Chapter 10: Prodigies and Geniuses.
Professor Katerina had gathered with the current faculty of the Valsington Institute. For the teachers of such a prestigious institution, frequent meetings were essential to discuss pending matters—whether organizational issues, academic adjustments, or recent incidents. Faculty members could be summoned at any time.
The institute was divided into a small hierarchy, determined by each member's importance within the institution:
The Director or Dean:
The highest authority among all members, responsible for assuming any blame that might fall upon the institute. Under their command were treasurers, administrators, scribes, and even a contingent of guards provided by the Church, though those guards ultimately acted as an extension of the dean's authority.
Vice Director:
Granted additional authority by the director or dean, allowing them to exercise power over everyone except the director themselves. Academic management, study plans, and several institutional divisions fell under their supervision.
Heads of Academy:
The institute itself contained several specialized academies, each focused on a specific discipline. These areas represented the institution's traditional strengths and formed the foundation of its reputation. They served as crucial workshops for students during their later years of training.
Members of the Faculty Society:
Professors distinguished by their service and contributions to the institution. This was the highest rank below the academy heads, representing considerable influence, as they were backed by much of the faculty. The Faculty Society consisted of veteran teachers who had served the academy for many years.
Official Teachers:
Professors who had passed their evaluations and were entrusted with full teaching responsibilities. Within their classrooms, they held the highest authority and could even direct temporary instructors or trainees.
Temporary Teachers / Practitioners:
Those assigned to substitute for absent professors, fill vacancies, or assist with the formation of new groups. They remained under evaluation by academy heads and members of the Faculty Society.
As for Professor Katerina, she was still a practitioner, assigned as a substitute due to an incident that had left the current instructor unable to teach for an undetermined period. This placed her at the lowest level of the institute's hierarchy. Though her long-term plans were not deeply tied to the institution, she had no intention of leaving so soon. For now, her duty was to report on her students to both colleagues and superiors.
Since she had only taught one class so far, the questions directed at her were simple, mostly seeking her first impressions of the students, along with a few minor administrative matters.
To be honest, Katerina had mentally checked out for most of the conversation, paying only vague attention to matters she would personally need to handle—especially anything related to thaumaturgy.
That changed when one topic in particular was brought up.
"Regarding the students…" Instructor Axcel finally spoke. "Professor Katerina, have you had any difficulties with young Leonhard?"
Katerina frowned slightly in confusion.
"Leonhard?" she repeated.
Then a vague memory surfaced in her mind: blond hair, unmistakable orange eyes.
She quickly connected those features to a certain noble family.
That's right. There was a Leonhard among them.
Known as a highly prominent family due to their infamous patriarch, Bedivere, the realization made Katerina feel slightly foolish for not noticing sooner.
Her gaze swept over the other professors, several of whom showed clear interest in the boy.
She knew the Leonhards well enough. During her years in Arcadia, she had encountered several of them. Their fierce temperaments and unruly personalities made them stand out like sore thumbs.
Well, he's still young. That explains it.
Children of certain noble houses often reflected the behavior of their closest authority figures, inheriting those patterns almost unconsciously. Though those traits evolved over generations, the Leonhards had always been a special case.
"I have to admit, I barely noticed him," Katerina said after a brief hesitation. "Is he troublesome?"
From her experience, members of that family were highly independent—barely tolerant of their peers and constantly challenging authority itself. Born anarchists who tested every boundary around them.
Professor Axcel cleared his throat before speaking. The former half-elven adventurer's voice carried the naturally smooth, almost enchanting tone common to his race.
"From what I understand, he's had recurring problems with several boys. Mostly, he's been the one targeted."
Katerina's expression shifted into visible disbelief.
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Axcel.
The image of a Leonhard being bullied simply didn't fit.
Still, she quickly recovered.
They were children, after all. Their lineage alone shouldn't define their behavior—not at such a young age.
"I didn't notice any kind of harassment during class," she said honestly.
At that moment, another official teacher joined the conversation—a man in his mid-forties.
"You may not be fully familiar with this institute yet," he said, "but we're accustomed to receiving students from all kinds of backgrounds and social standings, many from the upper circles. As long as they can afford enrollment, they are accepted. However, it's rare for us to receive members of truly distinguished noble houses."
This was Professor Charles.
A handsome human man, with faint strands of white beginning to show at his temples—clear signs of advancing age by human standards.
He wore a tailored white linen shirt beneath an elegant jacket and matching trousers, absent of any tie. Though his face carried a kindly appearance, his well-kept frame suggested hidden strength. His deep emerald eyes and dark bluish hair gave him a polished, refined air.
A veteran member of the Faculty Society.
He smiled faintly as he adjusted himself in his seat.
"The possibility of discrimination due to status or family rivalries is quite high. That's why, though it isn't written into our rules, we make an effort to avoid grouping multiple prominent noble heirs together whenever possible."
His smile brightened slightly, though there was unmistakable mockery hidden behind it.
His gaze wasn't fixed on any professor, but rather on a small game piece resting near his hand.
It belonged to Conquest of Recolta, a strategy game famous in the southern regions of the continent. Players expanded territories across a board, and the knight piece—his current focus—was crucial due to its ability to launch campaigns into unclaimed lands.
Charles himself had once been a renowned player, winning competitions throughout the continent in his youth.
These types really are a bit smug, aren't they? Katerina thought with amusement.
Having studied in Arcadia—a place where all students wore identical uniforms regardless of rank—she was no stranger to intellectual competition.
There, debates known as logia battles were common: contests where one sought to force their opponent into exposing the limits of their reasoning.
"I think I understand," Katerina said, feigning realization. "But wouldn't that leave room for unpredictable variables? Cases where there simply aren't enough groups to separate them, or situations during breaks, competitions, academy workshops… all the inevitable gaps left by such informal measures?"
She hadn't fully verbalized her point.
She didn't need to.
Charles' momentary confusion, followed by the faint flush of embarrassment on his face, told her everything.
Her implication had been obvious.
Even someone newly arrived like her could immediately perceive the flaws in the institute's supposed logic.
Though Charles had clearly intended to "educate" her, Katerina had effortlessly dismantled the hidden condescension behind his explanation.
The truth was simple:
His argument was little more than theater.
The idea that noble rivalries—conflicts spanning generations between houses, merchants, bloodlines, and factions—could be regulated simply by separating children in classrooms was almost insulting.
History had shown countless times that hatred transcended barriers, passed down like sharpened daggers from ancestor to heir.
"That's precisely the issue," Axcel admitted. "Usually, when harassment involves a child from a high-ranking noble family, pressure is quickly placed upon the institution, forcing us to act. But in this case, the Leonhards have ignored the matter for over a year. Even after the incident, they seem unwilling to intervene."
Katerina turned toward him, curiosity growing.
First he had expressed concern for the boy, then implied the matter was far deeper than she'd assumed.
What exactly had happened?
"What incident?" she asked, now visibly concerned.
Cases of student conflict rarely escalated beyond ordinary fights.
Among noble houses, such conflicts were often tolerated—sometimes even encouraged—as displays of dominance.
Provocation through descendants was an old strategy.
But this case felt different.
"That's the problem…" Axcel muttered.
A subtle tension settled over the room.
Then another professor spoke—the same woman who had observed the physical competition two days prior.
"Leonhard was involved in a dangerous situation. We believe the harassment was the cause."
She paused.
"He suffered from prana depletion."
The faculty nodded calmly.
Prana depletion was known across the lands, especially among high-level thaumaturges.
Yet when they looked at Katerina, they immediately noticed her expression change.
Her face tightened.
Her voice, when she spoke, carried unmistakable gravity.
"What symptoms did he show?"
Axcel answered quickly.
"If I recall correctly, he suffered an intense fever for several days before showing improvement. According to his maid, he remained bedridden throughout."
Katerina fell silent.
Her expression darkened.
"True prana depletion is rare even among exterior thaumaturges," she said at last. "Extremely rare. Most thaumaturges live their entire lives without ever experiencing it."
Several teachers frowned skeptically.
Though they knew of the condition, they had never considered it that uncommon.
As if reading their thoughts, Katerina clarified.
"Every thaumaturge has experienced dizziness after exhausting their reserves. Some even suffer mild fever after excessive casting."
Her tone sharpened.
"But a fever severe enough to confine someone to bed for days is exceptionally unusual. Even in Arcadia, I witnessed only three genuine cases."
One teacher—a tall, thin man with thick round glasses—spoke almost instinctively.
"Genuine?"
Katerina nodded grimly.
"Many people misuse the term to describe ordinary magical exhaustion. True prana depletion is far worse… and far less understood."
Her voice lowered.
"Most who experience it do not survive."
The room fell silent.
"In the three cases I witnessed at Arcadia, all died without recovery. If what you've told me is true, then this conflict escalated to the point of threatening Leonhard's life."
The professors exchanged uneasy glances.
An adult possessed far greater vitality than any child.
Greater reserves meant faster replenishment.
Beltrán, however, was only eight years old.
And he hadn't even awakened a Path.
He should be an impossible exception, Katerina thought.
If he were in Arcadia, half the faculty would already be trying to study him.
Dark thoughts surfaced.
She buried them immediately.
There was nothing she could do here.
And the faculty clearly preferred silence over scandal.
So she calmed them, mentioning that rare recoveries had indeed occurred.
She omitted one detail:
Across all recorded cases of depletion that severe, the survivors could be counted on one hand—with a finger left over.
That was enough to soothe the room.
The incident would remain classified as an isolated anomaly.
Katerina, however, intended to investigate on her own.
"Changing subjects slightly," Charles said, his gaze lingering on her, "there are two other students from prominent houses you may wish to keep in mind, since Leonhard seems to concern you."
Ignoring the jab entirely, Katerina waited.
"The Hassan and Silveryx heirs enrolled after the last Alba."
That immediately drew attention.
Neither surname was insignificant.
"Were they in the physical conditioning trials?" one professor asked.
"Yes," Axcel replied. "They consistently placed within the top three in every event they entered."
The teachers briefly summarized the competition and their performances.
Three names emerged as especially notable.
Among them was Beltrán Leonhard.
That Leonhard again.
Now that she thought about it, his earlier answer in class made sense.
He had spoken from experience when discussing vitality.
Had he reasoned out the cause of his condition on his own?
For someone his age, that was remarkable.
"What were their names?" asked an elderly professor.
"Ezequias Hassan and Simone Silveryx," Axcel answered.
When the meeting ended, the faculty dispersed from the main academic building located at the center of the institute.
Decorated by the imposing statue of Douglass—one of the most celebrated heroes of the postwar era—the structure dominated the campus.
Katerina walked away wearing a simple two-piece dress reminiscent of a mage's robes, leaving her shoulders slightly exposed. An ornate belt held the garments together.
Elegant.
Impractical.
Entirely her taste.
She eventually reached one of the institute's outer exits, where a dark carriage awaited.
Without hesitation, she stepped inside.
The interior was luxuriously cushioned and seemingly empty.
A small one-way window allowed light to enter.
Katerina sat down, closed her eyes, and let out a slow breath.
As she exhaled, all expression vanished from her face.
What remained was cold indifference.
"What did you learn?"
A male voice emerged from the shadows opposite her.
Only the faint gleam of hollow eyes revealed the silhouette seated there.
"In addition to the Gibraltan family, there are three other noble houses currently present at the institute—Leonhard, Hassan, and Silveryx."
She opened her eyes.
"All three may complicate future operations."
The figure remained silent for nearly half a minute.
Then:
"We are too close to our objective to delay any longer. Gather information and anticipate interference."
Its voice carried quiet authority.
The kind that could command veteran warriors without resistance.
"What impression do you have of their heirs?"
Katerina considered.
"The Hassan and Silveryx children are physically exceptional. Far beyond what their age should allow."
She paused.
"They may be prodigies."
"And the Leonhard?"
For the first time, uncertainty crossed her face.
"I'm drawing a blank."
She folded her hands.
"Everything I've gathered suggests one thing… while implying something far stranger."
"Go on."
"He didn't stand out physically. Yet he was present enough—clever enough—to draw attention."
Her eyes narrowed.
"There's something hidden behind his gaze. Something I can't decipher."
She hesitated.
"He's far sharper than he appears."
Another pause.
"Perhaps… he's a genius."
Then, after a moment:
"It almost feels as though he's being used to draw out the boldest observers."
Her voice lowered.
"And if that's true, whoever orchestrated it hasn't acted yet."
Her eyes hardened.
"He's singular."
Later that day, after finishing his third day of classes following the Alba, Beltrán was shoved violently into the washbasins of the classroom building's restroom.
A group of students closed in around him.
"You really thought you'd keep slipping away?"
The deep male voice echoed through the tiled room.
Beltrán lifted his gaze.
His eyes settled on a figure much taller than himself.
Attractive features.
Lightly wavy brown hair.
Noah Gibraltan.