Chapter 58 : Chapter 58
Chapter 58 : Suspicion
Ryan’s fingers paused at the corner of the lesson notes, unconsciously rubbing the edge of the page. The texture of the parchment was rough against his fingertips.
Everything the Princess had done today had felt deliberate from beginning to end.
She had approached him of her own accord and spoken to him in front of everyone.
She had pointed out the moment when he relaxed—that subtle reaction that was almost impossible to notice. Yet she had caught it and exposed it publicly. Then she escalated step by step, from probing to questioning, and finally to open accusation.
Why?
Ryan leaned back into the chair. The wooden back pressed against his shoulder blades, the clear discomfort helping him stay alert.
First, random behavior could be ruled out.
Cecilia Ishtar was not the sort of person who acted on impulse, nor someone who could have ascended the imperial throne and controlled the Empire with the Saintess’s support in the original storyline if she were.
A person like that would not target a disreputable, declining viscount without reason.
Then what was the motive?
Punishment? Because of his previous “notorious reputation”?
That made little sense. If the Princess truly believed his conduct was improper, she could have dealt with him far more directly—pressuring the academy, using royal influence, or simply showing open dislike for him in public. There would naturally be countless people willing to act on her behalf.
There was no need for her to personally step forward and provoke him in public like a quarrelsome child.
Then was she defending someone?
For Eleanor Astrea?
Ryan’s brows knitted slightly.
The Princess and Eleanor did indeed have some connection, but that would only happen much later, during the Imperial Court arc of the Princess’s storyline. At that point they would cooperate due to certain political interests.
At the current point in time, they should only be acquaintances at best—perhaps they did not even know each other well.
And even if the Princess truly wanted to stand up for Eleanor, there were plenty of ways to do so. With her status and methods, she could easily make Ryan’s life in the academy extremely difficult. She would not need to resort to such childish tactics.
Which left the final possibility—
The Princess had her own objective.
A specific objective that required targeting Ryan Velt himself.
But what exactly that objective was, Ryan had no clue.
Outside the window, the rain grew heavier again. Raindrops tapped against the glass with rhythmic sounds, like an ancient code. The oil lamp’s flame trembled slightly in the shifting air, casting Ryan’s shadow across the wall behind him—stretched long, distorted, its edges blurred.
Over the following days, academy life settled into its predetermined rhythm.
At six-thirty in the morning, the bell of the clock tower rang punctually.
Ryan woke to the fading echoes of the bell, washed up, and put on his neatly pressed uniform. Cosette had already prepared breakfast—usually simple toasted bread and hot milk, sometimes accompanied by a stew brought back from the dining hall.
At seven, he stepped out of the dormitory building.
The morning mist had not yet fully dispersed. Dew clung to the leaves of the plane trees, glittering in the rising sunlight. From the direction of the training ground came the shouts of martial students practicing their techniques, while the glow of protective barriers flickered through the thin fog.
At seven-thirty, the class 《Introduction to Principles of Magi-Engineering》 began.
Professor Horne’s classes were always punctual. He would enter the classroom five minutes early, place his notes on the podium, and wipe his glasses with a soft cloth that was perpetually dusted with chalk. Then he would tap the desk and announce the beginning of the lecture in his dry voice.
The course content was growing deeper, progressing from the most basic models of Mana resonance to complex multi-node array designs. The formulas became more numerous, the diagrams denser, and the handwriting in the notebooks smaller and smaller.
Ryan sat near the window.
Morning light slanted through the glass, casting the shadow of the window frame across the desk. His pen moved steadily across the paper, recording those cold and precise numbers: coefficients of Mana flow velocity, resonance frequency thresholds, and optimal ratio parameters for mana-conducting materials.
The classroom was quiet.
Most students in the Magic Tool Application specialization were the sort who buried themselves in work—or, to put it more bluntly, engineering nerds.
They did not care about intrigue among nobles. They were indifferent to conflicts between people. What concerned them was whether the diagrams in their hands were correct and whether their circuit designs contained flaws.
Occasionally, there were discussions, but the topics were strictly technical.
“Would the redundancy in the third circuit affect the overall response speed?”
“If we replace standard silver with red copper, will the loss of conductivity still be acceptable?”
“Have you derived the Mana vortex model Professor Brent mentioned last time?”
These voices brought Ryan a strange sense of calm. Here, the only standards were accuracy and correctness. There was no scheming, no probing, none of those complicated motives he could not yet untangle.
But the atmosphere changed whenever it came to shared classes.
The classroom for 《Intermediate Rune Array Design》 was filled with students from various disciplines. The noble students gathered in small groups, whispering about the latest rumors circulating around the academy.
“…Have you heard? The registration for the selection tournament closed yesterday.”
“I heard there are only about a dozen third-year applicants. Only one from the Magic Tool program.”
“Who?”
“Who else? Velt. Those bookworms in his major would never join a life-threatening competition like that.”
“Tsk, that figures… But do you think Her Highness the Princess will participate?”
“Probably not, right? Her Highness is so noble—what if something happens in the forest…”
“But I heard she performed incredibly well in that potion class…”
The voices were hushed, but clear enough.
Ryan sat in the back row, opening the textbook on rune arrays. His gaze rested on those twisted lines, but his ears captured every word.
News of the selection tournament had already spread.
The Whispering Forest, seventy-two hours of survival—these details fermented within the academy, breeding all kinds of speculation and rumors.
Some people were eager to try.
Some were hesitant.
Most were simply observing—watching who would sign up and who might emerge victorious.
Outside the window, the sunlight slowly moved, crawling from the eastern windows toward the western wall. The light in the classroom shifted as well, from the chill of morning to a warmer glow, until it finally turned into the orange hue of dusk.
When the bell rang to end the class, Professor Brent had just finished explaining the final formula.
He removed his glasses, wiped the lenses with his cloth, and announced, “There will be a quiz next week. The scope covers everything taught over the past four weeks. Anyone who fails will lose ten points from their final grade.”
A wave of suppressed groans filled the classroom.
Ryan closed his notebook and returned his pen to the holder. When he slung the canvas satchel over his shoulder, the tools and textbooks inside collided with dull thuds.
By the time he stepped out of the academic building, the sky had already darkened.
The evening wind carried the chill of autumn, stirring the leaves of the plane trees. Yellow-brown leaves spiraled down and spread across the ground in a thick layer.
In the distance, lights had begun to glow in the direction of the academy garden.
PART 2
Chapter 58 : The Princess’s Favor Cannot Be Repaid
The garden on the western side of the academy possessed a quiet beauty at dusk.
A stone path wound through neatly trimmed hedges, with ancient stone lanterns standing on either side. The lantern shades were made of milky white glass, inside which steady magical flames burned, casting warm golden halos across the path. At the end of the path stood a circular terrace paved with cobblestones, and in its center rose a pavilion of white marble.
Recently, the pavilion had acquired a new owner.
Every afternoon at four, Cecilia Ishtar appeared there precisely on time.
She would bring with her an exquisite white porcelain tea set, a pot of steaming black tea, and several small plates of delicate pastries. Ilis would follow behind her, carrying heavy ancient books or rolled blueprints.
At first, some students had tried to approach—hoping for a chance encounter, hoping to strike up a conversation.
But the Princess’s attitude was clear.
She would sit in the pavilion, her blue eyes calmly gazing over the garden scenery, occasionally exchanging a few quiet words with Ilis.
That posture created an invisible barrier, keeping anyone who attempted to approach firmly at a distance.
Over time, the pavilion became the academy’s unspoken “Princess-exclusive tea seat.”
After four in the afternoon, no one approached the pavilion. Even when passing nearby, students unconsciously softened their footsteps.
Today was no exception.
Cecilia sat in a wicker chair inside the pavilion, holding a white porcelain teacup. The tea was a deep amber color, leaving a faint ring along the inner wall of the cup. She stirred it gently, the silver spoon tapping against the porcelain with a clear chime.
Ilis stood at the edge of the pavilion, leaning against a marble pillar. Today the black-haired girl wore simple dark-brown casual clothing, her long hair tied into a plain ponytail. Her violet eyes looked toward the depths of the garden, reflecting the flickering light of the stone lanterns.
“What do you think of Saint Roland’s students?” Cecilia suddenly asked. Her voice was soft, almost like she was speaking to herself. “I mean… those who are truly descendants of noble families.”
Ilis turned her head. Her violet eyes appeared especially deep in the dusk.
“Most observe proper etiquette, Your Highness,” she replied calmly. “At least on the surface.”
“On the surface?” Cecilia’s lips curved into a faint smile. “And beneath that surface?”
Ilis remained silent for a few seconds. Her gaze swept across the garden path, where several younger students were strolling, their laughter bright and carefree.
“I have heard that some heirs of old noble houses,” she said slowly, weighing each word, “are excessively indulgent. Relying on the merits of their ancestors, they run rampant in the academy and bully their fellow students.”
Cecilia set down her teacup. The porcelain tapped lightly against the marble table.
“Yes,” she sighed softly, her voice carrying a deliberately wistful tone. “Father often says that what the Empire needs are nobles who understand restraint. Those who refuse to make progress and merely squander their ancestral glory… are truly disappointing.”
She paused, lifting the teacup again, though she did not drink from it. Instead, she gazed at her reflection in the tea.
The amber surface reflected her face—porcelain pale and exquisitely delicate, like a flawless doll.
“Especially certain surnames…” Her voice became softer still, like a feather brushing across water. “A declining family like the Velts can hardly be blamed. After all, they have already fallen. Even if their descendants behave badly, they cannot stir up much trouble.”
She lifted her eyes, her gaze drifting casually toward the garden entrance.
Dusk had grown thicker, and the halos of the stone lanterns spread across the stone path in blurred patches of light. At the entrance, two figures were approaching—hesitating, their steps uneven, as though uncertain whether they should come closer.
Andre and Wood.
Cecilia’s gaze lingered on them for a brief instant—so brief it was almost impossible to notice. Then she withdrew her eyes and continued looking at her teacup.
“But families like the Garcias and the Woods,” she continued quietly, her voice lowered just enough for Ilis to hear clearly, yet also just loud enough for the two listeners in the distance to catch fragments of her words, “are still respectable houses. If their heirs behave disgracefully, spending their days bullying classmates and stirring up trouble… would that not bring shame upon their entire families?”
After speaking, she shook her head lightly, letting the sigh fall with perfect timing.
Then she placed the teacup down again. The silver spoon touched the saucer with a bright chime.
Turning to Ilis, she smiled—a gentle smile without the slightest hint of hostility.
“But you need only listen to such things,” she said, her voice returning to its usual clear calm. “After all, I am merely a student. I should not speak ill of others behind their backs. If Father were to hear of it, he would say I am meddling again.”
Ilis inclined her head slightly. A flicker passed through her violet eyes—not agreement, nor compliance.
Cecilia stood up. The pale platinum hem of her dress fell gracefully, glowing with a soft luster in the dusk. She adjusted her collar and picked up the shawl placed beside her—a dark blue cashmere garment embroidered along the edges with delicate silver thread.
“Come,” she said. “It is time to return and prepare for the evening class.”
The two descended the pavilion steps one after the other. Cecilia’s pace was steady, her skirt swaying gently with each step. Ilis followed half a step behind, her back straight, her dark-brown figure almost blending into the dusk beneath the lantern light.
They walked along the stone path toward the garden exit.
As they passed the hedges, Cecilia’s steps paused almost imperceptibly. Her gaze flicked briefly toward the shadow within the bushes.
There, two figures crouched quietly, holding their breath like startled rabbits.
Andre and Wood.
The Princess’s lips curved again into that faint, fleeting smile.
Then she continued forward as if she had seen nothing.
Only after the two figures disappeared through the garden exit did Andre and Wood crawl out from behind the bushes.
The expressions on their faces were remarkable—a mixture of excitement, tension, and a sudden, enlightened thrill.
“Did you hear that?” Andre whispered, his eyes shining unnaturally bright in the dusk. “Her Highness said it was disappointing! She said it brings shame to the family!”
Wood nodded vigorously.
“She was hinting at us!” Andre’s breathing grew faster. “Her Highness cannot stand Velt! And she thinks our families can still be saved—as long as we… as long as we prove ourselves!”
“How do we prove it?” Wood asked, though the answer was already in his eyes.
Andre stared toward the garden exit, where the path now lay empty, only the halos of the stone lanterns quietly glowing in the dusk.
“Her Highness said relying on ancestral glory to bully classmates,” he said slowly. “How did Ryan Velt treat us before? Does that count as ‘bullying classmates’?”
Wood’s eyes lit up as well.
“If we… if we strike back,” his voice trembled—not with fear, but excitement, “if we make him pay the price and prove we are not disgraceful heirs… Her Highness will see it!”