just as a human cannot defeat a mad human, a dragon cannot defeat a mad dragon. Even the Mad Dragon as she is now should have little trouble. The Honorary Emperor, on the other hand, may be a different matter—ah."
The Elf Archmage, who'd been about to continue on a note of some reluctance, broke off with a bright smile.
The person he'd been waiting for had finally arrived.
"It has been too long, Master."
"Chloe. I have heard your voice throughout, but to see you is indeed a reunion. Have you already met Villend here?"
"Yes, I've spoken with the Dean many times now."
"Well done. And Villend? This is now a family conversation. Kindly excuse us."
"...I'll take my leave first, Pisti."
"Yes, Dean."
The words were somewhat blunt toward someone he'd been speaking with so familiarly just moments ago, but Villend simply nodded at Chloe as though long accustomed and stepped aside. He cast a brief look of concern her way but headed first toward the Chairwoman.
In that interval, Chloe approached as respectfully as her formal gown allowed.
"You have achieved a great breakthrough. As the family's parent, I am overjoyed. A child's growth is always a joyous thing."
"Thank you for your praise, Master."
"If you continue to devote yourself in this manner, you will soon ascend to the 6th Rank. Truly, cause for wonder. And yet..."
In an instant.
The Elf Archmage's eyes hazed over, then split into two pupils.
Elves were born with "Eyes" as an innate gift. The particular Eye varied from individual to individual, but the Elf Archmage's Eye was exceptional even among his kind.
A mage who had become obsessed with his own eyes, who had studied the eyes carved from the corpses of his kin.
His eyes now contained many Eyes.
One of the split pupils fixed its gaze on Chloe. The other peered toward the space beside her head.
As though something else resided there.
"Curious. Most curious."
"...What do you mean?"
"You have obtained a rare boon. A high-order mental body, one that even I cannot pierce in a single glance."
"..."
As if she'd expected him to notice, Chloe's response was quiet. If anything, she seemed almost satisfied that her master hadn't seen through everything instantly.
A separate mental body, lodged inside the head of his disciple and family.
Under normal circumstances, this was hardly something to be pleased about.
"By the look of it, you've had this for a few months at least... and yet, you remain my 'family.' It seems to be doing you no great harm."
"Don't worry, Master. I am still Chloe Pisti."
"Indeed. Whose family do you think you are? It is a relief that there seems no need to extract it immediately. Ah, and."
Having dismissed the issue as though it were nothing, the Elf Archmage shifted his tone as he addressed Chloe, who stood with her hands demurely clasped.
That voice, now unmistakably laden with "expectation," made Chloe flinch.
"Are you on good terms with that child? Beatrice, I mean."
"...Do you mean Amatrius Delphia Beatrice?"
"She isn't present at this ball, but from the moment she entered the academy, I sensed the emanations of several colossal mages-in-the-making. One was yours. Another belonged to that half-formed prophet. And the last... surely, that must be Beatrice. At long last, she has overcome her chronic affliction!"
"...Yes."
"Then I must go and see her at once. I am eager to find out whether she still cherishes my gift. Chloe, will you accompany me?"
"I-I..."
"If you would rather enjoy the ball, we may part ways here. I place great importance on the freedom of my family. Speaking of freedom, actually."
"Pardon?"
"I've already dealt with the matter of the Finance Director. Judging by the way he clings to the Mad Dragon's side, he appears to be a servant with no regard for his own life. Do not go near him, to begin with. There's no chance of you being caught up in any vain delusions."
"What do you...?"
—See?
"Don't fret. I always cherish my family. Expanding the family through mating is an act permitted only among family, so in time I shall find you a suitable match. Forget about the Finance Director."
"..."
—Didn't I tell you?
Inside Chloe's head, another Chloe's voice resounded.
And as though he'd caught even that faint whisper, the Elf Archmage once again aimed his split pupils toward the side of Chloe's head—
"...I-I refuse."
"Chloe?"
"That sort of thing—I won't have it!"
At this first-ever rebellion from his family, his child, the Elf Archmage stared at Chloe in flustered alarm.
Chloe, clenching her teeth, shouted back at him.
"Apologize to the Finance Director! And take back everything you just said!"
"What did you...?"
"If it's a choice between going along with your demands and—!"
"A-and?"
"I'll renounce the name Pisti entirely!"
"...!!"
*
"And so, that's what happened... What in the world did I do wrong..."
"..."
"Is this what the elders of old meant when they said raising children is a thankless endeavor... I only wanted what was best for my child, for my family—how could she speak to me like that..."
"...Hm."
"Please, talk to her properly. I beg of you."
"What exactly could I do?"
"If you, the object of her affections, speak to her directly, she's bound to give up, isn't she? Please convince her that love—or mating—with anyone outside the family is simply impossible."
No, honestly.
This is gonna drive me nuts.
And who the hell are you supposed to be...?