The Ghost of Vermil-Chapter 30: James I

"What do you think makes demonic monsters harder to subjugate than cursed beings but easier than demons?"

James Hilbury posed the question to third year Aleph, scanning the room for anybody slacking. Some of them were trying to fight their drowsiness, but James spared them so long as they did not give in to it. He understood that lunch made one sleepy.

A few raised their hands at once but he had already chosen the student beforehand.

"Mr. Libbery, care to share your thoughts?"

Wilcan Libbery jolted awake. The bastard thought that sitting at the far end made him less conspicuous. Wilcan hurriedly looked around, completely clueless. He looked at the board and gave up, "Yes, Professor?"

"Miss Riverstine," James called Wilcan's neighbouring student, "Can you please repeat the question for our precious Lord Libbery?"

The trusty Riverstine mouthed exasperatedly, "What makes demonic monsters harder to subjugate than cursed beings but easier than demons?"

Wilcan piped up, "Oh, it's their amount of demonic power, Professor. More than cursed beings, for sure, but less than demons, considerably."

"Lucky guess," James Hilbury huffed, to which the easy-going Wilcan smirked from ear to ear.

Wilcan was not the top of the Aleph juniors. He slacked during classes and even slept through the ones that bored him but whenever he underwent an expulsion test, he always passed by a stroke of miracle. He carried himself with a patrician's nonchalance, though James had never known him to be condescending. James knew he was talented but in the face of a looming threat, his indolence could cost him his life and even those who chose to entrust theirs in his dallying hands. He hoped Wilcan would straighten out someday.

James went on, scribling the words demonic power on the board. "Indeed, their raw reserve of demonic power enables them to vent out deadly continuous attacks. The second you assume you can outlast them, you've already lost. But there is one other thing that makes them more dangerous. Any thoughts?"

This time he called on the top of the third years. "Miss Theresa?"

A commoner from Torinto, Theresa of Cotton Lake was a simple-looking lass of brown hair and fair complexion. Her freckled face was not too striking but she was not without beauty either. And after claiming the sixth spot in the Academy rankings at the end of last term, she carried herself with more grace and poise. Theresa answered, "Their intelligence. Both cursed beings and demonic monsters listen to demons and are easily commanded by them, but when cursed beings act on their own, they do so mindlessly, powered only by the curse that drives them. They tend to attack the person of the highest holy power first since that is what attracts or drives them away. On the other hand, if a demonic monster fights alone, they employ tactics. And they pick out the weakest in the group."

James smiled proudly, "Absolutely correct. Did you hear that Wilcan?"

The young lord perked up, startled. "Yes, Professor. They're intelligent," he muttered curtly.

James looked him in the eye, "So if you laze around while encountering a demonic monster, assuming you think better than it does, it will be your downfall. Do you understand?"

The student nodded vigorously.

James then announced, "An entity has attacked a soldier encampment in East Bismuth. According to the letter we received, it had the resemblance to a lizard missing its hindlegs. It had dark purple scales on its back that glowed every time it emitted a breath of miasma. It had incredible speed and physical strength. A bite can tear a soldier and armour into half. An exorcist and four soldiers died, so did the demonic monster. So, as a groupwork in Battle Tactics, you need to submit a plan how to subdue it. If you've read the letter and know exactly how they defeated it, it would be a shame, but that's not within my control. Instead, come up with a better strategy where no one dies. Submission is in two days."

Instructors also had badges as a tracking artifact but it flashed no number in it. He noticed it was glowing blue — a summon to the director's chamber.

The last time he got summoned alone was because of the incident at the Henge Field Test. That left him teetering in a precarious spot with Director Garren threatening to revoke his permanent instructorship at the Academy. It would have ruined James Hilbury's life.

Hilbury was a small but proud house that sat at the foot of the Darkseed Mountains at the northern reaches of the Arayan continent. They were besieged by a sporadic number of cursed beings and demonic monsters that made the long journey from Atamar and crossed the Mountains. There was a lesser line of defence around the valleys of Hilbury than in the plains separating East and West Bismuth. Nobody knew when an unstoppable wave of enemies would pour down the tall hills. James was supposed to garrison their small palace, and serve as its captain, having been born with the greater talent among six siblings.

Somehow, after fighting in the frontlines of his home earldom of Elkengarde along with promising apprentices, James had found it more gratifying to teach rather than tire his bones out in the dark hills that had no love for him. He applied for a position in Demach, to the dismay of House Hilbury. His father went so far as to convince Director Garren to turn him down.

I cannot return a failure. He despaired, fearing that his contract would be terminated. He owed the boy Lucas of Vermil his career. If not for him, on top of having killed a Demach aspirant backed by the King, James would have lost everything — his profession, his pride, his favour with the Arayan kingdom.

He found Director Garren sipping tea, the chamomile scent making him crave one himself. But Director Garren made no offers. He simply sat at his table, beckoning him to a seat.

"You have called for me, Director?" James spoke.

The Director was quite charming even when upset, James had learned before. His short stature and gentle features made people mistake him for a diplomat. He was, most of the time. Nevertheless, it was not diplomacy that earned him the directorship of Demach.

Director Garren uttered sternly, "I'll cut to the chase, Professor Hilbury, knowing you have classes to attend to. It has come to my awareness that the student you recommended to the Ordination Class is without holy power."

This was a surprise. "But Director, you agreed to put him in Zayin Class—"

"You said he had special talent, James. Have you deceived me?"

That accusation sent James to his feet. "I would not even think of doing such a thing."

"Some of the freshmen have raised a clamour because of this. I will not be the director to let folly run under my nose," Director Garren declared, sipping from his tea.

"I told you, Director, he was the one who subdued the cursed tumbleweed."

He peered at James above his spectacles. "If an artifact was used, if an angel intervened, have you looked into such possibilities?"

James shook his head, "No, professor. But I witnessed it with my own eyes. I think anyone who would jump in front of a cursed being to protect another deserved a chance in the Academy."

"Indeed, but not in Ordination Class if he possessed no holy power. Strictly only students who were blessed by the power of angels can be admitted in the Divine Ordination Class, James. You are well aware."

"Can you spare him a chance, at least? Just until the end of month? He is yet to show his talent, I believe."

The director took a long quiet draft from his cup. Breathing, he set it down on top of his desk. "I'll see him for myself, then."

"He should be in my office. I'll bring him, at once." He felt relieved, for now.

"No," Director Garren pushed himself up from his chair. "I'll accompany you. I do not mean to be stuck in this room all day."

On his feet, Director Garren reached only up to James Hilbury's shoulders. He walked with a slow, relaxed gait so James slowed down to match his pace. The way to his chamber was a short stroll. He knocked twice before he swung it open to find Lucas absorbed in some reading, scrolls and tomes lying around him on the floor.

It was the same book that James left him with two hours ago. The boy was a sluggish reader. He had not done any copying at all, which James had tasked him despite his poor penmanship. But it made no matter, since he recommended him to the Academy for something else entirely.

"Professor, your class is over?" He said, looking up. He hurriedly put on his beret to cover the brilliant gold of his hair.

The director spoke, "I have come to meet you, Mr.—"

"I'm Lucas of Vermil, Professor," he stood up and bowed.

James corrected him, "He is Director Garren, Lucas."

"Oh, forgive me, Director," he bowed again, putting one hand over his chest. His right hand was still heavily bandaged.

Director Garren eyed him with interest. He shifted his spectacles and asked, "Why are you pretending your hand is injured, Lucas of Vermil?"

The boy swung his hands behind his back, staring at the two of them blankly with his calm blue eyes as though his silence could protect him.

"Has it completely healed, Lucas?" James asked.

He bobbed his head meekly.

"Can you show us?" He remembered how large the hole the tumbleweed's vine had pierced through. Both flesh and bone should have been broken.

He gingerly unwrapped his bandage to reveal a hand so pristine that not a scar was left. As if a terrible wound had never been there in the first place. James walked over and turned his palm upside down, to be certain.

"Is it a powerful healing spell?"

He nodded again wordlessly.

"But why would you hide it? I've been worried you had been suffering all this time."

He turned his eyes away. "I am sorry, Professor, I wish I can tell you."

"Well, why are you here perusing books when you are supposed to have classes?" The director said.

It was James who replied, "He cannot take some of their courses because of his lack of holy power. I task him to do some copying work or basic exercises on Mathematics and History. He is... in need of them."

Director Garren scrunched his eyes. "That defeats the purpose of his admission to Zayin. Was it not your intention for him to awaken his talent? Reading and writing will not pull it out of him, James. He needs exposure, more than anyone."

James was afraid of Lucas getting hurt again. "I understand, Director."

"If you understand, please bring him back to class this moment, James."

At least his student avoided expulsion from the Ordination Class.

"I will." James looked at his student with a smile. Lucas stood frozen, perplexed.

The Director spoke to the boy directly, in an unusually sharp tone, "I do not tolerate mediocrity. In the Divine Ordination Class, I make no room for weakness. On the battlefield, the weak die first or the strong die for them. It's wasted life. You only have until the end of the month to prove you belong here, Lucas of Vermil."

"Thank you, Director," the boy bowed, his calmness unfazed by the director's bluntness.

"Are you really a commoner?" The director asked out of the blue.

"I am," he answered after a moment of hesitation. His bold and stately features betrayed him. Even the impressive healing spell was beyond the means of a mere commoner.

Director Garren pried, "But you resemble a noble I know."

James was afraid he had already figured. He whispered to his superior, "I believe it's not so simple a situation."

"Is it? Your roots matter not, anyway. Here in the Ordination Class, only strength counts." His expression turned mellow again. "Your classes await you. You've missed a week," He said and, turning away, added, "Do you really need the bandage around your chest too, son?"

James's eyes widened in shock. When did he get hurt again? "Are you injured on the chest as well?"

He nodded in his timid way and picked up the books around him.

"Care to tell me how?"

"It's only a little skirmish, Professor," he answered.

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