Monarch Studies
It had been a brutal battle.
Led by Simon, the student council members had finally managed to punch through the swarm of monsters and reach the pavilion where the waterfall cascaded.
"Hah! Hah!"
Everyone collapsed where they stood, gasping for air. The monsters that had hounded them so relentlessly, for whatever reason, couldn't advance any farther and fell back.
"You fought well, students! Very well!"
Hong Peng rose from her seat with a bright smile.
"I've been waiting for you."
Even with their lungs burning and breath scraped raw from their throats, the four of them exchanged looks and laughed.
The general-elective timetable that so many second-years had set their sights on. They had pulled it off: Jane's Jet-Black Mechanics – Bahil's Curse Studies – Hong Peng's Magic Combat.
"Professor—huk! Whew! But that exam—hoo! Hah! That was too much!"
With that, Dick flopped backward and sprawled out flat on the ground, utterly spent. Meilin scolded him for being rude in front of a professor, but the corners of her mouth were curling upward all the same—clearly, she agreed.
"Now, then."
Clutching the four course registration forms they'd handed her, she picked up her quill.
"First, Dick Hayward? Your hand-to-hand was ordinary, but I liked how you fought with all sorts of weapons, matching each one to the right moment."
Dick's eyes went wide and he bolted upright.
"Y-you saw that? Through the Observer?"
Hong Peng nodded, her eyes crinkling with amusement.
"Second-year intermediate Magic Combat will teach you how to handle weapons properly too. You were snapping spears left and right mid-fight—once you've had real training, it'll pair beautifully with your specialty, enchanting."
"Whoa, thank you, Professor!"
Hong Peng went on to evaluate Camibarez and Meilin as well.
Camibarez's small frame, she said, was no liability at all in Magic Combat—in fact, the way the girl used her petite build cleverly, knocking monsters back with original combat techniques of her own devising, had been genuinely impressive.
Meilin, overall, was slow of body and slow to react—but when it came to kicks, she had real talent.
"Your handwork left something to be desired. Ah, but that piercing technique, the Sky Piercer, was good. That one, at least, you've clearly learned properly."
"!"
Meilin's face flushed red all over again. When Dick snickered beside her, she shot him a murderous glare.
"And last, Simon."
Hong Peng looked at him. Somehow a knot of tension gathered in Simon's chest as he nodded.
"I searched for flaws, and I couldn't find a single one. Overall, an extremely polished display of Magic Combat. Your fundamentals go without saying, and your use of the terrain in combat was excellent as well."
She smiled brightly.
"Even counting the department representatives, Simon, you're the best in Class A."
Envious groans drifted out from Dick, Meilin, and Camibarez behind him. Simon answered with a respectful bow of his head. "Thank you, Professor."
"Is there any particular Magic Combat you'd like to study in your second year?"
Hong Peng asked. Simon stared down at his open palm for a long moment, then clenched it into a fist.
"Second-year Magic Combat covers weapons, right?"
"Yes."
Simon grinned.
"I want to properly learn the greatsword style you use, Professor."
She tilted her head slightly and beamed.
"Good answer."
And with that, course registration was complete.
Once a course was locked in, there was no changing it, so the students grumbled and lamented all the way back to their dormitories.
Judging by the story Dick told, a full-blown disaster had erupted over registration for Jane's Jet-Black Mechanics.
More than two hundred students had swarmed the class, which capped enrollment at sixty. A hundred and forty students were left out in the cold, and naturally their timetables tangled into a hopeless mess.
The outcome? Last year's Class A heavyweights had claimed the vast majority of the seats.
The student council members, plus Jamie, Cindy, and Claudia. Hector and his faction, and so on. The class had effectively become a Class A private club, and students from the other classes grumbled jeers of protest.
But after one sharp slap-down from Meilin and Hector, no one dared talk back, and the unrest was snuffed out just like that. At Kizen, such complaints were nothing more than a loser's funeral dirge.
Simon and the student council members, celebrating their masterpiece of a timetable, washed up in their respective dorms and gathered in the student council room for a modest party of self-congratulation.
Classes that afternoon had been cancelled anyway, what with all the students wiped out—and the monsters still roaming campus and the scattered Cards of Endolas would need time to clear away.
During this cleanup window, students were allowed to register for any classes that still had open seats. The 'general electives' that students had been ignoring all this time filled up fast.
Meilin registered for a general elective called Understanding Mana.
Dick, Economics.
Camibarez, A History of the Races.
Simon had his student council duties to think of, and the seven classes he was already taking satisfied him plenty, so he had no intention of adding more—until Jane paid a visit to the president's office and changed everything.
Unacceptable. The Student Council President, the model for all students, taking a mere seven classes?
He got an earful from Jane.
And as he now learned, there was one general elective that the student council president was required to take.
The next morning.
"……"
Simon looked around with a glazed, blank expression.
A small, elite class of twenty students.
Not a single friendly face among them.
I'm doomed.
A light once-over told him that every student in this class practically oozed aristocratic refinement.
The boys sported slicked-back, pomade-drenched white hair or immaculately parted styles, wore makeup and expensive watches; the girls jangled with pricey jewelry, exuded the full aura of highborn ladies, and giggled "Ohohoho" behind fans.
What is this, a high-society salon?
Simon sat there feeling like a man dropped alone onto a deserted island.
Perhaps it was a course common to all years—even third-years were present. No, the third-years made up the majority.
"Say there~"
?
Simon turned at the oily voice. A boy with blonde hair parted precisely at 8:2 was approaching, winking, his face radiating an almost unbearable intensity.
The badge color said third-year. Simon immediately wiped his expression clean and answered respectfully.
"Yes, senior."
"Mm~ mm~ So you're the Student Council President? My, my, how gallant you are."
Thick double eyelids, a nose rising like a tower, and body language so slicked with schmooze it left goosebumps.
Greasy.
He felt the sandwich he'd eaten for breakfast beginning to creep back up.
"Simon Polentia. Polentia? Forgive me, but which kingdom's territory does your family manage, exactly?"
"The Leshill Territory, in the Baldwin Kingdom."
"Ohh~ dear. Can't say I know it. If you told me which territory borders yours, perhaps I could place it?"
You don't need to place it, so please go away.
Suppressing that inner cry, Simon answered kindly.
"Ah, yes! Next to Leshill there's a fairly large territory called 'Hobe'—"
"Hobe! Hobe of Baldwin! Now that I know! Hobe grows the most wonderful coffee, truly! Famous all the way in the Carlos Kingdom~ Coffee raised at high altitude in warm climates—it's known for its bold aroma and bright acidity! To think your father's domain produces such coffee—what a remarkable man he must be!"
Hobe isn't OUR territory, it's the one next door.
Simon kept smiling, but a dull ache was building behind his temples.
Just then, a passing third-year—like a savior descending from heaven—called the greasy boy away.
"Sharier! What are you doing? You said you'd lend me your ink."
"Ah, right! Sorry about that!"
The third-year called Sharier winked.
"We'll talk more later, shall we?"
Simon wanted to decline, but one couldn't do that to a third-year senior, so he just managed an awkward smile.
Staring blankly at Sharier's retreating back, Simon propped his chin on his hand.
Sharier... Sharier. Why does that name ring a bell... Ah!
Simon pulled out his president's handbook, flipped through it with a rustle, and found the entry.
Wait—that guy was ranked 8th overall?
Spirit Magic department representative, 8th in the entire year.
Sharier Tenie.
Behind that outward appearance hid a terrifyingly capable student.
I'd better watch out for him.
Perhaps because Simon himself had lived inside Kizen's meritocracy, the moment he heard the ranking, the man looked different in his eyes. He couldn't help it.
The strongest third-year in Spirit Magic, huh. What kind of dark magic does he use, I wonder?
Come to think of it, every third-year here was somebody—wealth, talent, or both, in spades.
And yet none of them showed a shred of hostility or jealousy toward Simon, a second-year who'd become student council president.
Was it pride? Or did they simply not need to worry about such things? In this Kizen, where competitiveness was a virtue, they were people living in a different world altogether.
"...Ah, ah, hi there! Mr. President!"
Simon turned his head.
This time it was a girl with twin-tailed hair and a white officer's coat draped over her uniform shoulders, walking toward him.
So she's in this class too. Figures.
Seventh overall, 'Ghost Ship' Elisa Celine.
Like Simon, she was one of the rare second-years in this class.
"What's up?"
She stood there, face flushed, sweat trickling down in beads. In truth, she'd been waiting the whole time for Simon to be alone before making her approach.
She gave a forceful "Hm!"—a little cough to steel herself—and slid something onto Simon's table.
"A-are you... hungry or something?"
A paper bag, and inside it, a baguette.
As Simon stared at it in bewilderment, she rattled on at breakneck speed.
"You know this bread brand, right? Moist on the inside! Crispy on the outside! We matched the golden ratio of flour, salt, water, and yeast, brushed it with butter and parsley, baked it, and there's even fresh cream stuffed in—"
Simon blinked at her.
"Why are you giving me this?"
Her face flushed even redder. Unaccustomed to this kind of thing, she was huffing strange breaths out of her mouth, her eyes spinning in circles.
"I-it's morning! I figured you'd be hungry!"
"I ate breakfast before I came."
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Hey! I'm Elisa Celine! I've gone this far, so just TAKE the bread already, youuu!
How could anyone be this infuriating?
Oh, so he became student council president—so what? Big deal, a scrap of power, and with full knowledge of my situation! How could anyone possibly look down on a person this thoroughly?
Whatever else I am, I'm the Prime Minister's daughter!
In her entire life, she had never once been treated like this.
Hah. Calm down. Breathe.
She packed away the surging embarrassment, packing down the humiliation layer by layer.
I am a politician.
Her father had always said so.
A politician never bows to a human being. He merely bows to the power that human being holds.
That's right! I wasn't running a bread errand for Simon Polentia—I was running one for POWER!
"Right! I am a bread shuttle for power!"
"Huh? What did you just say...?"
"Oh my~ ahaha! Look at how knotted our president's shoulders are!"
Elisa swung around behind him and began kneading Simon's shoulders. Startled, Simon let out a "Ghk!" and twisted his body away.
"I heard all about it! The entire student council got into Professor Hong Peng's class, right? Wow, that must've been brutal~ I didn't even dare try! The competition was fierce, wasn't it? Must've been rough!"
"Hold on—hold on!"
Simon clamped his hands over hers, forcibly halting the shoulder massage.
"Okay! Okay, I get it, so let's just talk like normal people—!"
Screeech!
Just then, the classroom door slid open and the professor for this class walked in. Students began filing toward their seats.
Even amid the bustle, there was none of the chatter of other lecture halls—no, even with the professor's arrival, everyone maintained their perfect dignity.
Screeech!
Thud.
And right in the middle of it all, Elisa Celine plopped herself down in the seat next to Simon again.
When Simon stared daggers at her, she simply smoothed it over with a smile.
"Hem! A pleasure to meet you all, students."
A man with strange, tightly curled perm hair entered. The clothes he wore were heavy with medals of every description.
"My name is William Spanger. I once served as Prime Minister of the Carlos Kingdom, among other posts."
His sharp gaze swept over the students' seated postures.
"You there, young lady. Straighten those shoulders, and tuck in your chin. Right hand resting on top."
From the very first minute, he began correcting the posture of three students in the front rows.
Only once satisfied did he resume his introduction.
"One year from now—or perhaps several years—you will all become leaders and rulers governing great multitudes of people. I have every confidence that my knowledge and experience will be of tremendous service to you on that road."
The general elective that Simon, as student council president, had been required to take.
Monarch Studies.
The people who lived in the Washburn Mountain Range loved to gossip about the 'mysterious ancient castle' perched at its summit.
Terrible screams that drifted down on occasion.
Vivid bloodstains marring the castle walls here and there.
Whether anyone actually lived inside was a matter of endless debate.
But no one had ever dared set foot near that dangerous place.
And yet, right there—
"Is everyone ready?"
"Yes, sir!"
More than thirty necromancers from Kizen Headquarters were preparing for an assault.
Every one of them was an elite in whom Kizen took pride—professionals of war.
Thirty-odd necromancers, true—but counting the undead they had summoned, their force numbered in the hundreds.
And at the very head of them stood a man.
"We have located the main base of Legion Commander Magnus, Commander of the 5th Legion. Commencing the annihilation operation now."
The necromancer draped in a crow-feather mantle spoke, holding a communication crystal.
"Charge."
Necromancers and the undead alike advanced on the ancient castle as one.