"And the situation?"
Sternly, three professors—Maren Solke, Thorne, and Andrias sat, around a round table that was plain, without any distinguishable trait that spoke aestheticism.
"Seven days remain until the conclusion of the assignment. As in, the end of the month." Andrias stated, seemingly in a deep thought. Contrastingly, his hand stroked the modest patch of beard that he has been growing, without a second thought. "Seven more days after, the tournament is scheduled to start. That makes us fourteen days away from the event. Problem is…"
"The state of the capital, here, Aetherion of the Aetherion Kingdom, is more chaotic than it ever has been." Thorne, closing his thick book with a loud thump, finished off Andrias's words. "After the demolition of the western district of the Free Ground two months ago, people began to question the order. The current state of the war continues to worsen. Once again, we can argue that holding the tournament the way we always did is necessary to show that the kingdom still stands strong, but to me, it is nothing but ignorance."
"You are against the idea of holding the tournament."
"Think, Maren." Thorne sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "What was the rationale for not involving the fourth-year higher class students to this tournament, in the first place? It was to prevent the leakage of the details regarding the kingdom's core military strength. Now, in the war time, not only are the fourth-year facing the war, but so are the third-year and second-year students. Any public ceremony puts us at a variety of risks, but above all, the fact that we are willingly revealing our capability is a nonsense. It is simply counter-intuitive."
"I do not disagree with you, Thorne." Maren, whose facial expression held the same, flat quality throughout the conversation, spoke with her arms crossed. "However, it isn't up to us to decide. The king has already declared that the tournament will be held as planned. Should he revoke it, that will bring a further political strain that…"
"That?" Andrias raised an eyebrow.
"…That the betrayers can leverage to worsen the ongoing chaos."
"As in," Andrias pursed his lips, "people will think that Solari Empire has grown to the point that even the king of our kingdom cannot ignore."
"Precisely."
"The tournament itself holds more factors that our enemies can leverage! How come the royal family only looks at a tree and fails to see the forest?!" Thorne cried in a genuine frustration.
Maren side-eyed Thorne. With her mouth shut, she didn't respond to his cry.
"Now, now, why don't we calm down a little here?" Andrias gestured, motioning his hands downward to relieve the atmosphere. "Let's talk about something that's more relevant to our duties. Students."
Thorne breathed out, before looking at Andrias. "What would there be to talk about? General class is lousy as always, more reactive to the news that circulates in the public than the lectures themselves. I assure you that they will prove to be the weakest link should the war reach the capital."
"Why, how vulgar. Still, I wouldn't assume that far." Andrias chuckled dryly. Then, he looked around and awkwardly paused upon finding that both professors weren't laughing along. He sighed, "Now, I'm certain that you have been tracking our second-year combat and elite classes. They are, contrasting to the general class that Thorne commented on, quite disciplined. Downsides are that they are rather lacking in creativity and interest, and that…" Andrias paused. His facial expression darkened, "at least a dozen students were found to have suspicious activities that flagged them as potentially being a part of the renegade."
"Calling it 'downside' is an understatement." Thorne frowned. "Students aren't at the age to willingly decide on a matter as risky as betrayal of all things. They are marionettes, and their actions are the actions of their affiliated houses." He didn't ask Andrias what those 'suspicious activities' were specifically about. They had already received the relevant reports, and the information from Andrias was simply the summary of what they already were aware of.
Andrias responded to Thorne's remark with silence, in a way that suggested that he agreed. Instead, he turned to Maren, who has been quiet for a while. "Now, what Thorne and I spoke of are quite redundant, and you have been aware of all that we said. Higher class, however, is a different case. Sixteen students, the best among the second-year that the academy has to offer. Among all four classes that the second-year students are classified into, higher class is known to receive the least amount of theoretical lectures and the most of practical trainings. We have the information, but it is limited." Andrias asked, "tell us, Maren—are they ready?"
"No." Maren's response was instant and flat. "We weren't given enough time. Additionally, most of the resources were allocated to third-year and fourth-year higher classes, who were prioritized due to the worsening state of the war."
"But…"
"Yes." Maren nodded stoically. "Our defense at the eastern front is thinning. Historically, the higher class students who could produce the power of multiple soldiers, at the cost of relatively smaller portion of resources, were the first to be dispatched upon emergency."
"Will second-year higher class be dispatched before third- and fourth-year's lower-tier classes?"
"Yes, the council has reached a conclusion second-year higher class will be dispatched before the fourth-year elite class."
Thorne's eyes widened, "what? How could that be? Their Overload Risk is—"
"Silas Fulgur's status as the S-rank skill user makes them far more competent than the fourth-year elite class." Maren's statement effectively closed Thorne's mouth. "On top of that, an anomaly known as Isaac Nameless has been taken into the account. If Silas Fulgur is an ace that produces the most value, Isaac Nameless is a joker that may or may not turn the table around."
"Don't you think it's cruel?" Andrias said, with a light frown having made its way on his face. "Unlike the upper grades, the second-year higher class received barely any preparation."
"War is cruel, professor Andrias," replied Maren, coldly. "War is born from humans. Solari Empire has been able to survive against our assault for the past hundreds of years thanks to the cruelty they applied on themselves. Now that we are the losing side, it's time that we do the same." After a moment of silence, "however, the most elementary preparation is complete. Wand training and meditation are passed on by you, Thorne, before the Rite of Manifestation. They were offered hands-on training with weapons. Currently, they are given the chance to interact with Manafold Beasts as well as the real-life combat experiences."
Thorne's eyes twitched. "Manafold Beasts." He muttered, then looked at Maren. "Is the rumor true then?"
"…What rumor?"
"Solari Empire is stronger than it ever has been, since a year or two before. The information regarding Hollow King is something that was only recently obtained. There is a rumor, that this so-called Hollow King, the supposed wielder of the legendary SS-rank skill, subdued and recruited the S-rank skill wielders all around the world." Thorne held three fingers. "Before the communications with other kingdoms were cut off, we were aware of the identities of at least three S-rank skill wielders. One of them apparently had a skill that allowed them to, against the known logic, 'tame the Manafold Beasts.' Given how this Manafold Beast-relevant assignment is given during ninth month rather than the current time period, you are obviously trying to prepare them against a possible clash against…"
Maren didn't say anything but looked at him silently. Silence itself was a sufficient answer. Thorne grimaced. "I see." He said. His eyes darted, thinking. He then asked, "Isaac Nameless."
Maren raised an eyebrow.
"Which group is he in?"
Maren gazed at Thorne for a while. She opened her mouth, "group one. Isaac Nameless. Camilla Hedron. Randal Ursula. Vane Abias."
"And the beast?"
"Red Wolf."
"…Excuse me?" Andrias was the one who was surprised. "The beast that no higher class, over the past tens of years, was able to conquer?"
"And hence, one of the four groups was to be assigned with said beast. It unfortunately happened to be them."
"Why?" Thorne questioned.
Maren looked at him, "elaborate."
"This year, Silas Fulgur should've been assigned to take down Red Wolf. Last year, Aldric Zephyr. Two years ago, Caspian Valerius. Yet, not even once was any of them assigned against this beast, who possesses a skill two ranks below theirs. For years, it has been allowed to survive."
"Again, random allocation. The chance of them making into a group that is assigned with Red Wolf is—"
"Hah, random." Thorne glared at her. "We know very well, Maren. You know too. The group allocation is not random at all."
"Be careful on what you say, Thorne." Maren, after a moment of silence, said, "and I have no idea what you're speaking of." Then, as if trying to change the topic, she flipped open her ledger. "Group one, still out. Group two—Silas Fulgur, Lyra Aetherion, Magnus Ember, and Wren Ashveil—returned a week ago after a successful completion. Same applies to group three—Vesper Bardot, Cassiopeia Terra, Bryce Fenn, and Paulos Gustad—except that they arrived just a day ago. Group four—Atticus, Petra Voss, Soren Mallow, and Talia Innis—still out." She looked at Andrias, "that is enough for the exchange of information. I've been very thorough on details, having crossed the boundaries of what you are supposed to know by quite a margin."
Andrias opened his mouth, as if about to say something. However, their session was interrupted by a knock by the door.
"Yes?" Maren, without turning, spoke.
"P-Professor Maren Solke, you have to see this." The door timidly opened, and from beyond, a voice stuttered, "they… they… oh god… it's so terrible…"
Maren narrowed her eyes. Thorne and Andrias looked at each other. Something was happening out there.
…
The capital was in a state of shock.
It wasn't the type of shock that they experienced during the Festival of Foundation, because it wasn't something that they were involved in. It was simply that they witnessed—the state of those known as the elites among the elites. Nobles, higher class, high-ranked skills—those who had all of those came back, on a wagon, in a near death state that was so horrifying to witness.
Randal Ursula, without a leg. Vane Abias, without an arm. Camilla Hedron—she was basically unrecognizable, notably burned and wounded to an extent that many weren't able to gaze at her for more than a second.
All of them were pale. The foul odor could be smelt when nearby, which told them they haven't been able to clean themselves for the past days.
The carriage came to a stop. The coachman slowly exited the transport, and, pressured by the eyes of the public, slowly walked up to one man: Isaac.
Isaac, seated with three wounded individuals, appeared nonchalant, much to people's disbelief. His eyes seemed aloof even, as if he didn't notice how Camilla, whose form evoked disgust out of many, had her head laid on his lap and was staining his pants.
However, unknown to them, it wasn't that he was apathetic. He was simply exhausted to an extent that feeling emotion itself had become taxing.
For days, he had dealt with the stench of rotting flesh. For days, he had dealt with the weeps of Vane Abias and Randal Ursula—yes, they sobbed and wailed in pain and fear. For days, he had been the one to communicate with the terrified coachman to ensure that they were on the track.
In such an environment, eating wasn't eating. Resting wasn't resting. He felt dizzy, and felt that should he trip and fall, he would faint.
Now, Isaac eyed the coachman who was rubbing his hands together, quite nervously. "Your payment, sir."
"Not yet. Get back to your seat." Isaac's voice was hoarse and low, void of strength. It was clear how exhausted he was. "Your job ends when we reach the Central Temple of Order of Acacia."
Coachman looked at the back, at the civilians that were flooding ahead of them to spectate. "But…"
"Get back to your seat." Isaac massaged his temple as if trying to wake himself up from the drowsiness. He then brought himself out of the carriage, walking up the crowd.
Slowly, Isaac looked around. Found the eyes of many on him.
He felt like sighing.