The Maker of the Paralytic Poison (3)
"Now, we will announce the final roster for the first-year Exchange Match."
The grueling trials, which had consumed the entire day from early dawn, had finally drawn to a close. At long last, the roster that everyone had been waiting for was being read aloud.
"Cadet Deleve Kundel."
"Cadet Celia Rihardt."
It began with the two names everyone had taken for granted, before moving down the list—
"Cadet Yulio Harmatan."
—all the way to a name not a single soul had foreseen.
"And lastly, Cadet Karen Aswan. The ten cadets named will represent our year in the Sword School Exchange Match four weeks from now. Please devote yourselves fully to your preparations."
Ten students in all.
Every single one of them had been chosen from the elective class taught by Xiel.
It was an unprecedented upset, yet not a single voice rose in protest. Across the five rigorous tests held throughout the day, the results had spoken for themselves. Most decisive of all had been the final round of sparring bouts.
"Instructor Xiel was right…"
"All ten of us really got picked!"
Naturally, the most overwhelmed of the group were Yulio and Karen. While the other eight had either expected their selection or at least considered it within reach, neither of these two had dared to dream of such an outcome.
"Congratulations, Karen."
"Yulio, I see you in a whole new light. Your family's swordsmanship is incredible."
At Edelbein Academy, invisible lines were drawn along social pedigree, carving the student body into distinct factions and castes. Strictly speaking, the two of them had occupied the absolute bottom rung of that ladder. Yet now, the atmosphere around them had completely shifted.
"Hey, Yulio, you're actually pretty good with a blade. Were you hiding your skills on purpose all this time?"
"N-no, that wasn't it at all…"
"Karen, nicely done. Owen has always been such an arrogant prick—watching you take him down felt amazing."
"Uh… yeah, thanks…"
Blinking in bewilderment, the two of them turned almost in unison to look toward Xiel. He was watching them as well, wearing his usual deadpan, unreadable expression. Yet to their eyes, the faint curve of his lips seemed like a warm smile.
Thank you, Instructor!
What the two students had gained from this selection trial was far more than a mere ticket to the Exchange Match. It was confidence. It was the feeling that the thick, suffocating fog obscuring their futures had finally begun to clear.
"This selection trial was remarkably entertaining. Coming down to watch the first-years was well worth the time. Ha-ha! They are still young, after all, so unexpected outcomes are bound to happen, wouldn't you agree, Professor Elcanto?"
The faculty members gathered in the hall were just as astonished, though their reasons varied considerably.
"……"
"Professor Elcanto?"
"Ah, yes."
"Are you feeling unwell?"
"N-no, not at all. I've had a heavy workload lately and haven't been sleeping well, that's all…"
"Oh dear, you must pace yourself. I know being the youngest professor means shouldering quite a burden, but you need to work smartly."
Whether oblivious to Elcanto's churning stomach or simply indifferent, the senior professor casually tossed out a compliment toward Xiel. "It seems Instructor Xiel has trained them remarkably well."
"I-it certainly appears that way."
"Since he operates under your supervision, Professor Elcanto, I imagine you gave him plenty of guidance, and he was wise enough to absorb it."
Hearing those words, Elcanto snapped to his senses.
That's right. He's only an elective instructor.
No matter how capable the man was, an elective instructor remained just that. Any success Xiel achieved would ultimately redound to Elcanto's credit.
"Haha, well, I merely offered a few pointers here and there. I simply encouraged him to do his best."
"Come now, modest as always. How could a novice instructor produce such results without guidance? This is all thanks to your generous support behind the scenes, Professor Elcanto. Ha-ha!"
Xiel's achievement was his achievement.
With that realization, Elcanto felt the tension ease from his chest.
Right, I shouldn't just look at him as a nuisance.
Though he had been reluctant to admit it, Xiel was undeniably formidable. And surely, someone of that caliber possessed influential backing! But bound by the limitations of an elective lecturer's post…
All I have to do is make it look like I groomed him myself. Yes, exactly.
A wave of self-reproach washed over Elcanto. Had earning full tenure made him complacent? The political acumen that had allowed him to triumph over countless rivals could hardly be this dull.
Whether he has a backer or not, he's assigned to my department, working under me. When you get down to it, his credit belongs to me… Wouldn't it be far better to treat him generously and keep him close?
While Elcanto indulged in his burgeoning ambitions, another face in the crowd remained dark and grim.
Professor Dakeus.
"Professor Dakeus?"
"Ah, yes."
"Is something troubling you as well?"
"No, how could there be? Troubled? Not in the slightest. I am simply feeling rather fatigued. Now that the roster has been finalized, I shall take my leave first."
"Oh, by all means. Get some rest."
Without drawing anyone's notice, Dakeus crumpled the sheet of parchment bearing the final roster into a tight, white-knuckled ball.
To think a mere elective instructor would…
His preparations had been flawless. An unforeseen variable had simply reared its head.
Xiel Steelheart. A temporary lecturer who had appeared out of nowhere at the academy. Dakeus had dismissed him as a nonentity, unworthy of a second thought.
There were rumors that House Kundel was backing him… Could it really be true?
Dakeus ground his teeth.
That worthless, incompetent fool, Yon.
With that much gold on the line, the boy should have seen the task through even if it cost him his life. Had he succeeded, the Kundel scion would have suffered a mysterious, untraceable demise, leaving no one the wiser.
Dakeus turned on his heel and strode out of the hall. But the moment his back was turned, a pair of calm, amber eyes tracked his departure.
Right before leaving, he looked back once at me, and once at Cadet Deleve Kundel.
Sharp, clinical observation.
The motive behind both glances was easy enough to surmise.
So his target is indeed Cadet Deleve Kundel.
Xiel naturally reconstructed the situation through the lens of an assassin.
A professor intentionally manipulating match pairings. Circumstances suggesting an enormous sum of money was promised to coax one student into launching a lethal assault on another. There had to be a reason behind it.
Five hundred thousand cel was a fortune. And that poison was a potent, closely guarded concoction created exclusively within the assassination syndicate. To go so far as rigging matches and deploying such venom just to strike down a single student required a compelling motive. More precisely: who stood to profit from all this?
I have no idea.
Xiel swiftly reached that conclusion.
During his days in the Organization, he had never spared a thought for the reasons behind his assignments or the political fallout they might cause. He had simply eliminated targets as ordered. Even now, the underlying motives held little interest for him—whether it was a feud between aristocratic houses or something entirely beyond imagination.
Only one fact mattered.
He attempted to harm my student.
And he had tried to do so using the hands of another student.
Therefore, it was time to move. Wearing the mantle of an assassin once more.
"Ah, Instructor Xiel! Thank you so much for today. Thanks to you, the selection trials wrapped up without a hitch."
Acknowledging Tyron's approach with a simple, emotionless nod, Xiel asked, "Where are the other professors' research offices located?"
"The professors' offices?" Tyron immediately jumped to his own conclusions. He's going to submit another one of those reports.
Those terrifyingly thorough, meticulously detailed reports! Naturally, Xiel would be filing a formal submission regarding today's trials as well. Even if the teaching assistant himself was the one who had to stamp it.
He's asking for the other professors' offices… Is he planning to submit copies to them as well?
Tyron shook his head in silent awe. To build political connections with such ruthless calculation… Did the man feel Professor Elcanto alone wasn't enough leverage?
Well, Elcanto is a rotten rope to hold onto, Tyron thought with a shrug, acutely aware that he was clinging to that very same rotten rope himself. "You'll want to head to Trenius Hall. For the record, all academic administration is handled there as well."
"Understood. Thank you."
"It's usually best to make an appointment before visiting, though. Professor Elcanto might not care, but the other professors can be surprisingly touchy about such courtesies."
"Yes. I understand."
An appointment prior to a visit. Since when did assassins give advance notice?
The announcement of the final first-year Exchange Match roster sent shockwaves through the academy.
Not only their classmates, but upperclassmen and faculty members rubbed their eyes in disbelief as they read the parchment. Typically, the lineup for the first-year team was practically set from matriculation day, and that hierarchy rarely shifted before graduation. Yet these freshmen had shattered that ironclad tradition.
Deleve and Celia were natural selections, but established contenders like Maris had been knocked out of the running, replaced by names that defied belief.
"Karen? Who in the world is she?"
"Yulio Harmatan… Harmatan? Isn't that the ancient house from the history texts?"
Scions of families nobody had ever expected to rise had seized the honors. Coupled with the dramatic incidents that had unfolded during the trials, the day's events left endless ripples in their wake.
Of course, not everyone was swept up in the festive chatter.
"Cadet Yon Riversong? An investigator from the academy affairs division will arrive in ten minutes."
"Yes…"
"You had best answer truthfully. Given the gravity of the matter, I doubt they will treat you with the same courtesy I have."
Yon was currently detained inside the Academy Guard Post.
"Wait here quietly."
Clack.
The heavy lock engaged, and the moment the door shut, Yon let out a long, trembling breath.
I have to tell the truth. It's the only way.
He knew he had committed a terrible crime. He knew he had made an unforgivably foolish choice. But he could not shoulder the entire blame alone. His family's honor had already been dragged through the mud, but he wanted to make one final, desperate struggle to salvage what little remained.
"Will they believe me…?"
"Of course they won't, Yon."
Yon snapped his head around, terror freezing his blood.
Standing right behind him was the hooded figure who had promised him five hundred thousand cel.
"H-how did you…?"
"They call themselves the academy guard, yet their security is laughably lax."
The man spoke in that familiar, heavy, resonant voice. Pulling out a chair with a dull scrape, he sat down across the table and pointed a gloved finger at Yon.
"I am deeply disappointed. I never imagined you would fail."
"T-that was…"
"I know. Some elective instructor meddled, didn't he? He was lucky. And it only proves how clumsy you were."
"……"
"Do you want a second chance?"
Yon lifted his head at the quiet, insidious question.
"If you wish, I can smooth this over for you. And naturally, the gold is still yours. Seven hundred thousand cel this time."
"What…?"
"Too little? Well, your house's name is already ruined. Fine. How does one million cel sound?"
Yon's throat hitched. One million cel…?
One million cel was pocket change to the grand ducal houses, but to the ruined, debt-ridden Riversong family, it was a lifeline capable of funding their entire resurrection.
"It is even simpler this time. I will quietly bury this investigation. You will return to your classes and target Deleve once again."
"I knew it… You planned from the start for Deleve to be my sparring partner…"
"That is irrelevant now, Yon."
Shring.
"The only question is whether you accept my offer or not."
The hooded man drew a dagger from his robes.
"A plain, ordinary dagger you could find anywhere. Ten cel in any capital street market."
"Why pull out a blade all of a sudden…?"
"You are slower than I gave you credit for, Yon. I am demonstrating what happens if you refuse."
Cold sweat broke out across Yon's forehead and trickled down his neck.
"The public will simply assume… that you chose to end your own life to protect your family's honor."
"…!"
Yon's entire frame began to shudder violently. Death had always felt like an abstract concept, distant and unreal. But now, its icy breath was pressed against his skin.
"Choose, Yon."
Yon's hands trembled uncontrollably.
"……"
Beneath the shadow of the hood, a mocking smirk touched the man's lips. Of course. He has no choice but to accept.
However—
"…I can't do it."
"What?"
"I-I can't! I won't do it! I have already dragged my house's honor into the dirt once today!"
The smirk beneath the hood widened, turning cruel and contemptuous. "Pitiable fool. Clinging to pride you don't possess?"
There was no need for further words.
Swish.
"Farewell."
The man lunged across the narrow table, dagger aimed true. Yon squeezed his eyes shut in sheer terror.
Forgive me, Father… Your worthless son goes first…
"……"
Why was it so quiet?
No cold steel pierced his throat. No pain flared in his chest. In fact, an uncanny, suffocating silence hung in the room. Not a single sound could be heard.
Yon cautiously opened his eyes.
"…!"
Before him lay the hooded man, sprawled unconscious on the cold stone floor.
"I thought you might come for Cadet Yon Riversong."
And standing quietly over the fallen figure was Instructor Xiel.