[Volume 2 | Chapter 58: The Reappearing Scion (II)]

Flanking Alaric were his two constant companions, though Acacia had never bothered to learn their names since he never actually had a chance to see them. To Alaric's right stood a tall, broad-shouldered boy with natural gray hair and a square jaw. His uniform was clean, pressed perfectly, and he carried himself far too rigidly.

Everything about him screamed "second fiddle trying too hard to matter."

Something that Acacia remembered all too well from a lackey of Giovanni Narma.

The other was Alaric's opposite in almost every way. He was slight of build with nervous, darting eyes and twitchy movements. His sandy brown hair stuck up at odd angles despite obvious attempts to tame it, and his uniform hung on his frame like borrowed clothes. However, there was something sharp in his gaze, a cunning intelligence that made Acacia think of a rat that had learned to navigate particularly dangerous sewers.

"Cassius, Drake, I believe we've found ourselves some entertainment," Alaric said without taking his eyes off Acacia and Elias.

Cassius—the broad-shouldered one—stepped forward, sneering.

"About time. I was getting bored with summer break." His voice was rough and abrasive, matching his brutish exterior.

Drake remained where he was, but his nervous energy had sharpened into something more focused. "Boss, are you sure about this? After what happened at the park—"

"After what happened at the park, I learned some very valuable lessons," Alaric interrupted smoothly. "The most important being that one must master themselves before mastering others. And I've done a great deal of... mastering over the past few weeks."

His gaze flicked over Elias dismissively before settling on Acacia once more. Seeing this, Elias stepped slightly forward His hand instinctively moved toward where his sword would normally rest. The gesture was subtle, but Acacia caught the way his friend's stance shifted—weight balanced, muscles tensed despite his recent injuries.

The aspiring knight was preparing for combat even in his state.

"Alaric, I thought we'd settled our differences. There's no need for another fight."

"Settled?" Alaric's laugh was music composed entirely of broken glass. "Oh, my dear Elias, we've settled nothing. If anything, recent events have made me realize just how much I've been underestimating the situation. Did you know that surviving Siegfried Eisenberg of the «Deathblossom» makes one quite the celebrity around these parts?"

Acacia felt cold dread settle in his stomach.

Somehow, Alaric Ptolemy not only knew Nemesis's true name but also the name of Ars Magna…

Where did you get that information...? Was what Acacia wanted to say, but he didn't intend to give this noble the satisfaction. Instead, he took a deep breath, forced his voice to remain steady, and began calculating all possible escape routes.

"I'm not looking for trouble. We're just here to access the library for historical research."

"The library? How wonderfully academic of you. Tell me, what sort of research brings a sniveling refugee and his pet knight to my family's institution during summer break?"

"Your family's institution?" Elias's voice hardened. "Last I checked, Windsor Prep was a public academy funded by provincial taxes."

"Ah, but you see, that's where your common breeding shows, Scryer." Alaric's smile widened. "While the institution may be publicly funded, the House of Ptolemy has been its primary benefactor for three generations. The restricted sections, the advanced laboratory equipment, even the enchanted security systems... all gifts from my generous ancestors."

He gestured grandly at the academy's imposing façade.

"So while you may have earned your little scholarship through sweat and determination during your early years, never forget who made your education possible."

Cassius chuckled at his ringleader's words, the sound like gravel in a cement mixer. "Maybe they should show some gratitude, huh, Alaric?"

Elias immediately shut him up with a dangerous glare.

"Gratitude? For the privilege of being insulted by a spoiled brat who's never earned anything in his life?"

Alaric's expression suddenly contorted, but then reverted to one of calm and understanding. Acacia could tell, it was forced.

"Ah... I sometimes forget. I shouldn't get angry with commoners. It's simply in their nature. Like stray dogs, they're quick to bite the hand that feeds them. Like mindless ants, they scurry about, oblivious to the grand design of society. And like defective lions, they have this... misplaced pride that doesn't serve their role."

A faint, nearly imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

This wasn't the arrogance of a bully lording over his victims.

This was the self-assuredness of someone who believed, without a shadow of a doubt, in his own superiority.

Once Acacia understood such, he instantly comprehended the dangerousness of Alaric Ptolemy.

"Alaric, whatever you think you need to prove, violence isn't—"

"Prescriptions, prescriptions." Alaric waved dismissively. "Always taking the moral high ground, aren't you? Tell me, Belmont, what exactly brings you to seek knowledge in my family's halls? Surely a refugee from the Wallachian Empire has more pressing concerns than simple academic research."

There was something in the way Alaric asked the question... It was far too knowing and far too pointed.

As if he already suspected the answer.

Why does he...

"I told you, historical research—"

"Historical research," Alaric repeated; he found the explanation amusing. "What particular period of history has captured your interest? I personally loved the imprisonment of Wallachian soldiers by the Hausas during World War II in 344 E.V—"

"Enough games, Alaric! If you want another fight, then let's get on with it, but leave Acacia out of this!" Elias stepped in front of Acacia, shielding him with his body. "Your quarrel is with me. We've been rivals since the day we met, and if it's a duel you want—"

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

...Why am I panicking? The result should be obvious! Elias easily crushed Alaric last time! Even if he's a bit injured, this should be a walk in the park!

The Irregular couldn't hide his smirk. He was already thinking of the witty lines he would use to taunt Alaric once he was beaten down by Elias.

Yet, all of that shattered as Alaric outstreched his hand.

And the familiar feeling of saturated prana filled the air.

"[Repulsa!]"

The invisible kinetic force erupted from Alaric's palm like a concentrated explosion; it struck Elias directly in the chest... exactly where Malleus's blade had pierced him weeks before.

It was a terrible sound that followed.

The impact drove Elias to his knees with a sound that was part gasp, part scream. His face went white as fresh agony tore through recently healed wounds, and blood began to seep through his shirt where the spell had reopened internal injuries.

"ELIAS!" Acacia lunged forward, but Cassius moved to block him, the larger boy's presence suddenly much more menacing than his earlier posturing had suggested.

[Repulsa]... was an advanced Oscillation spell according to Pandora. It was not a spell that a sixteen-year-old boy should be able to cast without the help of a Mystic Gear, and certainly not one that should be used on another person in broad daylight.

But Acacia didn't fixate on that detail. He didn't have enough time to even process it.

His mind was filled with Elias's suffering and Alaric's chilling laughter.

And sheer, utter rage, building in his chest like a pressure cooker.

Yet rage simply meant nothing when faced with overwhelming power. Acacia watched in horror as Cassius and Drake closed in on the fallen Elias. Cassius cracked his knuckles in audible pops while Drake produced what looked like a metal rod from his jacket pocket, extending it into a full-length baton with a flick of his wrist.

"You bastard!" Acacia shouted, but Alaric's only response was to smile serenely, as if enjoying a particularly lovely summer day.

"Now, now, let's not be hasty. After all, we have some unfinished business to discuss."

Orange light gathered around Alaric's free hand, coalescing into the familiar glow of elemental manipulation. The air around his palm shimmered with heat distortion as prana flowed into the formation of a [Fiamma.]

Tempered, condensed fire—much unlike that day at the park.

"You see, Belmont," Alaric continued, stepping closer whilst keeping the flame trained on the Irregular's face, "I haven't forgotten our last encounter. The humiliation. The recording. But more than that, I haven't forgotten how you thought you could outwit me with nothing but words and clever tricks."

Sweat beaded on Acacia's forehead, and it wasn't just from the summer heat.

The fire was real. It was hot.

Just like those flames from Gio.

Just like those flames from Lito—

"Alaric, this isn't necessary. We can talk about this—"

"HAHAHAHA! Talk?! Oh, my dear Belmont, we're far beyond the point of mere talking. No, no. I'm not some plebeian who can be appeased with mere words. I'm a Ptolemy! Heir to Hector Ptolemy! When we play, we play for keeps! And you, my dear sniveling refugee, have dared to play with fire."

Alaric's shrill cackle cut through Acacia's stammering plea.

Behind them, Elias tried to push himself up from the ground, only to cry out as fresh pain lanced through his reopened wounds.

"GHK—"

Cassius placed a heavy boot on his back, pressing him back down against the entrance cobblestone.

"Let him go! Your fight's with me, right?!" Acacia demanded, trying to muster some semblance of courage. But his voice wavered, his fists trembled, and the memory of those flames, the smell of singed flesh, haunted him still. The fear was palpable... it was like a living snake that crawled up his throat and threatened to choke him.

The blue-haired noble merely tilted his head, feigning confusion.

"Is it, really? The last time I checked, it was Elias here who put his hands on me that day. He was the one who dared to touch a member of the House of Ptolemy like some common street thug." The flame in his hand grew larger, more volatile. "But you're right about one thing—this is ultimately about you, Belmont."

He took another step forward, close enough now that Acacia felt the heat washing over him in hellish waves.

And then, he whispered, only so that Acacia could hear.

"Here's what's going to happen. You're going to arm yourself. Any spell you wish to draw on me. I'll even let you calculate it. Let's see whether the refugee coming out of that dying economy of an Empire can best a scion of the House of Ptolemy in a battle of Thaumaturgy."

The Irregular's blood ran cold.

"I-I d-don't fight! I'm not a very talented Thaumaturge!"

"Oh, but you must be. After all, how else could you have survived an encounter with the legendary Bloodhounds? How else could you have impressed the great Pandora Kircheisen enough to take you as her ward? Surely someone with such a reputation has some way of defending himself."

The trap was perfect in its cruelty.

Alaric had constructed a scenario where Acacia's survival depended on abilities he didn't possess, knowledge he couldn't access, and power that simply wasn't there. And worse, admitting the truth—revealing his status as an Irregular—would only make things worse and absolutely blow up the scheming that Pandora and Bismarck had been plotting.

Evidently, in a society that measured worth by thaumaturgical ability, such a confession would be seen as the ultimate weakness.

"I'm waaaittting~" Alaric sang. "Come now, surely the famous refugee who escaped from the Bloodhounds can manage a simple spell? Perhaps a [Claustra] to protect yourself? A [Roa] to push me back?"

"Stop this, Alaric! This has gone too far!" Elias's voice was a hoarse shout from behind, but it was cut short by a swift kick to side from Cassius, followed by another cry of pain.

Acacia's mind raced, desperately searching for a way out, any way out. His heart hammered in his chest, a drumbeat of panic and despair. He had no way of fighting back. He couldn't use a spell. He couldn't do anything.

Students and faculty who might have intervened were nowhere to be seen. Cruelly enough, summer break had left the grounds largely deserted, which created the perfect isolated stage for whatever Alaric had planned.

Think, Acacia! Think! There has to be a way out of this!

But his thoughts were drowned out by the memories of burning flesh, the screams, the smell…

And…

Alaric looking just like…

Giovanni Copernicus Narma.

On that day in March 417 E.V.

With Todd Amato.

With Pierce Gerson.

Their laughs. Their disregard for humanity and basic decency. The pain.

Would this... just be a repeat?

Instead of being revealed to have been a foreigner from the Sugoroku Empire, now it was his full-on Irregular status that was at risk of being discovered?

So…

All of this.

It was just a lie.

He was always trapped. Pandora never actually saved him. He would forever be a victim to the cruel whims of the powerful, and…

And...

"Five seconds."

That proclamation snapped Acacia out of his spiraling thoughts. After that time would elapse, Alaric would unleash it right in his face.

"Five."

The flame in Alaric's hand danced wickedly, taunting him with its promise of agony.

"Four."

Could he bluff? Pretend to cast a spell and hope Alaric's arrogance would make him careless?

"Three."

No, Acacia had no idea how to cast anything. He couldn't even begin to fake it.

"Two."

He would rather die than let Elias know he couldn't use Thaumaturgy, and risk seeing his first friend in this accursed empire turn against him.

"One."

And so, Acacia squeezed his eyes shut.

...Mom... Dad... Kazusa... Aciel... I'm sorry for everything.

"Zeeeeee—"

BANG!

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.