The sun rises. Is it the dawn after a long night? Lucy’s vision blurred momentarily from the dazzling light.
“You’ve worked hard, Miss Lucy.”
Thirty days since the confinement punishment began, Lucy had finally reached the morning of her escape after a long period of suffering. As soon as she arrived for work, Bell Myaia visited Lucy’s room and handed back the keys she had managed.
The door that had been firmly closed for nearly a month finally slid open smoothly. The sunlight seeping through the crevice was indescribably special.
“The confinement is over, and you can now move freely within and outside the dormitory as per the schedule. However, you still need to follow the internal regulations of the academy.”
“Finally…!!”
Lucy’s regret was profound as she had lived through hell for nearly a month due to her impulsive behavior. Stuck in her room, staring blankly at the ceiling, she wondered just how much she had regretted her actions.
Bell Myaia had a knack for identifying precisely the most painful punishments for Lucy, almost to the point of it being sickening.
Unaware of the significant impact that her single outburst had on the structure of the student council presidential race, Lucy couldn’t help but notice the shift in the academy’s atmosphere after a month away. More than ten days had passed since the announcement of the presidential candidate, and the election had entered its final stage.
The voting day was approaching, and the election campaigns were solidifying their positions to a point where further campaigning seemed meaningless.
“The scent of flowers…”
For Lucy, stepping into the rose garden and looking up at the sky with her hat pressed down, these political tidings were irrelevant. She enjoyed the taste of the outdoor breeze for the first time in a while and stretched with a yawn filled with relief.
Lucy wanted to roam around after being indoors for so long, but she knew exactly where she should visit first.
*
“Second-year from the Department of Magic, Ed Rostailor.”
window.pubfuturetag = window.pubfuturetag || [];window.pubfuturetag.push({unit: "64ce79d606107d003c23ea27", id: "pf-5140-1"})He was the protagonist of various incidents and investigations due to his involvement in a recent death case. His number of investigations during the student council elections would easily exceed a double-digit count.
He had been to various places—to the investigation department, the inspection department, professors for testimonies, and even to the formal investigation initiated by the Triad of Deans. They had kept him so busy that he hardly had time to rest, spewing out testimonies and writing reports.
Just when he thought the investigations were coming to a close, a new issue would arise, leading to another round of the same exhausting processes.
Finally, the investigations were nearing their end, and McDowell, the dean, persuaded Ed to enter the Trix Hall, assuring this would be the last time.
How could he be so certain this investigation would be it? What could unfold from here?
These thoughts crossed his mind as he followed Dean McDowell, who led him to the Trix Hall’s top floor, to the largest room— the principal’s office.
“Please take a seat.”
Guardian Obel welcomed him. Obel was the highest authority holding the final say in the case, sitting inside, the principal of the academy.
Obel was close to his sixties but appeared surprisingly young for his age, with a clean-cut hairstyle and dusky skin. Recognized more for his skills than seniority, he was relatively younger than other senior professors.
As I sat on the guest sofa, Obel swiftly maneuvered his magical power, causing the tea set to move on its own and a fragrant cup of tea land on the conference table. Obel preferred to minimize staff and didn’t shy away from attending to such tasks himself.
“I’ve read the investigation files. It seems you’ve been through quite an ordeal. On behalf of the academy’s security shortcomings, I apologize for the trouble caused.”
Obel acknowledged the exhaustion caused by the event and the academy’s inadequacies while seated in his principal chair.
His words seemed courteous, an effort to soften the conversation. It was a minimal gesture of consideration.
“It’s not your fault. My opposition was well-prepared and methodical, much beyond what security could have anticipated.”
“It’s good of you to say that, but I wonder about the reality.”
window.pubfuturetag = window.pubfuturetag || [];window.pubfuturetag.push({unit: "64cc9e79c7059f003e4ad4b0", id: "pf-5109-1"})Obel hinted at layers of inquiries that had filled his desk with documentation from various academy facilities.
It’s usually impossible for someone at the top of the bureaucratic pyramid to know each detail. But Obel was infamous for going through every piece of the report meticulously. It’s an excellent trait as an administrator but makes him the last person subordinates would want to deal with.
“You survived a stab from a dagger engraved with deadly poison and a fall from a cliff… thanks to the ‘Del Heim Hourglass.’ How you managed to obtain such a sophisticated magic device is beyond me. It’s not an item commonly held by students.”
“I’ve nothing to hide. I made it myself.”
“The construction process itself is straightforward compared to other magic apparatuses, yet the materials cannot be easy to acquire. Not to mention the time involved in making it.”
“I asked someone I know for the materials. I spent almost the entire winter break on the production.”
Obel narrowed his eyes, refraining from probing further. He easily grasped the implication of procurement from Elte’s consortium during the material sourcing discussion. My history must be clear to him.
Without a reason to confront Elte or Lortel, Obel was subtly aware that unnecessary entanglements would only exhaust his power.
“Then you lived in a cave beneath the cliff and were eventually rescued by Yenica Paleover. The first thing you did upon returning was to publicly defend Tanya Rostailer at her rally.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Let me cut to the chase: it felt quite staged.”
Obel set aside the documents, resting casually against the back of his chair.
“It seems as though you hid until everything had quieted down. Is my hunch correct?”
Facing such a remark, I could only decline, maintaining the story I’d consistently presented.
“It was said that you were ‘dead.’ What necessitates such an action?”
window.pubfuturetag = window.pubfuturetag || [];window.pubfuturetag.push({unit: "663633fa8ebf7442f0652b33", id: "pf-8817-1"})It was clear Obel had not survived his position as the principal for days by being naive. Those who defend their positions for decades are known to nurse their inner snakes.
His perceptiveness and insight are essential for survival.
“Officially announcing that you are alive seems like the right thing to do. A base report regarding your ‘death’ has already been filed to the Crown, but it must now be corrected and updated.”
“It’s only right, but it seems prudent to report to the Crown with utmost seriousness.”
“Let’s be more candid: it’s about avoiding liability. I’ll not mince words, although it might sound somewhat blunt.”
If the crown receives a report, word will swiftly reach Krepin, who is in a high position. Not a good thing for me.
“The perpetrators Cadec and Nox, who are accused of your ‘assassination,’ have escaped Akensem. It reeks of an underground force’s involvement, but I’ll not pursue it. Our academy, however, cannot simply take on such a burden.”
“…”
“Although expelled, a once noble was nearly assassinated within the academy, a sibling implicated as the conspirator, and the assassins fled with outside help—it’s quite a predicament. Without declaring your survival, the academy cannot defend against these accusations. Therefore, we must confirm that no lives were lost.”
Rising to a high position means facing the sensitivity of liability.
Even Obel, a great mage in his right, is ultimately a part in the machinery of bureaucracy. An accurate report to the Crown will relay information to Krepin much faster than rumors—a man who doubles as the Crown’s prime minister and is the emperor’s closest confidant.
“Thus, I have summoned you for the last inquiry.”
Obel’s rhetoric, while indirect, was, in essence, straightforward.
Report your survival to the Crown. That way, the academy could partly absolve itself of liability. But from the investigation files, it seems you’d prefer to be considered ‘dead’ for a while.
Academically, that puts us in a tight spot. Should I report it, what are your thoughts?
He read my intentions and understood my position, now asking for my opinion.
His discernment outmatched the other academy staff, surmising the situation’s heart merely from the reports.
“Postponing reporting about my survival might be better if the goal is to keep matters quiet.”
“As you might presume, the one who orchestrated my ‘death’ is my father, Krepin Rostailer, the head of the Rostailer family and a powerholder at the Crown.”
“As I’ve said, I’ve no wish to delve into family affairs.”
“What I’m trying to express is that making my survival public will only lead to repeated assassination attempts. If he wishes, he will find a way… He always does.”
In the long term, it’s just another troubling event for the academy to shoulder.
“So, wouldn’t delaying the report on my return not be too onerous? There are many excuses: time required to assess the facts, document review and rejection, a courier lost in bad weather… That sort of thing. Meanwhile, you can decide whether to report my survival or not.”
“Is there a need to take risks to postpone?”
“On the contrary, it’s a risk-reducing action. It allows you to assess the situation.”
I slowly continued, my fingers tracing the rim of my tea cup.
Picturing it all, I imagined Krepin Rostailer in the Crown’s office receiving reports filled with numerous details, but the critical line that captured his focus was the confirmation of Ed Rostailer’s death.
“The Rostailer family at the core of the Crown will likely not make a fuss over this incident. Rather, they’d aim to cover it up.”
“…”
“Of course, the final judgment rests with you, Principal Obel. If you later find it necessary, you can report my survival. Where is the risk in that?”
After my speech, I remained silent, giving Obel time to reflect.
Sitting quietly for a while, Obel finally smirked.
“Ed Rostailer, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“It seems your academic performance is skyrocketing, and student reviews are exceptionally positive.”
Without further mentioning the reporting of my survival, an implicit decision seemed to have been reached.
“Student leaders rate you highly, a fitting scion of the renowned Rostailer family.”
“Though presently, I am in disgrace…”
“Regardless. Your sister Tanya Rostailer is also flourishing. Virtually confirmed as the next student president. As I’ve said before, Silvenia is always on the students’ side. Especially for exemplary students such as yourselves, it goes without saying.”
His remarks were loaded with significance, but I chose not to delve into the implicit messages.
It felt like a subtle recognition from Obel.
“Hope to see you again. A capable student is always welcome. I’ll remember your name.”
*
During the academy investigations, I spent most of my time in the faculty building, leaving my precious camp neglected.
With most investigations nearing an end, and the elections concluding with the final voting event in two days, everything seemed to be resolving.
I walked out of the principal’s office after greeting the dean and, having been told I could return, came out to the first floor of Tricks Hall. This bustling hub of academic administration is always full of activity. As I emerged from the crowd, intent on heading back to the main street of the professors’ quarters, someone called out to me.
“I was waiting for you. When I heard you were called to the principal, I was quite startled, big brother.”
Perhaps it was time to regard her as someone different. Tanya Rostayler, exuding a newfound noble aura, sat demurely on a wooden bench in front of Tricks Hall. Her abundant golden hair flowed elegantly, framing her dignified eyes.
She wore her school uniform meticulously adorned with a charmingly embroidered cape, likely because she often went outdoors. Despite my own hectic schedule, the fact that she had been waiting here for me felt somewhat burdensome.
This was understandable, as Tanya’s stock within the academy had skyrocketed in recent weeks. She had garnered such authority that her being called the next student council president wouldn’t be surprising, and naturally, she had attracted a multitude of followers. The irony was not lost on me, considering Kylie Eckne’s proud claim to be her first follower, knowing who the girl truly was…
Already burdened by hearing Merilda’s endless complaints about that girl, these stories weren’t easy to simply brush off.
“It seems you’re almost certain to be elected according to the news I’ve heard. Congratulations. It seems your moment to shine has finally come.”
“We can’t be complacent yet.”
Tanya’s pure smile is rare, considering her high status and soon-to-be student council president role.
As expected, the political currents of the election had turned as predicted.
Tanya’s almost certain victory was influenced by three main factors:
First, her proven innocence. She consistently professed her innocence in the face of adversity and managed to maintain her dignity even amidst the jeers of the public. This inspired some, and there appeared to be a hint of penitence for having scorned her as a murderer.
Secondly, the majority of the departmental heads had declared their support for Tanya. This element involved some influence on my part. Of the 12 departmental heads across four grades, eight had expressed their support for Tanya. The backing of a head carried symbolic weight, influencing the students in that department.
Finally, it was the downfall of Rortell, which had been popular early in the election, that struck the fatal blow. Perhaps it was Rortell’s shrewd political acumen. She consistently pushed the narrative of a two-power battle between herself and Tanya, always penciling Tanya as her rival. Once she establish this view, she withdrew amid her own purposely leaked scandals involving fund embezzlement and tyrannical trade dealings. Despite all the criticism thrown at her, I clearly saw a smirk as she stepped down from the podium.
With Rortell’s exit, Tanya suddenly received all the spotlight, and with the official endorsement of the princess, she completely captured public favor. Now, on the eve of the student council president vote, Tanya’s supporters spanned the entire academic arena.
Tanya Rostayler, the student council president—her title was virtually secured.
“We’ve hardly had any time to talk, caught up in our respective duties, haven’t we?”
“Even at such a crucial time like this, should you really be loitering around here? We can always talk later, after the election.”
“Considering all the responsibilities waiting for me, I think it’s better to have the conversation sooner rather than later.”
Her smile softened, unlike the sharp looks she often wore.
‘Lady of Misfortune’ was a new image for me, but an impressive one.
“There will be plenty of opportunities to speak, but I felt the need to express my gratitude now.”
“I think you’ve already said it enough to make one sick.”
On the announcement day of her candidacy, she cried profusely and buried her face in my hands—the memory was still vivid.
As if the memory struck her as well, her face flushed, and she quickly shook her head.
“Ah, it’s not that… And… as a matter of fact, I’ve somewhat come to terms with it. As most of the important matters have settled, I thought it’s about time… I can’t pretend to ignore it forever.”
“Settled?”
“If it wasn’t you who ordered Ed’s assassination then who? Only a select few within our family could have such an influence over Cadec and Nox.”
I didn’t verbally respond, yet Tanya understood my silence.
Given the circumstances, I needed to briefly explain to Tanya the reasons why I had to remain hidden. Notably important as she had direct communication lines with the Rostayler household.
To do so, I would need to discuss the true nature of Crephin.
“While staying in the royal quarters, I spoke a lot with Princess Penia, especially about you, brother.”
However, Tanya cut the conversation short.
“You spoke of me?”
“Yes. Princess Penia seems to think that you intentionally left the family, as if finding your true self only after coming to the academy of Sylvain.”
“…”
“At first, I couldn’t understand what she meant, but now I see the convincing evidence. Because… it feels like you finally found yourself right here at Sylvain’s academy.”
I quietly stroked my chin. Tanya’s words were not to be taken lightly.
“And so I wanted to ask, just maybe… Did your attempt to leave the family have anything to do with… that ‘drawer’…?”
“…Drawer?”
“That drawer… You always kept it closed, never letting anyone near it, and eventually locked it with a key. It must still be in its place back at the Rostayler estate…”
From this point on, the territory was completely unknown to me.
The character Ed Rostayler in “The Failed Swordsman of Sylvain” is merely an incidental villain who falls early in the story. His past is hardly delved into, and from my perspective, not of significant importance.
Therefore, I could not offer much in response.
“I’m not sure… I don’t remember.”
That was all I could say.
Tanya eyed me quietly for a moment before letting out a small sigh, appearing slightly more mature than just moments before.
“Wouldn’t it be better to focus on the future, rather than dwell on such a dreary past? Now that you’re a student council president… you have brighter days ahead.”
“Perhaps. But now, as the inauguration approaches, there seems to be more pressing tasks at hand.”
Nonetheless, Tanya had survived. She took the student council presidency not in the name of elevating the Rostayler glory, but for herself. I couldn’t promise a smooth path ahead, but I could certainly cheer her on.
