SMMA 60

Episode 60

Once Ihan realized it “worked,” his performance became even more exaggerated.

He slapped his forehead and cried out:
“Marvelous! As expected of Priestess Siana of the Plemonn Order!! Truly magnificent!!!”

“…Are you unwell?” Yonellia whispered softly so no one else could hear. To her ears, Ihan sounded deranged, as if he had eaten something spoiled.

But aside from her, everyone else seemed content. Especially Siana, whose expression brimmed with satisfaction.

“As expected of young master Ihan of House Wadanaz… you have such discerning eyes.”

“Even a blind man could see how excellent this potion is.”

“You flatter me.”

She hid her smile behind her sleeve but could not suppress her joy. They exchanged polite nods and parting words before she returned, radiating contentment, to the Phoenix Tower students.

Ihan exhaled deeply.

Exhausting.

Feigning overwhelming enthusiasm had drained him mentally.

Still, it was effective. Back among her peers, Priestess Siana was already singing his praises:

—“Lord Wadanaz is truly polite, discerning…”
—“Did something happen to you, priestess?”
—“No, nothing… but his judgment is impeccable!”

Judging by this, Ihan thought he needn’t worry about Phoenix Tower students opposing him.

“Yonellia. Even if you place first in alchemy lectures, know this—I’d never slip poison into your cup.”

“…You’re sure you’re not actually sick?” Yonellia muttered, concern written in her eyes.

First aid complete, the students began their return.

Those with broken legs were carried by others. Luckily, no further monsters blocked the descent.

“Bartrek. Wadanaz hasn’t done anything to you, has he?”
“Bartrek, did he… brainwash you?”
“Or perhaps trick you with forbidden necromancy?”

“I told you, nothing happened!” Bartrek fumed.

Even when he vouched for Ihan, they refused to listen.

“Besides—how could a mere first-year cast forbidden black magic?”

“I thought so at first too. Just rumors, I said. But after seeing his abilities…”

“Yes. I never believed it either. But with my own eyes… there may be truth.”

White Tiger Tower students nodded seriously. Belief, half sincere, half rumor-fed.

“Surely in the Wadanaz family, he was secretly drilled since childhood.”
“Terrifying, the Wadanaz.”

His feats—telekinetic control, though sloppy, his performance in the black magic class, though twisted by gossip—had inflated into legend.

Students who had actually interacted with him were less misled:
—“He carries charisma, as expected of a great house.”
—“They say he rules Dragon Tower coldly, without mercy.”

But for White Tigers, it wasn’t rumor. It was truth. He is truly frightening.

“Still—Bartrek tried to protest. “He doesn’t seem as terrible as they make him out…”

“Bartrek. Who unleashed the fire that smashed the golem?”
“…Wadanaz did.”
“Was that flame an ordinary spell?”

Bartrek’s mouth hung. He couldn’t deny it. Logic failed against blind conviction.

“Oi.”

“!”

While they whispered, Ihan approached.

At once, Tiger hands trembled on practice swords, their bodies taut.

…What are they, frightened deer?

“W-w-what is it, Lord Wadanaz…?”

“Nothing dire. You’ve worked hard—must be weary.”

He offered rations from his pack—snacks, bread spread with jam, sugar biscuits. These, nearing expiry, had been stored in his room.

White Tiger students hungrily weighed risk versus stomach. Hunger won. They devoured slowly, as if suspicious it might be poisoned.

“Bartrek of House Bark? Eastern-born, I heard?”

“Yes.”

“Here. Rice balls and rice cakes. For you.”

“…!”

The dwarf blinked. He hadn’t expected the boy to know his homeland palate—let alone cater to it. For someone not even from the east, it was startlingly considerate.

Perhaps—rumors exaggerated?

Students, munching, felt the same creeping thought. Maybe we misjudged him.

But then a new shout came:

“Did you hear?! Over in Blue Dragon Tower, they said Wadanaz killed a mud golem with a single water spell! Apparently, he summoned a water dragon!!”

“……”
“……”

The Tigers shuddered anew.

So he truly is terrifying…

Meanwhile…

Thunderstep, drinking with the professors, paused.

Wait. Where are the vegetables?

He remembered—the crops Ihan had harvested. They were gone.

The Skull Headmaster never ate, so only Ingerdel remained.

“Something wrong?” the elf asked innocently.

“Ah, it’s nothing… you just seem to enjoy vegetables.”

Thunderstep grimaced. Old stereotype: elves only eat greens. Surely outdated—yet the Headmaster actually agreed mockingly.

“You too, dwarf! Do you not adore beer?”

“I do.”

“Ah—apologies.”

“No need…” Ingerdel flustered under their words, until finally he confessed: “But… those vegetables. They were unusually delicious.”

Thunderstep muttered. Because they were mine…

He resolved never again to share his hut with that skeletal tyrant, who feasted only by tormenting others.

Abruptly, Ingerdel stood. “The students are returning!” And ran for the door.

Skull Headmaster shook his bony head. Soft-hearted…

When the professors awaited, the students hardly blinked, forewarned by Ihan. Instead, they glared with murderous resentment.

When I rise as archmage, first thing: crush the professors.
When I become the greatest swordsman, I’ll cut them down.
When I’m high minister of the Empire, I’ll move against them.

Thunderstep laughed. “You returned well!”

“Yes… thanks to you, professor. Truly delightful,” one replied icily.

“Ah, you guessed? That’s alchemy. Never lower your guard. Crisis might strike anytime!”

“……”

Visions of ambushing him simmered.

Ingerdel, contrite, bowed. “I’m sorry. I wanted to stay, but…”

“Sure you did.”

“Hmph! You’re all the same.”

“?!”

Even White Tiger students glared daggers.

Startled, he stammered. “No! Truly—the Headmaster himself teleported me—”

“Enough.”

“We trust no one any longer. Wasn’t that the school’s goal?”

They had endured. They had hardened. They no longer trusted any tower’s professor. Ingerdel’s heart split at their piercing stares.

Thunderstep pretended not to see his pain. Blame Gonadalthes, not me, he thought.

But Ihan frowned.

Wait. Did Ingerdel… truly not know?

The others dismissed it as absurd. But Ihan recalled—it was exactly what such deranged Headmasters would do.

Clack!

His bone summon rattled, pointing to the hut.

“!”

Familiar mana stained the air. Ihan recognized instantly—the Headmaster’s.

It was real?!

He staggered inside. The professors’ kidnap story had sounded insane—but the Headmaster really had done it.

Quickly, he masked shock.

“Professor Ingerdel. I believe you. The Headmaster must have abducted you.”

“Wadanaz…!”

The elf’s eyes welled with gratitude.

Finally, Thunderstep grew curious.

“How did you all… solve my trials?”

“Oh—Wadanaz destroyed one golem with Yumidifus’s Aqua Burst.”
“And he burned another golem alive.”

“…What?”

Thunderstep sputtered.

This was nothing like what he had arranged.

“Wait. Hold. WHAT golems? I prepared bulls. Where did the mud golems come from?!”

“Ha. Nice try, professor. Do you think us children?” Blue Dragon students sneered.

He froze, aghast. Hadn’t prepared any of this!

“The mud golems weren’t mine…”

“‘By coincidence,’ right.”

“You all heard him! Let’s believe his excuse!”

“……”

Thunderstep slumped, slightly ashamed—for once reflecting on his life.