Chapter 157
In Professor Gideon Rutherford's laboratory at Minerva, an academy for training mages, a girl wrote a paper, her quill moving across the page.
The girl's name was Monica Everett. She had a messy braid and a gaunt frame.
Now fourteen, she was one of Minerva's few scholarship students, exempt from regular classes and permitted to pursue her own research in the laboratory.
"…I did it."
Having finished her paper, Monica returned her quill to its stand and looked over what she had written.
Her paper on applied formulas for wide-area magic had turned out quite well, if she said so herself.
Monica's sleep-deprived eyes, ringed with dark circles, gleamed as she let out an eerie little chuckle.
Just then, her thin stomach gave a loud rumble. Remembering that she hadn't eaten breakfast, Monica glanced at the clock and stared in surprise. It was already nearly evening. No wonder she was hungry.
(I have to go to the dining hall…)
She knew that in her head, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to go.
Ever since she'd mastered silent-casting magic and become a scholarship student, people had started paying attention to Monica.
The whispers calling her a "genius girl" were always filled with curiosity and malice.
Just being stared at frightened her, and running into Hubbard Dee would be the worst. He'd grab her by the scruff of her neck and drag her off to the magic battle practice grounds.
(I don't want to leave my room.)
Going to the dining hall, let alone walking down the hall, felt like too much for Monica right now.
Monica slid her paper to one side, slumped over her desk, and pressed her cheek against the writing surface. Maybe, if she stayed like this, sleep would come.
She could forget her hunger if she fell asleep… Thinking that, Monica glanced at the paper she'd set aside.
"Do you think Bernie will say it's amazing if I show him this...?"
Ever since she became a scholarship student, she'd grown distant from Bernie.
Whenever she spotted him in the hallway, she wanted to talk to him, but he was usually with other people, and Monica always lost her nerve.
Bernie was Monica's only friend, but she wasn't Bernie's only friend.
(If Bernie were with me, I wouldn't mind going to the dining hall.)
At the dining hall, Bernie would order for Monica when the crowd swept her along and she couldn't manage it herself, or save her a seat. Monica couldn't even manage those little things on her own.
While she agonized over whether the people nearby would mind if she sat in a certain seat, or think she ought to move over, the seats would fill up.
As she grew depressed over her own inadequacy, she heard the door open behind her. Was it Professor Rutherford?
Whenever Monica slumped over her desk, Professor Rutherford would grind his knuckles into her head and scold her. "Don't sleep at your desk. Go sleep in your room."
So Monica slowly raised her upper body and turned around… then her eyes widened.
The person who had entered the room was not Professor Rutherford.
"Oh, are you one of my master's research students?"
Standing near the entrance was a woman of average height and build. She looked to be in her mid-to-late twenties.
She wore no makeup, and her reddish-brown hair, long enough to reach her back, was tied carelessly behind her neck.
She wore worn travel clothes. Her sturdy-looking boots and backpack were as well-used as her clothes. She looked like a field researcher.
The woman looked around the room and asked Monica, who was frozen in her chair.
"My master—um, do you know when Professor Rutherford will be back?"
Monica, stiff as a board, gave a small shake of her head.
The woman didn't seem offended by Monica's attitude and spoke in a friendly manner.
"Hmm, then would it be all right if I waited here until my master gets back? It'd be a bit of a hassle if one of the other professors saw me."
Unable to say yes or no, Monica simply lowered her head in her chair and fidgeted with her fingers.
(W-what should I do? Should I leave the room? That'd be better, right?)
Half of her thought the woman would surely feel uncomfortable with someone like her there. The other half couldn't bear being alone with a stranger.
Acting on those feelings, Monica stood up to leave the room—and suddenly grew dizzy, collapsing flat on the floor.
"Hgyuu?!"
After her shriek, her stomach gave a pitiful rumble.
The woman came over, asking, "Are you all right?" and offered Monica a hand.
"S-sor... s-sorry... I... I..."
The woman didn't laugh at Monica, whose speech was even more garbled than usual from embarrassment, panic, and hunger.
"Are you hungry? Just wait a moment."
With that, the woman took a small pot from her travel bag and sloshed water from a waterskin into it.
Then she used a shortened incantation to light the experimental stove and set the pot of water on it.
"Oh, is this pot over here one you used for an experiment? Are you done with it?"
The woman was looking at the ceramic pot set to one side of the stove. Monica had used it for an experiment and put off washing it, so grime was caked onto it.
"I won't be using it anymore."
"Then I'll fill it with hot water so it'll be easier to wash."
The woman used a shortened incantation to kindle another fire. There were now two flames on the stove.
The tiny flame spell, fixed in place, burned quietly on without any firewood.
(This woman is good at using magic.)
Being able to use shortened incantations was proof of skill, but on top of that, not a trace of mana was wasted in her control. It was beautiful mana manipulation, like a textbook example.
As Monica watched in a daze, the woman uttered another shortened incantation.
(…Huh?)
Monica couldn't help looking at the flames on the stove. There were two magical fires burning there.
Each had been created with a separate incantation—in other words, the woman was currently maintaining two spells.
In that state, she shouldn't have been able to use magic without dismissing one of the flames.
But when the woman finished her shortened incantation, a bubble of water floated above the grimy ceramic pot, then streamed into it.
(Did she just use three spells? Wait, what?)
"This pot's for cleaning off the grime, so we won't be drinking from it. Mana-refined water will do."
As she murmured and pointed at the dirty pot, the water inside began to swirl around. As it warmed, the grime gradually came off.
While maintaining all three spells, the woman took dried herbs and mushrooms from her bag and tossed them into the clean pot.
Finally, she took out a white, stick-shaped object wrapped in tree bark. It seemed to be dough made by kneading wheat, shaping it into a stick, and drying it.
The woman shaved it into thin slices with a knife and plopped them into the pot.
(S-she's cooking while using magic…)
The woman did it as if it were nothing, but maintaining even the most basic magic required a fair amount of concentration.
And yet the woman carried on cooking deftly, as though maintaining magic were no big deal.
Before long, the pot began to simmer, and the pleasant scent of herbs filled the air.
"Ah, this brings back memories. I used to cook for myself here all the time when I was a student… Oh, better go easy on the salt. Apparently, my food's much too salty for other people's tastes."
Since she'd said she was a student, this woman must have attended Minerva.
But Monica's honest impression was that she didn't seem much like a Minerva student.
Most people at Minerva came from noble families, and many were proud and difficult, or had the temperament of researchers. Of course, there were exceptions—and Monica herself wasn't from a noble family.
There was a slight accent in the woman's speech, and she didn't have the air of a noblewoman.
"There, it's ready. It's just made with whatever I had on hand."
The woman took a small spoon and bowl from her bag, ladled out some soup, and offered it to Monica.
"Th-thank you... th-thank you very much..."
Her words were so mangled they barely counted as thanks, but the woman smiled gently and simply said, "Careful, it's hot."
Monica blew on it several times, then sipped the soup.
It was only seasoned with salt, but the dried mushrooms made a good stock, and it was delicious.
The lumps of shaved wheat dough were chewy and surprisingly filling.
Huffing softly as she chewed the chunks of dough, Monica glanced sideways at the pot.
With two flames still burning and the swirling water made from mana, she couldn't help thinking the woman was using three spells at once. But even an advanced mage was supposed to be limited to maintaining two spells at a time.
(There was only one person in this country who could maintain more than that…)
It was then that Monica finally realized.
Hadn't this woman called Rutherford her master?
Among Professor Gideon Rutherford's students, there was the young commander of the Magic Corps, 〈Barrier Mage〉 Louis Miller, and one other…
A former member of the Seven Sages, hailed as a great genius who could wield seven spells at once.
"…〈Star-Spear Witch〉-sama?"
"Carla Maxwell. Call me Carla. I'm not very good with anything too formal."
Saying that, Carla put a slender hand-rolled cigarette between her lips, lit it with magic, and took a satisfied puff.
After exhaling a plume of smoke, she used a shortened incantation to control the wind, keeping it from blowing toward Monica.
According to Professor Rutherford, Carla was a wanderer at heart who rarely stayed in one place for more than a week.
The first time they'd met, she'd cooked Monica a meal, chatted with Professor Rutherford, and then promptly set out on another journey.
While Monica was studying at Minerva, Carla would occasionally drop by the laboratory.
Whenever Carla saw Monica, she'd give her unusual fruits and nuts as souvenirs or tell her about what she'd seen on her travels. Sometimes she even advised Monica on her research.
As far as Monica knew, Carla Maxwell was a true genius, one of the two most powerful people in the country.
And yet, she was a friendly, approachable big sister.
That was the 〈Star-Spear Witch〉, Carla Maxwell, as Monica knew her.