Chapter 306
Chapter 306
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 306
>Chapter Title: If It's Fate, I Have No Choice But to Follow
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From Cocartana to the Blandoga Family. And from Blandoga to Jenion Academy.
Time flew by in a flash.
The vacation that had felt endless finally drew to a close, and the second semester arrived.
The second semester was different from the first, just as I'd anticipated.
“I feel like... I'm gonna die.”
“Aster, do I really have to graduate from the academy...?”
Catching up on lessons, preparing for third-year coursework.
Chenbi and Evelyn grew more haggard with each passing day.
Evelyn insisted she had no need for an academy diploma, but I forced her to stay put anyway.
“The Magic Tower might go public soon. And its chief financial officer is a dropout from the basic track? You think that's okay?”
“Aren't you just saying, 'Let's die together'?”
Sharp as always.
“Fuck...”
What a way to take a compliment....
Truth be told, I wasn't holding her back just to make her suffer through the academy's tedium.
Well, that's not entirely untrue, but there's a bigger reason at play.
And what might that be?
A single remark from Senior Muspelrun.
- The times have changed.
I never lived through that era myself, so I can't say exactly what it was like, but his words still hit home.
The Magic Tower could wait another ten years to be built.
The money could come a year from now.
But.
The weary Chenbi and Evelyn, Damian practicing his spells with eyes sparkling suspiciously brighter than before vacation. And all the students streaming in and out of the academy.
This scene wouldn't exist a year from now. It would never return in a lifetime.
This irreplaceable moment.
That's why I wanted to share it....
“Nice, huh? Playing around while everyone else suffers.”
Ah, if you're jealous, go become a grand mage yourself.
In any case, holing up at the academy like this revealed a few things I hadn't noticed before.
First off.
“Um... this is kinda embarrassing. It's been ages since anyone's wished me happy birthday.”
“I had no idea. Chenbi's birthday is today!”
“Happy birthday, Chenbi.”
Chenbi's birthday fell right before midterms in the second semester.
Last year, I'd been too swamped to celebrate, but this time, the four of us gathered and cut a cake together.
Uncharacteristically, Chenbi smiled with tears welling up in his eyes.
“Thanks. I'll never forget this.”
He said his family had fallen on hard times after he started studying magic, and they hadn't properly celebrated in nearly ten years.
“Chenbi, this is my gift!”
“This is...”
“I'll give you a quarter of the floor space!”
Damian transferred a quarter of the Magic Tower floor I'd given him to Chenbi.
“Chenbi, try this on. Hope it fits.”
“...A robe?”
“Yeah, it's mass-produced, but it's from the Irekein Workshop. Comes with basic protection spells, insulation magic, and self-cleaning enchantments.”
Evelyn gifted him a brown robe that suited Chenbi perfectly.
Naturally, I wasn't about to be outdone.
“Picked this up.”
“...!”
It was one of the two 'Irekein Workshop Artifact Creation Rights' I'd pried from the principal senior back in the day.
For reference, the other one had already gone to Damian for his birthday during summer break.
“C-Can I really accept something this valuable?”
“Sure. Use it to make yourself a robe or whatever.”
“You're impossible....”
Chenbi shot me an exasperated look.
He even glanced at Evelyn, worried she might feel slighted, but surprisingly, her eyes were gleaming.
“Aster... My birthday's around the end of finals.”
“Oh yeah. Right, Evelyn's birthday is around the end of finals.”
“What are you gonna... get me for my birthday?”
“Shouldn't you be grateful just to make it out alive?”
“...”
Of course, even if I said that, I had a gift ready for Evelyn.
...Courtesy of my future self.
In any event, around the end of midterms in our second-year second semester.
Third Princess Bellrose came to see me.
“Aster, how'd the exams go?”
Ah, asking this 'grand mage' if he'd done well on basic-track tests.
“...Your face is seriously punchable right now.”
“Ahem.”
I cleared my throat awkwardly and looked away before asking.
“So, what brings you here...?”
“The thing I mentioned before. The Council of 72.”
I tilted my head.
‘The Council of 72?’
“You promised. To lend me your name—and your group's.”
Only then did I recall what the Council of 72 was.
A phantom organization standing in for the Magic Tower.
That was it exactly.
“Got a minute?”
“Of course.”
What reason would I have to say no?
This was about putting a ring in Third Princess Bellrose's nose—I'd make time even if I didn't have it.
Of course.
* * *
First things first, before my chat with Bellrose, I needed to refresh my memory on the Council of 72 in more detail.
‘Let's see... why 72 again?’
It might sound arbitrary, but I'd put real thought into the name.
So, why the Council of 72... Right, that was it.
1. An organization affiliated with grand mages.
2. The Council of 72, affiliated with grand mages.
I compared the two.
Which one sounded cooler?
It was a subtle nuance difference, but in my judgment, the latter crushed it.
Why?
Just think about it.
‘The Council of 72 that grand mages belong to—doesn't it just hit different?’
Say it's just 'some organization grand mages are in,' and the immediate reaction is, 'Okay, but what is it?'
But nail it down to the Council of 72.
Now what?
‘Whoa... a group formed by seventy-two grand mage-level badasses?’
One key detail here.
‘Under no circumstances can I be the leader.’
Because 'the Council of 72 led by a grand mage' just screams 'grand mage and a bunch of nobodies.'
It'd ruin the whole creative vibe....
That was exactly why Bellrose was checking with the leader about it. The leader was someone else.
“What's the leader say?”
“Well... 'Do whatever you want.'”
“Sounds like it'd be fine to borrow the Council of 72's name. Am I reading that right?”
We'd relocated to the principal senior's hideout.
I nodded casually at Bellrose's question.
Truth be told, the whole conversation was just scripted role-play.
I was the one who'd invented the Council of 72, after all, and Bellrose had to have her suspicions, even if she didn't know the full story.
But she wasn't pressing...
‘...It's better for her this way.’
If by some chance the Second Prince bought into the Council of 72's existence, nothing would give him more headaches from his perspective.
For the record, my rank in the Council of 72 was fourth.
An unheard-of secret society glommed onto the Third Princess? Fine. But a grand mage at a measly fourth place?
‘Man, I'd cry.’
It implied at least three others on par with—or stronger than—a grand mage.
Tch. She really does have a nasty streak.
‘Doesn't even think I'm a real grand mage, but parades me as one anyway. Pushes the fake knowing it's fake just to troll the Second Prince.’
If she'd been born a Decullan, she'd be the next patriarch, no question.
Of course.
Anyway, once she'd confirmed the leader's (i.e., my) stance, Bellrose launched into the real talk about what came next. Long story short:
1. Word's spread about her alliance with a grand mage, but skepticism is creeping in as time passes.
2. Outside voices? Easy to brush off. The problem's the murmurs from within her own faction.
So, the conclusion?
“This is our chance to silence the doubters...”
“Yeah. And make the Council of 72 official.”
Beyond quelling internal doubts, it was about firing up morale.
Bellrose paused there and fixed me with a stare, like she had more to say.
“I'm only inviting nobles from our faction. But plenty of uninvited guests will show up anyway.”
“Probably.”
Noble banquets always draw dozens of attendants just to serve. No matter how carefully you vet, rooting out every spy is next to impossible.
And...
‘...She doesn't even seem to want to try.’
Just look at her renting out a party hall in Hazen. If secrecy mattered, she'd have hosted it on one of her faction nobles' estates.
But no.
“So, what's the ask?”
“Well, if it's not too much trouble...”
Bellrose moistened her lips with her tea and hesitated. Her pause had me on edge too.
What was she building up to?
It didn't take long for her to speak.
“Could you put on a show of force?”
“A show of force?”
“Yeah. Your inauguration display was incredible, and I trust your abilities... but the other nobles might not.”
I got why she was being so careful.
Basically this:
‘They don't buy that I'm full grand mage tier... but she needs a show of force, so she's worried.’
No show at all? Fine. But a half-baked one would scream fake.
And one more thing.
‘Faction still on shaky ground, huh?’
I'd heard she'd been bulking up her group lately.
But it looked like she hadn't fully reined in the new nobles yet.
“Think you can pull it off?”
I couldn't help but snort at her question.
‘Can I?’
She calling this a question?
My answer was set in stone.
“Of course.”
It just... pains the heart a little.
A society that glorifies violence... a reality where even peace-lovers like me end up clenching their fists.
But what can you do?
‘If it's fate, I have no choice but to follow.’
I flexed my itching fist and asked.
“How?”
“Whatever works for you. Just keep my people out of harm's way.”
In other words, she was counting on my creativity....
My creative juices were bubbling over for the first time in ages.
...And like that.
A few days passed as I nursed my boiling inspiration.
The banquet night arrived.
“Let's see...”
Before stepping into the venue, I gave my outfit one final check.
‘Elevator shoes... good.’
Ah, still growing taller these days. The elevator shoes were insurance for my future self.
‘Suit... sharp.’
A custom all-white tuxedo.
And finally...
‘Mask... yep, functioning perfectly.’
A half-mask emblazoned with a '4' on the forehead, enchanted with perception jamming and voice alteration.
Just as I finished my inspection.
“...Junior, where the hell is this? You said you were treating me to a meal.”
I flashed a grin at my masked companion—Senior Myselrn, the 'Cutting Gale Spirit Master'... or rather, some random Council of 72 member.
“Isn't food at someone else's party always the tastiest?”
Plus, rolling solo in a mask would've looked lame.
“Let's head in. Food's gonna get cold.”
I started walking, watching the nobles and their attendants file into the venue.
Myselrn senior eyed me with a dubious look before following along.
“But, junior.”
“Yeah?”
“Does the '8' slapped on my forehead mean anything?”
“Oh, that.”
It marked him as eighth in the Council of 72.
Mine was fourth, for the record.