A Sensible Summer Vacation (3)
That peculiar sense of emptiness followed right after the spell activated—the rush of ether draining out all at once.
Once he succeeded the first time, the second came easily.
After chanting the same incantation four times in a row, even the embarrassment dulled.
Cleio gave it his all. By the fourth attempt, he felt his ether completely depleted.
Determined to erase the remaining piles and finally bid the school farewell, he ignored the dizziness and pushed one more spell through.
The Covenant issued a warning.
[―Ether reserves insufficient.]
A sharp flash filled his vision, followed by vertigo so intense he nearly blacked out.
Even the textbooks warned to avoid total ether depletion whenever possible...
But Behemoth had once laughed that croaking laugh of his and said, "Truth is, you won't die if you drain it once or twice. The textbooks just play it safe so the kids don't drop dead by accident."
Still… this is rough.
His head felt like it had been stuffed with ice. His ears rang, and the world swayed until he sat down before he could fall.
After a few minutes, his vision cleared—and golden text appeared again before his eyes.
[―Total ether capacity increased.]
[―You have reached Ether Level 3.]
[―Magic circle slots increased to 3.]
"…What? I reach Level 3 just for that? For turning some paper into dust?"
He still felt exhausted, drained, and aching.
No 'Congratulations on your level up—ta-da!'? No stamina bonus? What a scam.
Level up or not, his ether was completely dry. Unable to summon another circle, he sat awkwardly on the floor and began circulating what little remained.
Thirty minutes later, he had barely enough ether to attempt one more spell.
Let's see what a Level 3 circle looks like!
Cleio extended his hand again—
Wow.
The circle spread wider than ever, at least five meters across, easily encompassing the remaining piles with room to spare.
It was both impressive and beautiful.
Standing alone in the calm golden light, he actually felt moved.
At last… I really feel like a "mage."
His final incantation came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper, but the formation worked flawlessly.
The last of the clutter vanished. He felt genuinely refreshed.
The moment the circle faded, dizziness struck hard. Cleio flopped flat on the floor without caring how ridiculous he looked.
They said ether consumption per cast stayed the same regardless of circle size, but this was exhausting. Maybe it was the repeated use, or—
Or maybe, like Zebedi said, my spells just have too much raw output.
Even after finals, Zebedi had called him in for further tests, his eyes practically beaming with lasers when he said,
"Every spell you activate manifests at nearly twice normal power."
That explained how even a simple [Wind] spell could unleash the strength of a small storm.
He did say that higher levels would allow finer control over the output… but do I really need to go that far?
Once he left the school, he never wanted to touch magic again.
He'd heard that any mage or swordsman above Level 3 had to register their residence with the government.
He had no intention of living under that kind of leash.
After lying there for a while, his headache faded, his pulse steadied.
Slowly, Cleio raised his dust-streaked face, flexed his limbs, and managed a weak grin.
It was a smile from the heart.
"Never coming back to this damned school again. I'm a free man! Hahahaha!"
The storage room was completely empty.
Despite his light heart, his legs staggered as he left the room—but he didn't forget to close the door behind him.
With the magic light gone and the door shut, the storage room sank into darkness.
After a while, the darkness stirred.
From the beams overhead, a shadow that had been lying in silence rose to its feet.
It was Arthur.
While Lyuba had searched for him to no avail, Arthur had been hiding above the library storage room all along.
Though the academy was generally safe, on days like the closing ceremony—when outsiders came and went—assassins could slip in.
Arthur had hidden himself to avoid dragging any other students into danger.
Now, he recalled what he had just witnessed.
I've never seen anything like that.
A Level 2 or 3 mage wasn't rare—but a seventeen-year-old at Level 3 was a different story.
Even Zebedi hadn't reached that level until eighteen.
And for someone to succeed in casting the same spell five times consecutively—that was nearly unheard of.
Human memory wasn't perfect; even a well-mastered formula could falter when concentration slipped.
But how could Cleio Aser use magic like that?
It was beyond normal sorcery—something that defied common understanding.
Unaware of the Covenant's existence, Arthur could only conclude that Cleio was a miraculous prodigy.
In the deep darkness, the prince's eyes sank even darker.
.
.
.
As Cleio trudged back toward the dormitory, the Covenant's golden script suddenly appeared before his eyes again.
[―User's narrative intervention rate has increased.]
What? Why? I didn't even run into Arthur today. Is this thing bugged?
But his desire to figure it out was no match for his need to collapse in bed.
He returned to his room, fell face-first onto the mattress, and instantly passed out.
The next morning—
Carrying a small, pitiful bag in one hand and cradling Behemoth awkwardly in the other, Cleio climbed into the private carriage Dione had sent.
"Wait, aren't cats territorial? What got into you? Is it really okay for you to leave the school grounds?"
"Mreooow― (The entire capital is my territory. I simply never felt the need to patrol before.)"
"Yeah, yeah. Just… lower your voice, please."
"MROOOOW― (You expect me to spend summer break without meal service?!)"
"…Fine."
They crossed the river and drove west, past the bustling streets and into the quieter outskirts filled with parks and private woods.
Ten minutes later, rounding the corner by the King's Park, a modest yet well-kept mansion came into view.
Passing through the gate and garden, the carriage came to a stop before the building.
"Did you arrive, young master!"
Under the sunlight, Dione waved from in front of a line of servants and maids, wearing a straw hat and a light muslin dress.
As Cleio stepped down from the carriage, a middle-aged woman with a kind face came out from behind Dione to greet him. Canton, it was said, had worked for the main house of Colpos for forty years.
"Hello, young master. I am Canton, the head maid."
"Have you been well, Mrs. Canton?"
She was clearly someone who knew the previous Cleio. Hiding his discomfort beneath a polite social smile, Cleio returned the greeting as naturally as possible.
Then the kindly-looking woman's eyes began to redden. It was a pattern he had grown accustomed to by now.
"I heard about the accident. But it seems you've been enjoying school life! You look so much better now!"
"Yes, well… I owe it to my good classmates and teachers."
"This is the first time you've greeted me so kindly, young master. Forgive my sentimentality—I'm just so happy."
"Please, don't mention it."
That awkwardly touching moment came to an end when Dione's high-pitched voice cut through the air—she had just noticed Behemoth, who had followed Cleio out of the carriage.
"But young maaster! Is this cat your pet?"
"Wheeeeeeek—(Insolent fool! I am his dining attendant and disciple, nothing less.)"
"It's something like that. His name is Behemoth."
"'Something like that,' he says! Oh my, Behemoth, you really love people, don't you? You're so cute!"
"Eowong~."
Behemoth, weak to women, let out a purring whine and rubbed affectionately against Dione. Meanwhile, the head maid began explaining the household's situation.
She told him that when Cleio left for school in the capital, the long-unused mansion had been redecorated, and she had accompanied the effort to prepare it for his return.
'They prepared an entire mansion and staff just for one kid? There's gotta be another reason….'
But there was no time to think further. After handing his luggage to a servant, Cleio was pulled away by Dione and Canton to tour the mansion.
Canton seemed quite proud of the work she had done, so he had no choice but to respond with polite enthusiasm.
And indeed, the results were impressive.
The claim that the house had been "empty" was laughable. Seven bedrooms, a dining hall with a table for twenty-four, and every parlor—all spotless.
The grand hall gleamed; the floors, stairs, chandeliers, and mirrors all sparkled as if newly made.
As they toured the mansion, Behemoth—who had been quietly tagging along—finally flicked his tail against Cleio's leg and yowled.
"Wheooong—(If we're done here, show me the cellar. I smell wine down below.)"
'Ha, what a booze-sniffing cat.'
"Mrs. Canton, if it's all right, may I take a look at the cellar too?"
"Of course, young master. This way. I've even cleaned the stairs."
Lighting a gas lamp, Canton led him to a door behind the kitchen that opened to a basement stairway. Dione, seeing the dark stairs, said she'd stay in the kitchen.
The cellar was deep and cool, like a cave. The sharp-eyed cat bounded ahead and immediately began to complain loudly.
"Wheeeeng! (To leave such a fine cellar empty—it's criminal!)"
Unable to hear the cat, Canton spoke apologetically.
"Unfortunately, it's empty for now. But as part of the renovation, I've already contacted a wine wholesaler. The order should arrive soon."
"Wooooeoooong—(I've been betrayed! How am I to wait for that!)"
"Got it, Mot. Let's go look for the thing we talked about instead."
"Wheooong~ Wheooong~ (Very well, lead the way.)"
Canton smiled warmly as she watched Cleio being buffeted by the bouncing cat.
"You really do seem to understand what that cat says, young master."
"When you spend as much time together as we do, you start to pick up a few things…."
The trials of the day did not end easily. Dione insisted they had to get new clothes and dragged Cleio right back out. There was no chance to escape.
The carriage retraced the same path as before.
Before visiting the tailor, they stopped by the liquor shop. The two bottles of the notorious Tower of the Pope, 1875 vintage he had ordered earlier had arrived.
As soon as they loaded the box into the carriage, the cat's tail puffed out in excitement.
"Wheooong! (This is it! Ahh, this is it!)"
"Behemoth, calm down."
"Wheooong (How can I possibly calm down!)"
"My, young master, your cat is certainly full of energy."
"…Energy, yes. I think it's because he's been sucking mine dry."
"Ahaha, you do have a way with words, our young master."
After leaving the liquor shop and circling half the roundabout, they entered a street lined with luxury boutiques.
During the ride, Dione took a small pouch from her bag, pulled out a strip of jerky, and held it to Behemoth's mouth.
"Sweet kitty, wait here in the carriage, all right? It'll take a while, so here's a treat."
The plump cat snatched the treat and wagged his tail vigorously. Dione whispered affectionately, "Oh my, what a good boy, our cute Mot."
"How long will this take that you're giving him snacks to keep him waiting?"
Dione's face instantly hardened, her tone firm and resolute.
"Prepare yourself for the entire afternoon. I checked your luggage earlier—there's not a single proper outfit in there. I, Dione, came ready for this."
'Just how much is she planning to buy….'
A foreboding chill ran down his spine.