“I must say, I was most surprised to learn of Class 1-A’s unbelievable score during this year’s camping trip. To think they beat the score of the legendary cohort so overwhelmingly—and in their first year too! I can’t imagine how powerful they’ll be by the time they graduate... My forces were completely trounced, though it pains me to admit it. Given the state of the world at the moment, I have little choice but to go back to basics and whip the lot of them into shape before the people begin to fear for their safety! It’s vexing, utterly vexing.”
So said a strangely good-humored Marquess Trouvere, thus kicking off the discussion. The Vanquish Domain, which had played host to the most recent Royal Academy camping trip, lay within the Trouvere Region, and the marquess’s forces had played a large role in assisting with the scenarios. Despite some embarrassment over the performance of his forces, Marquess Trouvere had benefited greatly from the weeklong excursion. The Royal Academy had spared no expense when it came to funding the camp, and the food and various other supplies they’d purchased from across the region had greatly invigorated the local economy.
The region also retained full ownership of the monsters the students had hunted throughout the camp (which, for various reasons, numbered far more than usual this year) and had already sold the materials for a tidy sum. The Trouverean forces had collected and processed said materials, the profits from which had then been divided among the Vanquish Domain and the neighboring territories who’d also assisted in supporting the camp. When the nobles under his jurisdiction prospered, so did the marquess, of course. A little embarrassment was well worth the wealth he’d gained.
Obviously, it wasn’t particularly hard to see that the reason the Vanquish Domain had been chosen as the location for the most recent first-year camp was on account of Godolphen von Vanquish being the organizer. In Japan, such a thing would become the subject of criticism, with other concerned parties claiming “unfairness” and “a lack of equal opportunity.” In Yugria, however, such criticism would only reflect poorly on the speaker, who’d be denounced as something of a sore loser. A Royal Academy education—and the all but guaranteed future greatness that came with it—was possible for all, regardless of social standing. Godolphen had achieved that greatness, and therefore was well within his rights to select his own domain (which was also the most convenient option) to host as many educational programs as he liked. If any of the other marquesses took issue with that, they’d simply have to see to it that a representative from their own region achieved similar prominence.
His recent windfall wasn’t the only reason behind Marquess Trouvere’s excellent mood either. Four students belonging to the most recent Class A intake hailed from his region—the highest number in Trouverean history—and with the reputation of what would one day become known as “the Unicorn Generation” skyrocketing, his region was experiencing a comparable rise in renown. Furthermore, when those students graduated and undoubtedly took up prominent positions across the kingdom, the Trouvere Region would only continue to benefit. Unsurprisingly, having claim to a fifth of the future Unicorn Generation had put quite a pep in Marquess Trouvene’s step, especially since Stella Achilles was among that number. The students’ outstanding performances during the recent school camp had quickly been attributed to their participation in the Hill Path Club, and as the club’s captain, Stella Achilles was now the talk of the kingdom. Given everything, it was little wonder Marquess Trouvere couldn’t stop smiling.
Melia Dragoon snorted. “‘Utterly vexing’? What nonsense. Training or not, we’re talking about a battle where a vice captain of the Royal Order and even the old goat Godolphen himself ended up joining the fray and were still soundly beaten. Your forces didn’t lose because they were weak, Trouvere. They lost because their enemies—those students—were too strong. The scores reflect that, and the people understand that quite perfectly. I hope you’re not going on about such codswallop in public and stoking unnecessary fear among your subjects.”
Marquess Trouvere, still smiling, merely shrugged.
“I see your rather impressive age has yet to strip you of your faculties, Melia. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind deigning to use that sharp tongue of yours to share some more about what happened at the camp with the rest of us? I still can’t believe they placed a gag order on the details of a mere school excursion... I have no idea what could have happened out there to result in those scores, and the stress of wondering about it is driving me quite mad,” Marquess Vulcandor grumbled, shooting a glare at Marquess Trouvere.
The Vulcandor Region was the only one without any students in Class A that year. Even the Dosuperior Region, who were well known for their disdain toward the Yugrian education system (with children from the Dosuperior family itself being forbidden to even attempt the Royal Academy entrance exams), had a rare representative in Larla von Liencoul. This meant that the unfortunate Marquess Vulcandor was the only one among them with no inside sources, something which was clearly causing him great annoyance. His personal intelligence team had managed to uncover some rudimentary information, but the key intel—specifically concerning exactly what Leo and Allen had done during the final scenario—remained out of his reach.
Marquess Trouvere, for his part, was keeping the military personnel who’d been present on a very tight leash to prevent any leaks. Given the gag order, it was the responsible thing to do. It also conveniently allowed him to maintain his informational advantage. The other marquesses couldn’t help but suspect the predominant reason behind his unceasing smile was that he, as someone directly involved with the camp, had managed to gain a far greater understanding of what had occurred over the course of the week than anyone else present.
“Who are you calling old?! The nerve of you... You won’t hear a peep from me, Vulcandor. Those details have been designated clearance level 4, as you well know. If you’re that curious, you’ll simply have to see to it that one of your subjects gets promoted to Class A next year and have them ask around then, hmm?” Melia retorted with a wicked cackle, much to Vulcandor’s displeasure.
“You seem to be in an excellent mood, Melia. I understand, of course—I imagine I’d be just as pleased if a golden goose decided to land in my lap while I slept. I’m rather envious, I must admit,” interjected Marquess Dialemack. The implication of his comment was clear to all: “You didn’t even know Allen Rovene existed until last spring. Don’t get cocky just because you were lucky.”
Melia’s feline eyes narrowed as she smiled, reminding all those present of a predator on the hunt. “Well, if it isn’t Romario! I’m glad to see you looking better. When I last saw you in the fall, you were still as pale as a corpse—and just as lively as one too. Vesta, was it? The boy from one of your branch families? Fey was just as surprised as I’d wager you were. She thought he was a mere genius, but supposedly he went and turned into a formidable tactician overnight...” Melia smirked. “I’d say you’ve already found a golden goose of your own. What’s next for little Vesta, then? Have you already signed the adoption papers?”
Romario slowly shook his head. “I’m not sure what comes next, not yet. Truthfully, I was as surprised as you say. It’s like he changed into an entirely new person overnight after being singled out by Rovene... I don’t know how, but he saw something in Vesta I never caught so much as a glimpse of. The boy’s insight is extraordinary.”
Marquess Reverence, who was sitting nearby, shrugged. “Your hesitance is going to be the death of you one day, Romario. If I were in your shoes, the boy would’ve become Vesta Dialemack before he’d even made it back to Runerelia. Leave a spark unattended too long, and it’ll turn into an uncontrollable blaze... You need to be more careful.”
“Your concern is unnecessary,” Romario snapped back with an indignant sniff.
“His insight isn’t the only thing extraordinary about the boy, from what I’ve heard,” chimed in Marquess Endymion, the oldest among those present. “He himself is a force to be reckoned with. I heard all about the little disagreement your Rudio brat had with him about the Hill Path Club, Romario. He let your son make a proper fool of himself, then took him down with a single stroke. He also knew when to stop. He could have run Rudio out of the Academy, but he showed mercy. His sense of composure is unbelievable for a boy his age.” Marquess Endymion sighed wearily. “I’ve had my own run-in with the Rovene boy’s older sister, and came out of it in a much worse position than you. Despite that incident, the boy has seemingly become quite friendly with Viscount Engravier’s son from my region. He even made Aldor the captain of the Emissive Magic Club or whatever it’s called, which has been gaining quite a reputation of its own. Allen Rovene doesn’t rely on words or meaningless actions to demonstrate his stance—he does it through purposeful and undeniable support of those he favors. I’m quite fond of his methods, to be honest.”
He paused for a moment, shaking his head in a clear mixture of admiration and disbelief. Then, he glanced at Melia and smiled cheekily. “I heard Viscount Rovene stood in front of you and publicly declared that the boy would choose his own spouse?” He chuckled. “He must have quite the backbone to stand up to you, Melia. I’m impressed. It’s rare to find someone in his position who wouldn’t use his son as a bargaining tool to improve his own social standing... Quite a peculiar bunch, the Rovenes. Come to think of it, I heard your granddaughter is rather fond of the boy too, no?” He chuckled again, apparently oblivious to the sharp glares everyone else in the room was now directing toward him. The small dining room felt on the verge of a storm, tension buzzing like static before the first flash of lightning.