Chapter 43
Chapter 43
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 43
>Chapter Title: What a Mischievous Bastard
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Pahren von Decullan.
The patriarch of the Decullan Family, the greatest magical dynasty on the Eastern Continent.
His arrival sent ripples through the already chaotic atmosphere of the academy.
“The Decullan patriarch is here at the academy?”
“Really?”
With classes fully suspended, the academy students wandering aimlessly pricked up their ears at the news of this rare visitor.
“Double-check the defenses.”
“Not a single lapse in vigilance.”
The imperial knights dispatched from the Empire drilled the soldiers into perfect readiness.
Even the parents visiting injured students craned their necks toward the commotion outside, but the imperial soldiers maintained strict control over the academy grounds.
The wandering students were no exception.
Amid all this.
Clop, clop.
A single carriage traversed the center of the academy's main avenue.
Its exterior was nothing special.
Just your typical noble family's carriage, adorned with unassuming decorations—neither extravagant nor plain.
The carriage proceeded down the road lined with imperial soldiers at a steady pace, neither fast nor slow.
How far had it traveled?
Neigh, neigh.
The horses let out soft whinnies.
The carriage came to a stop at the Sage's Pavilion, located at the very heart of the academy.
This was the residence of successive headmasters since the academy's founder—the absolute core of the institution.
“…….”
The academy's professors gathered to receive it.
Leading them was Headmaster Schubertz.
Behind him stood the professors from the basic classes, while knights encircled the open space.
Though more professors were present in the academy, only those involved in the Tower of Trials incident had assembled here.
The Decullan patriarch.
No one knew why he had chosen this moment to visit the academy, but they assumed it related to the Tower of Trials matter.
On the other side.
“…….”
Only the coachman was there.
Despite arriving at the academy, the carriage door showed no sign of opening.
Yet no one present waited for someone to step out from inside.
They all knew.
Jet-black hair.
A man lounging casually against the carriage, loosely holding the reins—a coachman exuding an air of refined elegance.
He was Pahren von Decullan.
The Decullan patriarch.
A thick, icy silence settled between the two sides.
Amid it.
‘…….’
Headmaster Schubertz gazed at the man before him with eyes gleaming with interest.
‘So this young punk is the current Decullan patriarch.’
Was it fame? Or infamy?
This was their first meeting face-to-face, but Schubertz had heard plenty about him.
A man who, at the age of thirty, had earned the title of Grand Mage—a distinction reserved for those at the pinnacle of magic.
A once-in-a-generation genius said to possess demonic talent.
Yet what was even more widely known than his brilliant gifts was the surge in the Decullans' villainy since he took over as patriarch.
A true giant of evil.
Still, it was impossible to verify the rumors at their first encounter.
One thing, however, was unmistakable.
‘Quite the... mischievous bastard.’
Even stepping onto academy grounds, he refuses to touch the dirt.
‘All are equal before learning.’
Even royalty dirtied their own shoes under the founding headmaster—the Sage's—teachings.
It was an act of supreme arrogance, yet no one could challenge it.
The Decullan patriarch.
One of the absolute peaks, bearing the title of Grand Mage.
‘He sits on the coachman's perch himself, humbly gripping those shabby reins. Who could object?’
It trampled the academy's traditions under the horses' hooves while leaving no room for counterargument.
And it gained no political advantage either.
Pure and simple...
‘Bad taste. Yes, nothing but bad taste.’
He had to be someone whose guts were twisted in every direction.
And yet, that inscrutable dignity radiating from his expression and aura.
Schubertz's final impression of Pahren was this:
‘A dangerous one.’
You could never fully trust a guy like this, even as an ally. And as an enemy? Far from reassuring.
The worst as a friend, but an utter nightmare as a foe.
Something beyond human.
He thought that far when.
“So, Patriarch. What brings you to the academy?”
Schubertz broke the heavy silence.
But the Decullan patriarch, Pahren, simply stared at him without reply.
After a moment.
“Hmm...”
The patriarch stroked his chin.
“......Not yet.”
His low voice was utterly inscrutable.
Not yet what?
Doubt spread through the gathered crowd. But Pahren gave it no chance to grow.
“I've heard the news. The Tower of Trials got overrun by some vermin, right?”
Schubertz glared at Pahren without responding.
‘This guy...’
Impossible to read his intentions.
The Tower of Trials takeover.
The intruders' identities remained officially unknown.
Yet both the imperial investigators and the professors had their suspicions.
Decullan. That name surely lurked somewhere behind it all.
Hence the imperial knights' and academy's hyper-sensitive reaction to what might seem a minor visit from the Decullan patriarch.
Moreover—
Schubertz himself knew the truth behind it.
‘Bimar.’
The fanatical devotees loyal to Decullan—that was their identity.
Unverified as yet, but with the Empire's investigative might, the full picture would emerge in days at most.
The Decullans had so many shadowy underlings bowing their heads that it would have taken time regardless—but pinpoint one, and it was child's play to root out.
So what was the point of this brazen proclamation? Utterly baffling.
Whatever his intent.
“Patriarch, did you come all this way just to spout nonsense?”
Schubertz shed a layer of his headmaster facade and grinned ferociously.
Mana surged wildly in all directions.
Even the professors behind him paled slightly.
“As if.”
“Then?”
The Decullan patriarch deflected the pressure with nonchalant ease, then answered Schubertz's question with action.
Flick.
A casual twitch of his index finger.
Crunch, crack.
The antique carriage emblazoned with the Decullan crest unraveled like it was being dismantled.
“......!”
The imperial knights drew swords in an instant, but only Pahren, Schubertz, and the professors remained calm.
Once the carriage fully disassembled.
“Take a look inside.”
The Decullan patriarch nodded toward the wooden crates packed within.
“Headmaster.”
“Go ahead.”
With Schubertz's permission, one knight approached the carriage.
As he reached for one of the stacked crates.
“Open the largest one.”
The Decullan patriarch added.
The knight glanced at him briefly, checked the protective artifact, then flung open the biggest, most ornate crate.
Right then.
“......!”
The knight's eyes bulged as if he'd witnessed the impossible.
Schubertz frowned and demanded.
“Report. What's inside?”
“It’s...”
The knight stammered, unable to continue.
That was when the Decullan patriarch's voice rang out.
“I was worried you wouldn't recognize the face, but looks like you do. Lucky.”
Casual tone.
“The academy seemed clueless, so the main house stepped up. We caught the vermin who attacked. And...”
But what followed was far from casual.
“That head belongs to their ringleader, you could say. The Bimar patriarch.”
Those words carried heavy implications.
The wooden crates stacked high in the carriage.
Their size made the contents obvious enough.
“......”
“......”
A profound, icy silence descended.
The Decullan patriarch was declaring:
That he had personally beheaded the heads of vassal families sworn to his own house.
Around thirty crates.
Enough to wipe out the Bimars' direct and collateral lines entirely.
* * *
A building near the Sage's Pavilion.
Aster perched on the rooftop, overlooking the professors' meeting with Pahren.
‘......’
Too far for sound, but the scene was crystal clear.
Knights shouting something at the carriage. Professors staring stonily at Pahren.
Meanwhile, the headmaster had half-dropped his mask, locking eyes with him.
‘So he beheaded the Bimars after all.’
A bold move.
But thinking of Pahren from his past life, nothing special.
A cold-blooded man who’d extend a hand even to those who’d grind his own bloodline if it elevated Decullan.
That was Pahren's essence.
Vassals who nearly handed his enemies cause to tear Decullan apart? Chopping their heads was trivial.
However.
‘Far too convenient.’
He’d leaked the Bimar intel to the headmaster just this dawn.
At latest, truth confirmed within a month—then the Empire, Dinai, Blandoga, and other aggrieved families would unite to crush them.
That wrath wouldn’t stop at the Bimars.
It would reach their head: Decullan.
Surely.
Yet here, so neatly, today of all days?
‘Should I call it good fortune? Or are you pathologically meticulous?’
Or perhaps...
His eyes swept the professors.
But only briefly.
‘Nah, doesn’t matter.’
Aster quickly shelved the thought.
The ideal scenario: Empire, great houses, and families allying to shred Decullan.
But ultimately, a nice bonus—nice if it happened, no loss if not.
Thus...
‘No risk, high reward.’
He’d stayed hands-off to avoid skyrocketing risks, so no regrets here.
But Aster hadn’t climbed here for that alone.
‘......’
Sharp eyes scanning Pahren.
He couldn’t probe with mana sense—too risky for detection—but sensing the man’s presence required no such thing.
For one simple reason.
From the moment he entered the academy until now, Pahren had never concealed his presence.
No—in fact, he flaunted it.
Not inflated or posturing, just raw, as if to say, *Behold*.
And that presence was...
Monstrous.
Eons stretched before Aster claimed the title of strongest ever.
How could it be this vicious already?
Yet why...
‘Pahren...’
A thick smile crept across Aster's lips.
‘You’re human after all.’
As time regressed and Aster weakened, so had Pahren—nay, more so.
The unfathomable had become a merely towering mountain.
‘Not yet, though...’
Merely not yet.
‘This life, I might just wring your neck.’
Aster thought that far, then turned away.
One leap skipped the building; before three more, he vanished into the distance.
By the time he reached the temporary dorm for injured students.
“......Damn it.”
Lunchtime was over.