Re-written date: 7 / 17 / 2025
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Chapter 64: The Organization Has Decided—You Will Be the New Branch Dean
The Mage Tower—also known as the Imperial Mage Academy—was the pinnacle of magical scholarship in the Empire. Founded by the Empire's first Arch Mage, the Tower was more than just a school: it was a beacon for all aspiring mages, a monument to the Empire's magical prowess, and the most iconic structure in the capital. Neither the royal palace nor the Church of the Holy Light's cathedral could rival its prestige. The Tower had become a symbol of the Empire itself.
That hadn't always been the case.
According to the oldest imperial chronicles, the Tower's rise began during the early days of the Empire, a time when humanity stood on the brink of collapse. The fragile coalition of human kingdoms had barely managed to unite when they were met with a devastating counterattack—a joint invasion by the non-human races.
The result was a war of survival, later immortalized in history as the Empire's First Defensive War.
The non-human coalition had staged a cunning maneuver: feigning an assault on the fortress that would one day mark the Empire's western border, while secretly marching a larger army through the southern plains to strike the capital directly.
Caught unprepared, the capital nearly fell.
It was only thanks to the efforts of a group of over three hundred senior mages—led by the newly ascended Sixth Rank mage, the first Arch Mage Roland—that the city was saved. Together, they forged an enormous arcane barrier that shielded the capital for three days and three nights, holding the invaders at bay until reinforcements arrived.
That legendary defense turned the tide of the war and ushered in an era of lasting peace.
From that moment on, the status of mages skyrocketed. No longer seen as mere scholars or eccentric spellcasters, they became the Empire's most vital defenders—and its most favored allies. Even the royal family came to view them as indispensable. It soon became a tradition for each emperor to spend time studying within the Tower, regardless of magical talent.
Few emperors possessed true aptitude for magic, of course. Those who did were rare exceptions. But even the untalented ones found value in their studies: they gained new perspectives, forged alliances with powerful mages, and deepened their understanding of the arcane world.
This tradition persisted through the centuries, becoming a cultural fixture of imperial rule.
The Tower's unmatched influence was also secured by one crucial agreement established at the founding of the Empire: a clause famously known as "Mages Shall Not Intervene in Politics."
That one sentence was enough to soothe the fears of monarchs and high nobility alike. It ensured that mages would remain powerful, yet apolitical—an elite force with no ambition to rule. Unlike military generals or ministers, mages were seen as tools of power with no desire for the throne.
To the rulers of the Empire, they were perfect: competent, irreplaceable, and loyal—because they had no incentive to rebel.
In contrast, the Church of the Holy Light—once a dominant voice in proclaiming divine right—saw its power steadily eroded. Were it not for the fact that the Empire's official state religion still venerated the God of Holy Light, one particularly authoritarian emperor might have fully severed ties with the papacy centuries ago.
Today, the Church still clung to its narrative of "divine right," but anyone with political sense could see the truth: the Church no longer had any real influence in matters of state. They were ceremonial, marginalized, and largely sidelined from actual governance.
Meanwhile, the Mage Tower only grew in power and prestige.
Of course, while every student of the Imperial Mage Academy could look up and see the gleaming spires of the Tower, very few were ever allowed to enter it.
The Tower wasn't just tall—it was exclusive. Only the most brilliant, accomplished, or historically significant mages had access to its halls. To be admitted wasn't just an honor; it was a declaration of one's status among the arcane elite.
Those granted entry weren't merely scholars—they were the minds shaping the future of magic.
…
Edward followed Roy in silence, the two of them winding through the familiar corridors of the Tower. Despite the heavy footsteps and ancient stone underfoot, the silence between them lingered.
Edward didn't know what to say.
He knew this place all too well.
Eventually, Roy brought him to a set of grand doors. Edward stopped in his tracks, recognizing the location instantly.
It was the Great Lecture Hall.
The last time he had stood here was when he had delivered his landmark presentation on the "Alchemical Revolution."
The Great Lecture Hall served a unique function within the Tower: it was the stage for breakthroughs. Whenever a mage made a significant discovery, they were invited to present it here. It was both a celebration and a crucible—an arena where ideas were tested and reputations forged.
No one remembered exactly when this tradition had begun, but everyone respected it. It was the reason why the Empire's magical community continued to evolve from one generation to the next. This transparency, this ritual of peer review and open innovation, ensured that stagnation never took root.
Thanks to this system, the number of Arch Mages—those who had reached the mythical Sixth Rank of magic—was nearing double digits, a feat once thought impossible.
After all, every magician who gained access to the Tower had the right to read through every piece of magical knowledge mankind had uncovered so far. So long as you had enough talent, you could study all the Tier 6 Forbidden Spells one by one, master them thoroughly, and become an Arch Mage with ease.
Of course, the truth was that most people couldn't even manage to fully understand a single one.
Meanwhile, the knightly arts were still stuck in a rigid, master-to-disciple tradition. The most powerful techniques were closely guarded secrets, handed down within select bloodlines or elite orders. Ordinary people had no access to the best martial skills, no matter how talented they were. In comparison, mages had long since embraced the concept of shared knowledge. So long as someone had talent, knowledge was freely passed on between peers—almost without restriction.
This was precisely why warriors still hadn't produced a single Sixth Rank master, while the number of Arch Mages among the mages only grew each year.
As Edward followed Roy into the Grand Lecture Hall, he quickly realized the place was already packed. The hall, usually quiet and mostly ignored by reclusive researchers, was now filled wall to wall with people. Even those who preferred to bury themselves in personal experiments had shown up.
More importantly, the people present weren't just random scholars. Edward recognized several faces right away—senior Arch Mages who were practically legends in the Imperial Mage Academy. Even among those he didn't recognize by face, he could sense many powerful magical presences quietly seated in the crowd.
Professors, lecturers, deans, and directors from every major department in the academy were seated in neat rows, their expressions unusually serious and composed.
It was the first time Edward had ever seen the Grand Lecture Hall completely full.
Roy led him to a seat near the back. Edward had tried to keep a low profile, but even so, he could clearly feel dozens of eyes shifting toward him the moment he entered. Most of those gazes carried a clear, unspoken message: "What's he doing here?"
Apparently, a lot of people still remembered him, even after all these years.
Edward made a subtle face, slightly embarrassed, and instinctively shrank back a little. He still remembered the chaos he'd caused back when he was a student here. The professors probably hadn't forgotten either.
'Best not to stir anything up right now,' he thought silently, trying to make himself as invisible as possible.
Before he could think too much about it, the large doors at the back of the hall opened once more.
This time, it was the person everyone had been waiting for.
The host of the meeting, the man at the very top of the Imperial Mage Academy—Administrator Hohenheim, the Academy's Headmaster—finally arrived.
Compared to his usual majestic image, he looked unusually rough around the edges. His robes were wrinkled, his eyes dark from lack of sleep, and he looked like someone who'd been up all night dealing with paperwork or magical disasters—or both.
Still, he wasted no time.
"Since everyone who's supposed to be here is already here," Hohenheim said, stepping forward with a slightly hoarse voice, "let's not waste any more of your valuable time."
Mage time was precious. Most gatherings, even academic ones, prioritized speed and efficiency. Long-winded school principal speeches that lasted all afternoon simply didn't exist in the Mage Tower.
So, while the audience looked on in mild confusion, Hohenheim took a breath and made his announcement directly and clearly.
"From today onward, the Alchemy Tower will officially separate from the Mage Tower and become an independent magical institution. Magitech Alchemy will be recognized as a formal academic discipline, with equal standing to all other branches of magic, and will be allowed to recruit students through official channels."
He paused just long enough for the murmurs to begin, then continued without missing a beat.
"Ska, the current head of the Alchemy Tower, will be granted the official title of Tower Master and will serve as the newly appointed Vice Head of the Imperial Mage Academy."
"And lastly—" Hohenheim turned toward the back, his gaze locking onto Edward, "—former Imperial Mage, now Wild Mage, Edward Durin, will have his status restored. He will serve as Dean of the newly established School of Magitech Alchemy under the Imperial Mage Academy."