SMMA 64

Episode 64

“I think I’ve bought everything.”

Ihan finally concluded his frenzied spending spree.

And it hadn’t only been the food shop and the cloth merchants. He’d swept through stationers and bookstores (“Stock me with the cheapest, sturdiest paper you have! Any illusion grimoires that could trick a professor’s eyes?”), agricultural suppliers (“Seeds. Edible seedlings. That will grow.”), and more.

The clerks were awestruck.
Even if stranded on a desert island, this boy wouldn’t starve.

“Where’s the stables?”

“The… stables?”

Arian, the merchant, blinked. He knew carriages and mounts couldn’t be taken back to the Academy.

But seeing Ihan’s resolute aura, he stopped questioning. Clearly, the Wadanaz youth had some plan.

Amur’s Stables bustled endlessly.

Adventurers came to buy steeds. Others arrived to kennel storm eagles. Visitors swarmed.

Running a stable here required mastery beyond horses: one had to handle beasts throughout the Empire—hoofed, winged, scaled.

At last, as the rush thinned, the owner Amur found himself confronted by a peculiar boy—cloaked, but unmistakably an Academy student.

“Greetings.”

“Good day. What do you seek?”

“Do you ever carry passengers directly into the Academy?”

“!”

Yes. The rumors were true.

Though dreaded, the mountainside school did receive outside arrivals: contracted suppliers, adventurers fulfilling scholars’ orders, even imperial couriers screaming down with proclamations.

But its front gate was infamous: “To wait at its threshold is to wither with age.”

Impatient customers took underground passages or skyborne flights. The airborne had easier passage—though still under scrutiny.

“Yes. Why ask?”

“I’ll pay. On the right day, would you fly me out?”

“…!”

So that was Ihan’s aim: preparation for his next escape.

What ferocious resolve…

Even Amur, hardened by years, was impressed.

A mere first-year, instead of wasting a rare outing on sweets and leisure, was already building his future escape plan.

“Formidable…” Amur whispered, then shook his head sadly. “But impossible.”

“May I ask why?”

“I’ve gone in before with clients. Security is ferocious. Entrance, while easier by sky, still demands everything.”

Visitors had to hover at a set aerial checkpoint. Identified mages would arrive to confirm names. If on the rolls, they entered.

“But you have entered. Couldn’t you give cause again?”

“Going in—possible. But leaving is fatal. Everyone out is checked: beast and rider alike. Conceal with spells? Forget it. They probe.”

Ihan’s face hardened. Even this…

At this rate, the Academy’s motto was indistinguishable from “Was all this excessive torture really necessary?”

“But not wholly impossible.”

Amur lit his pipe and explained.

“Secure a riderless mount inside. When I arrive, join me astride it, and we fly out together.”

“…?”

“But wouldn’t they still check?”

“Not the same. Hereon is what I accidentally learned: those entering are grilled twice. But insiders leaving—are rarely examined. Professors stroll freely, even with companions.”

Indeed, once Amur had flown alongside a professor leaving. The professor had been waved out with not a glance, despite Amur being searched again and again.

“Alone, you’ll be noticed. But paired with me, I’ll take the scrutiny. That’s your chance.”

Damn. Can I really acquire a masterless mount within that fortress?

Of course, stealing someone else’s beast was unthinkable.

As if reading him, Amur growled: “Don’t even dream of theft.”

“…Of course not.”

In truth, Ihan had already discarded the thought, knowing wards and alarms would instantly alert an owner. But he let the man’s honor live.

Risky. But the only viable scheme yet.

So he didn’t voice his doubts on failure rates or hoods falling from heads.

This was survival.

“I’m counting on you!”

Amur’s grin stretched his scarred face. “I knew it. Not an ordinary student. Here: every two weeks, on Saturday midnight, I’ll circle the Academy. Atop its highest stable tower, await me. One hour I’ll linger. If you’re ready—leave with me.”

Ihan bowed in gratitude. But curiosity nagged.

“You labor more than paid. Why aid me like this?”

Amur brushed his beard. “Because your Academy abuses students with cruel absurdity. My people hate such rule. To see you defy it… I cannot stand idle.”

Tears pricked Ihan’s eyes. Outside the walls, justice and chivalry still lived.

But his outing time bled away. He had one last place to visit.

He sprinted—to the workshop of illusion mage Baldoroorn.

Not every mage sought imperial service; some became adventurers, others craftspeople, opening ateliers in villages.

This was one such.

When Baldoroorn looked up and saw a boy in Academy garb, he swallowed hard.

A student?

Why darken his humble shop?

The magician, master of 3rd-circle spells—like a seasoned 2nd-year—feared ridicule.

“What do you seek?”

“I’ve come for counsel—in magic.”

Baldoroorn stiffened. Is this arrogance? Coming to mock me?

But coin was coin. “Speak.”

“I must enter a Tower, but warding magics bar outsiders. As a specialist in illusions—you may know how to breach them.”

Baldoroorn choked.

The Tower… within the Academy itself?!

And, studying him closer—yes, it was first-year uniform. He gaped.

So the boy not only escaped… but now seeks methods to breach its internal wards? A future archmage!

His young days had been wasted smoking pipes. This child sought the forbidden.

“There are countless such wards. No one mage knows all. Masters may discern structure—greater masters unravel it. But…”

He trailed off.

Breaking wards was not genius—it was labor. Like a locksmith who memorized thousands of schematics, who could tease apart any new lock on the spot, mages had to feed hundreds of barrier spells into their minds, before adaptations could be found.

Without vast experience—cracking them clean was impossible.

“This… requires oceans of study. I could suggest likely candidates, yet without mastery you’d achieve nothing. Instead—it’s easier to shatter them.”

Then he halted.

For that too was mad.

Shattering meant striking barriers with force titanic enough to rupture their designs. Especially those of the Academy—woven with reserves unimaginable.

No mere wizard could meet that threshold.

“It was a slip of the tongue—forget it. Impossible.”

“No. Tell me. In detail.”

“?!!”

Baldoroorn gaped.

Was this boy immortal—or insane?