What Matters Most in Magic!
If you asked the Academy students who they respected most, how would they answer?
Would they name the war hero Lethe? Are you out of your mind? They would mention the First Emperor and their own family ancestors. That was an ironclad rule. And after that? Each would pick whichever past emperor they personally considered the greatest.
You had to answer carefully. Even something this trivial could get you in serious trouble if someone decided to pick at it.
Of course, that only applied to the Empire’s noble students.
Anyway—once they had given the proper answers and it was finally time for personal opinion rather than loyalty, they would still hedge, tossing out several more names while gauging the room, until one by one they started mentioning Lethe.
There were reasons his name came late. He was not a noble. He was a very recent figure. And the forces that could elevate his reputation still fell short.
By “forces,” one did not mean political partners like the Crown Princess or Marquis Anes, but people who would spread his fame far and wide. That role usually fell to disciples.
The fact that a man of his caliber had no direct disciples of his own weighed heavily.
In the Empire—and among elves and dwarves as well—anyone of renown kept disciples. Through them, they could broadcast just how extraordinary their own skill truly was.
Looked at the other way, the sheer influence Lethe still wielded without a single direct disciple was almost unnatural. It was greater than anyone could easily imagine.
In that light, the position of direct disciple to the war hero who had dominated every field was more than enough to set people wondering.
Just how incredible would his teachings be? What unimaginable things might you gain by becoming the disciple of the man who had swept through the demonkin alone? What kind of waves would that title create?
That was why the revised Magic Club introduction hit the students like a shockwave.
The war hero’s disciple was a Demon King? And that Demon King was going to teach them magic?
Not even in some stiff, formal lecture—but through the friendly format of a club?
Coming into contact with a Demon King was still terrifying. No one wanted to get near one. But if that Demon King had actually been Lethe’s disciple… if she had helped end the war because of him…
This… might actually be okay?
I hate demonkin. I really do… but this is the war hero’s magic. He never took a single direct disciple!
Everything the Academy teaches is just the bare basics. Nothing special.
That direct disciple’s Magic Club… so first come, first served!
Magic was the most practical discipline of all. Master just a few spells properly and they would serve you for life.
And if those spells had been refined and improved by the war hero Lethe himself? Secret techniques that even the Empire’s greatest powerhouses had never been taught?!
Once their thoughts reached that point, ideas of “demonkin” or “Demon King” grew faint. What burned itself into the students’ minds instead was the simple fact: Lethe’s direct magic disciple.
After all, those Demon Kings treated Lethe with absolute devotion and followed him everywhere! And Lethe clearly accepted it! So the “direct disciple” claim could not be a lie!
As a result, students desperate to join the Magic Club flooded in almost overnight.
“Application forms! Hand over the club applications! Now!!”
“Can we at least keep it to people who actually have decent magic grades?!”
“Since when does a club work like that?! If you want in, you join!”
Had any club ever drawn this many people? Never. Not once.
The student council felt as if they had been struck by lightning.
“Students!? Club applications have year-level limits! You can’t just storm in like this!”
“Lift the quota! Stop discriminating against fourth-years!”
“Shouldn’t the freshmen get priority?!”
“Aaaagh! Please just stop—!”
That terrifying magic that could have burned their very souls? Had anyone actually burned to death? Not at all!
What the students had seen that day was the supposedly magnificent magic barrier those self-important mages boasted about every day as “our greatest achievement” shattering in a single blow—and the brilliant flames scattering in every direction.
There was no demonkin standing right in front of them, dripping human blood and wearing a wicked smile.
There were only students clutching application forms and shouting, “Hey, you! Aren’t you curious about the war hero’s magic?!” If that still failed to spark curiosity, could you even call yourself a student?
And so, only three days after its founding, the Magic Club filled every last membership slot.
Hero Haniel could not stop staring at the notice board in pure admiration.
Magic Club First-Year Roster — …, Haniel, …, …
Whoa… this… this actually worked?
Her own name sat right in the middle of the club roster, bold as anything.
Honestly, she had been certain she would be rejected. She had applied more out of “might as well try” than any real hope.
Why had she thought she would fail? Wasn’t it obvious? The club head was a Demon King.
And she was a Hero—one of those destined to strike down the demonkin.
They had never clashed directly, but the relationship was bound to be awkward. Even without life-and-death battles between them, the “positions” themselves carried weight.
Just as selecting Academy students was entirely the Academy’s authority, selecting club members was entirely the club head’s authority.
So Haniel had assumed a Demon King would never pick someone as awkward as her.
“Ah! Everyone, come on in! Sit, sit!”
But the red-haired woman greeting the new members—Astaroth—did not seem to care in the slightest whether any applicant was a Hero or not.
Is that… some kind of advanced acting…?
The thought crossed her mind. It was not entirely impossible.
She had heard that the four Demon Kings were close to the war hero Lethe. That he had saved their lives before they became Demon Kings. And that Lethe was currently serving as an instructor at the Academy.
In that case, the Demon Kings would be careful not to make trouble for him. They might be trying to keep their heads down and blend in among the students as much as possible.
While still hiding murderous intent toward humans, elves, and dwarves deep inside. Ready to slaughter everyone the moment things went sideways!
But…
The Hero who specialized in magic stared blankly at the Red Demon King.
“Alright! This body’s name is Astaroth! As you all know, I’m a Demon King! Oh, did you know? There used to be dozens of Demon Kings sometimes? Honestly, it was pretty ridiculous. I mean, if you’re a king there should only be one, but every dog and cow who could fight a little started going ‘I’m a Demon King too, you’re a Demon King too’—total nonsense.”
Was that really acting? Really? No matter how she looked at it, it felt genuine. She was genuinely enjoying herself.
“Anyway, those dozens? We cleaned them all up! Now there are only four Demon Kings left. Nice, right? Easy to remember? Demon Kings are four! Four are Demon Kings! And one of them is this body right here! And now I’m also the head of this Magic Club! Heheheheh! So? Getting excited yet?!”
Something… something was completely different from anything she had imagined. That was really a “Demon King”?
She had expected a monster that ate humans for breakfast, elves for lunch, and dwarves for dinner. Someone whose hobby was cutting off heads and whose only joy was ripping out hearts. Something like that.
Was all of it… a lie?
It was confusing. She was starting to understand why Michaela had suddenly started looking for cigarettes and alcohol.
“….”
“….”
Apparently she was not the only one with those doubts.
The other members who had been tense at the thought of a Demon King were now openly letting the emotion show in their eyes: That is a Demon King?
“Alright! That’s enough about me. Time to look at our club’s grand vision. You already know, but I learned magic in the past from our coolest, most awesome uncle— ahem, again. From our coolest, most awesome Instructor Lethe. And using that as a foundation, I’m now using my own magic!”
The war hero Lethe’s unique magic. At Astaroth’s words, every gaze sharpened.
Especially those who, like Haniel, had always been intensely interested in magic.
Beyond the clubroom window, a man was watching Astaroth.
“…Unbelievable.”
So they were selling him out like this. Lethe let out a short, incredulous sigh.
Should he call it clever? Or just grumble that they were rotten little things? He hesitated for a moment, then ended up smiling. Fine—he would go with clever. These Demon King brats.
More than that, he had never imagined the title of “his direct magic disciple” would draw this much response. He had expected a little interest in learning a Demon King’s magic, nothing more.
They had used their heads well. The strategy had worked perfectly. As a result, the club was packed to the rafters.
There was just one fact those students did not know.
In the early days I was so terrible at magic I just used scrolls.
The time he had saved the Demon Kings floated up unbidden. Back then he had used surprise magic scrolls too.
The effect was reliable—until the second one turned out to be a dud. Even now the memory made his teeth grind.
That bastard. Lethe snarled under his breath as he recalled the demonkin who had sold him those scrolls.
How had the guy had the nerve to look him straight in the eye and lie, “This one’s guaranteed to work!”?
For the record, he had not killed him. He had kept him alive and milked him dry for a long, long time. Even now, whenever he felt like it, he dropped by and shook him down for money. Something like “emotional damages.”
Daring to screw over a transmigrator. The guy should be grateful he still had his life. With that thought, Lethe went back to listening carefully to Astaroth’s speech.
“Ahjussi—no! Instructor said it! What matters most in magic is—!”
What matters most?
“The absolute will to kill them no matter what! The resolve to finish them!!”
“…?”
Hey. Hey! Hey—!!