novelraw Chapter 103: Confession
Chapter 103: Confession
Tuesday's course was not for first-years but the Advanced Magic class for second-years. Although it bore the name "Advanced," it still fell within what Fischer considered basic territory, so teaching it came easily.
His rules were no different from the first-year course. The second-years, however, raised no objections whatsoever — they dared neither to speak out nor to grumble. Even if something felt unfamiliar, they simply gritted their teeth and steeled themselves.
The first reason was that their class had no one of Isabel's caliber — no princess willing to stick her neck out.
The second reason was that they were the Magic Academy's inaugural class. They understood Saint-Nazareth University's circumstances better than anyone. What they craved was simply having classes to attend; as long as there were classes, everything else was negotiable.
Not only did they now have classes, but they were being taught by Fischer Benavides — the personal apprentice of Grand Mage Helson himself. Others couldn't get into this course if they tried. Of course they would treasure the opportunity. Whatever minor grievances arose, they simply swallowed them.
Under Fischer's guidance the session flew by. Several students even gathered at the lectern afterward, reluctant to leave, peppering him with questions that had arisen during the lecture.
By the time Fischer had answered them all, it was nearly half past twelve.
Fischer rubbed his shoulder, then returned to his office and crafted a small messenger — this one for the artificial Witch Karo.
A "messenger" was essentially a directional magical device that locked onto both parties as an information medium. Its craft level was roughly what these students might achieve by graduation.
By the time they graduated, they could probably make a rudimentary messenger. If speed and simplicity were the priority, a paper airplane would suffice. For frequent use, more complex magical materials were required.Since this messenger was for Karo — and unlikely to see heavy use — Fischer casually tore a sheet of paper, folded it into a paper airplane, engraved the magic onto it, and called it done.
After handing the messenger off to a Harte bird, he set out for lunch.
The university had a dedicated cafeteria. Fischer found a seat at random and sat down to eat, only to spot a middle-aged man in a large black hat walking in — his colleague Roger, whom he'd met in the office just yesterday.
"Hey, Mr. Fischer! You're eating late, too?"
Roger noticed Fischer and came over, ordered a plate of chicken noodles from the server, and sat down across from him with an amiable air.
The weather outside was sweltering. Once inside the cafeteria, he hastily pulled off the oversized black hat — the traditional mark of a mage — and fanned himself with it.
"Yes, students held me up. Why are you dressed like that today?"
"Ah, that's actually what I wanted to tell you." Roger glanced down at his mage's robe and grinned at Fischer. "Saint-Nazareth's Gothrin Festival is right around the corner, and the school's holding a pre-celebration this afternoon through the evening. After all, we'll all be on holiday during the actual festival."
"I see."
Fischer's lunch arrived. He listened politely but had zero desire to attend.
The Gothrin Festival marked the birthday and coronation of Gothrin the First. To honor the king whose renown had once resounded across the continent, the people had made each anniversary a national celebration. Traditional activities included jousting, poetry recitals, and food fairs. It was one of Naris's few major holidays.
The royal family would also appear in person at Saint-Nazareth's largest ceremonial grounds to celebrate alongside the public.
In the past two years the king himself had attended, but his health had deteriorated so badly that the duty had gradually shifted to the prince.
"Our university is a place the king prizes greatly. This year, the Crown Princess herself will come to celebrate with us! I hear it was decided just this morning — quite the surprise. Last year they only sent a royal spokesperson. Won't you join me for the afternoon activities, Mr. Fischer?"
Isabel was technically a princess too, but when ordinary citizens spoke of "the princess," they invariably meant Her Highness Elizabeth.
Isabel was still young and had rarely appeared in public. As a child, the king had regularly held her during New Year addresses. Now that she was older, her public appearances had actually grown fewer.
So — Elizabeth would be here this afternoon?
Hearing Roger's words, Fischer did not reply. Instead, his eating faltered for a beat. He suddenly looked up, scanning the cafeteria as though he already knew what he'd find.
Sure enough, he quickly spotted several soldiers in white Royal Guard uniforms outside the cafeteria. They were peering inside; their eyes met Fischer's, and they bowed to him before stationing themselves at the entrance.
Fischer turned back to Roger and said, somewhat wryly.
"Let me guess — running into me here wasn't a coincidence. You were sent by Princess Elizabeth's soldiers to find me, and the purpose is to drag me to this afternoon's event."
Roger scratched his nose. Clearly aware of Fischer's perceptiveness, he gave a helpless, self-deprecating smile.
"Princess Elizabeth's soldiers found me first thing this morning. They said they absolutely had to bring you to the event. The princess had other matters to attend to this morning, and she said if she wasn't there you'd bolt — so she had me come ahead and keep you company. She'll be here any minute."
Knowing escape was futile, Fischer sighed and spooned another bite of food into his mouth. Roger glanced at the soldiers outside and whispered.
"I've long known there was something unusual between you and Princess Elizabeth, Mr. Fischer. She's probably coming here in person because of you. To be honest, Princess Elizabeth really is an excellent match. His Majesty's health is declining by the day. Even though Princess Elizabeth is unlikely to inherit the throne, her status afterward will only rise..."
Fischer shot him a look. "Did she tell you to say that, too?"
"I wouldn't dare! The affairs of distinguished people like you are way above my station. That was just a bit of gentlemanly advice."
Fischer offered no response. At this moment he was actually somewhat grateful that he'd told Renee to stay home and rest. Hopefully she would actually listen and not go out.
Lunch passed quickly. Fischer dabbed his lips, excused himself from Roger, and walked toward the soldiers. He bore no grudge against Roger — he knew that given a choice, Roger would never have taken part in something like this.
"Mr. Benavides, the Princess arrived at the university just moments ago. She is in the school chapel and has asked us to bring you there for a talk."
Fischer nodded and indicated they should lead the way.
The chapel was located deep within the campus. Chapels dedicated to the Mother Goddess existed in many places and contexts, providing a space for those with sincere faith to offer their prayers.
Elizabeth's movements had been truly discreet. Had those soldiers not appeared, Fischer would never have known she was already on campus.
"The Princess is inside. After you, sir."
The chapel was a standard small-church design. On ordinary days, assigned students kept it clean, but today only Royal Guard soldiers stood outside.
Once they had escorted Fischer there, they took up positions at the entrance in respectful silence — clearly under orders to admit no one but him.
Fischer pushed open the door and stepped into the small church.
The familiar scent of ecclesiastical incense drifted toward him. Beneath a single shaft of sunlight, filtered through stained glass, a woman sat quietly in the front pew. Before her, a benevolent statue of the Mother Goddess gazed gently at the visitor.
Elizabeth wore no hat. Her golden hair cascaded like a waterfall. At this moment her hands were pressed together in a fastidious gesture of prayer.
Her eyes were closed. She appeared to be confessing her most primal sins to the Mother Goddess, precisely as Kadu's most devout believers did.
But when Fischer drew near, she ceased her prayer. A pair of pale golden eyes opened, and she turned a serene smile toward the gentleman beside her.
"Mr. Fischer, you came."
"Your Highness Elizabeth."
Fischer performed a gentleman's bow, but this time Elizabeth maintained her smile while slowly extending the back of her right hand toward him.
It was the ancient royal hand-kissing ritual — a sign that a member of the royal family bestowed favor upon a subject, granting permission to kiss the back of her hand.
Fischer could even discern Elizabeth's intent. 'Since you're so fond of sticking to etiquette, I'll make you perform the complete formal royal audience protocol. Let's see you do it all the way.'
Yet woven into the ritual was an implicit tenderness toward Fischer. After all, the privilege of kissing a royal hand was not one afforded to just anyone.
Legend had it that the only person ever permitted to kiss the hand of Gothrin the First was the Grand Pope of Kadu.
Fischer looked at the hand Elizabeth offered. After a one-second pause, he knelt before her and gently took her soft, fair right hand.
Elizabeth lightly curled her fingers around his wrist in return, waiting. He raised the back of her hand to his lips and placed a delicate kiss upon it. Only then did Elizabeth draw her hand back, her smile widening.
"At ease, Mr. Fischer."
Her posture was impeccable. She gestured to the seat beside her. Fischer dispensed with further ceremony and sat down.
"I assumed Your Highness would go directly to the dean's office to discuss the Gothrin Festival arrangements. I didn't expect you to slip away to the Mother Goddess's chapel."
Elizabeth gazed at the benevolent statue before her, her expression unchanged, though her words carried a deeper resonance.
"Everyone has original sins that require confession. I more than most... Beyond that, there is another important reason: I have business to discuss with you that no one else may overhear."
"I'm listening."
Elizabeth's eyes flicked sideways — toward the conspicuously wide gap Fischer had left between their seats. A flash of something terrifying surfaced in her gentle gaze, but it lasted only an instant before she returned to her composed, tender self.
"The date of the Schwari visit has been set. It's about twenty days from now — the beginning of next month."
"I see... And the pretext?"
Everything was coming into focus. Elizabeth clearly knew that Fischer understood the rules of the political game, so she held nothing back. She turned to him and pointed a finger squarely in his direction.
"The pretext is you."
"Me?"
"Yes. Your soul theory of magic didn't only cause a firestorm in Nari's academic circles — it did the same in Schwari. Don't forget, a large portion of their magic establishment belongs to the anti-magic school. Your theory is essentially a slap in their faces. I imagine they can't wait to come here and debate you."
Fischer sighed. He hadn't expected the pretext for Schwari's visit to be his own paper. He would obviously be involved throughout the entire visit.
But based on what he had learned from Karo, there was more to this visit than met the eye. Unless absolutely necessary, he'd rather not be involved.
"It isn't just academics. To demonstrate the gravity of the occasion, their queen has decided that the Schwari prince will accompany the scholarly delegation on this visit to Naris — an icebreaker for relations between Schwari and Naris."