First Research Proposal (2)
The meeting took place in a small reception room attached to one side of the dean's office. Naturally, the person seated at the head of the table was the Dean of the Magic Department. As I opened the door and entered, he greeted me first.
"Ah, right on time, Roger."
"Yes. Long time no see, Dean."
But the dean wasn't the only one in the reception room. It was obvious at a glance that she wasn't his secretary or an auditor dispatched from the university. She was wearing nun's robes. Or more precisely, priestess robes? A necklace shaped like a hexagon symbolizing the god hung at the chest of the woman in black priestess robes. She had a gentle overall impression. With brown hair falling to her shoulders, large eyes, and an age that seemed similar to mine, she didn't exude much intimidation on the surface. But given that she could maintain a cold composure while meeting privately with the dean of a magic university, she was clearly a seasoned individual.
Judging from the dean's overly enthusiastic welcome toward me, it seemed the two of them alone had made for an extremely awkward gathering. It also meant his attempts to smoothly persuade her with his silver tongue had failed.
"Roger, this is Prudence, the resident priest at the university. Prudence? This is Professor Atwill."
"Hello. I'm Roger Atwill from the Department of Magic in the Magic Faculty at Traperon University, Applied Magic Research Lab."
"Prudence. I've come from the Papal Court. It's an honor to meet you."
As expected. My ominous premonition didn't miss the mark.
The church's clerical hierarchy is basically pyramidal. Since all dioceses fall under the Pope, all clergy technically belong to the Papal Court in the chain of command. However, when stating their affiliation, they usually name their diocese or church. So if someone says they've come from the Papal Court itself, it means they're from a direct agency under it.
She wasn't here to ordain me, and there was no way the Papal Court had sent her to investigate me—a non-cleric—for corruption. There was only one answer: the Inquisition.
Most countries have Inquisition offices in major territories, and places like magic universities, rife with religious disputes, even have small branch offices. Bishops aren't free from the influence of their territorial lords. That's why Inquisition reports from all over go straight to the Papal Court. As a result, Inquisition members, regardless of their posting, declare their affiliation as the Papal Court. It's a measure to stand firm against high nobles or power brokers without flinching.
Young inquisitors like her have to confront authority and evil armed only with nominal status for show, devout faith, and youthful vigor. Even mad wizards stirring chaos with unethical experiments and research are their opponents.
"You've come from the Surveillance Bureau, I presume. What's this about?"
People usually imagine inquisitors clad in thick plate armor, wielding fearsome flails. But their attire and equipment vary by duty. After all, it's a highly specialized role among the clergy. Disputes over magic research rarely escalate to physical confrontations. Most battles are fought with debates and paperwork assaults. For that kind of work, knowledge trumps brute force.
This priest, dispatched as the university's liaison, must have earned her position through expertise in magic and theology, not combat prowess. There was no reason for her to wear something as cumbersome as heavy armor. She looked like a beauty who would smile warmly from a convent in her neat, crisp black priestess robes.
But Inquisitor Prudence fixed me with cold eyes and spoke.
"As you're well aware, Professor Atwill, you are a person of interest to the Papal Court."
"What have I done wrong?"
"Do you know how many religious trials, large and small, you've been involved in?"
How many was it? I'd already given up counting.
"Seven... or was it eight?"
"...Eleven."
Hmm, that's a lot. But still, I felt wronged.
"But as you know, I was acquitted in all of them. Is being wrongly accused a crime? Plus, in some of those cases, I was in court as a witness, not a defendant."
"Of course, being brought to trial itself isn't a blemish."
Not just Prudence, but even the dean sighed deeply at this point—as if for my benefit.
"But if someone frequents the courts that often in such a short time, it's only natural for surveillance officers to take notice. It raises the likelihood of scrutiny. You know that better than anyone, Professor. You wouldn't call it mere prejudice, would you?"
True enough. During my PhD, the intervals between court appearances had gotten shorter and shorter.
"That's why I came here without formal procedures, Professor Atwill. To be direct: the Inquisition has no desire to summon you again."
Ah, that explained it. No prior notice, just a person showing up. Even the dean must have known about this sudden meeting in advance, but his letter hadn't mentioned it. They wanted no records.
"The church doesn't steal mages' time for fun. We always dread it. Indiscriminate prosecutions aren't good for the church or the world—especially for promising researchers."
Who would've thought I'd hear such warm words from a church official? But what followed was anything but lenient.
"So we ask for your cooperation, Professor. Discard the research plan you submitted to the university yesterday. Pursue something more wholesome, adhering to ethical guidelines."
"Sorry, I can't do that."
As I spat out my refusal, Inquisitor Prudence's stony expression twitched slightly. She'd gone out of her way to accommodate me personally despite her busy schedule, only to be shot down flat—who could blame her?
"Professor Atwill. If you insist, the Surveillance Bureau will have no choice but to formally indict you."
"Roger. The Magic Department can't approve this research anyway. This is the church's courtesy!"
"I know it's courtesy, but this research isn't problematic."
"You just arrived and are still setting up your lab—aren't you too busy for this? Dragging it to trial will hurt you regardless of the outcome."
I'd dashed off that proposal carelessly last night to avoid hassle, and now it had snowballed into a bigger pain. Explaining a grimoire-derived research plan with a church rep present? Great.
"No, I admit my explanation was lacking, but it's not the kind of research you think. Look at the topic."
"I've looked plenty. 'Remote life force absorption from conspecific populations.' Didn't you just write that and nothing else?"
Ouch, guilty as charged. I should've elaborated a bit.
Having heard our exchange, Prudence chimed in.
"Even if the targets are animals, it's the same. Black magic and human experiments always make such excuses. Approving this requires thorough investigation and review."
"Not animals. You won't see a drop of blood in this experiment."
"Pardon?"
"I mean... plants. The 'conspecific population' here refers to a plant colony."
*The creepy tome penned by that unpleasant giant infidel described various ominous dark rites. One was the life force absorption spell. I hadn't deciphered it yet, but the illustrations were so intuitive I recognized it instantly. The cultists, apparently starting from basics, had even annotated it in Imperial script themselves.
That section detailed absorption techniques from various lifeforms. It almost resembled a cultivation manual at a glance—for siphoning life force from higher sentient beings with mana. I needed something far removed from humans to avoid ethical issues, with such extreme and finicky conditions that it seemed impractical anyway—no profit potential.
That's when I found it: absorption from 'non-motile conspecific populations'—settlements of immobile, same-species organisms. Most fitting subjects were plants.
The dean and inquisitor relaxed their expressions upon hearing the explanation.
"But what if a bunch of people are sleeping together... ahem... sleeping?"
Prudence stumbled mid-sentence, her momentum deflated.
"No. Even breathing alone disqualifies them. Most animals are out."
"But if that's the case, doesn't it apply to plants too? They sway in the wind, birds and bugs land on them."
"Here, 'movement' means self-directed motion. It seems intent matters."
With the mood lightening, the dean, relieved, indulged his curiosity.
"Does 'conspecific population' strictly mean same species?"
"Yes. If another species that could be a target intrudes, the spell won't activate. Limits its uses."
"Could it exploit trees' life force in a forest?"
"No, unfortunately not. Miracles like that are reserved for elves, I guess. As I said, no other plant types allowed. Even grass among trees causes confusion and prevents activation."
"Impossible now, but..."
"Yes, further development might ignore minor interference. But it'll never wipe out a forest, no matter how much we research."
"Hard to find targets in nature then. Needs pure stands like that—must be artificially cultivated."
If it had practical value, I wouldn't have proposed it.
"I've never encountered a spell like that in decades of research. Where'd you learn it?"
The obvious question. He knew the answer already. With no trial looming, I could answer casually.
"Can't tell you. Ways and means, you know. Like finding a mysterious book in a shady cave."
Prudence looked mildly displeased at that. The church overlooked it for lack of proof, but she'd heard the rumors about my grimoire acquisition. I meant to tease the dean, but she reacted.
"As the proposer, it's odd to say this, but the spell's efficiency is abysmal. You'd need to wither a roomful of plants like this one to recover even a trickle of vitality."
"Hold on. Wither plants?"
"Ah, figurative speech. They blacken and die in seconds."
"Why would the proposer admit that?"
"Just wanted you to know."
I'd witnessed it firsthand, unwillingly. That hooded creep sucking life from a lawn—I watched out of curiosity. Dried a whole garden but barely healed his wounds.
"And it's easy to block. Just intersperse different species among the plants."
"So if you know the spell exists, countermeasures are simple for now."
"Yes. Though research might change that, conditions can't loosen indefinitely. Probably no need for magical defenses."
"That's the crux of this proposal."
Why had those lunatics delved so deep into something so useless? Didn't seem like mere practice.
"So I have no intention of using it. Though some might find ways."
"Is that why you started this research—knowing that?"
Prudence's voice rose slightly. Yeah, exactly. I submitted it knowing it was inefficient.
"Yes. No need to hide it."
"That was your intent."
"I know the church watches for wicked, dangerous spells."
"This is... your first research after becoming a professor...?"
Her voice trembled a bit. Offended at being teased? No, this wasn't anger...
"I see. To execute your plan, you need the church's cooperation. You deliberately drew attention to summon us."
"Artificial dense stands, plant desiccation, non-magical defenses. Yes, Roger's intent is clear. He saw through the spell's danger at once."
What were they talking about? No point showing confusion, so I met their eyes with a straight face.
"Professor Roger Atwill. It seems the Papal Court misunderstood you. I understand your intent now and will report this matter urgently."
"I had no idea. That you'd plan something like this, bearing the stigma..."
What the—? I glanced at the dean, hoping for an explanation, but he just beamed at me proudly.
"Yes. The church will prepare countermeasures as soon as this research concludes. We nearly sat idle and suffered. Without you, Professor, countless farmers would have agonized under this vile spell."
...Huh?
"Crops blackening and dying without reason, subjects starving to death... Thank you for preventing that horrific future, Professor Atwill."