The Maker of the Paralysis Poison (1)
It went without saying that Ziel knew poison intimately.
His familiarity was not merely theoretical. He had brewed it, applied it in the field, and even survived being struck by it on countless occasions. Consequently, he was well-acquainted with its distinct scents and how it reacted when coated along a sharpened edge.
How could he possibly know?
Yon Riversong's heart dropped straight into his stomach. Cold sweat beaded down the back of his neck, yet he could not twitch a single muscle in his arm under Ziel's iron grip.
"I-Instructor Ziel!"
The teaching assistants came sprinting over in a frantic rush. Ziel turned his calm gaze upon Yon.
"Cadet Yon Riversong. Were you intending to use this against Cadet Deleve Kundel?"
Yon's breath caught in his throat. In the meantime, following Ziel's instruction, the assistants pulled back Yon's sleeve. Upon discovering the concealed cord and firing mechanism strapped firmly around his wrist, their faces drained of color.
"Hold the spar... The match is temporarily suspended!"
Tyron's urgent cry stirred an instant commotion throughout the hall, drawing the supervisory professors over to the ring.
What has that utter fool done?!
Yon was not the only one drenched in cold sweat. Professor Elcanto was practically melting in panic. When Ziel had first called out the words "paralysis poison," Elcanto had prayed it was a mistake. But standing over the cadet and inspecting the concealed launcher with his own eyes, speech entirely deserted him.
"Professor, it appears to be genuine," Tyron murmured, handing the contraption over with trembling fingers.
"......"
Elcanto's hands shook with violent fury. The testing trials had already been humiliating enough with his own charges underperforming, but this crossed every conceivable line. Why does the universe insist on doing this to me?
Elcanto was no idiot. He could guess well enough why a noble scion like Yon Riversong had resorted to such underhanded madness. The fading prestige of an impoverished house, the desperate hunger to enter the Exchange Event, and the reckless impetuousness of youth had collided into sheer idiocy.
Of all times, why now? And why against a Kundel, of all people?!
Targeting an imperial pillar like the Kundel Ducal House carried monumental risks. Granted, bringing down a great house's heir would have yielded a spectacular payoff had it succeeded. The catastrophic problem, however, was that he had been caught red-handed—and in front of every spectator in the hall!
Elcanto had no choice. Swallowing his dread, he presented the firing mechanism to the other two professors.
"Good heavens."
"Hmm..."
Their expressions darkened instantly. This was no longer a simple matter of disqualifying a student; they had to anticipate the severe diplomatic fallout and formal protest from House Kundel. But beneath that immediate crisis, another question surfaced.
"How on earth did Instructor Ziel notice this?" one of the professors asked, bewildered.
The other professor tilted his head, leaning closer to examine the tiny contraption. "Indeed. It was completely tucked beneath the sleeve. How could anyone possibly spot it from a distance...?"
Click.
Depressing the trigger against the stone floor caused a slender, delicate needle to spring out. A tiny, viscous droplet glistened ominously on its tip. It was undeniable.
Belated shock and suspicion finally pierced Elcanto's panic.
"Well, he was watching the match from nearby," someone ventured, "but even so, his perception is extraordinary."
"Indeed. Just as the rumors suggested, he is far beyond the caliber of an ordinary elective lecturer. To think he honed his students' skills to this degree, and now this..."
Every word passing between his colleagues felt like a blade scraping against Elcanto's pride. It was bad enough that his own students had been thoroughly eclipsed by Ziel's charges throughout the day. Now, foul play had tainted his side of the roster, while Ziel's reputation only soared higher into the heavens.
"Did Instructor Ziel really spot that and step in to stop it?"
"How did he know?"
"Was there a telltale sign?"
Whispers rippled through the gathered cadets. Amidst the rising murmurs, Yon stood with his head bowed to his chest, trembling uncontrollably.
"He must be disqualified immediately."
"Agreed. After disqualification, we will notify his family and refer him to the disciplinary committee."
"The repercussions won't be light."
Just as the faculty reached their consensus, a sharp, ringing voice cut through the air.
"I refuse to win like this!"
Every head snapped toward Deleve.
Hey! What about me?! Deleve seethed inwardly. He had waited so long for this spar! He had planned to win magnificently, decisively, and showcase the fruits of his relentless sweat and blood. Naturally, this match was supposed to revolve around him, and all eyes should have been fixed on his dazzling performance. Yet now, some absurd poison had stolen the stage!
"I have no intention of advancing through a farce like this," Deleve declared, chin held high and pride radiating from every pore. "Let us restart the bout, or assign me another opponent!"
The professors let out dry, incredulous chuckles at his bold demand. The teaching assistants stared in utter disbelief. Normally, advancing via a technical bye was a stroke of immense good fortune that any sensible cadet would celebrate.
Do you have any idea how brutally hard I trained for this?! Deleve raged in silence. He cared for nothing except taking the spotlight. He had spent his entire life showered in admiration, and he took it for granted that Edelbein Academy would be no different. He had envisioned crushing the trials overwhelmingly and walking into the Exchange Event bathed in envy and awe. If things ended like this...
Everyone will just whisper that I scraped by on dumb luck!
While encountering Ziel had beaten a degree of humility into him, that modesty applied strictly in the presence of his instructor. To the rest of the world, he remained the proud heir of House Kundel.
"I will not accept this outcome!"
"Cadet Deleve," an assistant stammered, sweating profusely. "Under academy regulations, when a disqualification occurs—"
"I said, I will not advance like this!"
He was completely intractable. Just as the flustered assistant was about to tear his hair out, a calm voice sliced through the tension.
"Cadet Deleve Kundel."
Ziel stepped forward, his tone flat and level.
"Regulations are regulations. Uphold the rules. By the book."
"B-but, Instructor! If I win like this, I—"
"If you refuse to abide by the rules, you become no different from Cadet Yon Riversong."
Deleve froze. The logic struck him with the precision of a master's rapier.
"...Understood, sir." Deleve gave a crisp, immediate nod.
A collective gasp rippled through the spectators. They were not startled by Ziel's reasoning, but by Deleve's instant, unconditional obedience.
That arrogant kid gave up that fast?
A Kundel scion didn't even dare to mutter a single complaint!
Aside from Elcanto, who was too consumed by misery to care, the other two professors looked on in genuine admiration.
"Well, well. It seems young Master Deleve has finally met his match."
"Indeed. He appears to hold Instructor Ziel in extraordinarily high regard."
Putting aside their lingering awe, Elcanto stepped up to Yon, his face contorted into a terrifying scowl. "Cadet Yon. Return to your dormitory at once and await disciplinary confinement. This incident... will be treated with the utmost severity."
"......"
Yon kept his head buried low. Not a single trace of sympathy met him as he dragged his heavy feet out of the ring, retreating in miserable isolation.
"Due to foul play committed by Cadet Yon Riversong, the victory is awarded to Cadet Deleve Kundel. In light of recent events, we will now take a brief recess."
As the intermission was formally declared, an imposing figure stepped through the hall entrance.
"Hmm. Has some trouble occurred?"
Department Head Berhal, who had gone to oversee the second-year selection matches, had returned to the training hall.
"D-Department Head!" The three professors hurried over in unison.
"How went the second-year trials, sir...?"
"Ah, concluded just as anticipated. It seems the first-year selection is still underway?"
"Ah, yes. Well... there was a slight incident."
"An incident?"
As they hastily summarized the poisoned needle affair, Berhal's eyebrows arched in mild surprise. "I see. The scion of the Riversong family did that...?"
"Yes, sir. For now, we have processed Cadet Deleve's victory and ordered Cadet Yon back to his quarters." Their hearts thumped nervously. A harsh reprimand from the department head would hardly be surprising. Yet Berhal merely exhaled a quiet sigh.
"A relief, then. Catching it before disaster struck spared us from an unbearable reckoning with the Kundel family."
"I-indeed, sir."
"I had heard House Riversong was facing severe hardship of late. Rumors circulated that they recently went bankrupt." Berhal paused, his gaze sharpening as he shifted to what truly caught his interest. "And you say the elective lecturer was the one who noticed it and stepped in to halt the bout?"
"Th-that is correct."
"Hmm." Berhal cast his eyes across the vast training hall. "I don't see him. Where has he gone?"
"Pardon?"
The professors turned to look behind them, only to find the space beside the ring completely vacant.
"Instructor Ziel was standing right there a moment ago..."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Having departed the training hall, Yon trudged down the path with hollow, lifeless steps.
I should pack my bags first.
Submitting a voluntary withdrawal would look marginally better than facing a formal disciplinary expulsion. It was cowardice and flight, but he had long stripped himself of the right to shame. He had no excuses left.
Father will beat me to death. My brothers, too...
"Cadet Yon Riversong."
A figure stepped out of the shadows, blocking his path. Yon raised his trembling gaze to find Ziel standing before him.
"I-Instructor Ziel...?"
The man who had slipped effortlessly between Deleve and himself, deflecting both attacks as though brushing away dust, stared down at him with an utterly blank expression. Is he... furious?
Yon froze solid where he stood. If the instructor struck him across the cheek right here, he would have no right to complain. Yet no violence came.
"I have a question for you."
"Sir?"
"Where did you obtain that poison?"
The question struck Yon from an entirely unexpected angle.
"That poison is not something an Edelbein Academy cadet can acquire, let alone encounter. At least, not at an undergraduate level."
Yon flinched violently. How could he know that?
Poison did exist within the academy. The arcane research laboratories stocked an assortment of toxins for magical experiments. The problem was that even if a student somehow broke into those secure vaults, this specific substance was impossible to find.
It was a delayed paralysis poison designed to subtly scramble the human body's nervous signals.
Depending on the brewing method, it could leave virtually no biological trace. Even the victim would struggle to realize they had been poisoned. Through minute disruption, it would delay their physical responses, causing them to suffer an inexplicable defeat without ever knowing why. Furthermore...
It could kill.
Without anyone noticing, it could inflict lethal, catastrophic damage upon internal organs. The true terror of the concoction was its dormancy; it didn't activate immediately, but lay hidden within the veins. A victim struck by it might collapse and die while walking down a quiet street a day or two later. Its underlying mechanism was fundamentally distinct from conventional poisons.
"Where did you get it?" Ziel repeated.
His reason for asking was simple. That poison could only be produced by an assassination syndicate. Specifically, the very Organization to which Ziel had once belonged.
"......"
"This is the third time I am asking. Where did you obtain it?"
"Th-that is..."
An inexplicable, crushing pressure washed over Yon, causing his knees to knock together. Meeting Ziel's eyes for merely a second sent a primal chill cascading through his marrow. It was an instinctive terror far beyond the mere guilt of having been caught.
"...I received it."
"From whom?"
"The day before... the selection matches."
"I asked from whom."
"I-I don't know who he was! He approached me out of nowhere and promised a massive sum of money if I completed this single task..."
Under the weight of that emotionless stare, the truth poured out of Yon's mouth like an unspooling thread.
"I-I don't have physical proof, but I swear it's the truth! He told me that if I used this poison during the duel to bring down whoever my opponent was... he would give me five hundred thousand cel."
Five hundred thousand cel.
To great noble houses that casually tossed tens of millions in academy donations, it might not seem astronomical. But to House Riversong, currently suffocating under the weight of impending bankruptcy, it was a staggering fortune.
An enormous sum, Ziel calculated in his head. Enough to dine at that restaurant with Cadet Deleve Kundel two hundred times. Or... buy chicken skewers five hundred thousand times.
Having finalized his culinary arithmetic, Ziel arrived at a practical deduction.
"It appears the person who provided you with that poison already knew who your opponent would be."
"Pardon?"
"Otherwise, there would be no reason to waste such a specialized paralysis poison on an arbitrary target."
The instigator had dangled five hundred thousand cel before Yon, instructing him to fell whomever he faced. For a mere field test of a toxin, that price was absurdly inflated. No one would spend an amount equivalent to five hundred thousand chicken skewers just for that.
Ziel carried his logic to its natural conclusion. They already knew Deleve would be matched against him.
According to Tyron, sparring brackets were arranged based on earlier preliminary scores. However, Tyron didn't make the final call. The individuals holding the ultimate authority to set the matchups were someone else entirely.
The professors.
"Describe the person who handed you the poison," Ziel ordered. "Give me their appearance. And the location where you met."
"We met in the courtyard behind the dormitory... He had a deep hood pulled down, so I couldn't see well, but he seemed to have a hooked nose. It looked slightly crooked... I think."
"His voice?"
"It sounded somewhat raspy and strained..."
"Height and other distinguishing features?"
"Average height, roughly... Ah. He was definitely a man, and he was wearing leather gloves."
The details flowed out uninterrupted. In this scenario, it served as the testimony of an unwitting accomplice.
"Um... if I confess all of this to you... will my punishment be lessened at all?" Yon asked, a faint, desperate hope trembling in his voice.
Ziel replied without a flicker of emotion. "I do not know."
"Ah..."
"Aside from awarding penalty points, I am not the one who decides a student's disciplinary measures." Ziel paused briefly before adding, "However, I will inform the faculty. The full circumstances must be accurately conveyed."
Then, his voice dropped, a chilling undertone surfacing beneath his flat cadence.
"First, go and apologize to Cadet Deleve Kundel. You nearly injured my student today. In fact, you might very well have killed him."
"...B-but it was only paralysis poison?"
"Do you trust the stranger who handed it to you more than you trust me?"
No one could guarantee the contents. While Ziel had identified it as a delayed paralysis poison through its scent and consistency, even he could not determine the precise chemical additives on sight alone. After all, there were variations designed to mask deadly toxins beneath the guise of simple paralysis—what one might call lethal poison masquerading as a sedative.
"And how were you supposed to contact this individual afterward?"
"He said... he would seek me out once the job was done..."
"Understood."
Ziel glanced toward the training hall and offered one final instruction.
"Keep everything we discussed strictly between us."
Before Yon could even respond, Ziel had already vanished, striding back toward the hall with impossible swiftness.
For a long time, Yon remained rooted to the pavement, unable to move a muscle. It was not merely dread over the ruined future waiting to swallow him whole.
"Wh-what was that...?"
The instructor had clearly been angry. But in the fleeting instant he had peered into those flat, unfeeling eyes, an instinctive, paralyzing horror had seized Yon's entire soul.
Trembling in the cold breeze, he stared blankly at the empty path where the man had disappeared.