Flandre nodded her head with absolute enthusiasm. "I've finished reading every single one of them!"
Fremont nodded with immense satisfaction, his ancient eyes crinkling at the corners. "Excellent. Everyone, please take a seat... Little Flandre, I am going to evaluate your progress now!"
As he spoke, he gestured toward a wooden desk stationed not far away, where a neatly prepared examination parchment lay waiting.
"After reviewing your correspondence yesterday afternoon, I anticipated your arrival today, so I specifically drafted a set of assessments. The technical problems inscribed within are directly calibrated to your prior baseline, carefully accounting for every reference text I previously recommended. Provided you absorbed even fifty percent of the core principles from those volumes, you will easily secure a passing grade. If you managed to process eighty percent, these complex solutions won't present the slightest degree of difficulty. I trust Little Flandre will encounter zero issues completing this, yes?"
Flandre trotted over to the desk, sliding onto the wooden stool with practiced ease. She picked up a ink pen and immediately began working through the complex problems without a moment's hesitation.
Fremont smoothly stroked his long beard, turning his analytical gaze toward the girl's remaining household members and her personal tutor. "I have already reached a complete understanding regarding the primary objective of your current visitation..."
He locked eyes with Remilia and the remarkably poised, elegant scholar standing directly beside her, who was clearly Flandre's primary arcane instructor, Patchouli. "I presume the exclusive institutional library permits Flandre requested in her note were intended for the two of you. Here are the active borrowing passes. And now..."
With the administrative details settled, the three of them smoothly transitioned into an active discussion regarding the fundamental theories governing the nature of magic. The moment the conversation truly began, a sudden flash of intense surprise crossed both of their minds.
The underlying focus within Patchouli and Fremont's eyes shifted instantly; it was the distinct, sharp expression of a master craftsman suddenly encountering a genuinely formidable rival.
Although Patchouli's unique Seven Luminaries Magic and Fremont's ancient Sarkaz Witchcraft derived from entirely separate ancestral lineages and utilized completely different casting mechanisms, both individuals, as supreme authorities within their respective fields, possessed the rare intellectual ability to look straight through superficial phenomena to grasp the underlying essence of the arcane. Even if their practical methods of execution shared zero common ground, the final structural effects and baseline results carried no significant gap. Consequently, after a brief, initial moment of conceptual calibration, the two scholars rapidly entered a state of thoroughly pleasant, highly stimulating conversation.
An hour and a half slipped by in what felt like a mere handful of minutes. Fremont raised his eyes toward the distant desk; Flandre had already smoothly set down her pen.
With a simple, practiced flick of his long finger, the finished examination paper floated off the desk, gliding across the chamber to land precisely before him. After taking just a single, sweeping glance across the ink script, he confirmed that Flandre's assertions were entirely accurate: the child had indeed parsed the heavy volumes he had recommended with immense care.
The internal logic of his verification was simple: several of the advanced problems were intentionally designed to be incredibly obscure, requiring the student to synthesize disparate conclusions and comparative answers derived across multiple separate books. Only an individual who had systematically read and retained every single text could possibly resolve these equations with such absolute completeness.
His professional estimation of Flandre rose to an even higher level. However... he subconsciously cast a nuanced glance toward Patchouli.
This particular tutor was proving to be significantly more difficult to outclass than he had originally calculated. Although the structural discipline she had mastered was entirely alien to his own Sarkaz heritage, her personal repository of knowledge was staggeringly vast and encompassed an incredibly intricate array of topics. The experience left him briefly feeling as though he were trading theories with another centuries-old Lich.
Little did he know, the purple-haired scholar seated opposite him was experiencing an identical wave of internal shock. Within her home region, one of Patchouli's formal titles was none other than the "Unmoving Great Library." That moniker didn't merely reflect her physical preference for remaining stationary inside her quiet archives; it served as a direct testament to the absolute wealth of her intellect. The entire contents of a massive, multi-tiered library were perfectly cataloged within her mind.
Under normal circumstances, for an ordinary caster to merely follow the baseline trajectory of her explanations was already the mark of a top-tier genius. Yet the ancient Sarkaz standing before her was actively trading intricate theoretical blows, with both parties seamlessly citing historical classics and enjoying the intellectual exchange immensely.
This prolonged, balanced display left the other faculty Liches who were actively monitoring the chamber through hidden spatial threads in a state of absolute disbelief. After all, the department members understood their grandmaster's volatile personality better than anyone. While his academic capabilities were undeniably peerless, his patience was notoriously short and his temper was quite severe. The moment a student committed a conceptual error, a brutal, exhausting lecture invariably followed.
Yet at this exact moment, these two individuals had been debating advanced arcane dynamics for a full ninety minutes, and the intellectual momentum between them remained perfectly, evenly matched. Was the young woman seated before their leader actually some ancient, hidden monster operating under a youth ward? The watching Liches actively traded various wild theories and gossiped furiously through their encrypted communication links.
Fremont looked toward the group, his posture relaxing completely. "It has been an exceptionally long time since I have enjoyed such a thoroughly delightful academic exchange. My internal mood is remarkably elevated... you should preserve these borrowing permits with care. Should you desire to review our literature at a later date, you need only place the permit against the surface of any closed doorway and turn the handle; you will find yourself stepping directly into the archive corridors."
Once he had detailed the functional mechanics of the passes, the household realized these tokens were far from ordinary administrative tools. After all, a secure library facility that could be accessed instantaneously from any physical threshold across the capital was entirely beyond the scope of conventional architecture.
The group stood up, offering their formal appreciation, while Fremont waved his hand to dismiss their thanks, expressing that such privileges were merely a baseline encouragement intended for those who possessed genuine knowledge. For a scholar of Ms. Patchouli's extraordinary caliber, keeping the doors of their archives barred against her intellect would be a tragic loss to the library itself.
As they continued to chat casually for a few minutes more, Ermengarde quietly glided to the grandmaster's side, leaning down to offer a low, murmured reminder. "Teacher, the morning hour has concluded. It is time for your scheduled instructional class."
Fremont blinked, a sudden look of administrative realization washing over his features. "Ah, yes. Ermengarde, guide our guests toward the library facility so they may conduct an initial evaluation of the layout."
Hearing that the professor was required to attend to his instructional duties, the members of the mansion stood up in sequence, politely watching the ancient grandmaster exit the chamber first. Once he had departed down the corridor, the group followed Ermengarde toward the university's primary archival wing.
"These active permits can also be deployed directly against the main library thresholds," Ermengarde explained politely as they arrived outside a massive set of reinforced doors. She offered a refined bow. "You are entirely free to read for as long as your schedules require. I have several pressing research projects demanding my attention within the department, so I shall not be accompanying your group for the remainder of the afternoon."
Once the assistant had walked a significant distance down the stone hallway, vanishing around a distant corner, Remilia was the first to speak up. "The underlying reason behind Professor Fremont's sudden departure likely wasn't restricted to a simple classroom lecture, correct?"
"Indeed, I perceived that exact same anomaly," Patchouli replied, her thumb gently tracing the edge of her pass. "The moment he announced his obligation to teach, his baseline expression wasn't exactly... 'enthusiastic.' It carried a distinct trace of irritability and helplessness. That is fundamentally distinct from the mindset of a dedicated academic, and based on our extensive conversation, it is quite obvious he isn't the type of instructor who harbors a natural disdain for passing down knowledge."
"I know the answer to that one!" Flandre interjected cheerfully.
"Oh?" Everyone turned their collective gaze toward the young girl.
Flandre proudly raised her chin, her small wings fluttering slightly behind her. "It is entirely due to his public identity. The central authorities of Leithanien have consistently maintained a remarkably vigilant watch over his movements for decades, and any citizen who establishes too close a connection to his department is immediately recorded by the government's active intelligence networks."
"An identity of that caliber?" Patchouli's brow furrowed slightly as she processed the claim.
"A Lich," Clever spoke up this time, her voice low as she adjusted her posture. "If my historical calculations are accurate, both Professor Fremont and Ms. Ermengarde, who just guided us through the corridors, belong to that hidden lineage."
Flandre instantly flashed a bright thumbs-up toward the librarian. "Little Clever, your analytical speed is truly impressive! Fremont is indeed a member of the Lich race, but he isn't just any ordinary elder. He holds the absolute title of the 'Enlightener of Minds.'"
"Enlightener of Minds?" Patchouli and Remilia exchanged a look of mild confusion, turning back to the child for clarification.
"Just like regional titles such as the 'Banshee King' or the 'Nachzehrer King,' 'Enlightener of Minds' is the formal designation reserved exclusively for the supreme leader of the entire Lich race," Flandre explained with a bright grin. "After all, those who spend their entire lives within the pristine halls of academia generally feel that titles like 'King of the Liches' sound entirely too blunt and lack proper aesthetic refinement."
The group experienced an instant wave of clarity; so the eccentric professor was fundamentally the sovereign ruler of the Liches. Wait... Patchouli's analytical mind locked onto the deeper political reality at that exact moment. Within the historical reference texts she had meticulously cataloged in her memory, it was clearly documented that the Lich Royal Court constituted one of the fabled Ten Royal Courts of the Sarkaz race.