Chapter 16
“If there is an academy, there must be an attack.”
The Academy Assault.
If your story takes place in an academy, then it’s bound to happen at least once.
Writers build elaborate setups just to justify it—or sometimes, they throw logic out the window entirely to make it fit.
Even when it’s unnecessary, even when it doesn’t belong, they force it in.
And why?
Because nothing else tests a character’s growth, provokes them, or drives them to the next level quite like a sudden attack.
“Even in <The Hero Needs You!>, it was the same.”
Outside the game, it was a way to check how strong the heroes you raised had become.
Inside the story, it was catharsis—the moment the protagonist and their companions rose in status and power.
And here, in this world that has become reality—
It’s an opportunity to gain something far more precious than any reward: real combat experience.
But inevitably, such events only ever matter to a handful of people.
The rest become background noise—screaming, injured, or merely serving as fuel for the heroes’ resolve.
“Those heroes, those protagonists… have to be you now.”
So if you’re wondering why I’m staying silent, even though I know an attack is coming—
why I’m not trying to stop it—
the answer’s not as simple as you think.
Yes, part of it is for the sake of growth.
But there’s another reason.
The real reason.
“…….”
As expected, I found traces of them on my way to meet the princess.
They tried to leave an assassination mark—just like during Uriel’s incident.
But with royal guards stationed everywhere, they failed repeatedly.
Following that faint trail of energy, I could guess who they were after.
That, right there, is the second and real reason I can’t act openly.
I don’t know everything.
Not exactly.
I only know fragments.
You’d think I’d remember it clearly from the game, right? Of course I do.
But in the story, it was only mentioned vaguely:
“The heroes under the protagonist’s care were attacked, and afterward, the academy was assaulted by demons.”
No exact date. No clear target.
Only a rough window of time.
And if I move too hastily, the attackers might cancel their plans altogether—
and then every scrap of information I do have becomes worthless.
They’ll strike again, surely—but in an entirely different way.
“Is something wrong, Instructor Deus? You’ve been glancing around for a while.”
“…No. Nothing at all. I’m just a little on edge from all the guards.”
“If they’re bothering you, I can order them to stand down. Shall I?”
I shook my head immediately.
Those guards already think I overstep my bounds.
If I told them to leave now, I’d never hear the end of it.
“Let’s end the session here for today.”
“Huh? Really? But I haven’t even been slammed into the ground yet.”
“…Please refrain from saying things that could be misinterpreted.”
Unbelievable.
Anyone listening would think I throw her to the ground on a daily basis.
“Well, that works out. I wanted to talk with you anyway. Would you walk with me for a bit?”
“Of course.”
Perfect.
I was planning to suggest a walk myself.
I stepped slightly ahead of her—not beside her, not behind, but just enough to lead the way.
“The person you asked for will arrive tomorrow.”
“That soon? I thought it’d take a few more days.”
“Well, depending on who you ask favors from… Even a mad mage knows when to move fast.”
Or maybe, I thought, it had more to do with the absurd amount of money she offered.
When swordsmen complain about mages, they always use the same line:
“They pretend to study the mysteries of the world, but they’re more obsessed with gold than any merchant.”
They’re not entirely wrong.
Magic is expensive.
Every experiment burns through rare materials worth a fortune.
Each mage is their own research team, their own funding source.
To a swordsman, that’s like saying—
good teacher, fine sword.
“Still, I must warn you,” she continued. “You may have invited him, but if that mage causes trouble inside the academy, both of us will be in deep water.”
“No need to worry, Your Highness. He won’t have time for mischief.”
“Oh? A mage who keeps quiet? That’s a first.”
Indeed, it’s possible—
if he finds something more fascinating than magic itself.
For example, a swordsman with a natural gift for magic.
Especially of the dark element, like his own.
“In here, please.”
“Oh, thank you. So, Instructor—how do you think I’m doing lately? I know quick progress is hard, but surely I’ve improved a little since I started?”
Improvement, huh.
She’d be disappointed by the truth.
Her foundation was solid; I’d told her that before.
But clear growth? No, not yet.
Unlike Uriel, who started from the bottom, the princess was already competent.
When you’re already good, small gains don’t show easily.
Unless—something decisive happens.
“Let’s take this path. Is that all right?”
“Uh, this seems kind of remote… That’s not on purpose, is it?”
“It’s better to avoid the other students seeing us. It’d just cause trouble.”
“Ah. Fair point. I understand.”
I kept leading the way.
The princess followed.
Her guards trailed at a respectful distance.
“Good. At this pace, I can inspect every weak point.”
That was the real reason I’d suggested a walk—and insisted on leading.
To map out the possible invasion routes.
To see where the guards were stationed, how vigilant they were,
and where the defenses thinned just enough for intruders to slip through.
Doing this alone would draw too much suspicion.
Imagine the gossip: The instructor keeps prowling the outer grounds instead of teaching.
Even the neutral faculty would start questioning me.
Moments like these make me wish I’d been a spy, not a soldier.
Knowing an attack is coming and still being unable to act—it’s a frustrating thing.
The Teresa Academy, Imperial Military Academy.
Not an ordinary school.
A classified facility of the Empire—
a place where heroes destined to fight the demons are forged.
It also happens to be where the noble families send their heirs.
People call it a playground for the rich.
But power begins with strength.
The nobility was born from conquerors—
men and women who claimed land by sword and sorcery,
later absorbed into the Empire’s system.
So yes, their children belong here.
Security, therefore, is absolute.
Every inch is guarded. Every visitor, screened.
A single mistake could cost someone their head.
“…….”
Right now, one of the academy guards, Thomas, stared at the man before him.
He held the stranger’s identification card in his hand.
“Tower-affiliated mage. Edgar Pawell. Not an apprentice—an official researcher.”
“…….”
“If a man of your rank were coming here, we’d have heard something in advance.”
Silence.
No one had mentioned any such arrival.
Mages from the Tower did work here sometimes—but never in the middle of a term.
And when they did, there was always notice.
“Do you have any supporting documents?”
“…….”
“What is your purpose at the academy?”
“…….”
Thomas began to wonder if this was even a person.
Every question met with silence, eyes fixed on the ground.
The rumors about eccentric mages began to sound disturbingly accurate.
At last, the man fumbled in his bag.
The guards tensed—hands on their weapons—
until he finally produced a single piece of paper.
A very fine piece of paper.
Thomas’s gut dropped.
He took it, hesitantly, and read.
“…What… the hell…”
The emblem stamped across the top—
unmistakable. The Imperial Crest.
An official royal decree.
And there it was, in elegant script:
“By the command of Her Imperial Highness, this mage is invited to the Academy.”
Not a guest lecturer. Not staff.
A personal guest of the Princess.
Thomas’s vision swam.
He’d been interrogating someone under royal invitation.
“How—why didn’t you show this earlier?”
The mage shrugged, gathering his things.
“Forgot.”
Forgot?!
You forgot that?
Thomas barely restrained the urge to scream.
Truly, mages were out of their minds.
“Go on in!” he barked, waving frantically.
The mage moved at an infuriatingly slow pace.
“…….”
He looked around, squinting against the sunlight, then headed for the nearest shade.
He’d spent his life in dim laboratories and candlelit study rooms.
Too much sun was blinding, oppressive.
He dropped onto the cool grass beneath a tree and sighed.
“Right… that letter.”
A few days earlier—
“Edgar Pawell. Suspend all research and proceed to the Academy immediately.”
He’d been stunned.
His research was funded, his performance solid.
Why was he being banished?
But then he saw the letter pinned to his door.
“By order of Her Imperial Highness.”
Why me?
He wasn’t a court mage, nor had he any contact with royalty.
And yet, he’d been personally summoned—
a dark-element specialist, of all things.
He tried to reason it out logically.
Was the princess studying magic? No, she was said to be a swordsman.
Did she need help with theory? Then they’d have called a scholar, not him.
Nothing fit.
Curiosity sparked—but so did weariness.
He just wanted to go back to his lab.
Still, an imperial summons wasn’t something one could refuse.
“…Ah, that’s right.”
He rummaged through his bag again and found the message.
[Upon arrival, report to the main building, third floor.]
Right. That’s where he was supposed to go.
He’d almost forgotten again.
Scratching his head, he pushed himself up—
and then stopped.
A girl was passing by.
Two swords at her waist. A dual-wielder.
Typical of swordsmen.
But there was something… else.
“Strange. She’s clearly a swordsman, yet… I sense faint magical affinity.”
Curiosity overrode orders.
The letter, the princess—all forgotten.
Edgar stood and quietly followed that faint, familiar aura.
“…….”
From a distance, Deus watched him go, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“A sparrow, after all, can’t pass a mill without pecking at it.”
