CHAPTER 5: Disguised Malice

CHAPTER 5: Disguised Malice

CHAPTER 5

Disguised Malice

Once Lana had refreshed her makeup, Monica returned to the competition room. Something strange had happened with the audience seating while she was away. All the spectators were using the benches prepared by the academy save for one, who was sitting with his legs folded under him on the floor. It was Robert Winkel, the boy who had proposed to her in order to play chess and been summarily turned down. He was between the student council’s bench and the faculty’s bench with a piece of paper stuck to his back that read, “Thinking about what I’ve done.”

Seated on the council’s bench, Felix was smiling, while Cyril was dispersing cold air, his arms folded across his chest. Meanwhile, among the faculty, Mr. Redding was staring hard at Robert, deep creases in his brow.

Monica, speechless, hesitated to go anywhere near them until Robert noticed her and raised his voice, still sitting on the floor. “Lady Monica! When this match is over, please hear me out once more—”

Clearly having failed to learn his lesson, Robert was interrupted by Mr. Redding’s fist coming down on his head. As the boy rubbed at the area of impact, Felix and Cyril addressed him coldly.

“Winkel, I don’t believe I’ve given you permission to speak yet.”

“Please refrain from any actions that may disturb the players before their games.”

There seemed to be a peculiarly uncomfortable aura surrounding Robert, and Monica found herself a little frightened by it. Flustered, she was wondering what to do when Elliott and Benjamin beckoned to her from the player seating. Seeing her chance, she rushed over.

“U-um, that seat there…,” she stammered.

“Pretend you don’t see it,” said Elliott. “And do not, under any circumstances, ask what happened while you were out of the room. I saw nothing. Understand? I’ll say it again. I saw nothing. ”

“Ahhh, to think our student council president, said to be so gentle and mild-mannered, would do something so cruel…,” said Benjamin. “I swear I heard music—specifically from Georg Altmeier’s fifth requiem expressing divine punishment and the third movement therein: ‘God’s Anger Falleth Upon Us’!”

Monica wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but apparently, something terrifying had happened. Deciding ignorance was bliss, she nodded at Elliott to indicate she’d understood him.

The players from Minerva’s still hadn’t arrived, it seemed; none of the students or their teacher was anywhere to be found. Ultimately, they made it to their seats with only seconds to spare before the match.

Standing at their head was Bernie Jones. Monica was pretty sure he’d been their anchor, but he passed by Elliott, instead taking a seat across from her.

Elliott arched an eyebrow and looked at him. “Hey, what’s this? That’s not your seat. Aren’t you the anchor?”

“I submitted a request to change places,” replied Bernie. “This seat is correct.”

If Bernie had moved up to the first position, that meant he viewed Monica as a powerful opponent—but it was also an insult to Elliott as Serendia Academy’s anchor.

Withdrawing his usual flippant smile, Elliott narrowed his drooping eyes at Bernie. “That’s rather tasteless of you.”

“I’m fully aware of how rude I’m being,” answered Bernie. “But this is something on which I cannot yield under any circumstances.”

The other two players from Minerva’s and their teacher wore troubled expressions, and Elliott surmised the idea for the change had come directly from Bernie.

Monica was surprised, but not disturbed. Strangely enough, her heart was calm. Before, she’d been terrified of facing Bernie; now she wasn’t scared in the slightest.

The moment she’d given up on it all—on gaining his forgiveness, his friendship, his acknowledgment—one of the wedges driven into Monica’s heart had vanished.

Bernie turned away from Elliott and set his gaze on Monica. His eyes said it all: Look at me. Pay attention to me…

But his persistence no longer reached Monica’s heart. The only thing on her mind as she sat at the chessboard was the game ahead. There was no room for Bernie.

“Let’s have a good game.”

“Yes.”

Bernie went first, moving one of his pieces. Monica followed immediately.

As it turned out, his play style was very aggressive. She could feel his determination to win at all costs—no matter what pieces he had to sacrifice.

And Monica would meet him head-on and crush him.

He was a talented player—worthy of being the anchor for Minerva’s. But his strength was brittle. Monica destroyed every one of his plans as if to underscore the fact that all his sacrifices, all his groundwork, all his tactics were for nothing.

She moved with the same unfeeling efficiency as when she’d shot those pterodragons in their foreheads.

I know you can do it, Monica…!

Lana didn’t know much about chess, so looking at the broadcasting board, she couldn’t tell which player was winning. But as she held her breath and continued to watch, Claudia muttered something from beside her.

“…She’s merciless.”

Just how many people could make Claudia, renowned for her scathing critiques, describe them as “merciless”?

Looking at the board, Glenn—as clueless about chess as Lana—asked Neil, “So, uh, does it look like Monica might win?”

“No,” said Neil with a shake of his head, face tense. “She’s already won.”

“Huh?” said Glenn, his eyes going wide.

Nobody could blame him for being surprised—not much time had passed since the game’s start, after all.

“If she’s already won, then why is the game still going?” asked Glenn.

“Lady Norton’s victory is essentially assured at this stage,” explained Neil. “But her opponent doesn’t want to admit it. I guess you could say he’s floundering…”

Cyril and Claudia nodded. “He’ll have a difficult time even bringing things to a stalemate at this rate,” pointed out Cyril.

“Yes,” said Claudia. “And he demoted himself from anchor to first player, so if he loses immediately, his reputation will be in tatters. I’d say he’s desperate and trying to stall for time.”

“Yikes,” said Glenn, looking at Bernie with pity in his eyes.

“Merciless” described Monica’s game perfectly.

Lana folded her arms and sniffed proudly. “That’s right. He’ll find Monica a little different today.”

“…Why are you bragging about it?” asked Claudia languidly.

Lana lifted her chin and replied, “Why shouldn’t I be proud of my friend doing something amazing? It makes me happy when people praise the things and people I like. So yes, I’m bragging.”

Just then, Monica quietly declared checkmate.

“Checkmate.”

Bernie broke down into a trembling mess at Monica’s declaration, one hand pushing his bangs, mussing them up. Monica, however, simply stared emotionlessly down at the game board. The only things in her eyes were the black and white pieces—and not a hint of him.

In truth, he’d always known. Monica was a bona fide genius, while he was just a regular person who happened to be slightly more talented than others. There was a tall, thick wall between them that he’d never be able to break through or surmount.

“…Damn it!” he muttered, standing up from his chair with a clatter and bursting out of the room.

Monica didn’t follow him or call out to him. In fact, she didn’t even look at him. Her eyes remained glued to the board until the moment he vanished from the room.

This was reality.

Damn it, damn it, damn it!

Back in the waiting room, Bernie slammed a fist into the wall. His conduct was rude and unrefined, unworthy of a son of Count Ambard. He knew that. But he had to vent his anger somehow.

There was a reserved knock at the door.

“Errr, Bernie?” came the voice of his teacher. Apparently, he’d followed him all the way here from the competition room.

“Hey,” he continued. “I know you’re frustrated because you lost, but why don’t we head back now? We still need to give our official greetings to everyone at the end.”

“…I’m sorry,” said Bernie stiffly. “Just give me a few minutes. I’ll go back.”

Pitman scratched his head, troubled. “Hmm. If you’re late, that teacher with the scary face will probably glare at me…”

The “teacher with the scary face” was probably Professor Boyd of Serendia Academy. And Pitman was right—one glare from that terrifying, warrior of a man and anyone would feel like begging for their life.

…Huh? Suddenly, Bernie felt like something wasn’t adding up.

Actually, the feeling wasn’t sudden; something had been off for a while. He’d just been so excited earlier that he hadn’t noticed. But now that he thought back, his exchange with Pitman in the faculty room didn’t make sense, either.

Suppressing his anger toward Monica for the moment, Bernie turned to Pitman. “Mr. Pitman, once we return to Minerva’s, will you still teach me chess?”

“Sure. I would be glad to.”

His words solidified Bernie’s suspicions. He felt an awful chill run up his spine but didn’t let it show. Taking a few steps back, he hesitantly asked, “…Who are you?”

Pitman’s eyes widened in confusion—and a bit of shock crept into that boring scholar’s face of his. “I… Who am I? I’m Eugene Pitman. A teacher at Minerva’s—”

“Mr. Pitman may be our chess-club supervisor, but he’s not very good at the game,” interrupted Bernie. “He loves it, don’t get me wrong—but he’s always saying there’s nothing he can teach us.”

“Oh, come on. Doesn’t every teacher want to look good in front of his students once in a while?”

“Then what subject do you teach? In which field of magecraft is your specialty?”

Pitman fell silent at the barrage of questions.

The man was a former research student at Minerva’s who had become a teacher. There was no way he wouldn’t recognize William Macragan, the Waterbite Mage. And yet in the faculty room, this man had acted like Macragan was a stranger.

The same went for Professor Boyd. Pitman had been the supervisor for a number of chess competitions in the past. It was strange he’d suddenly forget the professor’s name.

Eventually, Bernie—readying himself for a fight—said, “…I’ll ask you again. Who are you?”

The feckless grin fell off Pitman’s face as his lips turned upward, forming an arc.

Eugene Pitman was a professor of ranged magecraft and the supervisor of the chess club. He was a mild-mannered man, if a bit indecisive, and a scholar.

But this Pitman—or whoever was borrowing his shape—let a cruel smile like a big crescent moon spread across his face.

“Well, well,” said the man. “The boys and girls at Minerva’s really are smart, aren’t they?”

His voice was clearly different from Pitman’s now. It was low for a woman’s but considerably high-pitched for a man’s. It was like concentrated honey—sweet and sticky, a cloying sort of voice.

Pitman—or rather, the fake Pitman—opened his mouth and began to chant. Bernie didn’t need to hear much of it to know the man was casting a spell.

He’s a mage! Bernie immediately used an abbreviated chant to produce ten arrows made of lightning. The golden arrows crackled and popped as they moved to surround the fake Pitman. And with a wag of his finger, the arrows flew toward the man.

Just then, Bernie’s opponent finished his chant. But if his attack is only beginning now, then mine will land first! The lightning arrows stabbed into the fake Pitman’s body. That should paralyze him , thought Bernie.

However…

“Oh my, that stings… Like I’ve been pricked by needles,” said the false Pitman, swinging his arm and causing the arrows to dissipate.

Did I lower their strength too much trying to take him alive? wondered Bernie, making use of another abbreviated chant to fire the spell again with more power. These arrows were strong enough to knock the man out completely if they hit—but the fake Pitman swung his arm again, batting them all away.

Bernie couldn’t believe his eyes. He parried an attack spell with his bare hands?

He thought at first the man had used a defensive barrier, but judging by the way his attacks were hitting, it didn’t seem like any barrier Bernie was aware of.

Then what spell had the man used? Bernie stared, his eyes full of suspicion—then he gasped as the man began to change shape before him. Something bluish appeared on the false Pitman’s face. Looking more closely, it wasn’t just on his face but his neck and hands, too. It appeared all over his exposed skin, in fact—blue scales.

“Oh! Would this be your first time witnessing dragonshifting magecraft?”

“…Dragonshifting?” Bernie had never seen or heard of such a thing.

Nevertheless, he racked his brain, using all his knowledge to try and pin down what, exactly, he was seeing. It had very obviously induced a physical transformation. Magecraft that strengthened or changed the body was called body-manipulation magecraft. Because of its high risk of mana contamination, it was forbidden throughout the world. In recent years, however, one nation had reopened research on the topic.

That nation was the empire to the east of the Kingdom of Ridill.

“Are you from the Schwargald Empire?” demanded Bernie.

The fake Pitman smiled without answering.

If a mage from the Empire had swapped places with Pitman and infiltrated Serendia Academy, he was likely here to either assassinate or kidnap someone important. And the only person who fit that profile—who was guaranteed to appear at the chess competition—was…

He’s after Prince Felix!

Bernie couldn’t overlook an intruder bent on harming the second prince. He had to stop this imperial mage’s scheme, whatever it took.

Bernie began to chant, intending to use the most powerful spell in his arsenal, but the imperial mage launched into a sliding dash. He was fast. The man’s impossibly strong legs propelled him over to Bernie in the blink of an eye. He grabbed the boy’s neck with one hand, easily lifting him into the air.

“Gah…hah!”

The false Pitman was a slender man of middling height—Bernie couldn’t imagine he had the strength to lift a person with only one hand. But the structure of the hand around Bernie’s neck was warped. His nails were longer, sharper. The arm itself rippled with unnatural muscle. Apparently, his skin wasn’t the only thing that had changed.

Scales that could block magical attacks, combined with Herculean strength… I see , thought Bernie. Dragonshifting indeed.

He flailed his legs and dug his nails into the arm gripping his neck, but it wouldn’t budge. And worst of all, he couldn’t chant in this situation.

He had to at least warn someone. The Eugene Pitman at Serendia was an imperial mage in disguise, using dangerous body-manipulation magecraft!

“Bernie?!”

Suddenly, he heard a voice from behind him. He looked around using only his eyes to find Monica standing in the doorway.

The imperial mage swore, then began quick-chanting a spell. “Drown and die!”

Immediately, the ground at Monica’s feet began to glow. Then a sphere of water appeared, enclosing her. Trapped by the bubble, Monica’s face warped in pain. Her mouth opened and closed pointlessly.

The imperial mage sighed, irritated by the string of interruptions. “I can’t have you screaming, you see. I’m sorry, young lady, but I need you to stay in there until you drown.”

Monica struggled inside the sphere of water, bubbles spurting from her mouth. The sphere used a type of powerful internal barrier, and it was very difficult to escape once inside it. Even mages, unable to chant underwater, would have no choice but to wait for death.

Mages who needed to chant, that is.

There was a high-pitched noise like the sound of glass breaking. The imperial mage, confused, turned around—but by then, the watery barrier enclosing Monica was already covered in cracks, letting the water drain out.

“Impossible!” exclaimed the fake Pitman as the barrier completely burst, spraying water everywhere and releasing Monica to the floor.

The girl coughed and coughed but managed to look up and face the imperial mage squarely. Behind her wet, messy bangs, her light-brown eyes glowed with just a hint of green.

Wind created from mana blustered up around her. That wind then formed an invisible bullet that proceeded to strike the imperial mage right between his eyes.

“Gahhh, agh?!”

The one weakness of dragons, which were otherwise highly resistant to magecraft, was the spot between their eyes—and apparently, the same rule applied to those using dragonshifting magecraft.

The blow to his brow concussed the imperial mage. His eyes rolled up, and he fell over backward. Bernie, his neck freed from the mage’s grasp, fell to the floor, gasping for air.

“Bernie… A-are you all right?!”

He looked up to see Monica staring down at him, worry on her face. He sat and fixed his crooked glasses.

“It’s nothing. More importantly, do you have any idea what’s going on—?”

Before he could finish, he heard a tapping noise at the window. He looked over to see a small yellow bird perched outside the glass. Monica ran over and opened the window, letting the bird fly into the room. A moment later, it transformed into a person.

This person was someone Bernie recognized. It was the blond man with the far-too-formal clothes. Apparently, he hadn’t been a man at all but a spirit.

“You have dealt with the assassin wonderfully, Silent Witch.”

“Miss Ryn, thank you for telling me that Bernie was in danger.” Monica bowed to the blond spirit, then looked down at the imperial mage. “This person may have been a decoy, so please continue to remain alert. And can you ask Nero to stay near the prince at all times, too?”

“At once.”

After hearing Monica talk to the spirit, Bernie finally understood why she was here.

She was an extremely shy person. She never would have enrolled in Serendia Academy of her own volition. He surmised she was on a mission to protect the second prince—a top secret one, no doubt. A mission that had demanded she enroll here.

Monica wrung out her dripping wet skirt, then picked her glasses off the floor and put them in her pocket.

The soaking wet girl with disheveled hair reminded him a lot of Everett the Mute back at Minerva’s, when her classmates had bullied her. She’d been sniffling and sobbing back then. But she was different now.

Without shedding a single tear, she looked at Bernie. “Um, Bernie?”

“Yes?” he replied gruffly.

Monica smiled, a tinge of loneliness to her expression. “It looks like…this is the end of my fake life at the academy.”

This attempted assassination would probably blow up into a huge incident. The real Eugene Pitman had probably been killed when the imperial mage took his place. With a teacher from Minerva’s as the victim, it would be impossible to cover up. Monica’s identity as the one who had captured him would soon be known far and wide, forcing her to leave the academy.

Bernie could hear footsteps in the distance—probably someone coming to check the waiting room.

Ugh, fine! Without taking the time to think it over, Bernie called out. “Have that spirit turn back into a bird. Quickly!”

“Huh? Um, ummm…”

As Monica stood there at a loss, not understanding his instruction, the spirit quickly returned to bird form. Bernie then hid the bird behind a shelf. Just as he finished, two people entered the waiting room.

They were both members of the academy’s student council—Cyril Ashley and Neil Clay Maywood.

“What’s all this?!” demanded Cyril.

“Oh no, oh no! Are you okay, Lady Norton?! You’re soaking wet!” cried Neil.

The room was a mess. Pitman was on the floor with his eyes rolled back in his head, Bernie had a bruise on his neck, and Monica was dripping wet. Something strange had clearly happened here.

Cyril took off his jacket and put it around Monica’s shoulders, then asked Bernie, “Bernie Jones of Minerva’s, explain those wounds.” He stared at the boy dubiously.

The situation made it look a lot like Bernie had harmed Pitman and Monica. He couldn’t blame them for assuming as much. With an absolutely calm demeanor, he answered clearly and confidently.

“It appears someone has switched places with Eugene Pitman. When I saw through the disguise, he attacked me, and I fought him off. Lady Monica Norton happened to come into the waiting room at that very moment and got caught up in the fight.”

Cyril and Neil were speechless at Bernie’s admission. Bernie glanced down at the mage who had turned himself into Pitman.

“This mage was using body-manipulation magecraft,” he explained. “It’s possible he’s from the Empire.”

The fact that someone had taken the place of a professor from Minerva’s and infiltrated Serendia Academy was troubling enough by itself. Add other nations into the mix, and the situation became much graver.

Realizing this, Cyril’s expression grew serious. Addressing Neil, he said, “I’ll keep watch over the scene and get the details from Bernie Jones. You inform the prince and the teachers.”

“Yes, sir!”

“And bring Accountant Norton to the infirmary while you’re at it. I believe several of her friends were in the audience. Have them stay with her.”

Neil nodded, then asked Monica if she could stand.

Monica, still wearing Cyril’s jacket, glanced over at Bernie.

“Um, Bernie, I…” Her eyes seemed to be asking him why he’d covered for her.

Bernie gave her one of his usual sardonic smiles, fixed his glasses with a finger, and said, “You’d better keep thanking me for the rest of your life.”

Cyril and Neil looked confused—they didn’t understand the true meaning behind his words. But Monica gave Bernie a deep bow, then left the waiting room with Neil.