Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 1068: The Proper Measure

”Marisse. Selenne has inserted herself into tomorrow’s trial.”

Marcus’s voice emerged from the communication charm with the clipped displeasure of a man who had discovered an unfamiliar name upon a guest list he had already approved.

Marisse passed through the archive doors and continued into the corridor. The silver fastening at her collar remained warm beneath her fingers, carrying the faint vibration of his mana.

”So I have heard,” she replied. ”She announced her interest before leaving, though she dressed it in the language of oversight.”

”Of course she did.”

Paper shifted somewhere on Marcus’s side. He was likely still in his office, surrounded by reports he claimed to despise and read more carefully than most clerks.

”The Vice-Headmaster approved her request,” he continued. ”Her name was added beneath anomaly oversight.”

Marisse descended the shallow steps leading away from the archives. Evening light had begun to gather within the narrow windows, staining the stone a muted gold.

”You sound inconvenienced.”

”I am inconvenienced.”

His answer brought a small smile to her lips.

Marcus did not fear Selenne. Few within the Blood Faction did. Her influence was considerable, her eye for irregularity sharper than most, but she remained one Magister among many. She could challenge a result, preserve an objection, or force an examiner to explain his reasoning before the Council.

Those were obstacles.

Obstacles existed to be accounted for.

”I reviewed Lucavion’s assessment,” Marisse said.

The paper on the other end stopped moving.

”And?”

”Selenne placed him in the lowest passing bracket. His formal terminology was judged severely deficient, his theoretical explanations fell below the expected level, and the reliability of his method remains unverified.”

Marcus gave a thoughtful hum. ”Then the oral examination served its purpose.”

”Partly.”

She reached the long gallery overlooking the western court and slowed beside an arched opening. Students crossed below in clusters, their voices rising between the columns before fading beneath the Academy wards.

The written examination had produced little they could use. Lucavion’s scores lacked distinction, yet they remained far from disgraceful. He had known enough, guessed carefully enough, or perhaps interpreted enough from context to avoid the failure expected of someone with his upbringing.

That inconvenience had led to the oral examination.

A written answer could conceal uncertainty behind preparation and fortunate phrasing. Before an examiner, a student had to defend what he knew.

Lucavion had failed to do so properly.

”He cannot support himself before an academic panel,” Marisse continued. ”Press him upon doctrine, and the gaps appear quickly.”

”Good.”

”Yet Selenne preserved the pattern beneath those gaps.”

Marcus remained silent, inviting her to continue.

”He recognized the purpose of an auxiliary chant while failing to explain its mechanism. He located a structural weakness without knowing the governing rune. When she removed formal language from the question, his answers became more accurate.”

”So she found another excuse to call him unusual.”

”She found evidence that he is unusual.”

The distinction mattered to Marisse, even if Marcus cared more for its usefulness.

She rested one hand upon the stone balustrade. Frost had begun gathering in the narrow carvings, cool beneath her glove.

”The inconsistency is genuine,” she said. ”He possesses neither the education nor the vocabulary expected from a student in his position, yet he continues to reach conclusions he should miss.”

Marcus gave a quiet breath. ”As he did during the Weaponship Test.”

Marisse’s fingers traced the frozen edge of the stone.

That trial should have exposed him cleanly. Lucavion was placed against veteran instructor Arcten, armed only with a blunted weapon and subjected to rank suppression. The conditions were designed to strip away any advantage that he would have. Instead, Arcten himself reported that Lucavion had still managed to defeat him, even under those restraints, before the observers could properly process what had occurred. The intended result had failed to materialize.

”The Combat Awareness Trial as well,” she said.

”He should have failed both.”

”He should have understood that they were warnings.”

Below, a group of first-years moved aside as two senior students crossed the court in princely colours. Their conversation ceased before the pair had drawn near and resumed only after they passed.

That was how order maintained itself.

Some names opened paths because the blood behind them had carried the Empire through war, famine, and rebellion. Others learned where to stand, when to bow, and which ambitions exceeded the station of their birth.

Lucavion had learned none of it.

A commoner entering the Academy through merit could be tolerated. One who displayed unusual talent might even prove useful. Lucavion, however, had placed himself against Lucien openly enough that silence could be mistaken for permission.

The Crown Prince had offered guidance through the Blood Faction.

Marcus and Marisse merely ensured that the Academy remembered where its loyalties belonged.

”He continues because every escape convinces him that the rules cannot reach him,” Marcus said. ”The Weaponship Test should have corrected that belief. The awareness trial should have ended it.”

”And the written scores gave us too little.”

”Which is why the oral examination was reinstated.”

Marisse looked toward the darkening towers.

”This oral result helps. It marks him as academically unsound and leaves him vulnerable to remedial placement.”

”It is insufficient.”

There was neither anger nor embarrassment in Marcus’s voice. He spoke as one discussing an account that remained unsettled.

Marisse agreed.

A poor oral result could be blamed upon education, unfamiliarity, or Selenne’s severity. Lucavion’s supporters would point toward his practical successes, while those fascinated by anomalies would treat his deficiencies as further proof of hidden potential.

The Mana Control Trial offered a cleaner opportunity.

His practical reputation would be placed against a chamber that measured circulation, stability, and response under pressure. There would be less room for charm, improvisation, or the theatrical surprises that had carried him through the earlier trials.

”Selenne’s presence changes the audience,” Marisse said.

”The audience, perhaps.”

Marcus shifted, and the charm carried the faint scrape of a chair.

”The trial itself will proceed.”

”You have already made your arrangements.”

It was neither question nor accusation.

A pause entered the connection, though it held calculation rather than reluctance.

”The chamber will be prepared according to the approved order,” Marcus replied. ”Every seal will be present. Every safeguard will answer when tested. Selenne may examine the walls herself if she arrives early enough.”

Marisse’s eyes narrowed with interest.

He had revealed almost nothing.

That was usually when Marcus had considered a matter most carefully.

”And when the trial begins?”

”Lucavion will be measured.”

”According to which measure?”

A faint amusement touched his voice. ”The one the Academy recognizes.”

The answer settled easily into place.

Whatever Marcus intended would hide inside accepted procedure rather than stand apart from it. Selenne could watch the chamber, study its records, and challenge every examiner present. If the trial appeared lawful and the safeguards remained intact, suspicion alone would give her little authority to intervene.

Marisse pushed away from the balustrade and resumed walking.

”She will look for interference.”

”Let her.”

The corridor narrowed ahead, forcing her to step aside as a pair of clerks approached with a chest of sealed crystals between them. One bowed. The other nearly struck the wall while attempting the same gesture without loosening his grip.

Marisse waited until they had passed.

”You are confident she will find nothing?”

”I am confident she will find a chamber behaving precisely as it was instructed to behave.”

There it was.

A sentence shaped carefully enough to conceal its centre.

Marisse smiled.

The Academy did not require Lucavion to collapse. An obvious injury would invite healers, inquiries, and sympathy, all of which granted a commoner more attention than he deserved. They required a poor result that could be placed before the faculty without embarrassment: unstable circulation, excessive strain, irregular control, and proof that his practical talent could not be trusted within magical coursework.

A boundary rather than a spectacle.

A judgment carrying the Academy’s seal.

”And if he produces another of his strange solutions?” she asked.

Marcus answered after a brief silence.

”Then tomorrow’s record will show what those solutions cost him.”

The charm cooled against Marisse’s collar.

Marcus had ended the connection without farewell, leaving his final words behind as neatly as a sealed instruction. She continued along the gallery, though her pace had slowed enough for the evening bell to overtake her. Its second note passed through the towers, stirred the ward-lamps into brighter life, and drew her eyes toward the students crossing the court below.

’What those solutions cost him.’

A useful answer.

Perhaps even a sufficient one for tomorrow.

Yet it returned her thoughts to another matter which had remained unsettled for far longer than she had intended.

The wager.

Lucavion had proposed it before a courtyard filled with witnesses, wearing that same careless smile he offered whenever he wished to make insolence appear effortless. Marisse would select a student for him to face. She could choose the candidate herself, study their strengths, arrange their instruction, and take as much time as she required to prepare them.

If Lucavion lost, he would leave the Academy willingly.

He had offered her the very result the Blood Faction had been pursuing, then placed it within reach as though his continued presence were something he could gamble for amusement.

Marisse had accepted because refusing before that crowd would have granted him a victory without steel ever leaving its sheath. Lucavion had ensured it by invoking Lucien’s name and drawing Prince Adrian into the agreement as witness. A commoner had placed two princes around his wager and then looked at her as though the outcome were already his.

At the time, his confidence had seemed useful.

Arrogance made men careless. Given sufficient preparation, she could choose someone whose discipline, affinity, and temperament answered every strength Lucavion possessed. She could refine that student until the duel became less a contest than a correction performed before the entire Academy.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of her sleeve.

The Weaponship Test had complicated that certainty.

The Combat Awareness Trial had weakened it further.

Each trial had been shaped to expose him, and each had ended with instructors attempting to explain how he had escaped the result prepared for him. He had neither followed the expected method nor produced a victory that could be comfortably dismissed as luck. Instead, he had done something strange, effective, and difficult to reproduce.

Now Selenne’s assessment offered the same pattern in another form.

’Severely deficient.’

That portion Marisse could accept easily.

Lucavion spoke of magical structures with the vocabulary of someone who had learned among broken stones and battlefield wounds. His answers lacked refinement, his explanations wandered away from recognized principles, and a competent examiner could force the gaps into view with little effort.

Yet Selenne had written more.

Notable structural diagnosis.

Prior exposure or nonstandard practical instruction.

Greater accuracy when doctrine was translated into consequence.

Marisse’s steps carried her beyond the gallery and into a narrower passage lined with old portraits. One painted Magister stirred as she approached, opened one eye, and seemed to reconsider before returning to sleep.

’Excuses?’

The thought had followed her from the archive.

Selenne might have wished to grant him enough credit to pass. By placing those observations beside his deficiencies, she had given the lowest result an appearance of balance while preserving grounds for further interest. It would have been a subtle kindness, the sort that could survive review because every generous interpretation had been clothed in professional language.

But Selenne did not write kindly.

She wrote precisely.

Marisse had contested her often enough to know the difference. Selenne could be obstinate, invasive, and insufferably convinced of her own fairness, yet she would sooner wound a favoured student with an accurate record than protect them through a false one. A written lie would remain long after the immediate dispute had passed, available for any rival to uncover.

She would never risk her name upon such an indulgence.

Which left the more troublesome possibility.

Selenne had written what she believed she had witnessed.

Marisse paused beside an arched window. Her reflection hovered faintly over the darkening grounds, composed as ever, though the line between her brows had drawn tighter than she preferred.

’Then, did I treat the wager too lightly?’