Chapter 83

Lucas watched from behind his thick-rimmed glasses with a sense of relief as Elma was scolded by Irene and tucked her suspicious medicine back into her cloth bag.

‘Well done, Irene.’

Having been briefed on the situation, Irene had taken Lucas’s intent to heart and was now working meticulously to prevent an “Elma-massacre.” Even now, seeing Irene sternly lecturing Elma—who looked quite dissatisfied about being forced to hide her chemical concoction—Lucas sent a silent round of applause from the janitor’s breakroom.

Elma’s movements were always unpredictable. No matter how much Lucas tried to use his position as a janitor to control the situation, if she resorted to brute-force methods like “chemistry,” his “Plan for Ordinariness” would instantly collapse.

‘This time… in this mission alone, I cannot allow Elma to stand out.’

Lucas gripped the railing, his arms tensing as he watched the stage.

Just then, Elma—seemingly convinced by Irene—stared intently at the candidate next to her. It was the girl rumored to be the top Holy Maiden candidate, Chloe. Elma gave a nod as if reaching an understanding. Apparently, she had decided to give up on achieving Holy Maiden-level results through chemicals and instead try her hand at singing, following her neighbor’s example.

She lightly touched her throat and clasped her hands toward the pot.

‘Compared to the medicine, this approach is at least more subdued…’

Lucas watched the series of actions with a modicum of peace. Elma’s singing voice had been enough to seduce a swarm of demon moths the other day, but he was certain that this time, it wouldn’t lead to any significant results.

‘Because… her singing voice is likely a demonic voice that seduces and corrupts.’

In this place, under the heavy protection of the main deity Aurelle—and especially in this academy, which was considered sacred ground—her abilities should be weakened. Lucas held his breath, watching Elma from a distance as she stood in the arena.

She gazed down at the pot and began to hum something. Her voice was lost in the distance and the noise of the crowd, but it was clear she was singing quietly. However, unlike the incident with the demon moths, there was no noticeable movement in the pot.

While it was a disgrace for a knight to rejoice in the failure of others, Lucas at this moment felt a deep sense of relief and quietly clenched his fist.

‘Good.’

The truth was, to be absolutely certain, he had personally sabotaged the seedling in the pot given to her by plucking out its roots. In other words, what was stuck in that pot was less a seedling and more a mere blade of grass. While it was common knowledge that plants grew better when exposed to music, even if Elma showered it with a pure healing voice rather than magical power, there was no way a seedling with no roots would grow.

It was already a life that had completely expired.

Elma continued to sing. Perhaps conscious of the neighboring candidate’s style, she clasped her hands and spun her song with a gentle movement of her lips, looking for all the world like a pure young girl.

It must have been a beautiful melody. Irene and the neighboring candidate were listening with entranced expressions. However, Elma seemed to feel a lack of response and tilted her head in confusion.

‘Perfect. Her failure is proceeding smoothly.’

Elma stopped singing and closed her mouth. She stared intently at the pot, then glanced around at her surroundings.

The other candidates, excluding Elma and Chloe, were now in a state that could only be described as “frenzied,” dancing or chanting sacred words. Some had their hair in disarray, their makeup was running, and their elaborate costumes were coming undone. Even so, perhaps due to the difficulty of controlling their abilities, many of their pots showed weeds growing around the plant rather than the seedling itself. Occasionally, frustrated cries could be heard: “No! I want to grow the seedling, not the weeds!”

Looking at them, Elma whispered something to herself. Lucas wasn’t an expert in lip-reading, but to him, it looked like she muttered:

—The big picture.

‘The big picture…?’

While Lucas tilted his head in confusion, Elma suddenly did something unexpected: she took off her glasses.

“…!?”

Ignoring the stir in the venue, she rubbed her face vigorously, completely revealing her beautiful skin. Then, she reached into her bun and shook it loose, letting her hair fall in a tumble. She even hooked her fingers into the collar of her uniform and disheveled it.

“Wait…!”

Loose, wavy black hair draped over her white neck and slender shoulders. Her moist eyes held a mysterious color, like the dawn sky. In her perfectly sculpted face, only her lips—rubbed roughly just moments ago—looked strangely red.

Standing there was a girl with disheveled hair whose presence was impossible to ignore. Her plain white student uniform served only to emphasize the bewitching aura she exuded—she was a demonic beauty.

“Wait… you…!”

Lucas kicked his chair aside and made to rush toward the arena, but it was already too late.

Elma looked down at the pot and, as if her previous quiet singing was a lie, she suddenly threw her arms wide. In an instant, the atmosphere she projected shifted dramatically.

Then—

—Ah…!

Like a prima donna on stage, she began to perform a magnificent song with exaggerated gestures, her hair swaying wildly.

—Come to me, come now…

No, rather than a “songstress,” she was like a courtesan. Or perhaps, a queen. Her voice was sensuous, arrogant, and powerful—the voice of someone who held no doubt that everything would submit to her.

“—Fast, faster still, come now!”

It was a voice so sweet, so saccharine, it felt as though it were melting one’s very brain.

“…Now!”

The Queen’s “Command” resonated through the air.

Simultaneously, the spectators, including Lucas, noticed a strange sound.

Rumble… rumble…

It certainly wasn’t the singing voice.

It wasn’t the stir of the crowd, either; it was something closer to thunder—

A tremor.

The next moment—

CRASH!

“Kyaaaaaaaa!”

“Waaaaagh!”

With a deafening roar, the cobblestones shattered.

The spectators leaped from their seats in unison, clinging to one another. Lucas instinctively reached for a weapon, but for a moment, he forgot to move as he witnessed the impossible sight before him.

Beyond the cracked stones.

All around the beautifully furnished spectator stands.

From every patch of ground where soil peeked through, every conceivable form of plant life was growing with terrifying momentum.

Trees, roots, flowers, leaves, vines.

Like the limbs of a magical beast, they swelled with a ferocious speed, swallowing their surroundings.

A particularly massive tree root tore across the stone floor, splitting it in two, while flowering vines crawled over its surface.

Mysteriously avoiding the people and shattering the cobblestones as they went, the plants surged toward a single destination—the pot Elma was looking down upon.

The plants that had “assembled” while growing surrounded the pot like a disciplined army, then came to a dead halt.

In the pot, the seedling still lay slumped against the dirt—but rather than a mere scrap of grass, it now looked like the silent remains of a fallen emperor.

With that, the singing Elma slowly lowered her hands and opened her mouth.

“—Oh, no. I wanted to grow the seedling, not the weeds.”

The glasses she had removed and placed face-down on the floor glinted for some reason.

Elma’s face looked almost proud.

She spun around and raised her eyebrows at Irene.

The meaning behind that look—unfortuately for Lucas and Irene, they understood it perfectly—was:

This is “ordinary” enough, right?

“…!”

“…!”

Lucas and Irene both trembled, their faces turning bone-white.

To make matters worse, Elma delivered a smiling follow-up.

“If I had used the chemicals, I could have grown just the seedling with high precision. But choosing an organic method that bleeds desperation—accidentally growing everything else in the process—feels much more like the part, doesn’t it? I feel like I finally understand. Irene, thank you truly for always giving me such good advice.”

The two realized that by stripping Elma of her chemicals, they had inadvertently made the situation far worse.

Even so, they wondered: why did choosing a “natural” method over chemicals result in a “supernatural” phenomenon?

Was she mocking them? Was this spite?

An overwhelming sense of desperation welled up within them, leaving both speechless.

“…You…!”

“You…?”

After a silence that lasted about three breaths.

By some strange coincidence, Irene and Lucas released a cry from their souls at the exact same moment.

“You idiooooooot!”