Episode 565
Episode 565
"I just got here. Are your ears blocked or something?"
"My apologies. I must have been too tired to hear."
"My, my. You should take better care of your health."
Professor Verdus lightly scolded Lee Han.
"I have too many lectures to attend, so there's nothing I can do about it."
"Is that so?"
"Perhaps if you reduced our assignments, Professor? Then I might be able to manage my health better."
"Uh. That's not happening."
Lee Han smiled serenely as if he'd never expected otherwise.
"So what brings you here?"
"Ah, right. I originally came to ask you to help prepare the final exams."
Professor Verdus opened his mouth as if just remembering.
"But Professor Garcia is telling me not to do it!"
"My, my!"
"Isn't that strange? Really?"
"I see!"
"Exactly!"
Professor Verdus grumbled.
"He wasn't like this when he was a student. Professor Garcia has changed."
"My, my!"
"So here's the thing—"
"I see!"
"Huh?"
'Oh no.'
Lee Han realized he'd been a beat too quick in responding with just "My, my" and "I see."
Fortunately, the oblivious Professor Verdus didn't notice.
"Could you persuade Professor Garcia for me? He listens to you."
"My, my!"
"Right. I'm counting on you."
"I'll try my best, but Professor Garcia is quite strict, so there's no guarantee he'll listen to me just because it's me speaking."
'I absolutely shouldn't mention this.'
Lee Han had zero intention of persuading Professor Garcia.
Who would benefit from such persuasion anyway?
"Well, Professor Garcia is indeed strict."
"I see."
"He once shattered an artifact's force field with his fist."
"My, my!... Wait, what exactly did you do to get punched by him?"
"I didn't do anything!"
Professor Verdus grumbled indignantly as he pulled a pouch from his robe. From the weighty-looking pouch came the familiar jingling sound—the beautiful chime only silver and gold coins make when clashing together.
"After all the trouble of selling artifacts to exchange for these..."
"What's this?"
"Huh? I told you back in the detention room. Have you already forgotten?"
Professor Verdus gave Lee Han a look that questioned his intelligence.
"...Wait, don't tell me this is the payment for helping prepare the exams?"
The graduate student Kettle had once grabbed Professor Verdus by the collar and made him swear an oath for the rights of junior students—that he wouldn't force them to work without proper compensation...
"Yep."
"Where did you get these??"
"Sold a few artifacts."
"But...uh...were you even allowed to sell them?"
Lee Han hesitated.
While gold and silver coins were nice, his first thought was whether selling them had been permitted in the first place.
At that, Professor Verdus also paused.
"Uh. Was I not supposed to sell them? Hold on."
"......"
"Now that I think about it, I think Gonadaltes told me not to sell them."
"My, my."
"But if no one finds out, it's fine, right?"
"I see."
Lee Han nodded.
Though surprised, upon reflection, Professor Verdus had a point.
And even if they were discovered, it would be Professor Verdus who got in trouble—what did that have to do with Lee Han?
'The Headmaster will handle it.'
"So Professor, if I help prepare the final exams, does that mean this adorable, lovable pouch of silver coins becomes mine?"
"Wardanaz. You're being creepy."
Professor Verdus looked at Lee Han with distaste.
While some artifact craftsmen might name their artifacts and speak to them lovingly, Professor Verdus was not that type.
"Understood. But this is definitely being given to me, right?"
"But Professor Garcia said no. You should listen to him."
'What exactly did he do?'
Lee Han grew curious about how Professor Garcia had persuaded Professor Verdus.
"I'll still try to persuade him one more time."
"Then I'm counting on you."
Professor Verdus pulled a dagger from his robe. Judging by the complex mana structure Lee Han could sense, it was an artifact enchanted with more than one spell.
"Here, take this."
"Ah. Thank you."
Lee Han was slightly surprised by Professor Verdus's gift.
It seemed Kettle senior had indeed softened Professor Verdus's disposition toward students.
Not only giving out money pouches but casually presenting gifts like this?
"Tell the students to make this today."
"...Professor. You should come to the lecture hall yourself. And assigning this is a separate matter."
"What!? Seriously!?"
"Uh, isn't the freshman final exam a bit... dull?"
Coholti, having visited Professor Mortum's workshop, looked at the exam questions with puzzlement.
Traditionally, the first-year final exam was a grand showcase of various complex Black Magic techniques—Undead Summoning, bone/poison/dark element manipulation, curses, and more. It served to test the skills of freshmen who would properly walk the path of Black Magic in their second year, while also reinforcing their resolve.
But compared to that, this exam seemed far too simple.
Moreover, a thick stack of papers was piled on Professor Mortum's back desk. The visible questions clearly indicated they were exam materials.
'Select which of the following creatures dwell in the Undead realm...'
Of course, this still technically counted as an exam, but it was undeniably lackluster.
Coholti couldn't help but wonder why such questions existed.
Professor Mortum, fiddling with a quill, coughed before responding.
"You nearly blew up the academy's foundation during the last midterms, and now you're complaining about this?"
"......"
"......"
The Black Magic students present in the workshop flushed red and lowered their heads.
Some even shot resentful glances at Coholti.
'Why did he have to bring that up?'
'Doesn't Senior have any tact?'
"...My apologies."
Cough. "And you had juniors begging for reagents, yet you dare say such things?"
"I sincerely apologize!!!"
Coholti, abandoning all dignity befitting a fourth-year, lowered his posture.
No matter how senior he was, this was a mistake that undeniably tarnished his reputation.
"Good, as long as you understand. Now help with the questions."
"Yes..."
The shamefaced fourth-year sat at the table and began concocting poison.
"Ankle-Snaring Poison?"
"Yes."
A relatively mild poison that slowed movement.
Coholti completed the mixture in a single motion.
"Next?"
"Bone-Reviving Poison."
A potent poison that forcibly stimulated bone regeneration, pushing the body to the brink of destruction.
Coholti finished it with two motions and one reagent addition.
"Next?"
"Ahrack's Red Poison."
Ahrack was a historical dark mage of the Empire, renowned for his poisons.
Though he met a tragic end—unable to overcome his own creation and reduced to a mere puddle of blood—many Black Mages still revered him.
Grunting, Coholti carefully waved his wand. One misstep in crafting Ahrack's Red Poison, and he could spend a week bleeding from his eyes, nose, ears, and mouth.
"Done...Wait. Why are we making this? What's this for in the final exam?"
Only now did Coholti sense something odd.
Diret, who had just finished his work inside, answered in place of the professor.
"That's not for the final exam—it's for today's lecture. We need to teach poison magic, but some juniors have high resistance."
"Ah. The giant-blooded junior, right?"
One of the students spoke up as if recalling.
"From Turtle Tower, correct? Hehe. Perfect."
"Hey. Don't drag juniors into your petty squabbles."
Diret lightly warned.
Even if it merely rained, students from each tower would bicker—
'It's because of those Blue Dragon Tower bastards!'
'No, it's White Tiger Tower's experiments!'
'You're all wrong, it's Black Turtle Tower—!'
And so on.
This rivalry never faded, no matter how many years passed or how much they advanced in grade.
With such fiercely competitive tower students, it was inevitable they'd recruit juniors for their battles. A giant-blooded junior would be an incredibly sturdy asset.
"And he doesn't even like fighting."
"How could that be? Where have you ever seen a giant hybrid who dislikes fighting?"
"You're learning black magic, so you'll probably be digging up graves and eating corpses or something."
"No... I-I don't do that..."
The junior who'd heard Diret's words looked deeply wronged.
"I've only dug up graves to steal corpses, never ate them. I'm not a ghoul."
"That's not the point... Never mind. Just don't go spouting nonsense to the juniors. Starting next year, you'll be so busy I'll hardly see you—it's really worrying me."
"Ah! Senior, are you advancing to fifth year?"
"Yeah. I've decided."
Diret replied with a slightly weary voice.
At Einrogard, quite a few students completed their studies in second or third year depending on personal circumstances, but those seriously pursuing magic as scholars typically stayed until fourth year. By fourth year, they'd have accumulated enough wisdom and knowledge to forge their own paths.
However, some unfortunate—or rather, those more ravenous for wisdom and knowledge than others—would advance to fifth year.
They'd assist their professors while pursuing higher realms of magic together.
Of course, it wasn't an easy choice.
Even fourth year was horrifically busy enough to make one nauseous.
Most active participants in Einrogard's campus life were third-years or below, as fourth-years were too absorbed in magic to think straight with graduation approaching. If fourth year was like this, how much more grueling and dreadful must fifth year be?
And what was even harder than that were the non-magical responsibilities. Because fifth-years were now closer to the traditional concept of direct disciples.
Before the Empire's magic schools established collective education systems, continental mages passed down enlightenment through much more primitive teaching methods.
The one-on-one master-disciple relationship between eccentric masters and pitiful apprentices often seen in fairy tales was precisely this old-fashioned approach.
Naturally, this method had many adverse effects. Just look at how many disciples ended up killing their masters—the higher a mage's attainment, the worse their personality tended to become.
Yet Einrogard's fifth year evoked this vanished concept of direct disciples.
As only qualified students were permitted by professors to advance to fifth year, these students truly deserved the title of direct disciples.
"Will you be alright?"
"The professor will probably make you do so much work!"
"Cough. Cough."
The workload for direct disciples typically increased exponentially.
Managing the professor's other disciples was among the easiest tasks.
Now they'd have to research entirely new dimensions of magic, publish papers in imperial academia (and prepare presentation materials), apply for grants, manage research funds, attend external presentations...
If someone like Professor Verdus became your master, it would be hell within hell.
"Professor Mortum is relatively better."
"Thank you, Diret."
Professor Mortum glared at the other students. Ungrateful brats.
"And I'm more worried about magical research than the professor's tasks. I might not even show my face all year."
"We'll come visit you!"
"Cough, cough."
Professor Mortum coughed in disbelief.
"Is that supposed to be encouragement?"
"Enough, everyone. Stop worrying about me. What I want to say is that I'm worried about you all. Treat the juniors properly when they arrive. Don't bully them even if they're from other towers."
"And don't get bullied by the juniors either."
Coholti added. The students tilted their heads in confusion at his words. 'What does that mean?' "Coholti's... not wrong though. Is the <Ahrack's Red Poison> ready?"
"Wait. Senior Diret. I almost forgot—even for a giant hybrid, <Ahrack's Red Poison> would be too extreme. Wouldn't another poison work better?"
"Don't worry. The poison for Aimirg is Bone-Reviving Poison."
"Ah, I see."
The answering student suddenly paused. 'Huh?' Then who's the <Ahrack's Red Poison> meant for?