LIGHTNOVELONLINE Chapter 51
51st Episode
“I specialize in spirit magic. I have not one, but two spirit-level spirits!”
Next.
“Oh, oh, hello! I, I, I am…”
Next.
“Hahahaha! It’s been a while, Alicia. I let my guard down during the Class Battle and turned my back, but next time, how about a fair competition?”
Next.
Wait a minute.
What does Leon even think he’s doing signing up for this? I half-heartedly processed the application, but he’s a member of the Student Council. If he doesn’t leave the Student Council, he can’t join the Research Society. Was he really thinking of leaving?
Anyway, his power is outstanding, but without control, he’ll be eliminated.
“Young Master… shouldn’t you talk a bit more?”
“I can tell a lot from your attitude and the aura of your mana. There’s no need for lengthy conversation.”
“Don’t you feel sorry for the people who applied? I feel so bad for kicking them out like this.”
“Honestly, it’s a good thing that the interviews are progressing quickly. Ignorance leads to slow growth, Emily.”
“…That’s strange. He’s insulting me, and I’m definitely angry but… I can’t muster the strength to say anything. Does getting used to it feel like this? …Serena, what do you think? Doesn’t it seem like it’s progressing too quickly?”
“…Just right.”
“I think Lord Vargan’s choice is correct.”
“Frieda… how much did you get from Vargan?”
Just as the excitement of the interviews was starting to fade, I was able to clear my foggy mind by looking at the profile of the next applicant.
It was the turn of one of the four candidates I had my eye on.
“I am Belial Troa Bantlo. I occupy the position of Archer.”
Ranked 7th in admission scores, currently the strongest archer among first-year students, Bantlo.
He has come to join Arbol Frutal, and he is also a rare friend of Erica.
“…….”
Rarely did Serena show her displeasure, appearing vigilant. It seemed she was reminded of her struggle after facing Bantlo in the Class Battle.
Bantlo, on the other hand, wore a kind smile. He was not fazed by her wariness.
I know his general personality.
“You wrote in your application that you want to learn from me. Did you think I’d give you extra points or something?”
“No. My desire to learn from Lord Vargan, renowned as a genius since childhood, is sincere. If there’s any ulterior motive, it’s simply the desire to build a friendship with you during the learning process, not anything more impure.”
“Indeed, your words are as smooth as Alicia’s.”
“…Young Master?”
Alicia blinked her large eyes, looking flustered next to me, genuinely not understanding what I was saying. That innocent act of hers is so similar.
Bantlo squints his eyes, trying to steer the situation away with a smile.
Well, up to this point was just a warm-up; the real questions begin now.
“You thought to apply even though Erica wouldn’t be happy about it. I know you two are quite close.”
“She can influence my choice, but she cannot decide for me. And to avoid misunderstandings, let me clarify: I do not have romantic feelings for Erica.”
“Did you think I would come off as petty?”
“Anyone would be concerned if they saw their lovely fiancée socializing with another suitor.”
“Lovely fiancée, huh…”
“Is that incorrect?”
“Hmm….”
As I pretended to be deep in thought, rolling my eyes around, I felt the gaze of those around me focusing on me.
Alicia, for one, was trying hard not to look but ended up stealing glances.
Alicia tries hard not to look, but keeps glancing over.
“You’re not as good as a Familiar.”
“A Familiar…?”
“Yeah, there’s nothing more adorable than a Familiar.”
“……”
Well then.
Let’s wrap up the discussion about Erica.
There are essential points I need to confirm with those high-and-mighty nobles.
“Arbol Frutal is a strict meritocracy. I don’t know what kind of privileges you’ve enjoyed in the territory, but that doesn’t apply here.”
“I understand that from the recruitment guidelines. You mean the group you belong to will vary based on your skills, right?”
“Exactly.”
Arbol Frutal exists for the limitless development of its members. Though ultimately, it’s for my sake.
Four groups.
Root, Trunk, Branch, and Twig.
They are divided according to the importance and combat power of the members.
The Root is the executive board of Arbol Frutal.
The Trunk is the advanced group.
The Branch is the basic group.
The Twig is the foundation group.
Since individuals’ capabilities vary drastically, it’s necessary to assign them to their appropriate groups. What they learn and the tasks they carry out should differ too.
It’s similar to how students are placed in classes that match their abilities in real-life academies.
“I think it’s a good proposal that aligns with the ideals of the Academia. If bound by class distinctions, we wouldn’t be able to cultivate excellent heroes.”
“Are you saying that even if you end up in the basic group ‘Twig’ and face ridicule, you won’t have any complaints?”
“If my skills are indeed lacking compared to other applicants, I believe that’s a fair treatment.”
Is my personality odd? I enjoy how I can smile lightly while subtly saying everything that needs to be said.
It seems like I’m saying something nice, but essentially, it’s saying if my capabilities don’t measure up compared to others, I won’t regard it as fair.
This confident response stems from my self-assurance.
“You’ve passed.”
Bantlo looks slightly stunned at my sudden declaration.
He understands what I’m saying, but is concerned if it’s alright to say it at this moment.
“…Is that alright?”
“I don’t have a hobby of dragging things out. I announce definite results right away. You will belong to the ‘Trunk’. You might have wished to belong to the Root, but the new members selected this time cannot join. Know that you’ll be promoted once the conditions are met.”
“You’re quite certain.”
“Now that you know, you may leave. There’s a line of people waiting behind you.”
With that, Bantlo lightly bows and exits. He wore a pleasant smile right up to the moment he left.
?Rustle.
I check the profile of the next applicant.
Compared to Bantlo, this candidate is significantly lacking but not bad either.
“Hey… are you really accepting Bantlo?”
“Bantlo is a splendid seedling. What’s your complaint, Emily?”
“Well… I don’t have any complaints, but…”
Emily is looking for Alicia and Serena’s reactions. Then she shakes her head and awkwardly smiles as if nothing’s wrong.
“While I understand your caution since he’s from Erica’s camp, you don’t need to worry.”
“That’s true… I get that, but… um. No, let’s call the next person.”
Knock knock.
The next applicant enters.
Countless applicants continued to come and go after that.
The lengthy interview finally ended two hours later.
*
“So we have 33 applicants in total. The number of members suddenly increased.”
“Indeed. You seemed to be in a good mood, Young Master.”
“Is that so…? I’m not sure about that.”
“The right corner of your mouth raised about 1mm at a diagonal angle. It seemed like a blatant display of satisfaction…”
“No way, I wouldn’t know about that. How do you even know that?”
Alicia and Emily are walking down the hallway after the interview.
With eyes as if saying ‘Why don’t you know that?’, Alicia looks at Emily.
Emily finds herself at a loss for words in that pure gaze.
“Is it because I have good observational skills? Or is it because we’ve spent so much time together? It feels like you know everything about Vargan.”
“I still have a long way to go. I have a long path ahead to become a useful servant.”
“……”
Alicia displays her tightly clenched fists.
Emily suddenly recalls something from the interview they just had. She had sensed it long before, but never had heard it directly from Alicia, so she wanted confirmation.
“Alicia… um.”
“Yes, what is it?”
“Is that so?”
Emily looked around. As darkness fell, the long hallway was empty except for the two of them. If she was going to ask, now was the chance. After all, she was usually stuck right next to Vargan.
Emily forced a carefree expression and casually opened the conversation. She wanted to ensure Alicia didn’t hide her true feelings under the pressure.
“Is it okay if Bantlo comes in? That… Bantlo, Erica, and Vargan. It’s kind of complicated, right…?”
“What do you mean by that?”
Alicia’s innocent response made Emily think “Hmm?” in confusion.
“Aren’t Erica and Vargan engaged? Bantlo is caught in the middle, making it feel like a love triangle.”
“Yes…”
Gradually, Alicia’s voice became softer.
Emily felt that she wasn’t fully grasping the situation and jumped straight to the point.
“Um, was my expression too vague? So, does Alicia like Vargan?”
“No.”
Alicia replied firmly, cutting off any further questions from Emily.
“Um…?”
Emily froze.
This was a side of Alicia’s voice she hadn’t heard before. It was starkly different from the killer intent displayed when Liam and Vargan were at odds.
In contrast to her resolute tone, Alicia wore a gentle smile.
The moonlit smile held the power to stir and comfort anyone who beheld it just as always.
However, Emily felt that, at this moment, her smile was artificially crafted and desperate.
“I’m sorry if this made you uncomfortable. But it’s something I needed to clarify.”
Alicia spoke.
With utmost certainty.
“The feelings I should rightfully have toward the Young Master don’t include ‘that kind’ of sentiment. And they shouldn’t.”
“But…”
Alicia had an uncanny ability to notice even the slightest actions or changes from Vargan. She blushed at his little kindnesses and compliments and spent every day thinking of him.
That could hardly be called merely the qualifications of a servant.
If that wasn’t a crush, then what on earth could it be?
Emily had so much to say. She wanted to argue against Alicia’s statement.
But in the end, she swallowed her words.
“I… see…”
“Yes, Emily.”
Alicia’s smile shone.
That blue light illuminating the darkness.
“That’s how it is.”
It looked somewhat lonely.
*
In a bedroom where the lights had all gone out.
The shadowy figure wrapped around something trembled violently. The faint sounds of heavy breathing echoed like that of someone in pain.
“Haah… Huh…”
The embodiment of shadow, the Saint Diphelia, was filled with fear.
She sat huddled under the blankets, terrified enough to stay awake through the night. A slight fever crept over her body. Whenever she closed her eyes, the memory flashed back. Just moments ago, that vivid memory struck Diphelia.
A sudden prophecy had come, just like any other time.
But this scene was drastically different from the precedents she had known.
A space engulfed in flames.
The figure of Altife surged in, massacring people as the heroes formed a desperate defense. Some of her academy peers were also present. Though they looked slightly different than now, it was undeniably them.
She couldn’t see everything, but the most striking figure stood out in her mind. The woman with striking white hair was fiercely hunting Altife in the bloody battlefield.
Alicia.
It had to be her. She was somewhat more mature than now, but her beautiful appearance remained unchanged. Only the atmosphere and the weapon she wielded differed, as she continuously unleashed magic upon her enemies with a blank expression, devoid of emotion.
She was incredibly strong. Terrifyingly so.
“……”
Diphelia tightened her grip on the blanket. As thoughts of what happened next flooded her mind, her body instinctively tensed up.
The one leading Altife’s army revealed himself, drawing everyone’s gaze on the battlefield. He wore a smile. A proud grin, as if he delighted in mocking everyone present.
With his appearance, darkness engulfed the world, and the heroes fell into despair. It wasn’t just a metaphor or description; it was pure ‘despair’ itself.
Those wielding swords dropped them and fell to the ground. Screaming while spitting blood seemed the least of their worries, and many even attempted suicide.
Those with bows and accessories aimed them at their comrades, firing arrows and magic spells. They wept blood. They cried out in reluctance, as if controlled like puppets.
She screams as if she hates it, like a puppet on strings.
It was Alicia who burst forth like a ray of light from that horrid hell.
She swung her staff at the mastermind of it all. Her magic split the clouds and shook the very heavens. Alicia was emotionless, casting spells as coldly as if she were shooting magic at a living machine.
The expression of the man, the source of everything—Alicia’s opponent—twisted in response. He seemed to be muttering curses. The greasy smile that had been fixed on his face just moments ago was now utterly distorted.
It was resentment, fury, lamentation…
Moreover, it was Han.
“Vargan….”
The future Diphelia, watching this unfold, called out to him softly. Although she didn’t shed tears, waves of emotion certainly surged through her like witnessing a tragedy.
“…….”
Even after that, the battlefield remained impossibly hard to witness in a sane manner.
Amidst a large-scale spell of an unprecedented form, people fell into a swamp of madness, and those who survived charged at Vargan.
However, to Diphelia, the most deranged figure wasn’t those floundering in his spell.
It was Vargan.
He faced numerous heroes and comrades of Academia alone, unleashing a terrifying amount of mana, consumed by uncontrollable emotions as if he were being manipulated.
It was ironic.
He, who cast spells that moved others at will, was now being devoured by himself, heading towards ruin.
No matter how strong Vargan was, he couldn’t handle all the forces of the steadfast heroes. A massive sword forged from mana pierced his heart. It was Alicia’s magic.
Vargan fell to his knees with a thud against the blood-soaked ground. The disheveled high-end suit he wore was stained a deep red with the blood of himself and others.
As Alicia’s magic faded, his chest was penetrated in the shape of the sword. A torrent of blood gushed from his mouth like a waterfall. And his crimson lips moved.
The golden knight, Arterion, sensing something amiss, furrowed his brow and hastily raised his sword, aiming for the neck. In that brief moment, Vargan raised his head and smiled. With eyes filled with venom, he cursed the survivors.
Though far away, the saint Diphelia understood the words that tumbled from his mouth.
She knew what his last words were.
Kugggg?!
Everyone sensed the anomaly.
Arterion trampled over Vargan’s lifeless body. It was an action fueled by rage. The golden knight made a mistake. He shouldn’t have killed Vargan like this. With his death, the prayer was completed.
Like the pages of a book layered upon one another.
Like one world colliding with another.
A great distortion occurred in space.
The weary heroes bore witness to this supernatural phenomenon. The only emotion their eyes contained was pure, unadulterated ‘fear.’
The reason Diphelia trembled so was also due to the looming black army that appeared after Vargan’s death. Among them was an ’overwhelming presence’. A being so perfect that all creatures in the world appeared as mere trifles.
It was a different level.
A death from a different dimension.
The moment the intellect’s living being stepped onto the wretched land.
? The oracle comes to an end.
“Hu-huack… cough…!”
Like being submerged in water. Diphelia found it hard to breathe. She struggled to expand her prayer, gasping for air. Yet, it was still difficult.
It’s terrifying.
So terrifying.
It’s overwhelmingly terrifying.
Is this the future waiting for us?
Is this the enemy we have to face ahead?
Diphelia’s insides rattled, and she could not see how to move forward.
Not because her eyes were blinded.
The dark path etched in her sight was a definite tragedy.
Despite the unfolding events being different from the tragedy that seemed to be the end point due to Vargan, Diphelia had no way to understand. The saint who received the oracle wandered in uncertainty.
“Vargan… Vargan….”
She murmured Vargan’s name.
Perhaps he held a clue. Perhaps he knew something. …But would it be acceptable to bring this up? In the oracle, he was clearly antagonistic toward the heroes and followed the goddess…
In the deep night engulfed in darkness.
A night where fear devoured dreams.
Saint Diphelia could not sleep, searching for her rightful choice.
“Vargan… Vargan….”
Continuing to mutter the same words.