The Emergency Council (3)
I stared at the old man in silence.
Seeing how he asked right off the bat if I was the thirteenth Sword Master, it seemed Selena had already spilled everything.
Considering how hard she had tried to hide my existence until now, this was a rather sudden turn of events.
Of course, it wasn't hard to guess the reason.
The situation has gotten too big.
Indeed.
The situation had spiraled too far out of control to cover up the incident with the Defier of Fate.
Since the key assistants, including Lugwin, had been slaughtered during the ritual, everything was bound to come to light.
In the end, Selena had chosen to clean up the mess, even if it meant dragging me into the spotlight.
You could call it a way of shifting the blame.
As I thought earlier, her sly move was a bit annoying, but... well, it wasn't really something to make a fuss about.
I had expected her to make this kind of decision from the start anyway.
Having led the Shadow Society for decades as the Blood Empress, she was someone who was always exceptionally good at self-preservation.
Her decision to reveal my existence and shift the responsibility onto the authority of a Sword Master was exactly like the Selena Servich I knew from the game.
Actually, this is exactly what I wanted.
If I wanted to exert influence over Wintersield Magic Academy, stepping out into the open like this made things much easier.
It was also the perfect opportunity to play my trump card.
I sank into the chair, guided by Selena, my mind busy with various thoughts.
"Ahem!"
The old man, who had been staring at me uncomfortably, cleared his throat and spoke again.
"I heard that a thirteenth star had risen over the Holy City... but I did not expect to meet you so soon."
Tordam.
That was the old man's name.
An 8th-circle mage, he was the Chancellor of Wintersield Academy and the chairman of this emergency council.
Although his magical achievements fell short of Biorf's or Professor Selena's, his political acumen and administrative skills were second to none.
There was a clear reason why Tordam looked so displeased.
"That aside... if you intended to visit our academy, wouldn't it have been polite to ask for permission beforehand?"
Midtemple and Wintersield had long since signed a non-aggression pact, respecting each other's territory.
The two shared a solid, indispensable symbiotic relationship. If Midtemple's barrier was the shield protecting the continent, Wintersield was the source that powered that shield.
The continent's largest reserve of mana stones. And the magical knowledge passed down for centuries. All of these are key elements in maintaining Midtemple's barrier.
That wasn't all.
The high mages of the Inner Tower possessed military might on par with Midtemple's high knights.
This meant that Chancellor Tordam, as well as most of the high mages sitting in this council room, were terrifying individuals, each capable of easily decimating a small city on their own.
Thus, both sides maintained an equal balance, which was the primary reason they did not cross each other's boundaries.
...At least, that was what the mages here seemed to think.
Even the self-willed Sword Masters respected that tacit agreement.
If not for this agreement, the number of Chancellors who lost their lives to Sword Masters would have been thirty, not three.
"And yet..."
Tordam continued.
"...You bypassed all protocols and infiltrated our academy under the guise of an 'Earth Dragon subjugation adventurer.' And you didn't stop there; you caused a massive uproar underground."
Tension filled the council room. A few professors nodded in agreement with Tordam, not wanting to be left out.
"Amusing."
Watching them quietly, I spoke in a flat voice.
"I took care of the dirty work on behalf of the magic academy, and instead of thanking me, you're trying to find fault?"
"We are not finding fault; we are discussing principles and protocols. Furthermore, this Magic Tower has never requested outside assistance to subjugate the monster underground."
"..."
"A treaty is a treaty, Sword Master. You have violated the covenant sworn between Midtemple and Wintersield centuries ago."
I remained silent for a moment, scanning the room. The mages seated around the round table were casting disgruntled glances at me.
"Did you summon me to this emergency council just to interrogate me? I was told this was a place to discuss the academy's crisis and its aftermath."
"Everything has its priorities. The aftermath will be discussed later, as the word implies."
Tordam replied.
"There is no law stating that a Seeker should receive special treatment. Holding you accountable for violating the treaty is a matter of basic principle. That, too, is an agenda item, as the safety of this academy was threatened."
Watching the cunning glints in the eyes around the round table, my suspicion solidified into certainty.
The reason they were stretching logic to find fault with me.
It was partly a power struggle, but they clearly intended to seize this opportunity to exploit a Sword Master for their own ends.
Cunning magic-wielders, the lot of them.
Honestly, Wintersield's attitude didn't surprise me.
This was the very reason I had primarily played warrior characters in the game. I was sick and tired of dealing with these underhanded mages.
I had no idea how Strawberry Latte managed to play a mage every single time.
Still, I had no intention of dancing to the mages' petty tunes.
A Sword Master only needed to act like a Sword Master.
"Hmm?"
Tordam and the other mages frowned.
It was because I had suddenly placed my hand on the hilt of the Feather Sword.
"What... what are you doing...?"
What do you think?
Since they had initiated the power struggle, I was simply returning the favor.
It was the same situation as when I met Karayan in the underground arena on my first day in this world.
Before revealing my trump card, I had to suppress the opponent first to seize control of the conversation.
"It seems mages spend so much time cooped up in their rooms reading grimoires and scrolls that they have no time for history books."
"What is that supposed to..."
"I mean it is surprising you have the guts to act like this, knowing that three Chancellors have already had their heads taken by Sword Masters."
"...!"
Slam!
His face flushed red, Tordam slammed his hand onto the round table and stood up.
"How dare you!"
The chandelier hanging from the ceiling shook.
Tordam's mana had begun to resonate, slipping past his control.
"Even the Sword Masters of those times strictly abided by the treaty! Their execution of the Chancellors was a legitimate enforcement carried out within the bounds of the agreement!"
"..."
"But if you run amok here, it goes beyond ignoring the treaty—it is a complete violation of it!"
Several mages seated around the table stood up one by one, shouting. Their wrinkled faces distorted with rage.
They certainly have pride to spare.
Backed by the support of the others, Tordam shouted with even greater vigor.
"Think carefully! Even if you are a Seeker chosen by the Great Ones, do you truly believe you can survive if you run amok in a room filled with over a dozen high mages?"
True.
Tordam wasn't wrong about a single thing.
If the dozen or so mages here attacked all at once, I would never survive.
I stood a chance in a one-on-one fight against a transcendent being like a Defier of Fate. But a one-versus-many battle against powerful opponents was overwhelmingly disadvantageous.
The only skills I could practically use in combat were Soul of the Sword Master and Ultimate Auto-parrying. If high-tier spells rained down from all directions under those conditions, there was very little I could do.
The only time I had faced multiple enemies using Soul of the Sword Master was when I encountered the trio of plunderers in the underground of Labyrinth Village.
But unlike back then, all dozen or so opponents this time were incredibly powerful. Looking around, not a single one of them was below level 80.
However...
Shring!
I slowly drew the Feather Sword.
"What makes you think I won't survive?"
"...!"
Even if I couldn't survive.
A normal Sword Master could easily survive this chaotic melee.
Unlike me, whose actual stats were pathetic aside from a few skills, Heukgol, Pokryong, and the other twelve Sword Masters were all monsters who defied common sense.
But right now.
Not a single mage in this room suspected that I wasn't a 'normal Sword Master.'
They were all simply trembling at the title of the Seeker of the Sword.
In other words...
...my bluff was guaranteed to work.
"Biorf."
Flinch.
When I called Professor Biorf's name in a low voice, he flinched beside me.
Biorf's face had already turned pale quite some time ago.
And for good reason—he was one of the few mages who had witnessed the 'massacre' a century ago.
From the moment the argument started in the council, he had been frozen, gripped by the horrific memories of that day.
"You said you've lived for 212 years, correct?"
"..."
"Then you must have witnessed it yourself. The moment the Chancellor's head was taken by a Sword Master's blade."
Professor Biorf's lips trembled.
According to the game's lore, it had happened about a century ago. The incident where the Chancellor met his end at the hands of a Sword Master.
Almost none of the mages attending this emergency council had seen it firsthand. After all, most mages were pure humans with lifespans of around a hundred years.
But Biorf was different. At 212 years old, he was one of the few individuals who had personally witnessed the tragedy Wintersield suffered.
That was why, unlike the other arrogant mages, he had trembled in fear the moment he first heard the name of a Sword Master.
This is also why I chose Biorf as my helper when subjugating the Defier of Fate.
Out of all the mages belonging to Wintersield Magic Academy, Professor Biorf was the only one who truly feared and revered the Sword Masters.
"Everyone."
Right on cue, Biorf spoke up, his voice shaking.
He had already witnessed the Defier of Fate's power firsthand. Yet, I had defeated such a being and emerged completely unscathed.
Naturally, Professor Biorf had no choice but to vastly overestimate my strength.
"Calm down and sit, all of you."
"Professor Biorf, what is the meaning of...!"
"He is right."
"...?"
"Even if everyone in this room attacked at once, we wouldn't be able to touch a single hair on a Sword Master's head."
Instantly, everyone in the council room turned to look at Professor Biorf in bewilderment. Ignoring their stares, he continued, lost in the memories of the past.
"What did you all... sacrifice to reach the 8th circle?"
Professor Biorf's voice trembled uncontrollably. His gaze swept around the round table, taking in everyone.
"Decades of training, thousands of grimoires, and tens of thousands of experiments. You poured in your blood, sweat, and time to barely reach where you are today."
"..."
"But don't you know? How many failed to reach the 8th circle despite putting in the exact same effort? There are countless who vanished without ever crossing the wall of the 7th circle, the 6th circle... no, even the 3rd circle."
Biorf closed his eyes tightly.
"That is 'talent.' In the end, magic is a realm that cannot be scaled by effort alone. Without talent, you cannot even glimpse the threshold, no matter how hard you struggle."
"What are you suddenly talking about..."
"Do you know what I saw that day?"
"..."
"I saw a 9th-circle archmage, the most talented in the history of magic, crumble in an instant."
Tordam shut his mouth without realizing it, and Biorf pressed on.
"The talent we took pride in, the tower of magic we spent our entire lives building... it is nothing but a sandcastle before them. We spent decades honing ourselves to barely stand before the door of the 8th circle, but they are beings who stood beyond that door from the moment they took their first steps."
Biorf opened his closed eyes.
His gaze then turned toward the old mage sitting in the chairman's seat.
"Do not misunderstand, Tordam."
"..."
"..."
212 years.
A dreadful silence began to loom over the room at the speech of the mage who had lived through those long years.
Not a single mage dared to open their mouth.
"The 'treaty' you keep bringing up is not a means to keep Midtemple in check."
"..."
"It is merely the final mercy Midtemple bestowed upon us."