Taking In the Imperial Princess, With a Parent-Teacher Conference on the Side
"So what you're telling me is that you're nothing but a mongrel."
The woman sprawled across an impossibly lofty throne, her overwhelming presence on full display. Her platinum-gold hair, cascading in lavish waves, had been elegantly swept to one side, and the gown that flowed over her body like liquid silk dripped with the dignity of a sovereign.
But her beauty existed not to ensnare men — it existed to kill them. Anyone who knew even the slightest thing about her would never dare harbor so much as a vulgar desire.
"F-Forgive— please, forgive me!"
The man knelt before her with his head bowed, not even daring to meet her eyes, simply begging for his life.
"Fall like a blossom."
With a light flick of her index finger — tap — deep blue mana bloomed into the air, and the man's head parted from his neck along with his life. Yet not a single drop of filthy blood spurted upward.
Because a flower falling is beautiful, but blood is filthy. And why? Because that is her aesthetic, and her aesthetic is, in turn, fact and truth alike.
Only what Emperor Sandra von Condenburg deems worthy is permitted to exist in this world. All other humans are mongrels.
That had been the unquestioned common sense of the realm ever since she ascended as the seventh Emperor of the Dengliwood Empire.
The imperial guard dragged the corpse away. Had he done something worthy of death? No. Had he done something wrong? Yes, in a way — as envoy dispatched to the Holy State, he had simply failed to return with the answer the Emperor desired.
"Your Majesty, a report."
The royal chamberlain addressed the throne. The Emperor gave the smallest flick of her fingers.
"The expedition has just returned, Your Majesty."
"Ah, the expedition!"
The same Emperor who, moments before, had been glaring down at humanity itself with utter contempt now rose from her seat, her eyes curved into crescents as if none of it had ever happened.
"Do you know how long I have waited for this moment? Is the banquet prepared?"
"Prepared to perfection, Your Majesty. I daresay it will please you beyond measure."
"Good. Very good. It has been thirteen years since we last met. Spare no expense — give the Empire a spectacle the likes of which its history has never seen."
The Emperor stepped forward with an uncharacteristically eager gait, no longer able to maintain her usual composure.
"Hero Lucas!"
She could not hide her fluttering heart at the reunion that had finally arrived.
She remembered the golden eyes of the tiny slave boy who had once stood before her, thirteen years ago.
The Emperor had lived her entire life not as a human being, but as a weapon of the political arena. She had lived in the realm of heroes, not criminals; as an archmage, not an ordinary person.
She dearly loved every one of the children under her care — though not a single one of them shared her blood.
For the sake of the Empire's future, she had gathered the most talented individuals in every field and bestowed upon them the titles of Imperial Prince and Imperial Princess.
It was the natural outcome. No man worthy of Emperor Sandra existed anywhere in this world.
But a perfect Emperor must also possess a perfect imperial lineage.
So Sandra had searched high and low for the man who would become the ideal father to her princes and princesses.
And that man had been the Hero Lucas.
A lonely face riddled with wounds of the heart — an aura that could never have radiated from a boy of that age.
The Emperor had seen, in him, the pinnacle of beauty.
Why did he wear the Slave nametag? What was his name? What story lay behind the sword he gripped? The Emperor asked none of those dignity-lacking questions. She had told him only this:
O Hero, overcome your wounds. Grow strong. Slay the Demon King, and I shall give you everything in this world.
That sweet proposal — the golden-haired boy would surely remember it to this day.
If he learned that she had been the one watching over him all along, he would surely be moved to tears.
She had attached Sword Saint Aisha to him as family for the sake of his swordsmanship, occasionally gone out of her way to send him the Empire's finest snacks, and arranged for him to remain isolated — dependent on a mysterious tall, dark benefactor.
How beautifully he must have grown.
Thirteen years. A full thirteen years since their last meeting.
The Emperor was certain of it in her heart. That child had surely become a peerless beauty, as if stepped straight out of a painting.
He would undoubtedly carry himself with the dignity befitting the very summit of the Empire.
According to Aisha's reports, his hair color seemed to have changed due to his unleashed aura, but he had grown up healthy and magnificent.
"My Hero!"
The Emperor swept past the banquet hall and out through the palace's main gate to greet Lucas in person. And there, she found—
"...What is the meaning of this?"
Nothing but a knight, head bowed, readying a report.
There had been an error in the message. The expedition's return was still a long way off. Only a fast-moving messenger had arrived.
As the Emperor's frosty permission fell, the knight began to speak.
"...As you commanded, Your Majesty, we kept watch over the Hero, but... he has not returned to the Empire..."
Color drained from the Emperor's face with every word.
"...General Aisha is escorting him personally and refused to disclose their destination, but our pursuit suggests they are headed for Caesus Academy."
The Emperor said nothing.
"Your Majesty?"
The royal chamberlain sensed something terribly wrong — but it was too late.
— KUUUURUMMM!!
The Emperor's mana erupted without restraint, and in an instant it blasted away everything around her. The splendid banquet hall became a garbage heap in the space of a breath.
"We shall go to the Academy. I wish to know whether my beloved second daughter Ashley is in good health. As a parent, I really ought to confirm just what manner of person is teaching my daughter, don't you agree?"
The royal chamberlain, who had survived by throwing up a defensive spell at the last possible moment, straightened his half-moon spectacles and immediately dropped to one knee in obeisance.
"We shall make preparations at once."
"Teleportation magic. You have one day."
"...W-We shall make preparations at once."
When the Emperor herself went on progress, at least several hundred people had to move with her — from her vassals to her personal guard to her servants.
A supermassive teleportation circle capable of moving them all at once would barely be affordable even after recruiting every archmage on the continent and throwing in a full year of the national budget.
And the time allotted was a single day.
That was precisely the amount of time the royal chamberlain had left before it would be decided whether he remained a human being — or became a mongrel.
That crazy lunatic of an Emperor. What the hell has gotten into her this time?
Cursing her out a hundredfold in his heart, the royal chamberlain resolved, this time for real, to prepare his last will and testament.
"I really must work off some of this anger."
At her command, the imperial guards immediately fell in around the Emperor and opened the door leading down to the underground prison.
For all that it was a dungeon, the corridors were immaculately maintained with the newest finishes — it was, after all, a place the Emperor frequented whenever she needed to simmer down.
The Emperor walked the familiar route and came to a stop before a particular cell. The wardens saluted, and the great barred gate swung open.
Inside was a man who had endured torture and healing, over and over, beyond counting.
"Ugh... uuuugh...!"
The moment he laid eyes on the Emperor, he scraped his ruined voice in terror.
"It has been a while, former Knight Commander."
Beneath the nametag reading Slave Hamilton, the man forced out a voice to beg.
"Mercy— please— have mercy...!"
The Emperor settled into the prepared spectator seats and sneered at the man — the former Knight Commander who had once brought the three Heroes before her, thirteen years ago.
By now, the man had been stripped of his profession as Knight Commander, reduced to someone's slave, his family line exterminated, his holy land erased from the map.
"Your crime of mishandling the Hero Lucas and leaving him wounded is grave indeed. What was it you said to me at the time? Ah, yes — 'He is a slave, so I simply dragged him here.'"
"Uuugh, b-but I only followed the orders I was given...! Did you not praise me before you laid eyes on the Hero yourself...?!"
At the former Knight Commander's excuse, the Emperor's brow creased. He flinched violently and bowed his head lower.
"I— I am reflecting on my sins...!"
"The only reason a mongrel like you is still breathing is a single one: your crime is beyond what death could repay. Begin."
At the signal, the Chief Torturer and the Holy Knights stepped forward.
And with the man's screams for an accompaniment, the Emperor moistened her throat with wine once again today.
After orientation, I marched my students off to raid the Water Hall dormitory — we moved at a slightly early dinnertime so we could claim seats in the cafeteria first.
"What's with those guys?"
"Why are they all standing in a line? What are they doing?"
"............"
"Hey! They're eating all our dinner! Who even are you people?!"
"............"
"I'm talking to you! Where'd you freaks come from?!"
"............"
I had instructed everyone to ignore anyone who spoke to us — to act like automatons and pretend not to hear — and every single one of them pulled it off beautifully.
After all, nothing gets people more worked up than being ignored.
"Twenty-two meal tickets, if you please."
"Ah— y-yes sir..."
The food at the Water Hall dormitory truly is superb. It made me want to poach their head chef.
My students had seemed tense at first, but once the delicious food started going down, everyone perked up.
By the time the Water Hall students, seething over the lengthening dinner line, had apparently run to report the matter to their professor Phelia, we had already finished our desserts in leisurely comfort and gone home.
That was a good meal.
"You—you absolute rat. Sneaking off with our dormitory's food? Are you a beggar?"
The next day, when I walked into the special examination hall, Phelia was licking chili powder off her fingers and glaring daggers at me.
"We paid full price for the meals. There isn't a single regulation we violated."
"You insane, y-you absolute lunatic of a bastard."
"Pfft, I'm dying of laughter. Is this your revenge for having your students poached? How adorable."
Mulan, professor of the Wind Hall, grinned over at us with her usual half-drunk face.
Please. I took those bombs off her hands and didn't even take a single one of her students — I should be buying her dinner, if anything.
Knowing them, the fast ones would probably have caused an incident within a week.
"Haha. You've all grown close already, I see. I'm relieved they're settling in quickly, Professor Pidia."
The Principal greeted me with a smile as warm as a saint's.
"Is the dormitory treating you well?"
"The facilities are fine, but the interior design displeases me. As it happens, perfect timing — here's a renovation request for the exterior."
"Approved. Your request shall be granted. In exchange, I'd like you to focus on what's happening over there for today."
The Principal tipped his head toward the examination hall beyond the magic mirror.
Prospective students were filing in one by one, each trailed by a full retinue of guards and attendants.
Every last one of them was the child of a head of state — or of someone wielding political power on that level.
Today was the day the recommended students, whose admission had already been decided, would be assigned to their halls.
"The Goddess herself determines the halls of recommended students. Since they enter without competition, the assignment exists to preclude collusion."
"Not a single recommended student has come to the Earth Hall in the past five years."
"Well, children of royalty or high nobility are bound to have talent and skill to spare. That much is only natural. This one, however, is the problem."
And then she entered the examination hall.
A girl with an antique grace, wearing the nametag Unemployed Ashley Condenburg. Her appearance matched the image of a sculpted Imperial Princess so perfectly it was almost uncanny — like a doll come to life.
While the assembled heirs and heiresses from across the continent postured and schmoozed, the Imperial Princess simply stood frozen in place, like a wind-up automaton with its spring popped out.
The aptitude examination began, and the recommended students showed off their various skills — swordsmanship, magic, healing arts. Not one of them selected a specialty; they chose to display everything.
At last the Imperial Princess's turn came, and she did nothing at all. It looked almost like a protest — as if to declare that there was not one single facet of herself she wished to show anyone.
"Jobless at twenty. That's not an easy feat either, you know."
"How pathetic! Surely the Goddess wouldn't send her to the Fire Hall!"
The other Chair Professors, having apparently spent their entire lives buried in study at the Academy, paid no mind whatsoever to the political situation and cared only about their students' raw ability.
I could understand why the Principal held no expectations.
When the examination ended, the recommended students each placed a hand upon a crystal orb. A priest who had received the oracle channeled holy power into it, and one of three colors — fire, water, or wind — bloomed from the crystal.
And for the Imperial Princess, needless to say—
"Earth."
The Principal shook his head, then turned to me.
"She's yours. Take good care of her."
"Consider it done."
I had the distinct feeling that the Imperial Princess was staring straight through the enchanted magic mirror — and straight through me.