Chapter 62 - St. Jansk University and the Chamber of Secrets (5)

Though Ivan did not choose his friends by occupation, gender, age, or race, he was not on friendly terms with mages. There was a perfectly rational and valid reason for this.

Most mages were born with defective personalities.

“What... what is that supposed to mean?”

“It's a fact.”

Ivan gave the dubious Oswald a sidelong look and calmly explained the facts.

“Mages generally spend their time holed up in little rooms, fiddling with mana or reading books.”

“I... suppose?”

“Now consider the other professions.”

To grow stronger, warriors needed both training and actual combat. A warrior who only struck practice dummies could never become strong. Naturally, they needed an opponent.

Find a skilled sparring partner, work up a sweat together, and build a friendship, and social skills would naturally follow. Any warrior who failed to do so would get their skull cracked.

Rogues had to locate their targets' bases, hideouts, storehouses, and vaults. Since this was inside information, they naturally had to befriend their targets or “persuade” their acquaintances to obtain it.

Only people with excellent social skills could be rogues. In fact, Enrique had quite a few friends despite being a vampire.

Bards hardly needed mentioning. Music was an art one dared not even attempt without being a born social butterfly. The super-social Mozart and Salieri, who hated that social butterfly, could attest to this. (Salieri was also an extraordinary social butterfly.)

And there was one more piece of decisive evidence.

“Nearly all elves are mages.”

“Yes.”

“And nearly all elves suffer from congenital personality defects.”

“... What?”

Having successfully persuaded Oswald with a flawless syllogism (All elves are lunatics. All elves are mages. Therefore, mages are lunatics.), Ivan regarded him warmly and nodded.

Once again, Ivan did not discriminate by race or gender. He was a modern man of the twenty-first century. Which meant this was not racism, merely a dispassionate statement of fact.

Sadly, all the nonhuman races of this uncivilized world were fundamentally afflicted with congenital personality defects.

Dwarves, who had invented egalitarianism and hated everyone taller than themselves. Demons, who had considered humans a somewhat novel culinary ingredient. ... And elves.

Whenever something strange cropped up in history, pointing to elves as the culprits would usually get you the right answer.

That was all. Any further explanation would be uncool. Ivan looked at Oswald.

Oswald, who had been staring blankly at him, gave a sad smile. He seemed to have realized that he himself was both a mage and an elf.

“And you're telling me this because...?”

Oswald looked uneasily around. Numerous passing students were casting glances their way. They were in the Magic Department.

Roughly half the Magic Department's students were elves. In other words, this place had the highest concentration of elf-mages in Prizhenkaya.

And he was saying all this right in the middle of it. There went his campus life. Oswald smiled in resignation.

On Earth, he could at least have enlisted and made a clean break with his past. Unfortunately, in this world, you could join the military whenever you liked, but you couldn't leave whenever you liked... Oswald had no options.

“I need a mage.”

“Aha. So the reason you delivered a lecture on the moral failings of mages and elves here in the hallway of the Magic Department's first-year undergraduate lecture building was that you wanted to hire a mage!”

Ivan regarded Oswald with newfound appreciation. He summed things up well. There had been no need for such a lengthy explanation in the first place.

“... I am profoundly grateful you didn't possess a king or a high-ranking noble, Ivan.”

Any country this man ruled would become an evil empire armed with efficiency and rationalism. Perhaps Nazi Germany or the Soviet Union, only luckier.

Oswald let out a deep sigh.

“And if you needed a mage, you could have just told me in private. I can use magic too.”

“Magical Hermeneutics, C. Classical Spell Interpretation, C-minus.”

“W-wait! How did you even get my grades...??”

“You are of no use.”

“Wow.”

Mind Sorcery was war magic. It was also extremely useful in espionage, but most of its applications were specialized for war.

Destruction spells were less effective than their flashy appearance suggested. Throwing a fireball on the front line would take down four or five enemies at most.

Firearms could provide that much firepower. If a highly trained troop type that even wielded mana delivered so little, it was simply a waste of resources.

Mind Sorcery, on the other hand, could bolster the spirits of an entire allied squad with that same amount of mana. It could erase fear, inspire courage, and instill a terrible hatred of the enemy.

Victory in war generally hinged on soldiers' morale. A front that included a mage trained in Mind Sorcery could sustain combat for overwhelmingly longer than one without.

Since the purpose of the front lines in those days had been to “hold out,” this was an exceptionally powerful effect. Holding out until the Hero's Party could behead the enemy leadership had been the war's sole victory condition.

In any case, Mind Sorcery was war magic. What Ivan needed was a traditional mage skilled in “ancient magic interpretation” and “protective spells.”

“So you're looking for a mage who isn't an elf, knows protective spells, is proficient in interpreting ancient magic, and can keep a secret?”

“Yes.”

“I think you'd have better luck finding a dragon or a unicorn.”

“So it is difficult.”

“Not difficult, impossible! If you'd compromise on the elf and secrecy requirements, we might be able to work something out...”

Oswald surveyed their surroundings with a conflicted look, then lowered his voice to a whisper.

“You said you were friends with the Hero's Party, right?”

“Mm.”

“Then there's one candidate. A mage who tops every theoretical subject, including ancient magic interpretation, and even earned an A-plus in magic outside her specialty, like protective spells. She's an elf, but she's your friend's daughter, so she should keep your secret.”

There was only one mage among the Hero's Party's children.

“... Elpihera.”

“Yes, Miss Elpihera Grikencos. She's kind and demure, too.”

A genius said to have inherited her father's magical talents in full. The student who had achieved the highest entrance-exam score in Jansk University's history...

“Hmm...”

He knew her too. Twelve years ago, just before the Hero's Party had set out, he had spent exactly four days in her company.

Back then, the little brat had been an elf through and through.

* * *

[“Ugh, what is that smell? Human, have you forgotten how to wash? Where is your master? I shall teach the fellow how to bathe a pet myself.”]

[“...???”]

Ivan turned at the prattle of a doll-sized child. She barely reached the bottom of his chest. Pointed ears poked out between locks of brilliantly shining golden hair.

Ah, an elf. He had heard there was one in the Hero's Party. So this was the one. But... he had heard Veolgrin Grikencos was over four hundred years old. Could an elf look this young?

Long-lived races really were remarkable.

Ivan quickly gathered his thoughts and nodded.

[“Are you Lord Grikencos?”]

[“Hm? Yes, indeed! I am Grikencos! You recognize me? A clever human, despite your appearance!”]

The child thrust out her chest and proclaimed it proudly. The mana he sensed was nothing special. Was this an old master who had returned to primal simplicity?

Ivan was impressed. The oldest person he knew was Enrique. Even she could not assume so youthful an appearance.

Such concepts did not seem to exist in this world, but Ivan, who had submitted 5,700-character screeds about martial arts novels just as readily as any other genre, knew terms like “return to primal simplicity,” “transformation of flesh and bone,” and “consummate mastery.”

Confronted with someone straight out of such a novel, he could not help feeling a sense of wonder.

[“So, human, where is your master? I am terribly hungry. Since humans seem ignorant of the proper way to entertain honored guests, I shall have to seek out your elven master.”]

[“What do you mean...? Didn't the camp's mess unit serve you a meal? I'll speak to the officer in charge...”]

[“No, not that fodder. I need ‘food,’ not feed.”]

[“... Oh.”]

Ivan's image of elves began to warp a little.

[“Lord Grikencos. My apologies, but this is the front line. Your party received delicacies the soldiers could never dream of eating.”]

[“The human tongue is a mysterious thing. ‘Fine quality’ means ‘made by elves.’ Which of the troughs I was served today contained an elven meal?”]

The elves in his mind were no longer mysterious, long-lived fairies.

He struggled to keep his expression under control, telling himself that a great mage who had lived for four hundred years could be forgiven a somewhat fucked-up personality.

Surely not all elves were lunatics like this. That complacent notion was shattered by the man who appeared next.

[“Elpihera. What sort of manners are those?”]

[“Father!!”]

A tall, handsome young man approached with a smile and opened his arms. The little girl who had been snapping at Ivan just moments earlier pattered over and threw herself into his embrace.

The young man smiled warmly and ruffled her hair.

[“Fodder? That was the finest feast humans could manage. The pitiful creatures call such things ‘feasts’ and enjoy them, so calling it fodder is terribly rude.”]

[“But Father, it wasn't edible!”]

[“Elpihera. Humans are deeply hurt when the tribute they present is rejected. Have I not told you time and again what an important duty it is to care for the lesser races?”]

[“Yes, Father...”]

Of all the parenting Ivan had ever witnessed, he could swear this was the most astonishing. He could only gape blankly at the elven father and daughter.

[“Ah, human. My daughter was rude. My apologies.”]

He extended a hand with a kind smile. Was he offering a handshake? His hand was positioned rather oddly for that. Held out with its back facing upward, as though, just as though...

[“I am Veolgrin Grikencos, acting head of the Kallion archipelago's Privy Council. Human etiquette calls for kissing the back of a noble's hand upon meeting them, does it not? Heh heh. A primitive but endearing tradition. I gladly grant you permission.”]

Wouldn't exterminating these bastards be better for the peace and future of humanity... no, the entire world?

Resolving in all seriousness to submit this proposal to the great king, Ivan fixed Veolgrin with an icy glare.

That had been twelve years ago. His eighteenth year since possession, his eighth year of military service. A memory from when he had just joined the Royal Guard.

Elves had made the worst possible first impression. Since it had never improved afterward, that was apparently just the sort of race they were.

* * *

Returning from his reverie, Ivan looked at the elf before him.

With a hand laid demurely over her chest and her head gracefully bowed, the elven woman was quite literally a picture.

After hearing Oswald's explanation, she addressed him with a shy smile.

“How do you do? I'm Elpihera Grikencos.”

“...?”

Ivan was bewildered.