Chapter 23
Chapter 23: Student Council President: Harvest Season
Everything about mages swearing oaths on mana is complete nonsense.
In short, it's like this. Teenage boys—well, sometimes even men in their thirties do it too—making a fist with their right hand, extending only the thumb and pinky toward their forehead and nose…. Anyway, you know that thing where someone stakes their mother's honor on something? Yeah, it's exactly like that.
The kind where every fighter in the Rift goes to battle for the sake of their parents' honor. I've staked it plenty of times myself—sometimes protected my mother's honor, sometimes brought ruin to the other guy's mother's honor…. And I've lost just as much honor in return. Even if you stake it and lose, you just feel bad for a bit, then pretend you don't remember, and about two days later you've completely forgotten about it.
Naturally, swearing oaths on mana has absolutely no effect whatsoever. Mana is nothing more than pure force. It is matter; it is a source of energy. It's the feeling of saying, "I swear on our town's thermal power plant, on my mother's life—"
At least, that's what I thought, what I believed, and how I acted. Staking mana as naturally as drawing breath—
The moment my master heard my story, she doubled over laughing, and for a whole week she went around with a grin on her face.
Anyway—while mana itself carries no bias or tendency, the mage who wields it most certainly does.
And the crafted goods of an alchemist mage.
Potions and scrolls are the objects that carry the most of that mage's mana pattern.
As a mage's proficiency rises and their perspective broadens, they can infer the skill level of the opposing mage from the mana pattern alone contained within a potion—and extract a great deal of additional information beyond that.
Milé is in Rudra.
And I now hold in my hands a potion and a scroll imbued with Milé's mana pattern.
"I was certain that if Master's vanguard were to come, it would be from this direction."
From the moment I pulled gear out of my personal storage and made the purchase, I'd anticipated that coordinates would be marked on this eastern backwater of a place.
How to make use of this information advantage.
Milé, Master's proxy. And me, seated on the opposite side of that chessboard.
Our opening moves had already been made.
Well—that's a matter for later.
"Yuna. Silen. Starting today, I will teach you like a demon. Are you prepared?"
"Of course! Master! I, Yuna Linforce, am ready at any time!"
"Mister…. Up until now…. You weren't a demon…?"
Well then—let's get these little ones into an intensive training week first.
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One of the paths by which I touch Transcendence is this: watching these two little ones grow through their own sweat, putting my full effort into cooking, and the three of us eating together. Given that, I needed to support these kids so they'd grow stronger and bigger.
And so, I decided to reveal just a small secret.
"Yuna. Silen. As I've told you, I have experience challenging even the middle levels of the Hephaestus Dungeon. So what do you think?—how did someone with the absurd job title of Culinary Researcher manage to come back alive from that dungeon?"
"I don't know!"
"What is this? Self-promotion?"
Yuna smiled brightly and shot her hand up, while Silen looked sulky.
I'd laid enough groundwork. Now for the main point.
"Because I myself have enough ability to keep my own body alive in the middle levels. And this is how."
I pulled a sheaf of paper from inside my robes—magic scrolls.
They only recorded magic up to the 3rd Circle, but they were excellent magic items all the same.
"Wow…. Aren't those expensive?"
"As I remember it, each sheet is worth about a month's tuition for the two of us."
Students number one and two of the poor kids at this rural backwater academy—their eyes lit up not at the scrolls themselves, but at the price.
Truth is, I made these scrolls yesterday.
Wouldn't using them get me caught by Master? What did I do about the mana pattern?
Obviously these don't carry my mana pattern. They were made using Milé's mana pattern—which I made every effort to steal wholesale.
I extracted only the mana pattern from the scrolls Milé made. Then recreated new scrolls on different paper using that pattern.
So why hadn't I done this until now? There are several reasons.
First, I had no perfect sample of someone else's mana—and even with a sample, actually using it is no ordinary grind. For example, creating a scroll with one's own mana pattern is like drafting a manuscript on a 32-inch triple monitor setup with a mechanical keyboard.
But taking someone else's mana pattern and making a scroll from it is like sitting in a university lecture hall's ergonomic-torture chair, hunched over a 2010-model 10.1-inch netbook with no separate keyboard or mouse, trying to write.
In other words, it's hideously inconvenient, hideously tedious, and horrifying just to think about.
On top of that, I also stole the sentence structure and content typical of Milé's style. This is such a precise counterfeit that even if I tossed it in front of Master, she'd say, Milé made this? Not bad for that kid.
So no matter how freely I use these, only Milé's mana pattern can ever be detected from them. I guarantee it—even if Master herself showed up, she wouldn't figure this out.
Setting that aside and returning to the main point.
I can now produce up to twenty scrolls per day containing up to the 3rd Circle, all faithfully copied from Milé's mana pattern. This alone has expanded my room to maneuver enormously.
Thank you, junior! I'll treat you to a meal sometime!
I gave Milé a silent word of thanks in my heart, then raised the scrolls and looked at Yuna and Silen.
"Right. Then. I'll be using wind magic as the focus, so train as though you're fighting a wind spirit master. Understood?"
"Yes! Master! But I have a question!"
"What is it?"
"How many of those scrolls will you be using in this training?!"
"I plan to use all twenty."
"Oh…. Two years' worth of tuition…."
"Mister. Instead of doing it that way—if we master everything before you use them all up, couldn't you give us the money from the remaining scrolls…."
"That I cannot do. Monetary transactions aren't a good idea."
"Tch."
"Instead. I'll give you something else as a gift. Things you'll need as adventurers. On the sole condition that you don't resell them."
"Really?! Understood!"
"Well, then. Can't be helped. In that case…. Shall I show just a little of my true self?"
Yuna and Silen made soft sounds of anticipation and said they were ready to start training anytime—and I tore open the first scroll.
The mana I crafted from Milé flows through my fingertips.
"Right. Here we go."
And exactly fifteen minutes later.
"A-ah, ugh…. Gr…. Kkhh…."
"Ugh, ughhh…. Grrr…."
Both of them lay rolling on the floor, unable even to breathe.
"As I said before—Wind Fang isn't an actual blade. A human's sword path is constrained by joints, but Wind Fang is something you cannot calculate using joints. The flow of magical force. Train yourselves to develop an instinctive sense for it."
"Yes…. Yeeees…."
"I, I know that already…."
Under normal circumstances I'd have called it here and suggested we eat—but I now had no choice but to become a demon.
If we pushed deeper into the dungeon, Demociela would be waiting—and they couldn't afford to struggle against beginner wind magic.
From my Subspace I also pulled out twenty of "Milé-the-enthusiastic-junior's-mana-wholesale-entry-level-potions."
Thanks for the one-sided collaboration.
"Ooooooaaaaugh?!"
"Ah, kuh, kuhh, kuhhhh—"
When I poured potions over the lacerations and wounds left by Wind Fang, the kids' expressions twisted into grotesque shapes.
Naturally. A potion actively strengthens a person's natural recovery while simultaneously disinfecting to a degree. In modern terms—it's like dunking a badly scraped wound in hydrogen peroxide, pouring iodine over it, dressing it, and then having new flesh sprout in one second flat.
"M-master…. Is, is this torture? Do we have to endure this to become warriors…?"
"M-mister. Rather than this—just knock me out…."
"This is a potion. You'll need to get used to it going forward, so get used to it."
"A potion…. The kind Tanks are supposed to carry around at all times…? This stuff…I mean…this is what it is…?"
"Mister…. P-please. Knock, knock me out…."
The focus fades from Yuna's eyes, and Silen crawls across the floor like a caterpillar.
Even so, I didn't stop pouring the potions.
They would have to endure worse wounds than this—and more potent potions than this, or even more agonizing recovery magic.
As long as these two dreamed of becoming first-rate adventurers—Hero-class, no less.
As their master, I had to also teach them that when it hurts, it hurts.
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And so two weeks passed.
During that time, Yuna and Silen grew through relentless real combat.
They trained all day long running through the first floor's grasslands, dodging wind magic—and trained within the cutting gusts of the wasteland zone, evading Wind Fang that came slicing through the air.
At times they had to endure coordinated attacks alongside Grass Cows and Rocket Chickens, and at other times they had to block Wind Fang arriving simultaneously atop Frozen Ant ice spines.
If there seemed to be risk of a truly serious injury, I stepped in to handle it—but for injuries of any lesser degree, they recovered with the aid of potions.
Even Thunder Strike doesn't push itself like this. They were born strong to begin with—they have no need for this kind of training.
But for two people born weak who must struggle to become strong, the process of being wounded and recovering—and barely bringing down enemies who only grow stronger in turn—pushed them forward, step by step.
"Silen. Couldn't your sword strikes be a bit sharper?"
"How do you mean?"
"When fighting a Grass Cow. In the end their center of gravity pitches forward, so rather than the hind legs, you scrape the forelegs from the side—like this."
"Not bad. But that means I'd have to be standing in front or to the side, wouldn't I?"
"Don't worry about that part. I'll shove it sideways with a Shield Bash. Let's think about killing a Grass Cow in a single exchange."
"Okay."
Exactly two weeks in. A note of real combat experience had begun to creep into the pair's conversation.
This isn't wrong.
An adventurer must always live inside real combat, after all.
That day's training was called off.
Not for any particular reason—but because someone had arrived from Rudra Academy in response to our challenge, to deliver their reply in person.
"Hello. Yuna Linforce. And Silen Artre."
It was Hyacinth, the student council president of Rudra.
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She was a Rudra affiliate—no connection to the Academy proper—but it was a town where Milé had been lurking about, so I had no intention of sitting in. I simply stayed in the adjacent room, using an 【Acoustic Focus】 magic scroll to listen in.
"Have you both been well? I received the Cultural Exchange application the other day. I've come in person today to give you my answer."
"An answer? You'd already agreed at the time. Was there any need to come all the way here?"
"Yuna Linforce. Even if consent was given in writing, there is a sincerity in coming to pay one's respects in person. You would do well to know that much as basic etiquette."
"Are you saying I have no manners?"
"That wouldn't be called having manners, would it? You need to become a bigger person. Understand? To become a bigger person, learn the kind of etiquette you wouldn't be ashamed of regardless of who you meet—treat it as basic refinement."
"Then I'll give you a well-mannered answer. I'm deeply grateful you came all this way. However, we're the ones who'll be fighting each other at the Cultural Exchange soon enough. Isn't it strange to be exchanging pleasantries like this?"
"Not at all. A long-cherished wish is finally coming true—wouldn't it be proper etiquette to come and meet you in person?"
"A long-cherished wish?"
"Yes. The day has finally come when Yuna Linforce and Silen Artre will be entering our academy, hasn't it? Ahaha. Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting?"
"Hyacinth, are you saying we're going to lose?"
"But of course. We're far ahead of Demeter in everything from equipment to party assignments, aren't we? Now at last we can properly conquer the Rudra Dungeon. Ahh, it has been such a long wait. Welcome, both of you. Your uniform measurements have already been taken care of?"
"I'll have you know—it's you who'll be wearing our academy's uniform. Understood?"
"Fufu. If you're holding a masquerade ball, I'd be willing to try one on. I'll take both of your enrollment applications and submit them directly to the professor. Please prepare for transfer enrollment starting next semester and get your studying done."
"I refuse."
"You'll have to accept, won't you? Shall I even tutor you?"
"Get out this instant!"
"Then, do take care."
At Yuna's order to leave, the sound of a door opening reached me, and Hyacinth emerged into the hallway.
We'd only brushed past each other briefly, but this time I was able to check her specs precisely.
Hm.
Quite impressive….
She'd certainly cleared the lowest tier—I'd say she was at the entry level of the lower tier. She'd handle something like controlling the direction of the wind with ease.
For the current Yuna and Silen, she would be a worthy opponent.
"Silen…. We absolutely have to win. Win, and kidnap that young lady for our academy."
"What?…. If you kidnap her, what are you going to do with her?"
"I'll make her spend her whole life serving at Demeter Academy—make her take a job here even after graduation and live every single day filled with gratitude to the Academy!"
"Yuna. Let's not commit crimes."
"Where is that a crime?! Is that really a crime?"
"It's a grave sin. Though, having her serve as a professor at Demeter for about five years after graduation does sound like it could be entertaining."
"Right? Right?! I won't forgive her. Demeter is unmistakably a rural backwater—but it's a precious academy!"
“Pfft.”
I burst out laughing at the two of them.
Yuna had said she aimed to be a righteous student council president, and Silen had said her goal was to be a Hero—yet somehow it was them who looked like the villains here.
I stood from my seat, opened the door to the adjacent room, and called to the pair.
"Yuna. Silen. It's fine to dream villainous dreams, but a villain without ability only ever exits the stage with a clichéd line. Right then. Training begins."
"Yes! Master!"
"Got it. Mister."
The two rose without a word of complaint, and we dove back into the dungeon once more.
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Time flew by in an instant, and the day of the Cultural Exchange arrived.
"Then. I'll go harvest Hyacinth!"
"We're heading out. Mister."
Seeing them off as they headed toward Rudra, I gazed out the window.
The spring weather was so brilliantly clear it almost felt like harvesting a single student council president or two wouldn't be the worst idea in the world.