NOVEL NEXT Chapter 69: Academy Orientation
The lingering taste of the academy's surprisingly excellent meal danced on my tongue as Alicia and I joined the small cluster of first-year students waiting in the marble-floored corridor.
It was time for what Professor Kristina had diplomatically termed our "afternoon orientation session."
"Think of it as an extended introduction to your new home," she had said earlier, though something in her weary tone suggested this tour had become as routine for her as breathing.
Professor Kristina appeared precisely on schedule, her sensible heels clicking against the polished stone as she approached our group.
"Follow me, and please keep up," she announced without preamble. "The Erestia Royal Academy spans over three hundred acres, and I have no intention of spending my entire afternoon searching for stragglers."
As we began our procession through the academy's labyrinthine corridors, I found myself genuinely impressed despite my cynical expectations. The architecture was nothing short of magnificent—soaring Gothic arches supported by intricately carved columns, stained glass windows that cast rainbow patterns across ancient stone floors, and oil paintings of long-dead headmasters whose eyes seemed to follow our movement with supernatural intensity.
Walking beside me, Alicia was practically vibrating with excitement. Her emerald eyes darted everywhere at once, taking in each architectural detail with the enthusiasm of someone who had dreamed of this moment for years.
"Our first stop," Professor Kristina announced as we emerged into a vast courtyard, "the primary training grounds."
The space before us was nothing short of extraordinary. Multiple practice areas spread across the courtyard, each designed for different aspects of magical combat training. Advanced students moved through complex spell sequences, their movements fluid and precise. The air itself seemed to thrum with residual magical energy, and I noticed scorch marks decorating the reinforced stone barriers that surrounded each practice ring.
"Note the protective magic," Kristina continued, gesturing toward the shimmering barriers. "They were significantly reinforced after last semester's incident involving a third-year student."
From the training grounds, we proceeded to what Kristina described as the heart of the academy: the library. If the training grounds had been impressive, the library was nothing short of breathtaking. The main hall stretched upward for at least five stories, with countless volumes bound in leather and metal reaching toward a vaulted ceiling painted with constellations that seemed to move when I wasn't looking directly at them.
Students moved through the space with quiet, their voices reduced to whispers as they navigated between towering shelves.
I noticed several restricted sections, their shelves protected by additional barriers and staffed by stern-looking librarians who seemed to catalog every student who approached. Knowledge as power, literally—the most dangerous information kept under lock and key, accessible only to those deemed worthy or trustworthy enough to handle it.
The administrative wing proved less inspiring but no less important. Here, the academy's bureaucratic machinery hummed along with quiet efficiency. Teacher offices lined long corridors, each door bearing a nameplate and posted office hours. It struck me as oddly mundane after the grandeur of the training grounds and library, though I supposed even magical education required paperwork and administrative oversight.
"You'll become quite familiar with this area," Kristina noted dryly. "Grade disputes, schedule changes, disciplinary hearings—all the tedious but necessary business of academic life."
Several other stops followed: the alchemical laboratories with their bubbling cauldrons and pungent chemical odors, the astronomical observatory with its massive telescope pointed toward the afternoon sky, the healing ward where a few unfortunate students were already recovering from what appeared to be minor training accidents.
By the time we reached our final destination, I was genuinely third and bored.
"And finally," Professor Kristina announced as we entered a beautifully landscaped garden area, "the meditation gardens. Here, students may find quiet spaces for contemplation, study, and intellectual discourse."
The gardens were genuinely lovely—winding paths led between carefully maintained flower beds, while stone benches were strategically placed to offer both privacy and scenic views.
But Kristina's next words carried a distinctly sharper edge. "I must emphasize that the academy maintains strict policies regarding appropriate conduct on school grounds. Intimate activities of any kind are strictly forbidden and will result in immediate disciplinary action, up to and including expulsion."
I had to suppress a smirk—clearly, this particular rule had been tested more than once by hormone-driven students with access to private alcoves and concealing magic. The garden's design seemed almost deliberately conducive to romantic encounters even.
Well, nonetheless I could under people wishing to have sex in this beautiful garden. I will definitely have sex here with Rumia or other women in the future.
My mental assessment of the garden's potential uses was interrupted by an enthusiastic voice from our group. "We absolutely understand, Professor, and we promise to maintain the highest standards of academic propriety!"
The speaker was impossible to ignore—tall, blonde, and possessed of the kind of effortless confidence that came from a lifetime of privilege and expectation. His green eyes sparkled with charm as he delivered his promise, though I detected a hint of mischief beneath the noble bearing.
Thanks to Isadora's exhaustive briefings on important noble families, I recognized him immediately: Brian Mossward, eldest son and heir to Duke Mossward's considerable holdings. More significantly, if the political rumors circulating through the capital were accurate, he was a leading candidate for Princess Eleanora's hand in marriage—a union that would solidify several important political alliances and bring substantial wealth to both families.
His positioning throughout our tour had been anything but subtle. He consistently managed to remain within Princess Eleanora's line of sight, timing his comments to complement her observations and generally behaving like a young man desperately hoping to make a favorable impression. Classic courtship behavior, though whether his interest was genuine affection or calculated political maneuvering remained unclear.
Princess Eleanora herself maintained diplomatic neutrality toward his advances, responding with the kind of polite acknowledgment that could be interpreted as either encouragement or mere courtesy. Her expression revealed nothing of her true feelings, though I found myself curious about what lay beneath that carefully maintained royal composure. Was she resigned to a politically advantageous marriage like so many nobles, or did she harbor romantic feelings for someone else, perhaps following in her brother Prince William's rebellious footsteps?
The speculation was entertaining, but my attention was drawn to a far more immediate and pressing concern. Throughout the entire tour, I had felt the weight of hostile observation—three sets of eyes tracking my every movement with barely concealed malice.
Borin Ironroot and his two companions had apparently decided I warranted their focused attention. Their glares had been constant and increasingly aggressive as the afternoon progressed, a simmering hostility that seemed to intensify by minutes.
What concerned me most was their complete disregard for subtlety. This wasn't the calculating observation of political rivals assessing a potential threat—this was raw, personal animosity. They had already moved beyond mere dislike into active hatred, and men consumed by such emotions rarely remained content with passive observation.
Fortunately, their attention remained focused exclusively on me rather than Alicia, and she seemed genuinely oblivious to the undercurrent of tension. Her natural optimism and excitement about the academy tour had apparently blinded her. I intended to keep it that way—the last thing I needed was for her to become collateral damage in whatever Borin was planning.
Because he was definitely planning something.
I had seen plenty of these gazes in my past life.
The timing couldn't be worse. Any incident occurring so soon after our public confrontation in the dining hall would immediately draw suspicion toward Alicia and me. If something happened to Borin and his friends—if they suffered mysterious accidents or simply disappeared—we would be the obvious suspects. The academy administration would have no choice but to investigate thoroughly, and such scrutiny was the last thing I needed.
My fingers drummed silently against my thigh as I considered available options. In a different environment, the solution would be refreshingly straightforward. Three troublemakers could easily vanish without trace, their bodies disposed of in ways that would never be discovered.
But the Erestia Royal Academy wasn't some back-alley where people disappeared without consequence. Every student here represented significant political or economic power; their families would demand answers if anything happened to them. Thorough investigations would follow any disappearances, conducted by people with both magical abilities and political authority that could prove extremely inconvenient.
The realization was frustrating in its implications. I had survived assassination attempts, political coups, and open warfare, but this academic environment demanded entirely different skills. Subtlety rather than directness.
Alicia should theoretically be capable of handling this situation—her family's influence should be more than sufficient to deter a mere viscount's son and his followers. But she lacked the ruthless confidence needed to wield that power effectively. She was too kind, too diplomatic, too concerned with being fair and reasonable. Moreover, Borin's own noble status would limit her family's ability to act without significant political ramifications.
Thy were both of Viscount's status after all.
No, this required a different approach entirely. I needed a patron, someone with enough political weight to make potential troublemakers reconsider their plans without creating larger diplomatic incidents. Someone at the Count level or higher, preferably with a reputation for protecting their interests decisively.
And it must be a woman.
If I could make her fall in love with me it will be even easier to protect myself. Love could make women do anything for youand I knew that from my last life's experience.
I fell in thought I mentally reviewed the noble hierarchy Isadora had drilled into me during our preparation sessions. Several options presented themselves, but one stood out as particularly promising.
"That concludes our orientation," Professor Kristina announced, her voice cutting through my strategic planning. "Regular classes begin the day after tomorrow. I strongly recommend using the intervening time to familiarize yourselves further with the academy's resources and expectations. The transition to advanced magical education can be... challenging for those unprepared."
As the group began to disperse, students breaking off into smaller clusters based on existing friendships or emerging alliances, I caught Alicia's arm gently. "Let's leave."
She turned to me, her green eyes widening with surprise. The suddenness of my suggestion seemed to catch her off guard, but after a moment's hesitation, she nodded shyly, her cheeks bearing the faintest hint of pink.
I wanted to distance us from Borin and his companions before they could involve us in whatever schemes they might be hatching.
As we made our way toward the academy gates, Alicia fell into step beside me, her footsteps light against the cobblestone path. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the courtyard, painting everything in warm golden hues that somehow made the imposing architecture seem less forbidding.
"Are we going home?" She asked.
I could see the question in her eyes went deeper than mere curiosity about our destination. Perhaps she was remembering our unexpected excursion through Erestia on the day of the entrance examination.
"Do you want to go somewhere?" I asked her.
She shook her head, though I caught a fleeting look of something that might have been disappointment. "Not really," she replied, then added with characteristic honesty, "I thought you would."
There was something endearingly transparent about her response, the way she seemed to defer to what she assumed my preferences might be rather than expressing her own desires.
"Let's go home first," I decided, noting how her shoulders relaxed slightly at the familiar plan.
Our carriage waited exactly where we'd left it that morning, the Lindow family crest gleaming on its polished doors. The coachman stood beside it with the patient bearing of someone accustomed to long waits – he'd likely been there for the better part of an hour, possibly longer, but such was the nature of his employment.
The rhythmic clip-clop of the horses' hooves created a soothing backdrop as we made our way through the city streets, past merchant stalls closing for the day and citizens hurrying about their evening business.
The journey to the Lindow mansion passed in comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional creak of the carriage wheels and the distant sounds of city life. When we finally arrived, Alicia practically bounced from her seat, her earlier shyness replaced by an eagerness to share her experiences.
"I'll see you at dinner," she called over her shoulder as she rushed toward the main entrance, her academy skirt billowing behind her like dark wings.
As I prepared to follow her inside, the sound of approaching hoofbeats made me pause. Another carriage was pulling up to the estate, its wheels crunching against the gravel drive with a different cadence than our own vehicle. The driver appeared to be having a brief conversation with the gatekeeper, their voices too low for me to make out the words.
"Young master Harold," the servant called out, waving his hand to capture my attention. "Someone is here for you."
I raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. As I approached the unfamiliar carriage, I noticed the driver was indeed a woman – unusual, though not unheard of among the nobility who often employed female servants for various specialized roles.
My steps slowed as I reached for the carriage door. When I pulled it open and peered inside, I smiled a little.
"Rumia..."