27. An Unidentified Flying Object Appears Over the Academy
“Ooh, mmm, yes. The academy. It's wonderful—absolutely overflowing with talent of my caliber or better. And best of all, they're young. Fresh, vital life force. You simply can't find this kind of merit anywhere else.”
Deep in the black of night, beneath the academy's towering walls, a male student crouched low, hidden among the tall silver grass.
Mage Vext Rusatma was wholly absorbed in tracing a magic circle across the ground.
“Speaking of which, the exchange festival was truly strange. That slave merchant—how did he know? Tsk tsk. The Grand Duchess of the North was a walking mass of mana, and she looked positively delicious. What a waste. Such a waste.”
Vext was still murmuring to himself as he continued drawing his circle along the outer edge of the wall—
“Hey! Who goes there!”
A light spell swept over him. A guard had spotted him.
“This is a warning! Trespassers will be arrested immediately! If you don't resist, no harm will come to you!”
The guard advanced on Vext, spear at the ready, then narrowed his eyes as the light revealed him.
“A freshman? What are you doing out here?”
Then the guard saw what Vext was drawing on the ground—a magic circle sketched in animal blood. The moment he recognized its shape, cold sweat broke out across his face.
“Wh-what in the—black magic…?!”
FWOOOOSH!
In an instant, three magic circles bloomed beneath Vext's feet, drinking in the pitch-black mana that poured from his body.
“H-huurgh—!”
The guard grasped the gravity of the situation, but too late. Evil spirits summoned from the circles seized his body and dragged him down into the earth.
“No—NO!!”
The instant the living turned to the dead, his harvested life condensed into a bead the color of refined blood and dropped onto Vext's tongue.
“Should have stayed ignorant. Mmm. Mm-mm. Who would have thought even a common guard could taste this good. As expected of Caesus.”
Vext gave the nametag floating above his head a light flick with his fingers.
Mage Vext Rusatma smoothly shifted into Warlock Vext Rusatma. The two glittering stars dissolved into a pair of skulls.
Having finished his feast of souls, Vext let out a loud burp and began to sink back into the darkness.
“Still, it'll take quite a while. Laying blood-wards across a plot this size—no less than a year, even at my best….”
Rustle.
A figure appeared before him.
“Hm? Hm-mm? And you are?”
When Vext checked the man's nametag, a wide, knowing smile spread across his face—as if greeting an old friend.
The entrance ceremony and the Dormitory Festival were scheduled for two days later—thrown together in the blink of an eye.
Things had escalated somewhat in the process of stopping Warlock Vext Rusatma from carrying out his schemes.
That man was a villain who stirred up quite a major incident in the original story, after all.
Between his enrollment and a year and a half later, he steadily laid enormous black magic arrays across the entire academy, all in service of a plan to harvest every soul within Caesus. A truly ambitious piece of work.
His stated reason, if I recalled correctly, was that he wanted to proclaim the greatness of black magic to the whole continent.
His talent was undeniable—he was well on his way to a brilliant career as a legitimate mage, which was exactly why he hid his nametag.
Clever people who fixate on the wrong things are the worst kind of headache.
He'd been a sponsored student of the Holy Kingdom, a powerful noble's son admitted by recommendation into the Fire Hall.
I'd wanted to keep villains out at the gates wherever possible, but recommendees and existing second- and third-years were simply beyond my reach.
Still, there was plenty of time before he'd begin causing serious trouble, so I'd planned to eliminate him slowly and carefully—until I caught him poisoning drinks at the exchange festival.
The moment I imagined him kidnapping my own students to offer up as sacrifices, I knew I had to act immediately. So I swapped the poisoned cup meant for the Grand Duchess of the North with Vext's own, Vande caught on, the two of them came to blows—and of all the places to fall, they happened to land right at the Emperor's feet.
And then, wouldn't you know it, the Emperor and the Chancellor started swinging at each other too.
I only intervened because the Chancellor looked ready to concede not a single inch to the Emperor. In my judgment, the Emperor is such a lunatic that the wisest course is simply not to touch him at all.
Apparently even a Chancellor whose whole purpose was mediation has certain things he must protect inside his own academy.
Frankly, I was sick of the Emperor and Vande posturing and bellowing at each other, so I nudged the odds toward settling the hierarchy once and for all.
I would have preferred a calmer interview with the Emperor, but thinking it over—this is all Vande's fault, really.
Perhaps I should weave a broom out of his mane.
“The matriculation has become a full-blown festival, I see. We can afford to expand the original plans for the rest of it, but the Dormitory Festival must be organized from the ground up.”
The Chancellor gathered all four Chair Professors—myself included—and laid out the situation.
“Well, this suits me just fine! This time, for certain, I'll grind that unpleasant face of yours into the dirt, Slave Merchant!”
Vande narrowed his thin pupils further and bared his teeth at me. The Chancellor patted his shoulder.
“Professor Vande, you are an educator, not a warrior. What the Goddess desires of you is teaching ability—not a spectacle of blows exchanged.”
“…Then I must honor the Goddess's will.”
The Chancellor, too, had learned that invoking the Goddess's name made Vande remarkably docile.
“As for the rules of the Dormitory Festival—what say we have the freshmen selected by each dormitory compete in mock battles?”
“So it becomes a stage to prove our discernment in choosing students—in other words, our ability as educators.”
“Precisely as I said.”
“And what, pray tell, do I still need to prove, and to whom? Hmph. I have no wish to show off my students.”
Phelia of the Water Hall voiced her displeasure at the Chancellor outright, expressing nothing but her own mood with total disregard for the political situation.
“But Chancellor, is it wise to rush everything like this on the Empire's account?”
“Of course I didn't come away empty-handed. I wrung the Emperor thoroughly dry.”
The Chancellor made a circle with his thumb and forefinger.
“Whatever the case, this will most certainly be the stage where your contest and mine reaches its conclusion!”
BANG! Vande slammed his hands on the desk and rose roughly from his seat.
“Chancellor! The Fire Hall and the Earth Hall must face each other in this festival—no exceptions!”
“That is one proposal. Professor Phedia, any objections?”
I leaned back comfortably into my cushioned chair.
In any negotiation, the party who demands a settlement first is the party saddled with unfavorable terms. Vande had just stepped into that unfavorable position all on his own. All that remained was for me to name my conditions.
But what concerned me above everything else right now was that warlock, Vext.
“And what will you offer if my side wins?”
“Insatiable to the last! I demand only one thing. Either you prove an ability befitting a Chair Professor—or you offer your thanks and apologies to the Goddess and surrender the post!”
“I don't believe I heard what I'd be receiving.”
“I have no intention of losing.”
“Then let me make a proposal. Grant me the right to expel four students from the Fire Hall.”
“Are you mad?!”
Vande recoiled at once.
The reason I demanded the right of expulsion was simple: dangerous villains lurked among the Fire Hall's second- and third-years, Vext included.
Unruly sprouts should be cut the moment they appear.
“What if there were legitimate grounds for their expulsion? In that case, you will offer no defense of them whatsoever and cooperate fully.”
“No professor worth the title abandons his students!”
THUD! Vande stamped his enormous foot. The Chancellor slipped between us.
“Professor Phedia, do you have some manner of certainty?”
“I do.”
“Hmm. If the disqualifying cause is grave enough for you to say so, then expulsion can certainly be considered. Very well—if Professor Phedia wins, he shall be granted the right to submit a roster with evidence attached.”
The Chancellor turned to Vande.
“Stripping Professor Phedia of his professorship is impossible. Instead, should Professor Vande win, he shall be sent to the Trials to prove his ability and pay homage to the Goddess. Acceptable?”
The Chancellor mediated the terms, and Vande flared his nostrils before grudgingly agreeing.
It wasn't a bad deal for me either—what I'd gain from winning was ultimately the same.
However.
“My victory would itself be the proof of ability, would it not? Your condition for Professor Vande gets fulfilled either way, which feels rather lopsided. Might I add one more term?”
“Granted.”
“From this point forward, Professor Vande shall regard me, Wicker Phedia, as his superior—and address me as Professor.”
Vande's revulsion was visceral. To a lion beastman, installing another male above him within his pride must sting as a profound humiliation.
“Do as you please—you'll achieve neither!”
He'd taken the bait.
I felt it—the flicker of an opening. Push now, and I could plant my trap.
“Eligibility shall be limited to members newly admitted to each dormitory this year. Beyond that, standard academy dueling rules—acceptable?”
“Three participants per side, two matches! The Water Hall against the Wind Hall, and the Fire Hall against the Earth Hall!”
“I look forward to it.”
Satisfied that the deal was struck, I rose from my seat.
“The feshtival?! In two daysh?!”
When I told Sersi the news, her jaw dropped and she stretched her own cheeks out with her fingers. Her look of vacant idiocy was so funny that I popped a candy into her mouth.
“Wow, lemon flavor. No—wait, that's not the point. If we judge purely by the freshmen's current skill levels…!”
“We're at a disadvantage.”
Comparing the current strength of the Fire Hall's students against our own, compiled from the wiki, the verdict was a clear deficit.
Judging by talent alone, the gap wasn't large—many of ours even had greater potential—but they hadn't yet blossomed.
And there was one thing that worried me above all else.
“He's dangerous.”
“Dangerous…, sir?”
Tap. I set a single file down on the desk.
Vext Rusatma. Judging by his current ability, the odds were very high that Vande—unaware the man was a warlock—would field him in the match.
Vext was the type who stopped at nothing. Considering the original story, he might behave himself for now, but even in a mock battle, the chances of my students getting hurt were far from negligible.
“I refuse to watch that happen.”
“Is there no way to prevent it…?”
“Ah—I've already taken care of it.”
“Really? How?”
“The condition for festival participation is 'three members newly admitted to the dormitory this year,' no?”
“Er… yes, that's right?”
Sersi tilted her head, evidently failing to grasp my meaning. I turned back to her, the corner of my mouth lifting ever so slightly.
“Professor… you can't be serious.”
Apparently she'd caught on, because her eyebrows shot up.
“Even so, one should carry insurance. Come with me at dawn and help me bury these.”
I handed a cardboard box over to Sersi. It was quite heavy with its contents, but Sersi, being a quarter oak, took it without strain.
“Mana stones…, sir? They feel enchanted—what are these for?”
“Burying them beneath the arena where the festival will be held.”
“Whaat?! I-if we get caught, there'll be hell to pay….”
“Which is precisely why we won't get caught.”
“Ugh….”
I slipped one more candy into the mouth of the ashen-faced Sersi.
The morning of the entrance ceremony—or rather, the entrance festival.
Chancellor Bert Mustang received the endless procession of dignitaries arriving from every nation without a moment's rest.
Plenty of countries lay too far away to make the journey in a mere two days, but with the Emperor of the Empire himself on the move, every power in the human realm had been compelled to act—whether to check him or to ally with him.
Not every nation's sovereign had come in person, but figures of equivalent rank had converged, and so Chancellor Mustang found himself scrambling through coordination meetings that were never in the plan.
Right in the middle of receiving the guests.
“Chancellor, urgent matter.”
His personal guard called him away in haste. He abandoned the Holy Kingdom's delegation mid-conversation and left at once.
“Report.”
“The airspace ward has been breached.”
“What nonsense is this now?”
“An unidentified flying object approaching at high speed from the west has broken through the barrier and entered Academy territory—”
“A mass teleportation, and now a hole in the sky.”
Caesus's reputation really has gone to the dogs lately. The Chancellor slapped a hand to his forehead.
“Tell the ward brigade they have one last chance. Have them respond with the multi-layered defensive barrier. Given our luck, it'll be some senseless VIP just like the Emperor. If the way is blocked, it can find its own way in through the main gate.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ah—and one more thing.”
“Any further orders, sir?”
The Chancellor nodded with a strained, stress-laden smile.
“Once we confirm which VIP that is—under no circumstances let anyone give them one of our souvenir handkerchief sets.”