The imperial capital had many tall buildings, and after gazing upwards for what felt like ages, my neck began to feel strange. No matter how well-trained one may be, there’s simply no remedy for such a predicament.
Well, it can’t be helped, can it? When you come across a new location, anyone’s spirits are bound to soar. It’s akin to when a new stage is added to a thin yet expensive book; you joyfully craft a new scenario and plan an expedition with your usual party. The psychology is roughly the same.
“…Hmm? Aren’t there any guards standing there?”
The magic academy arrived at after a gentle sway of the carriage. Yet, the gate that guarded the crow’s nest was left wide open, unprotected, with neither guards nor the triple-headed hunting dogs lying in wait on either side. The most significant presence was the scribes setting up their desks by the side of the moat, idly waiting for customers with nothing better to do.
Certainly, upon closer inspection, one could discern that magic had been applied to the gate. Even to my eyes, the marks were so clear that they undoubtedly contained powerful magic. Likely…
“There’s a barrier set up to repel those without the appropriate pass or registration. That’s why there’s no need to line up ostentatious suits of armor.”
Truly, it’s a security method befitting a den of mages. It would’ve been preferable had my subsequent mundane thought—not worth the personnel expenses—been avoided.
While crossing the sparsely traveled bridge, passersby were staring at the carriage. Yet, they all seemed unfamiliar with the Starl family crest and quickly lost interest. Given the location, it was no surprise that nobles frequently visited.
“Hmm… Roughly twenty years, you say?”
Eh? Did you just say twenty years?
While it was true I had heard about the long absence, twenty years of being out on fieldwork—what exactly had this person been doing? I still hadn’t been informed of this person’s field of expertise and could only imagine; yet, it seemed there existed fields requiring such prolonged fieldwork.
If it’s an indoor subject, it’s genuinely unsettling to ponder what this person might have gotten into. To be told not to return for such a long period indicates quite the misdeed. How much would one need to displease the head of a scholarly faction to end up like this?
The carriage entered the main approach of the castle-like hall—where hotel cars usually stop—gliding smoothly and, as always, came to a stop without a hitch. Growing more accustomed by the day, I alighted from the driver’s seat, extended the steps, and opened the door.
Then, I assisted Lady Agrippina, who had dressed as a noblewoman, by gently taking her hand. Though it seemed unnecessary, such formal gestures are often necessary in certain settings.
Everyone was straining to put on airs. Beauty is a sword, attire is armor, and manners are a shield. Without these minimal defenses, one cannot survive in a domain where invisible blades swirl about like a blender. That’s what she taught me.
After all, I had no business with high society. The image I conjured from common knowledge was a garden of idle ladies who covered their mouths with fans and giggled “oho.” But being a battleground for struggles over authority? That was beyond my comprehension. Listening to the cynical stories from my professor about academic politics during my previous life, however, I realized human antics are the same wherever you go.
In contrast, Lady Agrippina’s attire was impeccable. As usual, her hair—did she bother with fuel efficiency?—had been immaculately styled with magic, resembling intricate silverwork, intricately braided into a chignon. The vivid red gown draped over her shoulders, and upon closer inspection, one could see the extraordinarily delicate embroidery on its silk fabric. Staying within the color range gave her an elegant, but not over-the-top, aura—perhaps the noble approach to fashion?
Next, Eliza stepped out elegantly. Had she been properly briefed? Indeed, her steps were dignified, becoming a lady of high rank. A marked improvement from her previous, boisterous demeanor, walking wide-legged like a country child.
Moreover, the outfit procured by hiring a seamstress in a recent town was quite charming. A robe signifies independent magehood, and the gown style represents the elite, so instead, she had a cloak with a hood, complete with a blouse adorned with abundant white ruffles and a narrow waist corset skirt paired with leather boots that were perfectly tailored to her figure without letting her look slouchy.
I took my time—nearly half an hour—decorating the golden hair she inherited from her mother, carefully braiding it and letting it flow demurely down her back. Name and reality align: She was undeniably adorable. No, modestly speaking, an angel, perhaps?
At first, I found the design rather avant-garde—what was it, something about killing innocence—but recently, tailors spoke about how the middle class was making plain rural styles luxurious, making it trendy.
Yeah, small details aside, my sister’s still the best in the world.
As for me? I keep it simple. The apprentice’s dark doublet and trousers modestly put together with no standout features, save for my slightly grown hair brushed neatly to the back. The role of an apprentice is not to stand out, but to remain discreetly three steps behind.
Of course, given the sword-bearing prohibition in the capital for all but nobility and their guards, the overly wide sleeves subtly conceal the “Fairy Knife”—let’s call it a charm point, shall we?
“Then, please follow closely and stay behind.”
“Understood.”
Responding to the telepathic message, which seemed to avoid moving her lips, I switched to a humble form of court language. From here on, it’s time to get down to proper work.
The master took Eliza’s hand, and I kept my respectful three-step distance behind. This was the correct positioning for master-disciple-apprentice relationships.
With a serious expression—though internally marveling at the grandeur of this building that surpasses even the preserved edifices of the Meiji era—I followed the two into the magic academy.
The magic academy served as the core of magic within the Threefold Empire of Rain, a research institution for gathering and preserving knowledge and also an educational institution for producing bureaucrats versed in magic. Therefore, I thought the hall of the castle that served as the main reception might be bustling, yet unexpectedly, profound silence engulfed the space dominated by black tones.
Despite being designed for combat in emergencies, the hall with a soaring ceiling evoked the structure of an old bank. The wooden counters separating visitors from staff were bathed in light from magnificent skylights in the roof, giving the sense that one must not approach lightly. The staff, who clearly seemed selected for appearance, contributed to the sacred atmosphere.
I understood somewhat the image of a “Castle-of-Vanity in the City-of-Vanity” as the master described it.
As the central hub of magic in the Threefold Empire, it handled incoming requests from outside, delegating them to the appropriate professors or departments. Visible were the serious-looking students and officials burdened with stacks of document holders, marking this as the administrative core, not the students’ homeground.
However, the master’s return after a long absence was to pay respects to the head of the scholarly faction where her position lay.
And as we approached the counter to announce our intentions, a sudden gust swept through the surroundings…
The magic academy, the heart of magic in the empire and the roost of mages, had an ongoing struggle since its inception.
There were, of course, debates on which discipline was the most prestigious—something one might urge for children to play nicely—but the most deep-rooted conflict was between factions.
This was inevitable. The magic academy was founded simultaneously with the establishment of the empire, bringing together magic users inclined towards research from the initial territories. All for the sustenance and advancement of the empire using powerful magical forces.
Five hundred years ago, they only had local personal networks, and since the concepts of “magic user” and “mage” didn’t exist, everyone possessed towering pride—so high that it might literally touch the heavens.
The practice of apprenticeships spun technical bloodlines, with factions led by revered masters existing side by side like fraternal twins. It was natural to wish to study under someone skilled, so unless one was particularly cantankerous, factions formed from gathered apprentices naturally.
Can such a group brought together by the lure of budgets and laboratory space get along harmoniously when egged on to prove their superiority?
Consider the likelihood of two passionate fans from sports teams—one loving a tiger-themed team and another fanatical about an orange-team mascot—with opposing colors, drinking together and leaving amicably after watching a match. Lower than that, one might say. A simple rivalry can escalate to violence easily.
Indeed.
Repeated conflicts known as factional disputes have occurred countless times in the past. So much so that the duels of nobles, where gloves are thrown down and fought one-on-one to the death, seem comparatively tame in comparison to the harm caused by these disputes. For five hundred years, such discord has persisted. Humans are certainly incorrigible creatures wherever you go.
Currently, such a labyrinth of power is balanced by what is called the “Five Great Factions.” Within the seven schools of magic, five powerful factions dominate, swallowing up smaller factions and engaging in fierce competition while conducting their research.
What’s particularly problematic is that these are top-tier mages. A roomful of nuclear weapons capable of blowing away whole neighborhoods engaged in cold-war-like squabbles, supervised by the empire. It’s no wonder the imperial emperor suffers from stomachaches as complex as those caused by diplomatic relations, trying to keep the peace while ensuring budgets pass. The throne is called the “Torture Chair” by the Three Royal Houses for good reason. Every few generations, an emperor threatens to reduce the factions to rubble, only to reconsider upon weighing the benefits. It’s practically a comedy routine at this point.
Setting aside the emperor’s chilly situation, the school to which Agrippina belongs, known as the Dawn School, carries an almost paradoxical philosophy: “By means of magic, let ignorance be dispelled and greater prosperity brought to the world.” Primarily, it focuses on research that benefits society.
For instance, the magic transference mechanism transmitting power through space and delivering telepathic messages over vast distances remains the school’s greatest contribution. It enabled highly coordinated operations among different territories and guilds, forming guilds of adventurers able to operate across regions and countries.
And within this framework, the Raizenitz faction, where Agrippina has her position—what in modern university terms might be called a “research lab”—was established not by an heir but by Lord Raizenitz himself two hundred years ago, making it a faction of a single generation which still continues today.
Now, what of the nature of this Lord Raizenitz?
Bold yet meticulous, generous in spirit and compassionate, and most notably, a genius transforming his vast knowledge into accessible formats for all, Raizenitz also possessed a deep love for the vulnerable.
Or so the faction paints him with their most beautiful words. From the outside?
An eccentric lover of novelty, a politician’s flatterer who should have been one, a street slayer with words sharp enough to kill, and a fool scattering precious resources indiscriminately to the masses, causing more trouble than good.
Added to this list, a fervent advocate of the sanctity of life in often inappropriate ways.
Such descriptions abound. Virtues are flaws turned inside out, and vice versa—indeed, a harsh reality.
Then, what is the species of this two-hundred-year-old monster?
Surprisingly, human.
Or rather, was human.
A freezing wind swept through the magnificent hall, dispelling the warming presence of early summer with an air so cold it felt as if it were cutting through the skin. A clerk fled the scene, a clerk writing documents let out a small yelp and activated a barrier, while some, accustomed to such occurrences, left with an expression suggesting deep annoyance. At the center of this disturbance sat none other than Magdalene von Raizenitz, the esteemed professor of the Great Raizenitz faction.
The “conceptual barrier,” stretched with Agrippina’s determination, frosted over. Confronted with the creaking, groaning defense, the professor’s beauty was stained with a smile that could only be described as outright grotesque.
And she bowed deeply, in a manner impeccably genteel, toward one—nay, a “spirit of the dead.”
“I humbly offer my greetings upon my return, my esteemed teacher, Professor Magdalene von Raizenitz.”
“With what mouth…?”
The cold, severe voice resonated as if it emerged from the depths of hell, carrying an undertone of anguish.
That alone revealed the deep-seated conflict between this scholar and the head of her faction…
