Appointment of a Teaching Assistant
The moment the explosion tore through the grounds, the crowd scrambled frantically out of the vineyard.
Panic and dismay were written plainly across every face, and among the chaos, a few could not hide their bitter regret.
"Damn it all! Do you have any idea how much coin I burned just to get into this black market...?"
Everyone felt the same sting.
The so-called Black Sky Collection—to say nothing of the exceedingly rare relics of the Phantom himself that occasionally surfaced there!
Yet the vast majority could only breathe heavy sighs of relief before the blooming inferno. Had they lingered even a few moments longer, black market or not, they would have been turned to ash.
On the other hand, there was one person who, after an identical moment of shock and confusion, immediately flipped into a mode of fervent worship.
"You accomplished your objective, Boss!" Gilbert whispered, glancing about as if terrified someone might overhear.
"Yes. Not entirely, but to an acceptable degree."
An acceptable degree?
Wait... did he originally intend to blow up the entire vineyard?
If you cannot possess it, destroy it!
A shadowy faction had sought to exploit the collapse of Black Sky, peddling its remnants to amass power and influence—even daring to run a fraudulent scheme with daggers supposedly wielded by the Phantom!
To think the Ospelt scum were orchestrating something so vile out here.
Yet the Boss standing right beside him had blown every last trace of it to kingdom come.
A grand misunderstanding that was barely a misunderstanding at all!
Gilbert's deduction wasn't entirely off the mark, though he could never have imagined that the true mastermind lurking behind the curtain was House Siren.
I retrieved the silver coins and blew up the rest. It should deal a sufficient blow to House Siren.
Ziel judged that this would be enough to curb Siren’s movements for the time being.
Founding an assassin order inevitably demanded an enormous outlay of funds, and a substantial portion of those reserves had just gone up in smoke. On top of that, having lost the black market that generated their revenue, it would take them considerable time to resume operations.
Of course, this wasn't the end of it.
House Siren was ruthless, stopping at nothing to become the Empire's preeminent house. The moment they moved again, they would inevitably threaten his students once more.
Which meant—
The crux of the matter is how to leverage this intelligence.
Siren was raising an assassin unit, mobilizing mages to do so.
Originally, the arcane world held assassins in utter contempt. But that contempt was born purely of fear. Warriors who spent their lives tempering their physical bodies stood at least a fighting chance, but mages, once ambushed at close quarters, were practically helpless sheep for the slaughter.
Thus, the two disciplines were widely considered like oil and water, entirely incompatible...
Yet Siren had shattered that conventional wisdom, actively gathering assassins under their banner.
They'll stay quiet for a while... but I should make preparations in advance.
Several countermeasures crossed Ziel's mind.
Meanwhile—
"Take this."
"What is this?"
"Something I brought from inside."
"C-Could it be... the Phantom's...?"
Ziel replied with absolute, unwavering certainty. "Under no circumstances. That would never happen."
"I see..."
Yet it was too early to despair.
"Are you perhaps giving this to me?"
"If 'give' implies a transfer of ownership, then no."
Now it was truly time to despair.
Ziel gave instructions to the visibly deflated Gilbert.
"Look into whatever is inside that box. It appears to be a magic tool or magitechnical material, so identify it accurately."
"Understood. I will do my utmost to investigate."
While the two slipped away from the vineyard's vicinity—
"Good grief, to think things would turn out like this."
There was another man who had yet to depart the perimeter.
Rocus, the Director of the Edelbein Academy Personnel Bureau, removed his mask and scratched the back of his head.
"A sudden explosion, huh..."
Following the series of incidents at the academy, Rocus had been trailing House Siren's movements. His efforts had eventually uncovered the existence of this clandestine black market, allowing him to infiltrate it at last.
"Right back to square one."
The explosion had erupted before he could uncover anything definitive. No doubt the capital would be in an uproar for days to come.
Still, it wasn't an entirely fruitless outcome. Though unintended, a heavy blow had been dealt to Siren.
If their funds burned along with all the goods inside...
Rocus's objective was simple: eliminate House Siren, the faction menacing the academy. And if there was one more thing... exact vengeance on the bastards who had injured his subordinate.
Yet a nagging question remained.
"No matter how I look at it, that explosion was artificial."
Who else was hunting Siren besides himself?
Kundel?
Rihardt?
No. It was difficult for either house to make a direct move; a single misstep could trigger an all-out civil war.
Then who?
Beneath the tranquil surface of high society, a fierce struggle for dominance was underway. The destruction of the Black Sky assassin syndicate had only intensified the friction between the factions.
With Siren seizing the chaos to expand its influence, who possessed the power to check them?
The Imperial family?
Rocus nodded slowly. That was by far the most plausible answer. Only the Imperial throne possessed the sheer audacity and authority to strike at House Siren like this! No other power could pull off such an operation.
And there is certainly no way in hell this was the work of a single man.
With that thought, Rocus quietly melted into the shadows.
Morning broke, bringing dawn to a capital still abuzz over the midnight blast.
"Well, well. A mysterious explosion..."
Department Head Berhal tapped his desk with a rhythmic tap, tap as he scanned the morning paper.
"House Ospelt... Ospelt, was it?"
A family renowned for managing vast vineyards on the outskirts of District 13. They were also known to maintain close ties with House Siren. Yet that alone was insufficient to link them directly to the blast.
"Someone must have been playing with fire."
Dismissing it as inconsequential, Berhal flipped through the rest of the paper until another article caught his eye.
Lord Mortiis spoke of 'himself' when discussing his newly reshaped artistic philosophy. Reflecting on the core values of the Mortiis brand—once celebrated primarily for its avant-garde flair and unapologetic luxury—he found himself returning to his earliest days, pondering what he truly loved...
More specifically, he made mention of a particular visitor:
Not long ago, a patron who utterly captured Lord Mortiis's attention visited the boutique. Unlike ordinary clientele, he inquired after bed stock with total nonchalance, sparing not a single glance or sliver of interest for the boutique's grandest pieces. Instead, his gaze fell upon a bracelet—the very first, and least popular, piece from Lord Mortiis's debut collection. Lord Mortiis was profoundly shaken by this revelation...
In summary, Mortiis, the Empire's premier designer, had used the encounter as a turning point to contemplate the essence of 'art' once more.
"A gift, you say?"
As a token of gratitude to the man who sparked this artistic awakening, Mortiis had sent the bracelet to him, expressing an earnest desire to meet again in the near future.
"Whoever that patron is, I must say I envy him."
Knock, knock.
A knock broke his reverie.
"Ah, come in."
The door opened, and Ziel entered the department head's office alongside Gilbert.
"Welcome. Instructor Ziel, and... Instructor Gilbert, correct?"
"That is correct."
"Welcome to our academy. Please, have a seat. Since you come personally recommended by Instructor Ziel, I was eager to meet you in person."
Gilbert’s mind raced.
Could this man be a member of the Organization as well?
Even as an underworld Crow, he was well aware of Berhal Abue's legendary renown. A famed Great Knight and a former Commander of the Imperial Knights!
If the Boss managed to recruit someone like this, then...
Just what kind of organization was the Boss trying to build?
Could it be an empire-devouring juggernaut capable of bringing the entire realm to heel?
"Please, drink. The aroma is exceptional—quite perfect for waking up on a weary morning."
"Thank you."
Is this some sort of clandestine rendezvous? Are they putting on an act to conceal their true identities...?
"I understand you hail from the East, Instructor Gilbert. How did you come to cross paths with Instructor Ziel?"
"I was fortunate. The Bo—rather, my Senior took me under his wing."
"Ah, I see. You are truly blessed with good company. Men like Instructor Ziel are hard to come by."
"I could not agree more."
Berhal took another sip of his tea.
An ordinary impression. He seems to have received some martial training, though his true caliber is difficult to gauge.
Gilbert’s hiring had been approved purely on Ziel’s recommendation. For a mere teaching assistant position, Berhal had full authority to hire at his own discretion.
"Starting next semester, Instructor Ziel will have his hands full. I hope you will be of great help to him, Instructor Gilbert."
"Do not worry in the slightest. I will support my Senior body and soul to ensure nothing inconveniences him."
"That is wonderful to hear."
Berhal couldn't help but notice the fierce, unshakeable loyalty radiating from the man.
Did Ziel save his life or something?
He had done far more than save his life; he had given him an entirely new existence. Ziel had freed him from the suffocating grasp of the underworld syndicate he could never have escaped on his own, bestowing upon him the spotless cover identity of Gilbert.
"Ah, and as for your salary, I am sure you are already aware..."
Just as Berhal broached the subject gingerly—
"Had I cared about the salary, I would never have come here."
"Oh?"
"Rest assured, Department Head. Money is of no consequence. What matters is that my Senior is here."
Berhal’s eyes wavered.
It was not out of bewilderment.
It was sheer, unadulterated admiration.
Most teaching assistants, upon hearing their prospective salary, either sighed in weary resignation or gave a hollow nod of defeat.
Where on earth did he find an instructor with such boundless passion?
It was a fiery dedication distinct from Ziel’s, yet just as profound.
Berhal suddenly felt an envious pang for the students who would study under these two devoted instructors. Especially the current first-years. Under Ziel’s tutelage, their progress had been nothing short of miraculous.
"Splendid. I look forward to working with you. Support him well, and perhaps one day you might stand at the lectern yourself, just like Instructor Ziel."
"M-Me? A full instructor?"
"Of course, Instructor Gilbert. Naturally, aiding Instructor Ziel as his assistant is important, but shouldn't you aspire to climb even higher in time?"
Thump!
Gilbert’s heart hammered against his ribs.
A new life as an academy instructor... that doesn't sound bad at all!
It certainly paid less than working as a Crow, but it was a legitimate cover identity. And the prestige of an instructor! It carried a remarkably respectable veneer.
Nobles generally avoid teaching posts anyway, so it won't attract unnecessary scrutiny.
"Understood! I will devote myself completely!"
"Excellent. I am counting on you."
Berhal smiled warmly. Next semester looked completely secure. In fact, he found himself genuinely looking forward to it.
"Ah, by the way, Instructor Ziel. How are preparations coming along for next semester's curriculum?"
"Having laid the groundwork for their basic physical conditioning in the first semester, I plan to instruct them in authentic combat and swordsmanship starting in the second semester."
"Mm, excellent. Will the students be sparring among themselves?"
Standard student sparring sessions—or so Berhal presumed. He had caught wind of rumors that Ziel had commissioned protective gear forged from the hide of the Ruinbark slain during the practical exam. Surely that was meant to mitigate injuries during peer-to-peer combat...
"No. I have invited external guests."
"External guests?"
Berhal blinked. He hadn't heard a whisper of this.
"Ah, so you brought in an outside guest lecturer for sword theory...?"
"House Kundel is dispatching their knight order."
...Did my ears just deceive me?
"Dispatching... who?"
"House Kundel. I requested them during my home visit, and they accepted."
"..."
Just who in the world is this instructor?
That terrifying, blood-soaked knight order of House Kundel...
He summoned them to the academy?
For a mere swordsmanship class?
"...Instructor Ziel."
Berhal asked with utmost gravity.
"Do you, by any chance... happen to hold some kind of leverage over House Kundel?"
It was meant as a joke, of course. Well, perhaps laced with the tiniest sliver of genuine suspicion, but still—
"Yes. I do."
Ziel’s deadpan confirmation threw Berhal's mind into utter chaos.