Beneath the feather-covered right half of his face was a single, pure golden vertical pupil, within which faint arcs of lightning flickered.
His left eye, meanwhile, was framed by a gold-rimmed monocle. Through the lens could be seen a clear sapphire-blue iris—evidently the true color of his eye.
"Viola… I didn't expect you'd have the time to come see me."
Dean Orphis lifted his head and looked toward the doorway, his voice gentle.
But when his gaze fell upon Hel and the others, his brows rose slightly.
Hiness's presence clearly caught him off guard.
However, unlike Madam Viola, Dean Orphis was not someone easily persuaded.
He already knew exactly why Hiness had come.
And so, without any courtesy, he said bluntly:
"I'm very sorry, Miss Hiness, but our academy has its own plans.
At present, we have no intention of involving ourselves in disputes within your royal family."
"So by 'not involving yourselves,' you mean openly supporting the Second Prince?"
Before Hiness could speak, Hel patted her shoulder and stepped forward, placing herself in front of her.
She looked directly at Dean Orphis without the slightest hint of politeness.
From the faint crease of Orphis's brow, it was obvious—
Hel's lack of decorum had displeased him.
Or rather, this rigid, meticulously proper old gentleman disliked anything that strayed from the rules.
Especially unconventional disciplines such as alchemical machinery.
Still, the restraint befitting an academy dean prevented him from snapping at her.
With patience, he explained:
"Young lady, you are not of Savant's royal blood.
Naturally, you cannot understand these matters.
Political investment is not child's play—especially when it concerns the question of who will inherit the throne.
The current situation is perfectly clear.
Behind the Second Prince stands Savant's civil bureaucracy.
Behind the Fourth Princess stand two ruling dukes who openly support her, and her uncle is the Commander of Savant's Knight Order.
Beyond that, all of us academies have already chosen one of those two to stake our futures on.
It can be said that between them, they have secured the support of nearly every major force within Savant.
Therefore…"
Orphis shook his head helplessly, as though lamenting the fearless ignorance of youth.
Then, as if determined to make them abandon all hope, he continued patiently:
"Even if those two were to destroy one another…
your chances of defeating either of them would still be slim to none.
That is enough."
Orphis turned his gaze back to Viola, his tone softening into something almost like a man humoring children.
"These youngsters do not understand.
Surely, junior sister, you grasp the reasoning here.
Skool Academy simply cannot afford to lose again.
So this time… we can only ask Hiness to endure a little.
But rest assured—so long as she remains within our academy for even one day, I will not allow anyone to harm her."
With that, he returned his attention to the documents in his hands.
In his eyes, he had already said more than enough.
Surely Viola would know better than to persist, and would take these two children and leave.
Yet unexpectedly…he heard footsteps.
When he looked up again, he found that at some point, Hel had already approached his desk.
She smiled at him.
There was none of the reverence an ordinary student would show a dean—only the calm indifference of an equal.
"You said that even if those two royals both fell, we still couldn't contend with them.
Do you mean the forces standing behind them?"
"This student…"
Orphis's expression cooled.
"The foundation of the Seven Great Academies is beyond your imagination.
Even the weakest among them—the Academy of Arts—has a dean at the peak of the fifth tier.
Let alone the strongest: the Academies of Machinery and Apothecary.
I can only tell you this—the sixth-tier experts among the Seven Great Academies combined are certainly no fewer than those within Savant's royal family.
And each of the Machinery and Apothecary academies possesses at least two sixth-tier experts."
"I see."
Hel nodded thoughtfully.
Then she tilted her head, looking genuinely puzzled as she asked:
"Sixth tier… is that strong?"
"You—"
Even with Orphis's composure, anger flickered.
Any sixth-tier extraordinary was a tyrant of their age, a dominant power in this world.
In an era where saint-tier beings were almost never seen, sixth-tier experts were practically the strongest handful of individuals across the Southern Continent.
And this frail-looking girl dared to question whether sixth-tier was impressive?
Truly…the ignorant feared nothing.
Orphis thought so, yet even then, he did not show his fury.
After all, he was not only the dean of Skoll Academy—he was also an educator.
He would not vent his anger upon children.
At most, he would note today's insolence in his mind, and later have Viola properly discipline these two reckless youngsters.
But before he could even begin sending a private message to Viola…
Hel suddenly drew a sword.
It was a mithril blade engraved with intricate, complex patterns.
At the hilt were two overlapping wings, and at their center was embedded a lavish golden gem.
Orphis, widely learned as he was, immediately understood—that golden gem was no ordinary ornament.
It was a sacred relic belonging exclusively to the Church: the Heart of Aether.
The people of the Southern Continent did not know how such an object was forged, nor what wondrous power it truly held.
But they only needed to understand one thing:
Anyone who could mount a Heart of Aether upon their weapon…was undoubtedly tied to the Church.
"You… who are you—"
Orphis rose abruptly from behind his desk, staring at Hel in disbelief.
A warrior bearing such a sword should at the very least be a squad leader among the Church's Judgment Knights.
Yet he had never heard of such a young girl among their ranks anywhere in the Southern Continent.
But before he could finish—
Hel moved.
A surging emerald-green battle aura wrapped around her body in an instant.
Orphis's vision blurred.
And when he saw her again…
Hel was already beside him.
That ornate longsword—still within its sheath—was pressed across his throat.
Even so, Orphis felt a freezing sword intent seep through the scabbard, pricking the skin of his neck.
Goosebumps rose uncontrollably.
Then, that gentle feminine voice came again, calm as ever:
"Now… do we have the qualifications?"