An Employment Contract, Not a Peace Treaty!
"A three-year contract. Double the salary you were offered. Top-tier research facilities and living accommodations. One lecture a week and not a single other obligation. Ah—might you be interested in contracting with a Great Spirit? Too much of a hassle? Then how about the academy's treasure vault instead?"
"A Chair Professorship is the bare minimum."
"Ah, of course, of course. Within my authority, I'll recommend you as many times as you like. Why, the Treasure Warehouse will leave you speechless. The Holy Sword from two generations back is lying in so much dust they're using it as a tent stake."
The Principal had already emptied two bottles of wine, and now that his tongue was thoroughly loosened, the small talk flowed freely.
"A—a Chair Professor! Oh my, Baron Phedia, do have another glass."
The Count, quick to read which way the wind was blowing, had been pouring my wine and fawning over me this whole time. The man certainly knew how to count stars.
"Words are one thing, but I'd like to see it in writing. The Academy's standard employment contract, please."
"Hahaha, so you actually mean to come? Well then, here it is!"
The Principal used his Item Box. A black hole opened in the empty air, and he thrust his arm into it without hesitation. When his hand emerged, it carried an elegant parchment scroll, which he handed over to me.
"Oho, an Item Box... my first time seeing one."
"Ha. It's a rare magic, to be sure."
I tuned out the banter between the Count and the Principal and focused on the contract itself.
"This is the standard version, mind you. Feel free to amend anything that doesn't suit you—"
"The employment type is full Professor, I see."
"Hmm, to speak frankly—Chair Professors don't sign contracts at all."
"There's no contract?"
"Caesus Academy is a transcendent institution belonging to no nation. I trust you understand why that premise holds."
"Because it enjoys the Goddess's protection."
"Precisely. The Academy's role is to nurture those who already bear the Hero's Crest, or to raise the talented up to the level of a hero party. Only our Academy—where the Goddess walks alongside us—can do such a thing."
The Principal took a long swallow of wine. A third empty bottle hit the table, yet not a trace of drunkenness showed on him.
"The Principal, the Chair Professors, the Vice Principal—everyone of 4-Star rank or above is appointed by the Goddess herself. Even I have no say in the matter."
That system made sense. If anyone could appoint superiors at will, factions would spring up overnight, and the Academy would fall into the hands of some particular nation or faction before anyone could blink.
"What are the requirements to become a Chair Professor?"
"Simple. Ability. The only thing the Goddess wants from the Academy is ability."
"Then that would mean you are the continent's finest Professor, Principal."
"Ha! I am a Principal, not a Professor. I could hold a lecturer's post, but my ability falls short of the Chair Professors. The talent the Goddess saw in me was political skill, not intellect."
I see. So the four most capable people at the Academy weren't the Principal, but the four Chair Professors.
"How would one prove such ability?"
"There are several ways. A student you guided becomes a Hero, reaches the rank of Sword Saint, attains the 7th tier, or becomes a Saintess. Or the Professor himself demonstrates an achievement of enormous magnitude through research."
None of them sounded easy. Getting even one student to the pinnacle required more than effort—it required luck.
"Or—every single student in your dormitory class graduates at the highest grade."
"Is that a relative evaluation?"
"Absolute."
"I see."
Take students from enrollment to graduation and bring every one of them out at the highest standard. Roughly twenty students entered a given dormitory class, if I remembered right.
That, I could actually do.
Of course, I had never taught a day in my life. My grasp of magic and healing was basic at best, and the only thing I truly mastered was the sword.
But I had—
'Wiki.'
This.
These were students skilled enough to gather at Caesus Academy itself. If I supplemented each of them one-on-one with knowledge no one else on the continent could offer, wouldn't every one of their potentials bloom?
And there was no competition involved. All they had to do was work hard and score well on their exams. That was all.
Somehow, old memories surfaced unbidden.
The days I'd spent with Yellow and Black and White.
Back then, I hadn't exactly taught them anything extraordinary. Yellow wielded a sword better than I ever had, and Black was a genius with magic. White, well... she was just cute.
I did show them cooking and cleaning and how to bathe properly, and taught them a few letters. But that was less education than it was children playing games.
Still, it had been a lot of fun.
Maybe teaching was the same way—forget the lectern, simply passing on what you know. That, I could probably enjoy.
And if I raised students up that way, graduated them at the top, and became a Chair Professor—
< Slave Merchant Wicker Phedia >
The cursed four words that had haunted me my entire life—could be changed.
Naturally, I had no intention of accepting a deal just because honey dripped from it in front of me. That was the mindset of a gambling addict, nothing more.
A true merchant always weighs the scales.
First—I was not the Hero's teacher the Principal imagined. If the current Hero really was a reincarnator, the misunderstanding could unravel at any moment.
Even then, once the contract was signed, there would be nothing the Principal could do. As leverage for right now, it was more than enough.
And once Wiki leveled up enough to let me search for information on the current Heroes, I might even be able to handle the situation myself before it ever became a problem.
Then there was the other risk.
Among the students I was to take on was the Second Princess. The Principal had called her a failure, and said that if I didn't graduate her properly, the Emperor would have my head.
The Second Princess was a character from the original story. I knew exactly what kind of person she was—and what kind of person the Emperor was.
I might as well assume that the price of failure was my life.
At the same time, the Princess's very existence dragged down my odds of success.
I had already achieved the goal I set when I first reincarnated into this world.
Was it really worth risking my life now, all for four words on a nametag?
Reasonably speaking, the answer was obvious.
Of course not.
"...Haha."
It shouldn't have mattered one bit—and yet, for some reason, the faces of those three flashed vividly before my eyes.
If the words on my nametag had been different back then—if I could have exchanged even a single minute of conversation with that knight commander—would anything have changed?
"I see."
I realized that my verdict—not worth the challenge—was a lie I was telling myself.
I was sick to death of a life of being discriminated against and looked down on for no reason at all.
So let's change it.
And if I was doing it anyway—full power.
"Count. Bring me a pen."
"Oh! You mean to accept?!"
"I'm merely reviewing it."
I read through the thick contract, corrected a great deal of it, added several pages, and set it down in front of the Principal.
"On these terms, I'd consider it."
"Let's see, let's see... ... ...Count. Leave."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Now."
Seeing the Principal's expression turn grave, the Count bolted out of the parlor in a flash of panic.
The Principal kept reading.
"This terminology—the work of someone who's done this once or twice. To think you added special clauses like these... ... No, this is going too far. This is an employment contract. Not a peace treaty between nations!"
"Or I withdraw."
I said it flatly. The Principal let out a hollow laugh.
"In a way, it's fair. You've stripped out every avenue of unfair loss, but demanded no privileges in return. With a single exception—this clause."
The Principal pointed to one special provision.
"This part, where every authority of a Chair Professor—and even how people address you within the Academy—is granted in full, effective from the moment of signing. Do you realize this borders on blasphemy?"
Yes, my special clause included exactly that.
Groveling as a mere full Professor for three years was unseemly, and it came with far too many restraints. It would mean having to bow and scrape before the other Chair Professors, for one.
My plan was to rope the Principal into it—have him spread the lie that the Goddess had already appointed me a Chair Professor.
"Think of it as a three-year advance. By then, the Goddess will acknowledge me anyway."
"Ha, brimming with confidence, I see. So you intend to make me your accomplice. Very well—suppose I go around telling people the Goddess appointed you. How do you plan to explain the nametag?"
"My nametag shows Slave Merchant, at 4 Skulls. As you well know, when one holds both, I get to choose which one to display."
"Where on this earth would you find a man who chooses Slave Merchant over Chair Professor?"
"Now there's one standing right here."
The Principal shook his head in sheer disbelief—and then, evidently, accepted it.
"I went looking for a shield and drew a legendary blade instead. Fine! There's no time, and no room to haggle over details."
The Principal drew a short wand from his Item Box and cast his magic. The letters of my amended contract aligned themselves into clean order, an anti-forgery spell sealed them against further alteration, and the document duplicated itself into two copies.
Next he produced an enormous seal—its quality rivaling the Emperor's own royal stamp. There was no ink pad; the moment it pressed against the parchment, mana of a unique color flowed through it and etched the Academy's emblem into the page.
From that moment, it was no longer an ordinary contract.
It carried the Goddess's own authority—a binding force stronger than any geas scroll in existence.
"Your turn, Baron."
He passed me the contract. I produced my own stamp from within my coat and fed a thread of mana into it.
For the first time in ages, my heart was pounding.
I could feel my brain, my blood—everything that had been idling—stirring back to life.
—Thud.
I stamped the contract without a moment's hesitation, firm and clean.
"Spotless! Well, that's one done. Then we meet in three weeks. It's the general-track entrance examination for new students—don't miss it. And don't lose this."
The Principal rose from his seat, taking one copy of the contract with him, and handed me a single object like a plastic card. I took it—a thin plate gleaming in a deep, lustrous black, with a line of melted gemstone running through its center.
Business concluded, we left the parlor.
The Count was waiting just outside.
"Ah, leaving so soon? If you're not pressed, stay the night as my guest. You could tour the territory—"
"Yes, yes. It's a fine territory. Whatever you do, never set foot in the capital. This place is exactly the vessel that suits you."
The Principal clapped the Count on the shoulder, then turned away as if he had no further business. At the last moment, he added:
"Ah—Professor Phedia."
He was already calling me by my new title.
"Don't worry yourself over the Goddess's whims. She's a prickly woman, but she's fair. Your ability will never be denied."
"Is that so."
"With ability, you don't even need faith. For the record, I haven't used a single honorific for the Goddess since the day I left the cradle."
"You must be quite confident of yourself, Principal."
The Principal bared his teeth in a hearty laugh.
"Ability? Of course I'm certain of it. Why else would I be hiring you right now—to dodge the Empire's sparks?"
I see.
Short as our acquaintance was, he was a memorable man.
Some time later, the Demon Castle.
No—more precisely, the place where the Demon Castle used to be.
"General, breakfast is prepared."
"Set it down."
Three knight-order cooks, their eyes bound tight in blindfolds, carried over trays bearing three servings of food. Before them stood a slender woman gazing out at the distant ruins of the Demon Castle.
< Sword Saint Aisha >
The silver-haired woman bearing that nametag was spectating a ferocious battle being waged in the distance.
No—battle was too tame a word. It flaunted a destructive power more violent and terrifying than any war the continent had ever seen.
At the signal, the cooks set down the trays, turned on their heels, and retreated the way they'd come.
"Watch your step. I can't see a thing down there."
"The fact that no one but the General may even lay eyes on her from this far away—it never gets easier to accept, sir."
"Those explosions we've been hearing all month—they're the Heroes, aren't they? Why are they even fighting?"
"Politics, isn't it obvious? Once the Demon King fell, the human alliance was bound to dissolve, so they're probably weeding out rival nations' Heroes in advance. They're all so absurdly strong that no winner's been decided yet."
"To save the continent with their whole lives, and be repaid with political leverage... What a tragic, wretched existence."
Once the knights had gone, the Sword Saint, Aisha, picked up the tray.
'The wretched one here is ME, damn it all.'
Cursing up a storm in her head, Aisha walked toward the Heroes. The booms grew louder with every step, and shards of torn-up earth came flying on the shockwaves, pelting her head.
'The subjugation's over, so I want to retire this dogshit army, collect my fat compensation, go home, sleep like the dead, and drag some handsome man into my bed and ride him senseless—that's all I want.'
Aisha closed the distance to a reasonable point and set the tray on the ground. The three Heroes before her showed not the slightest intention of stopping.
'Why won't they go home and fight among themselves there, WHY?! Do they have any idea how many battalions have their legs tied up because of this?! Am I their nanny?! Do NOT come back here without your Heroes, not even for a second!'
CLANG CLANG CLANG!
Aisha rapped the flat of her sword against her shield, raising a tremendous racket.
"Lucas! Get over here and eat!"
"Is it that time already?"
Luca, who had been mid-swing carving up the ground with her blade, flew over in an instant and stuffed both sandwiches from the tray into her mouth.
"Thanks, Aisha-unni!"
"We'll dig in! Thank you every day!"
Tia and Yuri scrambled to grab their own sandwiches before the others, stuffing them into their mouths, then whirled on each other and leveled their weapons again.
"Ooh, roasted wild boar."
"Sho tasty."
"The yuzu sauce is wonderful!"
Utterly at odds with the sunshine in their voices, aura spat and crackled off their blades, 6th-tier magic filled the air, and a single punch carved out a crater the size of a house.
'Just send me home...'
The Sword Saint, Aisha.
Officially, she was one of only three Swordmasters on the entire continent—a Sword Saint, one of the legendary Three Swords, and a General of the Imperial Army.
And right now, she was regretting—up to her absolute limit—the day, thirteen years ago, that she'd been saddled with a Hero girl named Lucas.