Though Fernan had handed over the note, nothing happened immediately.
That was only natural—the Margrave who was supposed to receive it was not in the capital.
The following day, at dawn, Fernan awoke. He had already washed and dressed when Luina knocked on his door.
"Are you awake?"
"I am."
"You rise early."
"Strange thing for you to say—you were already out swinging your sword before dawn."
Indeed, when he had first pulled back the curtains upon waking, he had seen her walking toward the training yard with her blade.
"A knight usually does so."
"So it seems."
And it wasn't just her—Aint, Almon, Alia, and Berian as well.
Every student from the Knight Faculty was using Altriarch's training ground for their morning drills.
A good sign. Prophecy or not, in the end they would all have to fight demons.
Unless, of course, they sold their souls and became fiends.
"Looks like they've been inspired by you."
"I haven't done anything…"
"You're the second-year's Knight Faculty valedictorian."
"Being valedictorian is special, but it's not so—"
"First place in the jousting tournament. And…"
"And?"
"Royal Knight (True)."
"…You mean you think I'll become a Royal Knight?"
"Without question."
Fernan replied instantly, without a shred of hesitation.
"You will become one, Luina. And not just any Royal Knight—a brilliant one."
Her expression turned solemn, but she couldn't hide the hunger glowing beneath it.
She steadied her breath, forcing down her pounding heartbeat.
"I'm still far off. Compared to the true might of the Royal Knights, I'm barely a firefly."
"Is that so?"
"But I will make sure to live up to your faith. For your sake."
"That's enough."
Fernan handed her a piece of chocolate.
"Want one?"
"…Where do you keep getting these?"
"Subspace."
"…You carry them around all the time?"
"I don't even like sweets."
"Really, last time you also said—"
A crumb of chocolate slipped from her hand, falling to the floor.
"…What do you mean by that? Please explain yourself properly!"
Her flustered cry rang behind his back as Fernan walked on.
Before the sun had fully risen, the Academy students were gathered with fifty knights of the Ironblood Order and two hundred soldiers.
"I am Elion Sloth, commander of the Ironblood Order."
The man who spoke carried a weighty, powerful presence.
"I am Professor Grad Ksant of the Academy. If I'm not mistaken, the Ironblood Order is…"
"Yes. We are ashamed to boast, but we are Altriarch's First Order of Knights."
Which meant they were the pride of Altriarch—the strongest order they had.
'No wonder. Each of them radiates terrifying vigor.'
That the Ironblood Order themselves would escort them was beyond anything Fernan had expected.
But it wasn't incomprehensible either. For whatever reason, the Academy students were guests of Altriarch.
And look at who they were:
The heir of Pellenberg.
The daughter of Verchev.
The daughter of Fridien.
The prince of Schwaben.
And the descendant of Armian.
Just those made up five bloodlines of current or former Elector families. And neither Kalburden nor the other houses could be dismissed either.
'And counting the professors, there's Bienderk too.'
If anything happened to the Academy group, the burden Altriarch would shoulder would be crushing.
"We depart."
"We leave it to you."
Altriarch provided horses, and horsemanship was a basic part of the students' training.
Thus, all 262 riders departed the capital together.
"These mounts are in fine condition."
"Indeed. They could rival those of my own family."
Both Verchev and Altriarch had vast plains within their domains.
They raised their horses there, and the steeds of those two lands were famous across the continent for their quality.
'War demands horses. More and more must be bred.'
But Verchev had been devastated by monsters, and its horse industry collapsed with it.
One of the Empire's three pillars had fallen—either new paths had to be forged, or Verchev had to be rebuilt.
'Neither is easy. Restoring Verchev is the best option, but…'
With monsters nesting in its northern regions, Verchev was a candle in the wind.
'Still, Verchev must be defended.'
Abandoning the fortress-lands and centuries of accumulated strength would be foolish.
Even a tactical withdrawal would likely lead to worse devastation.
More than that—
'If Verchev falls, the Empire loses two Royal Knights.'
Albinius Verchev, the Margrave.
And Luina Verchev, Royal Knight (True).
From what Fernan knew, they were the type who would sooner make their domain their grave than abandon it.
'But how?'
Would he have to pour in endless gold?
On what grounds?
And even if he did, there was no guarantee that would solve it.
No easy answer presented itself.
"..."
And watching Fernan sink into deep thought was another pair of eyes.
'How in the world did it come to this…'
Carlo Deneb.
At the start of the semester, he had never once imagined things would turn out this way.
Had Rudger Schwaben taken the valedictorian's spot, perhaps he could have accepted it.
But Fernan, of all people.
Back in first year, he had been only 10th place. Yet the fact that it was all an act still gives me chills when I think about it.
I had fallen for his performance….
'No, in the end it was simply that my ability wasn't enough.'
Whether he used artifacts or concealed his strength, if my skills had been sufficient, I would have overcome it all.
Later, he too stopped using artifacts, didn't he?
Even so, the humiliation was unbearable.
'Aria Pridien…!'
His head turned. In his line of sight was Aria, chatting with Aint and Berian.
More painful than losing the top seat was the mistake that resurfaced in his mind.
'To lose to a first-year.'
And not even to a so-called "Saint" of the Dragon God Cult, one of those out-of-standard monsters.
If it had been a Saint, that would have been understandable. The cult was filled with lunatics obsessed with magic, and Saints were the most insane monsters among them.
For generations, Saints had always been monsters unbound by grade or year. Losing to one would have been at least comprehensible.
But Aria Pridien was not that.
Even if she was from a princely house. Even if she was an elf. Even if his mind had been unsettled by Fernan and the flow of his mana had not been smooth.
'Aria Pridien was someone I should never have lost to.'
In self-disgust, he had his first drink. It was an act against his master's teachings, that a Mage must always keep their mind clear.
But it helped.
When he saw himself in the mirror—defeated by a junior and drowned in alcohol—
That pitiful sight made him face reality: this was not the time to be drowning in drink, but to devote himself even more to magic.
That was why he applied for this dispatch.
Partly because Fernan was applying too, but mainly to hone himself through real battle, so that he would never again repeat such a disgrace.
"Senior? Do you have something to say to me?"
"No."
"Ah, about the injury last time—are you all right? My spirit was a bit rough."
"It's nothing."
"It didn't look like nothing."
"There won't be a second time where I lose to you."
"Well, they say the first is the hard part. The second comes easy."
Carlo Deneb barely suppressed the urge to drop a lightning strike.
"Go."
"You're the one who glared at me first, Senior."
"Are all elves like this?"
"And what exactly is 'this' supposed to mean?"
Carlo pressed his fingers to his forehead, trying to soothe his pounding head.
"Aint, tonight at camp, let's go another round."
"Whenever you want."
"Damn it, when we first enrolled, you were way below me…."
"What ancient history are you dredging up now?"
Aint and Berian bickered as usual. And meanwhile—
"The last match doesn't count."
"There's no such thing as 'doesn't count' in a match. A loss is a loss, a win is a win."
"Don't you feel ashamed?"
"Why should I feel shame for a rightful victory?"
"My body wasn't in its best condition."
"Then it was your own fault for not managing it properly."
"…Since when did you get so sharp with your words?"
"Do I need to answer that too?"
Almon, still unsatisfied with how the jousting match had ended, continued pestering Luina.
"What an amusing scene."
And Rudger, holding his horse's reins, watched the group.
"Never thought I'd live to see this kind of sight."
"You don't look amused, Fernan."
"How can I laugh? You're the main problem here, Fernan."
Me? Fernan shrugged his shoulders.
"Yes, you. Looks like you don't even bother hiding it anymore. Is it because of the Accursed Breed?"
"Your words sound strange."
Fernan gave a snort.
"Just because you're a prince, just because Swabian is the imperial family, don't delude yourself into thinking everything in the Empire is yours. I have no reason to tiptoe around you."
Early on, he had been cautious simply because he lacked certainty, and because he had no wish to make enemies needlessly.
But now, with things having come this far, such concerns were trivial.
At the crossroads of whether the world would fall to demons or not, Fernan realized he had to throw everything behind Aint.
"Ah, of course. You think I don't know that?"
But what I wonder….
Rudger's voice dropped.
"…is what you intend to do using Armean."
"I'm forging a sharper sword to cut down demons. You can't slaughter an ox with a knife meant for chickens."
"That's just a thousand-year-old legend. The Armeans have already lost their secret swordsmanship, their pride, their legacy."
Well, that's your misconception. Fernan didn't bother provoking Rudger further.
If Swabian started actively interfering with Aint, things would get annoyingly complicated.
"You're right, they have lost much. Still, I judge that half a legacy is better than none at all."
"True enough. Half a blade is better than no blade."
"And what about you? Don't tell me you truly see Aint Armean as a threat."
"Of course not. Annoying, yes, but that's all. Comparing Armean to Swabian now would be absurd."
Even if Aint was outstanding, he wasn't about to become emperor overnight. Without a power base, he was just a man with the Armean name.
The first emperor had the Armean Kingdom behind him, but Aint Armean had nothing but a fallen house.
"Even if the Accursed Breed causes chaos, that's all it is. With a half-shattered legacy, he can't accomplish much."
Still, the symbolism was there. And if a wealthy backer sought to exploit that symbolism, things could get troublesome.
Rudger's eyes cooled to ice.
Their eyes met. Fernan could clearly feel the anger beneath that cold gaze.
"What was it again… that Pellenberg proverb?"
"Make no enemies, earn only money?"
"Yeah. That one."
"I do live by that saying."
"I know. I trust you—"
"Stop!"
Just then, the knights leading at the front came to a halt, cutting their conversation short.
"Tonight, we camp here. If we wake at dawn and set out, we should reach the barrier before noon."
The sun had already dipped low; twilight was setting in. Soldiers began setting up the camp.
"This too is part of the experience. We'll build our own camp. Ask the soldiers for their know-how."
"Yes, sir."
The students joined the soldiers in pitching tents and digging drainage ditches.
Fernan lightly assisted with magic, clearing trenches, while observing the surroundings.
They were on a wide mountainside plateau, large enough to hold hundreds. Not far away, rocky mountains jutted upward.
'Here it is.'
Later, Rudger, going on reconnaissance with Almon and several soldiers as part of the training, would discover the Itarium.
The news of Itarium quickly spread through the camp. Rudger, as the first discoverer, claimed his right and took its fruit and leaves.
But he didn't know. None of them knew—except for Gardner.
That Itarium's roots held far richer mana than either its leaves or fruit.
And Aint, in secret, would take those roots.
That was the true course of this "elixir incident," foretold in the prophecy.
Fernan's aim was simple:
'I'll take the leaves and fruit Rudger goes for.'
Then naturally, Aint would claim the roots. That was enough.
It wasn't that he didn't desire the roots—but he dreaded the thought of a weakened Aint failing to fight demons. That future was too horrific to imagine.
While the camp was being set up, Professor Grad gathered the students once more.
At his side stood soldiers, ready for reconnaissance.
"Establishing a camp and scouting the surroundings is essential. It's also good experience. We'll take volunteers to accompany the soldiers on patrol."
"I'll go."
Fernan raised his hand without hesitation.
Rudger, who had been halfway lifting his hand, hesitated and lowered it again.
"I'll go too."
"Me as well!"
This time, Luina and Aria raised their hands.
"Two are enough. Luina will join."
"Yes, sir."
Fernan and Luina equipped themselves and joined the patrol unit.
"Follow us closely. Watch what we check and how we scout. Ask anything you're curious about."
"Yes."
"Yes."
The ten-person patrol departed the camp at a gallop. Well-trained horses thundered over rough mountain paths.
"What's this about?"
Riding alongside him, Luina whispered.
"What do you mean?"
"You're not the type to take on work that doesn't pay. You must be after something."
"…That's not it."
Feeling as though she had seen through him, Fernan turned his gaze away.
For a while, the patrol focused on searching for signs of monsters.
"They don't come often, but sometimes monsters make it past the barrier and reach this far."
"So the barrier can't protect every place?"
"The 'barrier' is really a chain of fortresses at key points. It can't cover all."
"I see."
And then—Fernan finally spotted what he wanted.
[It was nestled in three clefts of rock, resembling a trident.]
Ahead, three rock spires rose, their gaps forming trident-like fissures.
"How about we check over there? Monsters might be hiding in those cracks."
"Let's do it."
The patrol entered between the trident-shaped rocks. The narrow clefts looked like a valley between stone walls.
As the prophecy foretold, Itarium should have been there—rooted firmly in the rock.
It should have been…
It must have been…
"…What the—"
"What is it?"
"No… nothing."
…Why isn't it here?
Even as he infused mana into his eyes to probe carefully, nothing appeared.
"..."
Had someone already harvested it, roots and all?
Only the hollow traces in the stone remained, proof that Itarium had once been there.