SomaRead | How to Teach a Hero at the Academy

Chapter 27: The City That Doesn't Close Its Eyes (3)

Hall of Blade.

A reception hall occupying the second floor of the Imperial Palace's main building.

The blades lining the walls of this place held more meaning than mere decoration. For they were designed centuries ago to highlight the blade manufacturing method that the Holy Numeros Empire had monopolized.

That was why the Hall of Blade was used for purposes such as royal weddings or receiving envoys. Important decisions that would occupy a paragraph in the history books were also often made in the Hall of Blade, and at the center of all those moments, the emperor was always present.

“Do you understand, my comrades.”

But now, the one occupying the seat of honor in the replicated Hall of Blade was Grand Duke Marchand.

Iris stood behind Grand Duke Marchand. With her light pink eyes narrowed, she was gauging the length of power that Grand Duke Marchand must have faced.

That's right. A table is a miniature version of power.

Its shape, material, and scale define the hierarchy.

Those gathered here must also know that.

“The capital is being threatened. By the specters of the 2nd Prince. The White Night Ball will not stand by and watch this matter. For our precious member……”

Grand Duke Marchand looked back at Iris.

Beyond that, the gazes of the nobles sitting around the long table were also focused on Iris.

“……even if it is for the sake of the sincerity put in by the nameless one.”

To not pronounce a member's name publicly.

It was one of the rules that made up the White Night Ball. While it was possible to whisper in a private setting, during official meetings, they referred to each other as the nameless one.

‘It's as if we're playing house.’

Iris thought, giving a slight nod.

A nameless one. There couldn't be a member here who didn't know her. While they were all blatantly guessing each other's identities, they were just putting on a mask and pretending not to know. What was the difference between them and boys and girls playing?

The only difference was what they used as a toy.

“……Well, well.”

A young man opened his mouth.

Judging by his attire, he seemed to be a new noble who had gained command through the military, the clergy, or wealth.

“To think there were still those who followed the 2nd Prince.”

A hearty laugh from the new noble that followed.

“Surely there are no comrades who harbor such thoughts? They are here in this very place. Those who hid in the shadow of the 2nd Prince during the Mirror War and filled their teacups with blood……”

The room fell silent.

It was a sign of affirmation. Around the time the result of the Mirror War became clear, some of the nobles who had followed the 2nd Prince laid down their power to avoid a purge. They had sought to have their lives guaranteed in exchange for offering their property, skills, or something else to the imperial family.

Iris had also been at the place where their treatment was decided. She had watched the process of distinguishing those who were worthy of surviving, and she also knew the fact that some of the surviving nobles were present here.

‘Most of them must be unrelated to this matter.’

Iris concluded so.

It was the result of a light calculation. To a noble, power was close to a lifeline, and the possibility of those who had lost most of it taking a gamble was low. Because their funds had hit rock bottom.

‘But even if most are unrelated…….’

There must be a few nobles who are involved.

Because the temptation to gamble is unrelated to the presence or absence of funds. It's just that they have come to blindly believe a futile belief and have made a bad move.

Now that she knew of the existence of the apostates behind them, she could not overlook the existence of nobles who had been deluded by brainwashing or delusion through black magic, or by firm sweet talk.

At that moment, Abel's voice, flying into Iris's mind.

Iris fumbled in her overcoat's inner pocket. She opened a steel box containing snuff. After shaking the tobacco powder onto the back of her hand, she carefully inhaled it through the breathing hole drilled in her mask.

‘I should quit……, smoking.’

Iris let out a sigh.

Then she stood facing the table. While countless nobles sat around the table, there was no one trustworthy, and no one innocent.

Including herself.

‘In any case, my dear nobles…….’

Iris touched the table with her index finger.

Firmly, and.

At the same time as she put a light strength into her finger,

‘I'll instill a little bit of tension.’

──Koong!

The wide table, collapsing.

The surprised nobles scrambled back. Their widened gazes poured onto the shattered table, and while a few bewildered voices went back and forth,

- H, how unbearably unpleasant!

A shout that began to erupt from somewhere.

- What on earth is all this! Why are you all so busy looking at each other?

- I swear it! There is a traitor among us right now! A scoundrel who has turned his back on the loyalty he pledged to His Majesty, and is with those loathsome people for sure…….

- How about we examine the magic device in the deepest part right now. Let's sort out the traitor based on the information recorded there.

- How pathetic. Even if the White Night Ball is operated through the secrets of noble society, there's no way they would have brazenly input a plan to invade the capital.

- By the way, how absurd. Who among us is truly loyal to the emperor? That brat is nothing but a scarecrow.

- Wh, what!

- The 2nd Prince is dead in the first place. What can the remnants of a dead prince's faction achieve? Assassinate the emperor? No way. The capital is firm to an excessive degree.

“You seem pleased.”

Grand Duke Marchand whispered to Iris.

“Did you tamper with the table beforehand? What an absurd scheme. To overheat public opinion by making the table collapse.”

Iris gave a light nod.

It wasn't that she had installed something on the table. She had just mobilized pure strength. But it was true that she had intended to cause a dispute through a small incident.

In the first place, their discussion was not important. It was just to gather them in one place to make Abel's infiltration easier. Iris stared at the nobles from the position of a sheepdog monitoring livestock.

It was as the nobles had said among themselves. The achievements that the remnants of the 2nd Prince could seize in Naflansee were shabby. The capital would not fall. Nothing would change even if thousands of apostates were to attack. Because two members of ‘The Mother God's Left Hand’ were staying in the capital.

What Iris had sought to protect was the imperial authority.

At the same time, she was just preparing for the possible deaths of the commoners.

The clamor of the nobles, who had begun to argue loudly, would not easily subside. The suspicion towards each other would fan the flames to prove their innocence, and for Iris, all she had to do was push their backs.

If you are innocent, then cooperate. Just shouting so.

Livestock were managed by the barking of a sheepdog.

<Ah…….>

At Abel's communication, Iris shrugged her shoulders.

<It's not like I provided any great information.>

Iris replied, placing the tobacco powder on the back of her hand.

And also……,

To maintain my membership status……,

To create fear towards me……, and.

Iris communicated, inhaling the snuff.

Abel accepted it concisely.

The one who became confused was Iris herself.

During her time as a Saintess, all sorts of nobles would bow their heads to Iris. It was to seek mercy. They would confess their desires, atone for their sins, and finally wish for forgiveness. Iris, as a Saintess, would place her hand on their heads. She would whisper in an endlessly gentle voice.

Let's think about it together.

How you can be forgiven.

‘Am I still a Saintess?’

Iris thought with a bitter expression.

She directed the question at herself.

‘Or am I just a noble?’

Is it impossible to be both a Saintess and a noble?

Of course. Iris nodded her head.

A Saintess is one who looks up at a high place. A noble is one who looks down at a low place. There was no room for their gazes to meet.

‘That must be why you also deny being a Hero.’

Abel Argento.

‘The Mother God's Left Hand’ who has endured the most reincarnations.

‘Or…….’

A being who is nothing more than a mere madman.

* * *

Abel communicated, quickening his pace.

<Understood. Please put in a little more effort. The meeting here is also coming to a close.>

Abel let out a deep breath.

The heavy air of the basement floor was prevalent.

The basement of the imperial palace was a point designed to prepare for war, and was composed of a complex water storage facility and a heavily guarded air-raid shelter. In other words, a structure like a labyrinth. Unlike the actual imperial palace, no water flowed in the water storage facility, and in the deepest part, which corresponded to the air-raid shelter, a magic device must be located……,

‘The escort guards are not in sight.’

Abel thought, swinging Leon Baibars's magic staff.

A five-colored sphere was beaded at the end of the worn magic staff. A 1st-rank elemental magic, ‘Polychrome Orb’, used for securing vision. Abel had no magic, but the spell stored inside the magic staff was being activated.

‘The deepest part is……, over there?’

In the distance, a massive iron door revealed its outline.

Abel strained his eyes. A trap was installed around the iron door. A style in which an alarm would ring the moment one deviated from the set path. Abel, who had noticed it, took a careful step. He distinguished the depth of the stone floor, concentrating his nerves at the tips of his toes.

At that moment, Iris's voice, brushing against Abel's mind.

Abel affirmed with silence.

Abel and Iris had met in another world. Counting by the number of years, it was a story from over 300 years ago. At that time, Iris had just undergone her first reincarnation as ‘The Mother God's Left Hand’, and Abel had been dispatched to the same world as Iris to guide ‘The Mother God's Right Hand’.

Was it?

Abel thought, tilting his head.

He didn't remember well. Abel's Aura had changed several times as he traversed countless worlds. A shining radiance. A gloomy blood-red. It had also taken the form of a giant sword, and also the form of a brilliant shield. But the Aura that Abel now possessed was nothing more than a worn-out margin-white color.

Abel replied, standing facing the iron door.

……I must also be a Holy Knight who has reached the pinnacle.

Abel communicated so. His tone was not tinged with even a little bit of accomplishment.

He had already created a swordsmanship that only he himself could digest,

and even an artifact with great power would just crumble, unable to withstand his Aura, except for his beloved sword.

Aura is a power brought forth based on a firm belief.

While belief means a mindset that penetrates one's entire life, Abel had lived for far too long. To the point where he would even pare down, temper, and sometimes dismiss his belief as meaningless.

A benevolent laughter was tinged in Iris's voice.

Struggle, struggle, struggle…….

The life given to ‘The Mother God's Left Hand’ is only struggle.

Iris whispered so.

There is only a difference in timing.

‘The Mother God's Left Hand’ is destined to inevitably perish…….

So I will ask you, Abel Argento.

Abel placed his hand on the iron door.

It was cold.

It must be because of the cold air of the basement. Abel thought, peeking at the breath escaping from the gap in his mask. Though it was an iron door so huge it wouldn't be lacking even when compared to the height of a giant, the property of iron, which is heated by the sun and cooled by the wind, was the same as a small dagger.

Belief was also the same.

Just because one had lived for a long time, just because one was powerful, it didn't mean that even the disposition of their existence would change. It shouldn't change.

To laugh at a comedy and cry at a tragedy. If that is the property of a person, then Abel's long life was just uncomfortable because both joy and sadness had become too big. He couldn't find a way to soothe his heart, which had become too heavy.

‘It would have been better if it were about the blade of a dagger.’

Abel thought. If asked to engrave a belief on this giant iron door with a dagger, what would his past disciples, what would Monika Lohengrin, write?

It was all too self-evident. They would surely leave behind a beautiful phrase. It would be a content that Abel could not imagine. The belief held in Abel's hand was not a short and sharp dagger, but a huge and heavy battering ram.

So, when discussing belief, I have no choice but to say this.

At the same moment Abel's communication was recited,

──Pabat!

Sharp diagonal lines engraved in the empty air.

They were all Abel's Aura, without exception.

Dense sword strikes engraved on the iron door.

But Abel's target was not the iron door. Abel drew his beloved sword and looked back.

A shattered corpse was rolling on the stone floor.

While even the plate armor covering the corpse was dismantled countless times, the streams of blood that gushed out from it splashed onto Abel's cheek.

With a magic staff in his left hand, and his beloved sword in his right,

Abel looked around.

Red glints of light rose from all sides. Beyond the stone pillars that made up the water storage facility, escort guards clad in black plate armor began to reveal themselves one by one.

“……Filthy.”

Abel frowned.

Huge men with pale skin. They were not alive. They were already dead. A lifeless body that had been strengthened through countless procedures. Abel stirred the ‘Polychrome Orb’ beaded on his magic staff. It was to observe the faces of the escort guards.

<Iris, I have encountered the escort guards.>

Their numbers were around twenty. No heartbeats were heard. Their skeletons had been replaced with iron, and a magic stone was embedded in the back of their heads, from which their hair had been removed. The liquefied magic flowing from it seemed to be maintaining the freshness of their blood. The reddish-black energy flowing in their eyes was also a strand of magic.

While Abel's question was directed at Iris,

- Intruder, eliminate.

The murmuring of the escort guards echoed.

Iris communicated to Abel.

Did you understand my meaning, Abel?

At Iris's question, Abel nodded his head.

<That's right. The profanation of the deceased is also a problem, but there is also the risk that they have colluded with the apostates.>

No need to worry.

They are just not stepping forward because their interests are intertwined,

The identity of the creator is self-evident, and.

Listening to Iris's continuing communication, Abel also gained insight into the identity of the creator without much difficulty.

- Draw swords.

The escort guards, drawing their swords.

The brand engraved on their faces caught Abel's attention.

A signature had been left. Along with the names of the knights.

As if it were a work of art. The names of the dead knights were like the titles of the works. The sharply scribbled signature of the creator was like the artist's name.

Abel recited the creator's name in his mind.

‘……Deserick de Saint-Pierre.’

The father of Abel's class student, Fleur de Saint-Pierre.

It was none other than the Marquis of Saint-Pierre.

How to Teach a Hero at the Academy