Chapter 22
“I heard you and Marcel are entering the academy tomorrow.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“It’ll be hard to see you for a while. This is our first proper meeting since that brief encounter.”
“I feel the same. I wanted to say goodbye to Commander Simon and talk more with you, Commander Clifford.”
“Dwayne is currently leading the Third Knight Division on an external mission. He won’t be back for two days, so I’ll pass on your greetings.”
“Thank you, Commander.”
“And fortunately, it’s not too late for our conversation.”
“Pardon?”
“The knights’ training just finished, so it’s perfect timing. Come in. Let’s have a spar and talk.”
The conversation moved swiftly.
Before I, Eddie, realized it, I was standing in the training ground with a wooden sword, facing Tares.
I was bewildered, watching Tares, also holding a wooden sword, prepare to spar with me.
‘The First Knight Commander suddenly takes an interest in a Tail? What’s his intent? Or… is there even an intent?’
“Here I come.”
I had many questions, but Tares' movement cut my thoughts short.
Swish—Thwack!
Thud—Tap!
Our wooden swords clashed, producing rhythmic sounds.
Tares' swordplay was heavy yet precise, fluid yet clean.
It reflected his straightforward nature.
I struggled to find my bearings as Tares sparred with me so earnestly.
What was his intent?
The First Knight Commander of Kirhausen had no reason to care about a Tail’s swordsmanship.
Yet Tares engaged me seriously.
His forceful sword strikes carried only sincerity.
His words and actions aligned perfectly, the complete opposite of Furas.
Furas, who tested my temperament with prolonged silence and was pleased by my quick-witted responses.
‘But this man…’
Swish—Thud!
Thwack—Tap!
He brought me to the training ground abruptly and sparred with genuine honesty.
‘His actions are so unadorned, it’s hard to guess his intentions.’
As I parried Tares' sword, I tried to read his thoughts.
But I overlooked one thing.
The keen eye of a knight, reading intent from sword movements.
“When your mind is cluttered, your sword dulls. Focus only on the spar.”
“…!”
Tares' firm voice struck like a blow.
His sword, even firmer, knocked mine down.
The spar continued for a while.
“Well done.”
“I learned a lot, Commander.”
We exchanged salutes, concluding the spar.
“…”
With the clashing of swords silenced, the First Training Ground fell quiet.
I couldn’t fathom what Tares meant by “conversation.”
But the silence didn’t last long.
“I brought you here because I have something to say.”
“Please, speak, Commander.”
“Look after Marcel.”
“…The Young Master?”
“Yes.”
It was completely unexpected.
I wore a genuinely puzzled expression.
“He may seem cold and aloof, but he’s more vulnerable than anyone. He just never learned to express his discomfort, so he bottles it up and suffers alone.”
Tares' description of Marcel’s nature was remarkably accurate.
It matched exactly what I had observed about Marcel.
The commander’s sharp insight wasn’t limited to Tails, it seemed.
“So, I hope you’ll support that boy, who became an adult before he could be a child. He’ll likely struggle with his peers.”
“…”
A child who became an adult too soon.
Tares described Marcel that way.
No phrase captured Marcel’s precocious yet immature nature better.
I inwardly agreed with Tares' words.
And that wasn’t all I noticed.
‘He’s the only one in the family who calls Marcel by his name.’
Even as the First Knight Commander, a high-ranking figure, Marcel was still the heir Tares served.
Yet, for such familiarity to be permitted, there must be a deep bond of trust between them.
Still, Tares' request puzzled me.
‘Even if they’re close, why would the First Knight Commander care this much about the heir, not even the head? Why?’
It was an inevitable, cold question.
None of the Kirhausen adults I’d seen genuinely cared for Marcel like this.
The servants, always bustling for Marcel.
The tutors, constantly praising him with positive words.
Even—
‘His own father.’
They all took Marcel’s excellence for granted, merely expecting results.
No one cared about his inner state.
‘But this man’s concern… is genuine.’
Meeting Tares' honest gaze, I let go of my doubts about his sincerity.
I didn’t know why he cared so much for the heir.
But regardless, knowing there was at least one proper adult in this rotten Kirhausen family was a great comfort to me.
Even if Kirhausen was the target of my revenge.
I looked Tares in the eye and answered.
“Yes, Commander. Don’t worry.”
“…”
For a moment, Tares saw a depth in my eyes beyond that of an adult.
An old memory surfaced in his mind.
A white-haired old man, always stirring up excitement with childlike ideas despite his age.
Though deemed too eccentric to be the head of the great Kirhausen Family, young Tares knew.
‘How deep his sorrows and pains were.’
And for some reason, Eddie Summerson, Marcel’s assistant, kept reminding him of that man.
A boy on the outside, but with the weight of life’s hardships inside.
‘If he were alive, he’d have been a great help to Marcel. Perhaps this is for the best.’
With that thought, Tares nodded at me.
“Thank you.”
His words carried genuine sincerity.
***
On the day of Lieferden Academy’s entrance ceremony—
Kirhausen’s transport ship Verdi, carrying Marcel and me, lifted its massive hull into the air.
As Verdi took off, dozens of family members lined up in front of Shainborough bowed to see Marcel off.
I gazed at Shainborough receding outside the window, touching the cord of Clode around my neck.
‘Today’s the day. I’ll meet Leo.’
Soon, I’d meet my prized disciple, who wore the same mana gem.
‘As a freshman and the dean.’
It was an intriguing situation.
I quietly curled my lips.
Fortunately, Marcel didn’t react sensitively to my smile this time.
He simply stared at the receding mansion before closing his eyes to rest.
As the top scorer and freshman representative, he had much to attend to today.
***
Rosetta Hall, the academy’s grand auditorium and venue for all official events.
A hundred freshmen, dozens of faculty, and the student council president and vice president gathered there.
The freshmen whispered, scanning the crowd.
They were identifying who had passed or failed the entrance exam.
But some freshmen were looking around for a different reason.
The eleven commoner freshmen.
“Wow… look at that chandelier. It’s practically the size of a transport ship.”
“Are all the academy’s halls this grand and ornate?”
“Those must be the professors. Some look intimidating.”
Clustered in a corner, they marveled at Rosetta Hall’s grandeur.
Unlike the upper-class children, accustomed to such splendor, the academy’s auditorium, reminiscent of an imperial palace, was a wonder to them.
Unlike the nobles, who memorized the faculty’s faces and names for interviews, they scrutinized each professor with tension.
Then, a sharp, loud voice cut through.
“Tch. Chattering like they’re on a picnic—it’s annoyingly loud.”
The cold remark froze the room.
It came from Alexein.
He still held a grudge from the entrance exam, when Joy had humiliated him for bullying a commoner.
His sharp glare made the commoners quiet their whispers in fear.
But Joy’s red eyes met his, instantly diverting his gaze.
Alexein let out a scoff, incredulous at her boldness.
“Ha, such impudence…”
But nearby whispers quickly shifted his attention.
“Is that him? The one who saved Derrick Jenkins and Jeremy Conwell…”
“A Kirhausen Tail. Look, he’s standing next to Marcel Kirhausen.”
“Kirhausen? A Tail?”
Following the gazes, Alexein turned.
As expected, Marcel and I stood there.
He glared at Marcel’s profile briefly before looking away.
As the heir of House Dickens, he couldn’t appear too fixated on Kirhausen’s heir.
But the whispers about us continued.
Most were about my remarkable performance during the entrance exam.
“They say he obliterated the giant statue of the first dean with a gesture. He must have topped the practical exam.”
“No, I heard Marcel Kirhausen perfectly executed a 4-star Serenifox. The light burst out of the exam hall, and the proctors stood to applaud.”
Snicker.
I couldn’t help but laugh at the whispers.
‘Rumors are like that.’
Stories about Marcel and me had been distorted and exaggerated as they spread.
But such rumors no longer mattered.
I had already passed the exam, and the first step of my plan was within reach.
‘It was all just to get to him.’
My gaze fixed on the great mage who appeared on the stage.
“…”
With his entrance, the noisy hall fell silent as a grave.
An elderly great mage, his blue-gray robe fluttering, stood silently on the stage, gazing at the freshmen.
It was Leodimir Duke Devens, the dean of Lieferden Academy.
“Wow… it’s really Dean Devens.”
“I didn’t even sense him enter. When did he appear…?”
“They say the Prophet moves unnoticed. But is it true he’s a huge eccentric?”
Buzz, buzz.
The freshmen’s whispers made Rosetta Hall grow noisy again.
They looked at Leodimir with curiosity and awe, tinged with tension and anticipation.
It was a perfectly normal reaction.
Leodimir Duke Devens' stature in the magical world was absolute.
The Prophet of Mana, the supreme authority in magical education.
The greatest dean in academy history, serving three consecutive terms.
Thus—
To all but one freshman, he was a living legend.
‘It’s really you, Leo.’
That one was his master, returned as a freshman after 30 years.
‘It’s been a while.’
To me, Leo wasn’t a legend but a living memory.