Chapter 13
On the night after the entrance ceremony, Milo returned to the dormitory with intriguing news after a brief outing.
"The atmosphere feels ominous."
Ian, who had been sketching designs for a new experimental device to commission from Milo, set down his drafting tools. Turning around, he found Milo wearing an uncharacteristically grave expression.
"Did something happen?"
"First, our beloved Edel's debt has ballooned to 30,000 shillings."
"That's too cruel..."
Edel's debts accumulated like cloth slowly soaking in drizzle. While 30,000 shillings wasn't an astronomical sum—equivalent to about ten market-priced meals—it weighed heavily on Edel, who came from commoner roots where every coin counted.
"Stop tormenting Edel and sit. Let's hear the full story."
The three soon gathered around the table. Though they'd known each other barely a day, their bond as roommates had already solidified—a survival tactic in the Academy's ruthless environment.
"I met a friend's acquaintance who just joined the Martial Arts Department," Milo explained.
At the mention of the department, Ian immediately understood the implications.
"That madman Helios seems hellbent on dueling you. He looked positively unhinged after the ceremony—I heard he rampaged through the grounds. What did you do to him?"
"We were together the entire ceremony. You'd know if something happened."
"True. So he's just being a petty loser? What a fucking joke."
Milo didn't restrain his vulgarity. Normally unacceptable, but here in the Academy, Helios was merely another freshman, not royalty. Terms like "madman" and "fucking joke" slid by unremarked.
Edel barely stopped himself from incurring another 10,000-shilling debt as he interjected, "So... a duel's inevitable?"
Milo nodded with feigned regret. "Soon. The seniors mediated this time, but there won't be an escape next round."
The finality of "no escape" darkened Edel's expression. "Then what do we do?"
"Fight or flee." Milo turned to Ian. "Ever sparred with a warrior?"
Ian shrugged. "You know my family's specialty."
Theoretical mages studied arcane principles—they could channel magic but rarely wielded it lethally. Self-defense was their limit, a tradition upheld by every Oracle family member... except Ian's father.
Memories resurfaced of his father's catastrophic fireball spell:
—All power demands sacrifice—
The lesson came as a fireball obliterated a forest clearing, its scale rivaling Meteor Fall rather than a simple Fireball. Young Ian had marveled then; now he wondered—could he have harnessed such power if his father had returned from the ruins?
The thought drew a bitter smirk. Pointless speculation.
"Why the smile? Got some genius plan, you creepy bastard?"
"Just wandering thoughts."
Milo's eye twitched. "You're spacing out now of all times?"
Ian shrugged again. "You already gave the answer—fight or flee."
But this transcended personal grudges. Helios had publicly shamed the Oracle name before their peers. Retreat meant familial dishonor... yet Ian remained pragmatic enough not to rush into combat.
Current odds were unfavorable—he needed time.
Reading their concern, Ian clarified, "The insult demands redress, but that rabid dog isn't worth immediate attention. His earlier outburst earned him scrutiny—he lacks the guts to act soon."
The true priority lay elsewhere. Ian stood, retrieving an incomplete schematic for Milo. "Your new alchemy apparatus."
The design showed deceptively simple components: heating lamp, boiling flask, vapor-cooling glass tube, and collection vessel—unfamiliar despite Milo's expertise. "What is this?"
"The most common potion ingredient?"
"Water!" Edel interjected, proving his physician father's influence.
"A device to enhance water's purity and efficacy. Father's research notes suggested water holds the key."
Ian withheld further explanation—demonstrations would speak louder.
"Potion efficacy varies regionally. While factors like skill and freshness matter, I suspect water composition is critical—different regions mean different waters."
Milo looked skeptical, but Edel's eyes lit up. For an aspiring healer, potions were lifelines.
"Purified water could synergize better with ingredients, boosting potency."
"So that's your play! Should've known you'd have an ace when challenging Professor Frost. Worried for nothing!"
"Unproven hypothesis."
"...Are you sane?"
Ian remained unperturbed. "We'll test it while reporting progress. Failure still earns Frost's visit—a win regardless."
The logic forced reluctant nods.
Milo examined the schematic. "Deadline?"
"Tomorrow."
"You think I run a workshop? Glassware takes a week to order!"
"Generic lab equipment works. Shops sell flasks and tubes."
"Ah, so you need my funds."
"I'll repay tenfold."
Milo sighed like a merchant outbargained.
"And I..."
Edel froze under Milo's predator-like gaze, hastily adding, "Preparations are Milo's role! What should I do?"
"Suspiciously smooth evasion, but fine."
Ian assigned Edel: "Gather quality herbs. Your eyes surpass mine."
A white lie—Ian's herbalism skills were exceptional, but he understood motivation.
"I'll request a home visit tomorrow. New herb shipments should have good stock."
"Cite Frost's research assistance. It'll pass."
With roles assigned, Milo narrowed his eyes.
"And your task once we're done?"
"Final step—magic maturation."
The crucial process of imbuing potions with mana, Ian's true hidden card. Pure water alone couldn't double efficacy.
"I need Father's research notes from home too."
"Good. Not the Academy life I envisioned, but entertaining enough."
Ding-dong!
A mana speaker crackled to life:
—Attention. Ian Oracle of Magic Studies Year 1, report to the Counseling Office immediately. Repeat. Ian Oracle, report immediately.—
Three pairs of eyes locked on the speaker.
"Counseling Office? Did that lunatic's antics reach the administration?"
Ian stood without comment. Explanations could wait.
"Don't die out there. We need to conduct experiments."
Ian snorted and departed.
The Counseling Office occupied the Academy's main building. Ian entered the familiar structure, climbing stairs to his destination.
"Enter, Ian Oracle."
Two figures awaited—Professor Frost and a sharp-featured stranger exuding intimidation.
Ian took the vacant seat.
The stranger laced his fingers on the table. "An unusual summons, but the matter warrants it."
"No offense intended, but may I know your name?"
"My name?" The man scowled before laughing humorlessly. "A noble unaware of me? How... refreshing."
