The assistant picked up on Fremont's true meaning with impressive speed. "Who exactly are we dealing with?!"
"Ermengarde!" The old Lich fixed his gaze upon the young woman, deliberately uttering her name with an absolute air of administrative finality.
Ermengarde hurriedly waved her hands in a dismissive gesture. "Understood, understood! I shall deliver the necessary permits directly to your desk this afternoon!"
With those words, her physical form dissolved into a ripple of distorted air, vanishing from Fremont's sight in the mere span of a heartbeat.
Once she had exited the chamber, Fremont took two deep, measured breaths, gradually centering his internal energy and calming the sudden turmoil that had disrupted his thoughts. He picked up the letter from his desk to review it one more time. Upon locking his gaze onto the hand-drawn caricature at the bottom of the parchment, a genuine, albeit reluctant, smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Recalling the remarkable events of their prior encounter, Fremont let out a soft, appreciative sigh. "How is it that such a brilliant, studious little one wasn't born a Lich!"
He paused, his expression shifting into a deep scowl. "As for that old Blood Demon... does a reckless warrior like Duq'arael possess even a fraction of the intellectual discipline required to properly instruct a gifted child?!"
Fremont muttered various grievances to himself as he paced across the floor, actively calculating how he might utilize his vast, centuries-old repository of arcane knowledge to completely shock the child's tutor tomorrow. His primary objective was to make the visitor feel thoroughly outclassed and intellectually inferior, forcing her to retreat from the capital in absolute disgrace. Once she was out of the picture, he could smoothly step into the vacuum and claim that incredibly talented little girl as his own personal disciple.
"Hehehe..."
Lost in his grand ambitions, Fremont let out a low, rumbling chuckle that sounded remarkably like a villainous mastermind plotting a territorial conquest. The strange resonance of his laughter drifted through the structural links of the facility, causing several of his fellow Liches who were actively monitoring the sector to shiver involuntarily. Although the rest of the faculty possessed zero understanding of what the eccentric grandmaster was currently plotting, everyone within the department was well aware that disrupting his focus during these moods would result in severe administrative consequences.
Meanwhile, having successfully guaranteed the delivery of their correspondence into Fremont's hands, Flandre and her companions spent the remainder of the afternoon exploring the vibrant commercial districts surrounding the academy grounds.
The following morning, with Flandre confidently charting the path, the entire household arrived outside the primary iron gates of Ludwigs-Universität.
Flandre stepped forward, clearly explaining the purpose of their visit to the security detail stationed at the archway. The watchman picked up a nearby communication device to confirm the appointment with Professor Fremont's office. After a brief exchange, he activated the mechanism to open the iron barriers, allowing the group to step onto the manicured campus grounds.
"Do we require an immediate dispatch to inform the two Empresses regarding this visitation?" one of the gatekeepers inquired quietly as the guests drifted down the stone path.
"Report the basic facts to the central registry," his senior colleague replied, looking entirely unbothered by the arrival. "As for what strategic choices the Sovereigns choose to execute, that is far beyond the scope of our daily duties. Their Majesties possess their own absolute judgment; our sole responsibility is to ensure the factual sequence of events is documented completely."
Seeing his superior's relaxed stance, the first guard withdrew a separate encryption device and initiated contact with the central tower.
Before the six travelers had even reached the base of Fremont's private research spire, the intelligence report had already materialized across the desks of the nation's rulers.
"Six women have passed through Fremont's department under the formal justification of academic collaboration and research discussion, entering the grounds of Ludwigs-Universität to secure an audience?" The White Empress, Lieselotte, reviewed the document, her brow furrowing slightly. "All verified as Feline, with zero Sarkaz signatures present among the group? Are your scouts absolutely certain regarding their species? Very well, then leave the matter be for the duration of their stay. Once their meeting concludes, dispatch an agent to interview Fremont regarding their objective and secure a full transcript of the conversation."
The White Empress delivered her instructions calmly. Across the grand chamber, the Black Empress, Hildegard, dismissed her initial inclination to personally intervene upon hearing the details. Although she maintained a constant, vigilant watch over Fremont's academic factions, she possessed zero desire to sprint across the capital over a routine administrative meeting; doing so would make the throne appear entirely too petty.
Lieselotte's balanced approach to governance proved highly effective at keeping their priorities aligned. She reached for a separate piece of pressing intelligence resting near her hand, which detailed a series of sudden military escalations along the Victorian frontier. Not long ago, one of their border patrols had lost nearly half an active squadron in a single, devastating engagement. Every single soldier had been neutralized in a single blow.
A nearly identical casualty report had surfaced from the Victorian side of the boundary line. At this exact moment, both grand empires were locked in a fierce diplomatic wrangle over the incident, which had already triggered several aggressive skirmishes within the neutral buffer zone. Both factions had suffered varying degrees of gains and losses, and their vanguard armies were currently staring each other down across the trenches, prepared to strike again at a moment's notice.
With Hildegard's attention entirely consumed by the volatile border crisis, the relatively minor affair involving Fremont's visitors was quickly cast to the back of her mind.
Deep within the university grounds, Flandre led the household along the winding stone pathways, navigating the route with a level of familiarity that suggested she had walked these corridors for years. Before long, they arrived at the base of the imposing black tower where Fremont maintained his laboratory.
"I had previously encountered historical records stating that Leithanien casters possess a dogmatic obsession with residing in elevated stone towers," Patchouli noted, gazing up at the massive structure while sensing the intense, shifting currents of raw magical energy radiating from the upper masonry. She reached up, gently adjusting the bridge of her glasses. "I had always assumed such descriptions were merely exaggerated tropes found within popular regional novels, but witnessing this architecture in person proves the reputation is entirely well-deserved."
As the group approached the massive wooden doors at the base of the spire, the heavy hinges began to turn, the entry slowly pushing open without a single visible attendant guiding the mechanism.
Upon stepping across the threshold, the travelers discovered that although the tower projected a relatively modest footprint from the exterior, the internal layout was a vast, sprawling labyrinth that completely defied the natural laws of architecture.
"A remarkably stable, multi-layered spatial extension matrix," Patchouli murmured, her analytical gaze scanning the soaring ceilings and expanded corridors without a single hint of surprise.
After all, deep within the subterranean library of the Scarlet Devil Mansion back in Gensokyo, she had personally woven countless spatial expansion wards to expand the dimensions of her archives to accommodate millions of volatile texts. To her, this was simply standard library organization.
Clever, however, experienced an entirely different reaction. Having spent her entire life navigating the conventional brick-and-mortar structures of the riverbank settlements, she had never witnessed such a profound distortion of physical space. Looking at the exterior lines of the tower from the courtyard, the structure appeared to be barely ten meters in diameter; yet the interior space before her eyes was easily five or six times larger than those boundaries should allow.
As they advanced into the grand entrance hall, they crossed paths with a young woman standing near a massive marble staircase. She wore an eccentric, stylized hat that bore an uncanny structural resemblance to a traditional witch's headwear.
The moment the members of the Scarlet Devil Mansion locked eyes with her, their postures subconsciously shifted into a collective display of intense vigilance, sharp scrutiny, and a distinct, deeply ingrained sense of historical exhaustion.
Naturally, their sudden defensive instinct wasn't triggered by any perceived threat from the girl's baseline energy, nor was it because her sudden appearance had startled their senses. It was simply because her specific aesthetic—despite a few minor regional textile variations—was far too reminiscent of a notorious, black-and-white ordinary magician who frequently plagued their lives.
Thinking of how that particular thief would regularly breach the perimeter of the mansion to "borrow books" without permission, Sakuya Izayoi slowly turned her head, casting a thoroughly frustrated glare back toward their gatekeeper.
Hong Meiling instantly caught the silent accusation in Sakuya's eyes. Shifting uncomfortably under the weight of her gaze, the martial artist quietly shuffled her boots, attempting to hide her massive frame behind Flandre's relatively small shoulders.
Sensing the incredibly strange, multi-layered stares radiating from the visiting party, Ermengarde briefly looked herself over to check for any wardrobe malfunctions. Finding absolutely zero issues with her garments, she offered a polite, institutional nod to the group. "I function as Professor Fremont's primary research assistant, Ermengarde. It is an immense pleasure to welcome you all to our facility. The grandmaster is currently awaiting your arrival in the upper study; please follow me."
The self-proclaimed magical girl turned on her heel, guiding the party toward the sweeping spiral staircase. The household followed closely behind her steady pace.
Before many minutes had passed, they arrived outside a massive set of double doors on the upper tier. Ermengarde extended her arm, executing a graceful gesture of invitation. Remilia offered a brief word of thanks, then, firmly grasping Flandre's hand in her own, crossed the threshold first.
As the party filed into the expansive room, Fremont raised his ancient eyes from his desk, evaluating the unfamiliar faces standing before him. He scrutinized their physical features for two consecutive seconds before delivering a sharp, analytical assessment. "An advanced illusion matrix? A transformation ward?"
He paused, shaking his head slowly as his senses processed the unique flow of their energy. "No... the structural signature doesn't match the criteria of standard illusion craft!"
Right at that moment, one of the visiting women flashed a mischievous wink in his direction. "Old man, your analytical reflexes are truly as sharp as the records claim!"
The instant the words left her lips, the baseline energy sustaining the party's outward appearances rippled like water. In the span of a single breath, the six Felines who had walked through the university gates vanished entirely. Three of the figures instantly reverted into the distinct, imposing forms of pure Blood Demons, while the underlying nature of the remaining members remained entirely shrouded in mystery—though anyone capable of navigating the capital alongside such entities was naturally a trusted confidant.
Witnessing the sudden transformation, Clever's eyes widened to the absolute absolute limit as she repeatedly evaluated the physical traits of both Fremont and Ermengarde. The unique structural composition of their lingering energy and their distinct historical aura triggered a fragment of forbidden lore deep within her memory: these two individuals belonged to a legendary, hidden branch of the Sarkaz race—the Liches.
Weren't the mythical Liches supposed to be permanently isolated within some forgotten, ancient corner of the world? How on earth were they operating openly as tenured university faculty right in the absolute heart of Leithanien?
Flandre skipped past the desk, arriving right in front of the ancient grandmaster. "Old man, I have returned to fulfill my promise!"
"Little one, how have you progressed with the theoretical suggestions and the reference texts I provided during our prior encounter?" Fremont inquired, his ancient face instantly softening into a warm, kindly smile as he looked down at the vibrant child.