In front of the corkboard, Margarita paced back and forth, her finger tapping her chin.
Three noble families.
The northern warlords, the Wolfram family—she would leave them to the President.
The Diestwald family of Arlan—she had no leads on them for now.
The Kleinfeld family of Himlabacken.
Margarita happened to know someone from that family.
She stopped her pacing and stared at the noble history pinned to the corkboard. The Kleinfeld family’s territory was in the northern suburbs of Himlabacken, and their family crest featured a silver wolf stepping on an olive branch. Their primary industries were iron mining and weapon forging. Valen, the student from the Advanced Class of the Swordsmanship Department, had the full name of Valen Kleinfeld.
Margarita had no impression of the name Valen Kleinfeld. This person didn't exist in the game—he wasn't even a background NPC. But in reality, this Advanced Class student who had popped out of thin air due to the butterfly effect happened to be the third son of the Kleinfeld family.
Margarita removed the document from the corkboard and folded it into her coat. She then walked to the table, organized the remaining clues into a folder, and locked them in a drawer. She didn't dismantle the red threads or pull the thumbtacks from the board; no one entered this meeting room except for members of the Special Action Group anyway.
The next morning, instead of going to Clara’s class, she changed into a clean Magic Department uniform, braided her white hair into a neat side braid secured with a silver-gray satin ribbon, and stood by the fence outside the Swordsmanship Department training grounds.
She rarely came to the training grounds in the morning. Joshua and Lovell were both inside, and Glion’s roars could be heard even through the fence. Margarita didn't look inside. She simply leaned against a pillar outside the fence, holding a copy of The Basics of Elemental Magic. She flipped through it casually, her gaze drifting over the top of the pages toward the entrance of the training grounds, occasionally scanning the contents of the book.
What did it mean to "communicate with elements using mana"? Impossible.
After waiting for about fifteen minutes, Valen emerged from the Advanced Class training area. He must have just finished a sparring session; his short brown hair was damp with sweat and stuck to his forehead, the collar of his black training vest hung loose, and a towel was draped around his neck. Two other Advanced Class students followed him, chatting as they walked. His expression was much more relaxed than it had been after his loss to Joshua, likely because Joshua was training on the other side today.
Margarita closed her book and stepped out from behind the pillar, blocking Valen’s path to the rest area.
Valen paused when he saw her.
“Consultant?” He raised an eyebrow. “What brings you to the Swordsmanship Department today? No classes in the Magic Department?”
“I have class,” Margarita said, wearing her habitual gentle smile, her tone soft. “But I wanted to step out for some fresh air, and I happened to be passing by.”
You took a detour that covers half the academy for fresh air; feel anything yet?
“Passing by.” Valen tilted his head to glance at the training grounds, then back at her. “That brother of yours is practicing his sword inside, over there.”
“I know.”
The two students behind Valen exchanged a look, and one of them nudged Valen in the ribs with his elbow. Valen ignored them, pulled the towel from his neck, and twirled it in his hand.
“Then why are you blocking my path?”
“I wanted to have a quick chat with you, Valen.” Margarita tilted her head slightly, her smile unchanging. “I’ve been feeling quite apologetic about the duel last time. Joshua was new to the academy and didn’t know the rules; he was out of line.”
Valen’s expression stiffened. Losing that duel was the last thing he wanted to be reminded of in the Advanced Class.
“It was nothing.” He said, his tone cooling. “A loss is a loss. I accept it.”
“You are very gracious, Valen.” Margarita took a step forward, closing the distance to within an arm’s length. She looked up at him, her blue eyes exceptionally clear in the morning light. “Actually, I’ve always wanted to ask something. I’ve heard that the Kleinfeld family’s sword style is a bit different from the traditional northern styles. There were a few movements in your technique that I haven’t seen in any books.”
Valen stared at her for a moment, his expression shifting from cold indifference to a mixture of wariness and interest.
“You’re in the Magic Department, and you study sword styles?”
“I am a consultant; I have to know a little bit of everything.”
Valen was silent for a few seconds before draping the towel back over his neck and waving his hand at the two companions behind him. “Go on ahead.”
The two students took the hint and scurried off, glancing back with ambiguous smiles on their faces.
Valen leaned against the fence, arms crossed over his chest as he looked down at Margarita. He was half a head taller than Joshua, and looking down from this distance, he possessed an unconscious sense of pressure.
“Fine. What do you want to ask?”
“When did the Kleinfeld family’s sword style start to diverge from the northern system?” Margarita flipped open The Basics of Elemental Magic. It looked like she had just happened to stop at a page, but in reality, there was a folded slip of paper tucked there with the questions she had noted down last night. “I heard Professor Glion mention that your family’s sword style has obvious southern techniques. But since the Kleinfeld domain is in the northern suburbs of Himlabacken, it should theoretically be more heavily influenced by the north.”
Valen’s brow furrowed. “You even know about that?”
“Consultant.”
“It probably started changing during my grandfather’s generation,” Valen said casually. “He said the northern sword styles were too rigid, so he found some southern sword manuals and had the family’s swordmasters re-choreograph a set. I don’t know the exact year, but it’s been a long time.”
“Ten years ago?”
Valen thought for a moment. “Something like that. My family replaced our sword manuals once when I was a child, probably ten years ago.”
Margarita’s heart skipped a beat. Ten years ago—crest modification, sword manual replacement. Same time, same family.
Her face showed no change, her smile remaining gentle. “I see. No wonder your sword style is much more flexible than the others in the Advanced Class. During the duel last time, I was thinking that the rhythm of your directional shifts is indeed rare in northern sword styles.”
Being praised caused the corners of Valen’s mouth to twitch upward involuntarily, though he quickly suppressed it. “Praising me won't do you any good. The one who beat me was that brother of yours.”
“As I said, I’m apologizing on his behalf.” Margarita closed the book and took a step back, opening up the distance. “I’m sorry for disturbing you. I’ll ask for more advice another time when you’re free.”
She turned to leave, but Valen called out to her from behind.
“Percy.”
Margarita looked back.
Valen stood by the fence, towel over his neck, his short brown hair a bit messy in the wind. The look in his eyes was less frivolous than before and more scrutinizing.
“That brother of yours has been doing well in the Special Action Group lately,” he said. “And you too.”
“It’s thanks to the President.”
“Constance isn't the type to just give anyone a chance.” Valen tilted his head. “If you really just came to ask about sword styles, I’ll buy you a cup of tea—the shop outside the training grounds isn’t bad. But if you have other intentions...”
He trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.
Margarita’s smile didn't change, but her fingers tightened around the spine of the book.
Hell, when did this guy grow a brain?
“You’re overthinking it, Valen,” she said softly. “I’m just a consultant. What other intentions could I have besides flipping through books and asking questions?”
Valen stared at her for a while longer before finally waving his hand and walking toward the rest area.
Margarita turned and walked toward the Magic Department along the small path outside the fence, her pace neither hurried nor slow. When she reached a corner, she ducked directly into the alleyway between the Swordsmanship Department building and the Student Council building. She leaned against the wall and let out a long sigh.
Then she heard footsteps.
Margarita tilted her head and saw Lovell peeking into the alley, her red ponytail swaying at her side and her amber eyes sparkling intensely. Joshua was behind her, still in his gray training clothes, with a thin layer of post-training sweat on his forehead and his lips pressed tight.
“Little Mari~” Lovell drawled as she walked in, leaning against the opposite wall of the alley with her arms crossed. The smile on her face made a chill run down Margarita’s spine. “I think I just saw you chatting with Valen? You two were pretty close; you were practically touching.”
“I was asking him about something,” Margarita said.
“Asking about something,” Lovell nodded, her expression full of mock understanding. “Does asking about something require looking up at him and smiling so beautifully?”
“Lovell.”
“Besides, you usually never come to the training grounds.” Lovell counted on her fingers. “Today you came, wearing a freshly washed uniform, hair braided perfectly, and you specifically chose the time Valen was coming out. Little Mari, could it be that you’re~”
She turned her head to look at Joshua behind her.
Joshua leaned against the mouth of the alley with his arms crossed, his expression calm. But Margarita had known him for too long; she could see what was suppressed beneath that calm in an instant.
Lovell leaned toward Joshua and nudged him with her elbow, lowering her voice, but making sure it was just loud enough for everyone present to hear.
“Brother~ you won't be angry, will you?~”
Joshua’s ears turned red instantly.
“I am not.”
“Your ears are red.”
“It’s heat from training.”
“It’s been almost fifteen minutes since you finished training.” Lovell blinked. “And you haven’t said a word this whole time.”
Joshua lowered his arms and took a step into the alley, looking at Margarita. He didn't interrogate her or get angry; he just looked at her, his blue eyes holding the stubbornness she was so familiar with.
“You went to see him because of the Special Action Group?” he asked.
Margarita looked at him and was silent for a few seconds. She could have brushed it off or made up an excuse; Joshua wouldn't have pushed further.
But she didn't want to.
“Yes,” she said. “There are some things I need to confirm.”
Joshua nodded and asked nothing more.
Lovell made a clicking sound with her tongue, her face full of regret at not seeing a better show.
What are you clicking for? I’m doing this for you.
Margarita tucked the book into her arms and walked out of the alley, stopping briefly as she passed Joshua.
“Go take a bath when you’re done training. Your clothes smell like sweat.”
Joshua turned his head to look at her, the tips of his ears still red, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
“I know.”
Margarita walked toward the Magic Department as Lovell shouted from behind, “Little Mari, remember to call me next time you look for Valen! I’ll keep watch for you!”
Margarita didn't look back; she simply drew her silver-white gun from her waist and twirled it around her finger.
The little red-headed girl shut up immediately.
Margarita went to the Student Council office that evening. Constance usually stayed there until dark, and after finishing her duties, she would have a period of solitude. Margarita had figured out her routine.
When she pushed the door open, Constance was sitting behind the long table with an old report from the Northern Frontier spread out before her. A cup of stone-cold tea sat by her hand. She looked up at Margarita, said nothing, and simply tilted her head slightly, gesturing for her to sit.
Margarita sat down across from her, placed her folder on the table, pulled out the Kleinfeld family history, and pushed it over.
“I spoke with Valen Kleinfeld for a bit this morning.”
Constance set down the report, picked up the document and scanned it, then looked back at Margarita.
“You went to see him?”
“I asked about their sword style.” Margarita leaned back in her chair, her tone flat. “He said the family replaced their sword manuals ten years ago. The timing matches.”
Constance placed the document back on the table and tapped her finger on it twice.
“What are you trying to say?”
“I want to know what the Kleinfeld family’s position is within the Sacrosanct Circle.”
Constance didn't answer immediately. She stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the darkening academy square. The evening bell rang, and a group of students emerged from the teaching buildings, heading toward the dining hall in small groups.
“Ten years ago, when those three outposts on the Northern Frontier were captured, there was a problem with the defenders’ weapons.” Constance began, her voice a bit lower than usual. “The outposts’ armories had a batch of newly issued longswords. When they struck demon scales, the edges chipped instantly. The soldiers used those swords to fight the demons for less than an hour before more than half of them broke.”
Margarita’s fingers slowly tightened on the table.
“It was later discovered that those longswords were forged in the Kleinfeld family’s workshops.” Constance turned around and leaned against the windowsill, arms crossed over her chest. “But the conclusion of the investigation at the time was 'iron quality issues.' The family paid a sum of money, and the matter was dropped. The files made no mention of the Sacrosanct Circle or the crest modification.”
“Paid their way out,” Margarita repeated.
“The person who handled that batch of longswords was Valen’s grandfather,” Constance said. “He died of illness the following year, the head of the family was replaced, and over the next ten years, the Kleinfeld family slowly faded out of military supplies and turned to civilian ironware.”
Margarita looked down at the document on the table; the crest of the silver wolf stepping on an olive branch looked dim in the twilight.
“Do you think Valen knows?” she asked.
“What do you think?”
Margarita recalled Valen leaning against the fence outside the training grounds that morning, his expression shifting from frivolous to scrutinizing. When he said "If you have other intentions," he was testing her, not acting out of a guilty conscience. But he had clearly been warned by his family—perhaps because losing to a transfer student was too embarrassing, or perhaps something else.
“He doesn't know,” Margarita said. “If he knew about the Sacrosanct Circle, he wouldn't let me get that close. At most, he knows his family replaced their sword manuals ten years ago. As for the rest, given his age and personality, he couldn't fake it.”
Constance stared at Margarita for a moment and then nodded, seemingly unsurprised by this judgment.
“So what do you expect to dig out of him?”
“Not much. At most, he knows some old family stories, and he’s wary of me.” Margarita tucked the history back into the folder. “But he’s a Kleinfeld. At the academy, he has access to letters from home, things mentioned by visitors, and things he hears when he goes back for the holidays. He doesn't need to say anything proactively; as long as there’s movement around him, I’ll know.”
“You’re going to shadow him?”
“Shadow him?” Margarita smiled like a little fox. “With a guy like Valen, the more you ignore him, the more he tries to get in front of you. I just need to continue being a consultant, appearing in his line of sight occasionally, and he’ll let slip what he should and shouldn’t say on his own.”
Constance looked at her, her emerald eyes holding something Margarita couldn't quite place in the twilight.
“You certainly don't bother pretending to be gentle when you’re plotting against people.”
“Should I thank the President for the compliment?”
“As you wish.” Constance walked back to the table, took a sip of the cold tea, winced, and set it down. “I’ll handle the follow-up on the Kleinfelds as well. The Windermere family still has connections in the armory; checking the accounts for that batch of longswords from ten years ago will be more useful than you asking Valen. You continue to keep an eye on him. Once a month is enough; any more frequent and he’ll get suspicious.”
“Alright.”
“And one more thing.” Constance tilted her head toward her. “Tell me in advance the next time you approach Valen. No matter how much of a mess he is, he’s still a member of the Kleinfeld family. And you, a defenseless fifteen-year-old girl—if something really happens, you won't be able to handle it alone.”
Margarita looked at her, silent for a moment, and then suddenly leaned in close to her, narrowing her eyes.
“Is the President actually worried about me?”
“I’m worried that the Special Action Group will lose a consultant who has only been on the job for three days. Hiring someone new is a hassle.”
“President.”
“Yes?”
“When you say things like that, you talk much faster than usual.”
Constance’s hand, which was reaching for the report, paused. She didn't respond; she simply flipped a page, her gaze falling on the paper as she drew a line between the rows of text with her pen.
“Close the door on your way out.”
“You got it.”
Rate on N.U.
