Chapter 9
Chapter 9
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: Lingering Past (4)
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Professor Glatos Kuhlan was one of the few mages in Pharenchia Academy capable of wielding black magic at the 5th hierarchy or higher.
Due to the plummeting reputation of black mages after the Great War, and his origins from the Alkaid Magic Tower—the closest to Helzev geographically—he faced suspicion from every professor and student in the academy.
Without the chairman's strong endorsement, he never would have been allowed to come to Pharenchia.
"Professor. I'm Liv Lavre, second-year in the Magic Division, as I contacted you about before. May I come in?"
On the flip side, it also meant that despite being a black mage, Professor Glatos was verified enough to teach students at the academy.
Liv didn't harbor the kind of blind hatred for all black mages unrelated to demons that would darken her judgment.
—Come in.
A weary voice echoed from inside. Liv cautiously opened the door and stepped into a laboratory lined with stuffed dogs and various animal bones.
Professor Glatos sat in an armchair, reading a book.
It was the history text all freshmen were required to study—"The End of the Great War and the Prelude to the Small Wars."
"Sorry to interrupt your reading."
"No matter. You're an excellent student. Though lately, you've seemed distracted in my classes... but what of it? Is there a problem with my teaching methods? Or perhaps my attire is too flashy? I even consulted my colleague Roilen for advice, but she couldn't care less."
It was hard to tell if he truly didn't care or if he was deeply bothered.
He closed the book and rose from his chair.
A lanky giant over two meters tall. Combined with his black robe, it exuded an intimidating presence.
"It's quite strange, isn't it?"
"Pardon?"
"This history book. Don't you think vast swaths of it have been omitted?"
Liv reflexively answered the sudden question. It was mostly from lecture material.
"Ah, I heard that many records were lost when the royal library burned down postwar. Especially since the Holy Kingdom demanded the removal of details about the special forces they dispatched to Helzev as part of the armistice terms for the 'Small Wars' that followed the Great War..."
"No, no. That's not what I mean. It's something else entirely. The inquisitors you mentioned never even reached the heart of Helzev—the center of the demon realm. Yet everything that happened inside, especially the Demon King's demise, is recorded solely based on the testimony of one man: Count Whitelett."
"Isn't Margrave Whitelett the kingdom's strongest sword? There's no way falsehoods would come from his lips."
"Human lies have nothing to do with the color of one's soul. Anyway, to the point. What brings you here?"
Liv hesitated briefly before pulling a thin sheet of oiled paper from her pocket—the Litvice Test Paper.
Professor Glatos let out a small sigh of admiration upon seeing it.
"Where did you get this? From the north?"
"I can't disclose the source. But I want you to 'launder' this test paper for me."
"Yourself?"
"Yes."
Glatos took the charred test paper, held it to the light, and addressed Liv.
"It hasn't been discolored for long. But I don't recommend peeking into wavelengths meant for demon eyes."
"It's fine. I want to see it with my own eyes."
"......"
After a moment's hesitation, he gestured with his chin toward the chair he'd been using.
"Sit."
He prepared several reagents, immersed the Litvice Test Paper in them, heated the mixture, and explained.
"Coming to me was the right choice. Peering into another's psyche can cause side effects if the mana wavelengths differ too greatly."
"Symptoms like mental breakdowns or seizures, right?"
"Precisely. If you possessed karma as immense as this paper's owner, it would be different—but."
"......"
"You wouldn't have gotten a B+ in my class last year if that were the case."
"......Sorry."
"No need to apologize. It was still the highest score among my students."
Soon, a thick, murky liquid was complete.
As he handed it to Liv, Professor Glatos offered a caution.
"When manifesting a psyche through Litvice Test Paper, we observe a limited space from the observer's domain. But I've tweaked it this time—you'll possess the body of someone nearby with the most similar wavelength."
"Any other precautions?"
"The karma is overwhelmingly strong, so the manifested image will be noisy and lack realism. Once the laundering ends, the contents will fade like a dream, so prepare some notes."
"Yes. Got it."
Liv stared at the vial in her hand for a moment.
Drinking this would reveal the secrets of Louis—the canteen owner.
If he turned out to be a demon... Liv felt she could never forgive him.
"Ready?"
"Yes."
"Good, then."
Liv steeled herself and downed the entire contents.
And with Professor Glatos's words of "Sweet dreams"—she lost consciousness.
When does affection for another person fade?
When you see them in a repulsive, physiological light?
Or when their hypocritical side is exposed?
It's probably a similar feeling when a webnovel author who went MIA for over half a year claiming side stories finally returns.
"Welcome! This is the Pharenchia Academy canteen~!"
I racked my brain for ways to pry Adella away from the canteen, where she parked herself every other day.
She's a student herself, yet here she is hawking to her fellow cadets.
I hadn't taught her a lick of magic—not even responding to her calls—and bored, she was now selling the same staffs I'd given Professor Roilen a while back.
"This is an amazing magic staff—super high performance! Wanna buy one? My skills shot up after using it!"
"Adella... you?"
"Yep!"
A naive freshman bought the staff with a skeptical look, wondering if it was legit.
If it could boost Adella's skills—where she'd blow up the entire incantation trying to cast Fireball—it was tempting.
I wouldn't deny it boosted sales.
A shooting star of a beauty bouncing around like that? Predictable result.
And when class time came, students cleared out, and the canteen quieted, she'd sneak glances before sidling over.
Innocent or cunning as a fox, who could say.
"Teacherrr~. Teach me magic, pleeease."
"I told you, I don't know that stuff."
"Aww, c'mon. You know, that thing! Boom! Then whoosh! And kablam!!"
"Even if I taught you, you couldn't use it."
"Professor Vincent, who teaches basic elemental magic, says all magic converges on one law? Master the ultimate path, and you can use them all!"
I couldn't help but chuckle. The "ultimate path" was something only someone like Terra Ernisten could claim.
Probably just inspiring the green freshmen.
Anyway, I planned to chase Adella off.
When does affection fade? From my childhood experience, two cases stood out.
One: dealing with drunks. Two: when someone rambles about their past in an unrelatable way.
I poured a mug from the oaken beer keg and launched into a boring tale.
"Latte, back then, we couldn't even imagine learning magic from others like that."
"When was that?"
"The Great War, obviously. No academies—mages from towers barely learned basics before rushing to the front, figuring it out to survive."
"Whoa, even you, Teach?"
Adella knelt, eyes sparkling like she was hearing an old folktale, fixated on me.
'Why's she into this? Is it working?' I pressed on anyway.
A bit tipsy, and with hordes of mercenaries and knights in the war, as long as I avoided specifics like the hero party, her head wouldn't suspect much.
"Yep. Especially me—I didn't learn magic proper. Just made usable with comrades' help."
"What does that mean?"
To answer Adella, I grabbed a nearby magic scroll.
A 1st hierarchy lightning spell, Shock, embedded on parchment from Kano's workshop.
"Inject mana, and it activates. My body did that role."
"Never heard of that method."
"Not taught in academies."
Probably no magic tower taught it either.
Strictly, it was closer to shamanism than magic.
The hero's vessel far surpassed a mere human body.
Needing more than raw power in the demon realm, I had Terra craft twelve rituals, tattooed across my body via Nova.
Limited to three at once, but useful—no visible traces.
"Must've been great comrades."
Great? Naturally.
Scattered now, but on the battlefield, we were an unstoppable elite unit.
Demon hordes filling the skies fell to overwhelming firepower.
Wiping bloodied blades amid thanks from the suffering brought sighs of relief.
"Amazing. Baragal's Necromancer? Four Evils? Punching bags. We didn't win the war alone, but contributed our share."
"My family says the north's still tough..."
"You think demons weak 'cause you're safe. Field trip monsters'll make you get it."
Watching Adella's childlike innocence, I partly understood Professor Vincent's frustrations.
I kept spinning war yarns and minor adventures like a lecturing veteran—romanticized, dreamy.
Derailed from shooing her, my drunken mind babbled on.
Whatever—come tomorrow or not.
Draining my mug, lost in long-buried memories.
The world was shrouded in a veil. Ears deafened, vision blurred—nothing came clearly.
Her hand, slumped and pressing the ground, was soaked. The air choked her.
Twisted sight showed cracked red earth and pitch-black sky.
—Karma corrosion's begun. My unique magic path holds me, but without Eris's healing, we're done.
—Damn, demon energy buildup means we're near the Demon King's castle. Since when guided?
—Three days. Since fleeing Myeolak—trackers latched on.
—Decide fast. Head west now, we might break the encirclement.
Faint, stifled whispers, barely breaths.
Silence fell. Then Liv heard a familiar voice.
—No. We press on.
—What?
—Stopping means more deaths. Kartzen Basin's a bloodbath after the Holy Knights' wipeout. Better to advance.
—But karma buildup cripples white magic. Should've brought more holy water.
—One way: I'll take all your karma.
—You gone mad...!?
This was Louis's memory. What was he saying?
—You'll die like this! Already three unique magics active!
—You can make one now, right? Terra, kingdom's top mage.
—Louis!!!
Bickering ended in silence.
Heavy sword dragged across ground.
—It'll hurt.
—When doesn't it? Hurry. This body's a pain to cut every time—drives me nuts.
—Say when ready... Starting.
—I'm good. Wait—
Then, Liv noticed a figure approaching.
Something warm brushed her eyes—vision cleared for the first time.
"Why cry? What's wrong?"
"Sob... Sniff...!"
"Who made our saint cry? Confess quick."
"You, Louis. Look at yourself."
A dim cave.
Filthy bandages, rotting flesh, blood mixed with dirt strewn everywhere.
Inconceivable it all came from one person.
"Lu... Louis... Hic... Sh..."
"Yeah, me. Won't die from this—don't worry. Damn, Four Heavenly Kings hit hard. One black magic blast, days blind. Tears won't stop."
Streaming from sockets: not tears, bloody fluid.
Despite the name, gore-covered, unrecognizable.
One certainty:
"At least you're unhurt, Eris?"
The hand wiping her tears belonged to a boy barely past adolescence.