Emperor's Alternate - Chapter 15
“Tell Her Majesty that I’m retiring for the night and wish to be left alone today.”
“Yes, Miss.”
An inexplicable sense of shame crept in, mingling with an odd feeling of personal disgrace. I had just completed the exam as the Sixth Prince. Yet, for some unknown reason, my lips trembled as if I were being forcibly stripped by Lecan himself.
I locked myself in the tower immediately after the test. In the back of my mind, I knew the Emperor’s mistress would be waiting for my report, but I couldn’t muster the energy. I was listless.
I felt sick to my stomach, like I could throw up at any moment.
The future self I dreamt of in my childhood was nothing like the person I was now. Meanwhile, Lecan…
It took all my energy to even begin contemplating, and my thoughts hit a dead end. Perhaps it was due to staying up all night and then facing the exam hall. I was exhausted. Once I felt a sense of safety, I discarded all the magical items adorning my body and buried myself in the covers of my bed.
Lying face down, I held my breath and then flipped the blanket over. I just wanted to die.
***
That evening, Lecan received a report from the librarian containing all the information related to the Sixth Prince.
Lecan immediately handed over the papers and began to read through the attached plea letter. The more he read, the more peculiar his expression became. He had, after all, heard about the Emperor’s consort.
‘The eloquence of this document surpasses the rumors, overly refined and meticulously worded. The restrained yet forceful prose is concise. Did these words truly come from the Emperor’s mistress?’
Distinctive vocabulary choices stood out, characteristic of a well-read individual. Lecan flipped back to the first page of the report and re-read the initial sentence. It jogged his memory about an event in the year 924 of the Imperial Calendar. Just before the end of winter, the noble Rotea family, where his fiancée hailed from, had met its downfall.
‘How oddly coincidental.’
Though he had volunteered as an examiner and spent the entire day conducting interviews with academy applicants, he harbored no regrets. He had seen the person that piqued his curiosity: the Sixth Prince. He didn’t know how they achieved it, but whoever it was looked perfectly like a man. The fact that they effortlessly entered the exam hall without raising any suspicions showcased their expertise in breaching the Academy’s security.
“My Lord, may I ask why you are so interested in the Sixth Prince?”
The librarian, who had been observing with bated breath, finally posed the question.
Lecan, seated on the sofa, continued to read through the report as he responded. “If you had a sword master who was naturally good with a sword, and a scholar who had a better understanding of the human body and created an efficient theory of swordsmanship, who would you consider the more genius?”
“Uh, the sword master, right? I mean, theories… as long as you’re smart, that’s fine, but swordsmanship requires innate talent, I heard.”
“Then, imagine an archmage who’s naturally good with magic due to his high mana affinity, and a scholar who can endlessly create spells no one else has discovered with new logic. Who do you think is the more genius?”
“Well…”
The librarian hesitated with his response.
“I believe it’s the latter,” said Lecan.
The reason the Sixth Prince’s answer drew his attention was simple. His response elaborated on the logic behind creating new spells by applying existing magical concepts, a process that was both radical and convincing.
While people often considered adept mages as geniuses, the truth was that theory was more challenging than practical application. Moreover, in magical studies, spell design was renowned for being the most difficult. The Sixth Prince’s answer had such a strong impact that it could have destroyed the scores of all previous seniors.
‘That’s why I asked for a handwriting analysis as soon as I saw the Sixth Prince’s answer.’
This was not an answer a nineteen-year-old could have come up with.
It was the response of a genius scholar who had read tens of thousands of books and conducted ceaseless research. He had heard of occasional instances when someone attempted to take the entrance exams using a proxy. That’s how high the standards of the academy were.
Lecan continued, explaining his reasoning further. “Often, the knowledge of geniuses is tacit. Few can explain in words why they are good at what they do. That is why archmages take apprentices under their wing and train them for years, just as craftsmen do. But archmages’ apprentices often fail to surpass their masters.”
“…Come to think of it, that is true, my Lord.”
“On the other hand, someone who can endlessly create magical spells, even without an innate affinity for mana, can clearly explain the principles behind it. The one who can easily teach even a very young person is, in fact, the one who truly masters that field. Meaning, the people capable of producing archmages are not other archmages, but these occasional geniuses.”
Although it would have been right to report the proxy test as soon as it was noticed, Lecan didn’t want to lose such talent.
“Are you comparing the Sixth Prince to such a genius, my Lord?”
Technically, he was referring to the woman who took the test on behalf of the Sixth Prince.
