Chapter 38: Elective Class (1)

There was an order and procedure to everything.

Because there was order and procedure, work could be handled with discipline and reason.

At the same time, it allowed for rough planning and preparations to be made.

The larger the size of the group, the more the importance of such order and procedure stood out.

That was why Yeriel Helmont, Dean of Arpentia Academy and a figure regarded as the most promising candidate for the next Archmage, was clutching his throbbing head.

“Oh dear, my head…”

A huge problem had erupted from the very first day, and now even during the Dungeon Field Class.

With the most important events blowing up one after another from the start, and everything getting entangled, he already dreaded what the future would bring.

Thinking about how to fill the holes in the schedule, and the chain reactions that would follow, made him sigh endlessly.

If possible, he honestly wanted to throw away the title of Dean right now, return to the Magic Tower, and shut himself in his own room.

“Phew.”

Letting out a sigh, he rubbed at the corners of his aching eyes as though pressing them down.

‘To think that the very thing Professor Shagas warned about would actually come to pass.’

He knew full well that Shagas was not someone who would spout nonsense.

But without any evidence, relying solely on testimony, he could not simply cancel the schedule, especially not a class as important as Dungeon Field Class.

So, he had settled for leaving people at the site in preparation for the unforeseen…

Now that he thought about it, it was something that could easily have turned into a far greater disaster.

‘…It was a blessing beyond measure that there were no casualties.’

If there had been, he would not have been able to sit here in peace like now.

Instead, he would have been facing horrors so dreadful that this pile of paperwork before him would have felt like paradise.

‘We were lucky.’

Thinking that he had indulged in complaints despite being fortunate, Yeriel Helmont continued processing the documents without rest.

Unaware that the dreadful future he had fleetingly imagined had been erased by someone’s hand, he simply kept his pen moving.

‘That aside…’

While sorting and reviewing the mountain of documents, Yeriel subtly turned his head toward the parlor.

“Hm, hm. Hmm-hmm.”

Crunch, crunch.

There lay Windy May Maddown, sprawled carelessly across the sofa, devouring the expensive refreshments he had bought for guests with an almost combative appetite.

She hummed cheerfully as if truly satisfied.

With every tune, her dangling legs and curly green hair swayed back and forth in the air.

“…”

Seeing that, Yeriel Helmont felt a long-forgotten emotion, one he thought had withered with age, stir within him again.

“Senior Sister.”

Anger.

The name of that emotion was none other than anger.

“Did you not come here to help this poor junior?”

In the end, unable to hold back, Yeriel spoke to Windy May with words that sounded like reproach, though still polite.

Even if he was the Dean of the Academy and she only a professor, the hierarchy between the two was overwhelmingly tilted in her favor.

After all, she was one of only five Archmages on the continent, and, more importantly, the two had studied under the same master.

“Hm?”

Having just finished her snacks and about to sip her tea, Windy May looked at him blankly as if she had no idea what he was talking about.

Then, slowly nodding, she opened her mouth.

“Your forehead has gotten even balder.”

For a moment, Yeriel thought he had misheard her.

“A person who cannot even govern his own body properly, how could he hope to glimpse the realm of Archmage? You should devote yourself further.”

“…”

He knew all too well that he was far too old now to throw a childish tantrum at her like in the past.

He also knew that she stood on a far higher plane than he could ever reach.

“…Surely you did not come all the way here just to waste my tea and snacks?”

“As if.”

Windy May shook her head, looking almost dumbfounded.

“Yeriel, sometimes you really treat this senior sister as if I’m thoughtless. If I only wanted sweets, I would have gone into the city. Do you think I came all this way just to look at your uglier, balder head?”

“…Yes, that’s true.”

Half-giving up, Yeriel answered weakly and nodded.

The very first step of a mage was to perfectly control oneself.

But for some reason, in front of this green-haired half-elf, he felt like he always regressed into his immature younger self.

Taking a deep breath to calm his rising temper, he set his stopped pen moving again.

“Let me see those.”

“Here they are.”

Even at her sudden request, Yeriel, as though used to it, gestured lightly in the air.

Several documents floated before her eyes, and as Windy May skimmed through them, she tilted her head in puzzlement.

“Wasn’t it concluded that the sudden abnormal weather that day was caused by a dragon?”

“Yes, I share the same thought as you, Senior Sister. If it had been anything less, the other professors would not have been completely helpless.”

He spoke while mechanically flipping through papers.

“But most people do not think that way. They need visible evidence and a neatly arranged explanation.”

“Aleph and Jemira are in the investigation team, I see.”

When she nodded once, Yeriel smiled faintly.

“Yes, they are mages whose names even you would remember. With those two, meaningful results will be produced within time.”

Windy May silently nodded again.

Then, with a flick of her fingers, several documents resting on the desk floated slowly over to her.

“This one, may I take it?”

“You mean you, Senior Sister?”

“Yes.”

The documents she had taken were related to the Dungeon Field Class incident from a few days ago—more precisely, to the artifacts involved.

“It concerns us as well, after all.”

“That’s true.”

The Simulated Dungeon Generator.

One of the many masterpieces created by Bojador Arpentia and Talia Poas together with their disciples.

Which meant that Archmage Edas’s disciples, who had learned under him—Bojador Arpentia being one of them—were, strictly speaking, connected to the matter as well.

That was why Yeriel Helmont, aside from his position as Dean of the Academy, wanted to ensure the matter was thoroughly resolved.

He assumed Windy May was of the same mind.

Even she, who had no interest in others and was detached from the world, showed various reactions and emotions whenever it concerned their master, Edas.

‘But for Senior Sister to burn with such passion, there must be another reason.’

Yeriel silently nodded.

‘If I had to point to the most likely one…’

Perhaps it was that she was intrigued by the fact that an artifact, which no mage had ever been able to properly interpret, had been deciphered and manipulated at will by none other than a priest.

While Yeriel was pondering this, Windy May, who was staring at him waiting for an answer, let her ears twitch ever so slightly.

“Is that not allowed?”

At her question, he shrugged his shoulders.

“There’s no reason it cannot be, but what about your classes?”

She immediately countered as if to ask what the problem was.

“You can take care of them.”

“Then will you handle the mountain of my work piled up here in my stead, Senior Sister?”

At that, Windy May shrugged her shoulders in imitation.

“I’ll leave behind a clone. That was my plan anyway.”

“If that is the case…”

Knowing her all too well, Yeriel obediently nodded.

“All I ask is that you not forget to let me know the results later, Senior Sister.”

“Of course, don’t worry. Do you really find this senior sister so unreliable?”

“…”

Instead of answering, Yeriel picked a few more related documents from the stack before him and handed them to her.

“These are the records of what we’ve managed to ascertain so far. And… be careful not to leak the fact that the culprit is Archbishop Rahma, as that is strictly confidential.”

“Yes, yes. I understand.”

Windy May nodded while swiftly skimming through the documents.

Finding names familiar to her, names she had kept in mind, she couldn’t help but break into a small smile.

“Ah, that’s right.”

Folding the documents haphazardly and tucking them into her robe, she nodded as if remembering something.

“Yeriel.”

“Yes, Senior Sister.”

“I think I’ll be taking disciples this time.”

“Yes, I see… What?”

Yeriel looked at her in shock.

“Did you say disciples?”

“Yes.”

Windy May nodded.

The Archmage who had never once taken on a disciple spoke in a refreshingly clear voice.

“Probably around three of them.”

“…”

The declaration was so sudden that reason rose before emotion.

Disciples, and three at once at that…

The old mage slowly stroked his chin in thought.

Then, looking at his Senior Sister, who appeared no different from a young girl, he asked in a serious, cautious voice.

“Have you perhaps gone senile?”

Splash!

The tea on the desk leapt up and splattered across his face.

The situation at the Academy flowed similarly yet also differently from what I remembered.

From what I originally recalled…

In other words, in my previous life, the Academy’s entire schedule had come to a complete halt for nearly a month.

Considering it happened right after a catastrophe that claimed the lives of hundreds, such a measure would still have been far from enough.

However, the Imperial Family, the Church, the Magic Tower, the Guild Association—every major power without exception had pressured the Academy to resume its schedule.

Thinking back to how very few students actually quit the Academy afterward, I could already sense back then what must have been going on behind the scenes.

Honor, interests, positions, money, politics, shares…

All tangled together.

It was something I could understand but never sympathize with.

‘But this time, just a week…’

At that time, the aftermath of the incident overlapped with treating and counseling students, public announcements, rooting out possible remnants within, and the pursuit of the mastermind.

So even a month had been woefully insufficient.

But this time, because such a catastrophe hadn’t occurred, it seemed only a brief period of internal recovery was needed.

…Which also meant that what I had done had not been in vain.

As a first step, this was a decent enough start.

“Phew.”

As I let out a hollow laugh without realizing, a rustling sound came from beside me.

Turning my head, I saw Cecilia, who had been silently reading a book, now looking at me.

“Do you need something?”

“No, I just coughed a bit.”

At my answer, she gave a small nod as if understanding.

Then she quietly returned her gaze to the book, concentrating on her reading once again.

The book’s cover was worn, so I couldn’t tell what it was, but seeing her so deeply absorbed, I assumed it must have been something difficult.

“…”

Since that day, Cecilia had visited without fail at the appointed time every day.

In truth, her visits only amounted to small acts like bringing me drinks or peeling fruit.

The rest of the time, she merely sat beside me reading until her set time was up, then returned.

And every so often, she would suddenly ask me strange, inexplicable questions.

“…You are walking alone along a narrow path.”

Yes, like that.

It was something I was used to, so I quietly lent my ear to her voice.

Like singing a lullaby, she continued in a slow, gentle tone.

“While walking, you see a beast in the middle of the path. A dog, cow, horse, sheep, bird, and finally a snake. Which one do you think it is? And if you could choose one as a companion to journey with, which animal would you choose?”

“For the first question, I’ll say a sheep. For the second, a bird.”

“Sheep. And bird…”

At first I had been caught off guard, but having gone through it several times, I could now answer naturally.

She nodded seriously at my response.

Then, jotting something down in a small notebook she kept at her side, she returned to her reading.

Over the past few days, she had asked me everything from simple questions like ‘What is your favorite season?’ or ‘What is your favorite color?’ to these kinds of riddle-like ones.

Honestly, I didn’t know what purpose such questions served…

But I simply answered them as sincerely as I could.

‘Shall I have a cup of tea.’

Unable to endure the boredom any longer, I quietly rose from bed.

But the moment I got up, Cecilia immediately reached out her hand and pressed me back down onto the bed.

“Excessive movement isn’t good.”

“Uh, Cecilia. At this point, I can manage some things on my own.”

I deliberately shook my bandaged leg in front of her.

She stared at me intently.

“It’s really almost fully healed now. Truly.”

It wasn’t an empty claim—it was the truth.

While the professors’ healing arts were exceptionally skilled, it had also been thanks to many others: Sister Roberta, who had given me holy water she had consecrated herself, and Professor Shagas, who had brought high-quality potions, among others.

“…”

She slowly nodded.

Then, looking at me, she asked.

“Tea?”

“…Yes, please.”

Seeing her firm and unyielding expression, I quietly raised the white flag.

In truth, I already had a faint idea why she came to see me every single day, and why she insisted on attending to me.

‘She must think I ended up like this because of her. This must be her way of showing both atonement and gratitude.’

It would only last a few days at most.

Rather than embarrass her by refusing, it seemed best to simply accept her kindness quietly.

Knock, knock.

A lighthearted knocking sound rang out, almost cheerful enough to be mistaken for a bouncing drumbeat.

“…”

Cecilia silently set down the book she had been holding.

Then, from outside the door, came a woman’s voice.

“Lian?”

It was Sister Roberta’s voice.

“Would now be a good time?”

Cecilia glanced at me.

Her gaze seemed to ask if it was alright to open the door, and I nodded.

“Just a moment, I’ll open it right away.”

Rising with that reply, Cecilia walked toward the door.

In the meantime, I thought I should prepare another seat, so I reached out toward a chair.

But I couldn’t pull the chair closer.

No—more precisely, I couldn’t even grasp it.

“…Huh?”

Because my outstretched hand had passed straight through the chair.

As though through a phantom.

“Wha—what?”

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