The Ghost of Vermil-Chapter 43: Apple XII

Before Lucas had taken the Eleventh Place, freshman Aleph had mostly treated him with indifference. He was a ghost of the auditorium whose presence mattered to but a few. Yet now, that had completely shifted, and not for the better.

The students looked to him with animosity as Lucas entered the room as casually as he always did, silent, not greeting anyone, not even Apple. I had forsaken him, she admitted to herself.

On the day of the Atelier incident, Apple had retched volumes onto the floor, the gut-wrenching stench of demonic energy assaulting her nose.

Yuri had rushed to her side at once. "Is something wrong, Apple? Are you sick?"

"I'm fine. You should go and help."

Students jumped to the school grounds to confront the outpouring horde of cursed beasts. In a spell, flashes of holy energy and shouts of enchantments filled the Academy. Haloes of virtue formed in the sky, weapons were drawn, and the once tranquil stretch of grass and maple trees became covered with light and dust.

"You won't be safe here alone." Yuri supported her arm, refusing to leave her side. Hannah soon joined them. "Holy Angel, it's colossal. Someone is fighting it. Look!" She pointed at the towering dark figure of the Inkarmoran which bayed and groaned as silver chains nearly dragged it to the ground. A piercing light from above had suddenly struck, slicing the huge gorilla in two.

And then the worst reek attacked Apple's senses. She had smelled such a pungent and thick stench only a few times before. A demonic monster! She remembered how fast and strong they were. If you see one, retreat. Father had always said. A demonic monster was a creature of menace and surprise.

Apple had feared then that someone would die. In the claws of the monster, these students were nothing but sack of flesh and bones meant to be cut, nobles and commoners both. Their holy powers made them durable sacks, yes, but they'd be cut all the same.

It was a miracle then that nobody actually perished, albeit one was in a critical state. A greater miracle still to the whole of Demach was the Zayin student's feat of valour. He had defeated the Weeper.

Nobody believed it.

But Apple knew well, for she had smelled it. A demonic putridness so thick it upturned her guts. And it emanated right from the very person who had appeared at the pulvinar when the director called on the third hero. His beret sat low to hide his golden hair, pallid face adorned with calm blue eyes, a striking countenance that would stir the hearts of many ladies aflutter. He looked every bit like a hero that deserved applause and admiration, but the Coliseum had met him with a quiet yet unabated rejection. Something he must have gotten used to. He was a Zayin after all, infamous for his lack of talent.

As the following week came, the stench off Lucas had disappeared, washed away completely with not a trace of it left. A wonder that had always nagged Apple since the entrance test.

In their class, Professor Devonchy called Lucas to the podium, "To demonstrate holy power control intricate enough to slay a demonic monster," he said. But when it became apparent that Lucas remained talentless, unable to muster the slightest thread of holy energy, the professor's true intentions were laid bare. Devonchy put him in front of the whole class to prove that point and humiliate him.

Lucas stood there wordlessly, the number eleven glinting on his badge. His calm face frowned when the professor told him, "Pack your things, son." He sent him out.

In Literature and Poetry, and Mathematics, Lucas's rank did not matter. It made him famous, yes, however it did not make him smarter. The professors were more than willing to make an example of him. Lucas was called several times to read. It took him ten minutes to go over a four-line stanza of Syrias the Thinker, stuttering over words that someone of noble roots such as him should have had no trouble in. "A tes—testament of god's... omni... omnipo..."

"Omnipotence," the professor corrected.

"...omnipotence, an army of... light made flesh, watch...ful eyes... a...a...aloft...aloft in the sea of cloth...clouds, cat—catching prayers off ...hhhhu... hmm... de-devot.... dev—"

"Devout."

"Devout si—singers, devout singers, th—they grant, they grant wish—wishes and dree... dreams? wishes and dreams, bings..."

"Beings! Lord of kindness keep me calm, it's beings!"

"Beings... less th—than god, mo—ore than men."

"Repeat everything!"

"Aye, Professor."

He stumbled less on the words but stumble, he did. Aleph had always laughed at him, and this time they made no effort to hide it.

Then the professor asked him to explain the passage which he spent the whole class trying, yet getting no point across. The amount of rebuke the professor had spat at him would have folded Apple in two, but Lucas was steadfast and calm in the face of it. If he felt embarrassed at all, he did not show it. All Apple could glean from his stoicism was his drive to learn. Sadly, it was not enough to impress their instructors.

In Mathematics, he was called to solve some number problem on the board, something Apple knew that she herself would have a hard time in. Lucas did not even know where to begin. He stared at it for a long period of time before scratching the chalk on the board in an attempt.

The professor sighed, not sounding disappointed, yet not so happy either, "Wrong." Then he erased whatever Lucas had written. "Again."

Each time Lucas would write something, the professor would wipe it all clean, ordering him to start again. At the end of their one-hour class, while his hand was covered in white dust, the board remained neat and empty. "Give me an answer tomorrow. If you can't, then perhaps you don't deserve to be in my class. Don't tell the director I gave you no chance," the professor derided him.

That was the last time he attended Mathematics.

Professors Cosser and Mallory had accepted him at least, although he still could not participate. Whenever they practice enchantments, Lucas would pronounce the words diligently, albeit to no result. To the rest of Aleph, he looked like a mere mummer, only trespassing into their room to draw laughs from them.

Lucas's fame had only made him a target not just of Aleph's ridicule but also of their seniors'. One morning before Professor Cosser arrived, a lad entered their auditorium with a retinue of other students. On his chest flashed the number twelve. The scholar that Lucas had dethroned.

"A nice morning to you all, name's Terren of House Dowser. Apologies to interrupt your day. May I ask, where the Weeper Slayer is?"

Terren Dowser was a tall young lord of dark brown hair and lanky frame. Dowser was the ruling house of the Scarlet Isles where Calla hailed from. It was to her that Terren turned to. "Can you point to him?"

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"Of course, my lord." She glanced in Lucas's corner where he was slouched on the desk, dozing. "The one with the black beret."

"Thank you, Calla." Terren need not ask Calla particularly. Anyone from Aleph would have willingly showed him.

Together with his friends, Terren climbed the tiers and gently shook Lucas awake.

The Zayin student stared up at him groggily, wiping his eyes. "Yes, my lord?"

"I'm Terren of House Dowser," the young lord said kindly, "I ask you to a duel."

He straightened, puzzled. It was the first time anyone had approached him for a fight, save Diana who wanted to end his life. As the eleventh in the Academy rankings, students coveting his spot would start to battle with him. It was a wonder no freshman had asked him yet. Perhaps, it was the very number eleven that scared them. No one would be too rash enough to make the jump.

Lucas stood from his seat and bowed deeply. "Forgive me, my lord. I refuse."

Terren's docile countenance twisted to a scowl. His friends were similarly annoyed. "I—You can't refuse."

"I'm sorry, my lord. Is there a rule that says I can't decline the challenge? Then, I think..."

"Well, there is no such rule."

"I would like to kindly decline then, my lord."

One of his friends snapped, "Don't you have honour? You refuse a duel with someone of lower rank?"

"It must be true then, you're a sham," another one said, shoving Lucas.

At first, Apple thought Terren's friends followed him to lap at his heels. But it appeared as though he brought them along to voice the harsh words he couldn't.

"Forgive me, my lords."

They were about to provoke him even more but Terren stopped them. "There is nothing to be accomplished here." The young lord left with the number twelve on his badge, unchanged.

Terren Dowser was the first, but he was not the last. A parade of challengers of every root and year entered the auditorium of freshmen Aleph in search of Lucas. Many of them belong to the tight list of the top thirty who could not break into the top ten. The rest were hopefuls who believed they could make an easy snatch of the eleventh spot out of a student who did not possess a drop of holy power. Some of the first years, even those of the Class Heth, started asking Lucas to a duel. Regardless of who they were, Lucas had one answer to them and they all left disappointed, cursing or throwing him insults.

Lucas was called craven and ballless and all sorts of profanity. Director Garren had declared him a hero yet nobody ever called him that. The golden-haired lad was deaf to their insults, bidding them sincere farewells as they trudged out of the room.

It was in the cafeteria that Apple overheard some students talking.

"Could the director have seen wrongly? Perhaps it was Theresa who subdued the demonic monster."

"I think so as well. They say he never accepts a challenge. Not even from the lowest ranks."

"But Director Garren should be aware. Outrightly declining a duel like this, after so many challengers. Wouldn't it mar the reputation of Demach now? We always have to prove our strength. He should do the same."

"Indeed. Then others might start to think that the Academy allowed the weak to ridicule the strong. What point is there to climb ranks if the ones on top are allowed to be craven?"

Contrary to their grievances, the director made no effort to force Lucas into a fight to defend his spot.

"What do you think Apple," Yuri asked her, "Do you also reckon the director is mistaken?"

She took a bite off a peach and said, "I don't doubt the director's judgment."

"But, if he's that strong, why wouldn't he prove it?" Hannah shrugged. "I bet if I challenge him, he'll also refuse me."

Apple took a breath. "I think his power can only subdue demonic beings. Maybe, he's utterly powerless against another student."

"Why is it undetectable then? Why can't his power be measured, if he possesses some?"

"I hope I knew." Then it all would be clearer, and I would not be so confused.

Lucas's popularity that should've improved his reputation had worsened it instead. He was then known the Craven of Vermil, the Sham of Zayin. Only Apple had an inkling that Lucas could be worse. He was not something to ridicule but rather to dread.

The week passed by with a few cold rain showers that originated from the Pearl Sea. At the end of the week, she rode a carriage to see her father. She could have gone on foot but the downpour had made the path flooded. And the last thing she wanted was to sully her lovely ruby shoes.

Another carriage stood before her house, one familiar to her. It was gilded in gold, etched with intricate symbols of the holy church. Most prominent of all was the three-pronged Star of Michael carved on its sides.

She swung the door to see the second prince, Prince Raphael, seated before her father, seeping tea. The prince had always looked immaculate but in the dim light of the atelier, he seemed to give off a light of his own. The holy energy he held smelled of a fragrant lake in the middle of a damp forest, much like the earthy smell of the swamp in the floodplains of the Delta.

His lips arched into a smile when he saw her, "Thought you'd never come."

"Why are you here, Prince Raphael?"

He chuckled, "Living among nobles seemed to have not helped your deference toward us. It might have sharpened your boldness, even."

Father strode towards her to pinch her side gently. "My daughter has yet to learn some manners. I'll be sure to teach her."

"My apologies, I meant no disrespect," she said.

"None taken. I'm not so onion-skinned, Julius. To answer your question, well I have come for two reasons. First, I would like to congratulate you for climbing the ranks."

"It was not by a lot. I'm still a long way from the top." Perhaps if she asked Lucas, he'd agree to fight her. But I cannot even go near him anymore.

"Even still. I heard what happened in the past week. How is everything in Demach now?"

"They're still rebuilding the Atelier. But some tests were postponed until a new set of cursed beasts are caught," she replied. Then she asked, "Were you aware that they were keeping a demonic monster inside?"

Prince Raphael nodded his head. "Of course. It was put there to usher the emergence of a new Champion of Araya. For the most difficult test, if I might say so. But it had broken out of its prison instead and the director had no choice but to exterminate it. Though I've heard something interesting. A group of students who helped them defeat it and a commoner who was capable of subduing demonic monsters with ease. Are you familiar with him?"

"I am, yes," Apple answered. "He's in my class."

"Ah, you must bring him. I ought to meet him someday. Perchance, the Lord be generous, he has the qualifications to be the next Champion. The Champion of Wisdom had passed away fifteen years ago. We need a new beacon that our subjects could look up to, who could inspire Araya's next generation of blessed children."

Lucas did not fit so well into Prince Raphael's idea of a next Champion, for the lad had such a dark history behind him. Moreover, he was presently the target of mockery in Demach.

Father spoke, "Your majesty, I believe you told me you're asking for Apple's service."

As though suddenly remembering, Prince Raphael said, "Ah yes, the second reason. You must come with me to the Royal Keep."