Stopping a War with a Three-Inch Tongue
"Then allow me to welcome you to the Academy once again, Your Imperial Majesty."
Chancellor Mustang broached the subject as he strolled through the garden alongside the Emperor of Condenburg.
Professor Phedia had volunteered to handle the Emperor himself, but the Chancellor, judging this a matter grave enough to decide the Academy's very fate, had resolved to step forward first. Above all, the exchange gathering for the recommended students was about to begin, and that side of things needed looking after as well.
Despite a large-scale transposition spell that could, without much stretching, have been read as an invasion, the Chancellor had ushered the Emperor and her retinue through the Academy gates with a smile on his face.
Of course, soft words did not make for a warm atmosphere. Behind the two of them, the imperial guard and the Chancellor's own security detail glared at one another with fire in their eyes.
He had known for quite some time that the Emperor was not a person one could negotiate with, so this had been the best of his available choices. His role was not merely to run the Academy on its endowment. Mediating the disputes that broke out on this sovereign, neutral ground was the ultimate purpose the Goddess had granted him.
Honestly, the sheer nerve of this woman. Power like hers lets her get away with trampling everyone underfoot.
The Chancellor could guess why the Emperor was growing ever more capricious and violent in her conduct. Even now, having ignored his greeting entirely, she was scowling at the rows of trees as if their shape displeased her.
It was all that magic of hers. There were rumors she'd reached the 8th Circle. The Emperor being a mage is unofficial, but still.
The Emperor was no mere wielder of power. She was, in her own person, a siege weapon rivaling the Heroes themselves.
The 7th Circle was generally regarded as the limit a living being could reach; those who attained it took the title of and carved their names into history. But for some reason, high-circle magic drove its casters mad. Only those who had reached those heights could ever hope to understand why.
That must be why Professor Alencia is the way she is, too.
Pelia Alencia, Chair Professor of the Water Hall, carried the spiciest variety of chili powder on her person at all times and snorted it throughout the day on the grounds that she "needed constant stimulation." Bizarre eccentricities aside, the Chancellor remembered her student days — she hadn't been nearly this temperamental back then.
High-circle magic broke every race that touched it. If someone came through unbroken, it meant they possessed a talent and a will stronger than any great figure in history.
Or else a miracle powerful enough to rewrite fate itself.
"Have you come to see Her Highness the Princess, then?" the Chancellor asked in his most leisurely tone.
Both held 5-star jobs, making them equals in status, and as Chancellor of the Academy he was, for all practical purposes, a power on par with the supreme commander of a nation. With the threat of the Demon Realm gone, the commander of the strongest nation — the Empire — might well be called the strongest on the continent, but the Chancellor had no reason to bow his head.
"Naturally. I must confirm with these eyes of mine how my beloved daughter is faring. Isn't that the duty of a parent?"
the Emperor replied, eyes sliding sideways.
The duty of a parent, she says. Coming out of this woman's mouth, it carries a very different weight. The Chancellor smiled bitterly to himself.
Blood is thicker than water, and mana is thicker than blood.
The Emperor, who had never intended to take a spouse, had adopted children and named them Crown Prince and Princess — a story famous across the entire continent. Some of them were already so exceptionally gifted that they had become demons of the battlefield.
But even an Emperor as mighty as she would see the imperial house collapse once her own era ended, which in turn risked the collapse of the Empire itself. To shut the nobles' mouths and legitimize the line of succession, that was the slogan she had raised from the very day of her enthronement.
The children infused with my mana hold a succession claim more legitimate than blood-born children with mixed lineage — so fall in line quietly.
As if to prove it personally: when the Second Crown Prince died in the disputed borderlands with the Grand Kingdom, the Emperor mobilized the entire army at once and erased the Grand Kingdom from the map of the continent. The reckless war weakened the Empire's national power for a time, but it was more than enough to spread the Emperor's doctrine across the whole continent.
In a way, the Second Crown Prince was a sacrificial lamb cast aside to push the Grand Kingdom off the board. But by that same logic—
That was where the Chancellor's worry lay. If the Second Princess who enrolled this year ever failed out of her graduation exams, this Academy would become a battlefield.
The Treaty of Nonaggression and the Goddess's blessing protected Caesus Academy — but she was not the sort of person to care about such things. Of course, if a real war did come, as the continent's only neutral territory they had the forces to hold out. Winning would be impossible, but they could probably avoid defeat for a hundred years or so.
But the Academy's function would be frozen for the whole duration, so what good would that do? Best of all was for the powder keg never to go off. The Chancellor's policy was firm.
"So, has seeing for yourself eased your worries? Her Highness has only just lit the fire of her scholarly passion. A student needs time to concentrate, don't you think?"
It was his way of saying: Our Academy is absolutely incredible, so stop rattling the cage and get lost.
The Emperor, reading the meaning within the Chancellor's smile, split her lips into a long, thin grin.
"She's rather spoiled, you see. Even now she's such a darling girl that she can't fall asleep at night without an enormous doll to hug. Simply adorable."
Then go keep cuddling in your own bed — why send her here? Behind his genial face, the Chancellor cursed up a storm.
"Heh heh. But it isn't only Ashlee I've come to see, Chancellor."
Don't you dare tell me there's some hidden child you smuggled into enrollment, the Chancellor prayed inwardly.
"There was a remarkable person who arrived here just recently, was there not? Someone whose very presence radiates majesty — noble and sublime."
"There happens to be one standing right before you. Is that the answer you wanted?"
The Emperor caught the Chancellor's jab — and answered in perfect earnest.
"Now that's simply wrong. I have never once radiated genuine nobility. After all, one can't very well blind the eyes of everyone around me, can one?"
The narcissist had not one speck of shame before the heavens. The Chancellor was confident he would not grow accustomed to her even if the sun rose three times over again.
"Has our Aisha not come to see you?"
"You mean the '' known as the ''?"
For a moment, the Emperor's narrowed eyes — probing, trying to read his reaction — sent a chill down the Chancellor's spine, though he was a man who had turned back any number of wars in the human realm. It was a look brimming with a desire to see through not just his thoughts but his very marrow.
But that lasted only a moment before the Emperor broke into a satisfied smile.
"Not arrived yet, then. Just as well. I'll stay with Ashlee and wait for her."
Thrown out as lightly as an invitation to share a meal, the Emperor's demand was nonetheless outrageous. The semester had not even begun, and the Alliance was in the process of dissolving — a delicate moment. If the Emperor lingered for days at the neutral Academy, there was no guessing how the other nations would look at it.
"Out of the question. You know the reasons as well as I do."
"How could I not? Come up with a justification and be done with it. You are the Chancellor, are you not? Beloved of the Goddess — surely it's not beyond you?"
She was demanding he fabricate a reason for her stay that the other nations could swallow. It was, admittedly, not impossible. But just as truly, the Chancellor saw no reason to shoulder pointless risk.
"Why is the Sword Saint coming to the Academy?"
"I truly wonder myself. I intend to ask her the moment she arrives. Ah — Ashlee!"
The Emperor, who had been walking with regal poise, spotted the Princess emerging before the great hall and hurried over to her with delight, her guards scrambling to keep up and shield her.
An orientation for the recommended students was underway. For them — each one an heir of considerable influence — a special venue for socializing had been prepared.
Seeing the Emperor, the Princess took the hem of her skirt in a graceful gesture and offered a bow. The kindly smile etched on her face — the angle of her lips, the curve of her eyes — not a single detail deviated so much as a hair from the textbook.
"Beautiful as ever today, truly."
Forgetting her dignity entirely, the Emperor lowered her head slightly to meet the Princess's eyes and pulled her into a flustered embrace.
It's like watching someone play with a doll.
Just as the Chancellor thought this—
―CRASH!!
A second-floor window of the great hall shattered, and two figures burst through it. One had sinister, murderous gauntlets fitted over both hands; the other was holding a table, half-destroyed from being used as a shield.
"I can't watch this any longer, slave merchant! You not only defile the honor of a Chair Professor, you betray the Goddess's expectations again and again! A professor trying to harm a student!"
roared the lion beastman Vande, baring his fangs.
Slave Merchant Wicker Phedia, by contrast, wore the picture of ease. He tossed the shards of what had been a table onto the ground and straightened his suit collar.
"That student was poisoning another student's drink, so all I did was swap the cups. I knew she was rotten to begin with, but isn't moving to underhanded tricks this soon a bit fast? Anyone overhearing might think I was the one handing out poison."
"You told her to drink poison?! You're unfit to be a professor!"
"Honestly. Lion beastman traits are such a bother."
Wicker glanced around, spotted the Chancellor and the Emperor, and took in the situation at a glance. He immediately raised a palm toward the enraged Vande.
"Stop, Professor Vande. We have a distinguished guest from outside."
"Spare me your pathetic excuses!"
"Do you intend to drag the Academy's standing down by making a spectacle of yourself? This is an insult to the Goddess's honor."
At the Goddess's name, Vande, mid-charge, pulled up short. Only then did he register that the Emperor was standing there.
"It is an honor to behold Your Majesty."
Wicker offered the Emperor a proper bow. The Emperor's lips curled thinly.
"So you're the newly appointed Chair Professor?"
"I am. I've been placed in charge of Her Highness the Princess's dormitory."
"Isn't that fine. A former — our eldest daughter was a slave herself, you know. And—"
The Emperor started to say something, then swallowed the words. The Chancellor seized on the opening and set to analyzing the keyword she was trying to hide.
But his leisure did not last long.
"Caesus judges by skill alone, so the appointment must be sound. Wouldn't you say, Chancellor?"
"Precisely."
"Then proof should pose no trouble, shouldn't it?"
"Do not cross the line."
The Chancellor's glare at the Emperor turned ice-cold.
"Verifying a professor's qualifications is the prerogative of myself and the Goddess. If it were Professor Vande, a fellow Chair Professor, perhaps — but this is not a matter for outsiders to weigh in on."
"Oh-ho."
Mana churned violently between the Emperor and the Chancellor. A dreadful pressure filled the air — the sense that the wrong twitch of a finger would swallow everything around them whole.
The Emperor let out a snort of laughter first.
"Very well. But my plan to remain at the Academy until Aisha returns does not change."
"I said no to that as well."
"Aren't you being rather obstinate, Chancellor?"
"That's my line."
Neither would give an inch. They were two muskets aimed at each other, triggers half-pulled.
"If I may, Chancellor."
Into the gap hardened stiff by tension slipped a voice as smooth and gentle as a warm cup of tea. It was the slave merchant, Wicker.
"It seems the guardian of the child is so worried about her that she wishes to stay by her side for the time being."
"Hah."
For an instant, the Emperor's brain short-circuited at Wicker's nonsense. True to his title, the slave merchant was throwing tactless words around like crumbs at her, an Emperor.
But the sentence that followed made it clear the wording had been deliberate.
"Your Majesty's intentions in wanting to be with Her Highness are perfectly pure, I'm sure — but should you stay for long, the other nations may suspect a cozy relationship between the Academy and the Empire, and the political balance could unravel. And if you were to force a pretext into being, the Academy would end up painting an ugly picture, staining the Goddess's honor into the bargain."
The slave merchant had grasped the entire situation precisely, with barely a few lines of conversation.
In an instant, the Emperor's attention shifted wholly to him.
"You have a proposal?" the Chancellor asked.
Wicker answered.
"Shouldn't the students be the protagonists here at the Academy? Announce that the entrance ceremony, two days from now, will be held as a grand Entrance Festival — and say Your Majesty is staying to attend it. That gives the other nations a reason to send delegates as well. And—"
Wicker looked back and forth between Vande and the Emperor and spoke with total confidence.
"Dragging me into this sort of squabbling every time is a burden on you as well, Chancellor. If it's proof of my teaching ability you want, I'll gladly provide it at the Entrance Festival — as much as you like."
"And if you do?"
Wicker made his declaration.
"Hold a Dormitory Festival."