"I'll need to get confirmation from the Dean of Students. For now, would you cordon off the area?"
The Inspection Squad member said, checking the severed head without a flinch.
Pale-faced Bedrick nodded and moved. He no longer met my eyes.
'The Dean of Students comes up after all.'
The Dean of Students was a Republic expert. More than capable of identifying the Republic. The problem was his eccentric temper — the way he saw red at anything Republic.
Soon the smell of a cigar drifted over. A middle-aged man with rugged features, his face heavy with fatigue, appeared, tapping ash from a cigar. The Dean of Students.
"A Republican operative's turned up?"
"Yes. We haven't yet confirmed whether it's genuine."
At the Inspection Squad's report, the Dean's gaze turned to me. In those wrinkled eyes, a rusted veteran's seasoning was plain.
"A face I don't know."
"A new guard assigned to the 42nd Squad."
"The Elite Corps' standards have risen quite a bit."
The Dean wore an open sneer. Fortunately, his attention soon turned to the head on the floor.
"Hmm, hmm."
The Dean crouched and examined it. At a glance like a detective investigating a crime scene, but what followed was fairly shocking. The Dean dabbed the blood running from the neck with his thumb, tasted it, and checked the smell.
"You used a curse?"
The Dean said, turning to me.
The Empire had a stance of suppressing black magic, but at Elysium Academy black magic was one of the disciplines. There was even a black-magic professor. The logic being that if a knife stabs someone, it isn't the knife that's bad but the fault of its wielder. They handled black magic strictly, of course, but there was no particular reason to hide that I could use it.
"Yes."
"Surprising. You don't look the sinister type."
"That's a discriminatory remark against black mages."
"Snippy, aren't you."
When the listening Inspection Squad member pointed it out, the Dean clicked his tongue softly, then straightened and rose.
"It's a Republican operative, confirmed."
"A-an actual operative?"
When Bedrick blurted it out, the Dean's gaze turned to him.
"You have some complaint about my judgment?"
"N-no, sir."
"Good. I thought there might be one more operative."
The Dean put the cigar in his mouth and smiled savagely. Bedrick flinched and stepped back three paces.
Exhaling a long stream of smoke, the Dean looked at me again.
"A Corps rookie catching a Republican operative. A historic feat."
"I got lucky. I ambushed them with a curse and they couldn't react."
"Got lucky, he says—"
The Dean chuckled low, as if he'd heard a fine joke.
"It'd only cause a stir, so keep this matter secret until after the ceremony. All of you, keep your mouths shut. That's an order."
An expected reaction. In the Empire, Republic men were like vermin. Vermin that carried a most vicious disease, at that. With the ceremony about to open, you couldn't advertise that vermin had turned up. Covering it up was a given.
"A reward will come down, so don't worry."
"I don't need a reward."
I offered the words the Dean would most want to hear. His thick brows rose.
"You don't need one?"
"Yes. I only did what had to be done."
"Did what had to be done, he says—"
The Dean gazed at me quietly. As if trying to read me. Not a chance.
"An interesting one's joined us. What's your name?"
"Grave."
"A fine name. I'm Logan."
Logan held out his hand to me. A hand like wrought iron, dreadfully calloused. I clasped it and said,
"A pleasure, Logan."
"Likewise."
Logan, an aged Sword Master, laughed heartily.
***
Logan's handling of matters was brisk and clear-cut. Thanks to that, the business was wrapped up without incident—
The day of the entrance ceremony dawned.
'Mm.'
I slowly opened my eyes at a rustling sound. There was Milo, creeping up to ambush me.
I'd shown Milo quite a savage side yesterday. An ordinary person wouldn't even meet my eyes, yet he gamely comes at me again.
'He's got grit, no question.'
Grit wasn't something you could cultivate. You had to be born with it. In that respect, Milo had talent. Crude as he still was, of course.
"Agh! He was definitely asleep!!"
Bruised in the face once more, Milo erupted in fury.
"Today's shift?"
"It's the ceremony, so it'll all be auditorium support."
"The auditorium's main entrance would be good."
"No, that's not how assignments work, I keep telling you—"
Milo grumbled but complied. He'd gotten fairly quick on the uptake now.
Soon roll call began. The mood was heavier than yesterday. Though even so, the feeling of a screw being loose somewhere was the same. The Corps Captain spouted some plausible-sounding words, the guards answered in spirited voices, and roll call ended.
Next, Hanswell handed out the assignments. The men I'd killed yesterday must have originally covered the auditorium's main entrance, because we were all assigned around it.
"Absolutely no trouble today."
Hanswell warned, looking at Milo. Milo looked at me with a face full of things to say, but I lightly ignored him.
Soon we set off for the auditorium. It was decorated just like the entrance ceremony in the game. Candles floated through the air, the tables were laden with food — the academy entrance ceremony you'd picture in a romfan.
The 42nd Squad's post was a little away from the main entrance. Thanks to that, the hall was visible at a glance. I slowly looked it over. It was my first time seeing it from this angle. In the game only the ceremony was spotlighted, so I hadn't known, but now I could see guards hidden out of sight.
"You try the meat? I snuck a bite while hauling the food — it was fucking good."
"I had the bread. The meat's popular. Bread was good too."
"There'll be leftovers, right?"
"Usually are. The freshmen are too excited to eat properly."
"It's all mine later."
The guards chattered and joked in low voices.
Just then, the freshmen began to file in.
"Wow! So pretty!"
"There's food too! It's a real banquet!"
The freshmen exclaimed over and over with excited faces. I glanced over them.
Just then, the guards murmured quietly among themselves. Listening in, I found they were making a bet.
"Best-looking? Killian, obviously! The sole heir of the Mage Tower Guild — he's rolling in money, isn't he!"
"Is money everything, man."
"Then what matters?"
"Faith, of course! Have you seen Karel's skin? It glows!"
They were debating something trivial in dead earnest.
"Best-looking? His Highness the Crown Prince, obviously."
At the last man's words, everyone went quiet. No objection.
Just then, the main entrance grew noisy. When I turned, I saw students bowing their heads and drawing back in droves. A path opened through the packed crowd. A very handsome blond fellow walked down it as if it were his due.
'The Crown Prince.'
The Crown Prince was a fellow with not a single shortcoming. Born gifted in aura, upright in character, and a noble of the imperial line. He looked a flawless, perfect specimen with nothing to fault.
The reality was a little different.
'A bastard with main-character syndrome.'
The Crown Prince was convinced he was the protagonist of the world. Understandable, in a way. The Empire's Crown Prince, with a genius for swordsmanship besides — it's reasonable he'd think himself the protagonist.
The problem was that the real protagonist was someone else.
"Sssshk. Sssshk."
Evangeline, in her dragonfly glasses, made her entrance with bizarre noises. Andy, beside her, had his head hung low.
Truly regrettable, but that's the protagonist.
'If something like that were the protagonist, even I think I'd lose my mind.'
Familiar figures gathered beside the Crown Prince. Karel the paladin raised by the Theocracy, Killian the Mage Tower Guild heir, Taros the son of the Lord of Death, and Raven of the Full Moon—
All familiar to me. Evangeline's male-lead candidates in the game.
Every eye in the hall swung their way. My gaze, however, went the opposite direction.
At the tail end of the freshman crowd, there were those set apart, like oil that won't mix with water. A girl so gloomy that even black mages — gloomy by nature — would shun her; a woman draped in the cape that marks a Saintess candidate yet plastered head to toe in tattoos; a fat imperial princess sweating buckets; and just Evangeline.
By entrance scores, a lineup ranked from the very bottom up — a most reassuring one.
"Now, the professors will enter."
The voice of the woman emceeing broke my thoughts. Soon the professors began to file in.
"It's the Twin Witches!"
"The King of Adventurers is here too?!"
The freshmen chattered excitedly. A faculty worth the fuss. A bit short of my expectations, though.
'Underwhelming.'
I clicked my tongue. I'd felt it since seeing Leon, but the professors' level was unsatisfying.
"In charge of swordsmanship, the Knight of Radiance, Professor Roxvale."
At 'Knight of Radiance,' a cheer went up. A middle-aged man in a black uniform came up to applause.
'The Knight of Radiance.'
True to an academy romfan, Evangeline's male-lead candidates weren't limited to students. Roxvale, the Knight of Radiance, was a professor, but a male-lead candidate who got entangled with Evangeline. The reason my eyes weren't kind as I watched him.
"Where is he?"
"Oh, right. Him—"
Just then, the freshmen looked for someone. From the Knight of Radiance to the Twin Witches, all the heavyweight professors were already up. Come to think of it, the emcee hadn't yet set down her magic tool.
The ceremony was basically banquet-style. Being called last meant you carried that much weight. Who on earth came after the Knight of Radiance?
Just then, the emcee spoke into her magic tool.
"Professor Leon."
She gave a brief introduction. At the same time, thunderous cheers poured out.
"Wow! That's the rumored unofficial member of the Empire's Ten Swords—"
"No, I heard he's the Mage Tower Guild's ultimate weapon!"
"They say he caught a black mage on the train to the academy! A black mage who even commanded demons!"
Only then did I understand how things had come to this.
'Andy did splendid work.'
I'd commissioned Andy to inflate Leon as much as possible, and he'd worked even more diligently than I'd hoped.
Soon a pale-faced Leon came up. He wore an expression as if mounting the gallows. To my eyes it just looked like a death-mask of a face—
"Wow, his presence is no joke."
The freshmen started interpreting it on their own.
'Good news.'
I nodded with satisfaction.
"Serving as Vice-Headmaster, Cardinal Sen Vandro."
At the woman's words, the hall fell silent for a moment. A reverence, distant from what they'd shown the other professors.
Soon an old man with a kindly smile took the platform. Genial-featured and draped in a vivid white sash, the old man looked a saint to anyone's eye. His nickname really was 'the Saint.'
The reality was entirely different, though.
'The Pope of the Apocalypse.'
I tapped the hilt of my sword, watching him.