The Class Placement Exam (Interlude)
“Haaah…”
The expression on Arhen’s face upon returning to her office was grim in the extreme.
Given the centuries that had slipped by, she had anticipated that another invasion of this realm was looming. Even so, the fact that their assailant was none other than Maleficent was distinctly unpleasant. Worse still, had that fiend not made his grand re-entrance by brazenly tearing straight through the academy’s barrier—a defense forged from the sum total of all her magical erudition, highest mastery, and boundless mana?
The realization that the blasted skeleton had resumed his activities was a shocking revelation in its own right, but an even graver crisis lay in the shattered barrier. In hindsight, perhaps it had been inevitable. Formidable as the boundary had been in sheltering the academy for hundreds of years, her adversary was an archmage of equal standing. No matter how masterfully constructed an enchantment might be, it was bound to crumble eventually under the slow erosion of time. She had simply been guilty of placing far too much faith in it.
“My head aches already…”
Contemplating the fallout yet to come brought an inescapable throb behind her temples. There would be an official diplomatic delegation arriving from the Holy Kingdom, for starters. And should the stalwart sentinels holding the line at the northern Demonic Realm hear of this disaster and abandon their vigilance in outrage, catastrophe would truly be upon them. The mountain of work waiting before her seemed endless. After all, the mere reality that the Saintess had suffered an ambush within these walls carried monumental geopolitical weight.
Then there was the matter of that boy, Albert. His condition had improved considerably compared to the immediate aftermath, but he was still nowhere near ready to attend lectures or carry on with normal life. Resolving his predicament tangled her thoughts into an even tighter knot.
“I suppose I have no choice but to leave that boy in Aria’s care.”
It pained her to burden the girl, yet she could only pray that the Saintess would somehow work her miracle. Arhen hardly possessed the luxury of time to provide personal psychological counsel to every traumatized student; even if something went awry, there was nothing more she could offer.
Arhen peered down into the depths of her crystal orb. Watching the violent tempest of magical energy churning within the glass, she felt an ominous foreboding settle heavily over her chest.
“Asselina… She must be absolutely furious.”
It was only natural. The precious Saintess whom that ancient dragon doted upon with every fiber of her being had been ambushed yet again on academy grounds; this time, she would undoubtedly arrive demanding heads. Even setting that fury aside, this catastrophe provided more than enough justification for an imperial visitation. When she crossed the border, however, it would not be as the Guardian Dragon Asselina, but under her guise as the Pope.
She had to prepare to receive an exalted guest. Gathering an assortment of pertinent documents with a flick of telekinesis, Arhen swept out of her office.
“[Is this person… Brother Albert…?]”
Man, what the hell is wrong with this guy?
Granted, he wasn’t in stellar shape back then either, but by the time he had originally regained consciousness, I’d already blacked out, meaning I never got a precise read on just how wrecked he was.
Wait, no, that’s not quite it, is it?
Come to think of it, his mental state had looked pretty abysmal even then. He had worn that blank, vacant stare like his brain couldn’t process reality, looking thoroughly shattered before passing out cold. He probably just hadn’t retained any memory of what had transpired.
At any rate, Albert’s current condition was a complication I hadn't factored in at all. Whatever had unfolded to reduce him to this hollow wreck, the other two seemed to have a general idea, as neither of them uttered a peep. Did they think it was only natural for someone to end up like this after going through such an ordeal?
Well, they’re not wrong…
From my perspective, my physical blindness prevented me from literally seeing the gore, and since I was the one actively enjoying the experience, it was hardly an issue for me. But had I been an ordinary onlooker forced to witness such carnage with my own two eyes, I probably would have struggled to stomach it—or, like Albert, suffered a total mental collapse. After all, if the scene had been traumatic enough to deeply scar even Evan and Stella, who had survived all manner of trials, how much worse would it be for an ordinary noble boy? My own bizarre composure only existed because I was the victim rather than the spectator. Besides, it wasn't as though I actually experienced the pain as agony.
I can’t just leave him like this…
Looking at Albert’s state, letting him languish in this stupor simply wasn’t an option. I took a step toward his bedside and channeled my divine power. While infusing divine energy couldn't instantly mend a shattered psyche, it could at least impart a sensation of warmth, stability, and solace—hopefully nudging him toward sufficient lucidity to hold a conversation.
Sure enough, as the radiant warmth soaked into his skin, his unfocused, glazed pupils slowly converged. His head turned sluggishly toward me.
“H-Huuuuh…?!”
The moment his gaze landed on my face, he let out a choked, ragged gasp, violently recoiling as if his soul were about to tear out of his chest.
Uh… wait a second…
Was I… not supposed to show myself to him?
…
…
Ah.
Oh, crap.
In Stella and Evan’s case, a superior devil had manifested to wreak havoc, and I had simply stepped forward to sacrifice myself to protect them. But Albert’s circumstance was entirely different. From his perspective, he had been corrupted into an abhorrent demon, lost his mind, and personally slaughtered me over and over again with his own hands. The guilt and horror of having butchered someone with his very own claws had undoubtedly gouged a psychological wound far deeper than anything the other two carried.
“A-Aaagh… aaaah… ahh… ugh…?”
Sensing the sudden turn for the worse, Evan and Stella called out in panic.
“A-Aria?! Wait, step back! If you stay near him, it might be dangerous—”
“[No.]”
I couldn’t back down now. Not after coming this far.
There has to be… there has to be a way…
Some way to soothe Albert before he threw himself into full-blown convulsions…
That’s it…!
I just had to pray this worked.
“[Brother Albert…!!]”
Projecting a surge of intense mental resonance, I lunged forward and threw my arms around his trembling frame, embracing him tightly.
Right now, his mind was surely drowning in the suffocating trauma of having morphed into a demon, tangled with the horrifying realization that he had murdered me hundreds of times over. With every single one of those memories branded fresh and vivid into his waking mind, of course he would react with sheer terror the second he laid eyes on me. Anyone would lose their mind under that kind of psychological weight.
It was a bit of an underhanded trick, but I poured gentle, enveloping waves of divine power straight through our contact, wrapping his trembling core in radiant, soothing warmth to force his tensed muscles to slacken. As I held him close and let the holy light saturate his marrow, the violent tremors that had racked his body like a seizure gradually began to subside.
“Ah… uuuugh…”
“[I am alright… It was merely an unfortunate accident, so please, do not blame yourself so harshly.]”
“…”
No words returned from Albert’s lips. Surrendering to the warm, comforting tide that washed through his weary soul, his shivering died away entirely. His eyelids drifted shut, the tension draining from his stiffened limbs. He had slipped into an exhausted slumber.
Gently easing his sleeping form back onto the mattress, I looked down at him with an intensely conflicted expression.
It’s because of me, isn’t it…?
If I was being completely honest with myself… I really didn't want to think about it. Looking at the outcome, people assumed I had held back to avoid suspicion before finishing things off with the Sun God's Red Stone. But back then, avoiding suspicion hadn’t crossed my mind in the slightest. I couldn't run off to save Evan anyway, and whether I dealt with Albert swiftly or not wouldn't change the grand scheme of things—so I had unilaterally decided to indulge myself, playing around and savoring the agonizing euphoria before turning him back.
Did my selfish, twisted indulgence drag him into this living hell…?
If only I had drawn upon the Sun God's Red Stone right from the start to purify him in an instant, he wouldn't be suffering like this, torn apart by this unbearable agony and guilt.
“Are you alright, Aria?”
“[Yes… I am fine.]”
I was fine. If anyone in this room deserved worry and pity, it was Albert.
At first, I hadn't thought much of it. I assumed his hollow, broken state was merely the lingering shock of demonization. I thought a boy with pride as sky-high as his had simply suffered an existential breakdown over being corrupted into a monster and casting dark magic. But that wasn’t it at all.
It was because of me…
When I first met him, I wrote him off as nothing more than an arrogant, insolent brat. Yet watching that same boy tearing himself apart with unbearable grief over having slaughtered me in his demonic frenzy… a strange, suffocating guilt welled up from the pit of my stomach, weighing heavily against every atrocity I had indulged in.
And it didn’t stop with him. Once that crack appeared in my armor, the exact same pang of guilt began to bleed toward everyone else who looked at me with boundless concern and reverence.
And yet…
Why start feeling guilty now, of all times…?
After reveling in that degenerate ecstasy to my heart's content, I had the gall to wallow in self-pitying guilt? What an absolute joke. Even if I laid bare the ugly truth of my innermost thoughts to someone else, not a single person alive would believe me. So what right did I have to torment myself with remorse?
I had no right to such luxury.
“[May boundless peace dwell within your soul…]”
Bowing my head toward Albert, I offered up a gentle, quiet prayer. Desperately drowning out the turbulent churning of my inner mind, I prayed for his peace with the deepest sincerity I could muster. It was a fleeting, pointless swirl of sentiment—hardly worth obsessing over.
And yet…
“…”
What on earth is this sensation…?
This persistent, irritating prickle that refused to let go…
This dull, stinging ache that I so desperately wanted to ignore.
Suppressing the gloom threatening to show on my face, I swallowed back the bitter tide rising from the depths of my chest.
Because I was utterly disgusting to myself.