In the darkening evening of my room, I faced the study desk under the window and took out my pencil and notebook to resume work on another private hobby project, “Who wants to kill Emily Troyard?”

  The solution to this mystery wasn't giving itself away as easily as I expected, so I could only try and put some serious thought into it. You couldn't save everyone, of course, and it was ultimately up to every person to save themselves before worrying about others. But even if I had no personal reason to intervene in Emily's personal affairs, the idea of her early demise only bothered me more as time passed.

  Calling Emily my student had started off as a poor, ironic flavor of humor, but somewhere along the way, it had transformed into a hard fact in my head.

  Not a temporary ally, or a coincidental assistant, or a fellow student of the arcane, that girl had become something like private property to me—though the person herself didn’t know it. I wasn't sure if that was such a healthy impression to have, or at all accurate, but it was there.

  Student-mentor relations held special weight in the magic society and were not a laughing matter. Rather a matter of life and death—or, a matter beyond life and death. Because of that, it was a bond formed in mutual understanding, and until the student herself formally expressed she wanted to be recognized as such, we were nothing.

  We were both the same age too, the concept was all in all absurd.

  But even so, I couldn't deny she held a comparable spot in my world view.

  Either way, back to the point.

  Who could want her dead and why? My goal was to solve the puzzle before it turned into “Who killed Emily Troyard?” in the past tense. Ideally, without the victim herself realizing her starring role in the narrative.

  The ideal goal of wars was to conquer already before the belligerents ever met one another in the killing field, by deducing the enemy’s strengths and weaknesses beforehand. To that end, gathering information was the real battle.

  King Goring had suspected the culprit was one of his children and he had no obvious motive to lie to a tool like me. So which one?

  My reference material was the latest edition of The Adorium Dynasty that I bought from a bookstore the city. Authors more invested than me had recorded there everything necessary—and a lot more—about the household that ruled our land. My own memory was reserved for things somewhat more relevant than who was who in that pompous family. Because damn, were there many of them. Why did the nobles have to multiply like rabbits, anyway?

  Our King had had three lawful wives so far, though he was not far past fifty.

  His marriage with the first Queen, Juliana of the House Caesius, had supposedly been a happy one. The couple was engaged when they were five and four, respectively, and had a lot of time to get to know each other. They married shortly before the King’s ascension and received their crowns side by side. But maybe they shouldn’t have.

  Queen Juliana died of illness not two years after coronation, leaving the couple with only two sons: Alarick (32), and Caelan (30).

  The eldest son, currently a General of the Royal Army, was widely expected to become our next King, being in words and deeds an imitation of his father.

  The second prince developed noteworthy potential for magecraft, supposedly. A blessing anywhere else in the world, but a bane to his dreams of Kingship in a clan almost solely made up of fencers.

  Magic may not have been publicly persecuted in Calidea, as in certain other parts of the world, but the people were hardly ready for a wizard king. Especially the aristocracy still held the old-fashioned impression that magical ability was a sign of a treacherous, cowardly character. Prince Caelan could only content himself with remaining a lackey to his older brother, serving as his Court Wizard.

  Queen Juliana didn’t rest long before the King remarried Adeylia of the House D’Arnos, the younger sister of the current Archduke D’Arnos.

  Our Vanille probably never met this Queen in person. What looked like the ideal match on paper, the ruling King united with a daughter of his strongest supporter's house, turned out less like a fairy tale.

  Adeylia gave birth to three daughters, Lavinia (28), Colleen (27), and Lauriel (24), and then the King saw it best to cut his losses. The Queen was accused of infidelity, probably falsely, divorced, stripped of her titles, and exiled overseas.

  Sons had higher demand in a frequently warring kingdom.

  Lord D’Arnos could only take the humiliation and cut ties with his sister to maintain his House’s position in the heart of rule. The exiled queen may have had a motive to seek revenge on the King, if she still lived, but Emily should’ve been unconnected to that grudge.

  Within a month after watching Adeylia sail away, the King remarried the current Queen Leonora. His lottery luck improved immediately, and the couple’s first child together was a son, Leander (18).

  After him, they had twin brothers Raulus and Luke (16), and past that, daughters were fine too. The future of the ruling dynasty seemed secured. The birthdays of Mireille (14) and Anya (9) were widely celebrated. As were Justinus (7), Primus (5), and Marcosias (2).

  We could probably exclude the youngest children from the list of suspects. Even if they were exceptionally mature and ambitious for their age, or had the reincarnated souls of nefarious masterminds, I didn’t think they saw enough of the outside world to even know Emily existed.

  I'd met Leander and Lauriel in person and was convinced they had no ill will towards my disciple. I'd crossed out many names already, but the case didn't seem any clearer.

  Could it be someone outside the list then?

  Rumors said King Goring hadn’t shied away from extramarital affairs over the years, and nobody could guess how many offspring resulted from those side quests. But illegitimate children had no lawful claim to any titles, mostly for their own protection.

  Even if we were to entertain the silly conspiracy theory that Emily was actually a royal bastard, this alone shouldn’t have been enough reason for any of the princes or princesses to view her as a threat. As far as I knew, she'd never received such special treatment that could've earned her the wrath of other castaways either, too poor to even afford bus fare.

  Motive was the biggest question. Was there even any way to figure that out?

  Setting the cause aside and approaching the problem from the angle of who had the necessary means—Who could commission royal assassins and compel General Ruthford's obedience—the most probable suspects were clearly the oldest sons.

  Prince Alarick had the necessary rank. His knowledge of the Kingdom’s affairs hardly lost to his father, and he could have a motive too, if the King’s hunch was accurate. Since Calidea would be his Kingdom eventually, it was in Alarick’s best interests to ensure the finances were in balance and all the unwanted leeches cleared away from his family's vicinity. He had official lines to contact our General, and no cause to fear retribution from her.

  By extension, Prince Caelan could be the villain too, if he thought he was acting in his brother’s best interests—and his own. I wouldn’t sign the claim about “treacherous and cowardly character,” but mages were sort of prone to secretive strategizing.

  The older princesses beside Lauriel were unknown to me. I’d never met either of them, and couldn’t imagine what they could have against the daughter of their father’s former classmate. Unlike Lauriel, the elder princesses openly welcomed the luxuries of their status and weren’t warriors, married off early into prominent houses in allied nations. Their involvement didn’t seem plausible, even if not conclusively denied either.

  For now, I’d focus my investigation on Alarick and Caelan, and go over the others again if those two proved clean.

  A knock on the door interrupted my ruminations. I closed the notebook and slipped it in the desk drawer before going to open. By now, I’d learned to recognize the sound of those knuckles even without magic, and didn’t bother to double-check before opening the door.

  “Good evening,” I said to Emily.

  “Good evening, madam,” the girl returned the greeting, bowing like a butler. “I am sorry to disturb you so late. May I have a moment of your valuable time?”

  I frowned at her. It wasn't Emily?

  “Who...?”

  “It is me!” she snapped at my confused face and blushed. “I was trying to be polite, for once!”

  Now the noise level was closer to what I was used to.

  If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  “Identity confirmed. You may come in.”

  “Thanks a bunch, jerk!”

  Maybe I should get Emily a key of her own, so I wouldn't have to always go open? No, going to another girl’s room all the time and so late—I should scold her, shouldn’t I? What if people got the wrong idea? Then why was I letting her in?

  But she was already in, and I couldn’t exactly throw her out anymore, could I?

  “Aah, the air's so fresh in here!” she remarked and stretched her arms, inhaling deep. “It really stinks with four gals stuffed in the same box, you know? Not everyone seems to have heard of antiperspirants. Hell, even I know the basics of personal hygiene, despite coming from the boonies! What excuse do they have?”

  “Want to move in then?”

  A greedy light lit up in the girl’s eyes. “Wow, can I!?”

  What was I saying? That was a really, really bad idea.

  “No,” I revised.

  “Aw, come on!” Emily cried. “You can’t dangle a bait like that and then pull it away!”

  “You’d only get mixed up in more trouble.”

  It would end in a crime.

  “Oh, I’m already used to that.” Emily waved away my concerns and then noticed the big book left on the corner of the desk. The who’s who in the Royal House, which I’d neglected to clear away. She changed course and went to pick it up.

  “Hmm, now isn’t this a surprise? You’re a fan of royalty too?”

  “As if, dumbo.”

  “Then why were you reading it?”

  “To sleep faster.”

  “Right.”

  Emily leafed through the pages, her hand stopping at a spread early in.

  “Huh. Weird. I’ve seen this guy before,” she remarked.

  I went over to look at the page, where a black-and-white portrait of King Goring himself posed grimly, dressed in medals, and leaning on a sword. It was an old picture, and his beard was quite a bit shorter than it was now.

  “You’ve met the King...?” I asked in disbelief.

  “No!” Emily replied, startled. “Wait, this guy’s the King?”

  “Who did you think it was? Read the small print under the picture.”

  She looked again. “Wow, whaddya know. It is the King. That’s funny. Just, there was this locket in our old house that I found while we were moving out and clearing the attic. I kinda broke it by accident, and found there was this guy’s picture inside. The same harsh face and bushy brows. I asked my grandma who it was, and she said she didn’t know, and took the thing away. But I kinda had a hunch she lied then. Guess she was a fan too.”

  “Did you ask your mother about it?”

  Emily closed the book, put it back on the table, and showed me a pained, bashful smile.

  “My mom…Doesn’t talk much these days. Not since dad died.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “What, it’s not your fault,” she said. “I just didn’t tell you. I don’t want you to know every gross thing about my life and put you off.”

  Her self-deriding words got me somewhat remorseful myself.

  “I thought the same thing,” I said. “That I shouldn’t talk to you, because you wouldn't like what you hear. But as a consequence, I’m not giving a very dependable image of myself either, am I?”

  She flushed and began frantically flailing.

  “No, no! Don't say that! I sort of get that you have your reasons! And they're probably better than mine, too. But—how should I say this…? Oh, I really suck at picking the right words!”

  The girl ruffled her hair, fervently thinking, finally slumping her shoulders in surrender, and just spoke her mind.

  “...To be honest, that you were somehow involved in the war was pretty clear from day one. I mean, you’ve been kinda sadistic—I mean, force-oriented all along. But what I don't really get is, why would you even want to hide that? Fighting to protect our country—doesn’t that mean you’re a hero? Okay, it’s awful that you had to go through it when you were so young. That’s clearly not right, of course! But how was that any of your fault, personally? If anything, that makes it even more impressive that you made it out of that alive.”

  It was a heavy question, in many ways, made only heavier by her child-like faith.

  But I didn't want to pretty it up for her.

  “Emily. You saw the Tarachians reactions. What people call 'hero' is really just a convenient sort of beast. A monster of controllable violence. It's not something that's put on and taken off at will. If you ever take a life, it will follow you for the rest of your days. It means being surrounded by fear and hatred through every moment you exist. Associating with me means not only sharing the threats aimed at me, but also becoming regarded as a monster by association. You should consider with time and care, if you're fine with that. It's not too late to walk away and pretend you never knew me. ”

  “I see.”

  Emily stared at me blankly for a moment, thoughtfully nodding.

  Then she went to take a seat on the left side bunk and kicked back.

  “Well, setting that aside, for now...”

  I scowled at the girl. “Do think about it a little more.”

  “I thought about it, too!” she replied with a bratty grin. “And decided I don't care!”

  I could only shake my head and sigh. An incurable fool.

  But why did that foolish attitude of hers warm my heart so much?

  “Speaking of trouble,” Emily said, “I heard about what happened with the forest survey. Were you alright?”

  “As you can see. I'm fine.”

  “Figures. ” She chuckled wryly. “I really wanted to come check up on you sooner, but thought you had to answer a million dumb questions about it already. Things got a bit hectic everywhere, with those students expelled and all that. Some were even saying the school would be run over by a monster stampede, and few kids from class A were evacuated! Though not even any lectures were cancelled. Overreacting much?”

  “...”

  Losing a talented heir could mean the end of the family line, after all.

  That wasn't a threat only to noble families, of course. Every household would probably do the same, if only they had the resources. Understandable, but also selfish and shortsighted, highlighting the inequality among people. Through stunts like that, the bitter seed of future conflicts was sown.

  “Thanks to that, our class never even got our turn!” Emily continued to lament. “Our trip was supposed to be this week, but now it’s been ‘postponed indefinitely,’ while they check things out. I was so looking forward to it, too! All because of a couple of fiends!”

  “Well, there were about twenty. It could’ve ended up a lot worse.”

  “...Seriously? And you were fine?”

  “I didn’t have to get involved. My classmate took care of them.”

  “Ah, yeah. I heard.” Emily's expression turned unusually sour and she looked away. “The great Alice Silla! A Tier 4 novice who single-handedly beat a horde of hellions and saved her classmates, and the whole school! There’s probably no one left on this side of the globe, who doesn’t know her name by now. I’m honestly getting sick and tired of hearing it! You’d think she were an archmage already, geez! Then what is she even doing at school, if she’s so wonderful?”

  Complaining about someone you'd never even met wasn't very heroic.

  Just how much that person worked and struggled—I knew better than most.

  “Things rarely are as simple as they seem,” I reminded Emily. “Personally, I think there's a lot you could learn from Alice.”

  I accidentally blurted out Silla's first name, startling myself. The ring of it was excessively familiar. Almost like we were dear friends and not hateful rivals. But it was too late to take it back. I could only roll with it and act like nothing was off.

  Emily blinked at me, like a pet cat running to the door to greet its returning owner, only to see a stranger walk in. Then her gaze narrowed.

  “...Huh? Now isn't that rare? I’ve never heard you speak so highly of someone before.”

  I thought I gave credit where credit was due.

  But maybe trying to downplay it would’ve been too lame. Why deny it? I had a different idea then. Borrowing a page from Ms Asia’s book, I put on a teasing smile and went over to Emily, leaned down to her level, and softly asked,

  “Jealous?”

  “Ha—?”

  “Have you already forgotten our agreement? Didn’t you vow to reach the top of the academy, catch up with me, and get me to reveal all my secrets? You've barely started the climb. But just like that, while you were having fun goofing off with your C-class friends, another girl beat you to it. Do you think you could do what she did that day? Protect your classmates from a horde of frenzied monsters all by yourself?”

  “...”

  “Too bad, Emily,” I continued and drew back. “The world is a big place. Like the rabbit in the fable, you grew too comfortable with your early success and got left in the dust. No, rather than a rabbit, aren't you just a frog in a well? Now, just as before. Ufufu!”

  I think I did a passable job at channeling the spirit of my aunt, and turned away to the desk, to put the accursed book of the royal family out of sight in the drawer. But did my act have any effect? I always had a hard time anticipating Emily’s reactions. Maybe she saw through me and would only laugh it off?

  I discreetly glanced back to check.

  Emily sat frozen, staring off at where I'd been, not blinking, not speaking, and she didn’t seem to breathe either. What? Was she even alive anymore? Only the aggressive redness of her ears showed that blood still flowed in her.

  Right as I was about to ask if she was all right, the girl sprang up to stand.

  Avoiding looking my way, she faced stiffly away towards the door, the air about her stormy and chaotic.

  “I’m—going out to train,” she muttered at the ceiling. “Right now.”

  Now? It was half past nine already. What about the curfew? Before I could ask, she was already out and slammed the door shut after her.

  I sure didn't expect a reaction like that.

  Don’t get caught by a patrol, Emily...