Chapter 2: Harpist Academy (21)
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At this moment, the Harpist Academy was like the very heart of the Imperial Capital, radiating its influence outwards over a good chunk of the city.
The “Battle Overture” swirled through the air like a melodious flock of birds, captivating everyone’s senses.
Brite took a deep breath, exchanging a glance with Betty. During Edith’s performance, they dared not utter a single word; even the microphone was turned off, fearing any disruption to the enchanting music.
There was no doubt about it—this was a phenomenal experience.
It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say he had heard numerous harpists play before, including Betty.
But never before had he felt so deeply inspired, almost igniting a bl**d-boiling urge to charge into battle for the Empire, like he did today.
At this moment, even Blake couldn’t help but ponder how much it would cost the Empire if Edith got married right after graduation.
And before, he had never thought such a thing was a problem.
Maybe that foreign woman was onto something.
The Harpist Academy graduates a new class of students every three years. If they could just be deployed to the Empire’s borders, the pesky problem of monster incursions that had plagued the Empire for years might already be solved. But from what he could see, this war didn’t seem to be ending anytime soon.
It wasn’t just Blake who thought this way.
Konglif, just back from the southern battlefield and Edith’s fiancé, felt the same way, unable to contain his emotions.
In the five or six years at the border, hundreds of his comrades had died around him.
To claw his way out of the bloody muck, he relied not only on his lineage as an armored warrior but also on a fierce determination to never hesitate or flee.
On the battlefield, the only way to live was to face d*ath head-on; that was the most basic condition for winning.
But for those newly enlisted soldiers, what they lacked was courage and belief in their own abilities.
If only a harpist could give them a morale boost, the d*ath rate among new recruits would surely drop by at least fifty percent.
The southern battlefield wouldn’t devolve into a meat grinder for fresh recruits, stuck in a constant state of chaotic stalemate.
He was the last high-ranking noble to withdraw from the southern front, and he had a gut feeling that once he left, the southern front would eventually collapse into utter chaos.
Yet, the Imperial Capital seemed to float in a dreamy haze, completely indifferent to the southern battlefield, even turning it into a laughingstock for everyone’s casual banter.
Just for this reason, since returning to the Imperial Capital, he had clashed with total strangers in taverns at least a dozen times, thoroughly beating down those drunken fools who dared insult the southern front.
They knew nothing—why should they insult the southern front?
If only there were a harpist to join the fight, perhaps things would be much better.
As for mages… Ha! They were the royal family’s exclusive profession, and he never expected those guys to show up on the front lines.
Though the Empire later mimicked the Harpist Academy to set up a Mage School, without any direct royal bloodlines enrolled, those distant relatives of the royals could only develop magical artifacts requiring mana to operate.
But having already lost the ability to cast spells? Now that was just sad.
Just as Konglif was lost in thought, and the “Battle Overture” reached about two-thirds of its length, something unexpected happened.
A tune with the same rhythm suddenly chimed in with the “Battle Overture.” Though coming from a different harp, the timing was astonishingly consistent—if one didn’t listen closely, they would think it was a harmonious accompaniment.
However, those in the know wore grave expressions, their brows furrowed in seriousness.
That wasn’t accompaniment; it was clearly a malicious challenge and provocation.
You see, harpists typically perform solo unless otherwise emphasized, allowing the judges to accurately gauge their tone and evaluate the performance’s effectiveness.
And they had previously agreed that Edith would play first, with the foreign woman Lin Nan following behind.
But lo and behold, before the “Battle Overture” had even finished, that foreign woman had dared to rudely insert her melody into the ongoing performance!
Without a doubt, this was an arrogant insult to the previous performer and an utter lack of respect.
Ha! It’s true that foreigners are foreigners; compared to the great Demon Race, they completely lack any sense of etiquette and shame.
Vice Dean Sani’s eyes blazed with fury—she wanted to rush over to that foreigner and personally drag her out of the testing ground.
“Quick! Get more people here! I can’t believe how difficult this gal is, completely disregarding our academy!”
Lisa was about to agree when, unexpectedly, Janet turned around and shushed them with a gesture.
“Shh! You’re disturbing me.”
Sani blurted, “Dean, she… she’s just…”
“I know, but I advise you to calm down and pay attention to the impressive traits of both harp tunes.”
I can guarantee that if you wish to continue at this academy, this will be an invaluable chance for improvement.
After all, how many can surpass the peak level they had when they first participated in evaluations, right?”
Janet’s words left all the indignant academy members momentarily speechless.
Sani’s expression shifted between rage, confusion, and surprise—at that moment, she truly didn’t know how to express her feelings.
To outsiders, it seemed like she had lost her marbles; even her most competent ally, Lisa, took a step back, concerned that her old boss might be having some kind of medical emergency.
Sani swayed slightly, staring at Janet’s retreating figure, a look of puzzlement in her eyes. In her mind, Janet had suddenly become even more mysterious.
Maybe that was the reason she remained stuck as Vice Dean, unable to rise any further.
She had tasted the joy of becoming Dean countless times in her dreams, but every time, she’d wake up at the moment Janet’s shadow appeared.
She thought she still had a chance to surpass Janet, at least to taste the sweetness of power before her predecessor retired.
But now it seemed, in her anxious pursuit of authority, the distance between her and the Dean had grown ever wider.
And at that very moment, she suddenly woke up to the reality: Yes, this world revered strength above all. No matter how much she schemed or tried to win over the faculty to her side, in the face of absolute power, it was all like a fragile piece of paper—one little push, and she would have nothing left.
Why had it taken her so long to finally understand this?
Even though she hadn’t focused on honing her harpist skills for many years, the foundations from long ago still remained.
Janet’s earlier hint made her realize perhaps that the foreign woman’s sudden entrance was far from mere disruption. Otherwise, she could have just struck out a few dissonant sounds—why would she play a similar rhythm?
