Chapter 897 — In the Academy
Blade of Dawn · Page 1 of 4
The afternoon sun shone brilliantly over the plaza, and the metal emblem atop the main teaching building glittered with a radiant gleam. Fendil walked among the students hurrying to their classes, crossing together with everyone else the long, gentle ramp that led to the main teaching building. He wore a brand-new uniform of the Imperial Academy's cadet corps, and the decorative fine chain near his collar and the brass buttons on his clothes sparkled in the sunlight.
Among the students coming and going on the ramp, some wore "cadet uniforms" similar to his own, modeled after the regular army's service dress, while others wore the uniforms of other colleges—the seekers of knowledge strode through the Empire's highest seat of learning with heads held high and pride in their bearing. Among them were young people like Fendil, but also gray-haired middle-aged men, and even elders on whose faces wrinkles had already gathered.
"So you chose the cadet division in the end," came Ilaven's voice from beside him. "I thought you'd at least give the magitech division another try before this winter..."
Fendil turned his head and saw the son of the Western Duke, clad in the uniform of the magitech division. The blue uniform, a blend of mechanical and magical symbols, made this old friend—already somewhat bookish by nature—seem all the more refined.
"Your new uniforms aren't bad either," Fendil said with a smile, then shook his head with a touch of self-mockery. "I'll pass... I know what I have a knack for and what I'm hopeless at. If you wanted me to fight people with magic, that I could do, or even some not-too-advanced mathematics and natural philosophy, but you put me with machines... I'd rather go hunt bears on the icefield. My aunt must have known that when she sent me here—she didn't even make me take remedial courses in mechanics..."
Ilaven looked at him for a long while, and could only shake his head helplessly in the end. "...I've always admired your optimism."
"Haha... don't be so serious. I'd hate to graduate as an officer candidate only to find you've turned into a bookworm," Fendil laughed heartily. "And you're already showing signs of it!"
Ilaven clearly couldn't be bothered with the Northern heir's rather unremarkable sense of humor. He only thought it over seriously, then sighed. "These days we have even fewer chances to see Filum—he's handling almost everything at the shadow-picture company alone."
"...We all have our own affairs to attend to in the end," Fendil said, shaking his head. "But it's too early to talk about that—we've only taken on a heavier course load than before. We're not yet at the point where we must take up duties in the army or the civil administration. There are still at least two fine years of academy life waiting for us—and until then, we can still show our faces at the shadow-picture company as much as we like."
"True enough," Ilaven nodded, and glanced at the seekers of knowledge passing to and fro on the ramp not far off—whether formal students who had already donned their division uniforms or freshmen in the basic uniform, every face he saw was confident and proud, which set him thinking. "Filum told me once that he has a wish. Once the shadow-play matures, once more and more people accept and acknowledge this new thing, he wants to found a dedicated discipline—to teach others how to make shadow-plays, how to perform, how to create... just as the scholars lecture here at the Imperial Academy..."
"He really does have some original ideas," Fendil said, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "I never even thought of that!"
"Indeed, no one has ever done anything like it... so much knowledge is passed down within families or from master to apprentice, but Filum seems to think it should be systematically organized like the knowledge taught in the academy..." Ilaven said, shrugging. "Perhaps he'll succeed?"