SMMA 48

Episode 48

“The priests who have joined the Phoenix Tower are all devout and good people but…”

“How could that possibly be, when it’s still a place where people live together?”

“Please keep quiet. I am still in prayer. In truth, there are some among them who have not fully cast away worldly emotions. Feelings like rivalry or jealousy, which do not serve faith at all.”

Just the previous week, a new priest among the Phoenix Tower’s freshmen brewed a potion of fatigue recovery for the others. It was a simple act—using knowledge from temple life to aid fellow companions.

Truly fitting for a priest.

Had it been me, I would have sold it for money.

—“Drinking this potion lifts the weariness from my body. Thank you!”
—“Even Priestess Siana of the Plemonn Order would be amazed. Truly well-made.”
—“Could it be even better than the ones she makes?”

Spoken lightly, only meant as praise, not true comparison. Their laughter was warm, and even Siana nodded and smiled. No one felt offense.

…But the next day, Siana herself brought a fatigue recovery potion.

—“??”
—“I also made one. Please, drink.”
—“Ah, thank you.”
—“Splendid work.”

The day after that, again she brought one.

—“Thank you…?”
—“Marvelous, again.”

The day after that, another.

By then, the priests understood.

—“Siana’s potion is truly the best.”
—“None can compare!”

Only then did she stop.

“…Her rivalry is rather excessive.”

Hearing the tale, Ihan spoke faintly.
To hear one offhand joke and then keep brewing potions, day after day, until acknowledged as the best?

“That wasn’t the only thing,” Tijiling continued.

“……”

Not over yet?

The priest who had first brewed the fatigue potion approached Siana later, offering sincere praise:

—“As expected of you, Priestess Siana. Such quality, not anyone could achieve.”

Tijiling had seen it clearly: Siana ignored the compliment entirely, walking away without reply.

“…!”

It was days before she accepted his greeting.

How narrow-minded can one be…?

Ihan was dumbstruck.

A little praise to another, and she held such a grudge?

What praises had I heard in class? Genius of alchemy, prodigy, all so embarrassing… what would she think of me…?

Tijiling concluded her prayer to Prisinga.

Still unconvinced, Ihan asked, “She wouldn’t poison someone’s food, would she?”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” Tijiling murmured tersely, sealing her lips.

Ihan made his decision.
If I must move with Siana, I will never eat whatever food she offers.

Even with endless pain, despair, and mountains of work, the sun rose again.

Assignments are one thing… but other matters weigh heavier.

At present, two questions troubled Ihan most:

How to infiltrate White Tiger Tower?
What nightmarish traps awaited in the mountains behind the academy, when all students were sent to gather alchemy reagents?

Which is harder? Either way, this school never gives you time to think.

He hustled into the next lecture: <Repetitive Drills in Basic Magical Combat>.

Professor Volady glanced at him.
“Eleven seconds late.”

“Apologies, I was tending my horse this morning.”

“No need for sorry. It is your loss, not mine.”

Do they all learn this line from the same book?

Ihan sighed, sitting.

Only the two of them in the silent room. Volady twitched a finger. Ihan lifted his wand and spun iron beads.

The recent battle with zealots had sharpened him. His bead now flew in circles nearly perfect.

Two years ahead of schedule, Volady thought blankly. Thankfully Ihan didn’t hear—he would have been furious.

For this, after all, was training usually requiring more than two full years to advance from.

“Not bad.”

“Thank you.”

Ihan understood—Volady’s “not bad” meant “excellent.” Praise enough.

“You’ve learned water conjuration?”

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

“Spring forth!”

A sphere of water formed before him, holding together.

“Compress it to a bead.”

“I’ll try.”

Sweating, Ihan forced it down. His vast mana overflowed, making precision torturous. The water warped, bulged.

Then Volady picked up an iron bead.

Dread struck Ihan.

Whsshh!

The bead shot straight at his face.

This insane professor…!

Reflexively, Ihan squeezed the water down to a defensive bead.

Clang!

The bead deflected, clattering down.

“…Professor. Will you continue doing this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Throwing beads at me.”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Efficient, is it not?”

“Eh?”

“Against the zealots, your danger sharpened you. Sudden peril hones instinct. Why walk indirect paths?”

“……”

Speechless. The logic was absurd, beyond rebuttal.

“Good. Spin it.”

Now the hardest test yet—maintaining a perfect water orb, spinning it true. Already his nerves screamed, like in true battle.

Then—Volady hurled beads again.

Crash!

He blocked one. He was ready.

But the professor had expected that. A second bead curved from the opposite side.

Thud!

“…!”

It struck between his shoulders. Teeth clenched, pain jolted.

“Focus.”

No reply. Only frantic spins, pain and fatigue wracking him.

Assignments of endless work are better than this.

“Wadanaz looks so tired.”
“Assignments, I bet. He’s not one for easy courses.”
“Of course not—it’s Wadanaz.”

“When do we go to White Tiger?”

“…”

In <Basic Magic Theory>, Dragons muttered while Ihan slumped asleep. His duel-training with Volady had worn him to the bone.

Nearby, Turtle Tower whispered also.

“Alchemy requires climbing the mountains. True?”
“Yes, all towers are joining.”
“Maybe there’s a path outside in the mountains.”

Deluded dreamers, thought Ihan sorrowfully.

“Wait—does that mean we must travel with Wadanaz? What if he errs—will we be punished too?”
“N-no… surely not. We’re separate towers…”

Ihan sighed inwardly.

Then—

“Greetings, all.”

“Good morning, Professor!”

Professor Garcia entered. Now students recognized: a rare fair man, almost uniquely moral here.

Better a troll than a professor devoid of humanity.

“Until now you mastered elements. But theory covers more—illusions, foresight, summoning, transformations. As you advance you will specialize.”

Ihan felt unsurprised. He knew magic’s world was vast, no mage could master all.

“Today, however, another will teach—a true expert.”

Excitement rippled. Some dreamed of spirit summoning, some of strengthening sorcery.

“Please, enter.”

The door opened. The air chilled instantly.

“Greetings… cof, cof… Mortum, professor.”

At first glance, Ihan mistook him for a dwarf—so small and bent. But he was human, frail, breathless with hacking coughs.

“Are you alright?”
“Perhaps the sick ward, not teaching…”
“Cough—no. Fine.”

A student raised a hand timidly.
“What field do you teach, professor?”

“I… teach black magic.”

“……”
“……”

The classroom dropped silent and cold as stone.

For black magic carried the foulest reputation of all schools.