Chapter 75 : Chapter 75
“…All of that will take time. And it will require using some unconventional channels. The risks are considerable,” Horace said carefully, choosing his words.
“What we lack most is time. And as for risk…” Ryan’s lips curved into a smile devoid of warmth, “…it has already come looking for us.”
“Do it. Use whatever method you believe is the safest. Gather those scattered fragments as quickly as possible. I don’t need hard evidence—just clues, irregularities, anything unusual.”
“Also, keep searching for Hank. But shift the focus to investigating his connections and sources of funding before he joined the guild last year.”
“…Yes, young master.”
This time Horace’s response was brief and solemn, lacking the faint condescension that had lingered the day before.
Ryan gathered the copied summaries of accounts and the duplicated letters, returning the originals to Horace.
“Put these back where they belong. Make sure no one notices they were moved. Leave for the northern territories today and handle these matters personally.”
“As for the academy—no matter what happens here, no matter what rumors you hear—neither you nor anyone at home is to react in any way. Maintain absolute silence.”
Horace opened his mouth, as if wanting to advise against it, but in the end he only looked at Ryan deeply and bowed.
“I understand. Please, young master… be careful.”
Ryan said nothing further. He gathered his belongings and left the room.
The morning sun had driven away the lingering mist over the academy. Avoiding the flow of students, Ryan walked toward the experimental building of the Magic Department.
His steps were steady, his destination clear—Professor Horn’s private laboratory.
Inside, the air was filled with familiar smells.
Professor Horn was leaning over a complex observation instrument, recording data. Hearing the knock, he looked up. When he saw Ryan, his brow furrowed slightly.
“Student Velt? I thought you would be…” The professor stopped mid-sentence, set down the recording slate in his hand, and gestured for Ryan to enter. “What is it?”
Ryan stepped inside and gently closed the door behind him.
He did not answer immediately. Instead, he walked toward the laboratory table, his gaze sweeping across several scattered documents.
They were copies of the preliminary analysis report issued by the Discipline Committee regarding the mana residue at the accident site.
“Professor,” Ryan said calmly, “regarding tomorrow’s hearing, I would like to ask you a question.”
“A question about… possibility.”
Professor Horn walked to the sink and began slowly washing his hands without turning around.
“What question?”
“Suppose someone deliberately intended to obscure the true cause of an accident, redirecting responsibility toward a false conclusion,” Ryan said carefully. “And suppose this method involved exploiting the gray area between two materials that look nearly identical but possess fundamentally different properties.”
“From a purely academic and magical identification perspective—would there exist, even in theory, a method capable of piercing through such ambiguity and revealing the true, unalterable origin imprint of the material?”
The sound of running water stopped.
Professor Horn dried his hands slowly with a towel.
He turned around and leaned against the laboratory table. Through the lenses of his glasses, his gray eyes studied Ryan intently.
The laboratory fell silent, save for the faint hum of distant crystal instruments.
“The gray area you describe,” Professor Horn said slowly, “touches upon a very advanced—and very… sensitive—field of magical source tracing.”
“That is not something covered in the academy’s regular curriculum. In fact, it lies beyond the capacity of most archmages to verify.”
“I understand,” Ryan replied, meeting his gaze. “I do not need verification. Not yet.”
“I only want to know whether, from your professional perspective, such a theoretical possibility exists. Whether there is an acknowledged—however difficult—academic pathway that points toward such revelation.”
Professor Horn remained silent for a long time.
His gaze lingered on Ryan’s face, shifted to the residue analysis report on the table, and finally moved toward the clear sky beyond the window.
After a while, he withdrew his gaze.
“In the highest levels of magical material studies and source-tracing theory,” he said slowly, “there exists a hypothesis: all things have origins, and origins leave imprints.”
“Extreme environments of growth can carve marks into the very foundation of mana itself—marks that are nearly eternal.”
“These marks do not vanish entirely even when the material’s physical form changes.”
“In theory, through extremely precise resonance and tracing techniques, one might reach the echo of that original source.”
“But the conditions required are so demanding they border on legend. They involve resources and knowledge accessible only to the imperial family or the highest councils.”
He paused, his tone becoming more serious.
“And, Student Velt… pursuing such possibilities means stepping into a dangerous fog.”
“You may find nothing at all. But you may also awaken things that were better left sleeping within that fog.”
Ryan listened quietly.
There was no surprise or discouragement on his face—only the expression of someone who had just confirmed something he already suspected.
He bowed slightly.
“Thank you for your guidance, Professor. It clarifies certain boundaries for me.”
Professor Horn studied him with a complicated expression.
“You didn’t come here merely to confirm a theory, did you?”
Ryan straightened.
“No, Professor.”
“At tomorrow’s hearing, when the discussion turns to possible causes of the accident… if someone attempts to restrict the discussion to surface-level explanations while ignoring deeper possibilities of source tracing, I hope you will—speaking as a senior professor and investigative consultant—mention that such higher theoretical possibilities exist.”
“You do not need to affirm anything. Simply point out that, academically speaking, there exists a deeper perspective from which the matter may be examined.”
Professor Horn frowned.
“You are asking me to introduce a high-level theoretical direction at the hearing—one that lacks any concrete evidence.”
“Ryan, that could complicate the situation. It might even place you in greater danger.”
“I know,” Ryan replied steadily.
“But sometimes complexity and danger illuminate things hidden beneath simple appearances.”
“I am not asking you to prove anything for me. Only… please listen when I speak tomorrow.”
Professor Horn fell silent once again.
He removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking tired and conflicted.
He remembered this student’s unusual performance in class, the assignments filled with unconventional thinking that somehow always struck at the core of the problem.
And now, the unshakable determination behind those calm eyes.
“…I cannot promise anything,” Professor Horn said finally as he put his glasses back on.
“But if the discussion genuinely touches upon the origin and tracing of magical materials, then as a scholar I have the responsibility to point out the theoretical completeness of the subject.”
“That is all.”
“That will be enough.”
Ryan bowed again, this time with sincere gratitude.
“Thank you very much, Professor.”
When he left the laboratory, sunlight streamed through the tall windows in the corridor, casting bright patches of light upon the floor.
Ryan did not stop walking.
He headed directly toward the next destination.
By nightfall, he stood alone before the window of his dormitory.
Everything that needed to be done had been done.
Everything that could be arranged had been arranged.
Tomorrow, the net would be cast over the hearing hall.