He specifically chose strong language, scowling as he spoke. He’d felt this was a risky move, and it did earn him a sour look.
“Sounds like I’ve cause you much concern. Does my head look that easy to fell?”
“Hardly. But the headmistress’s blade is not exactly dull.”
“Fair enough. I’d go so far as to say there is no one else alive whose will is quite that sharp. After all, she’s ruling over one of the world’s keystones all on her own,” said Farquois. “However—that is not a human job. It pains me to even look at her.”
The great sage seemed unconcerned. The witch might claim their head the next day, yet they felt only pity for her. Oliver could say nothing back. Where he stood, blinded by vengeance, no amount of suffering could make him voice those words.
“You asked what I want, Mr. Horn? I’m not hiding it. If you want to know, I’ll tell you now.”
“!”
That lead-in took Oliver’s breath away. The next words would be decisive. Were they a mad mage not worth listening to, or would this speech contain a fragment of truth? His eyes strained to see the difference, and Farquois spoke softly.
“I want to change the world. Ordinaries, demis, mages—everything we consider people. Make a place where not one of them will be called fuel for the fire.”
Who was asking, and who was answering—for a moment, Oliver lost track of it.
“An implementation and expansion of the civil rights beliefs. Rephrased in words the world can parse—that’s essentially it. Nothing astonishing there, surely? Everything I’ve done and said before my students is in line with that thinking. If you simply take it at face value, I’d not even need to explain myself.”
Stifling his leaping heart, Oliver tried to grasp the facts.
What was this? What was even happening? Was Farquois aware of Oliver’s background and teasing him about it? In that case, he had to kill them here and now. Would that be possible, even with a spellblade?
Wait, calm down. Don’t forget Guy and Walker are right over there. Don’t rush into it—keep talking.
“That’s…a stretch,” Oliver managed. “There are too many contradictions. The great sage is a civil rights proponent? But the ultraconservative Five Rods chose you, and you took that offer to come to Kimberly…?”
“Where’s the conflict there? The Five Rods don’t know what I’m after, and if they hear what I’m up to, they’ll merely take it as a tactical disruption, a colorful performance. Frankly, they don’t really give a damn what I think. All that matters is whether I’m effective in their efforts to topple Esmeralda—that’s the only thing they have eyes for. Extreme tunnel vision.”
Again, a note of pity in their voice. Oliver was watching their every movement, and that earned him a smile from Farquois.
“You wish to discern my motives and decide how you should act in light of that? I’ll tell you—you need discern nothing and take no action at all. I will continue to act just as I have and ask nothing of you students in return. Fundamentally, I require no support or cooperation. Although, it is me we’re talking about—people tend to like me even if I’m not making a conscious effort.”
“……”
“Don’t worry your head about a thing. I’ll take care of it. I’ll give you all a better future. But do know this: I am the great sage, Rod Farquois, and I will make it look easy.”
Overwhelmed, Oliver just stood there. The great sage spun on their heel, moving onward. His mind refusing to budge, Oliver followed—and his ears caught a muttered remark, the mage talking to themself.
“…Angry the proof came late? Nay, you died too soon. I’m the one who should complain.”
And these last grumbled words changed a doubt Oliver had long held to conviction.
This mage met my mother.
He wasn’t sure how they’d met, but he was certain. He’d caught whiffs of it from their earlier behavior, and he was her son—he hadn’t read this wrong. This was what had gotten under his skin so bad. Rod Farquois was acting like this due to the influence of Chloe Halford.
Oliver asked himself if there was anyone more deserving of trust. No matter how hard he thought, he could not argue that point. In his mind, his mother was just that unshakable a force. If he lined Farquois’s actions up with his mother’s, all his doubts faded. Act as he thought fit, as he felt right—just as Chloe Halford had always done. Whether that was at Kimberly, whether that turned the Gnostic Hunters against her. And if the great sage was the same…
“?”
This thought brought a new doubt to mind. Not about Farquois, but about Oliver himself.
Namely—was this mage not a better candidate to take on Esmeralda, the Gnostic Hunters, and the magical world itself? Were they not better positioned to pull off that epic feat?
Rod Farquois was a great mage. Everyone in the magical world knew their name—even if one only counted other mages, their followers numbered well over a thousand. A far greater number than those he’d earned through his mother’s connections—and it was ghastly to even consider comparing their individual strength. When they claimed to need no support or cooperation, they were not exaggerating in the slightest. This mage had the strength to force the issue. That was why they could cheerily argue against the Kimberly way. Where Oliver could only skulk about the shadows, the great sage could show their face center stage.
This would end with their head rolling—he’d thought that prediction apt, but how dare he? Had he not the same concerns? How many brushes with death had he experienced on the path to those three teachers slain? Even Darius would have been formidable under other circumstances. Enrico had been a close call at the cost of many comrades’ lives. Demitrio had been functionally a loss, overturned only by Yuri. Oliver could have died anywhere along that line. It was the devil’s luck that he yet lived.
But what about Farquois? They were riling up the entire faculty yet stayed breathing on their own terms. Perhaps the other staff were talking Esmeralda down, but arguably, their actions depended on that. Kimberly was not a place you could survive on pure luck—had he not learned that lesson all too well?
“? ?”
Confusion made Oliver’s feet falter. He knew this thought was too far-fetched.
But what if he just…left the rest to this mage?
That would be so easy. His comrades were already planning to sit back a year—why not do just that? Just wait around, and the answer would present itself. Either Farquois was true to their word and found a way to banish Esmeralda from the magical world—or they failed at that and lost their head, sowing discord between Kimberly and the Gnostic Hunters. Either way, he knew his comrades could turn that to their advantage. Simply put, as long as there was no risk of getting caught in the crossfire, there was no downside no matter what Farquois did.
Arguably, this would make his revenge harder to complete. But Oliver and his comrades had just concluded again that they could not prioritizing vengeance over the mission. And if he let Farquois act—then his comrades would be kept out of harm’s way. He would not need to feed them to the pyre. He could keep his cousins from the flames of war. He could let Teresa’s life last just that much longer—
“…Ngh… Haah…haah…”
His breathing shallow, Oliver walked on. A temptation too great to just shake off, giving rise to a desire all too desperate.