A mage's whole life was studying. Being a wizard was synonymous with being a scholar, and there was no escape from research, whether you were a war mage or a white mage. It came as a disappointment to many novice wizards, but the main brunt of their days wasn't spent lobbing spells around, but either staring at lines on paper, or else penning them, while cooling their aching heads.
Knowledge was power, after all.
I wasn't an exception to this lifestyle, and they had yet to come up with a way to magically cram knowledge into a person's head without personal work.
"I have here a curated list of works, which I believe will be especially helpful to you," Charlotte said, lifting one heavy tome after another onto the study desk in front of me.
We'd moved up to a quiet office on the fourth floor, where the staff usually had no business. The room was loaded with old books on shelves so high you needed a ladder to reach the top, and antique artifacts of not particularly high value, but each of which captured a piece of family history.
On the wall above the door hung a brass-made display featuring a clock face, a lunar calendar, and a hygrometer. In the window side corner silently revolved a large, sepia-toned map globe in a chestnut holder. I also couldn't help but notice the sturdy safe mounted into the left side wall and masked by the books. But I politely pretended I knew nothing of it.
"Isn't this the General's personal study?" I asked, a little worried. "Is it fine for us to be here?"
"I suppose it'd be more accurate to say it's her father's study," Charlotte answered. "Her grace has personally never had much time to spend here, or so she told me."
"Then with all the more reason. Wouldn't it be bad if we came across some dirty secret her father left behind, which she doesn't even know herself? Things could get awkward."
"Her grace assured me there's nothing of real importance here, and it's fine. She also told me you're free to peruse the books and tools in this room as long as you don't break anything."
I didn't cause indiscriminate destruction everywhere I went.
"And then?" I asked, trying not to look at the tower of books in front of me. "What is the academy, anyway, and why is going there such a big deal?"
"We need to start from there…?"
Charlotte took a moment to compose an introduction in her head before delivering,
"Basically, the Academy of Belmesion is a private institute dedicated to cultivating standout talents in the Kingdom. The current Headmaster is Archmage Gerald Konoron, whom I believe you know."
"I haven't met the man in person, but I have heard of him."
"He is sort of famous, being the eldest of the Seven Heroes, a Grandmaster of Mysterium, and the only human Tier 8 magician currently alive—officially, that is. His position as the head of the academy is well-earned. Of course, it's not just him. All the faculty consists of vetted experts of their respective fields."
Anyone could talk the talk, but I'd found very few could walk the walk.
"The academy is mainly attended by the local aristocracy," Charlotte continued. "Since the founding days, it's also been something of a tradition for the children of the Royal House of Calidea to attend. But gifted commoners and foreigners are welcome too, should they prove themselves capable. The rules prohibit the use of titles or servants, holding all students equal in principle. It would be a lie to say that only talent matters there, but the academy is still considerably more liberal than similar institutions in that regard. Free, creative thinking is encouraged over blind adherence to doctrines and hierarchy."
"Really? The King must love the place then."
The maid's smile grew a little forced.
"…It is true that some friction has formed between the Archmage and His Majesty over the years, and there have even been rumors that Master Konoron could be removed from the Seven. But these are only rumors. For the time being, the academy administration still enjoys the state's full confidence. Third Prince Leander is presently enrolled, too."
That wasn't good news. The less I saw and heard of royalty, the better.
"Belmesion was founded in the Second Age as a military training facility. As a memento of that time, the curriculum remains divided into two main branches: the Sword course and the Magic course. But the academy is not affiliated with the army anymore, and the later-added General Studies course is also over a hundred years old by now. Combat training is no longer mandatory. Although many graduates do go on to build a career either in the RA or Mysterium."
"I see."
"We've already submitted your application for the Magic course. I apologize that you weren't consulted first, but the deadline was in May, and your enrollment was a rush decision. It's possible to change department afterward, if you wish to."
"Are you serious?" I gave the maid an incredulous glance. "I could study swordsmanship too? Or, what, herbology? Alchemy? Social sciences?"
"Of course," she insisted. "You're not a soldier anymore, Ms Hope. This is about your own future. You should consider carefully what you'd personally like to do with your life. The title of Belmesion graduate alone will open doors to any path you can imagine."
Was that what the General meant when she told me to see this as a key?
Did these two actually believe their own stories? The sight of the maid's innocent face made me break into open laughter.
"Give me a break!" I said. "I'm not entirely stupid, Charlotte. And I can't even fake falling for such an obvious ruse. Nothing I have is my own, my life least of all. And I won't be free of the Kingdom for as long as I live. The proof of that is right here."
I raised my left arm and the black dragon rings climbing along it, and sighed.
"I've understood that since I was a child. It's not something a bit of paperwork is going to change. What I don't get is, why do the suits even bother to pretend otherwise? Their true intentions are so transparent, it's like I can read their minds. Here's what they think: it may be peace today, but it's a fragile peace and can still change. For now, they're too anxious about the future to get rid of me. So they put the bomb in the wardrobe, where it's conveniently out of sight, but still ready for use, if needed. They're not sending me to this school for my own good, but to occupy me with aimless busywork. To set me on tracks to which the destination is known. So that I wouldn't get any funny ideas and turn rebellious! I know that. So don't waste my time with the sweet talk, and just tell me where to begin."
To that, the maid said nothing but passed me the first book.
From there, I would spend a solid ten hours every day in the master's study, from eight in the morning until six in the evening, stuffing uninteresting trivia into my head.
I wasn't a complete dunce. Physics, math, and alchemy were inseparably linked to magic as a phenomenon, and the relevant principles had been beaten into my head as soon as I could read. Wars had a lot of downtime, without much else to do but get lost in the world of books, and there were many willing teachers always at hand.
But my free-form education alone wasn't enough to get me into the elite academy, apparently. Belmesion's entrance exam went on for four days, and started with a part common for all departments: general education. History, geography, language skills, social studies...Knowledge of various fields would be tested.
I could write an essay on the three major weaknesses of Thunderbirds, but who was the King two hundred years ago, or who invented the printing press, or what was meant by separation of powers, I had no idea, and couldn't tell why it mattered.
There was a lot of catching-up to do in a very short time.
What a pain. The world of peace was Hell in a different sense from war.
That I'd end up an obedient school girl, of all the people I knew…The idea never entered my wildest dreams until it turned real. There may have been others in the past who deserved the opportunity more. But here's how it turned out, and I would've insulted the dead if I dared to complain about it.
Well, my instructions were to avoid unnecessary attention. Nobody expected me become valedictorian, and an academic sensation. As long as I passed and got in, even if only barely, that should've been fair enough.
"Good work today, Ms Hope."
Meal times brought welcome interruptions to the dry routine. At six each day, Charlotte would come tell me dinner was served, and put a pleasant last stop to the book marathon.
Food was served in the grand dining hall in the heart of the lofty manor, at a long darkwood table that could easily have seated forty. But I had to eat by my lonesomeness, surrounded by a hollow silence and gross abundance of dead space.
It was out of the question for the servants to join me. For them, I was their Master's next of kin and far above their station. Though I didn't officially even exist until a few days ago.
I was used to eating whatever, wherever, from frogs to snakes, and grew to view food as mere fuel to maintain vital functions. But the dishes in the house blew my mind from breakfast to dinner. Everything put on the plate surpassed imagination and made my head spin with a selection flavors I never knew existed.
This food could only be described as—art.
What you wanted to eat when the war was over was a recurring topic among soldiers, but it was only now that I really understood why. Good food was an experience that made wars seem worth fighting for. To think that the mere sense of taste could have such a profound effect on your body and mind…
But even as the servings made me want to sing, I had to act the role of a dignified noble daughter, and there were lectures here too.
"Table manners may not come up in the exam," Charlotte told me, diligently standing by. "But you should master them all the same, considering your status. You wouldn't want your highborn classmates to laugh at you for eating like a trooper. Now, hold your back straight and let me see how you handle those utensils, Ms Hope!"
"Hm. Like this?"
I tried to hold my fork and knife in a way I thought was pretty fancy.
"Er, close. May I show…?"
Apparently, not good enough. Up on the west side wall, a long line of painted portraits depicting the grim past heads of the Ruthford line stared judgmentally down at my efforts at cutting steak.
The General's own picture was last in the line. The artist had put special attention to the face of the model, which still had both of the original amethyst eyes, no scars, and looked much softer and kinder than the real deal. Did the painter have a crush on her, or what?
But the food really was great. Who would've thought rosemary gravy could suit beef so well? Maybe I could get used to this life.
"Will you be sleeping again in the garage tonight?" Charlotte asked me when I was finished and wiped my lips, elegantly, my tools set down at proper angles on the plate.
"Yes."
"...Is it some mage thing?"
"No. It's a me thing."
"Could I at least set up a mattress for you there? Or a heater?"
"Don't need any. I'll take a blanket when I go."
"You know, it would be extremely difficult for me to explain if anyone else found out about it…"
"So don't tell anyone."