The Divine Chosen’s body was not warm to the touch; it carried the chill of snow-laced winds sweeping through barren gravel plains at night. At first, he politely rested a hand at the back of Nova’s neck, but soon changed his mind—wrapping one arm around Nova’s shoulder and pressing him firmly into his chest, bracing the other hand against the deck.
Beyond the steady heartbeat of a human, Nova could hear the sailors screaming inside the cabin. His lungs were filled with the briny scent of seawater, and in the distance came the deafening roar of water, like an ancient beast howling. The deck beneath him trembled violently, like a quake rolling through an untamed land.
The Divine Chosen’s golden hair floated strangely around Nova’s ear as a force surged from his hand, piercing through the deck and anchoring the ship in place. Then came a dizzying plunge into disorientation, like being sucked into a vortex. A cracking rush filled Nova’s ears—then the Natalin boat burst through the water’s surface, leaping like a flying fish back into daylight.
“…”
Nova’s eyes flew open. He didn’t even notice the arm that had held him had released him at some point. Stumbling to his feet, he lunged for the ship’s rail—the boat rocked with the waves, dark clouds rolling endlessly behind them, reluctantly forming a sharp boundary at the horizon. Behind them loomed a titanic wave—silent as mountains, poised to crash. Even a glance was enough to awake a fear that gnawed at the soul, yet now it stood frozen, trapped in another world beyond reach.
“…Professor, you’re about to fall.”
Azukar sighed and grabbed the professor’s collar like he was hauling back a wayward cat, yanking him in before he could topple overboard. The black-haired youth didn’t seem to mind the intrusion—he was too busy frantically pulling out a sheaf of parchment and throwing himself onto the deck, scribbling away. Azukar leaned in for a peek—and couldn’t understand a thing, just strange formulas and symbols, though the diagram of a tiny human against towering waves made sense.
The sailors helped each other up from the cabin, exchanging bewildered looks at the professor lying flat on the deck. Still, they didn’t interrupt—just quietly resumed their work. Azukar returned with a reasonably clean stool from below deck and gently placed it in front of Nova.
“Write on this.”
The professor mumbled something unintelligible—probably a thank-you—but quickly fell back into muttering, observing, thinking, scribbling, fretting, and beaming like a man possessed. From the outside, it looked borderline frightening. It wasn’t until the ship fully left the waters around the Wall of Signs, and the colossal waves faded from sight, that he reluctantly dropped his pen and leaned against the hull, eyes half-closed, massaging his aching temples.
“…Are you all right?”
Evening had fallen, and stars were beginning to glimmer faintly at the horizon. Lanterns swayed from the mast. Azukar stood before his rival, gazing down at the pale black-haired youth now completely enveloped in his own shadow.
“Just a bit seasick. It’s nothing,” Nova muttered, rubbing his pounding head, grimacing at the nausea. No surprise, really—doing calculations on a rocking ship was a guaranteed recipe for motion sickness.
He picked up his pen again, hoping to squeeze in a bit more work under the lamp’s waning light—only for his notebook to vanish in a flash. It now rested in the other man’s hands.
The professor’s eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at the daring thief crouched before him.
“You—”
“The captain’s made fish stew. You’ve barely eaten today—come have some with us,” the great Savior interrupted gently, entirely unbothered by the professor’s furious glare.
“I don’t feel like eating.” Nova’s tone softened slightly as he frowned at him. “Go on without me—no need to worry. Now give me back my notebook.”
The other man remained crouched, watching him silently but with unwavering resolve. Nova stared back for a while, then finally sighed and relented. “…Fine. I get it.”
…Why did this feel so familiar?
Grimacing as he used the wall to slowly rise, refusing the offered hand—his legs had gone numb from sitting too long—Nova wondered suspiciously to himself.
The fish stew was surprisingly good—the warmth even soothed his spasming stomach. Once the sailors started tossing fish bones and scraps overboard, Nova approached the Divine Chosen standing at the stern and extended a palm toward him.
“Notebook,” he said flatly.
“Here, I wasn’t going to keep it,” Azukar replied, half amused as Nova swiftly tucked the parchment notebook into his coat. He couldn’t help thinking the professor was… oddly well-behaved?
It seemed that, handled the right way, even his so-called nemesis could be easily placated.
The stars had fully emerged—just tilting your head back was enough to plunge into that awe-inspiring, dazzling whirlpool of light. The sea breeze was moist and cool. Nova stood beside the Divine Chosen, gazing up at the startlingly close stars, letting his overfed, drowsy brain go blissfully blank for a rare moment.
“…How do you feel about possibly being unable to become a spellcaster?” Azukar asked after a pause.
It sounded like poking at a sore spot. Normally, the Savior wouldn’t be this straightforward. He had always been the gentle one, the understanding one—or as his comrade Thorley would say, the one best at “putting on an act.” He could easily earn anyone’s trust, coax out secrets without them noticing, and leave them feeling grateful for his “listening ear.”
But the professor was different, Azukar thought. Try playing word games with him and he’d either miss the subtext entirely and launch into a grand academic discussion—or instantly sniff out your intent and call you out without mercy.
So it was best to be honest with him—to express his true curiosity and desire. And oddly enough, the simplicity and ease of that was…pleasant.
Sure enough, the professor didn’t look offended. He simply pondered a moment before calmly saying, “Oh, I’d already suspected it. It’s just a bit of a disappointment, that’s all.”
It sounded like bravado, but Nova wasn’t lying.
Spellcasters were far rarer and more exalted than warriors. Even for nobles who didn’t pursue military glory, it was desirable for their offspring to be mages.
Noble children begin magic inspiration at the age of five, though to Nova, it felt more like brainwashing. Out of curiosity—also to spare Lady Brody’s shrieks and tears—he spent some time studying what “piety” meant, and within three months had mastered the histories of dozens of major deities, as well as the intricacies of their theological Q&A.
…But even after working his way into White Spire University’s Seminary and becoming confident no one could out-bluff him on liturgical professionalism, Nova Brody was still just an ordinary human.
In contrast, his cousin Percy Brody had become a light-element spellcaster at eight, then entered the prestigious Saint Barodo Academy of Magic. Now, even at a young age, he was already an Apostle. Lady Brody was absolutely beside herself with frustration.
Nova Brody was the only heir of the late Viscount Brody and should have inherited the title without issue. Unfortunately, the viscount died far too young, leaving behind a young wife and a toddler who could barely speak.
A young noble widow with her own estate and fortune was practically fresh meat. The fact she had a young son? Irrelevant—suitors came swarming like predators scenting blood.
At that time, Nova’s uncle—Viscount Brody’s younger brother, Autres Brody—stepped forward and petitioned the Royal Court to clarify the ownership of the Brody title and lands. Meanwhile, Lady Brody appealed to her own family for support.
Ultimately, factoring in imperial inheritance laws and Lady Brody’s petition, the estate was nominally assigned to Nova Brody. As long as his mother did not remarry, she could administer the lands until he came of age.
Once Nova reached adulthood, the Royal Court would evaluate whether he met the conditions to formally inherit the title and estate.
Autres Brody was no benevolent uncle helping his brother’s widow and child.
The Empire of the Silver Iris adhered—at least in theory—to primogeniture: the eldest inherited the title and most of the estate; the rest received mere scraps.
hough the Brody lands weren’t vast—in fact, they bordered on barren—who would complain about more property under their name?
Besides, Autres Brody very much desired that moderate but meaningful title—if not for himself, then certainly for his descendants.
Out of fear of the Royal Court and the bloodline-binding spell Soulward Benediction, Autres dared not openly plot his nephew’s death—at least not yet. But that didn’t stop him from laying subtle traps.
Having to be “evaluated by the Royal Court” only gave him more chances to interfere. Especially when that boy turned out to be a disappointment: no magic, just an impoverished professor at White Spire University.
So Autres Brody formally requested that the inheritance hearing be postponed until his son, Percy Brody, came of age—a request the Royal Court granted, thanks to his maneuvering. His ambition was plain to see.
Before departing White Spire University for Graybridge Port, Nova had received a letter from his mother, urging him to cozy up to the bishops of the Radiant Church—to curb the arrogance of his uncle and cousin.
But Nova had always treated such schemes as idle noise. Whatever the threats, his education from another world had made him indifferent to noble status. A professor’s salary was more than enough to support him and his mother.
And with the growing power struggle between the Royal Court, the Church, and the Crown, getting involved now might mean never escaping again. Nova had no interest in wasting his life on such tedious affairs.
Most importantly, if forced to socialize with those smile-plastered schemers—foolish enough to be predictable—Nova would honestly prefer tossing rocks with wild primates in some remote mountain forest.
The professor had never been one to compromise himself, and his mind is always sharp enough to support those unconventional, utterly maddening yet helplessly baffling eccentric behaviors.
Back in the present, Azukar was still thinking of a gentle way to comfort him when the professor suddenly looked up—with a strange, unnervingly intense gleam in his eyes. “But perhaps you’d be willing to serve as my research subject? —Don’t worry, I won’t do anything unethical, nor will I share your data. My professional ethics forbid it, and you can trust me on that.”
Spellcasters were incredibly rare, and Nova had never really had the opportunity to study one up close—he could hardly start experimenting on the cousin he barely saw.
He might not become a spellcaster himself—but wasn’t one standing right here? And a unique specimen at that—perhaps one of only two in the world. Aside from a few eccentricities, he wasn’t even that annoying. It was perfect.
