The Crown Prince Who Raises a Side Character
Chapter 87: Librarian Ernest (8). An Invitation to Stroll

When the duel between the boy and Lafaire first began, the disciples all shared similar thoughts.

“Throwing your weight around in anger over something like this is hardly dignified. But you can’t just sit quietly after being so blatantly insulted either.”

“Lafaire’s hot-bloodedness comes in handy for once. If it were any of us, it might look bad, but since he’s older, it can pass as senior discipline.”

“It’d be nice if that arrogant brat got put in his place, but if Lafaire goes too far, it might end up making Master frown. He’d better be careful.”

Though their opinions varied slightly, they all assumed Lafaire would win. Most of them were even looking forward to seeing the boy get hurt.

A younger disciple being a little curt with seniors could be forgiven as immaturity, but once he started acting like “You’re all talentless nags,” it was hard for any senior not to get mad.

Thanks to the protective magic Delphinaris had installed in the dueling grounds for training purposes, their lives weren’t in any danger.

Still, since physical pain could certainly be felt, Lafaire spoke before the match began.

“If you apologize now for your arrogance and promise to show basic respect to your seniors, I’ll let it end here.”

“Enough talking. Can we start already?”

Veins popped on Lafaire’s neck as he raised his staff in one fluid motion.

—Fwoooosh!

A massive flame formed around him, quickly compressing into the shape of a sword. The other seniors widened their eyes.

“Lafaire’s improved a lot.”

“Right? That looks like the upper edge of 3rd-Rank. He might reach 4th soon.”

The classification of spells was as vast as the history of magic itself, and many systems had been created to help categorize them more clearly.

Currently, two classification systems were most commonly used across the continent.

One was based on power, and the other on casting difficulty.

Those who hadn’t learned magic formally—people who became mages mostly through scrolls and the like—tended to prefer the power-based system.

If it could threaten a single-digit number of people, it was low-tier; double digits meant mid-tier; triple digits, high-tier. The simplicity of that scale made it popular.

But those with formal magical education rejected this power-centric system.

They argued that even the same spell could vary wildly in strength depending on the caster’s skill, mana properties, and environment. So classifying spells by final power output was fundamentally flawed.

These scholars developed a new classification method: a spell tier chart that accounted for mana cost, concentration requirements, and difficulty of mastery. It was more accurate than the power-based system, but unfortunately, never became mainstream.

The power system was older and had become customary. Moreover, the spell tier chart circulated mostly within mage communities and wasn’t well-known to the public.

Now, the spell Lafaire was casting—“Flame Blade Manipulation”—was a 3rd-Rank spell and considered high-difficulty even within that tier.

Its area of effect was relatively small, but the raw power was enough that even 4th-Rank knights would feel their lives at risk if struck directly.

“You brought this on yourself...!”

Lafaire showed no intention of dragging the match out. As he swung his staff, the flaming blade shot forward through the air.

“Ooh, that’s pretty impressive.”

But before Lafaire’s sword could pierce the boy, another flaming sword emerged before him and blocked the attack.

“What?”

“How could—?!”

The spectators stared, wide-eyed, as the two flame swords clashed.

The fact that the boy had cast such a high-difficulty 3rd-Rank spell so easily was surprising enough—but the real shock was that his spell matched Lafaire’s in power.

No, it wasn’t just a match.

—Fwoooosh!

The boy’s flame blade began devouring Lafaire’s sword, growing larger and larger until it shattered the original and continued flying straight at its caster.

“Urgh!?”

Lafaire reflexively leapt away to dodge the blow, then immediately conjured ice arrows to fire back at the boy.

His ability to react and counter even in a sudden reversal showed he wasn’t just some hotheaded youth—but unfortunately, he’d drawn the wrong opponent.

CRASH!

The boy’s ice arrows intercepted every one of Lafaire’s, then surged forward in a barrage straight at him.

“Th-this is absurd!”

Lafaire frantically tried to overwhelm the boy with every spell he knew, but the boy responded with the exact same spells—each one cast with more force, more precision, and greater effect.

Backed into a corner, Lafaire eventually dropped his staff. The boy pelted his gut and throat with mana bullets in succession.

After confirming Lafaire had collapsed, the boy calmly asked:

“Is that the end of the lesson? I learned a lot.”

Silence fell.

The disciples rubbed their eyes or exchanged looks with one another, wondering if they had somehow seen wrong—but the outcome was unchangeable.

“It’s not unheard of for someone to enter under Master after already gaining some magical skill on the outside. But even so, this is...”

Lafaire’s strength placed him somewhere in the middle among all the disciples.

If the boy had simply beaten him in a standard match, everyone would’ve been surprised but wouldn’t have denied the result.

But this wasn’t a simple win. Copying your opponent’s specialty on the spot and overpowering them with it was something else entirely.

It meant he won while playing around.

“Well then, is there no other senior who’d like to offer me some instruction?”

At his remark, some of the disciples grimaced—but none stepped forward.

Those weaker than or on par with Lafaire clearly didn’t dare challenge him. And the few who were definitively stronger... were all older, elderly even. Stepping up now would be unbecoming.

Lose, and you’re a joke.

Win, and it’s expected.

Draw, or even just struggle a little, and people will say you’re no better than a rookie.

Who would step up under those terms?

Only one person could be an exception.

Among the disciples, there was one who was about the boy’s age but ranked among the strongest.

Eris was fully aware of the stares gathering on her.

She was just about to steel herself and speak when—

“Let’s stop here, everyone.”

Delphinaris, who had been silently watching all this time, finally stepped forward.

She quietly approached Lafaire, who lay collapsed in the corner of the dueling ground, and gently swept her glowing hand over his abdomen and head.

“Gah, cough! Cough!”

After soothing Lafaire and helping him regain consciousness, she turned to the boy—Malik Grimloon—with a stern expression.

“Dueling with magic is acceptable. Disputes between peers are inevitable. But leaving your fallen opponent lying there while immediately seeking another match—where did you learn such rudeness?”

“Well, um...”

Malik frowned for a brief moment but soon bowed his head without resistance.

“I apologize. I may have gotten a bit too carried away. I was just so excited at the chance to learn from the seniors I admire....”

Delphinaris stared steadily at the crown of Malik’s bowed head.

In the eyes of the aging archmage, a swirl of complicated emotions flickered and faded.

Eventually, Delphinaris sighed and spoke.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

“Apologize to your seniors for your rude attitude. And the rest of you—don’t be so harsh with the youngest.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Understood.”

Though replies came from both sides, it was obvious that neither response was genuine.

Eris narrowed her eyes.

This won’t resolve anything.

Malik’s apology was nothing more than a formality, and the other disciples’ resentment hadn’t gone away.

Letting it pass like this would fix nothing.

“Master. Then—”

“—Eris.”

Delphinaris interrupted her before she could say anything further, shaking her head slightly.

As if to say, Don’t say anything more.

Eris was about to object instinctively—but when she met Delphinaris’s gaze, she found herself unable to speak.

...Why are you looking at me like that?

If the look had been anger, scolding her for immature behavior, she would’ve understood.

If it had been a silent plea—Please help me—she still would’ve understood.

But her master’s eyes held neither of those things.

She—her teacher—looked at her only with concern and worry.

With her sharp intellect, Eris understood exactly what the emotion in her master’s eyes meant.

Or rather, she couldn’t help but realize it.

Delphinaris was convinced that if Eris and Malik were to fight... Eris would lose.

Eris’s clenched fists trembled.

Even she couldn’t fully grasp what emotion she was feeling right now.

“...I’m sorry. I’m not feeling well, so I’ll head back first today.”

With those words, unilaterally declared, Eris turned her back.

She heard surprised voices around her, people trying to stop her or calling out, but no one grabbed her or chased after her.

She kept walking, almost running, for quite a while.

At last, once she was far enough away that the estate was no longer in sight, she sank onto a large rock with a heavy thud.

What is this...

A crushing wave of self-loathing came over her.

She had thought she would be recognized by her master.

She had planned to overwhelm that new disciple, whatever his name was, and {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} prove that she was the real deal.

But what if that had all been in her head?

What if her master had never expected anything from her?

What if she’d long since been dismissed and replaced—while Delphinaris quietly waited for the “real genius” to arrive?

And now that the “true talent” her master had hoped for was finally here, someone like Eris, who was merely above average, was no longer needed?

Her thoughts spiraled in a dark, toxic direction.

A small voice inside tried to remind her not to interpret everything so negatively, but the emotions boiling up in her heart couldn’t be stopped.

She had expected on her own.

She had worked hard on her own.

She had burned with competitive spirit on her own.

She had run away on her own.

And now she was alone in her misery.

How pathetic.

How laughable.

How much would people mock her if they saw her like this?

“At this rate, I’m just a complete clown.”

The words slipped from her lips before she could stop them.

A feeble sound, spoken from the mouth of someone who had always worn the mask of the model student. A sound no one should’ve heard—vanishing into the empty air—

—

“Now, now. Isn’t that something we’ll have to wait and see?”

—

It didn’t vanish.

Still with her head hanging low, Eris blinked and slowly turned toward the voice.

Blonde hair that usually glowed only under the artificial lights of the library now fluttered in the outdoor breeze.

His formal wear was as sloppy as always, the creases not even remotely pressed, and his scent carried dust and ink.

That sharp gaze and unsmiling face—so ill-suited to customer service—looked down at Eris with an unreadable emotion.

Eris stared, dazed, and muttered:

“...Why are you here?”

“A walk,” he said. “Spending all day sitting and reading ruins the body. You’ve got to exercise once in a while.”

The librarian, throwing out such an unfunny joke, glanced at Eris’s bloodshot eyes and casually asked:

“Shall we take a walk together?”