How to Teach a Hero at the Academy

Chapter 160: The Academy’s Great Sage (6)

<It is over.>

A voice echoed through the silence.

It was the voice of an old man, of a child, of a woman, and of a man all at once. Lar-Prasriti’s declaration erased the scene engraved before Abel’s eyes. The end of the once-existing kingdom faded from sight, leaving only the dragon’s dark crimson gaze looming overhead.

<This is the end of the Vianchiel Kingdom as I observed it.>

<Indeed.>

Märchen spoke. She drifted through the air with a pleased expression.

<They had amassed no small amount of power. They dried out the dead saint and fed on the divine power that lingered within her body. Well, absorbing a saint’s divine power outright would have been impossible. They had no choice but to use it by forcing it into a runaway state. They poured the saint’s divine power into the mana stones slumbering beneath the land of the Vianchiel Kingdom, didn’t they.>

How interesting, Märchen murmured.

“Is it still there?”

Abel asked Lar-Prasriti.

“The remains of the former saint. Are they still in the Vianchiel Kingdom?”

As a dragon who refrained from intervening in worldly affairs yet could still observe the state of things, Lar-Prasriti should have been able to see the current situation of the Phantasmic Faith.

<Our transaction has ended.>

Lar-Prasriti replied in a mocking tone.

<You asked me of the past. I have no obligation to answer about the present. Or will you offer another treasure?>

<That much is easy enough to—>

<Enough, mage. I have long since grown weary of your grubby trinkets. Know that allowing even a single transaction was an act of mercy.>

<That was probably pretty expensive, you know…….>

How stingy. With so little to your name, too. Märchen muttered as she looked around. She swept her gaze across the barren stone cavern, then down at the ornament lying at her feet. Her deceased companion’s necklace, worn thin by time.

So it did not fool him after all. Looking down at her dead companion’s keepsake, Märchen guessed vaguely. Too shabby to boast about its value. That was all she could think. Even if it was the oldest and most precious thing.

<What do you think.>

Lar-Prasriti asked then, directing his words toward Abel, who had remained silent.

<Will you trade in her stead.>

Though phrased as a question, he did not expect an answer. Lar-Prasriti did not grant Abel time to deliberate. With a scoff, he declared it outright.

<That cannot be. There is no such thing as an oldest or most precious possession for you. Anything old would be precious to you, and all that remains precious to you are things grown old.>

There is one, Lar-Prasriti whispered.

<The remains of the former saint are still there.>

But they are now useless. Their divine power was exhausted long ago. They are nothing more than a corpse.

<And yet, does that still matter to you.>

Lar-Prasriti asked.

“Perhaps….”

Abel answered quietly.

“…I believe it does.”

<How quaint. It is like looking at a character from a fairy tale.>

Laughter. Lar-Prasriti’s derision echoed through the cavern.

<So that is why you are a hero.>

.

.

.

Clatter.

The elevator began to rise.

Chains meshed together, filling the air with a dull clanking. Abel leaned against one side of the elevator with his arms crossed, while Märchen lay sprawled in midair, humming to herself.

Gradually, light slipped in from beyond the iron lattice. Not sunlight, but lamplight. It seemed night had already fallen.

<You said you met the former saint, didn’t you?>

Märchen spoke suddenly, tilting her golden eyes toward Abel.

<In the Lost Archive… in the domain of the God of Oblivion, I mean.>

“That is correct.”

<Do you want to hold a funeral for her?>

“If possible.”

<For what purpose? A woman who was a saint hardly needs funeral rites. She would have departed for the underworld without issue. Unlike other creations, she must have been watched by all the gods.>

Abel did not answer. He merely gazed at Märchen in silence.

Her long hair swayed without wind, and the emotion reflected in her cheerfully gleaming golden eyes was pure doubt. There was not the slightest hint of mockery. Märchen was genuinely curious about Abel’s thoughts.

“Are you leaving immediately?”

Abel asked instead, to avoid answering her question.

<Lizer should be waiting in the north.>

I think he might need my help. Märchen murmured.

<He’s a spirit, so like an elf he can live just about anywhere—but if it’s the north, that’s another story. Especially if it’s the northernmost region with eternal snow.>

“That seems likely.”

Abel nodded once.

“I was curious. Why is that child a spirit?”

<Isn’t it obvious? Because he was made that way.>

Märchen’s answer was succinct. A spirit that possessed a human ego, or a human who resonated completely with a spirit. The product of an experiment meant to achieve that state. That was how Märchen described Lizer.

An experiment.

Listening to her, Abel made a conjecture. Lizer Leinhart, and Dietrich Leinhart as well. Abel already knew that the two boys were the last survivors of the Kingdom of Ekra. The professors of Cia-Harphe knew as well. It was treated as classified information, but the truth was that the Leinhart brothers were princes of a fallen kingdom.

‘The reason the two brothers bore the status of princes….’

It was not because they inherited royal blood, but because they were children created under royal initiative. Thinking that, Abel spoke.

“Dietrich Leinhart.”

If the elder brother Lizer was a child created as a spirit, then for what purpose was the younger brother Dietrich created? Abel wanted to know. After all—

“That child has less than a year left to live. How did it come to this?”

<That, too, is obvious.>

Märchen straightened her upper body. She sat cross-legged in midair and whispered in a perfectly steady tone.

<Because he should not have been made that way.>

Because he is a failure, Märchen continued with a smile.

<Dietrich is composed entirely of pure mana. He has no soul. If Lizer is a spirit wearing human skin, then Dietrich was meant to be mana operating within a human framework. But alas.>

Spirits can function as beings, but mana cannot possess existence.

<As a result, Dietrich’s body is rapidly collapsing. The vast mana filling his body is useless as well. Magic cannot be used with mana alone. It seems Lizer occasionally visits to restore him, but even that has long since reached its limit. As you said, he will not live for even a year.>

But it is all right. Märchen stated as much.

<According to what is written in the journal….>

Her index finger traced the air. Her pocket dimension opened, and a journal was summoned. It was crudely bound with rusted wire. The journal fluttered before Märchen’s eyes. She was reviewing the oracle delivered from the Hall of All Gods.

<In the original course of history, Dietrich was fated to die. His body would collapse completely, and Lizer would absorb the mana that had lost its sense of self. That is how Lizer would become complete. He would still fall short of my power, of course, but he should at least be able to beat down a tower lord without difficulty.>

“I see.”

Abel nodded once.

THUD. The elevator came to a stop. Beyond the iron lattice, the main building of Cia-Harphe came into view. The moment Märchen passed straight through the lattice and moved ahead—

“Märchen.”

Abel spoke quietly. In a flat, restrained tone.

“I find that part of you…”

Quite repulsive, he thought. Muttering so, Abel stepped forward.

***

Evening, the Black Swan Hall of Cia-Harphe Academy.

Dietrich was gazing out the window. In contrast to the living room cluttered with scattered grimoires, the night view of the Academy beyond the glass was faintly neat. With vacation having begun, there were few people about, and thick night fog blanketed everything.

‘It feels nice.’

Dietrich closed his eyes gently. Wind slipped in through the slightly open window. A thin chill scraped against his skin. Softly, yet coldly.

‘But….’

I still cannot endure it. Dietrich thought as he looked down at his trembling hand.

He then rolled up his sleeve. Beneath the thick academy uniform was not bare flesh. What was revealed was skin hardened like stone, scarcely worthy of being called flesh at all. The collapse of his body had visibly accelerated. Lizer would not be returning for some time.

‘…Brother.’

Dietrich lowered his head. Brother, brother, brother. Biting his lower lip like a child calling for Lizer, he—

<Lizer will not hear that.>

Thoughts of the heart, I mean, came Märchen’s voice from beyond the window.

<Good evening, Dietrich.>

Soon, Märchen’s face appeared at the window. She was hovering outside. She passed straight through the glass and stopped beside Dietrich.

<I thought I would at least say goodbye before leaving.>

“Ah, Father….”

Dietrich moved quickly. He tugged down his sleeve to hide his collapsing body. Avoiding Märchen’s gaze, he forced his expression to steady.

“…Are you following my brother?”

<Isn’t that obvious? My son is in dangerous territory. Of course his father would follow.>

Is there a problem? Märchen asked with a smile.

<Are you afraid?>

That you will be left alone like this, and die in the dormitory without anyone knowing.

<Is that what frightens you?>

“…No.”

Dietrich shook his head.

“If that were the case, it would be better. My brother would not have to witness my death.”

<Are you ashamed of your final moments? You do not need to be. If he cannot see your end, Lizer will grieve.>

So, Dietrich, Märchen whispered, narrowing her eyes.

<Roll up your sleeve.>

“T-that is….”

<Go on.>

Dietrich hesitated for a moment. Chewing on his lip and glancing at Märchen, he finally rolled up his sleeve and revealed what lay beneath.

Not dried, hardened hide, but proper flesh. Dietrich stared wide-eyed at his perfectly restored skin. And inside it—within his body—clear, refreshing energy was circulating. It was Märchen’s mana.

<You will be fine for a while.>

The smile that had spread across Märchen’s lips faded.

<But Dietrich, do not harbor hope.>

You will die. Neither Lizer nor I can save you. Märchen murmured.

<So let us wait together. For the day you die.>

“…Father.”

Dietrich lifted his head. With eyes soaked in tears, he gazed at Märchen’s face. Her already translucent form blurred softly within his vision.

“Will my brother….”

Will he fear my death? Dietrich asked.

<No idea.>

Märchen answered without hesitation.

<Because I…>

When someone else, or family, or someone like family,

<…lost their life before my eyes,>

<…I lost all sense of how that feels, long ago.>