Chapter 8
Both Ian and Milo wore expressions of surprise.
Edel's appearance was ambiguous, as was their voice—a neutral tone that sounded like it hadn't gone through puberty yet.
The two roommates who'd arrived earlier were particularly bothered by the name "Edel."
It was typically a girl’s name. Though occasionally given to boys, this wasn’t common.
These small oddities piled up, inevitably raising suspicions.
“Well, it’s… a bit complicated to explain… My parents…”
Edel bowed their head deeply, fidgeting with their fingers.
“Skip the long story. I’m Ian. This is Milo. I’m from House Oracle, and Milo’s from the Viscountcy of Vinetti.”
Edel’s face lit up with astonishment. House Oracle was one thing, but the Vinetti name carried considerable prestige.
“Wow! You’re both amazing! Sharing a room with you is such an honor!”
“No need for formalities. Which house are you from?”
“I’m… a commoner. I got in through the special admissions track. Please treat me casually.”
Edel hastily bowed again.
So this was the rare commoner scholarship student they’d heard about.
Milo looked uncomfortable, but Ian casually extended his hand.
“The academy treats everyone equally. If anything, we should be making you comfortable, Edel.”
“Lord Ian…”
Edel’s eyes shimmered with emotion as they looked up at Ian, who chuckled.
“Did you not hear me properly? You’re the one who needs to change your speech.”
“Ah!”
Startled, Edel weakly lowered their head. For a commoner to use casual speech with nobility was unimaginable—honorifics would likely stick for a while.
Fortunately, Milo stepped in:
“Using honorifics with peers violates academy regulations. You’ll get demerits. If you want to graduate smoothly, do as Ian says. Don’t drag us into your mess.”
“Eep!”
“What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing! It’s just… Lord Milo… you’re scary…”
“Excuse me?”
“S-sorry!”
Edel covered their face with their hands. Milo’s muscular build and fierce expression were undeniably intimidating. Even his normal speaking voice sounded angry.
The magic academy cloak he wore was a small mercy—had he been in armor, Edel might have fainted on the spot.
“What exactly are you apologizing for?”
“P-please spare me!”
“Who exactly are you begging mercy from?!”
Ian couldn’t help laughing. One face flushed red from embarrassment, the other from fury—an amusing combination.
He wondered if these two might make the austere academy slightly more entertaining.
“Do you have a major in mind? Milo here’s aiming for the Combat Arts faction.”
“N-no. I plan to choose the Healing Arts faction.”
“Healing Arts.”
The Healing Arts faction was one of the minor disciplines rivaling the Theoretical Magic faction. It trained specialists in recovering injuries and curing curses and poisons.
Graduates spread across the continent as healers or military surgeons. Some even earned high positions through merit.
But it remained an overlooked field due to inherent limitations—only those prepared to face death daily could endure its hardships.
“You’re obviously going into Theoretical Magic, Ian?”
“For now.”
“‘For now’? Don’t tell me you’re considering Combat Arts?”
A reasonable question from someone familiar with House Oracle’s reputation. Ian only smiled, offering no clear answer.
“Let’s wrap up introductions. Everyone’s attending the evening entrance ceremony, right?”
“Obviously.”
“I’ll go!”
When Ian shot Edel a look, they hurriedly covered their mouth before mumbling:
“I-I’ll go…?”
“Perfect. That’s the tone.”
“Thank you!”
Ian sighed. Edel needed to master casual speech before classes began.
“I have business to attend to. See you at the ceremony. Milo, stop terrorizing Edel.”
“What nonsense! Do I look like someone who’d break academy rules? I have my family’s dignity to uphold!”
“Not that.”
“Then what?”
“Your mere presence is terror enough. Wear a hood. Stop startling people.”
“You little—!”
Leaving the red red-faced Milo behind, Ian exited the dorm.
With his belongings settled, it was time to meet Professor Frost.
Please let him be reasonable.
Ian had only encountered Frost through his writings.
While he understood the professor’s academic leanings, his personality remained a mystery.
A cold, meticulous intellectual—that’s the impression.
But conclusions couldn’t be drawn prematurely.
Professors’ temperaments varied wildly. Magic scholars often grew eccentric, so a face-to-face meeting was essential.
Had Felix not visited earlier, Ian might have approached this meeting lightheartedly.
But now, circumstances demanded otherwise.
He needed to earn time and money—for his father and House Oracle’s honor.
“Ian!”
A booming voice echoed from behind. Only one person Ian knew had such volume.
Turning, he saw Milo sprinting over, Edel trailing behind.
“Whew… Caught you. Why walk so fast?”
“What is it?”
“Forgot to mention something. You don’t know what the academy’s entrance ceremonies are like, do you?”
Ian tilted his head. “A solemn event where we listen to speeches by the King and dignitaries?”
Milo groaned. “Of course you’d think that. Should’ve attended more social dances.”
Lowering his voice, Milo glanced around furtively.
“You know the academy has three faculties?”
“Yes.”
“Ours and the Martial Arts Faculty are bitter rivals. New student arrivals are prime time for power displays—a tradition.”
“So freshmen brawl to show dominance?”
“Upperclassmen don’t interfere. Heard it straight from seniors—it’s a tradition.”
Inevitable, given noble families’ politicking. But Milo’s account suggested exceptional ruthlessness.
“But fighting’s prohibited on campus.”
“Duels are exceptions. Just avoid provoking one.”
“You’re telling me to flee?”
“You’re House Oracle’s heir—you could handle yourself with magic. Still, better steer clear. There’s a dangerous newcomer in Martial Arts.”
“Who?”
“Prince Helios.”
A familiar name.
A prodigal prince with fiery temperaments, his sole weakness being his status as the second son. With the crown prince already designated, his political prospects were dim—hence his unusual enrollment at the academy.
The campus will be chaos.
Ian’s head throbbed.
Helios would likely vent his frustrations here. Rumors painted him as skilled but volatile.
Milo doesn’t know I can’t properly channel magic.
House Oracle’s reputation suggested otherwise, but the truth would surface during mandatory mana assessments.
“Prince Helios will stick to Martial Arts. Our buildings are separate anyway.”
“He’s been strutting around campus freely. Don’t you know about his… unique quirk?”
“Quirk?”
“He despises handsome men. Borderline phobia.”
“Why?”
“People covet what they lack. Those with strong possessive streaks resent it more.”
Ian squinted at Milo.
“You too?”
“Me? No! I’ve no reason for jealousy! I’m perfectly decent-looking. Right, Edel?”
“Uh… yes?”
“Why hesitate?!”
“Spare me!”
The unspoken truth lingered—Milo’s rugged looks attracted attention. Avoiding conflict forever was impossible.
“We’ll cross that bridge later. Thanks for the warning—I’ll buy lunch tomorrow.”
“Avoid the prince at all costs! Understood?”
“Understood.”
“Then stop wandering around!”
Ignoring their worried stares, Ian entered the faculty building.
Pausing at Professor Frost’s nameplate, Ian knocked after a steadying breath.
“Enter.”
A dry voice answered. Ian turned the knob.
The study was cozier than expected—wooden bookshelves flanking a central sofa and desk where Frost sat.
This is him?
Ian blinked. The professor looked far younger than anticipated—early thirties at most, despite authoring dozens of theoretical magic tomes.
“Not what you imagined?”
“My apologies. I’m Ian, newly enrolled in the Magic Faculty. From House Oracle.”
“House Oracle…”
Frost’s expression shifted, then nodded as if recalling everything.
“I see. That child has grown.”
“You’ve met me before?”
“No. I corresponded with your father, Lefebvre. He boasted about you often.”
“What was your relationship?”
“We studied theoretical magic together. Exchanged letters afterward. Nothing extraordinary—don’t dwell on it.”
Still, Ian felt warmth. This felt like rediscovering a fragment of his lost father.
“Why visit now? The entrance ceremony approaches.”
