Chapter 80
Chapter 80
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 80
Chapter Title: Rats on the Isolated Island (1)
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“-or so he says.”
I returned to our room and relayed word-for-word everything Dylan had just told me.
Arthur, standing with his legs crossed, was rubbing his chin with a serious expression. Theodore was pulling his share of the ration crates from the dressing room along with Arthur’s, checking our remaining food supplies.
“This is all we have. Four cans of stew, two cans of snacks, two strings of smoked sausages, two jars of pickled vegetables, two packets of salt, three cans of meal biscuits, and one box of ground coffee combined. And this.”
Theodore placed a small paper box on my palm last.
“What’s this? Oh, cigarettes.”
Cigarettes would probably be in my ration crate too.
Theodore wasn’t an adult yet, so he apparently didn’t get them officially.
‘No way he’s been smoking these, right?’
I’d always sent back the cigarettes I received each year or passed them on to cadets who needed them, so they were something far removed from my life.
But in the dream, Shirley had clearly said I smoked, so it was quite the irony.
At any rate, we’d fortunately already finished off perishables like white bread and fruit early on, leaving only long-lasting food.
“I’ve got the same as you guys. Same lineup, just one extra box of coffee.”
During the three days of confinement, those two had been sneaking sips of coffee, but I hadn’t touched any.
So in total, we had six cans of stew, three cans of snacks, three strings of sausages, three jars of vegetables, three packets of salt, five cans of biscuits, and three boxes of ground coffee.
“But who ate the biscuits? I was too scared they’d all shatter if I touched them.”
“Me.”
“You’ve got some iron taste buds.”
“…….”
Arthur just stared at me blankly, as if he had no idea what I meant.
A little later, Arthur went around to each room asking about their remaining food.
“We could last four days eating normally.”
“We’re definitely better off than the other rooms. Anything we can spare for the ones short on food? The dormitory reserves should get extra rations in two days, so it won’t be a big issue.”
“Then let’s hand over one can of stew and one can of snacks.”
I didn’t hesitate to offer up some from my own share.
I hadn’t touched the other two’s crates, so it wasn’t something that needed a group decision.
Dylan loaded the food I gave him into a wooden crate on his handcart, thanked me, and left.
“Talk about bizarre.”
Things I’d never seen at the academy before were happening one after another.
The storm would last a week at most, and with three days already gone, I didn’t feel much urgency.
But not everyone could think that rationally.
One room on the second floor wouldn’t even acknowledge Dylan no matter how much he yelled outside their door.
“Hey! Food sharing isn’t mandatory! If you hate it that much, just tell me what you have!”
“We’re fine, just leave us alone!!”
“These blockheads!”
Dylan kicked the firmly shut door in frustration before stomping back down to the first floor.
“The dormitory mood’s turning sour.”
A bad feeling crept in.
The string of conflicts seemed to have pushed Dylan’s patience to the limit.
If things kept going like this, it wouldn’t end well for him or any of the Wooden Cross Class cadets.
‘As long as rations keep coming normally, we’ll be fine, but…’
Trust among us was draining away fast.
This was about food—one of the three essentials of human life, tied directly to survival.
Aegis Academy trained future elite soldiers as a cadet officer school, but contrary to that goal, it had one fundamental weakness.
‘Most cadets here have never known hardship.’
I didn’t think you had to suffer to become a great person, but I firmly believed this gap in our experience would come back as a fatal blade someday.
That skewed conviction of mine would gain proof less than half a day later.
.
.
.
The next morning, fifth day of the storm.
I’d just finished a short walk around the dormitory’s inner entrance with Cookie and returned to the room.
Lunchtime was approaching, but as expected, no bell rang from the cafeteria signaling mealtime.
A few cadets were sneaking toward the cafeteria with umbrellas, muffling their footsteps—but
‘Where do they think they’re going?’
With swords and bows poking out from their backs, it wasn’t the stealthy approach they imagined.
“Arma Cruise.”
Theodore, the last of us to wake up, approached rubbing his eyes.
This guy always looked younger than his age right before bed and just after waking—similar to Shirley.
Maybe being the youngest in the family had something to do with it subconsciously.
Theodore scooped up Cookie, who pounced on him, with one arm and headed to the parlor.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing much. Looks like the troublemakers are heading to the cafeteria to stir things up.”
“Hmm…”
Theodore naturally pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket.
Seeing that ‘Should I draw something with this?’ expression made it clear how much the academy’s magic ban had suppressed his violent tendencies all this time….
Maybe I should send him to the training room like Arthur to burn off some energy.
“No, put it away. But is it really okay to draw a magic circle for something this minor?”
His fingers were already smudged white with chalk dust.
Watching him, I recalled the [Cale Ace Murder Case] that started all this.
During the process of clearing his name in that murder, we’d learned Theodore used a magic ink called [My Scarlet] that he’d ordered from the capital’s magic workshop.
“A magic circle is like a formula, but unlike regular math, the drawing method, line thickness, stroke count, and placement of runes and seals all affect the magical outcome.”
“Yeah, sure. And?”
“The reason wizards prefer certain inks or pens is just that they’ve settled on methods with the least interference on results. They don’t affect the activation itself.”
“So craftsmen don’t choose their tools.”
“Exactly. For a little commotion like this, it’s fitting.”
The power gap between a real wizard and someone with just aptitude was this huge.
At this point, I wondered why Aegis Academy even needed the arts and physical education departments.
Of course, Wooden Cross had exceptions like Shirley and Judit.
I decided to redirect Theodore’s attention elsewhere before he bolted out with the chalk.
“By the way, in your opinion, what level is Makina as a wizard?”
I almost asked something childish like ‘Who’d win if you fought so-and-so?’ but rephrased it slightly.
Theodore thought for a moment before answering.
“Aegis Academy earned its fame as an elite training ground because it produced a great figure worthy of history books every five years without fail.”
“Right.”
“There are six candidates currently called the next great ones here at Aegis.”
“Yeah, I know. Makina Christy, Theodore White, Arthur Usher, Judit Taylor, Shirley Spencer, and Adrian Nell Elman.”
I knew that much.
And aside from Makina, they were the cadets whose names were on the curfew cooperation request Dylan showed us a few days ago in his room.
I was just an average marksman who could barely make it into the civilian pro league.
But now?
Not only rubbing shoulders with these big names, but facing life-and-death together.
Was all this… just coincidence?
‘Or maybe it’s born from my inferiority complex.’
As useless thoughts bubbled up, Theodore continued, snapping me out of it.
“We’ve never properly clashed due to the magic ban, but we all subconsciously think we can’t beat Makina Christy.”
“Why’s that?”
Theodore gently set down Cookie, who was licking his cheek and hair, and said,
“Because every year in the potential aptitude test at the start of term, she always gets ‘unmeasurable.’”
“Hmm.”
For me, tests always came back ‘not applicable’ regardless of timing, so I couldn’t really grasp what ‘unmeasurable’ meant to those with aptitude.
“‘Unmeasurable’ means at least two aptitudes at genius level. Not just white magic, but other attributes too.”
“Oh.”
So no current test could gauge Makina’s potential.
A chilling level of talent, you could say.
“I see.”
“But in a real fight, who knows who’d win. Potential doesn’t account for situations or matchups. Curiosity satisfied now?”
“…Yeah…. Thanks….”
In the end, Theodore had seen through my real question—‘Who’d win if you fought Makina?’
My ears heated up, and I busied myself playing with Cookie as an excuse to slip away.
Theodore gave me an odd look before heading to the bathroom.
‘Why’s his perceptiveness so selective?’
Sometimes he seemed to just live by whim, other times like he was faking obliviousness when it suited him.
-Click.
“I’m back.”
A bit later, Arthur returned from the training room, gave Cookie’s enthusiastic welcome a cursory pat, and sat at the table we were using as a dining spot.
“You’re back. Let’s have lunch first.”
“Yeah.”
Theodore emerged from the dressing room where he’d been scribbling something, rustling papers.
We soon pulled out a can of stew and three smoked sausages from our ration crate leftovers and prepared a simple meal.
Preparation meant boiling the stew over the fireplace and grilling the sausages we’d slashed since we had no proper tools.
“Tastes better than expected.”
I spun the stew can to check the label.
‘Mom’s already cornered this market.’
The maker was ‘Sunlight,’ but the distributor was none other than ‘Cruise Trading Company.’
As canning tech advanced, preservation wasn’t enough—taste and nutrition mattered too—and Mom had jumped ahead into the business.
“Anyone still hungry? Arthur, want some of those tasteless biscuits?”
“…….”
“I can mix ’em with cocoa. That’s how people usually eat them, right?”
Arthur’s mouth worked like he wanted to protest, but he just nodded silently in the end.
His pickiness screamed capital upbringing.
I washed the empty stew can and set a kettle on the fireplace.
-Pop pop!
“Theodore, grab the kettle for—”
-Boom!
Minutes later.
Just as Theodore reached to take the steaming kettle off the fireplace,
I flinched at the explosion echoing from outside the dormitory.