Novel Full Chapter 152: Round Table (1)
Chapter 152: Round Table (1)
“Landing! We’re landing, we’re landing!” Epherene shouted.
“Yes, we’re landing!” Allen responded.
The airship began to descend. The two kids, who had grown tired of watching the sky and had drifted off to sleep, now pressed their faces against the window once more.
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!”
The airship touched down on the runway with a deep thud, causing the cabin to shake. Epherene and Allen were lightly bounced in their seats as it landed.
Soon after, a crew member knocked on the door and said, “Professor Deculein, we’ve reached our destination.”
I finished the Encryption on the Go board once more, then stood up, calling for Epherene and Allen and said, “Let’s go.”
“Okay!”
“Yes, Professor!”
The moment I opened the door to the VVIP room, the crew and captain stood lined up in the hallway, waiting. I moved through them with ease, while Epherene and Allen followed behind, hesitant.
“… Wow,” Allen breathed, taking in the sight that greeted him as we stepped off the airship.
Epherene stood speechless, her mouth hanging open as she took in the unique space of the Round Table and murmured, “This is incredible…”
The Round Table, true to its name, was a vast, circular platform. It spread out like a great, flat dish, with the pink glow of the sunset coloring the horizon. The glass floor mirrored the radiant light, sending shimmering reflections in all directions.
“Hey, Deculein.”
Just then, a familiar voice rang out from across the runway.
“Oh, so Leaf is here too,” Ihelm said, waving as if genuinely happy to see her.
“Thanks to you, everyone at the Mage Tower calls me Leaf now,” Epherene grumbled, shooting a sharp glare at Ihelm.
Ihelm smirked, shrugged, and said, “Well, it’s still better than Epherene.”
“What’s wrong with Epherene?”
“I’ve told you before, it’s not that impressive of a name. Anyway…”
Ihelm turned to me and said, “Deculein, the Round Table Council has summoned you. As for Leaf and your assistant professor, they’ll come with me. You, head that way.”
At his words, Leaf—no, Epherene—and Allen tilted their heads, puzzled.
I instructed the two of them, “Go with him. I’ll handle this alone.”
“Ah, understood, Professor…”
“See you later!”
Ihelm snapped his fingers and said, “Follow me, you two baby birds.”
“What? Stop calling us baby birds…”
***
The restaurant’s sign, Glass of Round Table, was written in elegant script. Inside, the space was pristine white, with soft classical music flowing through the air. At the few occupied tables sat notable and familiar mages from various schools.
“Wow… Look, Assistant Professor! Over there—that’s the head of the Joble School,” Epherene whispered.
“Ah, yes, you’re right! That must be Mage Traje, I believe?” Allen replied.
They sat down, their eyes shifting from one famous face to the next.
Thanks to Ihelm, they had barely settled in their seats when a waiter approached and said, “How may I serve you, Count Rewind?”
“Ah, yes. Start with a bottle of the Pondreaux 33-Year-Old. Then, bring the Parmo soup with Zersol. What else is on the menu today?” Ihelm inquired.
“Yes, Count. Today, we have Slehan and Roahawk—”
“Roahawk?!” Epherene exclaimed, her eyes widening.
Ihelm and the waiter both glanced at her briefly before Ihelm continued, “Very well, we’ll take the Roahawk steak.”
“Yes, Count. We also have a selection of specialties from the Volang Territory…”
As Ihelm continued placing the order, Epherene turned toward the window, feeling embarrassed by her sudden reaction. She hadn’t intended to get so worked up over Roahawk—maybe it was just an automatic response, something instinctive.
Epherene cleared her throat and said, “Ahem! S-so, this is the famous Round Table~”
Perched on a Glass Island in the heart of the ocean, the Round Table offered a mesmerizing view. The entire landscape stretched flat, just as its name implied, reflecting light from every direction like the surface of a flawless mirror.
“A strange place,” Ihelm remarked after completing his order.
“So, are they really serving Roahawk?” Epherene quickly asked.
“Yes, I ordered the biggest one,” Ihelm responded.
Epherene clenched her fist beneath the table, satisfied. It might not be as refined as the Flower of the Pig, but Roahawk was sure to taste delicious all the same.
“As you can see, the Round Table is an artificially created magical space,” Ihelm said. “It has restaurants, houses, even bookstores, but it’s not the kind of place I frequent.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a hub of rivalry. Success here means attracting envy and jealousy at every step. And there’s no shortage of bitter old fools to deal with.”
“Oh… But why was Professor Deculein invited here so suddenly?” Epherene asked.
“Yes, it seemed quite unexpected,” Allen added with a nod.
Ihelm gave a faint smile, took a sip of tea, and said, “It’s due to Deculein’s achievements.”
“… Sorry?”
“How familiar are you with the Round Table?”
“I only know it’s where various magic schools meet… or something like that.”
Much like knights were divided into factions, mages were organized into schools. Officially, only three schools were allowed for each category of magic, and the Round Table served as their meeting place.
“Exactly. It’s a council of twenty-four schools, but they are highly exclusive. They’re strongly opposed to the idea of new schools being founded.”
“Why not? Wouldn’t new schools be a good thing?”
“… You’re too simple,” Ihelm said, shaking his head. “There can only be twenty-four schools—no exceptions. Three per branch, and that’s the limit. Any school that falls behind will be expelled.”
“… Ah!”
Epherene and Allen finally grasped the reality that only twenty-four schools were officially allowed to exist at any given time.
“So that means…”
“Correct. That’s why Deculein was summoned,” Ihelm said, placing his teacup down with a soft clink. He twisted his lips slightly before continuing, “Both on the Floating Island and here at the Round Table, Deculein’s thesis is gaining recognition. Or should I say, the thesis of Deculein and Luna?”
Epherene grew quiet.
“Many schools are feeling the pressure right now,” Ihelm continued. “Which branch will Deculein’s thesis align with? When will he be recognized as an elder? And most importantly… Why did he publish it without informing anyone first? That’s their biggest concern.”
“And why is that important?” Epherene asked.
“The Round Table is a rigid, hierarchical society. Being recognized as the head of a school here holds great value. If they had known in advance, they could have made the most of the situation, even if the school was nearing expulsion. They’re upset because Deculein didn’t give them the time to discuss it internally—that’s the issue.”
“Oh…”
Ihelm’s explanation was clear. As Epherene and Allen listened, the waiter returned with their appetizers—Parmo soup with Zersol.
Still curious, Epherene asked, “Then why didn’t Professor Deculein inform the Round Table ahead of time?”
“You know how he is—confidence bordering on recklessness, pride on the edge of arrogance,” Ihelm said with a faint smile. Then, with a sigh, he added, “He’s trying to shake up the rigid structure of the Round Table. Publishing his thesis without any prior warning to the council was a real act of defiance.”
Epherene and Allen’s eyes widened in surprise.
Amused by their reactions, Ihelm smiled as he picked up his spoon and said, “You probably haven’t realized this, but at Deculein’s level, and mine, every action, every word, even the smallest gesture carries political weight.”
“Hmm… I guess that does make sense.”
“This is practically a declaration of war. If Deculein becomes an elder, things will get interesting. I never thought I’d say this, but in moments like these, I actually trust him. I despise the damned old fools of the Round Table as well.”
At that moment, the aroma of the appetizer hit Epherene, leaving her momentarily breathless. It was as though the fragrance melted into her senses.
Noticing her reaction, a faint smile crossed Ihelm’s lips as he said, “Go ahead, enjoy the meal. Appreciate the moment, but stay alert. The storm will reach Deculein before long…”
***
I stepped into the waiting room for the Round Table assembly, uncertain about the meeting’s purpose. At that moment, a quest notification flashed before me.
[Phase Quest: Check from the Round Table]
◆ Acquired eligibility for the Ascension to Elder quest
This appeared to be the first step toward becoming an elder—an accomplishment as weighty as securing the title of chairman.
“I think I’m seeing Deculein.”
At that moment, a voice called out from across the room. It was a robed woman, her tone as full of wondering as always—Carla.
I glanced at her and said, “So, you’ve come as well.”
“It seems I’ve enjoyed going through your thesis.”
“I appreciate that.”
Carla nodded and handed me a letter, saying, “Could be a letter from Rohakan.”
I tucked the letter away and asked, “Is there anything else?”
“The people of the Round Table seem quite upset. I wonder if they might even try to kill you,” Carla said.
“Is that so?”
The Round Table was far from a pleasant group. In fact, they were more of a hindrance to completing the main quest.
“It’s of no concern. I won’t die,” I added.
Carla stayed quiet, sinking into the sofa in the waiting room, chewing on the snacks from the table.
I watched her puff her cheeks like a hamster and then asked, “Is that all the business you have here?”
“Seems like it.”
At that moment, the door to the waiting room burst open, revealing a group of mages on the other side.
“Professor Deculein, the meeting is about to start,” said a grim-faced middle-aged man, evidently the leader of the group.
I rose from my seat and walked after him.
Tap-tap, pat-pat—
Their footsteps were quick, but I maintained my own measured pace. While they hurried ahead, short or stout, I had no intention of losing my composure.
But then…
“Wait.”
The middle-aged mage turned sharply to face me. His name was probably Debrun.
“Hurry along! Why are you dragging your feet?”
All the mages stopped. I met their stares with steady eyes. Silence weighed heavily in the air, and the stillness lingered.
At last, I moved forward and spoke, “… Debrun.”
“What? How dare you address me by name?”
“I can forgive your lack of manners in opening the door without permission. I won’t degrade myself to address it any further. But…” I said, advancing with slow, deliberate steps, the echo of my heels cutting through the silence. “When someone beneath me forgets their place and dares to overreach, seeking to rise by ignoring the grace extended to them…”
Click, clack— Click, clack—
The steady rhythm of my footsteps filled the corridor, and slowly, the mages of the Round Table hid the hostility that once flickered in their eyes. Fear took hold of them—pathetic, scurrying back like the vermin they were.
“I will not tolerate that,” I said, stepping closer to the man and forcing him to drop his defiant look as I stood over him. “Know your place. If you act any more insolently, I might just have to kill you.”
***
After finishing her meditation, Sophien’s mind eased into a tranquil stillness. The familiar lethargy, which she considered a form of peace, returned, and that lethargy deepened into a gentle state of reflection.
Lying in bed, Sophien watched the snow globe in silence. Inside the glass, snowflakes twirled softly, falling like whispers of winter. As she observed their graceful descent, her mind wandered to thoughts of Keiron and the giant.
“… A giant,” Sophien murmured.
An ancient race, once sovereign blessed with eternal lifespans and powers nearing the divine. Yet, the truth behind their mysterious disappearance and sudden extinction remains lost to the histories of the continent. Now, they survive only as fragments of legend, whispered by bards around campfires, their once-great legacy fading like distant echoes in the night.
Tick, tock—Tick, tock—
However, Sophien locked eyes with a giant—a remnant of a race long believed extinct. In those eyes was an incomprehensible depth, a soul that had seen the very essence of the world, the universe, and the origins of existence. He had surely glimpsed the truth itself…
Tick, tock—Tick, tock—
The giant, the snow globe, Deculein, and Keiron. Sophien’s thoughts wandered through her memories, leading her back to the curse she bore—the power of regression.
Tick, tock—Tick, tock—
Suddenly, a certain place came to mind—the Imperial Palace library, where the history of the entire continent was stored. Yet, it was a place she had never stepped foot in, an untouched corner of her own palace.
“I never imagined I’d be doing this in my lifetime,” Sophien muttered.
Sophien rose from her bed and made her way directly to the dressing room. The wardrobes were lined with garments gifted by the nations and noble families across the continent. After a brief scan, she chose a hooded robe and slipped it on.
Then, she left her chambers and descended into the underground library. Two knights stood at attention by the door, their eyes widening in shock at the sight of the Empress.
“… It is an honor to see—”
“Hold your tongue.”
That was the end of it. The two knights remained silent as Sophien pushed open the doors to the library.
Creak—
Inside, an elderly librarian moved quietly along the shelves, his hands gliding over the spines of books. He didn’t acknowledge the Empress’s entrance—he couldn’t, for Lexil had lost his sight long ago.
“You there,” Sophien called out.
Lexil turned, tucking his wrinkled hands into the folds of his robe. There was something in her tone that caught his attention, an unusual weight to it.
“… Your Majesty?”
“That’s right. Do you have any books on the legends or myths of the continent? Specifically those about giants?”
“Ah…” Lexil immediately bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty. We have such books. Allow me to guide you.”
“Good.”
Sophien walked behind Lexil through the long corridors of the Imperial Palace library. The air was thick with the scent of old paper and polished wood, and shelves filled with countless volumes lined the walls. As she moved through the quiet space, a thought crossed her mind.
“Librarian, has anyone else visited the library lately, besides myself?” Sophien asked.
“Yes, Your Majesty. Someone has been visiting quite often as of late.”
“Who is it? And you are letting an outsider in so easily?”
At that moment, the librarian paused in front of a particular bookshelf lined with ancient tomes. Sophien looked up at the worn spines, listening intently to the librarian’s words.
“It is Count Yukline, Your Majesty,” the librarian said
“… Count Yukline? You mean Deculein?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
At Lexil’s response, Sophien chuckled softly and inquired, “Can you tell which books he’s been reading?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Lexil responded, extending his hand as dozens of books floated smoothly from the shelves. His expertise in the magic of library management was unmistakable. “I can also provide a summary of the thoughts he had while reading them.”
“Thoughts?” Sophien asked, surprised.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Lexil said as he placed the books Deculein had read on a nearby desk. “I always request permission for my magic before lending any books. With that approval, I’m able to capture the reader’s thoughts as they are immersed in the text.”
“Capturing the reader’s thoughts?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. This spell necessitates both verbal and mental consent from the reader. The professor granted it without hesitation.”
“… Interesting. Let me see it.”
The thoughts Deculein had while reading these books might reveal something fascinating, perhaps even unexpectedly entertaining.
“Was there anything that stood out about him?”
“The professor exhibited impeccable noble etiquette, Your Majesty,” Lexil remarked, resting his hand lightly on the books.
With a slight movement, Lexil began copying Deculein’s thoughts from the book. This unique ability was precisely why he had served as the Imperial Palace librarian for so many years.
Of course, the spell required the reader’s permission, but once granted, Lexil could transfer all of their thoughts from reading directly onto the pages. Therefore, Lexil was, without question, the library’s ultimate safeguard.
“Good. You’re dismissed,” Sophien commanded.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
After Lexil departed, Sophien selected the thinnest volume from the stack—a poem titled The Bard’s Giant.
“Hmm.”
The book held nothing extraordinary, simply a collection of the bard’s songs transcribed like lyrics. Similarly, Deculein’s copied thoughts were equally plain—whether he had savored the lines or set it aside after a few pages remained unclear.
“There’s nothing special about it, is there…?”
But then, on the final page, Sophien came across it—lines of Deculein’s thoughts, standing alone. Their meaning was difficult for her to understand.
There was little of significance in the bard’s song—nothing noteworthy, no specific details that stood out. Yet the last verse, the giant and the Empress, remained in my mind. It felt almost prophetic, that the giant recognized the Empress, and the Empress recognized the giant. As I read those strange lines, I found myself, for some reason, hoping for Sophien’s happiness…
Deculein hoped for Sophien’s happiness. The Empress’s eyes anchored on that bold, audacious line.