Inheritance (3)
“Do it again, Lumil. Your sculpture is such a mess I don’t even feel like grading it. To think this is the assignment for my class. Tsk…”
“…I’m sorry, Professor.”
In the ‘Citadel of Absolutism,’ the stronghold of the Absolutism Academy.
Lumil scowled with his head bowed in the small classroom assigned to the first-year trainees.
Nothing pleased him.
Why do I have to waste time on this pointless lesson?
During the final trial of the Tomb of Books and Swords, he had tried to play dirty against Kirian only to get outmaneuvered and drop to 19th place.
Still, getting picked by Absolutism—one of the prestigious academies—wasn’t a terrible outcome.
But studying at Absolutism was another matter entirely.
“That’s all for today’s lesson. Review what you’ve learned thoroughly.”
“Yes! Thank you for your hard work!”
“Thank you, Professor!”
“…Thank you.”
Objectively speaking, among the three who had entered together, Lumil was the one lagging behind.
First-year trainees at Absolutism focused on theory-heavy lectures, and those two with their wealthy parents had hired private tutors for extra guidance.
Lumil, raised by ordinary folks, had no one to turn to for advice.
“Hey, Lumil. We’re heading up to rest first.”
“You’ve gotta remake that assignment, right? Clean up properly. Don’t leave it a wreck like last time and get chewed out by the professor!”
“…”
His classmates brushed past with snide giggles.
Their eyes and tones dripped with clear mockery, but Lumil quickly schooled his face into a bright smile and replied cheerfully.
“Yeah! Go on ahead carefully! I’ll tidy up nice and neat, so don’t worry!”
In response, they laughed mockingly, as if he were pathetic for smiling through it.
But Lumil kept grinning.
As always, he wore his mask around them—
“They’re gone. Trash.”
Only after he was alone did his true colors show.
Lumil glared at the magic crystal sculpture—the assignment for this class—then lifted it into the air with Telekinesis, spinning it effortlessly.
He cast Compression, crushing it in one go.
Krunch!
The magic crystal, processed to be tougher than steel, shattered and scattered everywhere.
If the assignment had been to destroy a magic crystal, he would have gotten top marks.
That was Lumil’s specialty, after all.
But the homeroom professor had ordered the first-years to carve it precisely, and Lumil, unskilled in delicate work, could only produce a crude result.
Anyway, he had to do it over.
“Hoo…”
He let out a light sigh and pulled out a fresh magic crystal.
With utmost care, using only a tenth of his mana, he began carving slowly.
The sculpture Lumil aimed to create was a mage wielding a staff against a massive monster.
He sought to mold Ulfrik, the idol of the entire Kirchheis family, regardless of main or branch lines.
Scrape, scrape, scrape—
Sweat beaded on Lumil’s forehead.
How much time passed?
“Haaah…”
Lumil exhaled in relief after finishing the new sculpture.
It was a bit hard to distinguish Ulfrik from the monster, but it should at least avoid a failing grade.
But the next moment—
Bam!
The classroom door, shut since his classmates left, flew open with a thunderous crash that seemed like it might shatter.
A group of trainees poured in.
All of them were upperclassmen, each a head taller than Lumil.
“Hey! You there.”
“First-year Lumil.”
“Yeah, you. Come here a sec.”
What the hell do these guys want?
He’d just sat down to rest.
But Lumil sprang up and bowed deeply at once.
“Yes! Seniors! I’m Lumil Kirchheis, first-year trainee! It’s an honor to meet you!”
“Oho, pretty quick on the uptake.”
“I like that.”
His ingrained survival instincts earned approving nods from the uninvited guests.
Lumil feigned a tense expression as he eyed them.
Especially the girl with thick golden blonde hair tied up high, wearing a smug look.
‘Fourth-year Phenol Kirchheis.’
She was the daughter Garnas, the family head’s second son, doted on especially.
Thanks to that halo, she’d been named top trainee of Absolutism Academy.
He didn’t know what this was about, but Phenol—close to the next power center—seeking him out wasn’t bad.
But her words nearly shattered his composure.
“You know Kirian, right? Heard you got wrecked by him in the Tomb of Books and Swords. Tell us everything you know about that guy.”
“…”
Damn it all.
Who’d pissed in their cornflakes?
Poking at a wound that hadn’t even scabbed over was tough to smile through, even for Lumil.
So he flinched in mock surprise and asked back.
“Pardon? Yes! Of course I know him… But why are you asking about Kirian, Senior Phenol?”
“Just spill what you know. Don’t waste time yapping, you nobody.”
The muscular guy beside Phenol raised a fist threateningly.
But Lumil didn’t back down.
He ignored the musclehead entirely.
The real boss was Phenol anyway.
“I need to know the purpose to explain properly. We can’t waste your precious time, Senior Phenol.”
“Hey, this punk’s—”
The musclehead raised his fist again, but Phenol held up a hand to stop him.
“Quiet, Drateck Senior.”
“Huh? Oh, got it.”
“Lumil, was it? You’re kinda cute.”
Phenol’s gaze landed on him, arms crossed imperiously.
That haughty look, as if everything was beneath her feet—a trademark of direct-line blood.
Lumil suppressed the urge to punch her face and bowed his head, soon learning why she sought Kirian.
“As you know, that guy’s my cousin. He was recently adopted by Great-Uncle Leonir. All because his amazing magic talent was recognized…”
It was famous news.
Kirian’s exploits in the tomb trials had led to his adoption into Leonir’s family, the heir’s line.
So what?
“But word is, Kirian’s started learning swordsmanship from him. And he’s going around the academies, hoarding all their teachings.”
“…!”
Kirian wasn’t content with Leonir’s swordsmanship—he was monopolizing every academy’s teachings?
The shocking news made Lumil forget his facade and swallow dryly.
For someone with a score to settle against Kirian, this was terrible.
“You don’t like him much either, right? Lumil?”
“…Yes. He humiliated me.”
“Hm, so that’s your real look. Much cuter that way.”
Phenol smirked.
She seemed dangerous, but Lumil was willing to take the risk.
“I’ll tell you everything I know. So you can deal with Kirian easily, Senior. And in return…”
“In return?”
“Give me a chance too. I want revenge on that bastard.”
“Hmm.”
Lumil gritted his teeth and bowed; Phenol pondered briefly, then nodded.
“Fine. I’ll take a liking to you.”
“Thank you, Senior.”
“The more I see, the cuter you get.”
Phenol giggled and slung an arm around Lumil’s shoulder.
In that moment, the two joined hands against their common enemy, Kirian.
The spatial connection point has been completed.
You can activate the connection point using mana.
The messages appeared as he stretched, breathing in the morning air.
Moments later, Dumroad’s voice echoed from Iphril’s ring.
—Hey, Tiberian. You there?
“Loud and clear, Dumroad.”
—Oh, good. Connection’s solid. Can you pop over quick?
“Sorry, tough right now.”
Not putting on airs—he was genuinely too busy to spare time.
Day four of learning swordsmanship from Leonir.
Once warmed up, he had to head straight to the training grounds.
—Alright? Then open the connection when you can and come over. Got something to tell you about Lord Ulfrik’s journal.
“About the journal…?”
It was a major issue anyway.
He’d pored over Ulfrik’s journal for days, but strangely, he couldn’t retain any of it.
No matter how much he read, nothing stuck in his mind.
That meant a powerful spell beyond his current ability to break.
Security enchantment higher-level than the spatial barrier in the restricted area.
Even his Transcendental Eye offered no solution.
He’d been pondering what to do when Dumroad might know something.
“Got it. I’ll come as soon as possible, so hang tight.”
After sword lessons, once he sent Leonir back to Kirchheis Castle, he’d have time.
As he moved to end the call, Dumroad tossed in another topic.
—By the way, I heard. You’re learning swordsmanship from Leonir?
“How’d you know?”
—Heard it from a fourth-year who came to the restricted area yesterday for a sword. He was green with envy, nearly keeling over.
Well, fair enough.
Leonir was the finest knight in the Kirchheis family.
Training under him was enviable.
But from his perspective, it was different.
I was the Allmaster’s disciple.
He’d learned from history’s greatest Swordmaster, so Leonir’s teachings didn’t impress much.
And in his past life, he’d reached 6-star faster than anyone but never breached the Noble Wall.
A realm permitted only to the chosen.
So he held no expectations for Leonir’s Thousand Illusion Martial Sword.
It wouldn’t be any different anyway.
But then came a curious remark from beyond the connection.
—How many days into training today?
“Day four. Nothing special about the forms—I picked them up quick. Now moving to qi circulation.”
—Then the real start begins.
“The real start…?”
—Look forward to it. Leonir’s method is special. You’ll find it fascinating.
The communication ended there.
Arriving at the training grounds, he couldn’t help furrowing his brow in doubt.
Up until yesterday, it had been standard forms and stances.
Today, the entire floor was covered in intricate magic circles.
“This is…?”
“Drink up. Needed for today’s training.”
[Oh, an elixir?]
Leonir approached, offering a glass vial of clear liquid. The potion-obsessed phoenix perked up.
But he didn’t take it.
Pointing to the floor’s magic circles, he asked.
“Uncle, mind explaining first? No matter how I look, that’s a Delirium spell. Am I wrong?”
“Oho, as expected of a magic genius. You glance at the circle and grasp its nature.”
Leonir chuckled, forcing the vial into his hand with a nod.
He’d seen right.
“Correct. A Delirium spell. Amplified hundreds of times via this large-scale magic circle.”
“…”
What’s he planning?
Even he couldn’t last ten seconds under that.
Maintaining sanity on a magic circle so blatantly focused was impossible for anyone.
Yet Leonir gestured casually.
“Drink. We can’t start without it.”
“Uncle, we’re learning qi cultivation. Why Delirium…?”
Wait.
He uncorked the vial and flinched involuntarily.
This was?
“…Liquor?”
“Yes. And note—that’s enchanted with Delirium too. Resonates with the circle.”
More Delirium.
At this point, something was definitely up.
But Leonir offered no proper explanation.
“Drink.”
Fine, whatever.
He chugged it down, figuring he’d play along.
His first alcohol in this life, come to think of it.
Gulp, gulp, gulp—
“Khaaa!”
“Hm? Didn’t say to down it all at once?”
Too late.
It was already empty.
Disgustingly bad stuff.
Anyway, reeking of booze, he stepped onto the magic circle.
The effect intensified toward the center.
“Listen well. My qi cultivation method is…”
What was that?
Dizziness crashed over him as he drew his sword hilt.
Over the past three days, the Thousand Illusion Martial Sword unfolded instinctively.