"It feels like a lot of ti has passed since I’ve been here," Marcus said, entering his office along with Graves.
"One year is not that long, My Prince," Graves replied.
"I wouldn’t recomnd calling Prince in my current appearance,"
A faint smile appeared on Graves’ lips.
"Duly Noted, Professor!"
Unlike Ymir, who was disguised, Graves was in his original appearance.
Because a person like Graves Corbin has no identity or past. His whole life was recalibrated even before he had a chance to serve the castle and its bearer.
The office was the sa as before, with subtle renovations that gave it the aesthetics of shadowed luxury. A broad working bench in the centre, on its surface was a single grey file. Behind it, a tall black wood-frad window lit the interior of the office.
Along the wall, a towering shelf stacked countless diaries, a collection of Marcus’s. Graves observed those diaries with a deep passion... sothing like curiosity.
"You know you can take one if you like them," Marcus said as he picked up the file and leaned on the desk.
"I wouldn’t dare to take possession of your highness’s collection. I rather find this side of you quite fascinating," Graves replied, but he didn’t touch a single diary on the shelf.
Graves knew the mont he looked at those diaries. There was nothing written in them, and that is what made him curious.
Why does a person of this calibre keep empty diaries in his shelf? If Ymir wants, he can order hundreds and thousands of uniquely crafted artefacts, diaries, and several other runic books, but he chooses to select them upon a faithful encounter and gives them a place on his shelf.
"Truly fascinating..." Graves whispered again.
"Graves," Marcus spoke, closing the file in his hands. It was a list of students that’re a part of his batch in second years.
"While you’re here..." Marcus thought for a while, his eyes drifted towards the corner of the room.
"Keep an eye on Violet too," he said.
"I don’t an to be rude, Professor, but it appears that spying on a saintess can get even a prince in the deepest of depths of prison, and you, my lord, wouldn’t be an exception to the concordia of the Queen." Graves replied.
"..." Marcus looked at Graves and raised his brows.
"That’s a really elegant way to call a stalker," he said.
"I don’t want you to pry her personal space, instead look for the people or that specific person who has the authority of influencing her decisions without being a direct part of it," he explained.
"That is a pretty vague description," Graves murmured in deep thoughts, his arms were folded and he was looking at the floor tiles between him and Marcus.
"Not really, high priest, or a pope, or soone who she listens to but is not a part of any heirarcy. These are the three categories that... that specific person might fall into. Rest of the saintesses are not in the Kingdom at the mont, so the fourth category is already eliminated," Marcus replied.
"How would I know that a certain man or a woman might hold the capability to influence our saintess’ decisions, Professor?" Graves asked.
Marcus tapped the edge of the file against the desk.
"You won’t look for influence, you’ll look for deviation," he said, and took in a deep breath.
"Violet is a simple woman. She’s predictable. Her decisions follow doctrine, duty, and emotions. Most of the ti, all three." He stepped away from the desk.
"When one of them shifts, and you are not able to trace the cause of that shift...that’s where your person will be," he said.
"So, I track her patterns?" Graves asked.
"Reactions not patterns," Marcus countered.
"People reveal their importance, their worth, and the side of themselves they never showed to anyone the mont she makes a decision."
"If she speaks, soone will listen differently. If she moves, soone would adjust faster than her knights are supposed to move, and if she hesitates, soone will already know why..."
"That soone is your person," he said.
Silence sustained for a while.
Graves understood what Marcus ant. There is soone who is capable of influencing Violet’s decisions without her knowledge. Soone who has studied her and stalked her from the mont she beca a candidate for saintess’ position, or even worse, they’ve been on her tail from long ago.
"And when I find this person?" Graves clenched his fist.
"Oh, you see, that’s the whole point... you won’t be able to," Marcus scoffed.
"I don’t an you’re not competent enough, but that person will find you. At that mont Violet will be forced to make a choice," He continued.
"You sound like a prophet, Professor," Graves remarked.
"People usually mistake a great trickster for a magician, a sharp analyst for a ntalist, and a good strategist for a prophet." Marcus replied.
"Oh..." Graves nodded. "But magicians are magicians-"
"Now then," Marcus patted on Graves’ shoulder, "I have a lecture to see through,"
"Try not to get caught before that," Marcus added as he walked past him.
Graves chuckled faintly. "I’ll try to preserve your reputation, Professor."
Marcus adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves and stepped out of the office.
The corridor outside in the main building was already filled with movent.
Students in uniforms walked in groups. As Marcus walked past them, their voices would layer with a certain curiosity, happiness, excitent, and for so, even unease.
So paused the mont they saw, so straightened their back the instant they greeted him.
"Is that him?"
"He looks more...handso-"
"I heard he rebuilt an entire trade network within a year,"
Whispers followed wherever he turned.
Finally, he arrived at the lecture hall. The room was completely bustling with chatters already.
The doors of the hall were at the back, behind the last row, so to reach the podium he walked in the aisle among the bickering of cadets.
A few were reading books, so were playing among themselves, so were laughing, or resting their heads on the desk but not a single one noticed Marcus walk in the aisle and stand on the podium.
He placed the file on the table.
*Tap*
The sound was really light. Barely audible.
But it gathered everyone’s attention as they turned to face the podium.
Voices cut off mid-sentence. Heads turned in almost sync.
For a brief mont, there was confusion.
’Was he always there?’ they thought.
"Well, at least that tells the level you lot are on," Marcus whispered, and leaned on the table.
.-.-.-.-.-.
Darin froze.
His breath slowed the mont he looked at Marcus. Even Clara, who was beside him was left shocked but the reason for his shock wasn’t the sa as others.
His eyes stared the man on the podium. Sothing about him didn’t sit right.
His fingers tightened around the edge of the desk.
Without thinking, his gaze shifted slightly, as if staring at sothing beyond the visibility of other people.
A faint, translucent layer of window pulsed before his eyes.
Sothing he had relied on countless tis without questioning it.
Na:
—
Class:
—
Attributes:
—
Affiliation:
—
...
Nothing. Literally nothing.
Darin blinked once, but the interface didn’t flicker.
It didn’t glitch or react. It was simply empty.
"That’s not possible," he whispered, and focused at Marcus again.
But the result didn’t change. The man in front of him had no na, no presence and no trace.
Even high-ranking magicians, headmaster of the academy, and all of the calamities he had mont to witness from afar had a lot about them.
His throat turned dry.
Even monsters had titles to them. Sothing to look up to.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Darin?" Clara’s voice brought him out of his trance.
"You okay?" she asked.
"Yeah," he murmured after a pause, forcing his grip on the desk to loosen up.
But his eyes never drifted away from Marcus.
"Is the view to your liking, cadet?"
Marcus didn’t look at Darin. He was busy rereading the contents of the file in his hands.
Darin flinched, the empty interface window in his vision; the one that usually identified every threat with a color-coded danger rating remained stubbornly blank. It was like staring into a black hole.
"I asked a question," Marcus said, finally looking up.
He didn’t look at the class as a whole. His gaze swept through them and paused at Darin for a second.
"Its...fine, Professor," Darin replied.
Beside him, Clara looked at him with growing concern. She couldn’t see the blank UI; she only saw her friend trembling in the presence of a man who looked like he belonged in a gallery of finest models, not a classroom.
"Well, I’ve certainly received several proposals as a count and professor, too. But I certainly don’t want one from a cadet" Marcus said and scoffed.
A ripple of stifled laughter moved through the lecture hall. The tension that had been coiling like a spring snapped, replaced by the mundane amusent of students watching a peer get roasted by a handso professor.
Unknown to them. This situation was definitely not humorous for Darin.
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