Ch.258258. School Performance (4)

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Anyone who knows the general reputation of Grand Duke Tristan would have quite a few questions about his recent activities.

The common assessment of Gideon is that he’s a “model student” among the imperial nobility—someone who doesn’t do anything flashy, rigidly follows all schedules, and always maintains a fair and strict attitude toward his subordinates.

So most people would likely wonder the same thing when they see him absent from the Imperial Palace’s Harvest Festival and various other important events.

What on earth has this man been doing lately, and where?

“…Well, that’s something.”

And Marquis Bogart, who actually witnessed the answer, looked at the other person with bewildered eyes.

The Tristan Grand Duke—Gideon—that he remembered always had an expressionless face, yet maintained the image of a strict examiner with a perpetually sharp edge.

But what was this current state?

Unshaven, rough beard; training clothes that could barely be called clothes, more like rags; and an old wooden sword with a handle completely worn down from who knows how much use.

Even his once razor-sharp aura, reminiscent of a blade, had noticeably softened.

More precisely, he seemed to have become “detached” from everything.

This appearance would better suit a wandering swordsman than a grand duke of a nation.

…Though there were many questions about why he showed up at the Elphante Academy exhibition in such a state.

“…What exactly have you been doing all this time, Grand Duke Tristan?”

“I’ve been doing what needed to be done.”

Even the fact that he bothered to respond to his words, however gruffly, was unusual.

Previously, he would have given one hateful glance and gone on his way.

After all, one was the head of the Council of Elders and the other a pillar of the pro-Emperor faction. They couldn’t possibly get along.

“…Since we’ve met by chance, would you like to sit and watch the presentation together?”

But now, the atmosphere seemed to allow for a bit more conversation.

Thinking this, Bogart offered the seat beside him, but Gideon ignored the question and simply threw out a query of his own.

“Where is Darwood Campbell?”

“…”

Hmm.

This name seems to come up everywhere.

“…Do you have business with him? He must be quite busy right now.”

“I do.”

Gideon answered briefly.

“…I came to express my gratitude. I’ve finally completed all my preparations.”

A voice filled with relief, reassurance, and determination.

His attitude exuded that of someone about to achieve life’s greatest task.

‘…If I had to guess.’

He must have recently accomplished something significant.

“Ah, if that’s the case, you should definitely stay here.”

If so, watching Gideon might be quite interesting.

With that thought, Marquis Bogart pointed to Darwood Campbell’s image being projected on the large screen.

“Would you like to watch together?”

An achievement that would make even someone like the Grand Duke of Tristan feel relieved. It must be truly remarkable.

And that made him all the more curious.

“He’s currently making a presentation that could open a new era.”

It was a somewhat perverse expectation—he wondered how this man would react when he realized how insignificant his own achievement was compared to what Darwood Campbell was about to reveal.

●

No one would immediately understand what they were seeing.

What rose from the box Darwood opened appeared to be nothing more than several different kinds of “smoke” wafting upward.

“…What is that?”

“I don’t know…”

Such questions arose sporadically from the audience.

Despite the grandiose topic he had just mentioned, only unimpressive wisps of smoke were slowly rising into the hall.

But some people in attendance—

Those with keen intuition, those who had achieved extreme mastery in some field, those who had studied demonology, and devout clergy—such types of people…

They were feeling a paralyzing anxiety.

“…Dean?”

Somewhere, a student from the Priest Department muttered those words.

Dean Walter had abruptly stood up from his seat. His trembling hands barely managed to grasp his ritual implement.

His expression had turned deathly pale.

“…Stop it.”

“Pardon?”

The student responded in confusion to the words that came out like a groan.

It was an atmosphere no one could have expected from Walter, who usually spoke incomprehensibly.

“That thing, we must stop it—!”

While such a cry erupted from one side,

On another, Saint Lucien was also instinctively clutching her rosary in a convulsive grip.

From her frozen mind, the first words that instinctively emerged were:

“Yuria, lower your head.”

“…Sister?”

“You mustn’t look at that…!”

Elsewhere too.

Even as similar reactions burst out here and there, Darwood continued speaking calmly.

“The Exorcism Department proudly presents.”

Then.

The vague anxiety felt only by that tiny minority of people…

Dramatically materialized and fell upon them.

“A deterrent that encompasses the entire world, in other words.”

In the worst possible form.

“The world’s common enemy.”

Red demonic energy, violet demonic energy, and the gray demon’s energy.

The last one was the main focus.

The smoke that slowly rose from the open box mixed together in one place…

And burrowed into Darwood Campbell’s chest.

More precisely, into the seal embedded there.

The seal of Tacheon glowed. Light particles spread out, dispersing around Darwood Campbell’s body.

And then.

And then.

“…Ah-“

Someone slightly opened their mouth.

“Ah-….”

But the “scream” that formed inside couldn’t escape.

Instead, all that came out was a cold exhale like that of someone on their deathbed.

And with that faint breath as the starting point…

Everyone in the hall was betrayed by their own bodies.

“…!”

“Ah…”

“Ah… huh…”

Nobles, researchers, successful businessmen, retired generals.

The participants of the Elphante Academy exhibition, people who cared deeply about dignity and appearances, collapsed where they stood. They crawled on the floor like beasts.

No one dared to raise their head.

No one could stand on two feet.

The source of terror.

The fact that they were facing something indescribable, something that stripped away bodily control just by looking at it, was engraved throughout their bodies.

That chilling sensation pushed aside the rationality they had built up over their lifetimes and screamed.

All kinds of indescribable emotions poured out in a torrent, but if one were to reduce and distill them to their essence, it might be expressed as follows:

-Run away now.

What stood before them was not something they could resist.

After the establishment of civilization, after humans no longer easily suffered from the fear of death, one of the many abilities lost as they adapted to environmental changes…

Instinctive danger detection.

And now.

Before everyone present was something that evoked emotions from before the establishment of civilization.

[The world’s common enemy]

An overwhelming presence worthy of such a grandiose title.

Some wanted to gouge out their own eyes, some were trying to somehow move their unresponsive bodies to escape the hall, and some could only lie sprawled, shedding tears helplessly.

But through all these different actions, everyone reached the same conclusion.

They could not escape.

From “that thing” before their eyes.

“…Huff- huff-“

Lucien exhaled roughly, squeezing her eyes shut.

In her mind, she knew clearly.

What was there was “Darwood Campbell.” The man she knew—very rude and perverse, but somehow attractive in certain ways.

But.

Her body reacted differently.

‘Darwood… sir…!’

She raised her eyes as if in prayer.

She didn’t know why she was doing this. It was probably an act born from a desire to somehow help him.

And what Lucien’s vision captured was…

“…”

It must have been an extraordinarily strange experience.

Darwood, seen through one eye, looked familiar. The academy uniform. The eyes with their usual irritating smile. The mouth that often spoke strange words.

But if you were to cut that image exactly in half…

And see what appeared in the other “vision”…

What was there was…

-Pure, pitch blackness.

Though it wore a human skin and took Darwood Campbell’s form.

Its “essence” was…

Death.

The destroyer of worlds.

“Ah…”

Lucien’s legs gave out, and she collapsed where she stood.

“Ah, ah…. haah….”

She clutched her head, tears streaming down.

She couldn’t even understand what she had seen. Screams seemed to echo in her ears. What on earth was that—!

“-So, as I was saying. This kind of being.”

And.

At some point.

Like a lie, all that pressure vanished.

“…”

“…”

A silence fell over the chaotic hall, so complete that someone’s breathing could be heard clearly.

Everyone looked as if they couldn’t clearly comprehend what they had just seen or what kind of being had been in their presence.

Over this, Darwood Campbell’s voice fell methodically.

“If either side could unleash this on ‘whoever strikes first.’ What do you think would happen?”

After doing something like that.

He continued speaking as if nothing had happened.

“Wouldn’t that make for a rather splendid deterrent?”

The face he wore was undoubtedly the face of the “human” Darwood Campbell.

Just as when he first stepped onto the platform—natural, even peaceful and gentle.

“…”

“…”

But no one could receive it in the same atmosphere as before.

That expression seemed as if…

If he wished…

He could bring out “something like this” at any time.

●

Marquis Bogart smiled slightly as he looked at Gideon, who was staring with wide eyes from the seat next to him.

Though they weren’t in the same place, having only seen it through the “screen.”

This person would surely understand.

What kind of “impact” Darwood Campbell’s demonstration would have on the world.

What butterfly effect it would cause in the Empire’s internal affairs.

‘…So much for seeing his reaction.’

He would probably remain frozen like that for a while.

So, in the meantime, he should offer his congratulations.

“Congratulations on finally entering the stage of ‘evolution.'”

The recipient was that man still smiling on the screen.

It was something foreseen from the moment he received the seal of Tacheon from the Gray Demon.

Finally, those “results” were beginning to manifest in earnest.

“…The last of the seven vacant thrones will soon be yours as well.”

Marquis Bogart murmured, swirling the wine in his glass.

“-Black Demon.”

The name.

By which the other would be known in the future.

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