prof end

Erich von Dalberg was the School of Daybreak’s top polemurge and a great authority on phantasmal research; he was also one of the biggest troublemakers in a cadre already famous for causing trouble.

To begin with, he inherited a great deal of negative renown from his direct master: the infamous Agrippina du Stahl, who herself had been awarded her long-awaited professorship ten years ago—though she had seemed horrendously displeased during the ceremony.

Furthermore, his notably short temper whenever his sister Elisa von Romhild was concerned had caused no shortage of incidents. At times, he’d claimed that another’s gestures and flirtations were, quote, “ungentlemanly.” When a magus had once asked Romhild to cooperate for a study on changelings, he’d interrogated the poor soul on what the research entailed. And of course, it went without saying that the moron who’d claimed “dirty mixed bloods shouldn’t walk the same halls as us” hadn’t gotten away unscathed.

Any mention of his sister threatened to bring the broad-minded professor’s boiling point down to absolute zero; every time, his glove flew into the offender’s face—though proper etiquette was to throw it at their feet—faster than a whistling arrow.

Dalberg’s storied dueling record had brought more men to their knees than one could count on their fingers and toes. As of late, people had counterintuitively begun picking fights with him just to show their strength in a public setting. A normal magus would reprimand such an idiotic pretense for combat, but the lunatic invariably accepted their challenges with a smile; according to him, it was good to see the young ones so lively.

Furthermore, he was the exact opposite of the cooped-up recluse he called a mentor. His wanderlust was no mere love of travel; otherwise, his fellow magia would not so derisively refer to Sir Vagabond as they did.

When a new phantasmal entity was discovered in the west, he flew from his office to sketch it. When he heard news of pre-imperial ruins in the north, he vanished to secure historical artifacts. When the wreck of a sunken treasure vessel was found in the south, he threw all his plans out the window. When a new ichor maze popped up in the east, he teleported away without a moment’s delay. The so-called professor wasn’t just light on his feet; he was practically an adventurer.

It was a feat for him to spend two total months out of the whole year in Berylin. He attended obligatory lectures with farsight and familiars, and held all of his own with thought transfers and telekinetic blackboards. The College couldn’t sack him when he fulfilled all his responsibilities, but magia from every sect wondered why he didn’t just quit and become a full-time adventurer.

What was worse, his connections at the top made him impossible to snuff out politically. Although he rarely participated in noble power games, he famously drove anyone who opposed him into the dirt.

On top of that, if he took a liking to another magus—whether professor or student—he was liable to whisk them away on one of his lengthy adventures on a whim, further angering their superiors and fellow researchers.

Despite their many professional research obligations, Professor Sponheim was one of the usual (willing) victims. Naturally, all those who relied on the tivisco for their work absolutely abhorred Dalberg and his antics. Unfortunately, those he spirited away always seemed eager about the journey, and their support of Sir Vagabond only made the situation harder to deal with...

Why, then, you may ask, did these disgruntled professors not conspire together to overpower his political protections? Alas, Dalberg’s contributions to the field of magic were undoubtedly substantial; to expel him would lead to no shortage of academic issues.

Then why not simply kill him, you say. As previously mentioned, the battle junkie had no losses on his record, and was well regarded as a Daybreak polemurge, making this next to impossible.

The previous emperor had paved a large road to facilitate eastern trade, and one of the small nations adjacent to it had risen up against the Empire not too long ago. Dalberg had been tossed into the fray as the initial imperial response, and his work was unforgettable.

He’d posted up just in front of the enemy capital and used a homebrewed spell to reduce the area to a desert of glass; all that had remained were hot cinders raining back down to the cracked earth. Afterwards, he’d said, “Give me your leader’s head or the capital is next,” and that was it for the rebellion. He’d received a medal directly from the Emperor for his accomplishments, and those who witnessed his might spoke of the Ashbringer with fear and awe.

Dalberg had never lost a fair fight and could bring down a small country with raw power. To add insult to injury, he used forgotten space-bending magic to hop around to his heart’s content, and also as an impenetrable shield. When those who plotted his death asked “How do we even kill this thing?” they were forced to give up for a lack of solutions.

As a result, Erich von Dalberg had become one of the untouchables of the Imperial College of Magic. People spoke of him like they did an alf, warning others not to draw his attention lest he spirit them away—though perhaps that was a sarcastic jab at how his fellow professor-cum-sister followed him around like an assistant.

“Ah...” Sponheim said. “Well, don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll come home right away this time. I haven’t heard anything, and Miss Romhild is holding her opening lecture today. If he’s running away from Lady Leizniz, then he’ll be back within the month.”

“Why does he have to run from the dean of our own cadre? She’s so nice! Professor Leizniz even gives me pretty clothes. I don’t get it!”

Mika von Sponheim had all the intellect needed to become a professor, but they were at a loss for what to say to the young girl. Explaining that a man nearing thirty would rather abandon his apprentice than let his dean dress him up was easy, but ruining their best friend’s master-disciple relationship simply wasn’t an option...