That day, Agrippina had a bad feeling from the morning.
Her area of specialization leaned toward practical magic, and unlike the group that relied too heavily on the spiritual senses of the Shingumo school and had their souls wander off somewhere, she had no interest in foresight or premonitions.
Premonitions and feelings were nothing more than the brain recognizing déjà vu. Agrippina, who was among the top theoreticians even within the logic-heavy faction of the Fuhakusai, thought so. It was merely the brain matching accumulated experiences with current situations, creating hallucinations of questionable accuracy.
Thus, she tried to act as normal as possible. She’d barely escaped the clutches of the fanatically obsessive vampire species and had finally returned to her sanctuary after a long absence. Whatever might have happened, the rapid growth of her apprentice was somewhat concerning, and the words of her young servant hinting at a consultation about the future were mildly bothersome, but she needed a break. After all, the only thing that could soothe her frazzled mind was the time spent lounging on a chaise and lazily flipping through books.
Therefore, Agrippina didn’t bother to explicitly ask her servant or apprentice about what had occurred during her absence. One could plainly see that if left alone, this servant would likely stir up trouble, so it was fine to investigate later. She’d heard that revenge is a dish best served cold, but disturbances caused by others were a versatile dish, equally delicious whether freshly made or completely cooled.
Though there were traces of someone having brought outsiders into the workshop, it hadn’t been ransacked – though a few of her treasured wines and dairy products were missing, she had meticulously noted them down in her accounts. There was no need to interrogate anyone further despite her exhaustion.
Relishing the black tea her servant had finally learned to brew with a quality worthy of being served in public, she was considering which book to read when the sound of a bell unexpectedly rang through the workshop.
The unique rhythm of the bell was not to announce visitors but to signal the arrival of a special letter. The workshop was equipped with pneumatic tubes to deliver important documents to the owner, a device rarely used to send documents to a workshop spatially isolated from the main building. Typically, only matters of great importance at the Magic Academy or important communications specifically for “the owner” were sent via this method.
Staring at the embossed letter that had been tossed onto her hand, she shook her head, muttering that forebodings simply didn’t exist. Yet, the fine quality of the parchment she could feel in her hand and the reality that the wax seal bore the national emblem of the three-headed dragon of the Threefold Empire left her no room for denial.
“What in the world…?”
Ignoring the apprentice’s question, phrased in an elegant diction that went beyond mere self-taught results, Agrippina opened the envelope.
For a while, her eyes traced the beautifully scripted words, and the servant, watching the employer scrutinizing the same lines over and over, thought “Well, as long as it’s quiet…” and was about to return to his regular duties…
“AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH?!”
The sudden scream startled him so much he nearly dropped a tea set worth more than the average person’s life savings.
“Wha… What…!?”
Similarly shocked, the apprentice dropped the valuable tea set from her hands, but the immensely precious ceramics were just inches away from shattering into fragments thanks to the “Invisible Hand” the servant had conjured as quickly as possible.
“This from the morning, truly…!”
Wiping cold sweat while stabilizing the tea set to a secure position, the servant couldn’t help but pause further questioning at the sight of their employer’s unhinged behavior.
“Why… Why does this happen!? I carefully did the groundwork to keep things minimal…!”
Distorting the artistic beauty of her finely crafted features, clawing at her silver-haired tresses intricately styled with magic, her wrathful demeanor repelled everyone in the room.
Never before had the long-lived species, whose methods of destruction were so puzzling that one wondered how they hadn’t just been butchered, exhibited such a disheveled state. She seemed to embody the end of the world, her body twisting as if tormented by all the injustices of the world.
It was clear even to approach her, let alone speak, and the servant quickly abandoned any attempt to calm her. This wasn’t the situation where such considerations mattered. If he were to prod further, it would likely result in being dragged into a retaliatory mess.
“…Eliza, how about a walk? The flower beds around the fountain in the square are lovely now that it’s getting warmer.”
“…That sounds splendid, Brother.”
So, demonstrating remarkable prudence, he decided to leave the workshop immediately with his sister. The girl, having matured somewhat due to what might be called her personal growth or simply a transformation, sensed the unease and squeezed her brother’s hand in agreement.
Though they were unaware the two of them discreetly moving toward the exit, without causing any further agitation, it seemed that Agrippina, exerting every ounce of her mental strength, refrained from tearing the letter and instead chose to throw it aside. The contents of the letter might have shed some light on the situation.
Summarized from its unusually straightforward contents for an official document from the Threefold Empire, it stated the following:
Agrippina du Staal, a regular researcher of the Threefold Empire Magic Academy, is recommended for membership in the professorial council and shall undergo an accreditation examination for professorship. Furthermore, in recognition of providing meaningful advice in the national policy project of airship construction, she shall be appointed as Count Ubiorum by the Threefold Empire Emperor, the Duke of Baden, and the Duke of Grauflock. She is entrusted with the tax and military rights over the Ubiorum region, previously managed as imperial land due to the absence of an heir, and shall also be bestowed with the rank of Lord of the Imperial Palace.
Now, regarding the professor recommendation, Agrippina had already heard it directly from Professor Martin, the silver elder, so she had prepared herself and was mentally ready.
To become a professor, one must be acknowledged by the dreaded council of professors, a congregation of eccentrics gathered to distill one into a poisonous concoction. The examination’s difficulty was exceedingly high, testing not just the quality of one’s papers but also practical abilities.
After all, the professors, each being “broken” in multifaceted ways, bombard one with intense interrogations and razor-sharp questions. Many researchers have suffered psychological trauma from innocuous phrases like “I apologize for the rudimentary question” or “I’m rather unfamiliar with this field.”
The only aspect lowering the barrier was that it didn’t examine one’s character or moral integrity. This might explain why so many people with their minds stripped of brakes and nuts gathered there, though let’s set that aside for the moment.
Of course, being a test that many candidates failed each year in their pursuit of professorship, Agrippina had planned to gracefully fail it.
The gist was to bring something not so good as to appear incompetent but good enough to avoid raising doubts about her capabilities. If more than half the members thought along the lines of “Not bad, but we hope to see more in the future,” that would be enough. With her skill of flaunting her outlandish freedom while keeping her affiliated professors from exploding for years, this was not entirely easy but by no means impossible.
However, the latter half of the document was the real problem.
In the Threefold Empire, a noble rank represents both an inherited official position within a feudal lord-vassal relationship and the authority over a particular land. Thus, it results in a somewhat strange dual structure where someone can simultaneously be “the count of such-and-such family” and “the baron of the so-and-so domain,” as the title is tied both to a family name and a region of governance.
This is evident when observing the professors at the Magic Academy. They hold noble titles as honorary titles but lack territorial dominion. Originally, if a professor lacked a family name, they would either adopt a new one from distant relatives or take the name of a defunct noble lineage, gaining the rights of a noble while not owning land.
There are many officials in the Threefold Empire who hold noble titles but do not govern territories. Essentially, the noble rank serves as a symbol of high-ranking office.
And in the Threefold Empire, while bloodlines are not entirely disregarded, the most respected attribute is capability.
Thus, if the emperor approves and several powerful noble families recommend the individual, one can become a noble regardless of birth. It doesn’t matter if they originate from underground or are from a foreign land. The only exclusions are criminals or individuals guilty of gross misconduct.
This system stems from “Any old nobodies can be first-generation nobles,” a principle consistently preached by the pioneering emperor, Richard.
By this national disposition, the—unwittingly captured—useful person, Agrippina, was officially ennobled.
To elaborate, it meant giving her the family name “Ubiorum Count,” lost to some misfortune, along with the governing authority over the Ubiorum region managed by the Ubiorum family.
This was an exceptionally rare step for the Magic Academy nobility.
In principle, the state operates and supervises the Magic Academy, but it doesn’t interfere heavily in its internal affairs—doing so could have endless complications and potentially irritate the professors, strategically weaponized beings in their own right.
But breaking that principle by granting territory-attached noble rank in advance to someone recommended for professorship and then even appointing them to the nearly top-tier clerical noble rank “Lord of the Imperial Palace,” a position requiring direct attendance at the imperial court assisting the emperor, was an overwhelming situation for Agrippina.
Or rather, it would be overwhelming for anyone.
The emperor seemed to be whispering something else entirely. “Mediate all interactions between the unbearably troublesome Magic Academy and me,” was the unspoken demand.
Agrippina fully understood the Emperor’s struggles with the Magic Academy’s unbridled nature. And the name of a rare person with ties to the Magic Academy appearing as the “emperor” in the official documents clearly demonstrated intent.
Curse it—we’ve been had! That single overwhelming thought flooded her mind alongside the boiling emotions threatening to erupt from her lips. After all, the reality was far worse than her worst imagined scenario, exceeding all expectations of badness.
Though she displayed an unhinged demeanor, her hair remained untouched by magical chaos, and the atmosphere was silent—a small fragment of rationality still remained, it seemed. Amid the thoughts clouded by intense anger, a sliver remained calm, urging her to take the next step despite a reduction in her processing abilities.
However, her possible countermeasures were sparse now.
The opponent had brought forth something akin to a stack of phonebooks. To surpass it would require something as colossal as a tank. Unfortunately, Agrippina’s father’s influence wasn’t as effective in this land as it once was back home.
The situation had surpassed the simple stage of “just failing the professorship examination.” Rather, at this point, failure was no longer an option.
If she “messed up” here, she would wound the emperor’s dignity.
The Threefold Empire’s nobility, while not every single one, generally maintained a broad tolerance. It wasn’t a society where complaining about commoners being “filthy nobodies” would result in having your tongue ripped out.
Yet limits still existed. Given the level of favor shown by the emperor, if she betrayed this, what then?
A chilling dread, akin to liquid nitrogen replacing her blood, coursed through her veins. The most dire future envisioned by her swift calculations and near-prophecy-level accuracy struck her viscerally, making her stomach constrict as if gripped tightly. If her imagination had lingered a moment longer, she might have had a repeat encounter with her tea from earlier.
The world’s general logic of “getting angry when personal expectations are dashed” doesn’t apply here. After all, this land is governed by monarchy, and the emperor’s dignity supersedes life itself.
“…Very well…”
Agrippina, using her fingers as a comb to hastily arrange her disheveled hair, then hastily gathered it with a nearby brush. Pulling out the chair of a long-unused writing desk and carelessly sitting down, she gripped the parchment as she opened the ink bottle.
The world thrives on survival of the fittest, and despite humans building civilizations with a veneer of ethical refinement, they haven’t abandoned this basic truth.
Exploitation in noble society is utterly normal. Whether the emperor casually sacrifices a pawn in political negotiations to make his job easier or factions elevate their status by offering one of their own as a sacrifice, no one finds offense as long as it’s beneficial.
On the contrary, if said sacrifices prove successful, it can become a point of praise: “Behold, the nobility of the Empire!”
But there’s no rule that prey can’t strike back once it’s been caught.
Agrippina wasn’t interested in fame, but she had one unyielding principle:
Being underestimated.
She didn’t mind being disliked, and if ignored, she wouldn’t bother engaging. Positive feelings could also be tolerably handled and even utilized if she chose to.
But being looked down upon was unacceptable. Unlike hatred, which she understood, being undervalued would inevitably lead to bad outcomes in the future. She knew all too well how cruel humans could be toward those they deemed inferior.
Thus, even if her efforts would elevate others’ opinions of her, this certification test couldn’t be avoided.
Ultimately, if she could manage to astound the adversary and even manipulate this plan to her advantage, Agrippina was prepared to abandon her temporary laziness.
In the end, one is the only person responsible for their own life.
For a while, the only sound that ruled the workshop was the pen scratching against the paper with an intensity that could almost be felt as killing intent…
【Tip】 Lord of the Imperial Palace: Among the upper-level bureaucrats, a minister-level position that directly serves the emperor. Experts in various fields are appointed as responsible heads in their respective roles to assist and counsel the emperor. While the number of Lords of the Imperial Palace assisting the emperor in the imperial city averages around twenty, the count and roles have fluctuated significantly depending on the era.
With that, this update is here. It would be quite wasteful to idle valuable talents even when times are favorable; thus, it couldn’t be helped. Only those who haven’t pushed high-spec personnel with relentless work assignments in a simulation game have the right to stone Professor Martin.
Since we’re taking a brief interval of a few episodes, the next scene will jump to summer.
We’ll try our best not to leave long gaps between updates again, but given the current circumstances allowing only mostly normal business operations, we’ll see how it goes.
