The Professor Who Lives With Divinity
"You can use holy power, can't you?"
"......!!"
At Farahan's question, Simon felt goosebumps crawl all the way up the back of his neck.
How on earth?
How did he figure it out?
Simon desperately held onto his smile, but the muscles of his face had no choice but to stiffen, growing rigid by the second. His mouth went bone-dry, his throat churning, yet he barely squeezed out a single sentence.
"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, Professor."
"Heheh!"
The old man—who had suddenly become a terrifying figure from Simon's standpoint—stroked his beard and smiled with grandfatherly warmth.
"I have lived my whole life alongside divinity. I can sense a faint aura of it within you. And above all—when I laid my hands on your body during the lesson earlier."
Farahan spread open his palm.
"The extreme rejection response that any necromancer should have shown did not occur. Setting aside your pained reaction, your body accepted my divinity without the slightest resistance."
Simon's face went pale. Was that training designed to expose this from the very beginning?
"I know exactly what concerns you."
Farahan said in a kindly voice.
"You're free to leave, and we can pretend this never happened. This old man has not the slightest intention of bringing harm to a young man with such a bright future ahead of him."
"......"
Simon still did not lower his guard.
There was no easy answer to give.
He didn't know yet whether Professor Farahan was someone he could trust, or what the man might do to him. Still, he thought there was no longer any point in denying that he could use holy power in front of this person. Farahan was a master of divinity, and the fact that he had arranged this meeting must have come from some certainty of his own.
'If the professor of Divine Defense testifies to Kizen headquarters, it's over. Just like that.'
Kizen had grown hypersensitive to spies since the Saintess incident. If Simon were interrogated as a user of holy power, the truth about Richard and Anna might come spilling out along with everything else.
At that moment, Farahan—reading the hesitation on Simon's face—rose to his feet.
"It seems this old man was too hasty. You're welcome to take your leave for today."
"......"
Should he end the meeting here and wait for another chance?
No.
As long as that man knew his secret, dragging things out would accomplish nothing.
"Continue."
Simon did not rise from his seat.
"I want to hear what you have to say, Professor."
At those words, a spark of interest lit Farahan's eyes. It wasn't an answer, but it was a single remark carrying considerable positive weight.
"You're not like the young people of today. There aren't many who have the patience to sit and talk with an old man."
He began to loosen the pristine training robes he wore.
"If I'm to earn your trust, I should start by telling you about my own circumstances."
Swish!
The moment Farahan flung open his robe and bared his upper body, Simon recoiled in shock.
Countless Perpetual Magic Circles were ticking away, pulsing with movement, across his chest and abdomen.
"As you can see, my life is held in Kizen's hands."
Farahan said.
"If they so much as snap their fingers, this old man returns to the dirt on the spot."
"Th-that's far too harsh! Surely they can't—"
"I am grateful for it."
Farahan swept his beard.
"I had betrayed the Federation and had nowhere left to turn. The necromancer side had no real reason to spare our lives, either. And yet Lady Nephthys extended her mercy to us personally."
He chuckled softly.
"Here I am, on the opposite side of the world, with my life secured, a respectable position gained, and my knowledge put to use for the young. No one in this world has a happier old age than I do."
"......"
"Of course, my teaching assistants are in the same boat. The perpetual magic circles are a control measure Kizen headquarters attached to us as the price of working here. If priests were let loose in Kizen without any means of restraint, you can hardly expect the parents of students to sit idly by."
His eyes turned toward Simon.
"A wielder of holy power among necromancers—your circumstances and mine are much alike. On that point, I believe no one alive can sympathize with and understand your struggles better than this old man."
A tranquil smile, an open and honest expression.
Watching a man convey his true heart to another with such perfect clarity, Simon thought that this person's years of experience were not something to be taken lightly, not by anyone.
Simon let out a small sigh and spoke.
"......What do you want from me?"
"You've got the question backwards."
Farahan smiled.
"What do you want from me?"
"!"
"You are a student, and I am a professor. You are one who learns, and I am one who teaches. Yes—for example."
Farahan's voice dropped lower.
"If it's what you want, I can formally teach you white magic."
At that single sentence—
Simon's heart began to pound, beating faster and faster.
"I do not reject the fact that you wield both jet-black and divinity. Tell me—do you believe in destiny?"
Simon shook his head.
"N-no, I don't."
"I believe the Goddess had unmistakably weighty reasons for granting divinity to a necromancer such as yourself. To put it a little more bluntly—"
Farahan's eyes grew grave.
"I even find myself wondering whether this old man arriving at Kizen before his final breath was meant for the sole purpose of meeting you."
Simon's mind grew complicated.
A sudden offer of secret white magic tutoring.
[GRAHAHAHAHA!]
Without warning, Pier's enormous laughter exploded inside his head, and Simon flinched, his shoulders jerking.
'Y-you scared me, Pier! How long have you been listening?'
[That old man has gone completely mad! Teaching white magic at Kizen—the holy land of necromancers? Kheheheh!]
Simon mulled it over for a moment, then asked.
'Would you object, Pier?'
[What reason would I have to object? During the Saintess incident, I experienced that accursed, bizarre state of 'holy-touched undead' myself. And you've already used a technique called Sacred Body Detonation. You're involved with divinity far too deeply to pull yourself out of it now.]
'......'
More than anything, Simon was remembering Anna's voice.
—Half of Simon was made from Mommy. I'd love it if Simon took an interest in the place where Mommy was born and lived, too.
No matter how he denied it, half of what made him who he was came from a priest.
Besides—holy power was his asset too. Even as a necromancer, he saw no reason to bury this strength in the ground.
If there was anything he could learn, he wanted to learn all of it.
"......Professor, I."
Simon looked at Farahan with a trembling voice, but with decisively resolute eyes.
"I want to learn white magic."
As if he had been waiting for precisely that answer, Farahan nodded with a delighted smile.
* * *
Farahan gave Simon a simple test.
He needed to gauge Simon's level in white magic in order to plan the direction of his future instruction.
"Remarkable! Absolutely remarkable!"
Farahan could not stop himself from exclaiming in admiration again and again.
Simon hadn't specialized deeply in any single discipline, but he could wield a wide variety of techniques. The basic offensive spell, holy arrows, of course.
Heal and Cure, the fundamentals of healing.
Strength, Haste, and Endurance from Blessing Studies.
Beyond that, he could even manage the defensive arts of protective studies.
The reason he had learned so broadly was, of course, that he hadn't been through the lessons meant to make him a priest—he had trained to impersonate a priest in the Holy Federation.
"Your fundamentals are rock solid. I'd believe you were an early-semester first-year at Efnel!"
In truth, Simon had a history of fooling and slipping past countless inquisitors in the Federation.
"I don't know who taught you, but they taught you properly."
Simon gave a faint smile. At the same time, he was grateful that Farahan didn't ask who that someone had been.
Farahan scribbled away with his quill as he spoke.
"It's been so long since I lectured on white magic that I find myself excited. Do you have any particular branch of white magic you'd like to specialize in? Of course, we could simply raise your overall level across the board."
"Hmm, well."
Simon pondered for a moment, then spoke.
"Could I...... perhaps study Divine Beast Studies as well?"
"It's possible in principle, but without a divine beast, there'd be no lessons to begin. And finding one in the Dark Alliance's lands would be like reaching for the stars."
"I suppose that's how it would be."
For now, they settled on a plan: learn everything evenly, and search among Efnel's seven disciplines for the one that suited him best.
'I never imagined I'd be talking about white magic at Kizen.'
Simon lifted his head and gazed out the window.
'I wonder how Lethe is doing.'
* * *
Sky Island.
Efnel headquarters.
"Unbelievable. Truly unbelievable."
Rahel, Archbishop of the Holy Federation and professor of Holy Mechanics, was scowling deeply. Seated in the chair before her was a girl dressed immaculately in Efnel's white uniform.
"Just take a look at the trouble you've stirred up over this past week."
Flap.
Rahel scattered a stack of documents across her desk. The girl glanced off to the side, a thoroughly rebellious look on her face.
"Assaulting a classmate. Beating an upperclassman. Assault, assault, and more assault."
Rahel read down the list of papers, then pressed a hand to her forehead and sighed.
"Why do you keep going around picking fights with everyone, Lethe?"
The girl—with snow-white hair untouched by so much as a single flaw and golden eyes—blew a dismissive puff of air through her nose.
"They picked the fight first. That one kept pestering me with confessions over and over, so I just beat him up. Romance is against school rules at Efnel—something even you hate, Professor."
"Assault is the bigger violation!"
Rahel shouted furiously, then clutched at her throbbing head.
"Please. As Efnel's Special Admission No. 1, the top of the class! No—before that, as a female devotee of the Goddess, behave yourself. What are you, a six-year-old boy brawling in the street? Why do you keep beating people up! Maintain decorum. DECORUM!"
"Being a female devotee never stopped anybody from throwing a punch."
As Lethe grumbled cynically, sparks flew from Rahel's eyes.
"Lethe!"
"Honestly, Efnel is just too stiff and old-fashioned, if you ask me. There's a separate code of conduct for every position, every rank, every gender, and if you don't follow it—nag, nag, nag."
"You know perfectly well, Lethe! Reverent conduct begets a reverent heart! It is the foundation of being a priest!"
"Being all solemn and formal doesn't actually make my divinity go up, you know. Even now, running around smacking kids around, my divinity hasn't changed one bit."
Rahel let out a long, deep sigh. What on earth had gotten into this little brat?
Lethe's personality had always been somewhat prickly and violent, but she had once conducted herself with a priest's reverence. At some point, something had changed.
Yes—most likely the vacation had been the turning point. Ever since the break ended and the second semester began, Lethe seemed to question everything Efnel and the Holy Federation forced upon her.
Who on earth had she met, and what kind of influence had they been?
"Your attitude shows no remorse whatsoever."
Rahel glared coldly at her.
Lethe was a core talent of Efnel—a figure destined, one way or another, to lead the Federation in the future.
The next 'Saintess of Purification' had yet to appear, but Lethe was the overwhelming first-ranked candidate for the position.
The upper echelons were already raking Rahel over the coals, demanding she get Lethe under control. She decided it would be best to firmly break these habits now, before the girl ascended to demigodhood as a Saintess.
"Kneel, Lethe."
"Yes, maa'am."
Answering in a singsong drawl, the girl slid off her chair and knelt on the bare floor, her face utterly expressionless.
"I am ordering a twelve-hour fasting prayer, effective immediately. Pray to the Goddess, and reflect long and hard on what you have done wro—"
"Professor Rahel!"
The door burst open and a monk rushed in. He whispered a report into her ear, and Rahel's face creased sharply.
"I'll come at once."
Rahel sprang to her feet and shot a glare down at the kneeling Lethe.
"Remember. Twelve hours."
"Yes, Professor. Travel safe~"
Lethe clasped her hands together, readying herself in prayer as she said it.
Rahel hurried out breathlessly with the official in tow.
"Hup."
The moment the door closed, Lethe sprang to her feet and strode toward the side door without a backward glance.
"Do I look insane to you? Like I'd waste my time on that nonsense."