Chapter 140. A Catastrophe Brought Upon Oneself
"Remember this, Brant. The best course of action is to send him back immediately. Make it clear that the special lecture is unnecessary. The fate of our History Department—and perhaps the entire academy—rests on your shoulders."
Brant, Ulysses's assistant, replayed Professor Ulysses's firm words in his mind as he briskly walked through the streets of the capital that morning.
The city was alive with action, the scent of freshly baked bread mingling with the hustle of people rushing to their workplaces. It was rare for Brant to be out and about so early, but today was no ordinary day. He was on his way to escort a very important guest.
Caron Leston, Brant thought.
The youngest of the famed Ducal Family of Leston. This was the man who had freed Reben from the tyranny of its oppressive lord and earned the recognition of the formidable Queen of the southern seas. Caron Leston was a living legend, and even here in the capital, his name was on everyone's lips.
The thought of meeting him in person filled Brant with a strange mix of nerves and excitement. He couldn't understand why Professor Ulysses was so wary, as to Brant, Caron was a radiant hero—a figure straight out of a tale of glory.
"Is this the place?" he murmured as he came to a stop in front of a small establishment.
"Phileas."
The sign above the door bore an ancient word meaning "liberation." It was a modest tavern, neither overly large nor particularly small.
The idea of a hero spending his morning in a tavern felt oddly out of place, but Brant pushed aside his doubts and stepped inside, the door creaking open as a tiny bell chimed.
What greeted him was chaos. Men lay sprawled across the floor, foaming at the mouth, while a young man who seemed to be the owner stood trembling behind the counter.
Brant froze for a moment before shouting in alarm, "Should I call the city security—"
Before he could finish, the young owner frantically waved his hands and said, "No, no, that's not necessary. Everything is fine!"
"What happened here?" Brant asked, his voice edged with disbelief.
"J-Just... a minor disturbance," the owner stuttered. "But, uh... Who are you? We don't usually serve breakfast at this hour—"
A cheerful voice called out from deeper inside the tavern, cutting him off. "Oh, it's fine. He's my guest. Could you guide him in?"
The owner's face paled further as realization dawned, and he said, "Ah! You're the Young Master's guest. Right this way, sir!"
And then, Brant saw him.
Shiny blonde hair, and blue eyes that glowed brightly even in the dim light... It was truly a sculpted appearance. And on top of that, well-defined forearm muscles were revealed by his sleeves that were rolled halfway up. The young man's appearance was so impressive that it drew admiration just from looking at him.
Ah, that person is Caron Leston, Brant thought. The realization hit him like a wave. This was the man whose exploits had shaken the empire.
Quickly regaining his composure, Brant adjusted his attire, straightening his posture. He bowed deeply, his voice steady but reverent. "Good morning. My name is Brant Leang, assistant to Professor Ulysses. It is an honor to meet you, Lord Caron Leston."
"Have you had breakfast, Mr. Brant?" Caron asked with a bright smile.
"No, not yet..." Brant replied hesitantly.
"This stew just came out of the kitchen. I haven't touched it, so please, help yourself. Here, take a seat," Caron said, pulling out a chair with a squeak.
Brant hesitated, glancing uneasily at the unconscious men sprawled behind the chair. Despite his reservations, he couldn't find it in himself to refuse. With a sheepish nod, he took a seat next to Caron.
"This place has been around for three generations, so their cooking is excellent," Caron continued, gesturing to the stew. "I even asked them to load it with meat, so enjoy as much as you like."
"Thank... you," Brant murmured, unsure of how else to respond.
Just as Caron said, the stew was loaded with an almost absurd amount of meat. Scooping up a cautious spoonful, Brant took a bite. The rich, savory broth and perfectly tender meat melted in his mouth, their flavors blending harmoniously. It was clear that this was indeed a gem of a place.
As he put the spoon in the stew, his eyes drifted across the table, quickly landing on the stack of empty liquor bottles piled high. He wondered if Caron had been drinking all night.
It seemed less like the behavior of a hero and more like...
A typical noble troublemaker, Brant thought uneasily.
But that wasn't it.
"Ah, there's nothing like a drink first thing in the morning. Would you like a glass too, Mr. Brant?" Caron offered.
Brant had been able to smell an incredible amount of alcohol for a while, and thought that it came from Caron after having downed the liquor in his cup. Brant replied, "I'm fine, thank you. But, Lord Caron... Those men lying on the floor—"
"Hmm? Oh, them?" Caron interrupted nonchalantly, nudging one of the unconscious men with the scabbard of his sword, then smiled.
"They're just some thugs I ran into on the streets. I guess they thought I was an easy target and decided to proposition me. I played along out of curiosity, but would you believe it? They spiked my drink with drugs!" he explained.
"Drugs?" Brant's eyes widened.
"Yeah. It's a common scam—kidnapping naive nobles fresh from the provinces and extorting ransom money. It's risky business, but lucrative enough for some to gamble their lives on it. That's why they say you need to keep your wits about you in the capital," Caron said.
"Don't tell me... You killed them..." Brant's voice faltered.
"No, I just forced them to drink cheap whiskey until they passed out," Caron said with a chuckle. Gesturing to the tavern around them, he added, "Thought I'd help this place boost its sales while I was at it."
Brant couldn't help but glance around skeptically. This didn't seem like the sort of place a noble heir would frequent—it was a modest tavern more suited to common folk.
"Professor Ulysses sent you, right?" Caron asked.
"Yes, Professor Ulysses asked me to relay a message. He said there's no need for you to trouble yourself with a special lecture. If it's too inconvenient—" Brant began, but was cut off.
"I owe a lot to Professor Ulysses from my youth," Caron interrupted, his voice firm despite the lingering traces of alcohol. "As his student, it's only right to repay that debt. I can't just turn back now after coming all this way."
Caron's resolute nod filled the air with a strong whiff of alcohol. Mustering his courage, Brant ventured cautiously, "Since you've had quite a bit to drink, perhaps it would be better to rest at a lodging—"
"Oh, this?" Caron cut in with a grin. It was then that a brief blue flame flickered at his fingertips, and soon the smell of alcohol that had been coming from him completely disappeared.
"There. Good as new," Caron said.
"H-How... How did you do that?" Brant stuttered, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"I just gathered the intoxication into one spot and burned it away with mana," Caron explained casually, brushing his hands together. "It's a simple trick anyone above 6-Star can manage. Oh, hold on a second."
Reaching for the pouch at his waist, Caron rummaged through it briefly. Then, after a few moments...
Thud.
A massive bald man tumbled out of the pouch, hitting the ground.
"I-It's so c-cold... Please... S-Spare me..." the man whimpered as he looked around the store, his body trembling as frost clung to his skin.
"Huh, so it is possible for someone to survive inside the pouch of dimensional space. The experiment was successful. This could come in handy," Caron remarked with an impressed nod.
He smiled contentedly. Then, without mercy, he struck the back of the man's head with the scabbard.
"Urgh!" The man collapsed in a heap, utterly unconscious.
Satisfied, Caron grinned and stood up, then called out, "Owner! The bill, please."
The tavern owner, who had been keeping his distance, quickly scurried forward and said, "Y-Yes, right away."
"You've had quite a rough time because of me," Caron said with a smile. "Call the security and have these thugs hauled off. Oh, and here."
He tossed a pouch heavy with gold coins into the owner's trembling hands.
"T-This is far too much..." the owner stuttered, his voice shaking.
"Just take it. Consider it an advance payment; I'll be back for stew from time to time. If you refuse, I'll drop by every single day," Caron added, his tone both teasing and deadly serious.
The owner, swallowing hard, reluctantly accepted the pouch and replied, "Th-Thank you. Truly, thank you so much..."
"I'll see you again!" Caron said cheerfully, turning to Brant. "Mr. Brant, shall we?"
"Yes, of course," Brant replied, trailing after him as they left the tavern. As they walked, he glanced at Caron and said, "It seems you've been to that tavern quite often."
"This was my first time, actually," Caron said, his voice light.
"But earlier, you said you were a regular..." Brant began.
"Ah, that?" Caron smirked, a nostalgic glimmer in his eyes.
In truth, this tavern was a place he had visited in his previous life whenever he craved a quiet drink. The kindhearted previous owner would silently bring him stew, adding to the homely atmosphere of the place. Now, it seemed, the owner's grandson had taken over.
"Let's just call it a sentimental payment," Caron said, his smile soft.
"Memories?" Brant asked, his brows furrowed.
"Something like that. Come on, we've got places to be," Caron said, stretching his arms before turning to face Brant with a renewed energy.
"To the academy."
***
The Imperial Academy was a prestigious institution with a long history, and stood as a beacon of excellence in the empire. Caron arrived at the academy alongside Brant, his gaze sweeping leisurely across the surroundings.
To the east of the academy rose the towering Imperial Magic Tower, while the western side bordered the walls of the royal palace. As expected of the empire's finest educational institution, students clad in uniforms bustled around, their movements brisk and purposeful.
"Our Imperial Academy operates with the mission of nurturing the talents who will shoulder the empire's next century—" Brant began earnestly.
"Brant," Caron interrupted.
"Yes, Lord Caron?" Brant answered.
"I already know how impressive this place is, so let's skip the introductions," Caron said, waving off the explanation.
After all, anyone living in the empire would be familiar with what this place represented—a core institution for training individuals in magic, swordsmanship, and various academic disciplines critical to the empire.
The academy accepted students as young as eight years old, and although commoners were eligible, they had to pass rigorous exams to gain entry. For those from noble families or wealthy households, generous donations could bypass such trials. Most noble families, with the exception of elite houses like the Ducal Family of Leston that valued private education, sent their children here.
In simpler terms, Caron thought, the academy was...
"A place where kids learn all the worst habits from a young age. Isn't that right, Brant?"
Caron's disdain was evident.
This was an academy where students formed factions and fought like adults, openly disregarded commoners, and engaged in other behaviors that could be called a microcosm of imperial society.
"The academy's founding principle is equality. Within these walls, everyone is merely a student," Brant explained with a wry smile, though his tone betrayed a hint of defensiveness.
"Really?" Caron replied, his lips curling into a skeptical smile. He gestured ahead with a casual flick of his finger. "I don't think the students over there got the memo."
Ahead of them, a group of uniformed students stood gathered, their voices carrying over to Caron's sharp ears.
"You're only here because our family's donations pay for your scholarship, so maybe you should show some gratitude instead of acting all high and mighty."
"A pathetic nobody who wouldn't even dare meet our eyes outside the academy walls. How disgusting.
"It's revolting to even breathe the same air as you. I really don't understand why we have to take classes with these commoners..."
The scene painted itself vividly in Caron's mind: Arrogant nobles, raised to believe in their innate superiority, delighting in lording over others. It was as predictable as it was tiresome.
Watching the scene unfold, Caron chuckled to himself and said, "What a bright and hopeful atmosphere this place has."
"...Excuse me for a moment," Brant said, his expression tightening.
"What are you planning to do?" Caron asked, intrigued.
"Assistants like myself are granted the authority of instructors within the academy. It's my duty to correct such behavior. Please wait here for a moment."
"By all means," Caron said, stepping aside with an amused smile.
Brant hurried toward the group of students, his tone calm but firm as he addressed them, "As students of the Imperial Academy, I expect you to maintain your dignity. Remember, there are many eyes watching you."
However, the students responded with little more than mocking laughter, their sneers unrepentant.
"Are you siding with him just because you're a commoner too?"
"Birds of a feather, huh? It's nice to see solidarity."
"My brother told me you were just like that during his school days..."
The noble students sneered, exchanging jabs and laughing as if Brant's efforts to correct their behavior were nothing more than a source of amusement. Despite his diligent attempts to remind them of the academy's rules, they merely mocked him further, their attitude dripping with disdain.
One of the unruly boys even kicked the fallen commoner student as if to put on a show. Brant's words, it seemed, carried no weight. Perhaps it was because he, too, was born as a commoner. The lack of respect for authority was palpable.
Watching this farce, Caron clicked his tongue and shook his head in exasperation. He muttered, "The future of the empire looks bright."
Perhaps because Caron had been too busy lately, it seemed he'd lost sight of his original resolve. He said to himself, "I knew coming here would've been a good idea."
The academy had turned out to be a veritable breeding ground for budding troublemakers. If he'd known this sooner, he would have made it a habit to visit regularly.
"Brant, what are you doing over there?" Caron called out cheerfully, striding toward him.
Brant raised a hand hurriedly to stop him, then said, "Lord Caron, this is my responsibility. There's no need for you to—"
"You're wrong," Caron interrupted, a wide grin spreading across his face. "This isn't your problem. It's mine. Do you know why?"
"...Pardon?" Brant asked, taken aback.
" I suffer from an incurable condition," Caron declared, his tone lighthearted. "I simply can't walk past promising young troublemakers without doing something about it. Consider it a sort of disease."
Before Brant could respond, Caron was already standing before the group of noble students, looking down at them with a satisfied expression. He estimated that the students couldn't be older than thirteen.
The boys scowled up at him, their faces full of adolescent defiance.
"And who are you?" one of them demanded, his tone dripping with teenage rebellion.
Caron, however, merely smiled kindly and nodded. He said, "Don't worry, boys. You've just caught a bit of a bug. But don't fret—my cousin used to be just like you, and he got better."
The most brash of the group scoffed and crossed his arms, then asked, "Do you even know who my father is?"
"Congratulations," Caron said, his grin widening. "You're first."
"First for wh—"
Smack!
The sound of the slap echoed across the courtyard. The boy's words were cut off as Caron's hand connected with his cheek, sending him sprawling to the ground. He foamed at the mouth briefly before falling unconscious.
It all happened in an instant.
As if on cue, knights stationed nearby noticed the commotion and began rushing toward the scene, shouting.
"The young master has been attacked!"
"Subdue that lunatic!"
"Hurry!"
The atmosphere grew chaotic as the knights closed in.
Caron turned to Brant, who stood frozen in shock, and waved at him nonchalantly. He said, "I've just improved your authority at the academy. You're welcome. No charge—it's volunteer work."
At that moment, Brant finally understood why Professor Ulysses had spoken of Caron with such trepidation. The boy Caron had just slapped into unconsciousness wasn't just any student. He was the third son of Marquis Leroy, the empire's Minister of Finance and one of the most powerful figures in the realm.
There was no way this incident would end quietly.
Professor, it's too late now, Brant thought with a sinking heart.
This man was a walking bomb—a massive one wrapped in the guise of a hero.
"Now it's your turn," Caron said, beaming brightly at the remaining noble students.
The boys froze and stared at him, too terrified to speak.
Caron's smile didn't falter. The mad dog showed no mercy—not even to children. Reinvigorated with his rediscovered resolve, Caron was utterly ruthless.