Academy Semester-End Party (1)
For the male nobles of the continent, dungeon-clearing prowess was a matter of personal pride.
Who had conquered more dungeons? Who had cleared the harder ones? Who had claimed the most extraordinary treasures from within them?
A competition that began as a noble duty in ages past had evolved into a contest of flaunting one's greatness through exactly these measures — but there was one fatal flaw in the whole arrangement.
The dungeons two rivals conquered were rarely ever the same.
While dungeons sprouting across the continent shared a certain baseline of common features, they differed in the finer details more often than not, and so the nobles' contests of ego could hardly reach a clean verdict.
My dungeon was bigger. The monsters inside were more menacing. It had more floors. The boss was an absolute nightmare.
These muddy, endless squabbles invariably went to whoever held the greater power — which meant the powerful were left with the nagging suspicion that their subordinates had simply let them win, while those beneath them could do nothing but seethe over their unjust defeats.
Then along came a noble with a rather clever idea.
Why not build a dungeon artificially and settle the matter that way?
And so the artifice used to construct artificial dungeons — still in use to this very day — was developed, and nobles began proving their superiority by clearing one another's creations.
This style of competition carried on in ever-shifting forms right up to the present, and the latest craze among the nobility most devoted to dungeon clearing was the Dungeonology Academic Journal.
Each week, the journal — produced by scholars of dungeonology — introduced a fresh lineup of dungeons worth attempting, and their quality was so consistently excellent that the nobles chose to abandon the old back-and-forth of building dungeons for one another. Instead, they now cleared the journal's dungeons and competed over who could boast louder about the results.
Thanks to this, whenever male nobles gathered, the topic of conversation was guaranteed to turn to whether one had cleared this week's featured dungeon.
Anyone who socialized regularly with other nobles had no choice but to clear the journal's dungeon every single week, without fail.
"Hm."
This was precisely why René Soladin, First Prince of the Soladin Kingdom, currently had the Dungeonology Academic Journal in hand.
He had already compiled illustrious records across countless artificial dungeons and delivered sterling results in genuine field combat, proving his clearing skill beyond any doubt — yet his position demanded he never rest on those laurels.
The seat of First Prince and leading claimant to the throne was one that invited endless scrutiny, and so René had to conquer the journal's dungeon every week and demonstrate that his abilities had grown yet again.
Not that René particularly enjoyed the task.
No matter how hard the designers tried to differentiate them, man-made dungeons inevitably ended up resembling one another.
Clear dozens, then hundreds of dungeons that all looked the same to his eye, and anyone would grow sick of it.
"Well, well. How interesting."
But today was different.
Deep fascination had seeped into René's eyes as he studied the dungeon laid out in the journal's pages.
Clever hands, the way this dungeon plays with its gimmicks.
Try to get clever in return, and you'd find yourself thoroughly outplayed by your own schemes.
But is it merely mischievous?
Not at all. Whoever built this dungeon is generous to a fault.
Lift your gaze from the path ahead and look around, and clues sprawl everywhere you turn.
A dungeon endlessly kind to those who catch on to its method.
A trial-bringer to those who charge in blind without understanding a thing.
It's been a long while since a dungeon pleased me this much.
If dungeons like this one were submitted every week, even I would open the journal with a fluttering heart each time.
Having finished his read-through, René checked the name of the dungeon's designer — so that if this same designer ever built another, he could clear that one too.
"...Lucy Aln?"
At the unexpected name, René's brow twitched faintly, and an awkward smile crossed his face.
"Of course. It would be stranger if she couldn't build something like this."
Thinking back on the madness she'd displayed at the recent Partran festival, it made perfect sense.
Committing such deranged stunts mid-clear would demand deep, intimate knowledge of dungeons — so her producing an entertaining one was hardly surprising at all.
Nodding to himself, René turned to the answer key printed at the back of the problem.
He was curious how the oddity called Lucy Aln would explain this dungeon.
Astonishingly, the explanation in the journal was perfectly lucid.
There's no way that insufferable brat could write something this coherent.
Ah. I see — the Soul Academy reviewed and revised it before publication.
Understood. That poor graduate student must have suffered greatly.
And then...
Hm.
"This dungeon may be challenged in person before the Soul Academy semester ends," is it.
Having read the final line, René mulled it over at his leisure, sipping his tea.
The justification was already there for the taking.
Arthur and Cecil were both enrolled at the Academy, after all — he could readily frame the visit as an inspection of how the kingdom's flagship educational institution was being run.
And, while he was at it, meet that Lucy Aln in person.
"René. What are you doing?"
The instant a woman's voice sounded behind him, René shot to his feet.
"Your Majesty, the First Queen."
The First Queen of the Soladin Kingdom — the true power behind the throne, who handled the bulk of the kingdom's affairs in place of its ailing King. The woman who was René Soladin's mother.
Cabati Soladin smiled with her eyes at the sight of René standing rigidly at attention.
"René. I have told you time and again — there is no one watching. There is no need to go to such lengths."
"Even so, Your Majesty. This is what puts my heart at ease."
"Honestly. Very well, sit down for now."
"I thank you for your consideration."
"I see you were reading the Dungeonology Academic Journal. Was this week's dungeon any good?"
"Yes. I would say it's the finest submission this year."
"My, my. If you speak so highly of it, René, I find myself curious."
Cabati took the journal from his hands and studied the dungeon, drawing a half-moon with her eyes.
Even for the First Queen, clearing that dungeon will take time. Shall I brew the tea in advance?
As René quietly rose and prepared the tea with his own magic, Cabati's gaze never once strayed from the journal. A long while passed — long enough for the aroma of the tea he'd brewed to fill the room — before she finally spoke.
"René."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"When is the Soul Academy semester-end party to be held?"
Why is she asking me, of all people?
Though the question puzzled him, René answered without a moment's hesitation.
"December the first."
"Not many days left, then. We shall have to move briskly for a while."
"...You intend to attend, Your Majesty?"
"I do. The blood may not run in their veins, but Cecil and Arthur are my sons all the same."
One must take stock of how those two are living their lives, must one not?
Cabati said it with a smile, but René did not believe a single word of it.
The First Queen he knew was not the sort of woman to extend such warmhearted generosity.
"I shall take my leave, then. René — clear your schedule for that day as well."
"Understood, Your Majesty."
After Cabati departed and he was left alone, René stared at his tea — full to the brim and slowly going cold — and let out a long sigh.
"I refuse, Lucy Aln."
Arthur looked at me without the slightest attempt to hide his disdain.
"It is no mere sliver of a gap, either — I am the very one who lost to you overwhelmingly. If you take the stage as the first-years' representative, what do you suppose everyone else will think?"
Well, that's...
"Why? You're already the widely known Pitiful Prince loser. Would it really be so bad to be looked down on a little more?"
"...Do you truly not know, so you must ask? Tch. Insufferable, truly. I never imagined I would come to understand how that Jackal fellow feels."
Arthur clicked his tongue loud enough for all to hear, and the urge to snap back at him surged up my throat — but since I was technically the one doing the asking, I bit my lip and held it in.
"Think on it, Lucy Aln. Scandal has dogged you from the day you were born — and if you accept such a humiliation, do you have any idea how much whispering it would invite?"
...Oh. If he puts it that way, I don't really have a comeback.
"Setting such gossip aside, I too have my pride. Do you know how bitter a thing it is, standing in the loser's place, accepting the winner's so-called consideration that is no consideration at all?"
Arthur's argument — that his refusal to give the entrance ceremony speech had been no empty whim — left me without a word of rebuttal.
It was all too sound; whatever I said would have come out as excuse.
Uuuugh.
If I'd known this would happen, I'd have flubbed a few questions on the finals.
I should've tanked my scoreeee!
Why on earth did I forget about this event?
Has Joy's scatterbrained-ness rubbed off on me from standing next to her?!
Have I become a scatterbrained mesugaki?!
As I sat lamenting my own stupidity, Arthur propped his chin on his hand and spoke up.
"Besides — why do you hate giving speeches so much? Looking down on others is your specialty, is it not?"
"..."
"Just spout off the way you did when you demonstrated your solutions on the Dungeonology exam. What's the problem? Your reputation has nowhere left to fall in any case."
I endured the relentless pummeling of his dry, matter-of-fact facts for as long as I could — and then my patience snapped, and I rose from my seat.
"Hm? Wh-what is it, Lucy Aln?"
"Follow me♡ Pitiful Prince♡ I'm going to teach you exactly what disasters that little tongue of yours can summon♡"
"Those aren't words you should be— no. Never mind. My apologies. I was thoughtless. So put that mace away, and— gyaAAAAAK!"
Even after Arthur's refusal, I didn't give up — I kept at it, feet pattering after him without pause.
"No! I want to see the Young Lady I dressed up standing on that stage!"
"...Er. My apologies. Having me stand on the stage above people of far higher standing is—"
"U-um, well... Eeek! I'm sorry! Please forgive me!"
But no matter how many attempts I made, all that came back was refusal after refusal.
Never mind me — the very idea of standing on that stage over Arthur and Joy was simply too much to bear.
AAARGH!
If Jackal were here right now, I could just shove it onto him and be done with it!
Why does he have to redo the first year starting next year, of all things?!
Give it up, child. There is no way around this, so what would you have?
'But there HAS to be!'
Rather than waste the effort, spend it devising a way to deliver the speech well. I shall help you — let us put our heads together.
'...Fiiine.'
Having accepted that there was no escape from the speech, I set to work with Grandpa on figuring out how to get through it as cleanly as possible.
Except this was genuinely, hopelessly unsolvable.
Even when I said the same words, the Mesugaki Skill translated them into something else entirely more often than not — so I couldn't even draft a speech.
That's how desperate I was. I actually caught myself thinking I might just wing it, say whatever came out, and bolt off the stage.
"I say. I have one fine idea."
After we'd been wracking our brains for ages, the Face-Connoisseur Fox spoke up.
'What is it?'
"What it is."
"Bunny girl attire, accessories included — drain the very souls from the entire audience! Leave them so spellbound by gazing upon your face that they cannot even hear your voice!"
Watching the Face-Connoisseur Fox pant and drool, I couldn't hide my exasperation.
You just want to see me in a bunny girl with accessories on. That's all this is.
Haa. It's my own fault for expecting a sensible suggestion from this pervert.
It's not like the others are unreyclable trash like the Face-Connoisseur Fox or the Apostle of the Art Order — there's no way something like that could actually work...
Wait.
No, actually — couldn't it? If I play it right?
Draining their souls at least until I finish the speech and step down — that much is more than enough.
The moment the thought landed, I whipped my head around toward the Face-Connoisseur Fox.
"...Hm? What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
And then, before the Face-Connoisseur Fox could bolt, I seized it by the waist and hugged it tight against my chest.
"Hyaa?! W-w-wait, why all of a sudden— hwhaaat?!"
Face-Connoisseur Fox!
You're actually useful once in a while!
So this is the wisdom a Lord of the Forest possesses!
Alright! Time to test it on my friends first!
This method feels worth a shot!