Chapter 69

The Schlaphe Hall lobby is as noisy as ever. The Ricks Corps lay sprawled on the floor, having been beaten like dogs again today, and Makdal was panting heavily. Interestingly, his usually mean expression seemed more relaxed than usual.

“Phew… you’re getting better.”

As Makdal laughed heartily, Ricks gritted his teeth and glared.

“…Are you mocking us right now?”

Makdal casually wiped his nose and said something plausible.

“Hmph, I’m saying it because I can see you’re covering your weaknesses. You realized your techniques were slow, didn’t you?”

Then he looked at the fallen members of Ricks’s group with a thoughtful gaze.

“And the others are moving more systematically. Maybe it’s because you all have good chemistry, but it’s the first time I’ve seen a group move as seamlessly as one organism.”

Watching this, Limberton scratched his head.

“Doesn’t that guy seem more relaxed lately?”

“Yeah…”

I asked Donatan,

‘Is it just my imagination, or is that guy moving better than before?’

– It’s just as you saw. He’s definitely gotten stronger since the first time we fought.

Initially, the idea was to train Ricks’s corps. But perhaps enduring all the fights alone without Bidon made Makdal stronger.

‘At this rate, he might last three months.’

“Today’s warm-up was just right. Kids, let me point out what you lacked as a reward.”

Makdal pointed at Ricks.

“You there. For someone who’s supposed to be the leader, you really can’t position yourself. If your specialty is shaping magic, support from the back. Always charging in front just demoralizes your teammates.”

Then he pointed at Gravel.

“And you, the invisible girl. Ambushes are good, but the problem is your teammates forget you exist. You canceled your spell because someone got in your way, right? It’s a waste of your latent destructive power.” �

Finally, he clicked his tongue at the whole group.

“Tsk tsk, the rest of you are the biggest problem. Compared to those two, your abilities are seriously lacking. I thought you might be good enough for Adelle Hall with hard work, but maybe I was wrong?”

As he talked so arrogantly, Ricks’s corps lowered their heads to hide their bitter expressions.

‘…I wasn’t sure what was going on, but if they were getting stronger, that was fine.’

As I tried to pass by, Makdal bowed politely.

“Good morning, Lord Hersel.”

“Yeah…”

I walked past Makdal. Limberton, with a puzzled look, asked,

“Doesn’t he seem different? His expression is a bit softer too.”

“You noticed that too?”

Makdal’s expression seemed full of fulfillment. It looked like he’d gone mad after enduring extreme neurosis.

He’s finally lost it.

After magic class, I was on my way to after-school supplementary lessons. Limberton went to learn advanced crossbow techniques, and Aslay went for martial arts. I went to learn non-mainstream magic, and the classroom I arrived at was desolate. Only one man was there.

When I sat down, the man glanced at me and sneered.

“Are you a freshman?”

From my memory, he was a second- or third-year magic department student, but not from Schlaphe Hall. If he were, I’d feel more familiar.

“Yes. Nice to meet you.”

When I responded briefly, the man frowned in displeasure.

“I’m a second-year, from Buerger Hall. Since you signed up for this class, you can’t be from Adelle Hall. You must be from Schlaphe Hall, right? Come here.”

The man gestured arrogantly like he was calling a dog. From his annoying expression, it seemed he thought he’d found an easy target to bully. He wasn’t worth engaging, so I ignored him and took out my notebook.

“…Are you deaf?”

When I nodded, he ground his teeth and stood up.

“You little…!”

At that moment, an old professor entered the classroom. The man, seemingly planning to get back at me later, glared and sat back down. The professor glanced at us and sighed deeply.

“Only two applicants. No need to check the attendance list.”

The old professor set down the attendance book and shouted toward the entrance.

“Bring him in.”

A scruffy man with handcuffs was dragged in by two professors. His hair was matted, and he wore a tattered prison uniform.

“This prisoner will be teaching you non-mainstream magic. He’s an external invitee.”

The second-year student’s eyes widened in shock. On the other hand, I was indifferent, having applied for non-mainstream magic a few times out of curiosity in my novice days.

Playable characters either couldn’t learn these spells at all, or if they could, they were highly inefficient and soon forgotten.

“Professor, why is there a prisoner here? And how can that trash teach us?”

“Because most who know non-mainstream magic are criminals.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s called non-mainstream magic, but it’s really Fiend Magic. It’s a discipline born in the shadows, far from formal magic. And who better to teach it than this expert?”

The professor clicked his tongue at the prisoner.

“Tsk, he was supposed to be executed. Lucky guy. You two, make sure to come back later.”

After the professors who brought the prisoner left, the old professor sat down, watching over us. The prisoner began swearing profusely.

“Hey, you. The one who called me trash earlier. You want to die?”

“I’m a noble before I’m a student. Shouldn’t you show some respect?”

“What an idiot.”

The second-year’s face turned red with anger. The old professor lightly scolded the man.

“You can speak freely, but avoid disruptive comments. The only reason you’re alive is because we found you useful.”

The prisoner swallowed his resentment. The second-year continued to express his dissatisfaction to the professor.

“Professor, isn’t this too much? How can we learn from such a criminal?”

The professor stood up and approached the second-year. His previously kind grandfatherly demeanor vanished, replaced by fierce eyes glowing under shadowed brows.

“Are you dissatisfied?”

Intimidated by the professor’s presence, the man replied,

“N-No… I mean.”

“If not, stop whining and focus on learning.”

“But…”

“But what? In terms of skill, you can’t even compare to him. If he weren’t a criminal, he’d have brought great honor to the empire. Consider yourself lucky to learn from him.”

The second-year, looking shocked, cautiously asked,

“Who exactly is this prisoner?”

“Hetherson Aola. He’s the man who killed the third knight commander of the empire.”

Upon hearing that, the second-year’s face turned pale.

Hetherson Aola.

A former high-ranking member of the infamous criminal organization, the Watchers of the Underworld. He was a big shot in the underworld, officially declared executed but actually held captive in Frostheart.

“Damn, I thought I’d at least get to see some women here.”

The handcuffs on his wrists were made of a special metal that suppressed both magic and aura. If those hands were freed, even the old professor couldn’t stop him.

“Enough idle talk. Hetherson, get started.”

The professor’s command made Hetherson open his palms.

“You two, hold out your hands. Let’s get this over with quickly.”

While the second-year hesitated, I placed my hand on his palm. Hetherson, seeing my lack of resistance, smiled intriguingly.

“No fear, huh? I like that confidence, but… you.”

Hetherson sighed deeply.

“You have no talent for magic. Your mana is insufficient, and judging by your pulse, you’re poor at manipulating it. It’s surprising you even awakened your senses.”

His assessment was accurate. In my case, it was thanks to Carmelo’s bizarre experiments. If I had real talent, I would have blossomed immediately without needing such experiments.

At that moment, the second-year proudly stepped forward.

“Move aside.”

Seeing that I was fine and trusting the professor’s presence, he thought nothing could happen to him.

“Hey, check me too. I’ll show you how I’m different from this low-level guy.”

When his hand came up, Hetherson faintly smiled.

“Oh, you’re definitely better than that blonde guy. You’ve awakened two senses. But…”

Hetherson pulled the second-year closer and headbutted him in the nose.

Whack!

“Aagh!”

“You’re a real jerk.”

The second-year clutched his bleeding nose and urgently turned to the professor.

“P-Professor, this criminal dared…”

The professor looked indifferently at Hetherson.

“So, will you teach these two or not?”

“I’ll do it. Otherwise, I’ll just go back to prison, right?”

Hetherson scattered the papers on the podium and grabbed a piece of chalk.

“The magic I’ll teach is paper-folding.”

The professor frowned.

“…Are you not going to teach proper magic?”

“Old man, we didn’t specify what kind of magic I should teach. So it’s my choice, isn’t it?”

Seeing the formula on the board, the professor dropped his stern facade and sighed.

“Hmm.”

With an annoying smirk, Hetherson completed the formula.

“By the way, I hate nobles like you. You’re all so full of yourselves it gives me hives. Look at my skin. It’s breaking out just from touching your hands.”

Despite his blatant contempt, I diligently copied down the formula.

The lines and patterns were indeed different from traditional ones. The equations seemed more creative, almost like an IQ test where you have to deduce the rules to find the answer.

“I don’t know if you rote-learning idiots will understand. Magic is like a language that can be expressed in various ways.”

“Like how the same object has different names in different languages?”

Water is water. In English, it’s “water,” but the essence remains the same despite the different name. I think Hetherson’s point is something like that.

“Ho, you’re sharper than I thought.”

Hetherson admired, but the second-year scoffed.

“That’s nonsense. Magic just requires correctly copying the formula, doesn’t it?”

The second-year drew the formula on the board with his staff. The paper Hetherson had tossed on the floor began to fold, but soon…

Rustle!

It turned into a crumpled ball.

“Idiot.”

I, too, sympathized with Hetherson and looked at the second-year with disdain. He ground his teeth in humiliation. Hetherson asked him a question.

“Do you know why Fiend Magic isn’t part of formal magic?”

“Because it was created in filthy streets?”

“Nonsense. Magic Tower scholars avoid it for a reason. We use not just mana, but also magic power. Over time, that messes with your mind.”

The second-year stuttered.

“M-Magic power?”

“Yes, see the inverted triangle at the end of the formula. The distribution is 9 parts mana to 1 part magic power. But you, not understanding the principle, just filled it with mana.”

Hetherson clicked his tongue at the professor.

“Damn fools. Teaching students this. Do they think they’re disposable?”

The professor remained silent. Knowing the answer, I still asked Hetherson.

“So how do we handle this magic power?”

Hetherson smirked.

“Do you think I’ll tell you?”

Annoyed by his attitude, the professor explained instead.

“Precision telekinesis. Magic power can be moved telekinetically, unlike mana. It’s about incorporating it into your body.”

The professor swirled his staff, drawing magic power from the depths of Frostheart.

Sssss

Black mist gathered into a small cloud.

Hetherson clicked his tongue and asked,

“Do you want to try incorporating this?”

Magic power corrodes the mind. Holding it within oneself is something only a madman would willingly do, which is why playable characters in Frostheart reject it. Even if the user wants to, it only results in a monologue of refusal.

But now, I could willingly accept it by moving my hand.

I used telekinesis to draw some of the magic power into my body.

Sssss

Because it was a small amount, ‘1 Second Invulnerability’ didn’t activate.

Following Hetherson’s formula, I created a paper crane.

Hetherson sighed in admiration.

“You really understood the formula.”

Just copying the formula wasn’t enough. Hetherson hadn’t written everything on the board; there were missing parts that one had to figure out. If missed, the result wouldn’t be a paper crane.

Despite the simplicity, the magic Hetherson taught had depth. The second-year, ignorant of this, sneered.

“What’s the big deal? I could’ve done it right if I used magic power.”

“Don’t be cocky. Even if you had, you’d have made something weird.”

“You said I have more magic talent than this guy. Are you drunk on magic power?”

“Yeah? Shall we see if I’m wrong? Let me shove magic power up your ass and find out.”

Annoyed by his persistent whining, I approached the second-year and spoke coldly.

“If you’re not going to take this class seriously, why don’t you just leave?”

“What?”

“You’re wasting my time.”

“You arrogant…!”

The second-year clenched his fists, then glanced at the professor before storming out.

Whatever. If memory serves, he wasn’t going to last long anyway.

There have always been plenty of Buerger Hall students who looked down on Schlaphe Hall. It’s easy to vent stress here, and they can boss around the servants for a few coins, making it fun for them.

Used to treating their servants harshly to feel superior, these so-called nobles liked to belittle those who couldn’t talk back. The satisfaction from such bullying was enormous.

***

The second-year, who was humiliated in the non-mainstream magic class, waited for his older brother in the Buerger Hall lobby.

‘I just wanted to mess with him a bit, but that arrogant guy…’

That first-year from Schlaphe Hall dared to look down on him. And even that criminal prisoner treated him like an idiot.

What he couldn’t stand the most was being talked down to with that condescending tone.

Grinding his teeth in anger, his older brother approached.

“What happened to your nose?”

“Don’t ask about that. Do you know someone named Makdal from Schlaphe Hall?”

“Oh, Makdal? We were close when he was in Buerger Hall. Why?”

The younger brother smiled wickedly. He had messed with Schlaphe Hall before thanks to his brother’s connections.

Though recently he had been thoroughly defeated by someone named Hersel, he thought his brother would turn a blind eye to messing with a disrespectful first-year.

“I need to teach someone a lesson. Can you help?”

His brother’s expression became serious.

“Did the guy who did this to your nose also do that?”

“Yes. I was tricked into this. Can you help?”

“It’ll be tricky without Bidon, but it’s not impossible. We’ve been bothering Schlaphe Hall a lot lately, and they haven’t said anything.”

As the younger brother cheered internally, his brother grabbed a passing senior.

“Hey, Ebil. What’s up?”

“A first-year from Schlaphe Hall did this to my brother.”

“What?”

The senior, thinking it was time to reassert the hierarchy, gathered others.

“Hey, a first-year from Schlaphe Hall broke Shubil’s nose.”

“Shubil?”

“You know, Ebil’s brother.”

Word spread quickly, and a crowd gathered. Walking confidently, Shubil felt empowered by his brother’s connections.

That night, around 30 Buerger Hall students marched on Schlaphe Hall.