Chapter 163

Mikhail stood in front of the academic building, staring at the sunset, then turned his eyes to the hand hanging at his side.

Course registration. Grades collected. What came next…

He lingered in place for a moment, then set off along the path that stretched toward the outer edge of campus.

Whooosh—

A stray wind combed through his hair as it swept past.

Steady footsteps carried him forward, and what surfaced hazily in his mind were memories of recent events.

[Grrrrrr—.]

The basilisk, rampaging in a form no one had predicted. The unknown force that had twisted the original progression and driven the anomaly.

And the last image he'd caught of Ethan.

[…You have to get out. Please.]

That crumbling expression. That voice trembling in fine, jagged fragments.

What was Ethan doing right now…

"……"

His breath stung at the tail end. Before long, Mikhail let his gaze drift downward. Regardless of what his heart wanted, any way of reaching Ethan right now was a distant prospect.

There were over twenty garrisons to check.

Even if by some miracle he pinpointed Ethan's location on the first try, whether they could actually talk was a different matter entirely.

A garrison was a proper front line. Every action, every word exchanged—all of it would be restricted by command.

So for now.

Mikhail slowed his pace and drew a deep breath.

Rather than chasing a path with slim odds, there was something he'd rather do—something that mattered more.

His own goals and the road Ethan had chosen for himself.

If he wanted to preserve the moments where Ethan could show what he was capable of, then the first order of business was…

Understanding the current extent of the force that caused the main storyline's excessive distortion.

Mikhail narrowed his eyes, recalling the alien mana that had flickered inside the body of that massive reptile.

The dark purple force that had driven the rampage.

A power that had developed far beyond anything he could have guessed based on the original progression.

And… it reacted to my mana—to Abyss—too.

There was no guarantee that this anomalous mana wouldn't bleed into the next main storyline.

He needed to prepare for that threat. He needed to gauge exactly how much destructive capability the enemy possessed.

And as it happens, the downtime right after collecting grades is precisely when a way to make contact with part of the enemy's forces opens up.

Mikhail curled his pounding fingertips into a fist.

He'd settled on a plan to make contact with the enemy. But he had no intention of stepping far enough in to put himself at risk.

What he wanted was their coded operational directive.

He'd slip into a merchant convoy transporting supplies, steal the directive the enemy operatives were carrying, and get out.

I can read the ciphers in the directive, after all.

A few honest sentences reflecting their current state.

That alone would be enough to estimate the enemy's present level of strength.

---

Meanwhile, at the same hour.

Inside the study at the heart of the grand estate belonging to House Leventia—the great mage family that governed the kingdom's south.

Flutter.

Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the clear glass windows.

Diagonal bands of sunset deepened the contours of the documents being turned page by page, and the face studying them, while—

[I'm Mikhail Senit.]

Above the empty air, a boy's voice echoed on repeat like a persistent refrain.

Flutter. Flutter.

[I'm done hiding. I'm stepping forward and carrying on my father's name. Try to stop me if you'd like.]

"Hmm."

The one listening to the voice with the sun at his back.

Cassien Leventia tapped the edge of his document with a neutral expression, then slowly pulled the corner of his mouth upward.

"Mikhail Senit…. Leading with a declaration of war, just like that. Cheeky little thing, I'll give him that."

Cassien murmured in an unhurried voice, then snapped the document he'd been reading shut and pushed it aside.

[Joint Suppression Campaign: Operational Report]

He propped his chin on one hand and blinked a few times, then raised a finger and drew a horizontal line through the air.

Pop!

A flash of mana sparked from Cassien's fingertip.

In the same instant, shards of blue mana scattered apart and began moving like the nib of a pen, tracing shapes into being.

Tzzzt….

Horizontal lines crossing vertical ones.

And atop the key inflection points, small square markers dropped into place like raindrops.

What materialized in the air was a visual rendering of Mikhail's voice converted into waveform.

Divided by pitch and tempo, each moment drawn as a straight line and shaped into an image.

"……"

Cassien studied the figure hovering before him with an unhurried gaze, then let a low, contemplative sound escape.

The brazen provocation Senit had delivered.

It was nothing but genuine conviction.

There was no tremor suggesting fear, no unnatural gaps—the kind that appeared when surface thoughts and hidden intentions collided and bled into each other.

"Is this a child's recklessness? Or…"

Cassien stared in silence at the image floating within arm's reach, then lowered his finger.

Fzzzt…

The image vanished in a flash. What lay before him was the same broad, empty air as before.

The only difference was a servant standing near the door, head bowed low toward Cassien.

"Well, then."

Cassien propped his chin and tilted his head.

Between the voice he'd just analyzed and the campaign report, he'd identified a few noteworthy fragments regarding Mikhail—but none of it was enough to pass judgment on the whole picture.

Mikhail Senit.

The heir of the North, who had kept silent as though submerged in deep water and was only now beginning to surface.

The clues and scenes needed to fully grasp his foundations and true intentions were still insufficient. He needed more data.

To crush him completely, I'll need intelligence to match. Every possible escape route has to be sealed off first.

Cassien's eyes narrowed to sharp slits. He wiggled his fingers as he sifted through his thoughts.

Then, on impulse, his gaze drifted to the Leventia crest mounted on the wall.

On luxurious purple velvet sat a single lion with a thick, flowing mane.

The symbol that had represented House Leventia—the great mage family since the founding of the kingdom—standing watch through all the long years.

The beast embroidered in gold thread should have looked just as imposing as it always had, then and now, and yet…

"……"

Right now, looking at it stirred nothing in Cassien's chest. He couldn't feel the same authority it once commanded.

Senit. The white owl gliding through the blue cold.

Cassien conjured the images that had long symbolized his family's sworn enemy.

Then he stopped the idle tapping of his fingers and let the composed mask he wore twist out of shape.

His gaze lingered on the crest for another moment before pulling away.

"……"

A heavy silence pressed down and filled the room. Cassien stared ahead at the empty space with the same expression he always wore.

But the thoughts churning through his mind right now carried a different weight than before.

Father was… far too honest a man.

The moment past scenes surfaced, something squirmed inside him. But Cassien cooled his head with practiced ease and continued the thought.

His father—and the current head of House Leventia.

Garelt Leventia.

On raw skill alone, he was an exceptional mage. But he lacked the cunning to manipulate people or command the center stage of political affairs.

The cause was obvious. Garelt was the kind of man who wore his heart on his sleeve. He reacted far too easily to wounded pride or provocation, exposing his weaknesses for all to see.

In fairness, among people he was close to—people he could let his guard down around—that temperament could be an endearing quality.

But in a world where smiling enemies lurked at every turn and a single word could tip the scales for hundreds, it meant being the easiest person in the room to exploit.

And in practice, Garelt Leventia had…

…made choices that would prove disastrous more times than Cassien cared to count.

[A formal title? Direct authority? Fine. Do as you please! Should I lose to Senit, I'll hand over every last bit of it. Not that such a thing would ever happen.]

[But in return, when Senit loses, I'll seize everything he has. I'll brand 'loser' on his forehead and dress him in rags. Forget casting magic—I'll make sure he never sets foot outside a shack for the rest of his miserable life.]

[…Hmph! Spare me the drivel. As if I'd ever lose to some common-born nobody. Tch… I should've ripped him out by the roots when he first started making noise in that little pond of his.]

He'd heard his father's voice as a child, yet even now—grown into adulthood—it rang as clearly as if he'd just listened to it.

"Hh."

Cassien let a thin breath hiss through his teeth and gnawed lightly on the inside of his lower lip.

Then he curled the fingertips resting on the desk, pulling them in tight.

But I'm not him. I have no intention of repeating Father's mistakes.

Cassien's eyes creased into a fierce, narrow line.

He would wait for the moment to crush his enemy completely. Until that opportunity presented itself, he'd show nothing but poise and composure while biding his time.

A posture of total defense. But he'd dig for intelligence on the enemy and carve out cracks that could serve as openings when the time came.

He'd stop at nothing. He'd probe every connection tied to Mikhail Senit—eroding the ground beneath his feet before he even noticed.

"……"

After a stretch of silence had passed, Cassien smoothed the furrow from his brow and exhaled.

He settled that same flat, unreadable expression back over his face and murmured in a voice barely above a whisper.

"A student at Salvator Academy, is he. Come to think of it… isn't Julien enrolled there as well?"

---

The evening sun was sinking below the horizon, slow and heavy.

Beneath a sky thick with gathering dusk.

Mikhail traced a familiar route through the shopping district and stopped by Haeron's magic tool shop for the first time in a long while.

Creeeak—

"Good evening, sir."

"Oh—! You—!"

Mikhail had just offered a bright greeting when Haeron shoved aside the newspaper he'd been reading through his magnifying glasses and leaned toward him.

The eyes behind those thick lenses lit up like lightbulbs dangling from a ceiling.

"Well, well. If it isn't the star who led his team to victory at the campaign! I heard all about your exploits."

"Getting compliments out of nowhere is a little embarrassing."

"Embarrassing, nothing. What's wrong with calling a good job a good job? Anyway—what brings you in today?"

Mikhail flashed Haeron a grin, then walked over to the bookshelf and said.

"I'm here to buy textbooks. You've still got used first-year copies left over, right? Clean ones with no writing in them would be even better."