Chapter 22:
[If you shake hands with Duke Ruthspell now, he’ll find out that Lord Rian has magical power.]
[Anyway, human mages really are sneaky little bastards. They could just ask, but no—they always have to figure things out in secret.]
It was a common mage habit to check for magical power in everyone they met.
That’s why I had let it slide last time when Oswald secretly confirmed Piace’s magic.
I didn’t bother avoiding the handshake this time either.
Because Oswald, veins bulging on his forehead, urgently pulled Ruthspell’s hand back.
“You’ve lost your mind! Why are you trying to shake hands with the Duke?!”
“Does the Duke not have hands?”
“Shut it!”
Oswald, who had just been scolding Ruthspell, now turned to me with a pitiful look.
As if to say, Please understand—my kid’s not all there.
Step 2: (Arrogantly) I’ll proceed with the donation as planned, out of respect for the headmaster’s sincerity.
“I’ll proceed with the donation as planned.”
“Wh-what? Are you serious? I wasn’t expecting this at all…! You have such a generous heart!”
Oswald clasped his hands over his chest and teared up like his life had just been saved.
Dramatic, even though he probably expected this.
“But, Your Grace… would it be possible to have it in writing?”
“…”
“It’s absolutely not because we don’t trust you! But we need proof we can pay in order to secure the construction guild ahead of time…”
“Steward. Bring a contract.”
The steward, who had been glaring daggers at Oswald ever since he mentioned paperwork, quietly stepped outside.
A few moments later, he returned with a contract template, spread leather over the table, and began drafting it.
Scratch, scratch.
The only sound in the study was the steward’s quill.
Oswald kept a close eye on the steward with wide, watchful eyes. Ruthspell, seemingly bored, stood and began looking around the study.
I sipped my tea and glanced at Ruthspell.
His eyes scanning the bookshelf were serious—like he’d found something interesting.
‘Still loves books, huh? What’s he looking at? Do I even have anything here he’d be into?’
I debated how to say, Pick any book you want in a cold, dignified tone.
While I was distracted thinking that, Ruthspell approached the desk.
He seemed to be inspecting the half-scribbled and abandoned project sketches.
I was just about to tell him not to look—it was embarrassing—when he pointed at something.
“Control Water.”
“…?”
“I don’t know what a ‘sprinkler’ is… but it seems similar to this spell. Though the formula needs adjustment.”
“……!”
Ruthspell was pointing at one of the sketches scattered across the desk.
I had written a vague question mark and a brief description because I didn’t know the magical equivalent of a sprinkler—and yet, he immediately provided an answer.
‘Oh right, he’s a genius!’
He might speak slowly and act like even breathing is a hassle—
But Ruthspell was still a genius.
His mind worked fast.
‘If I handle this well, it could both help me and reignite Ruthspell’s motivation.’
Luckily, the system wasn’t nagging. That meant I had free rein.
I leisurely traced the condensation on my glass.
“Did I see a faculty lounge at the academy…?”
Oswald, still watching the steward like a hawk, replied without looking away.
“You must be thinking of another facility. Professors each have private labs; there’s no separate lounge.”
“Isn’t a lab for work? It’s better to separate workspace and rest space.”
“…Is that so?”
“Especially for mages. Once they start an experiment, they stop taking care of themselves. They need mandatory rest periods outside their labs.”
“Hmm, you make a good point.”
Oswald rubbed his chin, looking troubled.
“But the academy’s budget is for the students. It’s hard to justify using it for the professors…”
“Steward, add a faculty lounge to the donation list.”
“Yes, milady.”
Oswald blinked like he’d been struck speechless.
“Y-you mean, in addition to the riding arena, you’re also building a faculty lounge at the academy?”
Your eyes say Since when do you care about the professors?, so I launched into my prepared excuse.
“Professors’ fatigue is directly tied to the quality of their teaching. If it’s not top-tier education, I wouldn’t entrust a child sponsored by Ivrante.”
“Ohhh! Such profound insight!”
Oswald beamed from ear to ear. He had no reason to object now—free facilities were being built on his turf.
“Absolutely! Only the best education will do for Piace! After all, she’s sponsored by the Duke of Ivrante! And our academy is the only place fit to deliver such excellence! Hahaha!”
He flattered me as if he were offering his liver.
“You seem to have a lot of knowledge about magical experiments too. Were you always interested in magic?”
Well, one of my closest friends had been a master-level mage.
I’d stuck with him long enough that I developed some interest myself.
Though it was more out of curiosity—was his nasty attitude caused by magic, or was he always that awful and magic just made it worse?
“To some extent.”
“I’m truly glad we visited you today. We were about to assign more duties to the professors… If Your Grace builds the lounge, it’ll be a huge help. Thank you again.”
“Is something going on at the academy?”
“We’ve been appointed as consultants for the plaza redevelopment project. That’s going to increase our workload considerably.”
“Then I’ve offered help at just the right time.”
“Exactly! This is the perfect moment to build a faculty lounge! The academy is moving to a new level—all thanks to you, Your Grace!”
Oswald’s endless praise finally led to the line I’d been waiting for:
“Your Grace, if the academy can ever assist you in any way, please don’t hesitate to ask. We’ll support you wholeheartedly, in every way.”
“Then may I borrow Professor Ruthspell for a day?”
“…Pardon?”
Oswald, who had been making a scene, suddenly calmed down.
Even Ruthspell, who’d been staring at the bookshelf, turned to look at me.
“Why do you need Professor Ruthspell? What for, exactly…?”
“I’m working on the plaza project. I need a mage’s insight.”
“Ah! I see. But that’s not something I can decide on my own… Um, Professor Ruthspell, would you help the Duke?”
“No.”
“Steward, stop writing.”
“Yes, milady.”
The steward immediately set his quill down.
“N-no, we were almost finished… Your Grace, may I speak privately with Professor Ruthspell?”
“Go ahead.”
Oswald pulled Ruthspell to the corner and began whispering urgently.
I couldn’t hear a word, but it didn’t matter.
[Disciple, you’d benefit from a lounge too. Isn’t that nice for all of us?]
[No.]
[Just think of this as simple consulting. Sure, the Duke’s personality is a bit… but it’s only one day. Do it for your master?]
[No.]
[Ugh… I didn’t want to say this, but… The temple said they can’t fix my front tooth.]
[…]
The spirits gave a live commentary of the conversation.
Judging by their opposite expressions afterward, I could guess the result.
Oswald returned, face flushed with excitement, dragging Ruthspell along.
“Our dear Professor Ruthspell of course agreed to help!”
“I thought he said no?”
“What are you saying! Of course he agreed! The Duke’s request is always welcome!”
“I see.”
“So when would you like him to come?”
“The sooner the better.”
“Understood. I’ll make sure he arrives by tomorrow evening. Um… then, about the contract…”
Oswald glanced pleadingly at the nearly finished contract.
I signaled the steward with a nod.
“Steward, finish the contract.”
“Yes, milady.”
Oswald eagerly read over the completed contract and smiled brightly.
His footsteps as he left were light and cheerful.
Very different from Ruthspell, who trudged behind him, dragging his feet.
“Shall we get started, then?”
I quickly began writing a draft plan.
At the time, I thought the project was all taken care of.
That was, until the next day—
when Ruthspell didn’t show up even by nightfall.
