I Was Mistaken for a Saint in a Dark Fantasy

# Karma (6)

The day after the Graduation Exam incident, the Investigation Bureau named Yulian Nihilrit as its prime suspect.

The man in question responded by voluntarily walking into a temporary detention center.

The incident was more than enough to set the Academy abuzz.

— [Tragedy of the Graduation Exam That Claimed the Lives of Countless Young Students—Is the Black Magic Defense Professor the Shadowy Mastermind?] —

Reporters starved for a scoop had the sensational headline out and spreading within a single day.

— The student transport airship bound for the Demonic Realm for the Eschenwald Academy Graduation Exam suffered a catastrophic crash for reasons as yet unknown.

— The cause of the airship crash remains under investigation, and the number of fatalities is still being confirmed.

— Of particular note is the fact that investigative authorities have named Yulian Nihilrit as the prime suspect behind the tragedy.

— Countless students are said to be in a state of shock over the alleged betrayal of none other than the professor who taught Black Magic Defense Studies.— The Academy has limited its comment to ”a matter currently under investigation,” but bereaved families and citizens are demanding a clear accounting of what connection Professor Yulian may have to this black sorcerer attack.

There were, of course, some voices of concern regarding these articles.

Reading the coverage alone, one might have thought the Academy was witnessing an unprecedented death toll unlike anything in its history.

But the Graduation Exam in the Demonic Realm was, by definition, live combat without safety measures—and the casualties from the airship incident were, compared to the annual figures, remarkably few.

There had even been an incident in the Academy’s history where half of an entire graduating class perished due to a mutant demonic beast.

Whether the airship incident was truly the worst in Academy history was, in fact, a matter of some debate.

As for the ”shock felt by students” that the articles described, there was also a slight discrepancy between that portrayal and reality.

— ”Him? You’re saying he did this? Well... I’m not so sure.”

— ”I’ve sat in his lectures. If it had been him, he would have used a method that didn’t leave any witnesses, don’t you think?”

— ”Considering what he put on the midterm exams... something like this seems almost quaint by comparison?”

Reporters had interviewed students who’d attended his classes in order to write their articles, but the responses were uniformly like this.

There’s no way.

If it had been him, he wouldn’t have done it so conspicuously.

The students were all of one mind.

Naturally, printing any of that verbatim would not have made for a suitably sensational piece—so the editors-in-chief took it upon themselves to exercise a degree of editorial discretion and add a little seasoning to the interviews.

”Heh heh...”

Amid the frenzy of that scoop, the social affairs reporter for the Academy Bulletin let out an unguarded chuckle.

— [Tragedy of the Graduation Exam That Claimed the Lives of Countless Young Students—Is the Black Magic Defense Professor’s Shadow Behind It?]

No matter how many times she looked at it, it was a magnificent headline with equally magnificent content.

This was more than enough to grace the front page.

This was no ordinary social affairs piece that would normally get squeezed into a corner, edged out by some noble young lady’s infidelity scandal.

The editor-in-chief is sure to be pleased.

”What should I treat myself to with this month’s bonus?”

The mere thought of it brought another smile creeping back to the corners of her lips.

She arrived at the office with a spring in her step, a full hour before her usual time.

She’d submitted the manuscript the previous night, and she was eager to hear the editor-in-chief’s thoughts first thing in the morning.

Full of that buoyant anticipation, she walked into the office.

What greeted her, however, was not the editor-in-chief’s encouragement or praise.

”Pull it.”

”Excuse me?”

”We’re pulling the article.”

”What do you mean, sir!?”

Why on earth would they pull an article like this?

Had a conscience long forgotten chosen this moment to resurface overnight?

”Editor-in-Chief, if we pull this, every other paper will run with the scoop.”

”No—they’ll all pull theirs too.”

”Why? Did the Academy send some kind of warning?”

”I’d prefer it if that were all.”

The editor-in-chief pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and pressed it to his broad forehead as he spoke.

”The Director of the Investigation Bureau has gone missing.”

”...I beg your pardon?”

”He left his office to investigate Professor Yulian and vanished without a trace. His entire family has disappeared as well.”

”Wha—wha...”

The reporter froze where she stood.

The editor-in-chief patted her on the shoulder and said:

”We won’t be printing a single article until the Academy makes an official announcement. You’ll do the same, won’t you?”

The reporter nodded wordlessly.

It was because her long-dormant conscience and professional sense of duty had suddenly, inconveniently, come rushing back to her.

***

Meanwhile, in the immediate aftermath of Professor Yulian’s detention.

There were those who welcomed the news of his confinement—though for an entirely different reason.

They were not people who disliked, envied, or harbored any particular hatred toward Yulian.

”I can’t believe Professor Nihilrit has been detained...”

”Oh, spare me the act. Hey, put that fan away.”

”...Is it that obvious?”

They were, in fact, none other than the first-year students enrolled in Professor Yulian’s class.

The reason they welcomed the news of the professor’s detention was singular.

”At least it means we’ll have this week’s Black Magic Defense lecture off, right?”

”So I’ve got nothing on Monday? Awesome. I’m sleeping in.”

”Lucky.”

They assumed that while he was under investigation, his lectures would be cancelled.

Of course, the students were well aware that taking delight in a class cancellation under these circumstances was hardly becoming of a student.

They also knew perfectly well that any cancelled session would mean makeup classes down the line.

And yet students, as a species, were pitiful creatures whose hearts skipped a beat at the mere word ”cancellation” as though by reflex.

”Monday morning... sleeping in...”

But then.

”Huh? Why is there a letter?”

Those hopes were shattered to pieces by a single letter that arrived at their doorsteps.

— [Notice Regarding Normal Operation of Black Magic Defense Studies Lectures] —

”You’re joking.”

”Two days after being detained?”

”They’ve already caught the real culprits?”

The students who received the letter were devastated.

The letter contained news that the real culprits—culprits, plural—had been apprehended, along with an expression of gratitude for the students who had worried about him.

— I, too, worked harder than ever to apprehend the true perpetrators, so that the precious time we share together would not be taken from you.

— Thanks to that, it seems I was able to resolve the matter without letting any of your time go to waste.

It was an exceedingly polite letter, yet some students couldn’t help feeling as though it was mocking them.

There were even those who crumbled from the sense of loss at having their cancelled lecture snatched away before it was ever theirs. (The fact that no one had ever announced a cancellation to begin with was, of course, considered beside the point.)

But no amount of despair changed anything.

In the end, the students attended their lecture as usual,

and Yulian promptly took a few minutes to give a brief overview of the incident.

”Thank you for your concern, everyone. As it happens, I had quite a unique experience recently. I’m glad to be able to share it with you.”

Not glad at all, thank you.

That was what most of the students were thinking.

But in the very front row, there was a pair who was listening to his account of events with more enthusiasm than anyone else.

’So that’s how he resolved it.’

’Oh. I should run a TRPG session based on this someday. And turn it into a novel later.’

It was none other than Shallot and Jenny.

***

The incident had come to a clean resolution.

I had been a touch worried when I’d been placed in temporary detention the very day after the incident—

but that same evening, I had dealt with the Director of the Investigation Bureau and resolved the Marquis’s situation,

and the following morning, I had finished the Marchioness’s surgery,

and after a brief rest, I was back to teaching the Black Magic Defense lecture the very next day.

”The mastermind behind this incident was the Director of the Investigation Bureau. He and his family were part of the Black Sorcerer Faction. The investigation is still ongoing, but... hmm.”

I paused mid-explanation to think.

Was it all right to say this as-is?

I glanced over at Perisia.

She gave a small nod.

Meaning there was no particular problem with saying it.

Reassured, I laid out the plans going forward.

”Through this incident, we plan to eradicate the Black Sorcerer Faction members who infiltrated the Academy.”

After I informed the Academy of the black sorcerers having infiltrated through the Marquis’s cooperation, the Academy began weighing two options.

One was to conduct a fresh security review of the Academy alone and leave the rest alone—letting the black sorcerers slip away.

The other was to place the entire Academy under lockdown and trap the black sorcerers inside.

The first option ensured the students’ safety, but meant letting some of the culprits go free.

The second guaranteed a thorough eradication of the black sorcerers, but came with the risk of having to contend with cornered and desperate ones.

The Academy deliberated on this with the Imperial Court for roughly two hours before reaching a decision.

”Effective immediately, the Academy will be implementing enhanced security measures. Students are likewise advised to remain vigilant and take care for your personal safety.”

They had chosen retribution.

It was surprising, if anything.

I had assumed they would prioritize the students’ safety—

but the Academy had instead opted to set things right.

’The Chancellor looks so gentle and kind, but he’s unexpectedly tough.’

Come to think of it, it made perfect sense.

This was a dark fantasy world.

Not a romance fantasy.

The Academy was not a place people came to fall in love, nor to build social connections.

This was an institution where students signed a document upon enrollment acknowledging they might die during practical training or exams—and where, if they did, the response was a somber ”What a tragic shame” before everyone moved on.

’Heroes and knights are professions that stake their lives from the very start. I suppose it’s only natural.’

And into such an Academy, a group of black sorcerers had just conveniently walked in—living (?) teaching materials, ready-made.

For the military, which had been looking to add practical black sorcerer countermeasures to the role of heroes, it might have come as welcome news.

’I heard they were also considering a system where students who neutralize a black sorcerer before the soldiers or knights could earn academic credit and a cash reward.’

The black sorcerers would not simply be left to roam free.

The Academy was planning to do its utmost, lockdown and all.

But cockroaches, as a rule, burrow deeper when you spray them with pesticide.

The Academy would do its best—but flushing out black sorcerers who were determined to hide would inevitably take time.

In the meantime, if any students managed to catch one before the Academy did, they’d receive bonus benefits. That was the gist of it.

’The truly surprising thing is that this isn’t even an unusual policy for the Academy.’

Demonic beasts that found their way in through the sewers or various other means.

Demonkin who somehow slipped through security checkpoints.

Unavoidable accidents during Demonic Realm practical training, and so on.

Awarding extra credit to students who handled such incidents had long been an Academy tradition.

This was, of course, still under consideration.

The likelihood of it passing was high, but since it hadn’t been finalized, I hadn’t mentioned it to the students.

”For your safety, therefore, I will be adjusting the order of the lecture content.”

There were black sorcerers in the Academy now who couldn’t get out.

Which meant there was an urgent need to teach the students how not to fall prey to them.

”This is content that bears directly on your safety—not just on exam material—so I ask that you take it to heart.”

I looked out across the students.

Their eyes were brighter than usual.

They already knew, from what their seniors had told them, that the Academy was not the kind of institution that treated students’ lives as a joke.

”Now, then. Today’s lecture will cover how to identify when a shapeshifter is wearing a disguise.”

*

After the lecture ended.

I was about to head straight to my next destination when Shallot called out to stop me.

”Professor Nihilrit.”

”Is something the matter, Shallot?”

”I had a question about something you said before class.”

She quietly held out a small note toward me.

It was a memo pointing out a certain contradiction in my account of how the incident had unfolded.

When I lifted my eyes from the note, Shallot was watching me steadily.

”Was my deduction correct?”

”Yes, it was.”

”I see.”

She took the note back, then burned it in front of me.

She had the air of someone who, having learned the truth, had no further interest in what came next.

”Would you perhaps be free this evening to—”

”I’m sorry, Shallot. I’m afraid I won’t have much free time for a while.”

”I see.”

It may have been my imagination, but Shallot’s shoulders seemed to drop ever so slightly.

Only for a moment, though.

Her expression settled back into its usual composure as she spoke.

”I’m glad you’re safe.”

”Were you worried?”

”Did you think I was the sort of cold-blooded person who doesn’t worry about her own fiancé’s safety? If that’s what you thought, even I would be hurt by that, you know.”

”Ha... haha...”

Shallot, pressing me not as a student, but as a fiancée.

I laughed it off with an awkward smile.

Honestly, I hadn’t thought Shallot would worry about me.

But it seemed she had, in fact, been quietly anxious all along.

”I was joking. It wouldn’t do to keep a busy man like yourself any longer. Now that I’ve confirmed you’re safe, I’ll be taking my leave.”

”Then I’ll see you next week, Shallot.”

”Take care, Professor.”

With that, I parted ways with Shallot.

Immediately afterward, I set off with Perisia toward the detention center situated right beside the Investigation Bureau.

There, in the deepest part of the facility, I found the person I was looking for.

”Marquis Barlot.”

It was Marquis Barlot.

Beyond iron bars.

A haggard, hollow-looking middle-aged man, bound in shackles and handcuffs, looked up to receive me.

”I am no longer a marquis, I’m afraid. For violating the law, the Barlot family’s title of nobility will be stripped.”

On the day I had treated his son and wife, the Marquis had surrendered himself to authorities as promised.

Everything—from the details of his cooperation with the black sorcerers, to every piece of information he possessed about them.

”If it’s uncomfortable, I can still address you formally.”

”There’s no need for that.”

I took a seat on my side of the iron bars.

”How is my wife doing?”

”I’m told she’s recovering well at Director Schun’s infirmary.”

”Thank goodness. What a relief.”

The Marchioness’s surgery had concluded successfully.

The portions of bowel and kidney that had undergone ischemic necrosis from blood clots had been removed, and she was currently on a continuous Heparin regimen to prevent any recurrence.

”Now that I think of it, the Lord Saint asked us to send over the pain relief potions my son had been taking—what was the reason for that?”

”I’m not entirely sure myself, but according to the Lord Saint, that medicine may actually be the key to saving your wife.”

I had also asked for the pain relief potions young Master Adrian had been taking.

Because those potions appeared to be something rather similar to Aspirin.

From the analgesic effect, to the way bleeding didn’t stop properly, to the way a hemophiliac’s symptoms would worsen—

’The Ependule leaf is basically the same class of substance as willow bark, it seems.’

I had spent so much time hunting for willow trees to make Aspirin.

Couldn’t find one anywhere—and here it was in an entirely different plant all along.

’Same as with Quinine. Even in a misunderstanding genre, it seems you can’t freeload your way through absolutely everything.’

In any case.

That was why I had asked the Marquis to introduce me to the alchemist who had made that pain relief potion.

As Director Schun, of course—not as Yulian.

”The Lord Saint is extraordinary. That alchemist is quite accomplished in their own right, and yet from a single glance, the Lord Saint immediately knew exactly what use to put it to. Surely someone like that is on an entirely different plane from ordinary people like me.”

Heh heh. Thank you for the kind words.

”What’s more remarkable is that a man like you has a connection to someone like him.”

”I owe it to sheer fortune. The Nihilrit family were early investors in the Merkur Trading Company.”

”Ha. It may well be that the Viscount family has more assets now than I ever did.”

The Marquis said this with a bitter smile, lowering his head.

His body followed the motion.

Clank.

But the handcuffs bolted to the wall would not permit him even the simple grace of sitting properly.

”I find myself at a loss for how to repay you. I would dearly love to send the entirety of the Barlot family’s fortune to your Viscount family, but between my wife’s and son’s treatments, there is precious little left in the family coffers.”

Before meeting me, Marquis Barlot had spent no small sum trying to keep his wife and child alive.

He had continuously purchased expensive potions to sustain his son.

He had kept casting Heal on his wife’s dying bowel to keep her from slipping away.

And though he hadn’t said so, he had almost certainly been paying tribute to the black sorcerers as well.

He had kept this up for roughly three years.

Even a marquis family’s coffers would be scraped bare by that.

”I wish I could repay both you and the Lord Saint, but I am ashamed to have nothing to give.”

He muttered it with a self-deprecating air.

”What use is precognition, after all. I used on my son the very potion my wife needed, only making her illness worse...”

Grnd.

He trembled with fury at his own foolishness, shoulders shaking.

He went on lamenting, heedless of the blood beginning to seep from his wrists.

”I failed to foresee that you would appear, and so I handed the black sorcerers my leash before you arrived... What a sorry state of affairs.”

What sat before me was not the proud, commanding Marquis I had first met.

In his place was nothing but a middle-aged man who had been battered by misfortune heaped upon misfortune, and had lost the will to go on.

”Ha... I’m tired now.”

”Isn’t it too soon to give up?”

”Thank you for the kind words. But if my life alone means my family can live—I am content with that.”

Even this was a result of leniency, granted in consideration of his having surrendered and the circumstances he had faced.

In truth, what he had done was more than enough to warrant his entire family’s destruction.

He had, in fact, been hoping to end it all with his own life.

”I’ve stolen time from my benefactor. I’m sorry.”

”Not at all.”

”Even so—though I am in this miserable state—if there is anything you want before my sentence is carried out, please say so.”

”...”

Just as this gloomy exchange was continuing.

Perisia appeared from a wall where no one had been standing, and held out a document to me.

”A message from the Imperial Court has just arrived.”

”What became of the proposal I submitted?”

”His Majesty has approved it.”

”?”

The Marquis watched my exchange with Perisia, a question mark floating over his head.

”What does that mean...?”

”Yesterday, while I had some time, I performed autopsies. On the students believed to have died as a result of your actions in the Graduation Exam incident.”

I held out the autopsy report to him.

[Deceased: 20 individuals (including students and faculty)]

”Yes. Though I did not devise the plan myself, I knew they were using Heparin to prevent blood from clotting. These young people are as good as dead by my hand.”

”That isn’t the part I’m referring to.”

But that was not the part I wanted to show him.

”Please look at the cause of death.”

”The cause of death?”

═══════════════════

Cause of Death

Ⅰ. Immediate Cause of Death

A.

Acute cerebral edema and brainstem compression

B. (Cause of A.)

Necrotizing encephalitis and Sparganosis due to Leishmania invasion of the central nervous system

C. (Cause of B.)

Abnormal hyperactivation of dormant Leishmania following exposure to divine magic

D. (Cause of C.)

Latent Leishmania infection

═══════════════════

”This is...”

”In the nervous systems of every single deceased individual, we found the same parasites as those discovered in your son and wife.”

”How did you find that?”

”The surgery Director Schun showed me a few days prior brought it to mind.”

That was a lie.

I had simply performed autopsies as a matter of routine, as I always did when there were fatalities.

Checked the livor mortis as normal. Weighed the heart. Examined the lungs.

And then, while lifting the skullcap, something that should not have been there came into view—so I changed course and adjusted the direction of the autopsy. That was all.

”These patients did not die because Heal failed to work.”

That was how it had appeared at the time.

Because when Heal was applied, rather than their symptoms improving, they simply expired.

Everyone had assumed it was a matter of excessive bleeding from the Heparin.

But that was not it.

Yes, the Heparin had made it harder for the blood to clot—that part was true. But the graduates were not so fragile as to die from bleeding of that degree.

What actually killed them were the people in whom the parasites had been planted.

That’s right.

”In fact, what died were the black sorcerers’ internal collaborators.”

It was something I’d learned from Simeon, the parasite expert.

Black sorcerers, he’d told me, plant dormant parasites in one another to prevent their comrades from stabbing them in the back.

And those black sorcerers, in that state, are vulnerable to Heal.

— ”But why does Simeon know that?”

— ”...I came to learn of it while treating black sorcerers during my pilgrimage.”

— ”Simeon, you’re remarkably kind.”

Regardless.

”Not a single person in this incident died because of you, Marquis. I performed autopsies on every one of them and confirmed it myself—so I am certain.”

Getting the judiciary to accept this had required me to put on a considerable spectacle with the autopsy findings.

It wasn’t just a matter of proving they had died from parasites—I also had to prove they had not died from blood loss.

[Victim A presents a 4.2 cm incised wound on the anteromedial aspect of the left thigh, with evidence of femoral vein transection observed in the wound’s deep tissue. Examination of the wound margins and surrounding soft tissue reveals...]

Armed with all manner of technical terminology, it was a complex document—but summarized, the argument was as follows:

— [See this? The livor mortis on people who actually died from exsanguination doesn’t come up this dark. It should be extremely pale. But all of these are dark.]

— [When hemorrhagic shock sets in, the internal organs go pale, too. You can see it in the pigmentation of the eyes as well. But the bowels and conjunctiva of these individuals are not pale.]

— [The source of bleeding isn’t even a vessel fatal enough to kill them. A severed femoral vein doesn’t kill a person this easily. An artery, maybe—but not a vein.]

— [And the stomach is the key. People who die from bleeding tend to develop spotted lesions in the stomach—but none of these individuals show that. Which means bleeding isn’t the problem.]

I attached photographs of the victims of this incident side-by-side with photographs of people who had genuinely died from blood loss, and went through each comparison one by one.

By the following day, the judiciary had conceded that I was correct.

”As it happens, my autopsy findings have just been accepted by the judiciary. Thanks to that, one option has become available to you, Marquis.”

There were, admittedly, quite a few people who had nearly died, sustained permanent disabilities, or suffered serious psychological trauma.

That, I had no way of covering for him.

But the mere fact that there had been no fatalities meant there was still hope for the Marquis.

”What... what option might that be...”

Whether or not the Marquis had sensed it as well, his voice trembled as he spoke.

He seemed so overcome that I could detect a strange undercurrent of agitation in his tone.

I gave a nod and said:

”A plea bargain is possible. Your title of nobility will of course be reduced in rank.”

If he accepted the plea bargain, he would from now on be Count Barlot.

The Academy could hardly be expected to entrust him with its security any longer.

”Is that all?”

”There are black sorcerer remnants inside the Academy. You will be responsible for apprehending them. For any contributions made in that effort, there will be no compensation whatsoever.”

”Is that truly all?”

”And you, Marquis... will be transmitting the Barlot family’s Arcane Magic, in its entirety, to me and the Nihilrit family.”

The Marquis’s eyes went wide.

This was by no means a light punishment.

Arcane Magic was an extraordinarily sensitive matter—so much so that there had once been a ruling declaring it a just act of retribution when a baronial family attacked a rival house on the grounds that the rival had stolen their Arcane Magic through a marriage scheme.

And this was the Arcane Magic of a marquis family.

The apex of magic refined by generations of ancestors over hundreds of years—the very thing that kept the nobility at its practical summit.

Setting aside entirely whether our family could even absorb such magic, this was a punishment that could be placed just one step below the death sentence.

’Even if the Marquis’s eyes went bloodshot right now and he started railing against the Emperor, I could understand it.’

And yet I hoped the Marquis would accept the plea bargain.

Even a muddy ditch is better than being dead.

As a modern person from the 21st century, I tend to think family matters more than one’s house.

”Marquis. I urge you to give this careful thought and—”

”I accept.”

”?”

But making such worries look foolish, the Marquis accepted cleanly.

”I have committed crimes for which I could not complain even if my entire family were destroyed. And yet you are offering me this chance to atone. His Majesty’s grace is as vast as the ocean.”

The Marquis spoke with deeply felt emotion.

”And to think that on top of this, I am given a chance to repay the debt I owe my benefactor—I find myself in awe of His Majesty’s wisdom.”

He seemed to mean every word sincerely.

”I accept this gladly. If you wish, I can transmit the Arcane Magic to you right here and now.”

”There is no need for that.”

I would, at any rate, be teaching young Master Adrian blood magic.

Which meant I was planning to visit the Barlot household regularly.

There was no need to rush things.

”In that case, I will convey your decision to the Academy.”

I retrieved the document from before the warmly smiling middle-aged man.

”The details regarding you, Marquis, will not be disclosed to the public.”

There was nothing to be gained from airing it out, and no reason to needlessly stir the pot.

The note Shallot had slipped me was on this very subject.

She had quietly deduced that a major noble house was connected to it all, sensing that something in my account didn’t quite add up.

”The trial will be held in secret. Most likely one week from now.”

He would be detained until then.

But at least there was hope now. That had to count for something.

”Please hold on just a little longer, Marquis.”

”...I am truly grateful. It grieves me that the Empire’s language has no word adequate to express this thankfulness. Truly—I have nothing to say but thank you...”

He bowed his head, again and again.

I said nothing, and returned the gesture with a quiet bow of my own.