Chapter 50: Special

El pushed open the door to the Dean’s office.

“El, my student, I’m so relieved you’re alright. I heard that cultists attacked Kant Manor last night, but I saw your safety in a prophecy.” Anthony’s hands were clasped together, showing his relief.

“Unfortunately, I didn’t find any knowledge about demons in the ancient tomes. The only mention of them is in a history dating back seven hundred years, and even then, it’s rather obscure… Would you like to hear about it?”

The Old Mage looked a bit guilty, even his beard drooping.

“No need, Teacher, thank you for your help. That demon has already awakened, right inside my body. I’ve come today mainly to ask you to approve a leave of absence from lectures; I’ve been so busy recently that I simply don’t have the time to attend classes at the academy.”

El bowed to the Old Mage.

“This old geezer, I remember him…” Anger whispered softly.

Anthony’s tone turned serious, “Let me take a look.”

The Old Mage’s vast spiritual power unfolded. El felt as if a giant hand reached into his soul. He did not resist, allowing the Old Mage to inspect him carefully.

“……El, you are very special.” After a long while, Anthony finally spoke slowly. He searched his mind for a long time and in the end, this was the only word he could use to describe his feelings.

Special? What does that mean? Anger’s evaluation was the same, but El didn’t understand.

“Your soul’s structure is different from others. This may be related to your hidden innate talent. In any case, the demon in your body is like a tiger with its fangs pulled out… no, I should say, more like a kitten with its teeth removed. It’s only a remnant of resentment, and cannot affect you.”

Thanks to the Old Mage’s analysis, El now understood his situation.

El’s constitution was different from ordinary people, it could be called the Innate Demon Sacred Body.

Just as the name implied, it was as if he was born to imprison demons. Not to mention a Demi-Soul like Anger—even the soul of a fully-formed Archdemon couldn’t resist his control.

“I can sense that there’s an Authority within you, presumably belonging to that demon, yes? Although it’s someone else’s Authority, due to your special constitution, it’s possible you could seize it. That would be highly beneficial for your growth.”

El spoke to the demon in his mind: “How about it, Anger? Do you feel a little afraid?”

“Afraid? Why should I be? El, inheriting my Authority isn’t as simple as you think, at least you’re not qualified yet. If you could take my Authority, I’d only be there to welcome the new Lord of ‘Wrath’ to the throne.” The demon replied with a sinister grin.

“We can put the matter of the demon aside for now. Next is… the leave of absence? Of course, you can have it. Actually, your magical skills already surpass many professors. It’s just that they each have their specialized fields, which are worth learning from.”

“I’ve heard some talk about the recent political strife in the capital. I just hope you keep your wits about you. You’re a titled noble now, so as long as you don’t make a grave mistake, your personal safety is at least guaranteed.”

The Old Mage spoke earnestly.

“Also, you haven’t forgotten, have you? The beginning-of-term monthly examination is coming up soon… I see your magic power has recovered, I’m truly happy for you.”

He smiled, “Well? This time, do you have the confidence to take the championship in the combat assessment? To defeat that Fitzyat brat.”

The Royal Academy’s examinations were held twice a year: once at the start of the first month of term, and again at the very end.

There were both theory and practical assessments, with different weightings for each department.

For example, in the Knight Department, the ratio of theory to practical was 2:8, while for the Magic Department it was 5:5.

A student’s ranking would affect their voice in the academy, as well as the resources the academy would allocate to them.

For instance, as top students of the Magic Department, El and Karen could receive personal instruction from the sage Anthony, along with preferential access to the library’s books and reimbursement for magical materials.

Last year in the combat assessment, Karen Fitzyat took first place across the entire year with an overwhelming advantage.

Even the most combat-savvy Knight Department students weren’t spared under his hand.

However, when it came to combined theoretical results, El was the top student in the Magic Department, known as the “First Seat.”

“Karen, huh… He may be a bit troublesome, but I’ll win.”

It wasn’t that arrogant… But with the atmosphere just right, El decided to boast a little in front of his teacher.

Honestly, if he didn’t consider alchemical gear, he estimated his chance of victory was about thirty percent.

There was no helping it. The Fitzyat Family’s inherited talent was simply too outrageous. Extreme speed was already a mage’s nemesis.

But practical assessments allowed the use of tools, otherwise mages’ win rates would be miserable. This gave El a bit more confidence.

“Is that so? Then I’ll look forward to it,” the Old Mage said.

“There’s one more thing—I’d like you to take a look at this spell formation.”

El sketched out the general outline of a spell formation from memory, not even a prototype yet.

Even unfinished, it already exuded an evil aura, like rotting mud.

Back when Taiwen tried to persuade the Red Dragon to escape, he’d said, “El’s already seen through your weakness.”

Though a bit exaggerated, El did manage to find the spell formation on him. Through the “Arcane Eye,” El discovered this formation was the root of his “immortality.”

If he could decipher this spell, the next time he ran into Taiwen, it shouldn’t be as tricky.

“What’s this?” the Old Mage asked hesitantly.

El told Anthony everything that had happened.

“So that’s what happened… Demon worshippers… They have special means to block my prophecy spells… I can’t see any clues related to them.”

The Old Mage seemed to be talking to himself, still examining the spell’s outline El had sketched.

“It doesn’t belong to any known magical system… Or rather, it’s not human magic at all. With the magical units we know, it’s very hard to explain this formation. All we can do is make analogies and try to simulate it with our own language.”

He shook his head.

“Sorry, El, there’s nothing I can do. Perhaps, this is a challenge for you. Your talent surpasses mine. I think you have a hope of deciphering this spell.”

“Even Teacher can’t manage it?” El was surprised.

“As I always say, El, there’s no end to learning. The more knowledge I acquire, the more I realize my own ignorance.”

“At least this old man is humble,” the demon commented.

Anthony, as a Legend, possessed the Authority of Erudition—more accurately, “Anthony’s Erudition”—which allowed him to master and integrate all his accumulated knowledge, and to make everything he taught easier to understand.

The Authority that each Legend possessed was determined by their own legacy. As the “Legend born of peace,” Anthony’s Authority was destined to have nothing to do with battle.

He advanced the cause of magical education, wrote books, founded schools—thus earning a unique Authority.

In the eyes of the world, Anthony was a wise mage and an outstanding teacher, and thus his Authority was born.

“I regret that I can do less and less to help you,” the Old Mage sighed.

“Perhaps… this is a sign that I’ll soon surpass you,” El said, offering comfort.

“Heh, I’ve always looked forward to that day. Ever consider becoming the Dean of the Royal Academy, in the future?” he laughed.

“Forget it, I think you’ll live a long time yet, until you see me grow old too—then we’ll talk.”

“Remember not to use prophecy spells too frequently. They cause irreversible damage to the mind. Think of Count Tilka, he drools every time he eats—if you don’t want to live as miserably as he does in the future… you get it.”

El said with concern.

“Alright, alright, I promise you. I’ve been complaining about the Order of Destiny’s arcana accuracy for a while now. Maybe it’s time for me to take a break, too.”

Anthony waved his hand, looking just like an ordinary kindly old man.

***

Jack ended up crashing after all.

Before the mission, he’d asked Taiwen—if he went up against the Sword Saint head-on, what were his chances of winning?

Taiwen had made a few gestures, and in the end said, probably fifty-fifty.

Fifty-fifty? Jack was excited. Was the Sword Saint only that strong?

Then, Taiwen added, the fifty-fifty meant that in five minutes, the Sword Saint would kill you five times.

…Jack hadn’t accepted it at the time.

Now, though…”Yo, you’re pretty tough. Took me quite a bit of effort,” Walde said, looking at Jack’s shattered remains on the ground.

Damn it, even my worst parts are made of ‘dwarven steel,’ and yet I got sliced open like a potato.

Of course, Jack was no match for Walde. Gains come with losses—he was skilled at infiltration and sabotage, but his head-on combat ability was weak compared to others of the same level.

The manor was too far from the capital, and the Kant River’s floodplain was vast. Jack had no room to maneuver, and there was no way to escape.

“Whew—thank goodness I took him down, or I’d have trouble explaining to His Highness.” Walde dismembered Jack’s body, revealing its intricate magical circuits within.

“What on earth is he? A cyborg? An alchemical puppet? Whatever, I’ll just bag him up and bring him back.”

After confirming Jack’s death, Walde took him away.

The wind element gathered as he soared into the sky, flying back toward Kant Manor.

In a corner he hadn’t noticed, a spider made of metal crawled out from the soil and quietly crept toward the capital.

In fact, Jack had long known he couldn’t defeat the Sword Saint.

At the moment of defeat, he’d separated his core—his “spider”—from his body, and with the help of an alchemical bomb, he’d managed to fool Walde’s senses.

That’s my escape route… When it comes to wits, no one can outplay me!

However, Jack glanced sorrowfully in the direction Walde had flown off.

That body was made of expensive materials! How was this any different from dying himself? Jack was almost heartbroken enough to stop breathing.

What kept him going was sheer resentment.

Once he got back, he was definitely going to give his useless teammates a vicious scolding—they couldn’t even handle a count’s son.

A bunch of idiots, he thought.