Re:Crafting in Another World
Chapter 112: I know who you are

Chapter 112: I know who you are

The student council stood in a semicircle before Archmage Mandira, their principal, whose usual light violet robes gleamed under the enchanted chandeliers. Her piercing eyes scanned the group, lingering briefly on each member. All eyes—except Daniel’s—were fixed on Christina, the newest council member, who stood at the edge, her face flushed with embarrassment.

"Archmage Mandira, why have we been summoned today?" Daniel asked, his voice steady, cutting through the murmurs.

Mandira smiled faintly, extending a folded parchment. "It’s that time of the year, Daniel. The Academy’s Festival."

Daniel unfolded the parchment, scanning it. "The annual merge of knights and mages. Three challenges, four members per group."

"Correct," Mandira said. "The prize is a tour of Strugon Castle, an audience with the King and Queen, and a single request. Plus, the recognition opens doors—perhaps even to future ministers."

The council stirred, excitement flickering in their eyes. Christina, however, kept her gaze down, fidgeting.

Mandira paced slightly. "The first challenge is Capture the Flag. Teams will compete to seize flags and earn points."

Daniel raised a brow. "The location?"

"We haven’t finalized it," Mandira admitted. "It’s still under discussion."

Daniel nodded. "And the second challenge?"

Mandira’s expression soured. "A quiz program, though not ordinary. This year, it’s a riddle—a test of wit and knowledge about our land and creatures."

"Interesting," Daniel said. "And the third?"

"Duels," Mandira replied. "Group against group, testing strength and unity."

The council whispered excitedly. Christina remained silent, her discomfort clear.

"Should I spread the word?" Daniel asked.

"Yes," Mandira said. "Rally the most talented students. And council members can participate too. i want the best of the best to win this year in the presence of Princess Maria."

Famina raised an eyebrow. "Even us, Archmage?"

"Yes, Famina," Mandira said. "Prove yourselves."

Before dismissing them, Mandira’s gaze settled on Christina. "Famina, how is Christina faring?"

Famina hesitated. "Her work... isn’t up to standard, Archmage."

Christina’s cheeks burned, her eyes on the floor.

"Is that so?" Mandira said, a knowing grin forming. "Christina, work harder. I have faith in you."

Famina’s eyes narrowed, catching Mandira’s unspoken challenge.

"That’s all," Mandira said. "I have a guest to meet. You’re dismissed."

As they left, Son of Count, Kael muttered to Famina, "Is the Archmage really supporting her? Why was she chosen?"

"Daniel’s idea, backed by Mandira," Famina replied, smirking. "Don’t ask me why. I have nothing to do with this decision."

Christina trailed behind, catching a glimpse of Shennong entering Mandira’s office. "No way," she whispered. "That cheater."

She knew it was time for him to answer why he would be with another woman alone, when he had her mother.

Daniel approached her. "Christina, keep your head up. Serve the council well, and they’ll come around. Don’t be down. Let’s discuss about your group later."

She nodded weakly. "Thanks, Master Daniel," she mumbled, her mind racing as he walked ahead.

***

In the dimly lit study of Archmage Mandira, the air crackled with unspoken tension. Mandira sat poised on the edge of a polished oak table, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, her purple robes cascading the evening sky.

Her sharp eyes glinted with suspicion as she regarded the man standing before her. Shennong, with his sly grin and tousled dark hair, leaned casually against a bookshelf, his posture far too relaxed for someone in the presence of one of the continent’s most powerful mages.

"So, you realized," Shennong muttered, his voice low and teasing, as if sharing a secret only they could understand.

Mandira’s lips curled into a faint smirk. She reached into the folds of her robe and pulled out a small, blood-streaked ingot, its surface having red marks of blood. She twirled it between her fingers, her gaze never leaving Shennong’s. "Of course. The chain is visible, no matter how cleverly you tried to hide it."

Shennong’s grin widened, but there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "And you thought to leave such an obvious message? Didn’t you think that I would harm the students here?" He tilted his head, his tone playful but edged with challenge.

Mandira raised an eyebrow, her fingers pausing around the ingot. "Would you? Truly?"

Shennong shrugged, the motion so casual it almost seemed dismissive. "Obviously not."

The tension in the room eased, like a taut string finally loosening. Mandira exhaled softly, setting the ingot down on the table with a faint clink. Shennong’s grin softened into something less predatory, and for a moment, the two simply watched each other, sizing up the other’s intentions.

Mandira broke the silence, her voice deceptively light. "Who are you, Shennong? A simple question."

Before he answered, a faint shimmer rippled through the air. A wooden chair materialized out of nowhere, its carved legs settling silently onto the floor. Shennong plopped into it with a theatrical flourish, crossing one leg over the other to mirror Mandira’s posture.

Her eyes widened, her breath catching. She hadn’t felt a single pulse of mana, no trace of magic—nothing. It was as if the chair had simply willed itself into existence. Her mind raced, a spark of curiosity igniting. This man was no ordinary mage. He was a goldmine of knowledge, a puzzle begging to be solved.

Shennong leaned back, his hands clasped behind his head. "The name’s Shennong. No surname, I’m afraid. Just Shennong."

Mandira’s lips twitched, her tone dripping with irony. "Very useful, important information."

He chuckled, unfazed. "Well, as you probably know, I’m the butler of Young Lady Christina." He paused, his grin taking on a mischievous edge. "But I’m also the owner of that shiny new dungeon that popped up near Percival Barony."

Mandira’s eyes narrowed, her posture stiffening. "Are you human?" she asked bluntly, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.

Shennong’s laughter was soft but genuine. "One hundred percent."

She leaned forward, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the table. "If you’re the so-called inventor of that dungeon, what are you doing here?"

He tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with something akin to amusement. "I’m just like you, Mandira. A collector. Someone who gathers... things."

Her gaze flickered around her study—shelves lined with ancient tomes, glass cases holding artifacts that thrummed with latent power, and a desk cluttered with scrolls and enchanted trinkets. She prided herself on her collection, her obsession with unraveling the world’s secrets. Shennong’s words hit closer to home than she cared to admit.

He continued, his voice smooth as silk. "Just by looking at this office, I can tell you’re obsessed with knowing everything. Collecting every scrap of power, every fragment of truth. Isn’t that why you’re so fixated on Sir Juno Marciel’s sword? Because he won’t let you poke and prod at it?"

Mandira’s breath hitched, her eyes widening. "Where did you hear that?" she demanded, her voice low and dangerous.

Shennong leaned forward, his grin almost infuriatingly smug. "Let’s just say I have ears everywhere."

The air grew heavy, charged with a sudden spark of mana. Mandira’s hand ignited with a violet fireball, its light casting eerie shadows across the room. She stood, her voice cold as ice. "Give me one good reason I shouldn’t reduce you to ash right here."

Shennong didn’t flinch. His eyes locked onto hers, steady and unflinching. "Because I’m not the most dangerous thing for the humans of this land right now. Your war hero, Juno Marciel? He is. Also it wouldn’t be easy for you to kill me. You might kill me, but I would take this whole academy with me."

The fireball flickered, then vanished as Mandira’s hand lowered. Her eyes softened, curiosity overtaking her anger. She sat back down, her movements deliberate. "Continue," she said, her voice calm but commanding.

Shennong leaned back in his chair, his tone conversational but laced with weight. "Juno’s sword—it’s not just a weapon, is it? You’ve sensed it, haven’t you? The way it hums with dark power, the way it seems to... watch. You want to study it, dissect it, understand it. But Juno’s stubborn. He won’t let anyone near it, not even the great Archmage Mandira."

Mandira’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table, but she didn’t interrupt. Shennong’s words were too precise, too knowing. He was either a master manipulator or someone with access to secrets even she hadn’t uncovered.

"You’re not wrong," she admitted, her voice measured. "But that doesn’t explain you. Why are you here, Shennong? What do you want?"

He spread his hands, the gesture almost theatrical. "I told you, I’m a collector. Knowledge, artifacts, secrets—I want them all. Just like you. And I think we could help each other."

Mandira scoffed, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of intrigue. "Help each other? You expect me to trust a man who conjures chairs without magic and claims to own a dungeon? Do you think I would allow you to dig up information about our greatest knight?"

Shennong’s grin returned, sharper this time. "Trust? Oh, I don’t expect that. Not yet. But mutual benefit? That’s something we can work with. You want to know about Juno’s sword. It’s the same with me. We both have questions, and I’m betting we both have answers the other wants."

Mandira glanced at Shennong’e eyes, their faint emerald glow pulsing in time with her heartbeat. She’d spent months studying it, trying to unravel its origins, its purpose. If Shennong knew something about it... No, she couldn’t let her curiosity blind her. Not yet.

"What do you mean Juno is dangerous?" she asked, her voice guarded.

Shennong leaned forward, his eyes glinting with excitement. "More than you’d think,"

Mandira hesitated. Sharing information with this man felt like handing a dagger to a stranger in the dark. But his words about Juno rang true. She’d sensed the sword’s power, its unnatural presence. It wasn’t just a blade; it was something more, something alive.

"The sword... it’s not of this world. Its aura is wrong, like it’s been touched by something beyond our plane. Juno claims it’s the legendary sword Ebonfang, but I don’t buy it."

Shennong nodded, as if her words confirmed something he already suspected. "Let me tell you...that sword is something demonic and...It’s not just something that could be contained within a sword. It has a powerful spirit of some kind of a demon stored inside it. That sword is jsut a vessel,"

Mandira’s eyes widened at his words because that’s the exact things she had in her mind, but she didn’t know about the demon. Still, she had her own doubts." Ugh...Can I trust him?"