Episode 565

“I just got here. But are your ears really blocked?”

“Sorry. I must not have heard you because I’m tired.”

“Oh dear. You should take better care of your health.”

Professor Verdus lightly admonished Lee Han.

“I can’t help it since I attend so many classes.”

“Really?”

“How about you assign less homework, Professor? Wouldn’t that help me manage my health?”

“Oh. That’s not possible, though.”

Lee Han smiled gently, as if he hadn’t expected anything anyway.

“So, what brings you here?”

“Ah, right. I was originally going to ask you to help prepare the finals.”

Professor Verdus, as if remembering, opened his mouth.

“But then Professor Garcia stopped me and told me not to!”

“Oh no!”

“Isn’t that strange, really?”

“It is!”

“Right?!”

Professor Verdus grumbled.

“She wasn’t like that when she was a student. Professor Garcia has changed.”

“Oh no!”

“So, about that.”

“It is!”

“Huh?”

‘Oops.’

Lee Han realized he was answering just a bit too quickly, repeating only “Oh no!” and “It is!”

Fortunately, the slow-witted Professor Verdus didn’t notice.

“Could you persuade Professor Garcia for me? She listens to you at least.”

“Oh no!”

“Yeah. I’m counting on you.”

“I’ll try my best, but Professor Garcia is a strict person, so there’s no guarantee she’d listen to me.”

‘I definitely must not say anything.’

Lee Han had not the slightest intention to persuade Professor Garcia.

Who would benefit from that kind of persuasion?

“Well, Professor Garcia is strict.”

“It is.”

“She broke an artifact’s force field with her fist, you know.”

“Oh no! …No, what did you do to get punched by her?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

Professor Verdus grumbled as if wrongly accused, then pulled out a pouch from his sleeve. From the heavy-looking pouch came the familiar jingling sound. It was the beautiful sound of silver and gold coins clinking together.

“I went through all the trouble of selling artifacts to exchange for this.”

“What is this?”

“Huh? I told you back in the punishment room. Did you already forget?”

Professor Verdus shot Lee Han a “I’m worried about your intelligence” look.

“…Wait, don’t tell me this is payment for helping with exam prep?”

Senior Ketl, as a graduate, had grabbed Professor Verdus by the collar and made him swear to stand up for juniors—no forcing work and paying them for what they did…

“Yup.”

“Where did you get this??”

“I sold a few artifacts.”

“Wait… uh… are you allowed to sell them?”

Lee Han hesitated.

He liked gold and silver coins, but first wondered if it was really okay to sell them.

At that, Professor Verdus also paused.

“Huh. Was I not supposed to? Hold on.”

“……”

“Now that I think about it, I think Gonadaltes said not to sell them.”

“Oh no.”

“But it’s fine if no one finds out, right?”

“It is.”

Lee Han nodded.

He was surprised, but thinking about it, Professor Verdus was right.

And even if they were found out, it would be Professor Verdus getting in trouble—what did it have to do with Lee Han?

‘The headmaster will handle it himself.’

“So, Professor, if I help you prepare the finals, this cute, lovely pouch of silver coins becomes mine?”

“Wardanaz. You’re a bit creepy right now.”

Professor Verdus looked at Lee Han with disgust.

Sometimes among artifact craftsmen, there are those who name artifacts and talk to them affectionately, but Professor Verdus wasn’t that type.

“Alright. Anyway, you’re giving it to me, right?”

“But Professor Garcia already said no, remember? You should listen to Professor Garcia.”

‘Just what did she do to him?’

Lee Han wondered how Professor Garcia had managed to convince Professor Verdus.

“I’ll try to persuade her one more time, anyway.”

“Then I’m counting on you.”

Professor Verdus took out a dagger from his sleeve. Judging by its complicated magical structure, it was an artifact with more than one enchantment.

“Take this.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Lee Han was a bit surprised at Professor Verdus’s gift.

Thanks to Senior Ketl, Professor Verdus seemed to have grown more generous.

Not only a coin pouch, but just giving out presents like this?

“Tell the students to make this today.”

“…Professor, you should come to the classroom. And assigning this is a separate matter.”

“What!? Seriously!?”

• * *

“Hey, don’t you think the freshman finals are a bit dull?”

Koholti voiced his concerns when visiting Professor Mortum’s workshop, looking over the final exam questions.

Normally, first-year finals were brimming with all kinds of complex necromancies: undead summoning, bone/poison/darkness elements, curses, and more.

It was a test to examine the new freshmen’s skills before they officially became black magic majors in their second year, and it made them steel their resolves.

But compared to that, this year’s test was a little too plain.

In fact, on Professor Mortum’s desk at the back, there was a thick stack of papers. Judging by the questions written on top, they were exam papers.

Choose which of the following creatures inhabit the undead realm…

Of course, you could call that an exam, too, but it was definitely a bit dull.

Koholti was puzzled as to why these sorts of problems were there.

Professor Mortum flicked his quill as he coughed and answered.

“You say that after almost blowing up the School Tower’s pillar last midterms?”

“……”

“……”

The black magic freshmen in the workshop blushed and bowed their heads.

Some shot Koholti resentful looks.

‘Why’d you have to bring that up.’

‘Does senior have no tact?’

“…Sorry about that.”

Cough “And you even made your junior beg for reagents?”

“I’m really sorry!!!”

Koholti threw away all fourth-year dignity and lowered his stance.

No matter how senior you were, this was a mistake you could only be ashamed of.

“As long as you know. Now help with the questions.”

“Yes…”

Ashamed of his past, the fourth-year sat down at the table and began mixing poisons.

“Ankle-slowing poison?”

“Yes.”

It was a relatively mild poison that made your steps sluggish.

Koholti completed the poison with a single motion.

“Next?”

“Bone-rotting poison.”

By forcibly stimulating bone regeneration, it destroyed part of the body—an extremely powerful poison.

With two quick moves and adding a potion, Koholti finished the poison.

“Next?”

“Ahrak’s Red Poison.”

Ahrak was a black magician of the old Empire made famous for his poisons.

Though he couldn’t master his own poison and died a bloody, tragic death, there were still many black magicians who admired Ahrak.

Groaning, Koholti carefully waved his staff. If you made Ahrak’s Red Poison wrong, you’d be bleeding from your eyes, nose, ears, and mouth for a week.

“All done. …Wait. Why are we making this again? Why do we need this for the final?”

Koholti finally realized something strange while making the poisons.

Direte, who had just finished an inside task, explained instead.

“That’s not for the final; that’s for today’s lecture. I need to teach about poison magic, and we have juniors with strong resistance.”

“Oh. Didn’t we have a giant half-blood junior?”

A student, as if they remembered, spoke up.

“Black Turtle Tower, right? Heh. This is perfect.”

“Hey. Don’t blame the juniors for your fights.”

Direte lightly warned.

Even if it just rained, students from different towers would argue: ‘It’s because of those Blue Dragon Tower punks!’ ‘No, it’s the White Tiger Tower students’ experiments!’ ‘You’re all wrong, it’s Black Turtle Tower…’—that’s how they always fought.

This didn’t change even as years passed and students advanced.

Competitive students united by tower would never pass up a chance to compete through their juniors. And a giant half-blood junior was a true force.

“And he’s not the kind who likes fighting.”

“No way. What giant half-blood doesn’t like fighting?”

“You study black magic, so I bet you dig up graves and eat corpses.”

“No… I, I don’t do that…”

The junior who heard Direte’s words looked extremely wronged.

“I only stole corpses from graves, never ate them. I’m not a ghoul or anything.”

“That’s not the point… never mind. Anyway, stop talking nonsense to the juniors. Next year you’ll be so busy you probably won’t even see them, so I’m worried.”

“Oh. Senior, are you moving up to fifth year?”

“Yeah. I decided.”

Direte’s voice was a little weary.

At Einrogard, many finished their studies in their second or third year due to personal circumstances, but those serious about magic typically finished all four years.

After four years, you’d take the wisdom and knowledge you’d gathered and pave your own way.

But some more unfortunate—or rather, those even more ravenous for wisdom and knowledge—went on to fifth year.

They’d help their professors and pursue even higher peaks together.

Of course, it wasn’t an easy choice.

Just being a fourth year was already mind-numbingly busy.

Most active on-campus life ended after third year—fourth years were too absorbed in studies and preparing for graduation to even care about anything else.

So imagine how hellish and dreadful fifth year would be.

And even harder were the non-academic responsibilities.

The fifth year was practically the old traditional “direct-disciple” position.

Before the Empire’s magic schools developed collective education systems, magicians across the continent passed on wisdom through a much more primitive one-to-one master-apprentice relationship found in fairy tales: eccentric master, pitiful disciple.

Of course, that method yielded a lot of negative results. The fact that many disciples killed their masters proves it: the higher a magician’s level, the more their character degraded.

But fifth-years at Einrogard reminded people of those old direct-disciples.

Professors even only let those truly qualified move up to fifth year. Indeed, calling fifth-years “direct disciples” was apt.

“Will you be alright?”

“The Professor is going to give you a ton of work!”

Cough, cough.

Direct disciples usually had a mountain of new things to do.

Managing the professor’s other students was about the easiest of them all.

You’d be expected to research unprecedented new magic, submit theses to the empire’s academic world (and prepare presentation material), request funding, manage research budgets, attend outside presentations…

If your advisor was someone like Professor Verdus, it would be hell itself.

“Professor Mortum isn’t too bad.”

“Thank you, Direte.”

Professor Mortum glared at the other students. Ungrateful little brats.

“I’m more worried about my own magic research than Professor’s work. I might not show my face for a whole year.”

“We’ll come visit you!”

Cough, cough.

Professor Mortum could barely contain his exasperation.

“Is that what you call real encouragement?”

“That’s enough, everyone. Stop worrying about me. What I’m saying is, I’m worried about you. When juniors come in, treat them well. Don’t bully them just because they’re from another tower.”

“And don’t get bullied by the juniors, either.”

Koholti added some words. Students tilted their heads in confusion.

‘What does he mean by that?’

“Koholti’s right… By the way, is the -Ahrak’s Red Poison- done?”

“Wait. Direte-senior, I almost forgot. No matter how much of a giant half-blood he is, -Ahrak’s Red Poison- is way too much. Shouldn’t we use another poison?”

“Don’t worry. The poison for Imirg is bone-rotting poison.”

“Oh. I see.”

The student who answered suddenly paused.

‘Wait, then who is the -Ahrak’s Red Poison- for?’