Chapter 293: A Fleeting Shadow

“Miss Ariel, are you all right?”

Seeing Ariel before him with a blank expression and vacant eyes, Muen was completely at a loss. He was just about to ask a few cautious questions when—

Suddenly.

With a thump.

Ariel dropped to her knees. First she stared up at the heavens in confusion, then bent down and hammered the ground in grief and rage, and finally let out a roar that seemed to come from the depths of her soul:

“No—my money—”

“The north wind wails—the snowflakes drift—”

“What are you singing!”

Ariel raised her head and glared at Muen.

“Ah, no—just got such a strong déjà vu I sang it without thinking.”

Muen rubbed his nose with an awkward smile, then twisted his body to skirt around Ariel—who, though he didn’t know what had happened, clearly looked like someone best not provoked—and came up beside Professor Prang.

“Sorry, the preparations took even longer than I expected and kept you waiting. Let’s introduce ourselves—Muen Campbell.”

Muen first offered the group an apologetic smile—there was nothing to be said to Liya and Senior Fanny—and then he took the initiative to go over and greet the three he wasn’t familiar with, polite and proper.

“Vicky Morse. Just call me Vicky.”

“Aaron Mack. I watched your fight before. When we have time, we should definitely spar.”

“Marshall.”

After a few casual pleasantries with the others, Muen looked to Professor Prang again.

“Professor Prang, what about the teacher accompanying us this time? Not here yet?”

It had been agreed beforehand that it would be a mysterious top expert not inferior to a Crowned-tier, so Muen was still a bit expectant.

“Ah, already here.”

Professor Prang pointed behind Muen with a face full of distaste.

“Hm?”

Already here?

And he hadn’t sensed it at all.

As expected of a top bruiser Professor Prang had described as not a Crowned-tier but better than one.

Muen turned back in the direction Prang indicated, and saw...

A ridiculous pink mascot bear had, at some point, clambered onto the first carriage of the convoy and begun putting its hands all over the two dragon-blood horses, which were trembling in terror.

While groping, it even let out a lewd chuckle:

“Fine horses, truly fine horses. Look at those rumps, look at those thighs, and those beautiful curves—one of these has to be worth over a million Emils, right? Heh heh... if I could sell them, how many boxes of top-shelf cigars and Saintess pinups could I buy...”

“...”

Staring at that pink butt wiggling back and forth, Muen stood dumbfounded for a long moment, then finally came back to himself and blurted a curse:

“What the fuck—why is it him?”

The Pink Bear dean?

That mascot bear who looked unreliable at a glance?

He was the “bruiser” Professor Prang meant?

Could he even do the job?

“Hm?”

As if sensing Muen’s thoughts, Pink Bear turned back sharply, its beady black eyes glaring at him. A furry hand snaked out of the bear’s mouth and waved around.

“Brat, looking down on me?”

“No, never!”

Muen widened his eyes and put on a face of righteous sincerity:

“Your Excellency is wise and mighty, dashingly unparalleled. I’m positively thrilled that you’ll be protecting us on our way to the Holy City—how could I possibly look down on you?”

“Hmph. Good thing you’ve got a sweet tongue.”

Pink Bear flipped its furry hand, scratched its butt, and sighed:

“But I’m not any kind of dean now. Just call me Pink Bear. Sigh... To think I, Pink Bear—handsome and dashing, with peerless flair—would fall to the point of playing nanny for kids. Truly, the world’s gone downhill and people’s hearts ain’t what they used to be!”

“...”

Muen’s mouth twitched. He edged closer to Professor Prang and asked in a low voice:

“Are we really fine?”

“Relax. His strength—”

“I’m not talking about strength.”

If he could serve as acting dean while Headmistress Hatherway was away, then even at a glance one could guess that this mascot bear—who looked like a comic-relief character—was anything but simple, both in strength and identity.

“I mean... he seems very unreliable.”

“Not ‘seems.’ He is very unreliable.” Professor Prang’s face didn’t move.

“...”

“But rest easy—I have a way to handle him. At least for this journey, he’ll serve to protect you. With his strength, plus your...” Professor Prang flicked a glance at the last carriage and continued, “Under normal circumstances, nothing should happen. The academy already sent teachers ahead to the Holy City; they’ll be there to receive you later.”

“Moreover, given that guy’s identity, you should try to get on his good side. It won’t hurt you.”

“Identity?”

“...”

Professor Prang shook his head without answering. He turned to Pink Bear, eyes narrowing, and said sternly:

“Former Acting Dean, as I told you before—your beloved limited-edition cigars and limited-edition pinups, I’ve already had people send them ahead to the Holy City.

“If you don’t want to watch them get ‘torn up as ransom,’ then you’ll deliver these kids to the Holy City with not a single hair missing!”

Muen: “...”

Everyone: “...”

“Click. Despicable old bastard.”

Pink Bear clicked his tongue in annoyance, twisted his body, and flopped sideways on the carriage’s front deck. He waved a paw at them.

“All right—enough talk. Let’s move out. If we waste time, what if my babies are wronged in the Holy City? They can’t see the light of day there!”

“...”

Muen turned to Professor Prang. “Then we’ll head out, Professor.”

“Go.”

Professor Prang patted each of their shoulders in turn. On his stern face, a rare trace of kindness appeared.

“This trip to the Holy City may be a bit special, but you’ll know the specifics once you arrive. Until then, treat it as a journey.”

“Yes.”

They answered in unison—and then, without realizing it, all let their gazes settle on Muen, as if waiting for something.

Muen paused, then smiled.

“Six carriages. The last carriage is a bit special and can’t be used. So, aside from Pink Bear and me—each in one carriage—the rest of you seniors will be two to a carriage. No objections, right?”

“None!”

Riding such luxurious carriages for free—who would object?

“Good.”

Muen stretched out his hand and gave a hard wave. “Then the Saint Maria Academy delegation—move out! Destination: the Holy City!”

“Yes!”

The echo rang bright and vigorous.

Though for some reason, it also contained one person’s extreme reluctance, who, helpless, was filled with grief and despair and seemed ready to run to the rooftop and wail at the sky.

...

...

The convoy rolled away, the students also departed one after another, and the once-lively academy gradually sank into a deep, quiet stillness.

Professor Prang stood at the academy gate, leaning on his silver-white cane, watching them all recede into the distance.

Suddenly, the space beside him twisted, and Meladomir—wearing a pink nightgown—stepped out.

“Mentor Meladomir.”

Professor Prang bowed in salute.

Meladomir nodded lightly and looked off into the distance—but not in the direction Muen had gone. Her gaze was fixed on Belrand’s center.

“Lively, isn’t it.”

“Indeed, quite lively.”

Professor Prang followed her line of sight. With his exceptional vision, it was easy to make out the massive procession winding through Belrand’s urban districts.

That was also a convoy setting out for the Holy City, representing the Leopold Empire’s official delegation. Besides the accompanying ceremonial staff, knights, and officials, there were people from various parties traveling together, as well as the gifts the Empire was sending to the Church—carriages loaded to the brim.

After all, the Life Church’s once-in-decades Saintess Rite—every side would surely make a display of respect.

But in truth, the ceremony wasn’t what mattered to anyone this time; who became Saintess didn’t affect most people.

What mattered was...

“The Lost Land, Cantwell...”

Professor Prang sighed. “All sides had estimated the Life Church would need at least another full twenty years to crack the entrance to that ancient kingdom. No one expected they’d dig it up this far ahead of schedule. Truly sudden.”

“The Moon’s death brought some benefits, in a certain sense, didn’t it?”

Meladomir shrugged idly. Her gaze soon drifted off the winding procession and, passing through countless obstructions, settled on her own disciple.

“Now all the factions, under the pretext of offering congratulations, are moving like ants who’ve smelled honey.”

“Kid, I’m not teasing you this time. This trip to the Holy City really does have plenty of benefits and surprises waiting for you.

“However...”

Meladomir paused, as if sensing something; her tone grew oddly wry:

“For you, it seems even just the road there won’t be easy.”

...

High over Belrand, a cutting winter wind blew.

Yet within that deep-winter gale, an exceedingly faint shadow—like diluted ink—raced past.

The shadow circled once over the city, and finally locked onto the convoy speeding into the distance.

In short order, the shadow slipped into a tall chimney and, as it descended, became more and more solid.

At last, it became... a robin.

The robin dropped down, swept its gaze over the silent surroundings where animals were holding their breath, and finally set its eyes on the regal old tiger at the very center. It gave a slight nod.

“Everyone.”

The tiger suddenly rose upright like a man and announced in a deep voice:

“Prepare yourselves. Our time has come.”

...

“Hm?”

A sudden chill ran through Muen.

He pulled his gaze off the scenery streaking backward and quickly searched for the source of his unease, but all he caught with the corner of his eye was the fleeting silhouette of a bird.

This isn’t the academy—and spring isn’t here. Where would birds come from?

The feeling of being watched pricked his skin like needles. Muen’s brows drew together. He suddenly leaned out the window, craned his neck toward the front, and shouted:

“Pink Bear—can we go any faster?”

“Damn it, don’t call me ‘old man.’ I, your old man, am still in my prime—and I’m set on flirting with a hundred pretty girls with big chests and long legs!”

Pink Bear swore, then planted a boot in a dragon-blood horse’s rump and roared with laughter:

“But if you’re after some excitement, I can take it all the way. Hold on tight, brats!”

The dragon-blood horses screamed, and the carriages—like a gale—shot forward.