[Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Arthur Severn.]
The old man placed his hand firmly on his chest, a gesture that matched his composed demeanor.
Behind Mr. Severn stood a large projection screen displaying an image of his younger self. In the picture, he was clad in knightly leather armor, wielding a silver sword.
[I have been a saint for fifty years, starting when I was forty years old.]
*Whoa*
Most of the students were captivated, their eyes glued to the projector slide. Slide after slide showed Mr. Severn in action, capturing dark wizards in scenes.
The photos were staged and framed similarly to the trophy images taken by hunters in Africa, showing off their kills like elephants, giraffes, and lions. But in this case, the "trophies" were the captured dark wizards.
—Hahaha, luckily this is 1995. If it were 2020 or later, there'd definitely be a lot of justice warriors commenting on those images.
The thought crossed Oz's mind briefly. He smirked but quickly refocused as Mr. Severn resumed speaking.
[Normally, Holy Magic can only be used by someone aged forty and above.]
To emphasize his point, Mr. Severn raised his hand, summoning a shape out of thin air. The glowing form of a dove emerged, composed entirely of Holy Magic. It flapped its wings, soaring gracefully around the lecture hall.
Students gasped as the dove flew close enough for them to feel a faint holy magic radiating from it. Moments later, the dove dissolved into particles of light, disappearing entirely.
[Saint Candidates can usually only emit an aura of Holy Magic but cannot use it for anything other than illumination.]
From these statements, Oz could already predict the direction of the lecture. His expression remained neutral, but his thoughts were restless. He tightened his grip on his notebook, his mind racing to prepare for what might come next.
[We detected the use of Holy Magic in the burned lecture hall. However, there was no saint assigned here at the time. So, who could it have been? Anyone care to answer?]
The murmurs began almost instantly. The students exchanged hushed whispers, speculating among themselves about the possible identity of the mystery Holy Magic user.
[Oh, the young lady who raised her hand, please go ahead.]
All eyes turned to Estella rhat seated near the center of the hall. She rose to her feet gracefully, smoothing her uniform before addressing the room.
"Thank you, Mr. Severn. My name is Estella De Havisham."
Her clear and stoic voice echoed across the hall. Estella was well-known among the students for her elegant yet strong presence.
"From some of the books I've read, I speculate that there is a saint hiding among the professors and staff of Mistheaven. Historically, there have been cases where saints have rejected the Magisterium and chosen to go into hiding."
Her words were logical and well-argued. After all, access to the fifth floor of Stellarkeep was restricted to professors, staff, and student only. It was reasonable to suspect someone from that group.
[Hahaha, a good answer. But I forgot to mention that from the traces of the battle in the lecture hall, the remnants indicated that the individual was still young. Likely a Mistheaven student.]
The revelation stunned the room. Audible gasps followed, and the whispers grew louder. The possibility that one of their peers could secretly be a saint was unthinkable.
In one back rows, however, Oz sat frozen, his face pale. His heart pounded so hard that it felt like it might burst from his chest.
—Fuck, fuck, fuck. I forgot to clean up the traces of the battle there!
Oz clenched his jaw, his mind spiraling into panic. He was usually meticulous, careful to leave no evidence behind, but this time he had slipped up.
[If the investigation proves this, they will become the youngest saint in history, hahaha.]
The weight of those words hit Oz like a hammer. He knew the Magisterium wasn't just here for show—they had sent their inquisitors, their tools, and their expertise. If he wasn't careful, they would uncover everything.
[Oh, someone else has raised their hand. Please go ahead.]
On the opposite side of the room, Eben stood up. His presence was more stronger than Estella's, yet it exuded an air of arrogance.
"My name is Ebenezer De Scrooge. I want to ask, doesn't the Magisterium have the ability to check someone's karma? Wouldn't it be easy to simply check for the student with the highest good karma?"
The question was practical, even if it exposed Eben's limited understanding of the complexity of karma. Many students nodded in agreement, murmuring about the logic behind the suggestion.
[Hahaha, unfortunately, it's not that simple. People with high good karma aren't necessarily saints, just as people with high bad karma aren't necessarily dark wizards. However, it would be interesting to test the nobles with this tool.]
Mr. Severn's eyes gleamed with mischief as he glanced pointedly at Eben. Because Scrooge family infamous for its morally ambiguous dealings, Eben's expression darkened, his jaw tightening at the subtle jab.
On the podium stood a golden device, a Karmic Balance. The tool was often used by the Magisterium to measure the balance of good and bad karma in an individual. Mr. Severn gestured toward it with a broad smile.
[We've obtained permission from Mistheaven to test the students. Don't worry, even if your bad karma outweighs your good, it doesn't necessarily mean you're a dark wizard. So, relax, hahaha.]
His laughter echoed through the hall, but the inquisitors standing nearby were anything but amused. Their cold expressions added a layer of unease to the atmosphere.
On the screen, another slide appeared, showing Mr. Severn standing over the bodies of defeated dark wizards, his silver sword gleaming with their blood.
After the seminar concluded, the students were called forward one by one to be tested using the Karmic Balance.
The room grew quieter with every name announced, and tension filled the air. Some students approached the device nervously, while others walked up with confidence, only for their expressions to falter when the results were displayed.
Oz observed quietly from his seat, relief washing over him as he noticed that nearly a third of the students had more bad karma than good. It created enough of a distraction to keep him from being the center of attention.
[Ebenezer De Scrooge!]
When Eben's name was called, he rose from his seat with a stoic expression. Despite his obvious tension, he carried himself with the calm demeanor. His steps were echoed as he approached the table where the Karmic Balance sat.
The room was silent, all eyes fixed on the device as Eben placed his hand on it.
*Click*
The distinct sound of the balance tipping echoed in the hall. One side of the device tilted downward, indicating an abundance of bad karma.
"Heh?"
Eben smirked, folding his arms as he looked at the inquisitors.
"Even if this tool shows I have bad karma, you have no evidence to arrest me."
His voice was laced with a confidence born from years of experience dealing with such situations.
Eben was no stranger to facing inquisitors, often outmaneuvering those from Stellarkeep with ease. However, today's inquisitors hailed from the Magisterium. Even so, he remained unfazed.
The nobles in the audience exchanged glances, whispering among themselves. Everyone knew that those flagged with high bad karma would be interrogated, but unless undeniable evidence surfaced, noble authority would guarantee their release.
The inquisitors remained expressionless as they led Eben to a separate room for questioning. He followed them without protest, his smirk never fading.
"Oliver Twist, please step forward!"
Oz froze for a moment as his name was called. He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to maintain a neutral expression.
—This would be so much easier if they just used a Verinomus Oath.
The Verinomus Oath was effective but deeply controversial. Nobles strongly opposed its use, arguing that the oath had a limited number of uses.
Once that limit was reached, it would destroy a person's starlight, leading to false positives and unjustly turning innocent individuals into scapegoats.
In truth, everyone knows that the nobles are afraid their shady dealings will be exposed.
Oz placed his hand on the Karmic Balance, expecting it to tip in one direction or the other. Instead, the device behaved strangely. The balance swung back and forth wildly, like a metronome.
"Mr. Inquisitor?" Oz asked, tilting his head with innocence expression.
"Is the device supposed to behave like this?"
*Click* *Clang* *Click* *Clang*
The balance's arms suddenly snapped off and clattered to the floor. The loud metallic noise echoed through the hall, leaving everyone in stunned silence.
"Umm," Oz said, scratching the back of his head, "so what's the result?"
Naturally, the result was a complete disaster.
The inquisitors stared at him, their faces pale. One of them bent down to inspect the broken tool, visibly panicking.
Karmic Balances were rare and considered sacred relics in the Magisterium.
"Nooo! My pension fund!"
Mr. Severn cried, his voice breaking. He rushed forward and tried to reassemble the device, his hands trembling.
"I mean, nooo, this is a holy relic!"
The students murmured among themselves, some struggling to suppress laughter at Mr. Severn's outburst. His muttering about financial ruin wasn't helping his case.
"I borrowed it under the condition that I could bring back a saint candidate! If I don't, I'm ruined!"
The inquisitors turned their attention to Oz, their gazes sharp. One of them stepped forward and addressed him directly.
"We need you to come with us for a moment. There are a few questions we'd like to ask you."
**********
Later that evening, Oz found himself at the Grock Shop Café, slumped near the counter with an expression of pure exhaustion.
"Triple shot espresso as usual, please," he mumbled, raising three fingers at the barista without lifting his head.
The barista nodded and began preparing his drink. The café was quiet, its usual lack of customers making it a perfect spot for Oz to relax. The prices were steep, so only a handful of patrons ever visited.
"Why don't you just eat the coffee beans directly?" a voice called from a nearby table.
Oz turned his head to see Ophelia lounging by the window. A plate of half-eaten tart sat in front of her, along with an empty coffee cup and several other dishes. She had skipped the seminar that morning.
Carrying his steaming coffee, Oz walked over to join her. He sank into the chair across from her and took a long sip.
*Sip*
With a single gulp, the coffee was gone. He placed the empty cup on the table and sighed.
"Good idea," he said, leaning back in his chair.
"Maybe next time I'll eat the coffee tree instead. Three shots don't seem to work anymore."
He picked up the cup and licked the inside, determined not to waste a single drop. Ophelia raised an eyebrow but didn't comment, simply watching him with mild amusement.
"So? How was the seminar?"
"Exhausting," Oz muttered, rubbing his temples.
"The Karmic Balance broke out of nowhere, and the inquisitors dragged me off for a private interrogation."
Ophelia leaned back in her chair, a smug grin on her face.
"Oh, no wonder the seminar got cut short. Let me guess—our heroic Oz sacrificed himself for his girlfriend. So touching! Hiks hiks."
She mock-wiped fake tears from her eyes before bursting into laughter.
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Oz replied, rolling his eyes.
"But I'm impressed. You walked out without getting your cover blown."
"Well, they didn't find anything suspicious. They concluded the tool was just broken."
Oz sighed, but his mind continued to race. He didn't dare admit that his otherworldly origin had likely overloaded the device.
"What happened to the inquisitors after that?"
"Oh, I had to deal with them for over three hours. They were thorough, combing through everything about me."
Thankfully, his background as "Oliver Twist" was spotless.
As they talked, the café's bell chimed, drawing their attention.
A slender figure entered, her long, dark hair catching the sunlight that streamed through the door.
"Ophelia?"
"Estella..."
An intense silence filled the room as they stared each other down.
"Psst," Oz whispered, leaning slightly toward Ophelia. "You know Estella?"
"Not just know her," Ophelia replied. "The Hamlet family is a branch of the Havisham family. We've known each other since we were kids."
"Wait, so you two are related?"
"In a way, but we don't get along. At all," Ophelia said with a sarcastic smirk.
Estella approached their table.
"We hate each other, and I'd say rivals is a polite way to put it."
Estella pulled out a chair and sat next to Oz. Her sharp gaze flicked briefly to him, offering a nod before returning her focus to her rival. The tension between them thickened, hanging heavily in the air.
Feeling the atmosphere chill, Oz decided to excuse himself.
"I think I'll just—"
Before he could leave, Ophelia grabbed his wrist and pulled him down next to her.
"No. Sit."
"Uh, okay," Oz muttered, feeling cornered.
Estella turned her attention to Oz, who was now also sitting across from her.
"Oz, right? I still remember our last broom race. I have to say, I'm still shocked you managed to beat me so effortlessly."
"Yeah, um... beginner's luck?"
"Barista, one black coffee, no sugar. And a parfait."
Estella raised her hand to call out to the barista.
"Oh, congratulations, Ophelia. Your pretty face is back to normal. Tell me, though, how did you manage to lift the curse? Let me guess—you sold your body? But who would want you with that ugly face you had before?"
Ophelia's eyes narrowed, and hersmirk returned.
"That's none of your business. At least I'm not engaged to some old geezer."
The comment hit a nerve. Estella's smile vanished, replaced by a glare. Estella, emboldened, raised her hand as if to strike.
*Slap*
Before Estella's hand could connect, Oz caught it mid-air.
"Hey," he said firmly, looking between the two. "This is a café, not a dueling ground. If you want to fight, take it somewhere else. Agreed?"
Estella pulled her hand back, her composure returning.
"Apologies. That was an unpleasant side of me," she said, smoothing her skirt. "But just to be clear, my apology is for Oz, not you, Ophelia."
"Hahaha," Oz chuckled nervously, trying to lighten the mood. "You two seem to have a lot of history."
Ophelia crossed her arms, scowling. "Let's just say family ties don't guarantee friendship."
"Or civility," Estella added, her voice cold.
Oz sat stiffly between them, realizing he was caught in the crossfire of their ongoing feud. Choosing his words carefully, he decided it was best to stay neutral. He glanced at his empty coffee cup, wishing for another round of caffeine to get through this.
"Of course. Since childhood, I loved bullying Estella because I was better than her in every possible way," Ophelia said casually, explaining to Oz.
Oz raised an eyebrow, his inner thoughts racing.
—So this entire feud is your fault? Go apologize already!
Estella's stoic demeanor cracked as she glared at Ophelia, her usual composure replaced by a simmering anger.
Normally, Estella was calm and rarely emotional, but years of being bullied by Ophelia had left a deep scar. Whenever she was near her childhood tormentor, her emotions flared uncontrollably.
The Ophelia in front of her wasn't the same as the girl from her memories, though. Now, she was someone far more dangerous—a Rat King.
The barista, who had been silently observing the tension between the two women, approached cautiously, clearly uncomfortable with the escalating situation.
"Miss, your coffee."
He placing the cup in front of Estella and quickly retreating to avoid any fallout.
*Sip*
"Ah, nothing beats the clarity from a good black coffee."
Estella muttered, taking slow, deliberate sips and savoring the aroma. She seemed to be using the drink to steady herself.
"Rite of Agecoming," Estella suddenly said, her tone sharp. "I dare you to join the Rite of Agecoming. Don't chicken out this time."
The Rite of Agecoming was an annual tradition for noble families. Young nobles aged 15 to 18 showcased their skills, proving their worth and the strength of their lineage. Attendance was mandatory for the main family but optional for branch families like the Hamlets.
"Heh? Me? Chicken out?" Ophelia scoffed. "Weren't you the one who used to be too scared to sleep without a nightlight?"
Her word hit its mark, and Estella's calm facade cracked again. Their verbal sparring reignited, the air between them thick with animosity.
Oz, still seated between the two, silently pleaded with the barista for help. He gestured discreetly toward the exit, but the bartender just shook his head.
"Psst, Mr. Bartender, help me out of this!" Oz whispered desperately.
"Sorry, but I'll give you a discount for surviving," the bartender replied, trying not to laugh at Oz.
***************
The next day, the cafeteria was unrecognizable. What was usually a simple, functional dining hall had been transformed into a lavish venue for a grand celebration.
Balloons and ribbons hung from the ceiling, tables were draped in pristine white cloths, and the buffet now offered gourmet dishes typically reserved for special events. The atmosphere resembled that of a banquet rather than a school cafeteria.
A large stage dominated one side of the room, adorned with intricate decorations. In front of it stood a massive cake as tall as an adult. It was topped with candles and an elaborate "Happy Birthday" sign.
This extravagant setup was for the birthday celebration of Owain Von Rheged, a fourth-year student and one of the most influential figures at Mistheaven Academy.
Owain wasn't just respected, he was revered, even by fellow nobles. As a member of the Rheged family, his lineage traced directly back to Morgan Le Fay and King Urien Von Rheged, the founders of Stellarkeep. The family's influence extended to the leadership of the Mistheaven Council, giving them a status close to royalty.
At the center of attention was the main table, where Owain sat surrounded by his inner circles. The table was piled high with gifts wrapped in expensive paper, though not all presents were accepted. Owain had a strict policy—only gifts that met specific criteria made the cut.
Fred, Owain's trusted friend, leaned in close, his expression anxious.
"Owain, why did you provoke the Hoarder? What if he really claim those 46 extra cards?"
Owain smirked, his silver curls catching the light as he tilted his head slightly.
"That's precisely what I want. The Hoarder intrigues me."
With his polished appearance, charisma, and status as a member of the Rheged family, influence and power came as naturally to Owain as breathing. This allowed him to always get whatever he wanted.
But the Hoarder was an enigma. Since his arrival, Owain's factions had struggled to accumulate enough HP, a stark contrast to their usual dominance. Despite his best efforts, the Hoarder remained elusive, entirely outside his control.
"Report, all first-year Saturn students have arrived."
A secretary-like figure informed Owain, her tone brisk and efficient.
"Good. Let the games begin," Owain said, a glint of excitement in his eyes.
"Come to the party already. I've arranged for 2,000 people so you can use your extra cards here."
Owen leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips, brimming with anticipation. Around him, his subordinates carried out their roles, each of them briefed and ready for action. Identifying the Hoarder was his primary objective.
The cafeteria, which typically accommodated around a thousand students, had undergone a significant transformation. Tables were rearranged, temporary extensions were added, and the room now buzzed with over double its usual capacity.
"Are you prey or predator? Let's see what you've got. The real Witch Hunt begins now!"
Raising his glass high, Owen issued a silent signal to his subordinates scattered strategically around the room. The party was underway.
*Whoosh* *Whoosh*
Fireworks shot up from the stage corners, their crackling bursts illuminating the room in waves of rainbow color. Curtains drew back to reveal traditional Stellarkeep dancers, dressed in ornate costumes adorned with glimmering threads and intricate embroidery. The dancers began their performance, moving in precise synchronization to the upbeat rhythms of Stellarkeep's signature folk music.
The students erupted into cheers. Some even left their seats, attempting to mimic the steps of the dancers, though their efforts were clumsy at best.
When the dancers exited the stage, applause followed. But the next act, the traditional lion dance, brought an entirely different kind of excitement.
Two performers in an elaborate lion costume bounded onto the stage, their synchronized movements earning gasps and whistles from the audience. The booming percussion of cymbals and drums filled the space, amplifying the intensity.
At one of the more isolated corners of the cafeteria, Sam was devouring a mountain of food as if he hadn't eaten in days.
"Munch, munch… must… eat… more… munch munch," he shoveling a handful of snacks into his mouth.
"Oi, Sam, slow down, will you?" Nathan scolded, attempting to brush crumbs off his shirt.
Across the table sat August and Miranda, watching Sam with a mix of amusement and disbelief.
"Hmm," Miranda muttered, her gaze shifting to another table accross her. "Oz has been acting really strange. He's just… sitting there silently."
"Maybe he's not feeling well?" Nathan suggested, glancing toward Oz, who was seated alongside Ophelia.
"It's impossible," August replied. "In fact, the germs would probably catch something worse from Oz instead. Hahaha—"
His laughter was cut short as he choked on his food. "Humph! Water! Someone—quick!"
*Boom!*
The lion dance ended with a flourish, drawing a roar of applause. But as the dancers retreated backstage, the curtains opened once more, revealing an utterly bizarre sight.
A figure in a white swan mascot costume. The mascot wore a pink tutu, and behind it stood four muscular men dressed similarly, complete with balletic slippers and glitter-covered leotards.
The room fell silent, save for a few poorly stifled chuckles.
"What in the hell is that?"
Fred blurted out, his face a mix of confusion and revulsion.
"Owen, why would you bring something this absurd?"
"They're part of the Laughing Troupe," Owen replied, unfazed. "I hired a jester for the party."
Fred furrowed his brow. "A jester? Are they supposed to be this freakish?"
Owen leaned back in his chair, explaining calmly.
"In monarchies, jesters have an important role. They mock their rulers without fear of punishment, showing flaws in leadership. It's about balance."
Onstage, the troupe began their performance: a comedic rendition of Swan Lake. The swan mascot flapped its stubby wings as the muscular men followed its movements, their actions both awkward and absurdly delicate.
"Hoek! Blegh!"
The absurd combination of muscular men and ballet dancing overwhelmed many students. Some shielded their eyes, while others fled to the nearest trash can to recover. Eben, sitting closest to the stage, looked as though he might pass out.
"I feel sick… blegh!"
Eben groaned, clutching his stomach.
"Why are we even watching this?!"
Shouted another student, covering their face in despair.
As the dance ended, applause and cheers filled the room, not because of admiration, but relief that it was over.
"Yes! Finally!"
The four dancers bowed before retreating backstage, leaving only the swan mascot onstage.
Poof!
A microphone stand appeared at the center of the stage. The swan mascot waddled over, grabbed it, and prepared for a stand-up comedy routine.
"Owen, I get that jesters are supposed to be weird, but this one's just freaky," Fred muttered, still visibly unsettled.
"I swear, if another muscular guy comes out of that costume, I will shot it," he added.
Fred's wish was granted. The person inside the costume was none other than Oz, the mastermind behind the entire dance.
—I bet you'll all have trauma from ballet for the rest of your lives. Muehehe! I am fabulous!
Inside the mascot, Oz laughed, savoring the students' expressions after they watching muscular men perform ballet.