Why Do They Like Daggers?
Three days later.
“Let’s head inside, Instructor Xiel.”
Berhal stood beside Xiel before the double doors of the conference room where the review committee would convene.
“You aren’t nervous, are you?”
“No. I was merely thinking.”
“Oh? Formulating a strategy, perhaps?”
“I have a class immediately following the review, so I was reviewing the lesson plan. Midterms begin next week.”
“Ah. Right. You must have your hands full preparing for the Field Training as well.”
Try as I might, I can never read this man. Berhal studied the young instructor’s flat profile. What on earth goes on inside his head?
“By the way... before we step inside, there is one thing I’d like to ask, Instructor Xiel. Did you truly apply for this program with nothing more in mind than helping a single student?”
“Should there be another reason?”
“Mmm.”
Could he really have no ulterior motive? Anyone who spent even a brief time at Edelbein Academy understood the suffocating influence and prestige of the Arcane School.
Is this some sort of calculated stratagem?
A welfare policy monopolized exclusively by the Arcane School. Xiel had knocked squarely on the gates of that impregnable fortress. To write it off as pure naivety and ignorance of administrative reality seemed impossible—every result Xiel had produced thus far was nothing short of brilliant.
Does he have an ace hidden up his sleeve?
Berhal himself was taking a massive gamble here. The Arcane School’s high, rigid citadel was not easily shaken, but this would be their first step toward fracturing it.
“Very well.”
The plan was straightforward: emphasize Karen Aswan’s outstanding achievement in the Exchange Event to cement her merit, then point out the Arcane School’s historical monopoly and argue that the Sword School deserved a seat at the table. Her qualifications, at least, were beyond dispute.
Click.
Berhal pushed the conference room doors open, revealing five committee members seated across the hall. Every single one was an administrator from the Office of Academic Affairs.
“Welcome, Department Head. And the gentleman beside you is...?”
“This is Instructor Xiel Steelheart, Dean.”
“Ah. Yes, of course. You are the instructor who put forward the Sword School applicant, correct?”
“I am.”
“Very good. Please, take your seats.”
The chairs allocated to Xiel and Berhal sat far down at the very edge of the long table, stranded at an icy distance from the panel.
By contrast, the other side of the room told a very different story.
“How have you been keeping lately, Professor Aneton?”
“Oh, splendidly. Entirely thanks to your constant support, haha!”
Professor Aneton of the Arcane School sat practically shoulder-to-shoulder with the committee members, laughing like an old drinking buddy.
They aren’t even pretending to hide it, Berhal thought, his jaw tightening.
Sure enough, the moment proceedings began, the bias became flagrant.
“Mmm. It seems a Sword School student was included among the candidates this term?”
“Indeed, hahaha. Well, anyone is legally permitted to apply, after all.”
The mocking tone was barely veiled. Though the committee members were administrative staff under Academic Affairs, their private ties to the Arcane School faculty ran bone-deep.
A rigged game from top to bottom.
Still, Berhal had not arrived empty-handed.
“As the members of Academic Affairs are well aware, the Sword School produced a remarkable result during this year’s Exchange Event. Our first-years claimed second place overall. One of those very first-years is Student Karen Aswan, who has applied for the Special Support Program. Her martial ability speaks for itself, and her eligibility meets every stated requirement.”
He pushed Karen’s merits first, then drove the needle deeper.
“Furthermore, as no student outside the Arcane School has ever been selected for this program, would it not be prudent to grant a single slot to the Sword School—if only to dispel any unfortunate misunderstandings regarding favoritism?”
A direct brush against their imperial scale.
“Did you just accuse this office of favoritism, Department Head?”
“Ah. I merely mentioned the word to suggest how we might dispel such misunderstandings among the student body.”
Berhal was no easy mark. Even so, the fortress of Academic Affairs proved brutally entrenched.
“Be that as it may, her total assessment score falls short of our Arcane School applicants. Regrettably, the family circumstances of the students before us are exceptionally severe.”
“If domestic hardship is the metric, House Aswan’s plight is far more desperate.”
Had Karen been present to hear her family’s poverty laid bare, she would have bitten her lip in humiliation. Yet it was an unavoidable institutional standard. Points were weighted heavily according to household economic distress so that scions of wealthy noble houses could not siphon away subsidies meant for the truly needy.
Yet the Dean’s response was dripping with greasy theatricality.
“Is that truly the case? Let us see. Student Fabian Erenski’s household... Oh dear, they have suffered such severe setbacks of late that they cannot even pay their regional taxes. And the Smolder family’s assets have all been frozen due to an ongoing legal dispute. Lastly, the Griffin family... Good heavens, it pains my heart just reading this. Dire, crushing poverty. The total tax they paid last year amounted to a paltry thirty cel.”
The Dean of Academic Affairs held up the official records with an insufferable smirk. Alongside the dreaded Personnel Bureau, Academic Affairs was one of the most powerful executive arms in the entire academy.
“As you can see, all three students face far more grievous hardship than Student Karen Aswan. When selecting recipients for this program, we classify applicants by income deciles. All three of these young men fall squarely into the tenth decile.”
The scions of prestigious, ancient houses falling into the lowest poverty decile?
A passing stray dog would bark with laughter, Berhal thought, seething.
“Meanwhile, Student Karen Aswan is categorized in the ninth decile,” the Dean continued, shaking his head with manufactured sorrow. “We sympathize deeply with her situation, but when other students face such acute crises, we must prioritize those in greater need...”
“And it just so happens that all three of those students belong to the Arcane School?”
“Those in genuine need applied, Department Head. That is all.”
Berhal gave a tight nod of cynical comprehension. “Erenski, Smolder, Griffin. All names I am quite familiar with.”
“Oh? Is that so?”
“Yes. I do have ears, after all.”
The Dean’s gaze chilled into razor sharpness. “Even if you do, that will change nothing here, Department Head.”
Neither side had outright drawn their daggers yet. But right as the standoff reached its dead end—
“Reviewing the documents, the circumstances of all three students’ households appear quite dire indeed. They seem entirely suitable candidates for the Special Support Program.”
Xiel’s flat voice cut cleanly through the room.
Berhal whipped his head around, eyes wide with disbelief. What are you doing? Why concede ground right now?! They were locked in a knife-edge administrative tug-of-war, and Xiel had just thrown the rope to the opposing side.
“Ah. Forgive me, but who might you be?” the Dean asked, squinting across the table.
“I am Xiel Steelheart, elective lecturer in the Sword School.”
“Ah, the one from the rumors...”
“I am also the one who formally recommended Student Karen Aswan.”
“...Is that so?”
Proof positive that the Dean hadn’t bothered to read the file. Had he glanced at the paperwork even once, Xiel’s signature would have been staring him in the face.
“Ahem. Right. Well, as Instructor Xiel Steelheart can see for himself, while you have recommended your student, the other applicants face far greater hardship, making her selection rather difficult. We ask for your understanding in advance.”
“The head of House Erenski visited the academy during the Exchange Event not long ago,” Xiel said, his tone entirely level. “Beyond having a child in the Arcane School, he also has a child enrolled in the Sword School’s third year.”
“And what of it?”
“From what I observed of Lord Erenski at the time, he did not appear to be suffering economic distress.”
During the Exchange Event, the petty ego war between Amos Kundel and Darren Rihardt had sparked a full-blown pilgrimage of high-ranking noble patriarchs. Parents of competitors ranging all the way to the fifth-year division had crowded the viewing stands. In the midst of that chaos, Xiel’s sharp eyes had cataloged Lord Erenski.
Though they had never spoken, Xiel had caught fragments of a conversation Lord Erenski held with an acquaintance while walking past, committing the words, the tone, and every detail of the man’s posture to memory.
“And just how would you determine such a thing, Instructor Xiel?”
“I overheard him speaking with the heads of other houses. He mentioned launching a new venture—stating that while it required substantial capital, it was nothing to worry about.”
“Baseless hearsay picked up in passing—!”
The Dean slammed his hand on the desk and surged to his feet, but Xiel continued without blinking.
“Student Rick Smolder of House Smolder has a younger sibling named Ellen Smolder.”
“What does that have to do with anything?!”
“For a family claimed to be in financial ruin, Student Ellen Smolder was outfitted in remarkably fine sword and armor.”
The Dean’s left eyebrow twitched violently. “Who is to say it wasn’t borrowed?! Besides, weapons and armor are a warrior’s dignity! As a Sword School instructor, do you not even grasp that basic sentiment? A destitute parent may still starve themselves just to grant their child proper equipment—!”
“The head of House Smolder was the same,” Xiel added, completely unfazed. “Though not clad in steel, his garments and jewelry appeared exceptionally expensive.”
“Prestige! Dignity! In a gathering overflowing with high lords and great nobles, did you expect the man to crawl in wearing filthy rags?!”
Berhal suppressed a laugh behind his hand. The Dean was practically tripping over his own tongue trying to mount a desperate defense against accusations that were entirely reasonable to raise. Deciding the spectacle was far too entertaining to interrupt, Berhal let Xiel continue uninterrupted.
A masterstroke disguised as compliance, Berhal marvelled inwardly. He feigned agreement just to lay an inescapable trap. Remarkable.
Of course, no such stratagem existed in Xiel’s mind. He was simply stating facts he had personally verified, applying them directly to the conversation at hand. In truth, had it not been for senses honed through decades of lethal tradecraft, those hushed murmurs and subtle wardrobe tells would never have been registered by an ordinary person in the first place.
“And what about House Griffin, then?!” the Dean barked, his face blotchy with red. “What slander do you have prepared for them?!”
“I know nothing of House Griffin. This is the first time I have heard their name.”
“You dare insult House Griffin?!”
“I have insulted no one. There is no member of House Griffin present in this room, so I do not understand why you are shouting.”
The Dean choked on his own breath, completely silenced. Having played the part of their self-appointed defense advocate a little too eagerly, he had run straight into a brick wall.
Coughing into his fist, the Dean frantically hauled the conversation back to procedure.
“...Ahem! K-Khmm! In any case! Mere ‘suspicions’ cannot overturn verified documentation! In accordance with existing criteria, Students Fabian Erenski, Rick Smolder, and Egle Griffin have passed the primary screening. Regrettably, Student Karen Aswan will have to await the next cycle.”
The Dean hammered his gavel onto the table with pompous finality.
“This concludes the first review session! In two days’ time, at this exact hour, the second review committee shall convene to officially confirm the final recipients of the Special Support Program!”
With that, the farcical meeting drew to a close.
Walking out into the corridor alongside Xiel, Berhal let out an amused snort. “The look of utter panic on the Dean’s face was worth the trip alone, Instructor Xiel.”
“I did not anticipate he would defend those students with such fierce dedication.”
Xiel’s voice carried genuine, dry surprise.
Well, of course he would, Berhal thought with a bitter smile. His pockets are lined with Arcane School gold. Unless an administrator happened to be an unhinged zealot like Rocus of the Personnel Bureau, that was simply the way the academy operated.
“At this point, taking the matter directly to the Academy President might be our best move,” Berhal suggested, airing his initial backup plan. The President was Berhal’s most steadfast backer; since Berhal had accepted his appointment at the Sword School at the President’s personal behest, expanding the program’s quota by a single seat wouldn’t be impossible.
Xiel seemed to turn the thought over in his mind.
“Earlier, the Dean stated that mere suspicions were useless, correct?”
“Yes. In administrative matters... tangible justification is everything.”
“Justification. Understood. I will take my leave now.”
Xiel offered a polite nod and strode down the hallway.
Watching his solitary back disappear around the corner, Berhal sighed softly. He must be heading off to break the bad news to Student Karen Aswan.
No matter how peerless the man’s martial prowess or teaching methods, it seemed even Instructor Xiel was powerless before the entrenched machinations of academy politics.
“It can’t be helped, I suppose.”
Berhal turned away, resigned.
He was entirely mistaken.
Far from returning to his quarters to sulk or comfort a student, Xiel quietly gathered his field equipment and slipped through the academy’s outer perimeter under cover of the afternoon shadows.
Mere suspicions are useless, he said.
Then the solution was simple: obtain undeniable, ironclad proof.
He needed concrete evidence that those three Arcane School students were nowhere near impoverished enough to meet the program’s mandate.
And as it happened, Xiel knew someone exceptionally well-suited to help him dig it up.