SMMA 52

Episode 52

“Is it truly that dangerous?”

“This mountain range is overflowing with deadly monsters. In its depths live creatures even professors have yet to identify. And since it is spring now, with each passing week more beasts awaken…”

Professor Ingerdel gazed toward the mountains with clear worry.

The Academy of Einrogard was situated in a land saturated in mana, and so naturally, monsters thrived nearby. The range that sprawled behind the school was, in his eyes, a zone where almost any monster could appear.

Deep within dwelled beings from ogres to mountain giants, trolls and wyverns—colossal predators suited to such terrain. But their presence also forced other powerful monsters—who normally never dwelled near the outer slopes—to be driven outward.

“In short, no matter how hot-blooded students may be, entering the mountain is madness. Only a madman would make such a choice.”

“I’m not going in because I want to, Professor. The assignment is to enter the mountains and gather ingredients.”

“……”

Ingerdel coughed awkwardly. He had not realized it was another professor’s class assignment.

“So that’s it? Then… perhaps this changes things.”

“I don’t think it does,” Ihan muttered dryly.

The elf was a swordsman, not a mage. His outlook was removed from colleagues who lived with the casual mindset of, ‘In the study of magic, the deaths of a few are acceptable.’

But though disturbed, he could not slander a fellow professor in front of students.

Instead, he forced diplomacy.
“If another professor commanded it, then trust there is wisdom behind it.”

“Do you really believe that?”

Ihan’s eyes brimmed with distrust. Moments before, Ingerdel had called it madness. Now, hearing a professor’s name invoked, his tune shifted immediately.

Suspicion flared.

Ingerdel coughed again, and turned away, seizing a new topic.

“Your breath is even again. Have you completed your mana circulation?”

Hearing Ihan suddenly speak calmly after panting heavily, he was pleased. For such a state meant true completion of inner flow.

“Hm? Ah… no, not at all.”

Ihan gave an abashed smile.
“I simply lost focus—so I just spread and released the mana.”

The formal method was: draw mana from the core, circulate it smoothly through every part of the body, like blood, with no break in flow. Doing so strengthened muscles, prevented fatigue, and defended against poisons.

That was the principle.

But Ihan had stopped midway. Concentration faltering, he had simply shoved mana all over his body and then bled it away. So what if it was wasted? He could always draw more.

“…???”

Ingerdel simply stared, uncomprehending.

After hearing his detailed explanation, plus recounting his battle with the anti-magic zealots, Professor Ingerdel fell silent in thought.

Normally, he should forbid it outright. Such waste was akin to spilling your own blood across the ground.

But… for a swordsman, he knew well: for each warrior, a hundred arts. With Ihan’s monstrous capacity for mana, such waste might even be viable.

Decision made, he spoke at last.
“I will not forbid it entirely. But as a habit, avoid this. Focus on perfecting the true circulation.”

“Understood.”

Ihan nodded.

It was not as though he nurtured some delusion of power like, ‘Even if it burns my life away, I shall wield forbidden strength!’

If it was dangerous, Ihan simply would not do it.

“And one more thing—since you carry such vast mana, completing an inner loop will be much harder for you.”

“……”

That sounded far too familiar.

“Thus, we will raise your training load.”

“…O-Oh…”

With iron will, Ihan kept his face calm, feigning joy.
Keep the mask. Keep the mask.

And because Ingerdel still carried a human heart, unlike many peers, his eyes lit with delight.
“Excellent! I worried you might dislike it, but I’m glad!”

“Yes… overjoyed, in fact. As you know… I aim to master the sword with all seriousness…”

Ingerdel’s scarred face split with a wide smile.
“I have long known the boy of Wadanaz is earnest in his pursuit of swordsmanship.”

“……”

“When you go into the mountains for your materials, I will come as well.”

“But didn’t you just say it was fine, since Professor Thunderstep had his reasoning?”

“Yes. But… I also happen to enjoy a stroll.”

That the elf—one lame of leg and missing an arm (augmented only by prosthetics)—enjoyed “strolls” across such ranges did not reassure Ihan.

Yet he had no choice but to nod. His sincerity alone suggested the mountains might be dire indeed.

That evening, Ihan turned toward Professor Thunderstep’s hut. Though he’d endured a storm of tasks all day, chores ordered by professors showed no mercy.

Yet even Thunderstep had never insisted Ihan come daily; Ihan came of his own agenda.

Better to gather information.

“?”

On the door, a note.

‘Out on business. Take what you fancy! – Thunderstep’

“Oh…”

Ihan blinked. With such professors, of course there were errands elsewhere.

He peeled off the note and left smiling.

Then immediately went to fetch Yonellia.

“You want me to check Thunderstep’s hut?” she asked.

“Yes. Those potions Ratford stole from the wagon—let’s verify what they are.”

Only with such equipment could they analyze them properly. Ihan, a mere freshman, could not do it alone. Yonellia, versed in alchemy, could.

She realized where they were. “You know this is Thunderstep’s hut, right?”

“Yes.”

Her brows rose. It was reckless—but… this school was lunacy anyway. She followed.

“Wait—that garden… what’s that?” she muttered.

“What? Oh, the patch of vegetables? Still growing. Won’t be ready for months.”

“…Hm? Looks ripe.”

“?”

He turned, and was stunned.

“You’re right—already grown?!”

Impossible. They had matured too fast!

“Perhaps he used some growth potion. A hasty man…” Ihan theorized.

Yonellia nodded. Gluttony, perhaps. Regardless, Thunderstep’s reputation was scuffed.

“Well then—we harvest. Yonellia, can you check inside?”

“Of course.”

With a hoe he plowed deft motions. Practiced, precise, like a lifelong farmer. Yonellia found herself mesmerized.

So this is why Thunderstep favors him… he’s too competent by half.

“What are you staring at?” Ihan barked.

“N-nothing. Searching now—”

Soon, while his basket filled with vegetables, her arms filled with boxes of strange tonics and tools.

“All set?”
“All set.”
“Then let’s go!”

They left the hut fast, leaving only a note fluttering:

“Thank you, Professor. We’ve left some produce—please enjoy. – Ihan Wadanaz”

By dawn, they staggered with dark circles, exhausted from all-night alchemical tests.

“So this is… Cantus Potion?”

“Yes.”

The results:

<Empire West Red Wine (tasty).>
<Cantus Potion> – Drinking grants the voice of a siren for a short time.

Period.

“……”

Yonellia wilted. Ihan quickly soothed her.
“It’s a start. No one succeeds fully at first attempt.”

“But… a potion for singing? Where would that be useful?”

“There will be opportunity.”

Squeak—

Asan Dalkard entered the lounge, smiling.
“Wadanaz. Preparing for the mountains?”

“More or less.”

Already Ihan had planned: depart Friday with the class, return by Saturday, then on Sunday—

Cash in the permit and leave.

He reminded himself not to hope too strongly. Who knew what traps lay ahead?

“Ah—Wadanaz. Before the mountains, shall we stop by the black market?”

“…What market?”

Ihan stared, baffled.

Black market?

This school has a black market?!

Unbelievable. But—astonishingly, it existed.

Not really a “black” market; more a small trading post, run by Black Turtle Tower freshmen near their own dorm. What began as bartering turned into a full-fledged weekly event.

Ihan stood in speechless disbelief.

What exactly do they hope to teach us here?

“Step right up! Find the Emperor’s card—win bread double! Only three cards. Choose the Emperor! But—ah! Lord Wadanaz—!!”

Behind his stall, Ratford was running a street con, shuffling cards quickly. Seeing Ihan, he leapt up, startled.

Around them, all the gathered students fell silent, turning to gape.

Ihan’s only thought: I have to leave. Right now.