Chapter 88

Flame

The Great Hall of the Goethe estate had an especially majestic presence.
If there was one luxury the otherwise modest Goethe family allowed themselves, it was this hall.

A ceiling so high it made your neck ache to look up at it, with long, sweeping arches.
Massive pillars engraved with the names of ancestors in ancient script.
Geometric stained glass casting multicolored light through the windows.
Chandeliers glowing softly with magic stones.
Statues that looked as though they had been taken straight out of myth.

It inspired a sense of reverence—almost sacred.
A perfect place for a competition.

“Since Everett of the Botmer family isn’t attending, Carlos of the Ripe family is the most likely candidate. I hear his mana level has already surpassed Class 1.”
“We can’t overlook Mark and Hauzen either.”

Those gathered to observe the competition discussed it with enthusiasm.

What each family’s child demonstrated here would reflect the future of their house.

“Goethe’s Isaac is still afflicted with madness, I hear.”
“Even the Count has no expectations for him.”
“There’s the second son, Jonas, but he’s only nine. I heard he hasn’t even formed a mana ring yet.”
“The stronghold of the eldest son’s blessing will crumble.”

Whispers spread through the crowd.

Idle onlookers chatted excitedly.

Jonas stood his ground, lips tightly pressed together.

In such a vast hall, voices carried easily.
Even quiet whispers reached his ears.

Steadying his wavering mind, Jonas focused on the movements of the minor spirits.

Within him, a melody flowed—one only spirits could hear.
It wasn’t voiced aloud, nor heard with the ears.

It was a sound made by the soul—and heard by the soul.

Drawn by it, minor spirits gathered around him.
Tiny lights, visible only to those who had opened their Mind’s Eye, flickered around him.

“Isn’t that Goethe’s second young master?”
“Ah, Baron Hauzen. It’s been a while.”

Jonas stood at the main entrance of the Great Hall—the only entryway.
Through the wide-open double doors, people flowed in and out endlessly.

There was still time before the competition began.
Jonas had to greet each noble who recognized him.

Fortunately, most nobles treated the nine-year-old kindly.
A well-mannered child was endearing to them.

“Young master, wouldn’t it be better to rest in your room and come out when it begins?”

Paul, the attendant at his side, asked with concern.

This was a competition of magic.
A place to demonstrate higher-level, more difficult, more unique spells.

Concentration was everything.

Mana reserves didn’t change overnight—but concentration could falter easily.

That was why most participants waited in carriages, entering only when it was time.
They avoided unnecessary greetings to preserve focus.

“It’s fine.”

Jonas shook his head.

His gaze shifted to a corner of the hall.

Two figures stood there, dressed in black robes embroidered with foreign patterns—visitors from abroad.

They were Violet and Isaac.

No one recognized them.

— I need your help.

It was the first time in his life Jonas had been asked something by Isaac.

He wanted to do it well.

Gathering minor spirits and signaling if anything unusual occurred.
A simple task.

But from Isaac’s tone, it was something that had to be done.

Helping his brother.

That alone made Jonas happy.

**

After falling ill due to his abnormal constitution, Isaac had secluded himself for a long time.
He had become sharp and irritable.

He lashed out with harsh words and threw things.

And yet Jonas believed.

He believed Isaac would return to the brother he once knew.
He even prayed—though faith was almost laughable for a child of a magical family.

Still, nothing mattered more to him than his brother’s return.

Perhaps his wish had come true.

Isaac was slowly returning.

His appearance had changed, and the servants still feared and criticized him—

But Jonas knew.

His brother had come back.

Jonas also understood how important this competition was to the family.
He had heard it countless times from his tutor and attendants.

But to him, nothing mattered more than helping Isaac right now.

Time passed.

The competition was about to begin.

Six families, including Goethe, were participating.

Though their prestige and influence varied, they all shared one thing:

They were lineages of magicians.

Magic was their pride—and directly tied to their survival.

A perfect reference point for assessing the level of students.

An elderly man in modest attire thought to himself.

Marcel Reich, Dean of the Royal Academy’s Department of Magic.

He had been fortunate.

His sabbatical had coincided with Goethe’s irregularly held competition.

Though… I don’t see any collateral branches. Only vassals?

Reich, who was close to the Count of Goethe, was familiar with both vassals and collateral branches.

Yet all he saw were the crests of vassals.

It seemed the branches had grown distant after the reforms in Bernsi.

***

“Today, we are honored by the presence of Dean Reich.”

Standing on the platform, Helmut von Goethe spoke.

His voice echoed through the Great Hall.

Reich stepped forward beside him with a gentle smile.

“To those who walk the path of magic—and those who will walk it—I greet you all. I am Marcel Reich, Dean of the Royal Academy.”

His seasoned voice resonated calmly.

“I thank the Count for granting me the honor of attending. Even in my old age, I am fortunate enough to witness the budding flowers of the next generation.”

Reich, a Class 4 mage, was recognized even by the royal court as a leading magician.

Yet he maintained a humble demeanor.

“As one ages, thoughts grow rigid and the mind stiffens. Mages, like knights, are not free from the effects of time. I hope your creativity and flexibility will offer this old man something to learn.”

Though it sounded like a request for guidance, no one took it literally.

He had taught at the academy for over a decade.

Ordinary talent would not impress him.

But if one caught his eye, they could gain special admission to the Royal Academy.

That was why, among all the distinguished guests, the five vassal families paid particular attention to Reich.

For some, it brought tension and pressure.
For others, excitement and anticipation.

I hope you entertain me.

Reich smiled.

***

“Let us begin.”

“At the Count’s command—Felix, eldest son of the Mark family, step forward.”

At the Count’s signal, the head attendant announced.

A boy in a splendid tunic stepped onto the stage.

Lady Mark clasped her hands tightly, more nervous than her son.

“He’s grown a lot.”
“I wonder if his magic has improved as well.”

Under the gaze of the crowd, Felix closed his eyes.

He brought his hands together—blue mana gathered between his palms.

Stage One: Mana Condensation.

For ordinary people, it was impressive talent.
But for children of magical families, it was merely the basics.

Something academy freshmen were expected to master first.

“…Oh?”

Reich let out a quiet note of interest.

Mana condensation itself was elementary.

But mastery varied greatly.

Even a slight distraction could destabilize it.

Yet Felix executed the first stage flawlessly—without the slightest tremor.

“Eldru min innan bre thu—”

Fwoosh!

The blue mana burst into flames.

This was the second stage—Elemental Transformation.
The caster’s will intervenes in pure mana, drawing in surrounding elements and reshaping them into the desired form.

“Whoa—!”
“So he’s already begun handling elements.”

Reich stroked his beard with interest.
At the academy, reaching this level alone was considered near mastery.

But Felix’s demonstration didn’t end there.

Flare—

The flames in his hands began to take shape.
A burning form emerged—wings spreading, fluttering.

“A… phoenix?”
“No, an owl. It’s the Mark family’s crest.”

Though only palm-sized, the flame clearly formed the shape of an owl.

Such precise control. As expected of the Mark family.

Reich nodded and began to clap.

The applause spread through the hall.
Cheers erupted in the Great Hall—recognition of the boy’s effort and talent, and respect for the Mark family.

Lady Mark pressed her chest, overwhelmed with emotion.

“A strong start.”

The audience’s expectations rose immediately.
But few could meet that standard.

***

“Greta, eldest daughter of the Hauzen family, step forward.”

“W-what do I do… sniff, sniff… waaah—!”

Some were so nervous they couldn’t even perform basic mana condensation.

“I’m not going! I’m not doing it!”
“Young master, please, not here—”

Others, intimidated by Felix’s display, panicked before even trying.

“Tch, children of magical families, and yet…”
“They’re still just kids.”

“Felix is the exceptional one.”

Three turns passed like that.

Some families had sent multiple children, so there were still many participants left.

But as the turns continued, the audience’s excitement began to fade.

Reich sighed quietly.

Even he was starting to grow bored.

***

“Isaac of the Goethe family is unable to attend due to personal reasons. Therefore, Enette will perform as his representative.”

At Schiller’s announcement, murmurs spread across the hall.

“Enette? Which family is that?”
“No family name was mentioned.”
“I’ve never heard of her.”
“A proxy in a competition? Absurd.”
“Did they adopt her or something?”

The nobles, seeing Enette on stage, assumed she was a minor noble from an obscure magical family.

Their interest lay solely in magic.
Her identity would only matter if she proved herself worthy.

Meanwhile, the servants of Goethe who recognized her were shocked.

“W-why is she up there?”
“That’s Enette? She looks like a completely different person.”

She wasn’t wearing her usual maid uniform.

Instead, she wore a dress befitting a noble lady—
an elegant silhouette emphasizing her waist, with a full skirt brushing the floor.
Her hair was neatly braided, adorned with ornaments.

The stunned crowd naturally turned their gaze toward the Count.

He remained expressionless, as if this had all been expected.

Enette quietly closed her eyes.

She recalled everything Isaac had taught her.

All the lessons from the past months—
things she never let go of, even while working tirelessly as a maid.

She imagined herself alone in an infinite world.
She felt her connection to all things.
She yearned desperately for what she lacked.

And then—she manifested that image.

Fwoosh—

A flame suddenly ignited at her fingertips.

“…Without an incantation?”

The audience was stunned.

No spell. No chant.

And yet, the flame was far larger than Felix’s.
It was so brilliant that it felt as if the entire Great Hall had grown brighter.

— Find your own flame.

Isaac’s words echoed in her mind.

She had found it.

Her own flame.

Her own hope.