Cleio Aser, Registered at Seventeen (2)
***
"Not getting up, Francis?"
"What's there to be proud of? Do I really have to stand up and introduce myself?"
Even his tone was abrasive. Every word the boy spoke seemed woven from pure sarcasm.
Sitting in the far back by the window, Cleio craned his neck to see who had answered.
The gray-haired boy lounged lazily against the back of his chair.
His appearance was a disaster.
His jacket had gone missing somewhere, his waistcoat had several buttons undone, and the sleeves—rolled any which way—were blotched with ink. The metal-framed glasses he wore were smudged and dirty.
"I'll say it again. Stand up and introduce yourself. You realize another failure means expulsion, don't you?"
"Oh, I'm well aware. I wouldn't mind quitting this place anyway."
"Stand up!"
Only after Professor Zebedi slammed his lectern did the boy rise sluggishly to his feet, every movement radiating disinterest.
"Call me Fran White. As you can see, I'm a second-year repeating student in the magic division. Ether level 2. No talent for magic. That's all."
Yawning widely, he removed his glasses and began slowly wiping the lenses as if the class didn't exist.
'Why the hell is he here?!'
Cleio looked back and forth between Arthur—snoring softly beside him—and the slouching Francis, completely bewildered.
Arthur, blissfully unaware that something catastrophic might be unfolding for Cleio's future, slept on soundly. Cleio wanted to smack the back of his head.
He had already replayed the "Memory" of the Promise twice.
Francis Gabriel Hyde-White, age eighteen, should at this point have graduated top of his class from the Royal Academy of Sciences and become a new official of the Albion Mining Bureau!
'Even if some of the character setups changed a bit in the
Reeling from the unexpected revision, Cleio was too busy thinking to notice that the professor had called him.
"Cleio. Cleio Aser!"
"Y-yes, sir?"
"Are you listening? Come up here and give us a demonstration. Maybe your classmates will learn something since my own examples don't seem to be sinking in."
'Ugh—what's he even asking me to do?'
Hesitantly, Cleio rose and approached the front.
"Alright, everyone, pay attention. If, even after the break, you still can't properly open a circle, it means your ether circulation needs review. Watch Cleio Aser's demonstration carefully."
"A demonstration of ether circulation… understood."
"Right. I saw during the last finals that your circulation method was flawless. Whether you're in Group 1 training to be swordsmen or Group 2 training to be mages, the circulation principle is the same—it'll benefit you all."
Unused to being the center of attention, Cleio turned stiffly toward the class.
There wasn't much to explain; he simply repeated what Behemoth had once told him.
"As you've all learned, ether shouldn't be spread only outward—it needs to loop once around your heart before flowing out again. You send it back out the same way it came in. Then, when you draw out the ether leaving the heart, imagine the outer radius of your circle and guide it around in a smooth rotation—"
His voice was quiet; most students didn't pay attention. Some even chuckled.
"Ha! If chanting the textbook worked that easy…"
"Heh, tell me about it."
Even after ranking first in the last magic exam and clearing his name as a suspected illegitimate entrant, Cleio still seemed listless when he wasn't actually casting magic.
Only Isiel and the twins listened with genuine academic enthusiasm.
"Ether forms a circle, and that circle in turn expands the body's inner ether channels…"
Around Cleio, standing at the front, faint ether began to gather—slowly taking shape into a ring.
The shimmer of light filled the classroom, drawing surprised murmurs.
"…and thus the vessel widens."
Fwooom—!
In an instant, Cleio's circle enveloped the entire room.
Like the early glow of sunset, deep golden ether rose along the circle's rim.
Overflowing streams of ether reached toward the ceiling, scattering radiant light among the students.
No magic formula had been added—this was a pure-ether circle deployment. Cleio had flooded the room with brilliance through ether alone.
Everyone stopped breathing for a moment.
As if heralding something absolute, the circle's presence overwhelmed all within it.
Those few seconds felt eternal.
Even after the afterimages faded, no one spoke.
Not even the professor—leaving Cleio awkwardly at a loss.
Dozens of eyes bore into him at once, making him squirm.
'I didn't even mean to open the circle… it just sort of happened.'
The uneasy silence finally broke when Zebedi spoke again.
"What on earth happened over the break? We'll need to re-register your ether level immediately."
"Ah, yes, sir…"
"I hereby certify it. You are now a Level 4 Mage."
'Right, I forgot to file the level update… and got caught red-handed.'
Cleio glanced at Zebedi, but the professor didn't seem inclined to scold him for the delay.
His tone remained flat and factual.
"In a thousand years of magical history, only three mages have reached Level 4 at the age of seventeen. Truly remarkable."
It was a simple statement of fact—but its weight rippled through the room.
The once-silent classroom erupted in chatter.
The Angelium twins, who'd played with Cleio's magic the previous night but had never seen a full circle before, squealed excitedly.
Arthur, half-awake, added a lazy clap to the noise.
Cleio, oblivious to the significance of it all, simply stood there blankly.
Zebedi gazed at the young boy with a faint mix of affection and concern.
Now in his later years, the old mage recalled the perilous crossroads of his own youth—
the civil strife between Philip and Edward, the skirmishes with Brunnen, the narrow path he'd walked between fallen knights and mages.
His pacifism had not been born of conviction, but of survival.
'Some kinds of power… carry their owners much too far.'
He sensed that this fragile boy's fate would be anything but gentle.
'Perhaps his late awakening—and his reluctance to display power—were his own kind of defense.'
Had Cleio known of this tremendous misunderstanding, he would've been dumbfounded. Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—he lacked any ability to read minds.
Professor Zebedi raised his wrinkled hand and lightly tapped Cleio's shoulder, then swept his robe aside and turned to face the class.
"Let's review something fundamental first. What is a circle?"
"Isn't it the field of magic?"
"It's circular, so it's called a circle."
"Yes, that's the usual definition. But there's a deeper meaning. The ancients called this world and the cosmos Orbis Terrarum—the circular earth. In other words, a circle is a world founded with the mage himself at its center. Within that circle, normal scientific laws lose all meaning, because an entirely different set of rules applies there."
Looking at each student in turn, Zebedi continued steadily.
"You've all had quite the experience today—most people go their entire lives without witnessing such a grand circle formation. Train yourselves hard, following exactly the method he described. And Cleio, if you can do this well, why were you daydreaming earlier?"
"I was… a bit short on sleep last night, sir."
"An excuse, but a decent one. Let me guess—stayed up too late playing around? As punishment for not paying attention, you'll mentor Francis for a while."
"Me, sir?"
"That boy's talented, but lazy enough to have repeated a year. It'll be good for both of you. Pick one day a week during free study hours to work together."
Francis, who'd kept a cool indifference amid the noisy class, scowled.
"I refuse."
"Refuse? You have no right to refuse, Francis. I'll be reviewing your progress monthly. That's all. Class dismissed. Cleio, follow me."
***
They stopped by the campus post office first.
After sending a telegram to the Royal Capital Defense Corps registering Cleio's ether level and residence, the professor held him in a two-hour meeting.
'What's gotten into this man? Usually he's all sharp temper and snappy remarks. Did he grow sentimental in his old age—coaxing me like a grandchild?'
Zebedi urged him to skip a grade, but Cleio complained that in non-magical subjects, he wouldn't be able to keep up with the higher curriculum.
When that didn't work, he resorted to blunt honesty: "If I can't stay with my friends, I don't want to attend at all."
It was one hundred percent true.
'I have to stay near Arthur. I can't risk the world ending again.'
Surprisingly, childish stubbornness worked better than logic.
"Well, you are at that age when friends matter most," said Zebedi, stroking his white beard as if something had just clicked in his mind. He granted Cleio permission to remain in first year.
"Of course, there are conditions. You won't learn much new from first-year classes, but you're not to doze off. And continue to guide Francis properly."
The terms were far from appealing, but a mere student couldn't defy the headmaster's order.
"…Understood."
"If you ever have questions about magic, my door is always open. Come anytime."
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
He left behind that utterly insincere thank you and shuffled out of the administrative building.
By the time he trudged toward the dorms, all strength had drained from him—he looked like a staggering scarecrow in the wind.
Boom!
A thunderous sound from the training grounds snapped his attention up. It was followed by sharp, rhythmic blasts—like a string of explosions.
Grabbing the railing, Cleio leaned through the wisteria vines and froze, mouth agape.
Clang! Screeeech!
Kwoooom!
'That's the sound of swordsmanship?!'
It was a spar between Arthur and Professor Rosa.
A breathtaking display of martial mastery.
Even with Cleio's enhanced dynamic vision, he could only catch afterimages—the blur of bodies and flashes of sword-light.
He couldn't actually see the fight; only the "Understanding" of the Promise went into overdrive.
[Level 8 Swordsman
Title:Knight of the Rose]
[Level 5 Swordsman]
'Knight of the Rose—how perfectly it suits Professor Rosa.'
As in the previous manuscript, upper-rank swordsmen were granted titles. The other tag, Level 5, had to belong to Arthur.
'Wait, that guy leveled up again in just a month?'
During the last attack, Arthur's ether level had only been 4.
Leaning against the railing, Cleio finally activated Perception.
That familiar dizziness struck—he just had to endure the first moment. Beyond the haze of dust, the scene sharpened into crisp clarity.
The two blades moved faster than light.
Clang! Clang! CLANG!
Each time steel met steel, their weapons quivered under the strain.
Even though they were using top-grade practice swords, the sheer power behind each clash made them look moments away from shattering.
Swish!
When Rosa thrust, Arthur dodged with astonishing speed—or simply didn't bother to dodge at all.
His shoulders and thighs were already streaked with blood, but he ignored the pain and dove straight into Rosa's guard.
'Damn… that idiot's completely abandoned the whole "conceal your power" act.'
Rosa's crimson aura was a far cry from the dark, murky energy of the assassins Cleio had seen months before—it was clear and brilliant, like her temperament.
Arthur's aura, deep gold like his hair, surged forth as he unleashed another ferocious strike.
Clang—CLANG CLANG!
Arthur was fearless and reckless both.
A handful of Rosa's white hair was sliced clean away by his blade.
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