The Gambler's Desperation

Ever since the Eastern Union Kingdom challenged the Empire in that infamous gamble, peace between the two nations had been a distant memory. It was only natural. Both countries had grown far too massive to coexist peacefully. Of course, there were no direct clashes. They both knew all too well that dispatching troops against each other would lead to mutual destruction. So their struggle for hegemony manifested in myriad forms: proxy wars, ideological ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rivalries, arms races, technological competitions, naval buildups... The Eastern Union Kingdom strained to surpass the Empire in every way, while the Empire fought tooth and nail to maintain its edge. The rivalry was fierce.

But for students at the academy, all that barely registered. What truly impacted their daily lives was the barrage of economic sanctions the two nations hurled at each other.

"We'll slap tariffs on sugar produced from farmland in the Eastern Union Kingdom!"

The Ortega family, who ran sugarcane plantations in the Eastern Union, reeled from the bolt from the blue. Soon, their sponsored students—and the Ortega scions themselves—harbored deep resentment toward the Empire.

The Eastern Union didn't sit idle, of course. "Hah? Fine, then we'll restrict exports of our top-grade magic stones to the Empire!"

The Sierra family, deep into magical appliance manufacturing, staggered under the blow. Without those premium magic stones mined in the East, they couldn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠produce their goods. Before long, Sierra students and their sponsored wards turned hostile toward the Eastern Union.

As the hegemonic struggle dragged on and sanctions flew thick and fast, animosity festered within the academy too. This semester, though, it hadn't surfaced much among the students—all thanks to the Olive Wand.

"Let's take out that professor first and figure it out later?"

A shared enemy had united them. To the Second Prince, the wand was an indispensable symbol in his bid for the throne. Empire students loathed the professor just as much.

"If the wand's master is from the Empire, shouldn't the wand belong to the Empire too?"

That Lily, the wand's wielder, had been an Empire slave? It didn't matter to them. Aristocratic students had little clue what a slave might think of the Empire. They just assumed Professor Ria was scheming to steal away a wand born in imperial lands.

The Eastern Union felt ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the same. Ian's situation wasn't exactly cushy either. There was only one throne in the "Union" Kingdom. To claim it, he couldn't afford to lose the wand.

"Professor Ria? She's Empire through and through, isn't she?"

To Eastern Union students, Ria was just another imperial. No matter how much she clashed with Empire kids, the odds of the wand falling to them remained slim. So both factions turned their sights on Professor Ria.

...Of course, no student dared confront her head-on. They'd seen what happened to those who rushed her at the semester's start: utterly dismantled, docked points, and sent packing.

Instead, eyes shifted to the northern students backing the professor. Tensions between the central powers and the North were already bad. Each side looked down on the other: northerners saw central kids as hothouse flowers, while central elites dismissed northerners as barbarians. Professor Ria was just the new spark in that powder keg.

"Got a problem?"

"N-no, sir..."

But no one could touch the northerners. Subtle noble sniping bounced right off them. Kids who'd fought northern beasts didn't sweat petty ostracism. And direct confrontation? Forget it. Northerners, etched with rune magic arrays, were walking siege engines. In a hallway brawl, the nobles would fold first. You don't charge a tank barehanded, no matter how much you hate it.

The inevitable fallback? "We'll settle it in practicals!"

Ian, naturally, felt the heaviest pressure.

"We don't need help from other factions—we can handle it alone."

That was the Second Prince's stance, backed by the Empire students who dominated half the academy and the clout of the continent's hegemon.

"Heh, maybe we should wait till the exam's over."

The Holy Kingdom suddenly broke ranks. Trying to cozy up to the Olive Wand's master now? Pull her into their camp that way? Hah, the Saintess was sly.

"Still... we can hold out. For now."

The Saintess and her Holy Kingdom faction were neutral ground. Northerners made up 10% of the student body. Empire plus Eastern Union? A solid 75%. If they cooperated—just that much—ousting Professor Ria would be easy.

Yeah. No matter how brilliant she was...

"With the Prince and me aligned, we'll win in the end."

That comforting thought shattered with the decisive blow.

"Hah."

It was over. Ian staggered, clutching his face like he'd taken a sledgehammer to the head.

On the surface, Principal Sylvia had issued the notice. But pinpointing who pulled the strings? Child's play.

"Professor Ria."

She'd personally slain the black mage in Eastern Union territory. And Ria was Sylvia's handpicked prof—close enough to request something like this without batting an eye.

"Ugh, can't breathe."

The next day, a weird tension rippled between Empire and Eastern Union students. Imperials sneered, "Should've secured your borders better." Union kids shot back, "This is too far!"

With opinions clashing like that, calls to gang up on Professor Ria lost all steam. Only then did Ian have to admit it: Ria wasn't some parachute hire.

Of course not. Principal Sylvia herself had endorsed her. He'd been the fool to underestimate her.

"I had no choice."

Not some lame excuse like "I had my reasons." He felt no need to justify himself. It was just that pressuring the professor and wand wielder was his only play to snag the wand.

"The wielder was never coming to our side anyway."

The Eastern Union lacked the Empire's might, the Holy Kingdom's legitimacy, even the North's rationale. They had nothing to offer the wand's master. Pulling her in wasn't even an option.

So the sole path to the wand? Squeeze the professor and Lily until it popped out. Build a coalition, oust Ria by force if needed—even if it meant earning Olivia's eternal grudge.

"Hah, smashed to bits."

The North peeled off under Ria's influence, the Holy Kingdom went neutral. Then she drove a wedge into the crumbling alliance.

"Is that really a professor?"

She could've seized power as a Union legislator, not just an academy instructor.

Practicals were all that remained... but honestly, Ian lacked confidence. Someone that calculating, staking everything on a single exam? Unlikely.

As he stewed, an Eastern Union merchant delivered a package the next day. The merchant—devoured by the Fallen Apple Wand—handed over the contents, pretending it was from Ian's homeland estate.

"From the family estate. Use this to bring down the professor."

"This is..."

If he couldn't win the practicals fair and square, Ian had one card left: sabotage them. Pin the blame on Ria, and she'd crumble. Nordenburk would ditch her, the Holy Kingdom rejoin.

But if caught? Game over. High risk, high reward. Stop here, or cross the point of no return.

A normal person might've quit.

"Hahat, fine."

But Ian was a Vermonth. His house had ballooned its wealth through cutthroat gambles from the start. That aggressive streak had elevated them to ducal rank in the Union.

Ian was no different. No urge to slink away like a third-rate villain, whitewash his past without going all-in.

"Let's roll the dice with that damned professor."

Ian snatched the package without hesitation.

And the very next day, a black mage's corpse—the presumed root of all this chaos—bobbed to the surface in one corner of the academy lake.