A Forged Identity and a Botched Recommendation
I bounded back to the inn and leaped straight onto the bed, rolling around wildly.
My head was filled with worries.
The North was an independent territory wielding the inherent power of a grand duchy.
But in the end, it was just a remote island cut off from the empire's heart.
What was next for the North's growth—and my own satisfaction? Politics.
No matter how steadily we climbed step by step, if pressure came from the vastly superior central powers, who knew what might happen down the line?
"Hmm…."
This recent failed raid was a close call too—if I hadn't spotted it in the nick of time, we'd have been in hot water right away.
I buried my head in the pillow to sort out my jumbled thoughts, and that's when I heard Yriel approaching my bed.
"Ruen, you need to wash up and get into bed."
"I already did?"
I whipped my head up to look at Yriel.
She had this baffled expression. Well, can you blame her? I'd jumped straight onto the bed the moment we entered the room.
Instead of explaining, I raised a finger and pointed it at her.
Clean spell.
A faint, transparent ripple shimmered at my fingertip.
—Whirr.
A subtle high-frequency hum tickled my eardrums.
Pale dust and mysterious stains lifted instantly from Yriel's robes, floating into the air.
Dust, sweat, bacteria—anything clinging to clothes or skin is held by electromagnetic forces on the surface.
The spell neutralized the van der Waals forces between contaminants and the surface using mana vibrations, shaking them loose.
"Ooh…!"
"You flop down too. I can tell Alric gave you an earful."
Yriel, who had been brushing off her now-pristine robe, dove under the covers at my words.
"It was tough. I had no idea the guard captain talks that much."
"Heh."
I couldn't help but chuckle in agreement.
I flipped over from my prone position, sat up properly, and resumed my pondering.
The info I had.
This era was 80 years before the original story, and I knew the fates of key future figures currently at the academy.
In a world of politics built on blood ties, regional connections, and school networks, the best move was for me to enroll and build those ties…
"Agh…."
But my identity was the problem.
To put it bluntly, Ruen was an orphan.
Sure, plenty of people could vouch for me—as the "mage of the North."
But with Alric's investigation underway, if it came out now that the flying carriage designer was in the capital…
The arrows of suspicion would point straight at me. Obvious.
"Gonna need to launder my identity…."
"Why's that?"
Yriel piped up, having overheard my muttering.
I turned to look. Her sparkling golden eyes were wide and bright.
How much could I trust this kid with?
In the end, I spilled my worries to her, skipping the core stuff tied to the original plot.
"If it's documents you need, I can whip up something suitable."
"How?"
"…I've done it plenty of times before."
She dodged my gaze suspiciously, but hey, I needed this.
"Then make me one too."
My debate over a new backstory dragged on until dawn.
From origins to a background explaining my magic knowledge, and a natural way to infiltrate the academy.
Yriel nodded at the finished profile.
"Alright, I'll be off then."
"Now?"
"Yes! It won't take long—go ahead and sleep."
I watched her slip out the window, then flopped back onto the bed.
What a tiring day. Sleep came easy.
"Yaaawn!"
I woke up stretching luxuriously, muscles pulling taut. Felt like I was gonna shoot up in height.
"Haaah…."
"Awake?"
Yriel, perched on the bed beside mine, handed me a sheet of paper.
[Identity Certificate]
Name: Ruen Eternno
Age: 19
Origin: Collateral descendant of the fallen noble house 'Eternno' from the Empire's North.
My first identity document in this world.
"Eternno? Never heard of 'em."
"Records show it's a barony wiped out completely. Dead men tell no tales, and tweaking a vanished house's genealogy is the easiest."
Yriel casually dropped that bombshell, adding,
"For your magic background, I set it as apprentice to a Northern mage like Kian. Rumors are spreading—should be all over in a week."
"Hm. Sounds solid."
The empire was littered with noble houses extinguished by war.
Slap a "hidden survivor" label on one, and even a guard captain like Alric digging into my origins wouldn't raise flags.
"As for the academy… I sent a recommendation as an invited lecturer first."
"Hmm…."
Invited lecturer.
The title felt so lightweight, unsatisfying.
A real man deserved at least professor.
"Whatever… fine."
We could build from there step by step.
I ran fingers through my bedhead and headed to the desk.
Pulled out stationery and a quill from the drawer, plopped onto the chair.
"Whatcha doing?"
"Gonna write something decent. What's the academy head like?"
As Yriel explained, I twirled the quill, mulling the opening line.
The empire's capital boasted Solarium Imperial Academy, the pinnacle of learning aggregating the world's knowledge.
Where the continent's geniuses gathered.
Naturally, its head was no ordinary figure.
Oswald von Dain was a mage.
A mage, knight, and brilliant artist.
Lauded as a sage, his vast knowledge had naturally placed him at the academy's helm.
"Hmm."
Oswald eyed two recommendations on his desk.
One from the Golden Light Magic Tower's master. The other had shattered his window unannounced.
The Tower Master, an Elmaster, typically shunned imperial politics.
For such a figure to send a personal recommendation was shocking enough—but the second was from no ordinary source either.
Oswald adjusted his glasses and reread it.
Ahem. Greetings.
I'm a hardworking mage from the North.
That's right, the guy who made those sky-flying carriages. Pretty amazing mage, huh?
I got a disciple here in the capital right now.
So, to give her some experience, I strongly recommend hiring her at your academy.
My disciple's a total powerhouse too—no loss for you guys.
That's it.
—BBG
Too short and casual for a recommendation.
But that very informality bred confidence in the mage's skill.
Northern mage, Kian's master.
Cross-checked with the letter from the tower—same handwriting.
The one mage shaking the magic world like never before.
Oswald set down the letter from him and stroked his beard.
"Heh… no choice, is there."
Recommendations from the tower's greatest pillar and this enigmatic great mage.
Impossible to ignore their weight.
As he added the name to the new semester's invited lecturers, he glanced at the Elmaster's identity certificate.
Ruen.
Young, sole survivor of an extinct noble house.
The North's known mage had just one disciple besides Kian: this "Ruen."
Kian was an academy alum. Never lost top of his year in three straight.
Destined for tower or court—yet he'd taken a gap for unknown reasons and headed North to serve his first master.
"Such a waste."
Oswald chuckled wryly.
If Kian had stayed, he'd have been his successor.
A master's dignity comes from their disciples. No word yet on this second one's caliber.
"Heh… whatever her skill, she'll make waves."
Oswald finished the paperwork and eyed the Northern mage's letter once more.
Somehow, same letters but right and wrong spellings mixed.
"Definitely on purpose."
To irk the reader—or just mischief. No doubt.
Truly a great mage. Oswald nodded, stroking his beard alone.
Though from the culprit's view…
'Ugh, how do you spell this again?'
It was just confusion.
She'd mixed it up figuring one version had to be right.