And so, the unprecedented terrorist assault on the Magic Academy came to its end.
This incident, which had begun in the form of a single student's rampage that no one could have predicted, had dealt devastating damage to the academy's facilities and reputation… yet, miraculously, it concluded without a single death or injury.
On that single point alone, one could say the academy's reputation had been barely preserved.
But.
That was not necessarily the same as the reputation of the faculty who administered this academy.
"—And so."
Rather, in this case at least, the opposite was true.
In a damaged room within the academy, a thin, bespectacled man addressed the gathered faculty.
"It's time for judgment, faculty members. The time has come to answer for your failure—to have done *nothing* in the face of the incident that struck this academy."
The faculty were pierced by the cold gaze of Yurgen von Trackia.
As it happened, this was the very same room where they had interrogated Ermes after the inter-class competition.
Back then, they had been the absolute rulers of this academy. They had moved students as they pleased, using the extraterritoriality unique to educational institutions to build their own little kingdom.
But all of that had now been stripped away.
Most of the students had already slipped from their grasp, and during the recent terrorist attack, they had been utterly helpless against the incoming monsters—reduced to handing the academy's entire defense over to its students.
Excuses were no longer viable. Every conceivable justification had been exhausted, and even then it had not been enough; all means of resistance had been torn from them. That was precisely why this Minister of Justice had come—as the final executor.
"Responsibility… responsibility, you say…?"
Having understood this perfectly, what the faculty did was…
"How dare you say *we* bear any responsibility!?"
They actually defied him head-on.
"First and foremost, our job is to educate and guide students! Not to protect them!"
"Exactly! There was nothing ordinary mages could have done about a situation like that! When faced with that, it didn't matter whether you were a teacher or a student—the ones who repelled the attack just happened to be students who had the power to do so!"
"Yes! If anything—we, the ones who raised students of that caliber, are the ones who should be commended!"
"…"
Unchanged. Incapable of change. These nobles.
There were, admittedly, things beyond one's control. Recognizing this, Yurgen said nothing and continued to fix them with his cold stare.
…Even they, surely, were aware of how weak their position was.
Perhaps the silence was what stung the most, for they continued speaking through cold sweat.
"Wh-what… what's with those eyes of yours!"
"We did nothing wrong! Nothing at all!"
"Everything was going perfectly well with our methods until now! Why is it suddenly not working anymore? That doesn't make any sense!"
"…That's right. Indeed, up until now… there were no problems on the surface."
At last, Yurgen spoke.
This was not limited to the academy alone. It applied to the entire country that had inherited Bloodline Magic.
"But that wasn't because there were no problems. You had merely been papering over cracks that had long existed, using Bloodline Magic as the legacy to patch them. …It just happened that in your generation, the patches could no longer hold. It wasn't because you were right."
"That's…"
Caught off guard by Yurgen's response, the faculty faltered for a moment—and then—
"—Then we are even less at fault!"
…They doubled down on their defiance.
"If your words are correct, then we merely followed the methods that have been in place for ages and bear no guilt whatsoever!"
"Precisely! We were simply unlucky! If anyone is to blame, it's the ones who created this system in the first place—the ones who imposed it on us knowing it would eventually collapse!"
"Exactly! We are the victims! How is it fair that only we have to bear the debt of ages past?! Therefore—"
"Oh my."
Yurgen narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Therefore—
you believe
it's acceptable
to shove it
onto the next
generation?"
The faculty held their breath.
It was not the content of his words but the sheer force of Yurgen's intimidation that overwhelmed them. As for the substance, they clearly had no intention of denying it—in fact, their faces made it plain they intended to shove the entire burden forward.
"…Don't be ridiculous. That's precisely *because* we've realized it in our generation that we must put an end to it in our generation."
Yurgen's voice carried a hint of heat as he continued.
"This country is on the verge of change. It is becoming a nation that does not rely too heavily on the relics of the past—a nation of true strength. Those who would drag its feet, those elements that cling stubbornly to the past—I will personally carry them all away."
He paused briefly, then let out a light breath.
"…Well, I understand your arguments perfectly. So—I won't do anything further."
When he said this, the faculty were momentarily stunned—and then, as one, they broke into cold sweat.
They had realized that *this was the worst possible outcome*.
Indeed, frankly speaking, even without Yurgen lifting a finger, they were already finished. The defeat of Class A in the inter-class competition and the subsequent bungled response had drawn fierce pressure from the students' parents.
On top of that, the fact that their handling of the recent terrorist incident had become public knowledge. And then there had been those selfish, self-serving remarks just now—feel free to say them, but whether other nobles would accept them was an entirely different matter.
In truth, they should have *wanted* him to pass judgment. If he had, they could have used "we have already been punished" as a powerful excuse.
That was precisely why Yurgen would not do so. He had not come here to deliver a specific punishment—he had come to declare that he was *abandoning them*.
Once that happened, their only possible end was being crushed to death by every direction at once from the other nobles.
Having heard what he came to hear, the conversation was over. As Yurgen turned to leave, a single voice reached his back.
"…Wait, Trackia…!"
"…Ah, Rujandol. What is it?"
Yurgen turned to face Rujandol, the year-group head, whose voice dripped with malice.
He addressed the young duke with a tone seething with rage and jealousy over power.
"What are you, really?! You always appear out of nowhere, do as you please, wrap things up however suits you, and then leave! Aren't you ashamed to posture as a person of responsibility when you're nothing but a silver-tongued fraud!?"
"Y-yes! This is a magic nation, after all—if you want to talk, shouldn't you show us some magic first!?"
"Words from the powerless carry no meaning whatsoever! No—they should wield those words in service of those who *have* power! You think you can just run your mouth and insult us all you want and then leave?!"
Sensing Rujandol's aim, the other faculty members fell in behind him.
…I see. Yurgen was, by nature, more of a civil official. He was not known for martial prowess or physical strength.
They were exploiting that, combined with the nature of a magic nation, to denounce him. If they could force him to submit, they might turn his authority to their own advantage.
After analyzing their strategy… in short, their plan was: *cornered, so they resort to force*.
…Exasperated, yet Yurgen nonetheless addressed them.
"…In other words, you're saying if I'm going to talk, I should demonstrate power commensurate with it?"
In a sense, his words were almost like accepting their provocation. Rujandol's lips curled upward as he moved to cut off Yurgen's escape route.
"Precisely! And of course, I don't mean political power, not at all. Concrete magical power—yes, Bloodline Magic. *That* is our proof, and its superiority determines the superiority of nobles! Words from one who lacks it carry no—"
"Sure, I understand."
"—What?"
But.
Yurgen answered casually, without batting an eye.
"You've been blathering on, but in short you're saying 'show us your Bloodline Magic,' correct? Very well—there's no one here I'd mind seeing it. So, let's get on with it."
Before Rujandol could even react, Yurgen raised his magic power, drew a breath, and—
"[────]"
He chanted.
…They had been mistaken.
Their impression of Yurgen as a civil official. The fact that he had virtually no battlefield accomplishments to speak of. From these, they had concluded that *Yurgen's Bloodline Magic was nothing special*.
And then they learned the truth.
As they themselves had said, this was a magic nation. In a country where magic was valued above all else, this was the meaning of rising to power through authority.
In other words—the *head of a ducal house* could not possibly be weak.
"What… n-no…"
In a corner of the school building, cracked and shattered from the monster assault, a single room had become a scene straight from hell.
The faculty had not been harmed. In their stead, the floor, the walls—in fact, *everything*—had been gouged, torn apart, and smashed to pieces. Every desk had been pulverized to dust.
All the faculty members sat pale-faced, staring at the purple-haired man standing alone at the center, their features twisted with terror.
"…I suppose I did overdo it, even if I was going to demolish the place anyway."
"Y-you… mister…"
Rujandol, his face equally blue, pointed a trembling finger at Yurgen.
There were two reasons for his terror.
One was the sheer power of the magic. It was undeniably worthy of a ducal house head—terrifyingly so. Before one could even begin to acknowledge or deny it, seeing it firsthand had made the truth undeniable.
But above and beyond that—what made Rujandol's body shake, what chilled his very core to the bone—
"What… what is that…
that terrifying
magic…!?"
Was the *nature* of the magic.
In response to Rujandol's question, Yurgen answered with a contrasting, cool smile.
"This? This is… the proof of my sin."
His expression was unreadable, as though deliberately so—as though this emotion needed to exist.
"A spell that symbolizes my guilt—the guilt of having looked away from a friend and failed to save my wife. A vow in spell form. A power meant to wash away this country's past and entrust it to the future."
Rujandol, and indeed all the other faculty, were swallowed by terror and could say nothing more.
Facing them, Yurgen smiled gently.
"Rest easy. The debts accumulated across generations are something our generation should bear. That applies to you as well—and I am no exception."
He spoke evenly, as though instructing them.
"Therefore, after you relics of the past are thoroughly destroyed—
I will
also
meet my end
properly. And then we can leave things to the sensible nobles and the children who remain, can't we?"
"——"
And finally, the faculty understood.
This man. In this country, he had risen to the position of a departmental minister and, aside from the royal family, held the highest authority as head of a ducal house—
—and yet, he had *no attachment to that power whatsoever*.
There was no way they could win. Their perspectives were simply too different; persuasion and subjugation were both impossible. The moment this man had set his sights on them, they had had no path other than ruin.
Facing the faculty whose spirits had been utterly broken, Yurgen offered one last remark.
"Go ahead and resent me to your hearts' content. But I ask only one promise—keep the details of this magic as quiet as possible. Especially, make sure it doesn't reach Katia's ears.
…Even I don't want my own daughter to be afraid of me. Surely even you understand what happens if you break this promise?"
Imbued with their greatest terror, the faculty had no choice but to nod.
And so, the faculty who had clung stubbornly to their ugly resistance at last sank into the sea of ruin.
◆
Leaving the academy and riding alone in the carriage home, Yurgen reflected.
…Perhaps using magic *was* going a bit too far.
There were countless ways he could have utterly and completely ruined them on the spot without relying on magic.
And yet, he had chosen to use magic despite the risk of exposure. He had chosen to implant absolute terror in them.
…Even for someone like him, they had struck a nerve, hadn't they?
They—the faculty, the nobles. Those who held nothing in their heads but preserving their privileges, who had lost all pride—
—those who had, indirectly, killed his wife.
"I still have a long way to go. …I told myself I'd stop acting out of these feelings."
He murmured softly.
Yes—that was what he had decided on that day. To leave the past where it belonged and act henceforth in service of the future. Because he believed that would be his atonement to his friend.
And so, Yurgen shifted his thoughts. Away from the past, and toward the future.
The academy had changed. The school building was certainly in ruins, but centered around one young man, the will to change had surely spread to many. Just as Yurgen had intended.
…Well, that said, having the academy's functionality obliterated was undeniably a blow to spreading that change further.
The organization that had done this—operating in the shadows behind the kingdom.
He had known of their existence, of course. But he had not anticipated them acting this quickly… and surely, their momentum would only accelerate from here on.
The revolution centered on Ermes and the others—it was certain this organization would continue to stand as its greatest enemy going forward.
That Ermes's magic had been publicly revealed was also, of course, not part of the original plan. Ideally, he would have kept that ace hidden a while longer, but things rarely went so smoothly. He would also need to manage the other nobles' reactions to Ermes.
…Well, there had been all sorts of developments.
But overall, they were undeniably moving forward. His goal—that endpoint—was now within visible reach.
All that remained was to fully transform the kingdom, eliminate his worries, and entrust what lay beyond to the future.
And then he himself would be retired. As he had declared, he would relinquish all power and meet his ruin.
That said, he had no intention of dying. The reason was simple—if he died, his daughter would grieve.
He was confident enough that his daughter cared for him, and he, of course, loved her in return.
Therefore, as a parent—he wanted to at least be there to watch over her wedding.
"…And the strongest candidate at this point is *that* one…"
Even Yurgen had to smile wryly at this.
In this particular regard, that person was a formidable opponent in every sense. Moreover, through this whole academy affair, it felt as though his "formidability" had only accelerated further in certain respects.
Having a powerful magic user join their ranks was certainly cause for celebration—but on this one front, he genuinely did not know how to respond.
Furthermore, depending on his future actions, he might well *accelerate* that very dynamic—which was deeply ironic.
"…Well, I don't intend to interfere with that directly."
He was not so tactless as to trample his children's youth with heavy boots.
And besides—he believed it was precisely *that* scene, that sight, which would shape what was to come.
So, surely—it would be fine.
…I'm a little tired.
Perfect timing for a short nap before the carriage reached home. He was prone to chronic sleep deprivation as it was.
And surely, from here on, even busier days awaited him.
With his thoughts calm and the corners of his mouth relaxed, he drifted into a dream of their brilliant future.
A man who pursued his ideal sank peacefully into a light slumber.