Neriel Marit (1): Heir to the Scales

Neriel Marit. The Timber of the Scales. A moniker for the Magic Tower lord, dubbed the Scales. It was a title given in the belief that she would one day claim that seat. The words captured her essence perfectly while serving as the symbol upholding her pride. And it was no exaggeration.

Others took a year to awaken to insights she grasped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in as little as a month—or a week at the fastest. To Neriel Marit, her peers were little more than stepping stones, ignorant fools to trample underfoot. Especially since she held such a profound sense of belonging and honor to the mage profession, she didn't even spare a glance at kids who weren't mages.

"Ugh... To think I lost to that damn ape..."

But the day arrived when this girl tasted the bitterness of defeat for the first time in her life. And to a swordsman no less—the very type she despised most.

The massive incident from the inter-class competition two days ago had long faded from her mind. All that lingered now was the humiliation from that stadium and the stinging aftereffects of her crushing loss, robbing her of sleep.

"I had it in the bag!"

If it had been an overwhelming gap in power, she might not have felt so wronged. After all, there was no superhuman among her age group who could dominate a solid fifth-circle mage like her. Still, had she felt a clear chasm in strength, she might have taken someone's advice to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠heart: "The world is vast." A small epiphany, perhaps.

But no—she'd seized the momentum, only to get clocked by a mere pommel and knocked out cold! Thanks to that, she hadn't even gone to the academy yesterday. The fear of facing the stares from her classmates—the ones she'd always looked down on—after they'd witnessed her shameful defeat with their own eyes.

Beep. Rrring!

"Ugh...!"

A sound that fanned her fears into flames. Her face twisted like she'd spotted a cockroach. It came from the communication orb by her bedside—a high-end magitech device issued to Iferia Dorm residents, capable of video calls. But right now, it felt utterly repulsive.

"Haa."

She considered ignoring it but gave up and placed her hand on the orb. There was only one person who'd contact her hot-tempered self anyway. And that one person was the absolute authority even the great Neriel Marit couldn't defy.

Maybe that goblin of a woman even knew she was hesitating to answer. Better to pick up quick and dispel any misunderstandings—for her own good.

"Hello...?"

"—Kuhuhuhu!"

Scratch that. The familiar face in the orb and that eerie, rage-inducing laugh flipped her thoughts in a single second.

"—Long time no see, my disciple. Eating well?"

"Cut the crap. Why are you calling, you damn master?"

Her purple hair was a deeper shade, tied long down her back, with black-red eyes. Her gaze held a serpentine allure, yet her tone brimmed with cheer and mischief. Neriel shot back at the woman asking after her with a voice like icy frost.

Yes. The figure on the other end was her one and only master—the current lord of the Magic Tower, called the Scales. Amelia Luminis.

"—How rude. Your master calls first in ages, and that's how you talk?"

"Who asked you to call first?"

"—But if I don't, who'll check on our lonely little disciple?"

"......"

Neriel couldn't retort to her master's casual barb. She'd been infamous for keeping to herself back at the tower. And Amelia, her sole confidante, knew it better than anyone—no room for denial.

"...So why'd you call? You're not just checking in."

Possible, sure, but the timing was too perfect. She didn't want to say it first, so she steered the talk elsewhere.

"—Pfft! You really that clueless, or pretending not to know?"

Her oblivious master's blatant taunt snapped Neriel's patience.

"Hanging up. I'm smashing this orb, so don't call again."

"—Whoa, wait! Fine, I'll be straight—hold on!"

"Tch."

A second slower, and that orb would've been pulverized against the wall. Master's got the world's fastest pivots, she thought, clicking her tongue.

"—Truth is, I heard our disciple got utterly crushed by a classmate in the inter-class bout. Thought I'd tease you."

"Oh?"

"—Don't touch that orb! I was honest!"

"Your honesty pisses me off more."

Honesty's a virtue, sure, but timing matters. Pouring salt on wounds fresh from that defeat?

Still, she couldn't smash it. Not just the academy rental fee—her strength just drained away.

"—So, how's it feel? Like your lofty master said, the world's wide, right?"

"Not really. If it'd been a clean loss, maybe. But it was paper-thin. My skill's still superior."

"—Ah, so you got careless against someone you should've beaten. Lame excuse."

"......"

Staring at her master's effortless venom, Neriel was struck anew: This is my master, alright. Amelia Luminis was like that—cheerful and kind on the surface, until you crossed a line. Then ice-cold. Neriel's excuse had just tripped it.

"...I was just pissed off. Don't take it so seriously."

"—Hmm, hmm! I'll be magnanimous then. Everyone slips up."

She forgave readily if you owned your shame.

"—So, how's your first loss to a peer?"

"Sucks, straight up. Never wanna feel it again."

"—But it sparked a hunger to get stronger, yeah? You've been plateauing since the academy."

"...You know me too damn well. It's creepy."

"—I'm your master."

She brushed it off, but Neriel knew it too. Not just post-enrollment—even at the tower, complacency had slowed her. Grasping in days what took others months or years bred boredom. No need to push; I'll surpass her someday. Unspoken, but there.

She'd come to the academy on advice: "See the wider world beyond magic. Meet your betters." But peers here were ants, inflating her superiority—until one guy shattered it. Good or bad, didn't matter.

"Next time we meet, I'll crush him so hard his tricks won't work. Not dwelling on it."

"—Train hard till then."

"Dunno if I need to... but no reason not to. Wanna make him feel the gap."

"—That's the spirit."

Her master's grinning face oddly resembled that guy's right before blackout—fanning her ire. She suppressed it, pressing on.

Knock. Knock-knock.

A hesitant, sluggish knock.

"Hold on. Maid, probably."

"—Hang up?"

"Nah. Just snacks, bet."

Neriel, guessing the visitor, let her stay. The door cracked open. In stepped a familiar maid uniform: Chloe, Iferia staff and her personal attendant now.

"Pardon the intrusion, Miss Neriel."

"What? Make it quick—I'm busy."

Chloe stayed unfazed by the prickliness; Amelia, listening via orb, just facepalmed: That temper...

"Actually, a student named Aren asked me to relay a message."

"...Aren?"

Neriel frowned. Aren—that ape's name, right? Wrong approach, but the sole freshman etched in her mind.

What does he want? She'd assumed he died charging to "save" his master when the Spirit King's fragment appeared. Guess he survived the hospital trip. Not great news, but the message mattered more.

"What'd he say?"

"Yes. Per his request, I'll read it."

Chloe fished a crumpled paper from her pocket, unfolded it, cleared her throat.

Deadpan, Chloe nailed his infuriating tone with chilling skill. But Neriel wasn't the one who reacted...

"—Slave?! Has our disciple picked up new tastes at the academy?!"

"......!"

Amelia, watching live via orb. Neriel realized too late, lunging—but

"—Don't worry, disciple! This stays off tower records—just your master's little secret! Uh... nothing too intense! I'll visit soon!"

Click.

Before she could ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stop it, Amelia—reacting like a parent catching their kid's first solo flight—cut the call.

Stuck with unwanted "mercy," Neriel...

"That rotten ape bastard!!"

...snatched the paper from Chloe's hand and incinerated it in one go, venting her nowhere-to-go rage.

It was spring.