“The Academy council is composed of the headmaster of the school, and five chairmen elected by the faculty staff. It is a place where the best minds of the Empire gather. Famous magicians, important researchers, wise scholars, basically every worthy person who has dabbled in magic or science during his life, aspires to attend the council as chairman. After all, it is the peak of the scientific and magic community, all over the continent, from the southern kingdoms to the Free Cities. Even the filthy demons know about the council. It takes place in the highest room, in the highest tower. Here, we make major decisions, and it's where the course of the academic world is influenced. Of course, solemness, augustness and rigorousness are qualities required of the chairmen. Only the most brilliant and respectful minds can hope to get elected.

-boast, anonymous chairman”

* * *

Anton

Anton put his quill down on his desk and stood up from his chair to stretch his arms and legs. Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork, paperwork, ink spilled over the paperwork, doing the paperwork again. Paperworkpaperworkpaperwork ...And freedom, finally.

That had been his day. His mind was now filled with thoughts of accounting, name registers, orders and deliveries, and, more generally, things that could extinguish any will to live, from anyone, through massive insipidity alone. Such was one of the disadvantages of being a chairman in the Academy's council.

The job already involved a chronic dealing with tedious matters, and Anton's job was made considerably tougher because of headmaster Talir, who hated Anton. Therefore, his job involved dealing with an inhuman amount of these things. Daily.

It was a miracle he still had the time to teach, these days. Hector Talir had been ordering new tools and materials, and the construction of a new building was being planned. Something to do with the golem technology and magic engineering. Since Anton was an authority on magical weaponry and engineering, he had been granted the 'honour' of taking care of the thing.

I bet they're going to make me teach about golems next. Guess I'll take Nathaniel as an assistant since I barely know anything about them...

Anton was about to go home, when he remembered that a student had delivered him a note from that moustached linguist, earlier in the day. The note was asking him to come at once, apparently. Of course, Anton had ignored the request because he when he received it, he had a full day of work before him and no time to spare. Even though it must have been rather important, since it was the first time him and Nathaniel asked Anton to come.

They had been working together for three months in the eastern tower on their free time, searching for clues about the Rahal clan, and whenever Anton came to see if there was any interesting development, he only got a mean shrug as an answer.

Well, to be fair, he had been forcing the two to help him in his selfish quest for the safeguard of the Empire. They surely didn't like it, but even these two imbeciles understood how bad it'd be to have Azcheron doing something desperate and catastrophic just to impress dragons.

Well, they believe it'd be bad because I told them so, heh. I don't actually think he would do something too dangerous. I hope ? He would want to keep some people ALIVE so that they would be able to tell his tale, something like that... the brat is getting easier to figure out now that he has a clear goal.

Anton arrived at the building and knocked on the door. Perhaps half a minute passed, without the door being opened. Anton groaned, hoping to be able to go home quickly. He thought that the two idiots might have fallen asleep, and so that would give him a sufficient reason to leave the Academy's grounds immediately.

But he had to admit he was curious. Three months of restless research, and they had finally found something. Supposedly.

It can't be that they're about to confess their incompetence, telling me that they can't search any longer, that they'll end up dying of boredom at this rate. Right ?

If it turned out to be the case, he'd whip them or something.

Hah. I would prefer having these two dying, of boredom or whatever else, rather than letting the entire country suffer an uncertain fate at the unpredictable hands of Azcheron...

Therefore he knocked once again. Still nothing, but then he could swear he heard some clatter inside the room. Perhaps the damn fools were drinking ? Or they were indeed asleep, and one of them had just suffered a sudden and unconformable wake by falling from his chair or something. The thought made Anton chuckle.

He tried to push the door, hoping to find an old man face down, with an expression of both confusion and frustration. That'd be a sight. Since the door wasn't locked, Anton took advantage of it and stealthily entered, gleefully rubbing his hands together as if a vicious plot was being formed in his mind.

Well, stealthily... as much as one can be after having knocked on the door, but since the victims are either asleep or deaf...

The inside of the room was rather dark and silent, aside from the sound of the fountain in the patio. The lights were out, only the faint moonlight coming through the windows allowed Anton to make out shapes of furnitures. But that was enough, at least he didn't need to cast a light spell and ruin the surprise. There was nobody in the entrance hall, so Anton crept across the room until he reached the study.

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Here he was, the sleeping fool. Slumped in his armchair, drooling or something like that. Books scattered on his desk and around him. Did he fall asleep while working ? Well, I can't ignore his dedication. I'm actually surprised. Nathaniel didn't seem to be on the first floor, probably resting upstairs.

Anton gathered the books laying on the floor. All sorts of tomes written in Dragon tongue, of course. A book about the history of magic and the magician clans, another one about the creation of the Empire. One book wore the name of 'Great wars of the past'. Another one titled 'Life and reign of the Second Emperor'.

Hm. Wouldn't it be the worst twist ever if Azcheron turned out to be a descendant of the Second Emperor ? I can already imagine him claiming the throne. The Empire would be doomed, even more than it already is...

Anton snorted as he put the last books back on the desk. Now standing in front of the sleeping linguist, he hesitated. There wasn't really any need to wake him up, whatever they believed they had found, it could probably wait. But Anton was intrigued, and he couldn't read the linguist's notes since they were also written in Dragon tongue.

Well, they were expecting me to come by today, right !

He lightly shook the moustached man's shoulder, but the linguist didn't seem to wake. So Anton slapped a book on his head. Enough time had been lost already, Anton wanted to go home after that, 'twas time to wake up ! The linguist fell from his chair and, exactly as Anton had pictured before sneaking in, landed with his face against the ground.

“Hah ! Sorry for the delay, and the rude awakening,” Anton said, snickering.

But the linguist kept still. Feeling that something was amiss, Anton crouched and finally realized. The moustached professor hadn't been drooling. It wasn't saliva dripping form his mouth, but blood and vomit. And most importantly, he hadn't just dozed off. He was covered in bruises and cuts and his abdomen was twisted in an abominable way, as if someone had tried to rip his torso away from the waist. He had entered a sleep that clearly couldn't be exited.

Anton rose to his feet and immediately enhanced his sight and hearing with magic. The enemy could still be here. Who, how many, how dangerous, he didn't know, but he was ready for anything. At this moment, he wasn't Anton, professor at the Academy – he was once again general Vardt, Imperial magician, ready to kill.

He conducted a search through the tower with sound magic, but he couldn't hear anything in the upper floors, not even a heart beat. There was no trace of magic being used in the building, aside from his own, so it was unlikely that someone was hiding with a spell.

He eventually exhaled deeply, and looked at the moustached cadaver. He was a prominent linguist, and an amazing mind. The Academy had lost an important researcher. They had already lost Yorl months ago, and now him. Him... Anton frowned. He didn't even know his name !

How could this be ? He pinched the bridge of his nose. I don't think I've ever met anyone who knew this man's name. Why, though ? He's famous. This makes no sense.

Anton cast yet again a hearing spell and widened his search around the tower. There was something, outside. He focused beyond the fountain, beyond the sound of water running. Panting, breathing. Someone.

He silenced his footsteps and rushed outside, on the patio. A faint trail of blood went from the tower to the fountain. And here they were. A bloodied and dizzy Nathaniel leaning against the fountain, and two shadowy figures, looking down on him.

With a thought, Anton fried the brain of one of the shadows with a powerful electric arc. He couldn't take any risk, Nathaniel was obviously being threatened and he didn't know what the assassins were capable of, so it was best to kill at least one of them.

The remaining shadow dodged a paralysing bolt at the last second. Unfortunately for Nathaniel who was laying behind, the bolt flew toward him and knocked him out. Anton threw another spell to force the shadow to move away. He then approached Nathaniel and the fried assassin, giving them a quick glance.

Nathaniel will live. This guy's undoubtedly dead though.

The shadow took out a rapier from under its cloak, and with its free hand, casted a large magic missile toward Anton. He dispelled it effortlessly with a mana shield.

Hm...? This isn't an assassination spell.

Anton looked yet again at the dead assassin. Removed the hood with his foot, and frowned. A woman. He observed the other shadow. Small and thin frame, possibly a feminine figure.

“You lot aren't Varymiel's people,” Anton bluffed, smirking. “You are... Magic-maids, am I wrong ?”

The shadow flinched ever so slightly but kept staring at the old mage wordlessly. That was all the answers Anton needed. That explained the gruesome death of the moustached professor. Magic-maids specialized in battle spells and brute strength, not stealth and quick assassination. Their goal was to protect the Imperial family, there was no need for discretion and clean killing.

So, why are Palace maids doing this sort of nasty business ? I should interrogate her, I guess...

“Girl, who sent you here ? Speak and I'll let you go,” he said, trying to avoid a bloody mess. He'd rather do his thing without having to resort to fighting, subjugating and torturing.

But the Magic-maid remained silent. In place of an answer, she made her rapier glow, and Anton could feel a magic enchant engulfing her body. She took a stance, seemingly waiting for an opening.

He sighed. “Don't underestimate me, brat.” With a flick of his wrist, the water from the fountain flew out and turned to ice. A few seconds later, about fifty ice spears were spinning around him, as if he was standing inside a blizzard or a tornado.

“Do you think they call me the Lord of the Storm just for show ?”

Well, nowadays everyone seems to have forgotten my title. I really ought to remind people of who I used to be, damnit.

The Magic-maid glanced at Nathaniel, then at Anton. She moved, almost imperceptibly, but the old mage noticed it with his enhanced sight. Spears flew toward the maid, tossing away the sword she had thrown in Nathaniel's direction.

However the ice projectiles only pierced the ground of the patio. By the time Anton realized that, the assassin was escaping, jumping on the roofs of the Academy's buildings. He threw a few more spears in her direction, but wasn't surprised when it missed.

I'm getting old... Should've hit from this distance, when I was in my prime. Bah !

Once he made sure there weren't more enemies lurking around, he neared Nathaniel. He was unconscious and his arm, where the paralysing bolt had hit, was burnt, but he wasn't really in need of healing. A few bruises from the maids, and a burn from Anton.

Nathaniel is lucky, at least he pulled through, whereas the moustached linguist... Well, he's more on the 'pulled apart' side than the 'pulled through'...

It wouldn't do any good to think about him right now. The night would suddenly become a long one. Anton had to send a letter to Azcheron, to warn him. Something was happening in the shadows, he was sure of it. Strange whispers from the Palace about an important person's disappearance, rumours of the Emperor's illness, news of the stupid northern war... And now, assassins.

What's more, not the regular Imperial assassins.

Why would they want to silence two scholars reading old books ? What kind of secret were they trying to keep buried ? How did they learn about the search anyway ? He didn't even know if it had anything to do with the search about the Rahal clan. He'd have to wait until Nathaniel woke up if he wanted answers, and that was supposing that the western specialist knew something.

Thoughts and guesses were rushing in Anton's mind. Before even waiting for Nathaniel's explanation, before even doing anything about the moustached corpse and the dead assassin, Anton searched the desk for a quill and some paper, and started to write. He prayed that the letter would reach Atharemine, were he assumed Azcheron would be, as the Saint led him to believe.

More paperwork, in a way.