Chapter 89: A Magnificent Spectacle (1)
It had been a full ten years now.
Enet huddled in a corner of the capital's streets. She had no knack for pickpocketing, extortion, or violence. She still owed tribute to the gang boss and had earned not a single coin.
A carriage rumbled past. Peering from its window was a child who looked about three or four years old, playing with a toy soldier, one hand outstretched. Enet watched blankly. Three or four years younger than her, perhaps. That child would live a life untouched by hardship. Resentment, bitterness, and misery welled up inside her.
"Huh?"
Suddenly, the child dropped the toy soldier out the window. Enet seized the moment. A noble's castoff would surely buy the gang's leniency. The carriage halted belatedly, but the toy was already in her grasp. She bolted—or tried to. She hadn't taken a single step before soldiers seized her.
"I threw it on purpose. Let her go."
The child had climbed down from the carriage and spoke in clear, precise tones. Nobles even sounded different. Enet flattened herself to the ground, at a loss.
"Where's your home?"
A noblewoman who had followed asked. Unlike the pale, frail ladies of the court, she was sturdy, dressed in trousers. Her eyes were sharp, her features strong, though her jaw tapered finely.
"......"
"Cat got your tongue? Can't you speak?"
"I... don't have a home."
"Then why not come with us?"
Was it her imagination? The noblewoman's voice felt warm. Just then, fireworks burst over the distant royal castle—a yearly display for the grand banquet. For the first time, fireworks from a world apart from hers seemed to shine for her alone. Enet remembered their color: crimson, like a sunset glow.
Slowly, she raised her hand. The crowd's gazes followed her fingertips. Flames gathered there, flickering, then soared into the air. They scattered like dandelion seeds, fragments oxidizing into nothingness before touching the ground. It was a beautiful fireworks display.
"Impossible......"
Marcel Reich, dean of the Royal Academy's magic faculty, couldn't tear his eyes from Enet. A genius was a blessing in itself—a limit ordinary folk could never reach, yet one the gifted surpassed by a handspan. The old dean, who had devoted decades to magic education, thirsted for such prodigies. Now, amid burning thirst, he had tasted cool spring water.
A child without a single circle, manifesting fire like that...
He felt it keenly, having taught countless students. The mediocre were legion, the talented a handful, geniuses permitted by the gods alone. To him, Enet bore that divine favor. Summoning flames without incantation meant mastery of the ancient language. Reproducing sunset hues implied precise temperature control via mana—exceptional mana mastery. Even adult mages struggled to levitate gaseous flames; shattering them into a fireworks burst was a stroke of genius beyond compare.
With such talent, rumors would have spread. Yet I've heard nothing.
Reihi murmured her name: Enet, the mage representing Isaac von Goethe's eldest son. No family mentioned.
It matters not—prodigy, commoner, noble. She's a treasure.
His eyes gleamed. He would take her as disciple, raise the kingdom's greatest mage. His own name would echo through history as her master. The thought startled him. Such ambition in himself? Enet's talent was that astonishing.
Not just Reihi stood awestruck by her display. The crowd in the Great Hall did too. Beltran especially couldn't look away, his face flushed crimson.
Not just Reihi stood awestruck by her display. The crowd in the Great Hall did too. Beltran especially couldn't look away, his face flushed crimson.
Until her performance, Beltran had steeled himself grimly. He would prove his worth—as next head of house, deserving more support despite being the second son, not the firstborn of Buhitner. Watching Felix's display, he vowed to surpass it. He was confident.
But Enet's magic shattered that certainty like smoke. Such beauty he'd never seen—not from peers or even adult competitions.
What flustered him more was her face. The girl who ambushed his carriage in Bernsi as an Akandrauper recruit. He remembered striking her head with his staff; when he awoke, he was back at the family estate. Servants said the Bernsi-bound Akandraupers never arrived. Bernsi had fully submitted to Goethe Manor; great houses purged. The requesting marquis had knelt to Count Goethe.
That girl Isaac's proxy?
Chaos gripped him. Then Goethe halted the Akandraupers, raising this monstrous mage? She felled seven of eight without kills—veteran mages and scholars among them. Beltran was convinced: her skill made it plausible.
How far did the connections run? Headache mingled with strange excitement. In this academy-dean-witnessed contest, one recommendation letter meant cheap entry. For a second son denied support, it opened a golden path—no more mercenary drudgery like Akandrauper.
But now, he shoved those thoughts aside. His gaze fixed solely on Enet atop the dais. Crowd murmurs and sighs faded; only his pounding heart remained.
One question burned: What stirred him so? The flames' beauty, or hers?
Neatly braided dark brown hair, long narrow eyes. Small pointed nose. Their eyes met—or seemed to—and his breath caught.
At last, he realized: the flames merely enhanced her beauty.
"Beltran, second son of the Buhitner family, perform your demonstration."
"......"
"Beltran, second son of the Buhitner family! Perform your demonstration!"
"......"
"Y-Young master?"
His servant nudged him. Beltran snapped to; the dais stood empty. Enet and her flames long gone. Only her afterimage lingered in his mind.
"It's your turn, young master."
"Y-Yes! It's me. Beltran von Buhitner."
Tittering rippled through the crowd at his dazed tone. No one anticipated his magic. Two prior displays had exceeded expectations; their tastes elevated, they ignored him. The firstborn Buhitner, academy alumnus, might draw notice—but not the second son. Beltran knew his place.
I'll show them properly this time.
Hardening his resolve, he ascended the dais. Enet might be watching. He would unleash his full potential—for her impression, for his proof.
Stage 1 mana condensation. Far more mana than Felix or Enet gathered, a sphere enveloping his body hovering in air.
"Oh ho."
The dean, cooling his excitement against a pillar post-Enet, now craned forward.
"Buhitner's second son packs this much?"
"Heard he reached 1st Class quasi-level. Didn't expect this."
"2nd Class soon, maybe?"
Beltran dominated by sheer volume. The mana sucked ambient moisture from the Great Hall, compressing into one point: compression, condensation, expansion, evaporation. He navigated each arduous step.
Crackle— Frost crept up from the mana sphere's base.
"Ice magic in a contest."
"First time for one that huge."
"Glacier?"
"A glacier at his age."
An ice mass dwarfing Beltran formed. His face reddened, forehead veins bulging. He scraped his vessel's remnants.
Creeeak— The condensed mana froze solid.
Thud— Bluish ice crashed down with a boom, shattering into spraying shards.
Quite the rare sights today.
Reihi clicked his tongue. Of thousands he'd taught, barely a hundred earned "talented"; fewer than ten, "genius." True geniuses appeared once every few years. Yet this contest yielded two: Felix talented, Enet and Beltran certifiable geniuses.
"Hah—hah—"
Beltran clutched his knees, panting roughly. Nosebleed from overexertion.
"Young master!"
His servant rushed up, dabbing with a handkerchief.
Stable elemental structure too.
Reihi picked a shard. Even post-cast, the ice held form.
Thunderous applause erupted.
"What a contest today."
"Can't rank them."
"Still partial to the girl's fireworks."
Onlookers buzzed excitedly. Beltran scanned faces, hoping for Enet. None.
"Carlos, eldest of Ripe house. Perform."
"I forfeit."
Schrader, unperturbed, marked his parchment.
"Next: Yonas, second son of Goethe house. Perform."
Striding up. In the crowd, Isaac doffed his robe hood. Unrecognized externally due to the wolf king's rune stone. Eyes met Yonas's; Isaac nodded. Yonas returned it. He would show his brother his finest magic.