Second-Semester Finals (1)
"I never dreamed Your Highness the Second Prince would come looking for me himself."
Jeff Patran, son of the Ducal House of Patran, shrugged his shoulders with a deliberately theatrical air of surprise as he regarded the Second Prince standing before him.
"The feeling is mutual. I never imagined I would be the one seeking out a mage."
Cecil had trained alongside knights in the royal palace his entire life, and as a result, he had a habit of looking down on mages.
So he had never gone out of his way to approach Jeff, and Jeff, for his part, saw no profit in cultivating a friendship with a Second Prince who had virtually no chance of inheriting the throne. Thus neither had sought the other out.
And so, despite crossing paths constantly for two years, the two of them might as well have been strangers.
"May I ask what brings you here?"
"You already know. Something to do with the dungeon."
"You mean to propose we form a party."
"I do."
For all his dislike of mages, Cecil could not deny Jeff's ability.
If he could form a party with him, their dungeon clear would surely gain considerable speed.
Having judged as much, Cecil swallowed his pride and came to meet Jeff in person.
"How unexpected. I wouldn't have thought Your Highness the Second Prince took any interest in accessories."
Within that mocking tone lay an accusation — a jab at the way Cecil habitually scorned mages.
Ever sensitive to slights directed at himself, Cecil grasped the intent in an instant, but instead of flying into a rage, he smiled.
"You're right. The only thing I'm after is the prestige of being the dungeon's First Clearer."
"I see."
Jeff studied Cecil's expression and bearing as he turned the situation over in his mind.
The Second Prince of old would have thrown a tantrum at this point.
So desperate and earnest a situation, then. Certainly, the Second Prince was so single-mindedly devoted to the martial arts that he was clumsy at politics and negotiation alike. Leaving your weakness exposed like this only makes you that much easier to tear into.
"My apologies, Your Highness the Second Prince."
Joining the Second Prince's party was, in any case, decided.
Whatever his chances at the crown, he was still a man connected by blood to both a duke and the king. There was nothing to lose in incurring a debt of gratitude from him.
"Nothing could honor me more than your proposal."
But he must not nod along at once.
Only then would the Second Prince be left feeling that *he* was the one in debt.
He would push back a time or two here, work the prince into an anxious lather, and *then* agree. That was the proper way of it.
"There are already others with whom I've promised to partner."
And while he was at it, securing some claim to the accessories wouldn't hurt either.
Accessories crafted by an Apostle of the Art Sect were famous for their beauty, after all.
If he gave them to his little sister, she would surely be delighted? Perhaps she'd even come running, crying Oppa, you're the best!
As Jeff imagined Joy acting spoiled the way she had when she was little, he let out a long, regretful sigh on the outside while smiling to himself on the inside.
"I must ask for your understanding."
Wherever Joy was not involved, he was this thorough a man.
Floor 100 of the Academy's second-semester dungeon.
Arthur lowered his raised sword the moment the boss guarding that floor collapsed and an exit to the outside opened up.
"So we've finally managed to clear the Academy Dungeon."
It had been a long, grueling journey.
Specifically, the days had been exhausting thanks to one particular person.
Frey, catching the sour look on Arthur's face, tilted her head as if to ask what he was making that face for.
That utterly clueless expression of hers made his blood boil.
How many crises had her reckless stunts dragged them into?
Thank goodness that wager with Lucy Aln had forced her to follow orders — without it, they would still be wandering around somewhere near Floor 80.
"Third Prince. You really do like them small, huh."
"That's a rebuke, Frey Kent! I'm glaring at you as a rebuke!"
Arthur bellowed at Frey's non sequitur.
"Rebuke? Didn't I do well today?"
"You did. Today, you did well. But before that, you ran off on your own and stirred up every manner of incident and accident."
"Dwelling on the past is a bad habit."
"...Haahh. I swear the dungeon's boss was easier to talk to than you."
As Arthur sighed, thinking he stood no chance of winning an argument against someone this impossible to reason with, Joy beside him let out a giggle.
"Still, it feels like we're finally in sync now, doesn't it? At this rate, clearing the dungeon should go smoothly."
"True. At the very least, this beast will cooperate until we clear the dungeon Lucy Aln created."
At that blunt dismissal of Frey, Phoebe spoke up carefully.
"Third Prince, calling Lady Kent a beast even in jest is—"
"Saintess. If something doesn't heed words but has sharp fangs alone, what else would you call it but a beast?"
"It's true that communication has been... difficult, but tha—"
Phoebe could not quite bring herself to argue with Arthur.
The incidents and accidents Frey had caused thus far were too numerous to count; it couldn't be helped.
"I do take your point, Saintess. Calling one's comrade a beast is poor conduct."
"Thank you for understanding."
Arthur waved a hand of forgiveness at Phoebe's bow, sheathed his sword, and stretched.
In the several weeks since they'd resolved to clear the dungeon, the five of them had poured out every ounce of effort they could muster.
And in a few more days, they would finally learn what fruit that effort would bear.
"Let's stop here for today. From tomorrow on, we should focus on managing our condition. The final exams are nearly upon us."
'Grandpa. We have a problem.'
‹What? Has the Chief God delivered another revelation?›
'No. It's not that.'
‹Then what is it?›
'I haven't studied for the final exams. At all.'
Her recent obsession with building the dungeon had been the problem.
Ordinarily she would at least have gone through the motions of studying, but she had poured every scrap of her attention into crafting the dungeon and completely abandoned her other subjects.
'Grandpa, I don't even know what range the finals cover! What do I do? What am I supposed to do?!'
‹What do you do? Why, you guess, same as always. With luck like yours, you could pick answers at random and still scrape together a passable grade. Or else start studying right now.›
Her brow furrowed of its own accord at the old man's words, so utterly devoid of a shred of empathy.
Aren't you supposed to say something like don't worry, I'll teach you everything myself at a time like this?
This is why you never had any admirers your whole life, you heartless old-fogey fossil of a grandpa.
‹...You seem to be thinking something strange.›
'You're annoyingly perceptive about all the wrong things.'
‹Your inner thoughts just leaked out! How infuriating!›
'Gah. My mistake.'
‹Unacceptable! Sit down this instant! Here I am, concerning myself with your spiritual maturity, and you—!›
The morning of the Academy final exams.
Ordinarily this would be the hour when everyone buried themselves in the library or their rooms, cramming — but this semester's finals were different.
Every student confident of their strength at the Academy was staking out a spot in front of the grounds where the dungeon studies exam would be held.
"...Hieeeh. Why are there so many people?"
Vishy, arriving fashionably late to the dungeon studies exam site, recoiled in horror at the sight of the line stretching endlessly on.
— At this rate, just getting into the dungeon is going to be a struggle.
"Tell me about it."
Vishy had promised her friends they'd at least get a look at what kind of dungeon the exam would be before the finals proper — but that was clearly not going to happen.
Waiting in this line just to enter, she'd be heading off to sit her exams before she ever got inside.
"I'll just have to hear about it from people who got in later, then."
Vishy committed the faces in the line to memory, feeling faintly resigned.
Young Lord Kurten of the Ducal House of Lahvi is here, so that must be the third-year line over there.
Whoa. The third-years who never leave their private study rooms while prepping for graduation exams are out in force.
They're all gunning for the First Clear reward, aren't they?
Can't blame them — an accessory personally crafted by an Apostle of the Art Sect is tempting.
It's something no amount of money can buy unless the Apostle themself acknowledges you.
And at the very front of the second-year line, of course, is the Second Prince.
Normally he'd be moving with his own faction, but this time he's brought the top-ranked second-years — the Patran heir's crowd — with him.
So he's deadly serious this time around.
I had him pegged as someone with zero interest in accessories. Surprise, surprise.
And at the front of the first-year line, that would be the Third Prince's party, then.
Lady Patran. The Saintess. Lady Kent, too.
It's just that Lady Aln is so overwhelmingly dominant that it's easy to forget, but those four are monsters in their own right.
...Forget placing first in the whole year — even being the fastest first-year to clear the dungeon is out of reach, isn't it.
Time to scrap the plan of selling accessories to buy necromancy materials.
I figured it wouldn't work out from the start, but with the strongest students of every year this fired up, it's simply impossible.
Even if I risked exposing myself as a necromancer and leaned on Adri's help, becoming First Clearer would be a tall order.
— That depends on what kind of dungeon it is.
"...Adri. I'm pretty sure I've told you several times not to read my thoughts."
— Sorry. But it just comes through so naturally.
Vishy sighed at the sight of Adri's shoulders shrugging in apology.
Their connection deepening wasn't Adri's fault.
Heck, these days Vishy herself dreamed of memories from when Adri was still alive — the days when she'd been happy.
"Whatever. The point is, if you were in an environment where you could go all-out, Adri, a First Clear might actually be possible?"
— Yep! Believe it or not, I'm suuuper strong!
Watching Adri puff out her chest with total confidence, Vishy couldn't help but smile.
"Save that strength for when we're second-years and get to raid outside dungeons."
— Just you wait and see!
"I will. I'll be waiting."
"Vishy!"
Not long after she'd answered Adri, a voice called her name from somewhere behind her.
She turned toward it and saw, standing in the middle of the line, her old friends — along with the girl Lucy had recently strong-armed into her care.
"You got here early, huh. That's pretty far up."
"Velma was holding a spot for us since before dawn."
"...Really?"
"Yes. Otherwise it seemed like we wouldn't even get into the dungeon."
"Thanks to you, it looks like we'll get to see the dungeon before we head off to take the finals."
"Yaaay! Thank you, Velma! I'll buy you something tasty later!"
"Ehehe. It was nothing, really."
"'Nothing'? You waited since dawn and it's nothing? Then what does that make Vishy, waltzing in late and acting all sweet?!"
"Yeah! Are you calling our Vishy lazy?!"
"Wha—?! N-no! Of course not!"
"Velma, don't panic. These two rotten-hearted troublemakers just want an excuse to rag on me."
As Vishy said this, she patted Velma on the head, and Velma, at a loss for what to do, nodded along with a sheepish giggle.
"'Rotten-hearted'?!"
"The worst one here is you — showing up late and playing the saint!"
"Oh, look, everyone! The dungeon studies TAs are coming. It must be starting."
"Hey! Don't you dodge the subject!"
"Seriously, inside and out, you're black as pitch!"
"...'Black on the outside'? What's that supposed to mean?!"
Whether or not the voices between Vishy and her friends grew louder, the teaching assistants bustled about as the professors had ordered, and at last the dungeon for the final exam in dungeon studies was opened to the students.
Then, roughly half a day later.
Those sprinting desperately for the dungeon's First Clear finally understood why this dungeon would remain open for the entire duration of the finals.