The Academy Lecture on Court Magic

The grand lecture hall of the Royal Academy was packed from early morning.

It wasn't just magic department students who had gathered.

Prospective bureaucrats, military officer candidates, aspiring scribes for the Royal Knights, apprentice priests from Serapion, and noble heirs filled the seats.

Today's guest lecturer was none other than the Royal Court Mage, Rabiel Mor.

She was the mage who had witnessed the crisis on the southern border firsthand at the side of Princess Elysia Arten.

The woman who had seen it all in one place: the official documents of the Demon Kingdom, the testimonies of the Ragmund survivors, the name of the Northern Archduke, and the silence of Serapion.

The students were filled with anticipation.

The mana structure of the Demon King.

Methods for dismantling demon barriers.

Anti-demon offensive magic.

Or perhaps advanced ritual theory in preparation for the oracle of the Holy Sword.

They expected topics like these.

The door opened, and Rabiel Mor walked in.

Atop her black robe pinned the silver epaulets of a Royal Court Mage.

In her hand, she held a wand.

It was a short piece of dark wood, tipped with a small, embedded silver crystal.

The moment Rabiel stepped onto the podium, she scanned the students.

A student wearing a northern-style cloak.

An apprentice pulling out a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pencil case engraved with the emblem of Serapion.

The thin gold-rimmed buttons of a family aligned with the Ministry of Finance.

A young man sitting straight-backed, like a knight candidate.

Rabiel took them all in, reading them as if catching their scent.

Then, she raised her wand.

As the silver tip touched the blackboard, letters began to glow.

The excitement in the lecture hall cooled by half.

Rabiel turned around.

"You all look disappointed."

A few students straightened their posture.

"Good. That just means none of you have ever drawn a salary from the court yet."

Rabiel spun the wand between her fingers.

"Today is not a lecture on offensive magic. We won't be learning how to incinerate an enemy's heart, nor how to tear down a demon barrier."

New words materialized on the blackboard.

"We are going to study court magic."

A student from the magic department raised his hand.

"By court magic, do you mean royal protocol, banquet barriers, and document sealing?"

"A good start," Rabiel said.

"But if you stop right there, you'll end up dead within three days in the royal archives."

The student slowly lowered his hand, looking awkward.

Rabiel tapped the word 'Documents' with the tip of her wand.

A royal decree unfurled in the air. A red seal. The king's signature. A family crest.

The students' eyes widened.

Rabiel pressed the seal with the tip of her wand.

The seal bled black.

"It's a forgery."

A murmur rippled through the lecture hall.

"In politics, a forged document is cheaper than an assassin and travels farther than a dagger. That is why a court mage learns how to keep paper from burning before they ever learn how to burn a person."

She swept her wand downward.

The forged decree vanished, replaced by two military orders.

One bore the royal seal, the other a northern military camp stamp.

"The kingdom's domestic politics do not move by the sword alone. Royal decrees, noble signatures, territorial barrier rights, tax ledgers, bloodline verifications, meeting minutes, testimonies. Power sits atop things like these."

Rabiel's voice was not fast, but it never faltered.

"And magic is woven into every single one of them."

A student who appeared to be the heir of a northern noble raised his hand.

"So, is a court mage's job to suspect the nobility?"

Rabiel looked at the student.

"Now, that is a very northern question."

The student's expression stiffened.

"Don't worry. We don't just suspect the nobles. We suspect the royal family, we suspect the church, and court mages even suspect—and get betrayed by—themselves. It's just that nobles tend to raise their voices the loudest when suspected, making them the easiest to spot."

A brief chuckle rippled through the room before quickly dying down.

Rabiel raised her wand and drew a line between the two military orders.

"After the Ragmund incident, the magic most in demand by the kingdom was not offensive magic."

Items appeared on the blackboard.

"When a crisis escalates, mages do not just go to the battlefield. First, they go to the archives. Because we must verify who gave the order, who is lying to claim they didn't, and who borrowed the name of God."

An apprentice from Serapion cautiously raised his hand.

"Isn't the phrase 'borrowed the name of God' somewhat inaccurate?"

The tip of Rabiel's wand stopped.

"A very Serapion-style question."

The apprentice shut his mouth.

"If you felt it was inaccurate, that is a good sign. A court mage records that very discomfort. Who used what name? Did they have the authority to use that name? Did the order issued under that name go through the actual proper procedures?"

Rabiel projected the word 'Signature' with her wand.

The word glowed briefly before splitting into three pieces: Name, Authority, Procedure.

"Court magic does not evaluate miracles. It merely tracks whose hands the documents written in the name of those miracles passed through."

The scratching of pen nibs filled the lecture hall.

This time, Rabiel tapped 'Taxes'.

A massive ledger unfurled in the air, detailing grain quantities, silver payments, magic stone grades, and transport costs by territory.

"You probably think tax ledgers have nothing to do with magic."

A student from a Ministry of Finance family raised his hand.

"Does a tax ledger require that much magic?"

Rabiel smiled faintly at him.

"Your eyes are finally opening. Spoken like a true child of the Ministry of Finance."

The student blushed.

"It requires the most. People lie less when staring down a weapon, but they always act with boundless creativity when it comes to taxes."

Laughter rippled through the audience once more.

Rabiel tapped a number in the ledger with the tip of her wand.

The number split in two: Reported Quantity and Actual Quantity.

"If measurements differ, taxes change. If taxes change, military rations change. And if military rations change, the number of days a castle gate can hold out changes."

She flicked her wrist as if folding her wand.

A small scale materialized in the air.

"Standard Measurement is not a simple arithmetic problem."

Grain was placed on one side of the scale. A crown was placed on the other.

"It is magic, mathematics, and politics."

The students scribbled the sentence down.

Rabiel watched them write before raising her wand again.

This time, a royal family tree appeared on the blackboard. Lines and names. Marriages. Suspected bastards. Succession ranks. And a half-empty slot drawn only with parentheses.

The atmosphere in the lecture hall shifted, but Rabiel paid ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it no mind.

"Bloodline verification is also the domain of court magic. But there is one thing you must not misunderstand."

She pointed to the empty slot with her wand.

"The court does not always want the truth."

Several students stopped writing.

"What the court wants is a usable truth."

A noble female student asked.

"Do you mean we should hide the truth?"

Rabiel did not answer immediately.

The silver light at the tip of her wand trembled slightly over the empty slot.

"That's a bit too mild. You will have to do much more than just 'hide' it."

The student's face stiffened.

"It means deciding when to reveal it, to whom, and in which document to record it. Even the same bloodline holds a different value depending on whether it is revealed at a baptism, a treason trial, or a marriage negotiation."

The lecture hall fell completely silent.

Rabiel relished the silence. Finally, the students were beginning to look past the magic formulas and catch the scent.

"What if we look at the recent reports coming out of the Demon Kingdom in the same way?"

Her wand tapped the right side of the blackboard.

Only that much appeared. Rabiel did not go any deeper.

"If this is the internal affairs of a foreign nation, it will be the primary driver changing the demand for court magic in our kingdom."

The students looked up.

"If the Demon Kingdom establishes a Standard Measurement, the border merchant guilds will seek out more analysis mages. If they maintain their supply routes, the military will look for more communication mages. If they review a marriage alliance, the royal family will recalculate the positions of those ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠whose names have not yet been written."

A student asked cautiously.

"Those whose names have not yet been written...?"

Rabiel looked at the student.

"Good. That's enough."

The questioning cut off.

"A court mage does not believe rumors. But we do observe whose desk the rumor lands on first. That is political demand."

Rabiel did not lower her wand.

Finally, all the words on the blackboard lit up once more.

"A combat mage breaks down the castle gate," Rabiel said.

"A court mage proves who had the right to open it."

The silver crystal flashed one last time.

The words on the blackboard went out one by one. Only a single word remained until the end: Politics.

Rabiel held her wand upright in her palm.

"Commit this to memory."

The students held their breath.

"In the court, magic is not used solely to reveal the truth."

Her eyes swept across the lecture hall.

The North. Serapion. The Ministry of Finance. The Knights. The Royal Family.

Faces that still knew nothing. And faces that had already inherited far too much.

Rabiel Mor spoke.

"It is used to decide who has the right to use the truth."

After that day, the course registration list for the Royal Academy's magic department changed.

Anti-demon offensive magic remained popular.

However, new courses were added alongside it.

The students murmured in front of the bulletin board.

Some were disappointed.

Some were frightened.

And some, for the first time, looked as if they finally understood why a court mage's wand commanded such a high price.

Rabiel Mor paused briefly as she walked past the bulletin board.

She brushed the chalk dust off the tip of her wand with her thumb.

"Magic doesn't begin with a spell."

The assistant standing beside her looked up.

Rabiel said nonchalantly, "It begins with a need."

The kingdom was still searching for a spell to stop the Demon King.

But Rabiel knew.

What changed before any spell was always the need.