Chapter 29
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 29
Chapter Title: Like Master, Like Disciple
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Imperial Academy.
The continent's premier educational institution, established under the pretext of nurturing the talents who would shoulder the Empire's future. A cradle for elites... or so they say.
'A school, huh...'
To be honest, nothing like this existed back in my day. I don't want to pull the "back in my day" card like some old fogey, but what can you do? It's the truth.
Our places of learning weren't schools—they were battlefields. The very definition of education was different. It wasn't about grades; it was survival instinct. Not theory, but killing techniques.
Instead of textbooks, we learned anatomy by flaying demons and their hides. Instead of sparring grounds, we honed our survival instincts in trenches reeking of rotting corpses.
Professors? No such thing. Survive, and you graduate. Die, and you drop out. The curriculum was simple.
"Survive. By any means necessary. It's not vile—it's clever."
That was the sole lesson and school rule from 500 years ago.
"......"
Of course, even if I lived through an era of war, I have no intention of romanticizing that barbaric age. True learning should happen safely, without lives on the line.
A world where kids grip swords before pens is nothing short of hell.
But.
"Hey, Kasian."
Erendel, her robe pulled low over her face, jabbed my side with her staff.
"Take a look over there."
"What."
"Is this a school? Or a group therapy session? Even a matchmaking service wouldn't have this heavy vibe."
She nodded toward the garden.
There, cadets in uniform—guys and girls—clustered in groups of three or five, laughing and enjoying tea time. Magic staves lay abandoned like props beside benches as they held hands and exchanged gooey glances.
"Not a single one coughing up blood from mana backlash. Just lovesick fools blushing up a storm everywhere you look."
Erendel let out a disbelieving scoff.
"Feels like my all-nighters on basic magic theory have turned into a primer on pickup lines. Am I imagining it?"
"No illusion. Spot on."
I smacked my lips bitterly.
Peace is good. But prolonged peace breeds sloth, and sloth invites rot.
Greenhouse flowers? Fine. But outside it's a brutal -40 degrees. If that glass shatters, how long could those blooms last? A second?
"I thought a peaceful school wasn't so bad, as long as it didn't go rotten."
"Not bad? If that curse hits and war breaks out, half those kids drop dead on the spot, the other half fleeing to their graves."
"......"
Couldn't argue with that.
"Still, it's the Empire's one and only academy. Among the fourth-years, there must be a gem or two."
"What's the point of fancy facilities if the users are the problem?"
Erendel grumbled, clearly still miffed. Then, as if remembering something, she rummaged inside her robe.
"Whatcha doing?"
"Oh, just checking the cake."
A glimpse of a massive package—three-tiered cake box wrapped in fancy ribbon—poked from her bosom.
Wait, how'd she hide that? Subspace pouch?
"For that precious disciple of yours?"
"Yeah, my Yuria."
"Why'd you give her your family name? You're always calling humans short-lived pests."
"She was an orphan without parents. What's wrong with using my name? Jealous?"
Erendel played it cool, but her lips were already twitching toward her ears. The fierce edge from trash-talking the students earlier? Gone. She looked like a grandma visiting her grandkid.
"But seriously, why so many gifts? Cake aside, what's else you got?"
"Top-grade ink, a quill set, and this is pocket money. Stuffed it with plenty of gold coins..."
"Hey, hey. Ease up. You're embarrassing yourself."
I clicked my tongue.
"She doesn't even know who we are. We're undercover inspectors. Random shady palace uncle and auntie show up with this haul? She'd just suspect bribery."
"Auntie?! Say sis!"
Erendel bristled, puffing out her lips.
"B-But! I missed her entrance ceremony. Gotta make up for it before graduation! Never properly mentored her as a master. Just nagged via letters, never petted her head in person."
"Anyone'd think she's your own daughter."
"Shut it. You emotionless rock wouldn't get this affection."
"Who more human than me? And... a kid raised under you—normal?"
I eyed her suspiciously.
"At least a personality case."
"What a thing to say! My disciple's sweet and delicate!"
Passing through the academy's main gate, Erendel raised her voice.
"From some backwater northern village, so her accent's rough, but she's a gentle lamb at heart. I drilled etiquette into her at the tower. She wouldn't dare step on an ant."
"Etiquette? You? The one who meteors ants?"
"Why the shade? Anyway!"
She sighed worriedly.
"Bound to be down, being ahead of her time. How much shit must these flashy academy brats give her for gravity magic? Probably huddled in some corner classroom, sobbing alone. I'm worried."
Total tragic heroine vibes.
'Dunno...'
A chill unease hit me as I gazed up at the academy.
This gut feeling usually nailed it.
"Let's go see. We're here now. We'll know if you're right."
Screeech.
The carriage ground to a heavy halt.
The moment my feet hit the ground, countless stares pierced like arrows. From students and professors gathered at the garden and main building entrance.
"Look at that carriage... imperial crest."
"Those the rumored special inspectors?"
"Vibe check: both look scary as hell."
Students buzzed with curiosity; professors sweated bullets in tension. Their desperate plea not to nitpick anything hung thick in the air.
Good thing we kept identities hidden.
I hardened my face into max grumpy-inspector mode, staring straight ahead. A middle-aged man came panting down the carpeted entrance path.
"Oh dear! Welcome, sirs! Long journey must've been tiring!"
The chancellor dabbed his brow with a handkerchief, bowing excessively.
"I'm Berios, chancellor of this academy. Honored to meet the imperial special inspectors."
Professors behind him bowed in unison.
"....."
Even in a crumbling empire, the imperial name still carried weight. Or...
'They've got mountains of dirt to hide.'
Whatever. I'm no trash collector—I'm a miner hunting pearls in the mud.
"We've prepared a modest welcome tea. To the chancellor's office for a cup and school intro..."
"Skip the tour. Not here to sightsee."
I cut him off.
"Not sure if you grasp the palace crisis, but every minute counts."
No time to waste. I brushed past the chancellor, heading straight for the podium. He and the profs parted like the Red Sea in panic.
Atop the podium, the entire student body filled my view. I tapped the magic amplifier.
"Ahh..."
Voice echoed fine. Working order.
"Attention."
Hubbub vanished instantly.
"I am the inspector bearing His Majesty's orders. No fluff—straight to it. Recent northern threats and internal rebellions have left the palace short on talent."
I scanned the students slowly.
"Thus, for this graduation, we'll select imperial direct affiliates right here."
"S-Select?!"
"Direct palace? Holy shit!"
Students' eyes shifted. Palace direct meant express lane to success.
"Conditions simple."
I raised one hand.
"One: No birth matters. Duke's son, farmer's kid, miner—don't care."
Murmurs swelled. Nobles scowled; commoners gaped in disbelief.
"Two: Family wealth, donations ignored. No buying spots. Bring bribes, lose a hand on the spot."
Professors paled.
"Finally, no quota. Could be one, all, or none."
I slammed the podium.
"Pure skill. Strip ranks and names—who survives? Pass our bar, and post-graduation, you're palace-bound. With wealth, honor, elite perks."
Hot ambition boiled up. Especially back-row commoners and low nobles—their eyes gleamed.
I drove the nail home.
"Prove it."
I met their gazes.
"If you're delicate flowers or weeds worth keeping."
The meritocracy academy curtain rose.
Speech wrapped at a good pitch; students dispersed to classrooms, buzzing with excitement.
The chancellor approached, mopping sweat nonstop.
"Truly... a bold address, inspector. Student morale must be through the roof."
Forced smile, bootlicking hard.
"But ignoring birth might rile noble parents..."
"Chancellor."
Snipped it.
"Y-Yes!"
"Tell complainers to see me. I'll chat personally—ask how they raised a kid prizing name over skill."
My glare shut him up.
"R-Right! The palace vision is profound! Haha!"
"Enough chatter."
I side-eyed Erendel fidgeting beside me. Barely holding back from bolting inside.
"Escort us. Got a student to meet."
"Student...? We've prepped the top scholars list..."
He reached for parchment. Probably prof-fave noble kids.
"Don't need paper. We'll check ourselves."
"Who...?"
I spoke for Erendel.
"Fourth-year. Grad class."
"Pardon?"
"Yuria von Erendel."
His eyes bugged out like he'd heard a bomb's name.
"Y-Yuria...?"
"What. Dropped out?"
"No! She's enrolled, but... quite the unique case..."
He trailed off, sweating profusely.
"Where is she?"
"Probably... old building rear storage—no, personal lab. Doesn't mesh with others..."
"Storage?"
Erendel's brow twitched. Temp plummeted.
"You stuck my—no, that prized talent in a storage shed?"
"No! Her choice...!"
"Lead. Now."
"This way!"
Chancellor scrambled ahead.
At the shed door.
"Open it."
"Really?"
"Better before I blast it."
"Sir!!"
He cracked it like defusing a bomb. Inside...
"Get up already, slackers?"
Dusty shed. Black-haired girl in ponytail cocked her head sideways at a male student.
"What? Floor-kissing your new kink?"
"Ugh... m-mercy..."
"Oi, losers. Told you bolt after roll call. Chancellor's pep talk too sweet for your feet?"
Yuria prodded the guy below with her toe.
"Th-The speech dragged... we came right..."
"S-Sorry! Sis! No, Lady Yuria!"
"Sis my ass. Senior, punk. Know your place, newbies."
Vrrr—!
She swiped down; kneeling boys' heads smashed the floor with thuds.
"Forgive ussss!!!"
Screams echoed across the academy sky.
"........"
"......."
I stared blankly, then at Erendel. Mouth agape, frozen like a statue.
"That your delicate flower? Looks more into cracking skulls than magic."
"Wh-What? N-No... that's... my little Yuria?"
Erendel's pupils quaked like an earthquake.
Northerners are quirky. Harsh lands breed fierce survival instincts and might-makes-right etched in bone.
Under Erendel, she'd played meek against her psycho master's vibe...
'Leash off a tiger? Doesn't turn fox—turns rabid tiger.'
A overwhelmingly skilled northern mage dropped among flashy greenhouse empire flowers?
Outcome obvious. Bullied? Nah—she'd devour the academy.
"Different? Spitting image of her master. Grown splendidly."