Chapter 28 - Chapter 27

***

Neugieri,

Over eleven months later,

The interior of the main building of the Academy reminded Neugieri more of the interior of some castle than an administrative structure.

Mostly because it was laid with stone, had relatively thick walls, and would have gotten plenty cold during the winter if not for a constant, subtle use of magic.

The corridor outside the Provost's office was narrow, lined on one side with a row of stiff-backed wooden chairs that had clearly been placed there as an afterthought. They didn't match one another. One had armrests, another didn't, and the third was slightly taller than the rest, as if it had been stolen from a dining hall somewhere. A small table stood at the end of the row, bearing a clay pot with a plant that looked halfway dead.

Neugieri was sitting in the armrest chair with a grimoire on her knees.

Her eyes moved over the diagrams and annotations with a comfortable lack of urgency. Every now and then, she turned a page.

Then the heavy door to the office swung open.

Two students stepped out, a young man and a young woman, both looking embarrassed and a bit shaken.

Neugieri could tell by the tension in their shoulders and the red in the girl's eyes, subtle as it was.

Both were quite young for the Academy, and Neugieri could swear she saw both of them before, but couldn't remember their names. They must have been chewed out rather thoroughly.

Neither of them looked at Neugieri as they passed.

"Come in." A somewhat muffled voice from the inside of the office called out.

Neugieri closed the grimoire, tucked it back into her bag, and stood up.

"Excuse me for the intrusion," she said politely, as she entered the office.

The woman who called her inside sat behind a heavy oak desk and nodded in acknowledgement.

"Neugieri… sorry for making you wait, I know you too don't have much time to spare," she said, genuinely looking apologetic as she shifted behind her desk, "Those two took more time than I thought." she gestured towards an empty, flipped teacup on her side of the table. "Tea?"

"No, but thank you," Neugieri said, crossing the distance towards the chair opposite the desk and positioning herself behind it for now.

She did like tea, but she preferred it with sweets; she couldn't drink it like water, like most professors and students here seemingly did.

Albert made it a point to teach everyone the tea-making folk spell, which was singlehandedly responsible for everyone drinking it all the time, everywhere, to the point it felt a bit bizarre.

"Why did you call for me, Hexe?" Neugieri asked, with a touch of expectation. She really did have plenty to do as it were, after all. She had some hope it was some minor issue that won't take much time, but judging by the offered tea, it was unlikely.

Hexe, the Provost of the Academy, looked tired.

She was a beautiful woman, dressed in a rather elaborate mantle, with long, curly, lush chestnut hair, deep green eyes, and a sensual, small mole beneath her right eye that enhanced her beauty rather than detracted from it.

She also loved wearing a big flappy hat, so stereotypical it hurt Neugieri to her very soul.

It also helped that the woman was an accomplished alchemist, maybe one of the best ones she had ever met. Hexe also had not only a sense for fashion and an amazing figure, but also knew how to use cosmetics and perfume.

As a matter of fact, before Albert managed to snatch her up, she was quite a famous alchemist in the neighboring region, mostly making cosmetics and alchemical products for women's convenience.

Hexe gifted her some of her usual wares for Neugieri's birthday, and Serie's apprentice enjoyed them greatly.

"Well, if you don't want tea anyway…" Hexe hesitated briefly, giving her an apologetic smile as she seemed to stretch a bit on her chair, "Would you mind taking a little walk with me around the Academy? I really need it after sitting still the whole morning, and we can talk as we walk."

Now, while Neugieri was drowning in work in the last two weeks, much like all staff members of the Academy, ultimately, she did have some time to spare.

It was odd for Serie's apprentice to realize that she found herself enjoying her time in the DAMN.

Initially, she received only pointers and training from Albert, but soon grew curious enough to attend lectures, which were taught by four different people, including Hexe and Albert.

Quickly, she realized how understaffed they were, and that in some areas she genuinely had plenty to teach.

Which is how she ended up with a sizable salary befitting of a noble's mentor, and a responsibility she wasn't prepared for.

That is, Neugieri, too, was a professor of Dornpass Academy now. Not that anyone except for Albert called it that in casual conversations.

"I wouldn't mind stretching my legs too," Neugieri replied honestly, nodding to the other woman.

Hexe gave her a beaming smile.

Soon, the two of them left the office and stepped into the corridor.

The third floor of the main building was quieter than the ones below, mostly because it housed the staff offices, a few storage rooms, and the library that the Academy was slowly accumulating.

The stone walls up here were the same as everywhere else, pale and seamless, shaped by magic, and the arched windows let in enough afternoon light to make the hallway feel open despite its narrowness.

Two students rounded the corner ahead, carrying a crate between them. A girl who looked barely old enough to attend, and a taller boy who was doing most of the lifting. Both wore the resigned look of people on kitchen duty, and the crate clinked with what Neugieri assumed were empty bottles.

The girl's eyes widened when she noticed Hexe, and she straightened her back so quickly that the crate almost slipped.

"Good afternoon, Provost!" she said, a touch too loud.

The boy just nodded, adjusting his grip.

Hexe waved them along with a small smile, and the pair shuffled past.

"The morning lecture went well?" Hexe asked, glancing sideways at Neugieri as they walked.

"I guess," Neugieri said, "Though I had to explain the difference between imagination and visualization for the tenth time in the last three months. I am starting to suspect some of them just like hearing me repeat myself." She grumbled, mostly to herself.

She couldn't have been this bad when she started training, could she? Then again, even if she was, she would've been around nine.

"They do that," Hexe agreed, amusement in her voice, "Wait until you have them in a practicum. You'll say 'do not touch the reagent with your bare hands,' and at least two of them will immediately touch the reagent with their bare hands." The alchemist sighed almost wishfully, her lush hair shook with her head. "It is good that we have a priest with Goddess' Magic stationed in a church now." She sounded proud of that.

Neugieri knew why; Hexe was securing that agreement with the church in Sturmkamm for half a year, and managed it just two months ago. Now they actually had a healer on site.

Neugieri could also believe her story rather easily. After a year of teaching theory of magic and introductory mental magic to classes of twenty or so students, she had developed a certain resigned familiarity with how people who weren't brought up as mages operated.

They weren't stupid, most of them, but they had a talent for hearing instructions and somehow interpreting the exact opposite. Initially, Neugieri was convinced that she must be doing something wrong, but when she approached the Headmaster about it, he looked understanding, awkwardly patted her head, and said that 'students being mentally challenged is a universal constant, and she shouldn't take it to heart.'

Helping Albert with combat magic class was, by comparison, easier. Those sessions were smaller, voluntary, and the students who showed up tended to be motivated enough to actually listen.

It also helped that the consequences for not listening to combat magic instructions were more immediately felt.

Then again, so were the consequences of messing around in Alchemy classes, but that didn't stop one man from boiling himself alive in toxic tonic. That was a famous cautionary tale that even she had heard, despite arriving at the Academy long after it happened.

It was a grim reminder of why Albert started each lecture and lesson with safety instructions.

"Has anyone dropped out of the combat elective?" Hexe asked, as if reading the direction of her thoughts.

"Two. One after getting knocked over by his own barrier spell, the other because she decided she preferred enchanting after all." Neugieri explained quietly. She couldn't blame those people for giving up, mastering combat magic, being as old as they had been… was a tall task, helped only by Albert's teaching talent and strict program. "Combat magic is more popular with younger students." Those who were actually the right age to learn, quite a few of them applied this and last year, apparently. At least once the DAMN proved its mantle of being a respectable institution. "Those who are fifteen or older and came here in search of professional skills to earn their keep aren't as interested in it, so it is expected." Neugieri shared.

"I know that much. Still, only two? That's an improvement over last year's rate." Hexe sounded genuinely pleased. "Albert's students used to drop like flies once they realized he wasn't joking about this being a commitment for around a decade. I think you being there and looking pretty might have actually helped retain some folk~." She joked coyly, giving the unimpressed Neugieri a wink, "I mean it, our headmaster is great, but having a fellow human, and a lady as young as you being so competent as you are… might have helped quite a few people push through. After all, it's not like we are lacking in talented mages who just may become a combat mage of some worth in just five years or less." Hexe started off her little speech a bit wishfully, but as she finished, she sounded gravely serious and completely convinced. Like a person saying the sky is blue.

Neugieri wasn't sure that was entirely it, but still felt warm at the acknowledgement of her effort and the impact of her work. She suspected it had more to do with Albert being a somewhat better teacher than when she first arrived, if only because the man had begun to accept that not everyone could follow his leaps of logic without intermediate steps.

He said he used to coach a friend, but his friend must have been a monster if he could just follow along with his explanations.

Still, Neugieri didn't say any of this because commenting on the headmaster in front of Hexe tended to produce reactions that were difficult to navigate.

They reached the end of the corridor and the stairway that opened up onto the wide interior balcony. From here, the main hall of the first floor was visible below, its high ceiling supported by thick stone pillars, the main entrance visible at the far end.

It was also, at this moment, occupied by two students who were clearly having a terrible time.

Both were on a pair of ladders near the base of the staircase to the second floor, struggling with what looked like an enormous framed painting. The frame itself was dark wood, ornate, and the painting was taller than either of the students. Neugieri blinked, staring at the gold it was framed with.

One of the students had his end propped against the wall at an angle, while the other was trying to apply an enchantment that was supposed to stick it to a wall, and swearing under his breath, with predictable results.

"Ah," Hexe said, stopping at the railing and looking down, "They started."

Neugieri leaned on the railing beside her.

"What is that?"

"A portrait," Hexe said, her tone carrying the particular kind of patience one develops when explaining things one has already accepted but not quite made peace with. "One of Albert's acquaintances, apparently a rather eccentric individual, agreed to provide some financial support to the Academy."

The student who was trying to apply the enchantment said something to his partner, and they both attempted to levitate the portrait… with limited success.

It must have been quite heavy.

"That's generous of him." Neugieri offered.

"It is," Hexe agreed, "However, there was a condition that this portrait would hang in the main hall." She gestured down at the scene below. "Right there, in full view of anyone who walks through the front door."

Neugieri studied the painting from above. At this angle, she could make out the general shape of a figure seated on something large, but not much else.

"What exactly is it a portrait of?" she asked carefully, seeing the clear, barely hidden annoyance on her colleague's face.

"Something Albert calls a 'Lich.'" Hexe shrugged, a motion that was somehow both elegant and helpless. "The name didn't mean anything to me, or to anyone else I asked. Some monster, apparently, but an obscure one. When I was questioning Albert on this horribleness, he said his acquaintance insisted on this portrait specifically once he knew of the cute little nickname of our Academy. Apparently, he thought it hilarious to have a giant portrait of some abomination plastered across from our main entrance." She sighed, shaking her head, "Honestly, I can't complain, the sum he donated is… considerable. I just wish powerful and rich people weren't all such oddballs."

For a second there, Neugieri felt a true bond of sisterhood with an older woman by her side, just remembering the floppy ears of a certain short master of hers.

"Don't we all?" Neugieri muttered.

Hexe let out a short laugh at that, which seemed to surprise her as much as it did Neugieri.

They descended together, taking the staircase down to the second floor, and then to the first. The main hall was busier down here. A handful of students crossed through on their way somewhere, most of them walking quickly, and the general mood was one of suppressed excitement mixed with a low, persistent anxiety that Neugieri had been sensing all week.

The tournament was days away. This alone would have been enough to set the Academy on edge, because several student teams were competing, and the pressure to perform was considerable. But on top of that, there was the matter of the new lord who was to arrive at Sturmkamm… and for whom this tournament was turned into the entire festival by the Bürgermeister.

The news had reached them weeks ago and hadn't stopped being discussed since. The entire mountain range, the Donnergipfel region in its entirety, had been formally granted as territory to a nobleman who had earned the king's favour during some skirmish near the capital. The civil war in the Central Lands ended just over two years ago, and this, apparently, was one of the decisions the King made after its conclusion.

The details varied depending on who was telling the story, but the result was the same: the region that had, for as long as anyone here could remember, governed itself through the appointed Bürgermeisters and other officials in towns and cities of the valleys, and the region that have gotten used to being the King's land and paying taxes directly to the crown, now had a lord. The Lord, who will likely want to appoint his people in positions of power, who will want to take his tithe, and who will likely have his ideas and thoughts about how things are to be run.

People had plenty of reasons to be worried.

Especially here in the Academy, where no one was quite sure what it meant for the institution.

One of the students by the ladder noticed them approaching and went pale.

"Provost! Professor Neugieri! We're almost done, it's just the painting is a bit..." he trailed off, looking at the portrait that slid across the wall, wincing.

Hexe studied the progress with the air of someone who was actively holding back from commenting.

"Take your time, boys, this is your detention," she said with a short humour curve of her lips, and moved past them.

Neugieri, however, stopped.

Now that she was on the same floor, she could see the painting clearly, and it was something.

The portrait depicted a figure seated on a throne. The throne itself was vast, carved from dark stone or metal, and it was empty in a way that felt deliberate. No cushions, no ornamentation, no banners or symbols behind it. Just the seat, and the thing sitting in it.

The figure was a skeleton. Dressed in a rich mantle of a vaguely familiar style, its chest and head were exposed, but it wore clothes.

It wasn't quite a human skeleton, though. The bones were a strange dark colour, something between ash and old iron, and the proportions weren't entirely right. The ribcage in particular drew Neugieri's eye; the structure there was unusual, as if additional bones had grown between the ribs, or perhaps in place of where softer tissue should have been. It was hard to tell whether this was artistic license or an attempt to depict something real. The facial bones were also changed; they had fewer hollow spaces… in general, Neugieri didn't know much about human anatomy besides the very basics, but this skeleton didn't feel right.

It looked far too filled out. It had solid bone where there should be empty spaces, across its head, neck, and the visible parts of its hands.

In other words, Neugieri easily recognized it as some sort of monster, merely looking like a human skeleton. She has heard of some before.

The skeleton, or Lich, apparently, sat in what could only be described as an obscenely pompous pose. One leg crossed over the other, chin raised, back straight, the posture of someone who was not merely sitting on a throne but performing the act of sitting on a throne for an audience. It was theatrical to a degree that bordered on parody, and yet the painting itself was rendered with enough skill and seriousness that Neugieri couldn't quite dismiss it as a joke.

In one hand, the figure held a bolt of blue fire. Flames jagged, frozen bolt of them, painted with enough detail that Neugieri could almost feel the mana radiating from the canvas. It was gripped casually, as if it weighed nothing and was worth nothing.

The other hand was resting on the armrest of the throne, fingers splayed, and on each finger there was a golden ring. Ten in total. The creature had ten fingers on a single hand, Neugieri realized suddenly.

They caught the light of the painted scene in a way that made them seem almost luminous against the dark bone.

Neugieri stared at it for a few moments.

"That's certainly something," she said.

Hexe, who had waited a few steps ahead, glanced back.

"I am halfway convinced that Albert, too, finds it hilarious," she said, with the tone of a woman who carried a deep-seated annoyance on the subject that she still wished to argue about.

The main doors were propped open, and they stepped outside into the grounds.

The air was colder out here, sharper, carrying the smell of pine that Neugieri had come to associate with the mountains and the Academy. The sky was overcast but bright, which made the piles of snow around the campus all the more clear.

The Academy grounds were modest but well-kept. The wall ran around the perimeter, tall and smooth, and she could see one of the small stone golems making its steady patrol along the top. A few students sat on a bench near the side building, talking in low voices and occasionally glancing towards the gate.

"You'd think a Lord coming to visit was the end of the world," Neugieri observed.

"For some of them, it might as well be," Hexe said, adjusting her hat, which the wind had shifted slightly. "Half of the students come from families who have never answered to a lord. They don't know what it means, so they assume the worst. This region is terribly proud of being those who live off the land by themselves and for themselves." She paused. "The other half come from families who have answered to a lord, and they also assume the worst. Because much like myself, they got used to the generous frontier taxes." She added wrily, "Not that there isn't a good reason to be worried, even for people outside of our Academy. Even though I myself have moved here recently, I have enjoyed greatly how things are done in the region. People lived under the King's laws, and the cities and towns used to sort out their business and solve problems however they chose… having a Lord who is completely clueless about the land being given ownership of it will ruin it. The old power structures in the cities and towns will bicker with the Lord and his men, because ultimately, no one wanted him here, and no one cares for him coming here. Which will likely cause a lot of those old structures to be rooted out…" Hexe observed, her voice growing just a bit quieter, as openly badmouthing high nobility wasn't, strictly speaking, a good idea. "This will turn into a mess; everyone can feel that much."

Neugieri couldn't find it in herself to argue, nor to say anything meaningful on the subject. Frankly speaking, she hated continental politics for this very reason, and loved the independent nature of Äußerst precisely because nobility just wasn't a factor, and the city was very proud of its independence.

It's another matter that the power and independence of the City of Magic were mostly guaranteed by the sheer existence of a single resident living in its basement.

They followed the path around the side of the main building, and as they rounded the corner, Neugieri heard it before she saw it. A sharp, percussive crack, like stone being struck, followed by a scraping sound and then a boy's voice saying something she couldn't quite make out.

Albert was standing in the open area between the main building and the wall, his posture relaxed, his hands at his sides. Opposite him, a boy who looked about fourteen was breathing hard, his feet set in a wide stance, one hand extended with a faint shimmer of mana around his fingers.

The boy cast something. A flash, tight and quick, and a stone the size of a fist launched from the ground near his feet towards a target that had been scratched into the wall. It hit a full arm's length to the left.

Albert said something to the boy, quiet enough that Neugieri couldn't hear it from this distance. The boy nodded, wiped his forehead with his sleeve, and reset his stance.

Hexe stopped walking, and Neugieri stopped beside her.

The Provost watched Albert with an expression that she probably thought betrayed nothing.

But the woman, for all her mature charm, wasn't as subtle as she seemed to think, at least not to Neugieri.

Neugieri had noticed this early on, within the first few weeks of her stay, and it had been consistent ever since. Hexe was a woman who could charm, tease, and manoeuvre around most men without breaking a sweat, and by all accounts had done exactly that for much of her career. She flirted with Albert openly enough that it was clearly deliberate, and the elf responded to it the same way he responded to most social signals, which was to say, not at all.

None of this surprised Neugieri. Her master was an elf, and Serie was, in many ways, worse. At least Albert engaged with people on a daily basis and made an effort. The utter obliviousness to romantic interest was simply what elves were like, and Neugieri had stopped expecting otherwise, even if she was still considering how she could help her master and Albert to clear the air between themselves.

What did surprise her, at least initially, was that Hexe didn't push harder. The woman had every tool at her disposal and clearly knew how to use them, yet she kept herself to light remarks and the occasional lingering look. It was almost restrained, coming from her.

It made Neugieri awfully curious how exactly Albert managed to lure over an alchemist with a successful career over to his institution, what made Hexe accept, and why she acted the way she did.

Neugieri had eventually concluded that Hexe simply understood something that most people didn't, which was that pushing an elf on matters of the heart was about as productive as pushing a mountain. People who lived forever… naturally, wouldn't be easy to convince to care for things the way humans cared for them.

A human and an elf… It's a story that can only end in a horrible tragedy, even if someone who was meant to live for millennia will grow to truly love someone whose lifespan, to them, is comparable to that of a mayfly.

She could only imagine how painful it must be for elves to have friends. This was also why, despite believing that Albert was completely unsuitable for her master, and way less amazing than her… Neugieri still hoped deep down that they would get together one day.

After all, they both had so few people in this world who could make them happy without the inevitable shadow of grief.

There was also something else in the way Hexe watched him now. Not just the fondness, but a quiet exasperation that Neugieri recognized very well, because she had started to feel it herself after a year of working alongside the man.

Albert was the headmaster of an Academy that was understaffed, overcrowded, and about to host a major event while a new lord descended upon the region. He had, apparently, decided that the best use of his time right now was to personally tutor a single fourteen-year-old in the basics of a combat spell.

"He's been at this since before lunch," Hexe said, not quite sighing.

"Of course he has." Neugieri grumbled, putting her face into her hands and groaning, "He could have just asked me!"

"I had three things I needed to discuss with him today," Hexe added, folding her arms, "Two of which are time-sensitive."

Neugieri glanced at the Provost.

"And you're not interrupting him because?" She was honestly curious.

Hexe was quiet for a moment, watching the boy try the spell again. This time, the stone hit closer to the mark. Albert gave a small nod, barely perceptible, and said something that made the boy straighten up with visible pride.

"Because it wouldn't be right," Hexe said simply.

Neugieri looked back at the elf and the boy, and found she agreed. The effort of the boy, the focused, calm expression of the elf teaching him, who looked completely laser-focused on the boy's stance and magic, and nothing else.

They waited.

The boy tried twice more. The last attempt hit the target properly, and even from a distance, Neugieri could see the grin on his face. Albert placed his right hand briefly on the boy's shoulder, a pair of familiar, ornate rings glimmering on his fingers faintly, one decorated with a ruby and the engravings of a moving flame, one with an opal and the vortex.

He said a few words, and the student practically jogged past them towards the main building, offering a hasty "Provost! Professor!" as he went by.

Albert watched him go, then turned and noticed Hexe and Neugieri standing there. The headmaster gestured with his right hand, and briefly, a wave of flames rolled over the spot with the ruined straw target and reduced it to ash almost instantly, then he turned to them.

"I have already decided to move around some of my personal research time for this," he said blandly, with his normal emotionless voice. Only because Neugieri had known the man for a year and knew how he normally spoke, she could tell that he was making excuses, "It shouldn't impact my schedule."

Hexe huffed, folding her arms under her chest.

"Move around where? Albert, I know that you barely sleep as it is," she said, sounding annoyed, but Neugieri could swear she heard a note of honest concern beneath it, "You need to take care of yourself."

"I am perfectly fine with the schedule I have," he responded calmly, with the finality of someone who didn't wish to speak more on the subject.

Neugieri spotted from the corner of her eye the brief, helpless look on Hexe's face. Albert seemed to have noticed it too, for all his daftness, as he hesitated.

"Making do with little sleep… is a habit," he explained slowly, his words sounding as cold and uncaring as always, but a bit awkward, as he was choosing his words, "I understand your concern, and I can appreciate the spirit in which it is given, but… it isn't necessary. I haven't suffered any negative consequences from the way I structure my time for over a century."

That didn't seem to overly reassure Hexe, but Neugieri could also tell that Albert believed that he had said his piece.

This may turn awkward if it continues.

So, thinking quickly, Serie's apprentice decided to break the awkward tension.

She clapped.

"S-so," she said, stuttering briefly, as both the Provost and the Headmaster focused on her, "Not that I mind the small talk, but why exactly am I here?"

Albert and Hexe exchanged a look.

Hexe turned back to Neugieri, her expression settling into something that was equal parts sympathy and amusement.

"Well," she said, glancing at Albert with a smile that was a touch too sweet, "I think the headmaster should be the one to explain. After all, it was his signature on that lovely piece of paper that got us into this." she said, a bit theatrically.

Albert's eyes closed briefly.

It was a small thing, just a fraction of a second, but Neugieri had learned to read these by now. That particular microexpression was annoyance. Not at Hexe specifically, but at the situation in general, and possibly at himself, which was rarer.

"Commander Stolz has formally requested assistance from the Academy," Albert said, opening his eyes and looking at Neugieri directly, "Under the terms of the Valley Defense Pact."

Neugieri blinked.

She had heard of this pact. It had come up in passing a few times over the past year, usually in the context of Hexe grumbling about it.

"The pact that you signed," Hexe added helpfully, tilting her head towards Albert, her voice light and musical in a way that was clearly meant to needle him, "The one where you promised the Valley Guard our help 'whenever needed, in an official capacity.'" She quoted the words with the sort of precision that suggested she had read the document more than once, and resented every reading. "Without, if I may remind everyone present, consulting your Provost first."

"It was necessary at the time," Albert replied simply.

"Oh, I know it was~" Hexe said, waving her hand dismissively, though something in her tone didn't quite match the gesture. Her green eyes lingered on the elf for a moment, and there was a genuine weight there, buried under the playfulness. "I just worry about what 'whenever needed' means when the person who promised it is already stretched as thin as you are." She shook her head, "At least you left the clause of it being renegotiated in ten years."

Albert did not respond to this.

Instead, he continued as if Hexe hadn't spoken, which Neugieri suspected was deliberate. This, too, was one of the ways one can tell when the elf's patience was approaching the limit.

That, or Protos coming to visit, were the biggest tells. 

"It's not discussed widely, but there has been a substantial amount of odd monster activity on the high passes," Albert explained quietly, "There are… other factors that I am sure you will learn later, but what is important is that the Valley Guard hunters aren't equipped to handle the issue. Stolz wants mages from the Academy to assist the Valley Guard in securing the high passes and the more remote approaches to the mountain range," he explained, his tone flat, he sounded just like when he was giving lectures, "The lord's arrival has made this a priority. Normally, those routes are inaccessible to people, but monsters use them freely, and the Guard wants to ensure nothing comes through while the region's attention is focused on the festival and the visit." He shook his head, "The agreement that was made verbally was about me agreeing to assist if any particularly troublesome monster was to show up. However, the wording of the actual paper is ambiguous enough that other members of the Academy could technically also render aid… if I were to allow it."

Neugieri nodded slowly. She could see the logic. The high passes were exactly the sort of place where the hunters of the Valley Guard operated; it was a hostile and difficult environment… that said, having a combat mage with you provided a lot of utility.

If the mage was capable in other ways, like the Headmaster himself, in more ways than one.

"Stolz originally requested the professors. He has already bought the services of most adventurers he could," Albert continued, "Ideally, he wanted at least two of us."

"Which is impossible," Neugieri filled in.

"Which is impossible," Albert confirmed. "I need to be present for the tournament and for the lord's arrival in an official capacity. Hexe and Professor Irre are needed to keep the Academy functioning and to handle any emergencies that may arise, and make sure the students are protected." He paused, just for a moment. "Which left me with a problem."

Neugieri was starting to get a very specific feeling about where this was going.

"Fortunately," Hexe said, and there was a shift in her voice now, a warmth that had nothing to do with Albert and everything to do with the particular brand of mischief that came naturally to the woman, "We heard that a certain captain of the patrol division will be leading the expedition into the passes~"

Neugieri stiffened.

"I don't see what that has to do with anything," she said, a bit too quickly.

Hexe's smile widened. It was the kind of smile that belonged on a cat.

"Oh, don't you? Because I seem to recall that a certain mental mage has been spending quite a lot of her free evenings in Sturmkamm lately." Hexe leaned in slightly, her voice conspiratorial. "And that a certain captain has been spotted riding her back to the Academy gates on more than one occasion."

Neugieri felt heat creeping up the back of her neck.

"I haven't been going after him specifically," she said, her voice carefully measured. She met Hexe's eyes, and then immediately regretted it, because the woman's expression was insufferable. "We just... happen to get along."

"Mhm." Hexe hummed, amused.

"He is an interesting person to talk to." Neugieri tried again.

"I'm sure he is~" the Provost purred.

Neugieri pressed her lips together and said nothing more on the subject, because anything she could add at this point would only make things worse.

She wasn't ashamed of it. She simply hadn't expected it to become a topic of discussion during what was supposed to be a work meeting, and certainly not with those two speaking of it.

Hexe, to her credit, seemed satisfied with the reaction and didn't push further. She straightened up and looked at Albert, gesturing for him to continue.

Albert, who had been standing there with the patience of a stone pillar throughout this exchange, spoke up.

"Hexe's teasing aside," he spoke up simply, the expression on his face growing more serious as he frowned, "The reason she brought up your and Hanseln's relationship is that… Hanseln offered a solution," he explained quietly, "You alone can offer unique skills no other mage can. You are in a unique position as the only one who is better than you in pure combat magic in the Academy, aside from me, is Irre, and he is needed here in the Academy to keep the peace. Besides, at his age, a journey up the mountain is a terrible idea. You are a capable combatant and can use mental magic against monsters, but most importantly… You are capable of controlling animals such as birds of prey and seeing through their eyes; you can keep the near-inaccessible passes under observation singlehandedly without making the Valley Guard invest the terrific amounts of manpower to keep them properly scouted." Albert hesitated for a brief moment before adding more softly, "They would need you there for just a month while they rebuilt a forepost at the southern edge… Hanseln has also agreed to accompany you. Which was convincing enough for Stolz"

Hearing that, Neugieri froze briefly. She opened her mouth, then closed it. The sheer indignation and a flash of anger she felt at Albert's words were hard to describe.

She was indeed working for the Academy; however, having something like that decided for her is…

She took a deep breath and looked at Albert, then at Hexe, then back at Albert.

"You already arranged this," she commented,

Albert met her gaze steadily.

"I did," he admitted, and something in his tone shifted, just barely. Neugieri wouldn't have caught it a year ago, but it was there. "I was in Sturmkamm when the request came through, and I had to respond quickly. This was the best arrangement I could work out on short notice." He paused. "I am sorry I couldn't consult you first, but frankly speaking, there was no time…" Briefly, he seemed to hesitate, "...and Hanseln insisted that you wanted to take a short break from teaching and wanted to see the region anyway."

Neugieri's first instinct was further outrage, an urge to deny it, but… a moment of considering this situation made her pause.

This was true; she was tired of shuffling paper around and… frankly, did want to spend more time with Hanseln. Which she also told him about.

This wasn't a bad arrangement at all. She was still mad about this being agreed on with no input from her whatsoever, but… she also felt like she shouldn't be too mad, as the expedition sounded like a breath of fresh air?

She also couldn't deny that Albert's reasoning was sound. She was indeed doing him a favour working here when Albert didn't have many competent mages to teach… but the elf did a couple of favours for her over the year, big and small ones.

This was clearly the right call, as she knew he had much more on his plate right now than anyone else in the DAMN.

"You… all three of you," she glared at Hexe and Albert, pouting, "Owe me for this."

"Sure thing!~" Hexe said, winking, "I'll offer you a secret catalogue of my wares, choose what you like, and I'll have it made for you before a month is up. I have some interesting things to spice things up in bed, especially sensation-wise~!" the absolutely unholy witch wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, making Neugieri blush scarlet…

…and also feel very curious about what she might mean.

"I am sure the two of you will agree on something," Albert spoke up blandly, making Neugieri jump a bit, and Hexe to let out an amused 'fu-fu-fu' laugh. He looked and sounded uncaring, but somehow she knew he was judging. "As for my part, I will think of some sort of gift to pay you back. Aside from the hazard pay, that is."

Neugieri blinked, a bit stupefied.

"Hazard pay…?" she genuinely wasn't sure what he meant.

As Albert explained the concept of paying her substantially more for doing the work that put her in danger, Neugieri couldn't help but think that she wasn't that mad after all. In general, Albert was a good, fair headmaster!

No matter how much Hexe sighed and whined about him giving away money again.

***

Albert,

I have observed the festivals in Sturmkamm city throughout its history. They were always colorful, loud things.

But today, even the expectations I had for such affairs were being exceeded.

The Bürgermeister Ahnungslos wasn't a man who liked throwing around money just for occasions, I knew that much. If anything, there was a reason Berg complained about him being a 'penny-pinching bastard'. The coin of the city wasn't spent on the things he believed the city could do without.

However, this time it was extravagant all the way through, I knew, because I had been helping to apply defensive enchantments across the new and improved golem arena for the last three weeks, as Zaudern's enchantment masters just couldn't handle the insane schedule.

I could also easily deduce the reason for Ahnungslos making a good impression on the new Lord of the lands - must be critical, hence, his scrambling to turn a measly yearly GolemWarrior tournament into this overblown monstrosity.

Now, standing side by side with Stolz, I was observing Bürgermeister Ahnungslos waiting near the entrance to the Rathaus - the City hall -, flanked by a handful of his helpers and two members of the city council.

The building had been cleaned for the occasion, to the point where the stonework looked almost new. Banners of deep blue with the silver mountain sigil of Sturmkamm hung from the upper windows, and the steps had been swept so thoroughly that I suspected the dust cleaning spell I tended to teach was involved, though it might have just been a very thorough servant.

The street leading from the main gate had been cleared of vendors and carts, with ribbons and pine garlands lining the buildings on both sides. Musicians had been positioned at two points along the route, playing something festive that I found somewhat grating, mostly because they kept cycling through the same three melodies.

Even compared to the yearly Emberwake festival, this was quite impressive.

The people of Sturmkamm lined the road on both sides, held back by a thin row of Glimpflich's city guards. The crowd wasn't cheering, not yet, but it had the low, restless quality of a large number of people who didn't quite know whether they should be excited or nervous, so they settled for being both.

Stolz stood next to me, wearing his formal uniform, which I had only seen on him twice before. He looked stiff and uncomfortable in it, which was probably because it was stiff and uncomfortable.

The older man, even though he was a Valley Guard commander, wasn't someone whom I interacted with frequently, and I didn't have much of an opinion on him, aside from both Hanseln and Berg trusting him.

"Here it is," he said quietly, seemingly more to himself, shifting in place; if not for my inhuman hearing, I wouldn't have heard over the sound of hoofs against the pavement and the people's excited reaction.

The column entered through the main gate.

The vanguard came first, mounted on warhorses rather than traveling animals, large and well-bred with braided manes and polished tack that caught the afternoon light. The riders wore matching livery of dark red and gold, and carried lances upright with pennants that barely moved in the still air.

Behind them came the household proper. More mounted soldiers in heavier armour, and only behind them could I spy a long train of servants on foot and smaller horses, supply wagons, and what I counted as roughly two hundred people in total, though with the column stretched along the road, the exact number was difficult to pin down.

This wasn't literally an army, but it had been a considerable force. I could sense a lot of enchanted items on those people; some of them were armed like very rich adventurers, which I acknowledged almost unconsciously, categorizing threats.

Lord Standhaft rode near the front, though not at its head. He let the vanguard precede him by some distance, which struck me as a practical habit rather than a ceremonial one.

The man was tall, with broad shoulders, a thick neck, and arms that filled his sleeves almost completely. An impressive build, even for a seasoned swordsman.

As he rode closer, I saw it. The faint movement of mana beneath the skin of his exposed forearms as he inspected those meeting him, shifting reflexively as he adjusted his weight in the saddle, and his eyes trailing a bit too quickly.

He was most certainly trained in the warrior arts. Which, for nobility, wasn't unexpected nor rare.

The face of the man was unremarkable, however. Well-groomed but plain, clean-shaven with short practical hair, and neither handsome nor ugly in any way that the eye could latch onto. The only peculiar thing about it was that he had a lot of grey hair woven with his black mane, which created a very odd-looking image… at least from the perspective of my memory on Earth. People here had odder hair colors than that.

His mostly normal look stood in a strange contrast with the rich, gold-embroidered clothing he wore beneath his riding cloak, as if the garments belonged to one man and the face to another entirely.

When still, mounted as he was, he made an impression of a brute whose only asset was his size.

He dismounted, fast for a man of his size. Then he swiftly turned towards the greeting committee, walking towards us with unshakable confidence.

The impression of a brute cracked the moment he landed on his feet. Perhaps not to others, but to a demon like me who is wired to read body language even when I do not wish to.

It was in the way he turned and moved, kept his balance, and his back straight, yet moving with certain grace.

His stride was measured, and each step flowed into the next with the kind of economy that comes from years of training the body to not waste motion. His weight stayed centered, his torso making constant small adjustments that most people wouldn't notice. Yet, he also lacked the rigidness usually associated with common men-in-arms.

His eyes were active. They flicked rapidly from Ahnungslos to the stadtboten behind him, to the council members, to the crowd, to the buildings on either side of the street, and back to Ahnungslos in the span of a few seconds, before he was close enough.

"Lord Standhaft," Ahnungslos said, stepping forward with a practiced smile and a slight bow. "Welcome to Sturmkamm. The city is honoured by your presence."

Standhaft looked at the Bürgermeister.

"Bürgermeister," he said. His voice was deep and resonant, surprisingly clear: "I trust the arrangements are in order."

It wasn't phrased like a question.

"Naturally, my lord," Ahnungslos replied, and to his credit, the man barely flinched at the absence of pleasantries. "We have prepared quarters for you and your retinue, and the tournament can start at any moment. If you would permit me, I would be glad to escort you to the arena myself. The main event will begin then." The man gestured towards the arena arranged in the distance, pleasantly.

Standhaft's gaze passed over the decorated street, the ribbons, the musicians who were doing their best to play louder now that the lord had arrived.

He didn't look overly impressed; if anything, he was remarkably good at keeping his feelings off his face. Yet I believe I could spy some traces of frustration on him; it was in the briefest lines that formed on his cheeks.

"Very well," he said, and began walking.

Ahnungslos had to quicken his pace to keep alongside. The lord did not slow down for him.

Soon, Stolz and I followed at a respectful distance, Ahnungslos's servants hot on our tail.

"Sturmkamm has a long and proud history, my lord," Ahnungslos began, his tone pleasant and respectful but not overly sweet. "Founded over three centuries ago as a mining settlement, the city has grown into the largest in the Donnergipfel, and has served as the administrative center of the region for most of that time." He gestured broadly at the buildings around them. "Trade, mining, and craftsmanship are the backbone of the local economy, and we have recently seen growth in magical services as well, thanks in part to Sir Albert's academy." The Bürgermeister gestured towards me.

Standhaft listened. Yet, he didn't interrupt, didn't nod along, didn't offer the small social acknowledgements that normally grease a conversation. He merely walked, his eyes moved across the street, the buildings, and the crowd with steady attention.

I was spared a single glance by the lord at Ahnungslos's prompt, who glanced behind them, and I caught some curiosity in his stare, but nothing beyond that, before the Lord turned back forward.

It was difficult to tell what the man was thinking.

Ahnungslos continued for a while longer, touching on the dwarven smith clans, Zaudern's enchantment guild, and the agricultural towns in the lower valleys. He was painting a picture of a region that was prosperous, self-sufficient, and well-run, and he was doing it with the competence of someone who had spent decades presenting his city in the best possible light.

When he paused, perhaps expecting a question or a comment, none came. Standhaft simply kept walking and looking around.

I could tell this irritated Ahnungslos, though the man hid it well. The Bürgermeister was used to controlling conversations. He was used to reading people, finding their interests, and steering the discussion accordingly. I've seen him act this way with others.

And I knew he was a bit frustrated with me because that method didn't work as well on me either. Still, he navigated my interests decently well by taking the interests of the Dornpass Academy in mind, which brought him some sense of security, I think.

He clearly didn't have it with the Lord Standhaft.

The lord's face offered nothing, and his silence gave Ahnungslos nothing to work with.

So the Bürgermeister tried a different approach, the way I had seen him do before. He probed.

"We were quite pleased to hear of your appointment, my lord," he said, adjusting his tone to something more conversational. "The region has done well under the crown's direct stewardship, but there is always room for a firmer guiding hand. If I may ask, have you had much opportunity to study the Donnergipfel before your arrival? I would be glad to provide any context that might be useful."

What he meant, of course, was: tell me what you are planning to do with this place.

Standhaft glanced at him, then back at the street.

"Some," he said. "I've read what reports they had in the Capital."

Ahnungslos waited, but nothing else came. The lord apparently considered this a complete answer.

"I see," Ahnungslos said, still smiling. "The reports are useful, certainly, but they don't always capture the character of a region. The Donnergipfel has its own way of doing things, as I'm sure you'll discover. The towns and cities have historically managed their own affairs with some independence, and the people here take a certain pride in that." He let this sit for a moment before adding, with the air of someone making a casual observation, "I imagine it will take some time to decide how best to integrate the existing structures with your administration."

Standhaft was quiet for a few steps. He spared a side glance at the Bürgermeister.

"There isn't much to decide," he said, finally, his tone even and unhurried. "I'll see how things are run. What works will remain. The rest will be adjusted as needed."

"Of course," Ahnungslos said. "And the timeline for these decisions, roughly? There are a lot of people who will want to know what to expect, and it would help me to prepare..."

Standhaft looked at him again, and this time there was the faintest trace of puzzlement in his expression, brief as it was.

"When I've seen enough to form a judgment," he said. "Is there any particular need to rush the matter? Something I should be aware of?"

"No, nothing of that sort, my lord," Ahnungslos replied pleasantly, "It's simply a matter of… influential and rich groups, shall we say, trying to see where the wind blows."

Standhaft didn't look overly amused, nor happy with the comment.

"I will be plain with you," he said, lowering his voice a touch, "If the ones you speak of are merchants and other peddlers, they will wait, as they should." It both did and didn't sound like a threat.

I sincerely wish I didn't have to deal with politics in my current crippled condition; if not for the Protos nuzzling under my mantle, the irritation I would be feeling would have long since grown to a seething rage.

None of this was interesting to me, none of this was pleasant; it was a monotonous, boring routine I couldn't have possibly cared less for.

Yet, here I was, participating in politics. Comprehending it, because I had to, for the project I was already running.

I understood the lord's confusion and stated opinion, even if I suspected Ahnungslos did too.

To him, the question was premature. He had arrived minutes ago. He hadn't seen the city, hadn't inspected the administration, hadn't spoken with the people who ran things. Why would anyone expect him to have answers already?

To Ahnungslos, of course, the uncertainty itself was the problem. As it had been for virtually the majority of the influential people of the city.

So the matter wasn't dropped.

The Bürgermeister pressed on, carefully, rephrasing rather than repeating. He asked about the lord's experience governing other territories. Standhaft answered briefly: he had holdings elsewhere, administered by stewards. He asked about the lord's plans for the Valley Guard. Standhaft said he would assess them. He asked about taxation. Standhaft said the existing arrangements would be reviewed.

Each answer was direct and honest and contained almost nothing.

And with each new question, I could sense a growing, mild displeasure in the man, not anger, but the quiet irritation of someone who felt that his time was being spent on something unnecessary.

Ahnungslos must have felt it too, because he shifted once more, this time to something more pointed.

"My lord, I hope you'll forgive a frank observation," he said, lowering his voice. "The people of the Donnergipfel have governed themselves for a long time. They are proud folk and set in their ways. An open dialogue about your intentions would go a long way towards earning their trust and cooperation." he explained.

For the first time, something settled in Standhaft's expression that was close to genuine engagement with the conversation.

"I'm not in the habit of discussing my intentions before I've acted on them, Bürgermeister," he said, looking straight ahead. His voice was conversational, almost mild. "I find it leads to arguments about things that haven't happened yet, which is a waste of everyone's time." He paused. "I will say this: I was given these lands because the region is too distant from the capital and yet far too prosperous to be owned by no one and nothing. The people here should understand that loyalty to the crown isn't merely a tradition to be proud of, it's a divine duty that is to be followed; the crown and authority were too distant a thing for them for far too long." he explained without heat or emphasis, as if stating something obvious.

Then he fell silent, apparently satisfied that he had said enough, and turned his attention back to the street, clearly done with this particular topic.

Ahnungslos was quiet for a few steps. His expression didn't change, but I could tell through the body language that he was quietly and utterly enraged.

For a while, no one spoke, aside from the serving staff who had met us at the arena and directed the group towards the special seating.

"I am puzzled, the letter said it's a tournament of some kind," Standhaft said, his voice steady, his gaze briefly stopped on the official arena bookmakers, who were loudly collecting coins from the citizens with the colorful boards with team names arranged neatly in front of them.

The man felt genuine disgust, I could tell, as if he was looking at worms wriggling beneath his feet.

"...yet, a tournament between the creations of mages?" He asked, glancing across the servants and gazing upon me. "What is the point of such a thing? It is no martial contest, there is no glory or honor in it; is it not akin to a pair of puppets fighting? Forgive my ignorance, but what is the entertainment here?"

He was clearly addressing me.

"You mistakenly assume that the fights are predetermined merely because the golems fighting are controlled by mages." I pointed out his first fallacy simply, making the man blink a bit surprised, "The fights aren't set; this is a genuine contest of skill. The golems, which in essence are fighting machines that mages control remotely, are designed in advance to be as efficient as possible at destroying other golems as the rules and the skill of the mages who created them allow." I explained simply, "There are two brackets for the tournament, one is for golems operated by mages during the fight, one for the golems not controlled by their creator during the contest itself."

The man seemed to consider my words before nodding.

"I would assume making those golems fight independently… is a separate skill?" he asked, his tone betraying a touch of interest.

I simply nodded.

Seeing that he was still looking at me expectantly, I continued.

"Naturally, the winners of either of the contests prove themselves either more skilled at operating golems or more learned and innovative in designing them, sometimes both." I allowed myself to close my eyes for a moment. "This was the original reason why the competition was created: to give incentive to my students to improve faster and further. As for the reason it became a spectacle, I was told it's because the fights are quite spectacular, involving several meter-tall constructs fighting and sometimes have other magic, some explosive, involved, which people find entertaining." I finished blandly, meeting the man's eyes once more.

We stared into each other's eyes for a few moments until, for some reason, a small smile appeared on his face.

"I see." He turned away, gesturing for the servant to show us the way.

Standhaft moved first, leaving Ahnungslos and me to exchange glances. The Bürgermeister had a very complicated expression on his face, which I couldn't find a way to interpret, before we were forced to follow. 

The ascent was short, mostly because the whole area had been cleared out, we were the first to enter the arena.

The balcony seating was arranged above the general stands, covered by a wooden canopy decorated with the same blue and silver banners as the Rathaus. The seats were simple wooden chairs dressed with cushions and draped fabric, and the view of the arena floor below was unobstructed.

Standhaft's servants and Ahnungslos's people arranged the seating between them, working around each other with the careful attention of two groups who didn't yet know each other's customs. The lord's people were faster and quieter about it.

Standhaft took his seat, straight-backed and still. Ahnungslos positioned himself to the lord's right. Stolz and I were placed further along, to the left of the man.

Below, two teams were making final adjustments to their golems near the entry gates on opposite sides of the arena. One of the teams was from the Academy. We couldn't see either of them from here, but I could sense them.

The barriers I had helped enchant weren't raised, but they would briefly flicker to deflect anything dangerous.

The crowd filled in steadily, the noise of hundreds of conversations blending into a singular murmur that I had grown used to over the years but still found unpleasant.

Ahnungslos, who had been quiet since the exchange on the street, seemed to take the change of setting as an opportunity to try again. He leaned slightly towards the lord, his posture conversational.

"The arena was constructed specifically for this event, my lord. Zaudern's guild provided the structural enchantments, and Sir Albert was kind enough to assist with the barrier work." He gestured down at the enchanted stone panels lining the walls. "What began as a student competition has grown into quite a spectacle. The Bürgermeister's office has been proud to sponsor it. It was a great financial opportunity for us all."

Standhaft glanced down at the arena floor. He looked at the barrier panels, at the teams preparing their constructs. He said nothing.

"The teams competing this year are quite impressive," Ahnungslos continued, undeterred. "Several have been preparing for months, and I'm told the designs have become remarkably sophisticated since..."

"Bürgermeister," Standhaft spoke up, trying, his tone wasn't harsh, merely demanding attention. "I will watch the fights. I implore you, don't peddle it to me like a scammer trying to sell fake gold."

Ahnungslos closed his mouth, nodded once, and sat back in his chair. The smile stayed on his face, but his eyes were still.

For a while, no one spoke. The musicians below, who had been playing an energetic piece, transitioned into a slower one. Standhaft listened for a few moments, tilting his head slightly, before turning to the air beside him.

"Ask them to play Königsmarsch for me," he said.

One of his servants was already moving before the words had fully left his mouth.

Soon enough, the music did change. I found it odd that something called a march could be played with lutes, but I couldn't truly bring myself to complain.

I had yet to replicate the self-playing enchantment of that elven artifact; this was a recent passion project of mine.

Standhaft sat listening for a time, his eyes on the arena but his attention seemingly elsewhere. Below, the golems were nearly in position. The crowd was growing louder.

Then, without much preamble, the lord spoke in my direction.

"I've been told you are an elf, Sir Albert," he said, his gaze still on the arena below. "I admit, I have never seen one of your kind. I believe I've seen a statue made in your honor in the main plaza?" he asked conversationally.

I wasn't too surprised at being addressed; I merely turned my head slightly to see the eyes of a man who spoke to me.

I think I hate that statue.

"It was erected to commemorate the defeat of a powerful monster, back when those lands were still the frontier," I explained in short. "It's an old story that is probably not relevant right now. As for never seeing what of my kind before… I hear that a lot," I share honestly, my voice dry, "This would be because elves are almost extinct." Also true, as long as one considers this claim separate from the previous one.

Once again, I had to acknowledge the lie by omission being made, lesser evil it could be, I would still need to beg for forgiveness for resorting to it.

"I have always wondered about that," the man said, after a time, "Forgive me if I am being rude, but from what I've read, your people are immortal, and aren't inferior to humans in strength of arms nor intellect. The Goddess herself bore the form of an elf when she walked the earth. They say your people are a step away from the divine," he spoke, and his tone was respectful, curious, and calm. "Which brings me to my question: how can your people be almost extinct with such advantages?" he paused for a moment, "If my question brings offense or grief, you may refuse to answer; I will not hold it against you."

I considered the man for a moment before shaking my head softly.

"I don't feel strongly on the matter, so your question does not offend me," I assure him simply and honestly, "The question you propose is a complex one; I can't claim to know the answer. I do, however, have my guesses on the subject."

Seeing the man not interrupt me, I allowed myself a few seconds to gather my thoughts.

"The first matter is that much like a union of a dwarf and a human could never conceive a child, neither can a union of an elf with either of those two races." There was never a recorded instance of a halfbreed existing ever, in the entire recorded history of this world. "Which limits elves to only searching for partners amongst their own kind. I know of five elves who may still be alive." I allowed myself a shrug, "Elves view the time differently, and by human standards may as well lack sexual desires entirely. The combination of those factors makes it incredibly unlikely for elves to ever grow in numbers substantially."

Standhaft seemed taken aback by the number I named entirely, shivering after but a moment.

"Truly? Only five?" he shook his head a moment later, collecting himself, "I knew there weren't many, but… again, feel free to refuse to answer, but how old are you?"

I considered his question for a few moments.

"I would prefer not to say," I said honestly, receiving a simple nod in reply.

Whatever the lord might have said next was cut short by a sound from below that made the entire arena vibrate. A deep, resonant boom, produced by what I recognized as one of Zaudern's enchanted horns, a device the old man had insisted on commissioning specifically for this occasion. It was, in his words, 'hilarious seeing everyone jump' and 'he wanted to use this pointless enchantment since forever'.

The crowd, which had been murmuring and shifting restlessly, erupted into cheers.

I looked down at the judges' platform, which was positioned at ground level on the far side of the arena, shielded behind its own set of barrier panels. Zaudern was already on his feet, which was notable for a man of his age and declining health. He was leaning on the railing with both hands, his white hair catching the wind, and even from up here, I could see the look on his face.

The old guild master looked like a boy on his birthday.

This tournament had become his passion in a way that I hadn't anticipated when I first allowed the student competitions to grow beyond the Academy walls. The man had poured money, time, and the considerable resources of his guild into turning what was originally a teaching exercise into something he could be proud of, and I understood why, at least intellectually. Unlike the bread-and-butter enchantment work that had sustained his guild for decades, this made his heart beat. He had told me as much, more than once.

Beside Zaudern sat two of his senior enchanters who served as technical judges, and a woman from the city council whom Ahnungslos had appointed to oversee the judgements being made so the betting wouldn't make judges collude.

The bookmakers below the stands were doing brisk business; their colorful boards were surrounded by people waving coins.

Zaudern raised his hand, and the crowd noise dimmed, though it didn't die. The old man's voice, amplified by a spell, rang out across the arena.

"First bout! Operated bracket!" he announced, and the enthusiasm in his voice was almost embarrassing for a man of his station. "Team Iron Fist and their golem Hammerfall, representing the Sturmkamm Enchanter's Guild, against Team Tortoise and their golem The Kiln, representing the DAMN… and their forever damn'ed student body!"

One of my teams. Not the one I had the highest expectations for, but they were solid, and their design was clever.

The gates on opposite sides of the arena opened, and the golems were brought forward.

For me, the greatest issue with this tournament was that I was directly involved in it. To be more precise, I was on a safety commission that got to decide which golem designs were safe to field and if they adhered to the ever-extending rules. This commission existed shortly after last year's first big tournament in the arena, when some adventurers filled a stone shell with hellstone potions, animated it just enough to walk, and called it a golem.

How the spectators of that match didn't die in the resulting explosion was a general miracle of the Lord.

In any case, due to having the responsibility of making sure that the submitted golem designs are at least on paper and primary inspection wasn't about to kill their own piloting team and everyone else in the blast zone, I roughly knew the capabilities of each golem that was about to fight.

Which sucked any semblance of interest or intrigue out of this for me.

The gates on opposite sides of the arena opened, and the golems were brought forward.

The guild team's construct came first. Hammerfall, as they named it. It was squat and immensely heavy, built like a block of dark iron on four thick legs that barely lifted it off the ground. The body was essentially a cube, featureless aside from two arms mounted on top that ended in flat, broad heads, like the hammers blacksmiths used on anvils, except each one was larger than a man's torso. The arms were connected to the body through a system of joints that I recognized as a simplified version of a design I had covered in a lecture two months ago.

I wasn't too surprised, as my golemomancy class was attended by most of the participants of this tournament, be they from the guild, actual Academy Students, or even adventurers. For that reason, I have also made lectures on golemomancy free to attend by anyone.

The real trick of that golem was the spell integrated into its structure.

A gravity enchantment, layered into the hammer-heads, that would multiply the weight of whatever surface they pressed against. The longer the contact held, the heavier the force became. A single clean hit from this would be powerful.

But the enchantment was designed to create a sustained press that would crush anything beneath it into rubble. The downside was that the hammer-heads themselves would inevitably crack and be destroyed, which was why they were replaceable after each match, and why the golem had a few.

Its cube-like design was also due to how much space they needed to write this enchantment in, as magic that manipulated weight was borderline Mythical Era level of complexity.

The Academy team's golem emerged second, and several people in the crowd made audible sounds of confusion.

The Kiln, as the students had named it, was long. Very long. Perhaps five meters from end to end, segmented like the body of a centipede, with dozens of short stone legs running along its underside. The segments were pale stone, rounded and smooth, connected by joints that gave the whole body a fluid, unsettling flexibility. It had no arms, no obvious weapons. The front segment was just slightly wider than the rest, featureless except for a groove that might have served as a sensor housing.

This golem was designed after a Schattenbrand, as the students told me. Apparently, they were very impressed with my description of the creature during the lecture.

The golem couldn't replicate its structure or size, but could somewhat emulate the concept. The material this golem was made from was alchemy-worked stone, relatively brittle, but incredibly temperature-resistant. The outer pale granite was actually the reinforced segment that was designed to melt off during the fight. The majority of the space inside the creature's body was one, single, thermal-generating spell. It was designed to wrap around its target and then bring in the heat.

The idea was that the other golem would melt first, as it wasn't designed specifically to endure the high temperature.

I honestly was proud of the students' efforts, but it's because of this team in particular that I had to spend two entire days modifying air-venting spells around the lower levels so people wouldn't feel like they were in a furnace.

Zaudern raised his arm, held it for a moment, and brought it down.

The crowd roared.

The anvil didn't move much. It shifted its weight forward, adjusting its facing, and waited. This was the right decision on the part of the guild team; the thing wasn't built for movement or chase, and trying to pursue a five-meter centipede across an arena floor would only leave it exposed.

The centipede circled. It moved with an unpleasant, fluid speed along the arena's edge, its dozens of short legs carrying it in a wide arc that forced the anvil to keep turning. The guild team tracked it well, keeping the construct's front and both hammer arms oriented towards the approaching thing at all times.

For perhaps thirty seconds, neither golem committed, and the crowd grew restless.

Then the centipede surged inward.

It came in low and fast, crossing the gap in moments, and the anvil's operator brought the right hammer arm down immediately. The timing was good; the heavy arm descended on the centipede's front segment with a crack that echoed across the arena.

The pale granite casing of the front segment shattered on impact, pieces of it scattering across the arena floor, and a cheer went up from the guild team's supporters. The gravity enchantment pressed into the exposed segment beneath, and I could see the stone beginning to buckle under the mounting weight, but…

The centipede whipped itself forward, the damaged front segment dragging against the ground as the body behind it flowed around the anvil's planted arm. The children were sacrificing the lead segment entirely, using the hammer's own sustained contact against it as an anchor point while the rest of the body coiled around the target.

The guild team had the golem bring the second arm down on the centipede's midsection. Another crack, another shower of pale granite fragments. The outer casing of two more segments broke apart under the blow.

By then, the centipede had already wrapped halfway around the anvil's body, and its operator activated the thermal spell.

The effect was almost immediately noticeable.

The segments in contact with the anvil's iron plating began to shed their remaining outer shells on their own, the pale granite layer cracking and falling away in chunks as the heat from within made it expand and separate from the core. What was left beneath was a darker, rougher stone that glowed a faint, deep red.

This was what the outer shell was for. It wasn't armour, not really. It was insulation, keeping the thermal spell's heat contained until the moment of contact.

The spell was active and slowly building up heat from the start of the match; it was merely operating beneath the shelf, unnoticeable.

And when it broke away, whether from the anvil's hits or from the golem's own heat, the full temperature of the core segments was suddenly pressed directly against whatever they were touching.

The iron plating on the anvil's left side began to discolour almost immediately, shifting from dark grey to a sickly orange.

The crowd noise changed, grew louder and more uncertain, as people in the lower stands could feel the heat even despite the overtime work. My air-venting spells were earning their keep.

The anvil's operator tried to pull free. The construct's legs churned against the arena floor, but the centipede had coiled too tightly, and the segments that had lost their outer shells were now pressing bare thermal stone against the iron from three sides. I could hear the metal groaning as it warped.

The right hammer-arm rose for another strike, but it moved slowly now. The heat was reaching the joints, and whatever lubricant the guild team had used in the piston mechanisms was either boiling or had already burned away.

The arm came down on the centipede's body one more time, cracking another segment, but the force behind it was a fraction of what the first blow had been.

Then something inside the anvil gave way with a sound that was less of a crack and more of a long, wet hiss. The iron plating on the left side sagged inward, glowing brightly, and a moment later, a section of it simply folded in on itself, exposing the internal structure beneath. I could see the enchantment arrays etched into the inner walls, the stone core that held the construct together, and all of it was glowing, softening, losing shape.

The anvil's arms dropped.

Its legs buckled a moment later, and the entire construct sank onto the arena floor with a heavy, final sound, still wrapped in the centipede's coils. The iron continued to deform, slowly, the edges of the plating curling like paper held too close to a candle.

Zaudern called the match.

The centipede's operator cut the thermal spell, and what was left of the construct slowly uncoiled from the remains of the anvil, dragging itself away on the legs that still functioned. It had lost its front segment entirely, and three others were cracked or stripped of their outer casing.

It looked like it had barely survived the encounter. Which is what I warned those students would happen, I doubted they would be able to fully repair in a day that they have until their next match.

The anvil looked considerably worse. What remained on the arena floor was a lopsided mass of warped iron and half-melted stone that bore very little resemblance to the cube that had entered the arena minutes ago.

The crowd was loud. Standhaft, beside me, was watching the remains of the anvil with an expression that I could only describe as genuinely interested.

"Brutal," he observed. "This centipede contraption… would genuinely be an incredibly difficult opponent to face."

I wasn't surprised by his comment; it was designed for the most troublesome feature Schattenbrand had, which was its heat, which existed to make warriors unable to face it directly.

"Is there a reason why mages don't use… such monstrosities more often?" the lord asked, clearly addressing me.

"They are expensive, take months to build, sometimes days to repair, and this one," I nodded towards the Kiln, "Will last at best ten engagements until it will have to be rebuilt from scratch… which took this team four weeks in enchantment work alone."

The man blinked, clearly not expecting the breakdown's detail, before snorting.

"So those aren't usable war machines, and more of a…" he hesitated visibly, making an abstract gesture with his hand, "Art pieces?"

"In a way," I answered blandly, turning towards the arena where the remains were being cleaned up. "You can view them as that, or as instruments designed specifically to win those few fights, no matter the cost. Both views are objectively correct."

That made the man let out a dry chuckle.

"I suppose coin is quite an incentive," he said, his voice growing a touch detached, "This was the most pleasant part of the city so far, in any case."

"Are you perhaps… not quite happy with Sturmkamm?" Bürgermeister found the time to speak up and joined the conversation.

"Peace, Bürgermeister, the fault isn't with your city," The man said, glancing towards him, "I simply dislike towns and cities alike." he finished a bit grimly.

I could tell that the discussion was turning awkward, so I spoke up to switch the man's attention to myself.

"I can understand that sentiment," I offered, "I am much the same."

The lord seemed surprised, if just a touch at my words, as he turned towards me.

He hummed quietly.

"I see. Would you mind if I asked why, master Elf?" he asked, with a curious tone.

"Cities and towns… both are noisy," I explained after a few seconds. "There are simply a great many tiny things that irritate me all the time in them, and that frustration builds up." I glanced at the noble, raising an eyebrow to outline my own curiosity, dwindling as it was, "Allow me to mirror your question, if you will, why do you dislike cities?"

Standhaft considered me for a few moments, nodding slowly to my explanation.

"I suppose there are many reasons, it's hard for me to abridge them as eloquently," he offered, clearly considering, "But if I were to name one thing, I suppose I am bothered most by the degenerate pederasts and deviants of all kinds, who inevitably grow bold in such places without a more honest community to hold them accountable before the laws mundane and divine, until inevitably they infest even positions of power with their taint." the man said, his voice growing hard and cold.

In the ensuing silence, he blinked slowly, glancing towards the Ahnungslos.

"No accusations intended towards you, Bürgermeister, I am sure you are a Goddess-fearing family man. It is just that in my age, one grows to recognize patterns," he said, steel appearing in his voice, "And grow incredibly weary of them, to the point I am ready to liberate heads quite deliberately, pardon my pun, at the sight of certain kinds of moral degeneration."

I considered the man's voice in the stunned silence that followed. Even if I felt nothing, mostly thanks to the still feasting chimera, who was specifically instructed not to eat anyone else's emotions today, I could still intellectually understand that the lord, proverbially speaking, came out of nowhere swinging pretty heavy accusations.

"While I agree with the sentiment, would you care to enlighten me as to what you mean exactly?" I asked with honest confusion, "I admit I am not the most educated on the subject, but how does degeneracy correlate to bigger settlements specifically?"

The Lord glanced towards me.

What followed was a lecture that wasn't interrupted even as the next match started, and the one after that.

The man spoke calmly, with a face that barely changed expression; it wasn't him arguing his case with passion or frustration, merely stating the obvious, sharing what he believed was an obvious observation.

It started describing the moral decay of the so-called free-thinking bürger, that is, a citizen of a city, of the importance and role of a feudal lord for the community of villages, and the villages for the feudal lord and his family, a view of his lands, self, and the Goddess.

He patiently spoke of the good in the common peasant, and how the frivolous atmosphere and the lack of responsibility of the city life inevitably perverted him; he spoke of the parasites that were commodity traders, but especially bankers and other speculators, who he despised, for they were men and women who held no value and did no service he recognized as valuable.

In other words, I received a pretty long-winded, well-argued lecture on the merits of feudal society, and of the virtues of the good, Goddess-chosen values it organically promoted, and how the cities inevitably tended to make a mockery of them.

Were I still the other me, a human man who studied history, I would've wanted to catalogue every single word of this man, committing it first to memory and to paper, and to have a lot of long, productive discussions and interviews with him.

After all, I was talking with a direct analogue of William Marshal, a quintessential feudal… who, for this era, might have been just a bit old-fashioned, but as the old me was concerned, was a treasure trove of thoughts and a mindset that the man of the 21st century had trouble comprehending fully.

It is mostly in memory of that other Albert that I kept politely asking questions and engaging in discussion.

I may as well record what I learn, paper in this world was cheaper than knowledge. 

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Author Notes: And finally, I can slowly start to pick up speed with this arc.

Again, technically, no big action pieces in this chapter, and some more setup, but soon it will start paying off. I hope this is engaging enough as is, as things are happening in those chapters, even if the timeskips may look a bit wild.

This chapter is also colossal, again. I have hoped that the next chapter will be smaller. It isn't.

I also start to move the plot rapidly starting next chapter.

So the usual, check out the next chapter on Patreon.