Nanatsu no Maken ga Shihai suru - Volume 12 - Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

The Visitor

The new year began, and the Sword Roses officially joined the upper forms. With the freshmen orientation complete, all students gathered in the hall once again—and the headmistress’s glare raked the faces of all those present.

“Listen well. With the new year, there are changes to our faculty lineup.”

Sparing them the preamble, she got right to the point. This assembly was not mandatory, but their time was nonetheless valuable—no one wanted to draw things out. In any other year, such announcements would merely have been posted on the bulletin boards, but the school had good reason for doing things differently this time. This was a dramatic shake-up and required explanation from the headmistress herself.

“Our biology instructor, Vanessa Aldiss, and expert on curses, Baldia Muwezicamili, are on loan to the Gnostic Hunters. And since our astronomy instructor, Demitrio Aristides, is currently still unaccounted for, we’re bringing in three provisional instructors from outside the school.”

A stir ran through the crowd. The students had heard rumors there’d be a shift in staff, but the names of those who would be leaving had remained unconfirmed—and this was the first official acknowledgement of Demitrio’s disappearance. Coupling these announcements with the phrase “Gnostic Hunters” had given everyone a clear idea of just what had caused this shake-up.

“Remember—this is temporary, not permanent. That said, let me introduce our new faculty members. Step forward!”

Three figures strode out from the wings. An oddly nervous-looking middle-aged man, a dark-skinned woman who stood bolt upright, and a dazzling beauty whose gender could not be determined at a glance. This last one was decked out in the finest of robes, and immediately drew every eye in the room. All instinctively sensed that this was more than mere good looks.

“Ha…ha-ha…hello, students,” the first man said, raising a hand and listlessly introducing himself. “Marcel Oger. I’ll be your new magical biology instructor. I am a Kimberly graduate, so I guess that makes me one of you? Vanessa tormented me thoroughly while I was here, so rest assured, I am not nearly as frightening.”

Compared to Vanessa, he certainly seemed like a pushover—but no Kimberly instructor could be judged by first impressions. Having committed his face and name to memory, the students turned their gazes to the woman next to him.

“Zelma Warburg, curses. Mm, you are Kimberly students—I like the looks in your eyes. Like Marcel, I’m a graduate; but I’m far stricter than Muwezicamili. Brace yourselves.”

She flashed a grin. Her clothes, voice, and expression were all designed to attract people—a signal she and Baldia were opposites within their field.

Now that her name and face were known, all attention shifted to the final individual. Yet, this androgynous mage made no effort to speak. When eyes started shifting back to the headmistress, she was forced to call the newcomer out.

“…What are you doing? Introduce yourself, Farquois.”

“Oh, apologies. I imagined you would do that for me.”

The new instructor made a show of surprise, and several students gasped aloud. This mage dared to tease the headmistress in public? An act of valor that had previously been demonstrated by Theodore alone—and he got away with it thanks to their years of friendship.

But that was hardly the only reason the students were rattled. The name the headmistress had said was even more shocking. Oliver could feel Pete leaning eagerly forward, more excited than anyone else.

“…Farquois?!”

“Pete, stay put,” Oliver urged.

The mage in question spoke again, their voice gently tickling the ears of every student present.

“Rod Farquois. I’ll be teaching astronomy. Perhaps I should introduce myself as the third great sage instead? I haven’t taught anyone for a hundred and twenty years, and I’m rather excited. I’ve been dragged in to replace the Ignorant Philosopher. Consider yourselves blessed.”

Farquois chuckled at their own joke. This clarified all confusion about their gender; no wonder nobody could tell. This mage was neither man nor woman, but a reversi—capable of switching between either body at will. Just like Pete Reston.

“Unlike the other two arrivals, I never went to Kimberly. Nor do I have any intention of conforming to this institute’s style. I will promise you this: I will approach every student with the utmost love, and guide each and every one of you to the pinnacle of your craft. I say that again—every student, without exception.”

A confident proclamation. Spoken with such natural poise it did not sound the least bit exaggerated. Here was a mage capable of backing up their grandiose words. Everyone knew that instinctively, and those who had prior knowledge of the “great sage” already had evidence to support the claim.

Despite the attention on them, Farquois said nothing else. The headmistress turned her gaze back to the crowd.

“You will be learning under the guidance of these instructors until we have hired permanent replacements. That will be all. Dismissed!”

Minds still racing from the news, the students filed out. Ted Williams—the alchemy instructor—had been standing to the side of the stage, his eyes locked on Farquois’s profile. Catching his stare, the reversi turned to him with a smile.

“…No need to glare, my boy. I promise I will not interfere with your curriculum. I have stirred more than enough pots for a lifetime.”

Farquois moved closer as they spoke. It took Ted every last nerve not to back away. He knew exactly why: He was hearing the unconscious warning bell that rang when one was faced with a mage far superior to oneself.

“Unless you have business with me, perchance? Do you seek my teachings?”

“ !”

Farquois spread their arms invitingly, and Ted felt a wave of dizziness. His arms and feet went numb, and the impulse to nod without any further thought rose up within. But before that impulse drowned his consciousness, a smaller man stepped out in front of him.

“That’s enough, great sage. He’s a serious man—thinks too much, and it makes him rather tense. Don’t mistake it for hostility,” said Dustin Hedges, the broomriding instructor.

The fact that Dustin had not been swayed like Ted proved he had what it took to stand against the sage: an aplomb far beyond what his diminutive frame would have suggested.

“How long has it been, broomfare hero?” Farquois said, smiling. “I believe we last met on the front, but you look none the worse for wear. I heard you’ve been in the dumps since your pupil set that record.”

“Wish I could have stayed there, but circumstances forced me out.”

“Aha! You’ve recovered your mettle, then. Are the two on your back a testament to that?”

Farquois glanced pointedly over Dustin’s shoulders. Two long shafts which differed from the customary athame and white wand were visible there, diagonally crossed over his back. One was his broom, and the other was a long athame in its scabbard—colloquially referred to as a balmung. Broomback warfare—broomfare—was Dustin’s trade, and these items were part of his full ensemble as well as a sign that the situation at Kimberly required him to be in a state of constant readiness. This was an indication of the spirit in which he had joined Ted’s alliance.

Even other Kimberly instructors would have thought twice before picking a fight with Dustin in this state; Farquois was no exception. The great sage raised both hands, backing off.

“Now, now, no need to get your hackles up. I was merely testing the waters; let’s all get along. We teach at the same school, after all.”

They winked at Ted, then spun around and walked away. The teachers who had been watching began filing out in turn. Only then did Ted exhale. Dustin moved over to him, resting a hand on his heaving shoulders.

“You okay there, Ted?”

“……Hard to say,” Ted admitted. “That’s quite a charm they used. Nearly sucked me in.”

The alchemy instructor was keenly aware he was the weakest of the Kimberly faculty, yet his ability to resist charms was far greater than the average mage’s. Despite that, he’d been nigh helpless before the great sage’s magnetism. And naturally, Farquois had hardly been serious—like the mage themself had suggested, they had merely been teasing him.

Dustin, too, was acutely aware of the threat this posed. He glared at the door the sage had exited through, looking grim.

“We got one the headmistress didn’t pick, and they sent a doozy. Bite your tongue, Ted. I’m no augur, but I can say one thing for sure: This is gonna be one wild year.”

Back in the school building, Pete was still muttering away, giddy from the unexpected encounter.

“This is actually happening! The Rod Farquois, here at Kimberly!”

“I get why you’re excited, but try to settle down, Pete,” Oliver said, hands on his friend’s shoulders. He glanced at Chela. “What’s your take on this?”

“It wasn’t the headmistress’s call. On that, I’m certain. A clear miscasting for a substitute. She mentioned the Gnostic Hunters, so the sage is likely someone they wedged in, following some unknown agenda of theirs.”

“So Farquois is here to dig up dirt on Kimberly?”

“Their beauty was most unnatural. More like fey glamor than human beauty…,” Nanao muttered.

While the rest of Oliver’s friends reacted rationally, Pete’s state suggested he was under the influence of a minor charm. A mage he’d long admired through their written works alone was suddenly here in the flesh—that burst of joy was exactly the sort of opening that allowed charms to take hold. Yet, once someone was even partially under the influence of a charm, it was difficult to make them realize it. Choosing his words carefully, Oliver rubbed his friend’s shoulders.

“Listen, Pete. This is a mage from outside Kimberly. Our instructors so far have been terrifying, but curtailed by rules they couldn’t break. The sage, though—I suspect those same rules may not apply to them.”

Oliver was urging the utmost caution, but Pete’s passion proved unstoppable. He brushed Oliver’s hands off, annoyed.

“Then I’ve just gotta watch myself. When’d you all get so pessimistic? Even if Kimberly and the Gnostic Hunters are squabbling about something, that won’t affect us directly.”

“Oh, but it could. This is Rod Farquois. You know better than anyone, Pete—a solid ninety percent of reversi are taken in by that clan. Which could mean you.”

Oliver wasn’t getting through, so he pushed harder. But that just made Pete scowl even more, and he lashed out for reasons which went beyond the new instructor’s charm.

“Sounds good to me. A connection with the great sage? That’s an opportunity.”

“Pete!” Chela yelped, unable to bear it.

What Pete had said wasn’t entirely wrong, but he was clearly not getting just what a threat a mage like Rod Farquois posed. No matter how careful one might be, lengthy exposure to anyone with a charm that powerful would warp a person’s will. Chela and Oliver believed this was why that clan had been able to bring so many reversi into their fold. Any contact with Farquois was a risk.

But before anyone could urge further caution, Pete turned his back on the group.

“I’ll do things my way. We’re fourth-years now. I’m sick and tired of your overprotective bullshit.”

He left those words ringing in their years; everyone knew this was the source of his frustration. The set of his shoulders made it clear it would be no use chasing after him now—doing so would only make him dig his heels in further. All they could do was watch him go.

That same evening, in a hidden workshop on the labyrinth’s first layer, Oliver was acting as his comrades’ lord, overseeing their first meeting of the year.

“You’re all aware things have taken a nasty turn,” said Gwyn, who was once again presiding over the gathering.

He and Shannon had graduated and been hired by Kimberly to help with curses. They were no longer students, but their role here had not changed. They would overlook nothing that might prove an obstacle to Oliver’s purpose, and they needed to respond swiftly if such threats arose. But because of that, they were left at a loss.

“Vanessa and Baldia being sent away—well, we expected as much. But nobody expected the great sage rolling in to replace Demitrio. Who brought them in? Is the Gnostic HQ gearing up to take on the headmistress?”

“Unclear. Almost certainly one of the Five Rods, but Farquois isn’t the type to act on anyone’s orders. They’re infamous for ignoring calls for Gnostic reservists unless the situation is exceptionally dire. We must assume they have a purpose of their own here.”

“Tomes in the library? A faculty member’s research? Or…”

Oliver’s comrades searched for something of appropriate value, but then one girl’s hand shot up.

“One obvious target—there’s an unaffiliated reversi in the fourth year.”

Everyone nodded. Oliver was hardly the only one who’d noticed that possibility.

“Pete Reston,” Gwyn said. “That name is the first on all our minds. The Farquois clan actively encourages reversi to join their numbers, and everyone knows only reversi can inherit the Rod Farquois name.”

“So they’re here to get their paws on him before anyone else can stake a claim? I see the logic behind that, but would they come teach at Kimberly for that alone? Ain’t no reason for the sage themself to do the job.”

The speaker crooked his head, and Oliver agreed with that take entirely. This was far too much time and effort to devote to Pete Reston alone. Assuming that goal was achieved, they couldn’t then step down so easily from their post. Doing so would be both a betrayal and an insult to the institute of Kimberly itself.

That was not a debt that could be repaid at the best of times, and in the current climate, it would make a lifelong enemy of the headmistress herself. Even the great sage could not possibly want that—which was why their presence here befuddled everyone.

“Either way, those are the motives we can suggest at the moment,” Gwyn went on. “If this was done behind the headmistress’s back, all the more reason to be wary of them. And they’re every bit a match for the class of mage that Kimberly employs, which makes them a huge headache for us.”

“So we just gotta wait and see? At this rate, we can’t go picking a next target. All we can do is make sure we don’t slip up and get ourselves caught.”

“Yes…but there’s no need to keep tabs on Pete Reston. Fortunately, our lord is already close to him.”

All eyes turned to Oliver. He knew full well that his comrades had the right idea, so he nodded gravely.

“No telling how many will fall under the sage’s charm,” Gwyn said. “You watch yourself, Noll. As much as you watch your friend.”

“…I will, Brother.”

Oliver closed his eyes. He had always taken every precaution. That was his duty as their lord—and it was necessary for the safety of his irreplaceable friends.

When reflecting on the fight with Demitrio Aristides, Oliver was acutely aware of one thing: Regardless of the final outcome, they had lost that battle.

They had only managed to pull off the upset because of his late friend, Yuri Leik, a splinter of their target’s soul. Oliver had sown the seeds for that—but arguably, so had Demitrio himself. The process had been far too unorthodox to be chalked up to “good fortune.” Given that the oversight in their strategies had proved to be their fatal error, one could convincingly argue that their actual plans could never have led to victory.

And in light of that, the remaining four targets would hardly be easier than Demitrio. Oliver believed the attempt would lead only to defeat. They could not count on Yuri twice. Given the discrepancy in power between them and their targets, what awaited was merely the inevitable.

In this predicament, the great sage’s arrival made Oliver’s head spin. A new threat? A windfall they could turn to their advantage? No matter what move Oliver made, he would first have to see what this new arrival wanted. Classes had only just begun, and they provided him with his first chance to take the measure of the reversi.

“Well, now. How shall we begin?”

All students’ eyes were on the podium where Demitrio had once held sway. Farquois was one size smaller than that philosopher. Everyone was curious to see how the great sage would teach, and it seemed the mage themself had yet to decide. Pete was sitting two rows ahead of Oliver, who kept one eye on his friend—careful to behave like any other student would while observing the sage carefully.

“Sorry, it’s been a while since I last taught. Completely forgot how I used to behave. I think today we’ll chat a bit, let me pick your brains. The sooner I put names to faces, the better.”

Their tone was friendly, and students who’d been braced for anything were left flat-footed. Demitrio had been driven by duty—this approach was downright indifferent by comparison. As that impression settled in, Farquois crossed their arms.

“Still, old Aristides… I don’t know who took him down, but consider me impressed. We never got along, though I respected his talents as a mage. And that’s not something I say often. I can count on one hand the number of mages I respect.”

They doffed their hat to their predecessor in the most arrogant manner possible, and several students bucked at their attitude, but chose to sheathe their mental daggers for now. Many had admired Demitrio’s earnest character and his accomplishments; his tenure at Kimberly hadn’t been so long for nothing. Oliver thought it wise to soothe their hackles before they were fully raised, but what Farquois said next was far more concerning.

“I’m aware of this institute’s reputation,” the sage remarked, leaning back against the podium. “Casting spells, swinging blades—both an accepted part of campus life. It’s worse in the labyrinth below, but even in classes, limbs routinely go flying. You have my sympathies. From the bottom of my heart, I pity anyone forced to learn in a place like this.”

Oliver’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. Rather than soothing anyone, the sage had chosen to bait them. Arrogance and irrationality were typical among Kimberly instructors, but those qualities were earned after they’d proved themselves to the students. Demonstrating nothing, but sneering down their nose at everyone—that earned Farquois more than a few scowls.

“Richard Andrews,” one boy said, raising his hand and briefly introducing himself. “If you don’t mind me asking, do you take issue with Kimberly’s approach?”

No minced words here—that was the question on everyone’s mind. Oliver sent him a silent thank-you. He wanted to avoid saying anything himself, lest he suggest he was probing. But Richard could take the measure of Farquois undaunted, and Farquois glanced his way, still leaning on the podium.

“Take issue? Why, yes. If I were in charge, things would be quite different. At the least, you would be far safer. And without in any way diminishing the quality of your educations.”

Everyone gulped. This went beyond criticism of Kimberly traditions into a direct criticism of the headmistress. Absolutely not something an outside substitute should be doing on the first day of class. Would their head remain on their shoulders the following day? All began to doubt that point, but Farquois shrugged it off.

“I’ve heard some of you campaigned for improvements. The student body president who graduated last year? Heh-heh…perhaps this is the ideal timing for my arrival. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Andrews?”

“…No comment.”

Keeping his response minimal, Andrews let his gaze drop. Oliver took this interaction to mean the sage was even more fearless than he’d imagined, but that made it even less clear why they were here at all.

They can’t actually be here to pick a fight with Kimberly from the inside, right? Did three losses drive the Gnostic headquarters to an act of foolish desperation?

“I suspect we’re overcomplicating things. Let’s clear the air with some light exercise! Deformatio!”

At the great sage’s spell, the desks and chairs began to move, and were absorbed into the floor as the students leaped to their feet. Even the wall behind them retracted, removing the division between the adjacent classroom. This was a standard feature of Kimberly classrooms, and no one was surprised.

Until Farquois strode into the center of the space they’d created, spreading their arms.

“Let’s play tag. I’ll give appropriate credit to anyone who can catch me. In return…if I touch your forehead, identify yourself. That won’t eliminate you or anything—it’s just a way for me to learn your names.”

“Huh…?”

“…What?”

“Should we allow spells or not? I won’t use any, so I’m not picky…but perhaps you’d best avoid friendly fire.”

Farquois was winding them up, but disguising it as concern. The students were now nakedly hostile to them. One such girl raised a hand—Jasmine Ames, one of the best blades in her year, her eyes hidden by her long bangs.

“…If you’ll excuse me, Instructor. All here are Kimberly fourth-years. It would be one thing if we were outside, where there is room to run, but do you think you can outmaneuver us in this limited space without spells?”

“Of course. Who do you think I am? I’m the great sage.”

Farquois shrugged. And that was all Ames needed to hear.

“Very well. You heard the instructor, ladies and gentlemen. We have been disparaged.”

That word hit hard—and every eye in the room bored into Farquois.

“That’s the spirit,” they said, spreading both arms. “Come at me!”

They clapped their hands, and all students sprang into motion. Farquois retreated with their back to the wall, then walked up the face of it. The students had expected as much, and those at the head of the pack employed the same technique.

“Ah, you’ve all mastered Wall Walking like it’s nothing,” Farquois murmured, sounding genuinely impressed. “How very Kimberly. Your acquisition of combat fundamentals is well ahead of the crowd.”

In the lead, Rossi lunged at Farquois after a triple feint. His fingers reached for the sage’s chest, but caught only air—and he received a light tap on his brow.

“…Tch…!”

“That was some Koutz footwork, yes? I can tell you were self-taught once, but you’ve polished it well. Tighten your balance on your turns, and it’ll get even sharper. Your name?”

“Tullio Rossi! And I am not done with you just yet!”

One hand on his brow, Rossi had already shifted directions, giving chase. Farquois retreated farther up the wall, to the top of it, and then the great sage’s feet carried them right onto the ceiling, such that they were dangling upside down. The students swore. This was far more difficult than walking on a wall, but they were forced to follow. While Ames and Rossi kept Farquois busy, Mistral used spatial magic to generate projections, all of which closed in on the sage’s back—but then Farquois’s finger pushed him backward.

“…Ack…!”

“You’re good with illusions? If you can do this with spatial magic alone, the spell version must be outstanding. You’ll have to demonstrate some time. Your name?”

“Dammit! Rosé Mistral.”

Unable to maintain Wall Walk further, Mistral fell from the ceiling. Without waiting for him to land, three new students used Ghost Ground in tandem, targeting Farquois. The sage’s robe spun in response, and a foot swept across the ceiling at their heels—two students fell away, and a finger struck the third’s brow.

“……!”

“Good teamwork. But those two can’t quite keep up with your moves. Are you soft on your friends? Always a temptation. Your name?”

“…Jasmine Ames, loath as I am to admit it.”

Reluctantly, she canceled her Wall Walk, falling away—and landing catlike on the floor below. Having seen that through, Farquois’s gaze swept the ceiling around them.

Naturally, not everyone was approaching in small groups. While the early birds had kept the sage busy, the others had formed ranks. The bulk of the students were now in formation around their target.

“You have me surrounded! Yes, the right choice.”

““Get ’em!””

Andrews and Albright gave the order as one, and dozens of students shot forward from every angle. They all thought they’d won; no matter how inhuman Farquois’s movements were, there was nowhere to go. They even had a group on the floor below, in case the sage canceled their Wall Walk.

But Farquois did not even attempt to dodge—they merely tapped the ceiling with their heel.

““““““““ ?!””””””””

The students’ soles collectively detached, and everyone around Farquois was put in free fall. Oliver had been watching from a distance, near the walls, and narrowed his eyes, analyzing this.

They took advantage of our unpolished technique. Poured mana into the ceiling around them, disrupting the elements, and making it hard for students to maintain the Wall Walk. Naturally, Farquois themself was unaffected. They were simply that much better at standing on the ceiling.

“Feel free to climb back up! I’m magnanimous. I’d never dream of saying you only get one shot at me.”

Farquois smiled gently down at the stunned crowd below. By now, everyone knew they’d be chasing Farquois’s shadow for the rest of class.

That notion proved well-founded, and time passed accordingly.

“…Hmm. Hmm? Hmm, hmm, hmm.”

On the ceiling above, the great sage nodded to themself. Far fewer students were still mobile than when the game of tag had begun. Moving around on the walls took a lot out of them, and the majority had surpassed their limits, and were on the floor, out of breath. But there were exceptions—and Farquois turned toward them.

“Seven of you are still able to Wall Walk. More than I expected! When it comes to physical movements alone, you are clearly the best your year offers.”

Arms folded, they offered praise, eyeing each face in turn.

“By this point I know who each of you must be. Nanao Hibiya, Chela McFarlane, Joseph Albright, and Ursule Valois, yes?” they said, pointing at the students they named. “Mr. Andrews and Ms. Ames gave me their names, so that much is obvious. Mr. Rossi—well done. Had you not lost your temper, I’m well aware you’d be here, too, don’t worry.”

Rossi was splayed flat across the floor overhead, but not forgotten. Oliver knew why—the others had played the long game and taken breaks appropriately, but Rossi had been all out from the get-go.

Having named six students, at last the sage turned to Oliver.

“And you, Mr. Horn. You’re a very careful boy. You didn’t let me touch you once. Something tells me it was your call that Ms. Hibiya and Ms. McFarlane weren’t particularly aggressive.”

“……”

Oliver offered only silence in return. Not once since the game had begun had he offered instructions in any form the eye could see. He’d done his best to avoid anything that would allow the sage to analyze him. But it seemed like he might as well have done things in plain sight.

“You really don’t want me touching you, hmm? No need for such caution. I am not your enemy—rather, I am your greatest ally. I hope you all realize that soon.”

Farquois’s lips curled, and they began walking across the ceiling. Everyone braced themselves; the game of tag was still afoot, and Farquois was still their target. That had allowed Oliver to keep his distance and observe. But if those roles were reversed…

The sound of a bell broke the mounting tension. Class was over, and Farquois’s mysterious magnetism dissipated.

“Still, that’s all we have time for. No credits given, but never fear—I know all your names and faces now. You are what all envy: pupils to the great sage.”

With a dazzling smile, Farquois dropped to the floor below and headed for the door. The few remaining students finally relaxed.

“…I am chagrined…”

“Jaz!”

“Stay with us!”

Ames had no strength with which to make a landing, and her companions were forced to catch her.

“…”

“Augh, Mistral!”

“The stress killed him!”

Mistral was flat on his face, nigh unconscious, and his friends hastened to help him up.

One eye on them, Farquois grinned—and their path took them past Pete, who was sitting exhausted with Katie and Guy.

“…Ah—”

“ ”

Pete’s eyes tracked the sage, but they moved right on by, not even sparing him a glance. The door slid closed, and Pete clenched his fists.

“One ’ell of a monster,” Rossi said, recovering enough to right himself. “Movements too polished! Even our faculty ’ave few at that level. I would imagine just Garland and Theodore, eh?”

“Yeah…and they only touched us when countering.”

“Had we pursued them more aggressively, none of us would still be standing. Deplorable.”

Andrews and Albright were clearly on the same page.

Ursule Valois swept past them. She was a pure Koutz practitioner and had gone toe-to-toe with Oliver’s team in the combat league the previous year.

“Postmortems? On your own time, please. I have better things to do.”

“Ah, Lady Ursule—!”

“Wait for us…!”

Her two exhausted retainers scrambled to follow her out. The rest of the crowd began to follow their lead.

Pete was still standing very still, and Oliver moved to his side.

“Pete—”

“Don’t fuss. I’m not chasing after them.”

Pete brushed off his hand and left the room. Oliver grimaced, before being joined by Chela and Nanao.

“…Farquois has yet to show any clear interest in Pete. Not that we can relax yet.”

“A fox in the flesh. It felt as if I was attempting to catch running water.”

The girls gave their impressions of Farquois, and Oliver nodded.

“Agreed on both counts. Yet, they are here to teach at Kimberly, so this should be no surprise. I’m more interested in what they said. To call out this school’s philosophy in so many words…”

His eyes narrowed. Even taking into consideration the great sage’s reputation and their backing of the Gnostic Hunters, such behavior was a clear risk to life and limb.

“I cannot read them,” Chela added. “Did they mean that? And if they did, to what extent?”