You Pass

Aura left at noon and returned that same night.

Though it was deep in the night, this was still much faster than Sheila had expected.

Ordinary human mages, even if they had mastered acceleration spells, could never visit every sheriff in Hohenburg and the surrounding villages within such a short time on limited mana.

Either they would need mana reserves built up over two centuries, or they must possess a kind of extraordinary magic beyond the usual acceleration spells — Sheila was convinced Aura belonged to the latter category.

"Why are you back with blood on you? Did they resist?"

"No resistance. They were all very obedient."

Well, obviously — if someone comes at you swinging an axe, who wouldn't be obedient when they feel cold steel at their neck?

Sheila carefully helped Aura change out of her mage's robe, which was stained here and there with small splatters of blood. She looked regretfully at the exquisite embroidery now tainted.

This wasn't the kind of robe given casually to apprentice mages; it was a specially commissioned garment from the Continental Mage Association, tailored for high-class mages. Sheila herself was a third-class mage, yet she had never qualified for a robe of unique design — rumor had it only second-class mages and above, or those with senior posts at headquarters, could order such a piece.

She had seen Barett's custom robe when he was young; its style was plain by comparison — nothing like this luxurious garment with purple embroidery.

'What rank did a robe with such purple patterns represent?' She wondered.

'A pity it was stained now.'

"If they didn't resist, where did all this blood come from?"

"I ran into an old student."

"Student? Miss, you're so young — how could you have a student?"

Sheila looked genuinely startled. To her eyes, Aura didn't even appear to be an adult yet. When Sheila herself had been Aura's apparent age, she'd still been agonizing over the homework her master assigned.

Yet this director already had students.

Well, long-lived races were like that — a young-looking master and an old, hunched disciple. Then again, who knew what kind of long-lived race Aura was?

Or maybe she wasn't even long-lived — perhaps just a human with frightening talent.

"I've had many. Most of them are old now."

"Did you have a conflict with your student this time?"

"Yes. We clashed."

"Your student dared to lay hands on their teacher?"

"I merely tested him a bit."

"Tested? That rough? There's blood everywhere — if you hadn't said it was a test, I'd have thought it was a fight to the death. You're not hurt, are you, miss?"

"No injuries. Just disciplined a disobedient student."

"So the student did something wrong?"

"He must have done something wrong."

Aura's eyes flickered with a trace of puzzlement. She had sensed a killing intent and followed it up the cliff.

On the surface, she was in Hohenburg for the development of human mage education — all for humanity's benefit. So anyone who came to stop or assassinate her must be, by that logic, a pest to humans.

From the human perspective, he did something wrong.

From the demon perspective — whether he was wrong or not hardly mattered.

Demons killing humans needed no justification.

Seeing the mood grow heavy, Sheila stepped forward, lightly patted Aura's back, and joked:

"Then as the teacher, you bear responsibility too. Shouldn't you punish yourself?"

"I bear responsibility too?"

Aura pinched between her fingers an old, rusty mage apprentice's badge — a design more than twenty years out of date, no longer valid. Even as a relic it wouldn't fetch much, not being old enough.

That hunched old mage — a bandit now — had kept it all these years.

She recalled how that old mage, at the moment of death, had still dragged himself forward, stretching out a severed hand to brush against the hem of her robe.

At an age when progress was all but impossible, he had finally touched the threshold of a first-class mage. He was never a gifted mage.

But Aura couldn't deny he had been a mage of remarkable tenacity.

His dying struggle had given her unexpected entertainment.

Such an interesting human — and she couldn't even remember his name.

"…Perhaps I do bear responsibility," Aura murmured in agreement. She pulled Sheila's sleeve closer and wiped the blood off her axe blade with it.

This time, the prey had struggled so fiercely that the corpse had ended up too ruined for her to bother eating.

But —

'Congratulations, Christopher. You passed the assessment.'

'You were qualified.'

'At the very end of your life, you truly became an excellent mage — facing a demon beyond defeat, yet never laying down your staff until your death.'

_______________

At the outskirts of Hohenburg City, within Graf Byron's estate.

According to Imperial law, each city could belong to only one Graf's domain. But Graf Byron was a special case — unlike Graf Konrad, who truly controlled tax revenue and security, Graf Byron merely held the noble title, with no real power or fief.

The Byron family's ancestors were wealthy merchants. Long ago, when a prominent Imperial figure led troops on a distant campaign and faced a dire supply shortage, the Byron family provided unexpected aid — a favor neither trivial nor world-shaking, but enough.

After much political maneuvering, the Byron family finally secured a titular title.

Though powerless, it gained them entry into noble circles, allowing the Byrons to do business in ways once forbidden.

It also attracted the flattery of those who once looked down on mere merchants.

Graf Byron was pleased by this.

With an expanded network, tasks once impossible now found volunteers eager to handle them for him.

Winton, the Mage Association's finance officer, was one such friend.

"So, Winton," Byron drawled, his tone mild, "tell me: has our dear new Director of the Mage Association stirred up any storms lately?"

Winton was a frequent guest at the Byron estate. Byron publicly called Winton his dear confidant; how genuine that friendship was, only they knew.

Winton, cheeks bulged with pastry, chewed slowly, savoring both the sweetness and the moment of power. He dabbed his lips with a lace napkin, pretending to consider.

"As you predicted, my lord — she moved swiftly at first. Marched right through the village outposts, cut off every channel Graf Konrad used to buy influence. The Association's local officers pledged loyalty to her within days. After that, though…" He shrugged. "She's gone rather quiet. The big reforms she promised? Nothing yet."

"She cut off all Konrad's reach? How did she manage that?" Byron didn't focus first on the new director's recent silence but rather on her ruthless efficiency.

Those officials had long enjoyed Graf Konrad's favors and feared his authority. Under threats or bribes, how did they submit so quickly?

"She carried an axe. Visited every name on the Association's list, one by one."

"…Impressive nerve."

No wonder — power and wealth meant nothing in the face of death.

And it was exactly the sort of thing that person would do — on the first day, storming into Konrad's estate without blinking. What wouldn't she dare attempt?

But the nobility wouldn't yield just because of one shock.

No matter how powerful that woman was, she was still just a mage.

And no matter how mighty a mage — they were human all the same.

If there was one thing nobles knew well, it was exploiting human nature.

"But…" Byron recalled how Aura had behaved at the banquet, frowning, "she's utterly unyielding. Konrad was perfectly polite, openly offered to cooperate, even promised power and prestige — none of it moved her. If someone can't be tempted by power, how do you control them?"

"Money, of course," Winton offered.

"No good. Just look at her clothes — she's not the kind of mage short on coin. And you saw her appetite — do you think an ordinary household could feed a creature like that? Even if the Association President paid her full salary, she'd eat the headquarters into bankruptcy."