Arknights: The Scarlet Devil of Terra — Chapter 88

Chapter 88: Fremont

When Ch’en Hui-chieh processed the situation, she realized that Flandre Scarlet had been standing off to the side this entire time, watching her struggle to communicate with the locals with a beaming, thoroughly entertained smile. Heat rushed to the Lung’s cheeks, painting her face a brilliant shade of red.

In a sudden fit of exasperation, Ch’en reached out and pinched both of the little vampire’s soft cheeks, stretching them outward.

“Fine then! You were just standing there watching me make a fool of myself, weren’t you?”

“Flandre wasdn’t doing that~~~” the girl protested, her words slurring adorably around Ch’en’s pinching fingers.

After a brief, spirited game of tag through the autumn leaves of the park, Ch’en finally slowed her pace and smoothed out her jacket. She cleared her throat, returning to a more professional posture.

“Speaking of our itinerary,” Ch’en asked, glancing down at the diminutive girl. “Is there anywhere specific you want to go?”

A flash of genuine surprise crossed Flandre’s crimson eyes. “Why would Sister Ch’en ask that?”

Ch’en crossed her arms, a confident smirk playing on her lips. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to. I’m an inspector for the Special Inspection Unit. I’ve studied criminal psychology and micro-expressions. You kept asking about Zwölfton the entire way here, and the moment we arrived in the city, your eyes have been darting all over the place. It’s obvious you’re looking for something, someone, or some specific place.”

Flandre giggled, raising her hand high into the air as if volunteering in a classroom. “Hehe! Flandre wants to go to Eberholz-Ludwig University!”

“Eberholz-Ludwig University?” Ch’en tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I know of that institution. Among the exchange students who traveled from Leithanien to Lungmen in the past, several of the brightest came from there.”

Ch’en mentally reviewed the roster of Leithanien scholars who had attended Flandre’s impromptu lecture back in Lungmen. The vast majority of them had indeed carried the crest of Eberholz-Ludwig., their grasp of Originium Arts had been exceptionally high. Outside of the elite students from Yan’s Celestial Masters Mansion, they were among the very few who could actually keep up with the advanced theoretical discussions without becoming completely overwhelmed.

“Why do you want to go there?” Ch’en asked, already forming a logical conclusion. “Is it because of that lecture in Lungmen?”

“Something like that,” Flandre replied, her tone airy and noncommittal as she kicked a stray pebble. “Teachers who can produce students of that caliber must be very fun to play with.”

Having established a clear destination, the two of them handled the winding, musical streets of Zwölfton, occasionally stopping to ask for directions. Over an hour of walking through the crisp autumn air brought them to a set of massive, carefully wrought iron gates.

“So this is a Leithanien university?” Flandre tilted her head, her eyes wide as she took in the towering spires and gothic architecture. “It looks like it has a lot of history!”

“It certainly does,” Ch’en agreed, her gaze sweeping over the imposing entrance. She frowned slightly. “Now here is the real problem: how are we supposed to get inside?”

Instead of answering, Flandre grabbed Ch’en’s sleeve and dragged her into a nearby stationery shop. After purchasing a high-quality sheet of parchment, a fountain pen, and a wax-sealed envelope, the little vampire pulled Ch’en into a cozy dessert parlor next door. While Ch’en ordered a pair of pastries, Flandre sat at the small wooden table and happily scribbled away.

Once the ink dried, she slid the letter into the envelope, marched right up to the university’s main gate, and held it out to the heavily armored guard stationed at the checkpoint.

“Hello! Flandre has a letter here for Professor Fremont. Could you please help deliver it?”

Hearing that the correspondence was addressed directly to one of the university’s most esteemed professors, the guard immediately straightened his posture. He accepted the envelope with both hands, assuring the strange little girl that the campus messenger would deliver it to Professor Fremont’s personal office without delay. Satisfied, Flandre and Ch’en turned back toward their temporary lodgings.

“Are you really so sure that professor will agree to see you?” Ch’en asked, her brow furrowed in skepticism as they walked back through the city.

“Flandre isn’t entirely sure,” the girl hummed, swinging her arms cheerfully. “But you have to try to find out, right?”

Despite the casual dismissal, Flandre’s instincts told her the chances of a meeting were exceptionally high.

Sure enough, as evening fell over the city, a courier bearing the crest of Eberholz-Ludwig University arrived at the Ursus-bound caravan’s encampment, delivering a formal response.

Flandre waved the crisp, wax-sealed letter in front of Ch’en’s face. “See? Flandre was right!”

“It seems you really did get lucky,” Ch’en smiled, genuinely pleased by the outcome. She reached out and affectionately rubbed Flandre’s cheek. “The invitation is set for tomorrow afternoon. Let’s make sure we don’t forget our manners.”

At that exact moment, high within the towering spires of the Zwillingstürme, a perfect copy of Flandre’s handwritten letter materialized on the polished mahogany desks of the Twin Empresses.

“That little Vampire from Lungmen has appeared in Zwölfton, traveling alongside a caravan bound for Ursus.”

The Black Empress, Herkunftshorn, sat upon her throne, her voice a chilling, melodic drawl that echoed through the grand chamber. “Someone, bring me the latest intelligence reports on the Ursus Empire.”

A servant silently presented a stack of dossiers. Herkunftshorn skimmed the documents, her eyes narrowing in disdain.

“Hmph. Typical Ursus incompetence. A noble count is slaughtered within their own borders, and the state apparatus hasn’t made a single sound. And this… Reunion Movement?” She scoffed softly. “It is actually quite convenient to have such a violent organization of Infected drawing the Ursus military’s attention in the frozen north. Send down the orders: as long as the supplies Lungmen funnels to this Reunion Movement do not contain anything detrimental to Leithanien’s interests, border control is to allow them through unhindered.”

Herkunftshorn tossed the intelligence report onto the table, a cold laugh escaping her lips.

“Do we need to intervene and stop their meeting?” Evgenya’s voice drifted from the opposite side of the grand chamber, smooth and unreadable.

“Would you stop it?” Herkunftshorn countered.

“I would not.”

“Well, then. Look at what the creature has written here.” Herkunftshorn picked up the copied letter, reading aloud with a mocking lilt. “‘Flandre has heard that Eberholz-Ludwig University is a Leithanien institution with a long history and the deepest research into Originium Arts. Flandre had a very fun exchange with your students in Lungmen, and Flandre hopes to meet the teacher who taught such excellent toys on this visit.’ How delightfully polite.”

The Black Empress’s tone dripped with aristocratic sarcasm. The implication was clear: if a foreign dignitary of such terrifying power came knocking under the guise of an academic exchange, refusing her entry would make the Twin Empresses appear cowardly and petty.

Evgenya did not reply, allowing a heavy, calculated silence to settle over the room.

Herkunftshorn set the letter down, her gaze hardening. “Keep a close eye on them. As long as they do not overstep their boundaries or cause a massacre, leave them be.”

In the deep shadows near the edge of the room, a concealed Royal Guard bowed deeply before vanishing into thin air.

The following morning, the golden sunlight of autumn bathed the streets of Zwölfton. After finishing a hearty breakfast, Flandre and Ch’en stepped out to explore the city proper.

They were not the only ones; several other members of the caravan had also taken to the streets. The autumn scenery in Leithanien was simply too stunning to ignore. Golden leaves drifted through the air, and the distant sound of classical instruments drifted from open windows. Since the caravan was scheduled to rest for a few more days, staying cooped up indoors would have been a tragic waste of time.

By noon, the pair arrived at the towering iron gates of Eberholz-Ludwig University.

Ch’en presented the formal invitation they had received the previous night. The guards inspected the seal, nodded respectfully, and pushed the heavy gates open.

Waiting just inside the courtyard was a young man in a pristine student uniform. He perked up the moment he saw them.

“Greetings to you both. My name is Levi. Professor Fremont instructed me to escort you to his private office.”

“That’s wonderful,” Flandre beamed, clapping her hands together. “It saves Flandre from having to ask for directions all over again! By the way, this is our first time here. Could you tell us about the school while we walk?”

“Of course!” Levi’s chest puffed out with unmistakable pride. “Our Eberholz-Ludwig University is the absolute best complete university in all of Leithanien, and without a doubt the strongest!”

The young student was a walking encyclopedia of campus trivia. As he guided them through the sprawling grounds, he pointed out historical statues, famous lecture halls, and the complex Originium Arts arrays woven into the very architecture. A walk that should have taken a brisk ten minutes stretched into a leisurely half-hour tour.

Neither Flandre nor Ch’en minded the delay. The academic gossip and historical tidbits Levi shared were fascinating, offering a rare glimpse into the heart of Leithanien’s magical society.

Eventually, the trio arrived at the base of an imposing, ancient stone tower that seemed to hum with latent Originium energy.

“Professor Fremont is inside,” Levi said, gesturing toward the heavy oak doors. “Please, go right in.”

Flandre noticed the student taking a step back. She blinked, tilting her head. “Aren’t you coming up to play with us?”

Levi shook his head quickly. “The professor only instructed me to bring you to the entrance. He strictly forbade me from going up. Once you step inside, there is only one spiral staircase leading up. The second floor is his private reception room. You can wait for him there.”

“Thank you for your hard work,” Ch’en said, offering the student a polite nod. She took Flandre’s small hand, and together, they pushed open the heavy doors and stepped into the dim, echoing interior of the tower.

They ascended the spiraling stone steps. When they reached the second floor and opened the door to the reception room, they found a figure already waiting for them.

The man stood with his back to the entrance. Across the room, a modern television set was quietly playing the recorded footage of Flandre’s impromptu Originium Arts lecture back in Lungmen.

Hearing the click of the door, the man turned around. His piercing, ancient eyes locked onto Flandre, scrutinizing her with a heavy, calculating weight.

“I didn’t expect a mere brat to possess such absurd skill,” the man rasped, his voice dry as dust. “Although much of the theoretical content you spouted consists of outdated ideas from decades ago, to be able to integrate them to such a flawless degree… I must admit, you are indeed a monster of a genius.”

Taking in the man’s incredibly thin, almost skeletal frame and the sharp goatee on his chin, Flandre instantly recognized him. This was the legendary Lich himself, Professor Fremont.

“Good afternoon, Professor!” Flandre greeted cheerfully, speaking in fluent, ancient Sarkaz.

Fremont’s eyes narrowed slightly at the sound of his native tongue. “As I suspected. It means absolutely nothing good when a brat like you comes seeking me out. I will warn you right now: this entire tower is being watched by the Empresses’ hounds. If there is even the slightest misstep in your words or actions today, I guarantee you will not be leaving this city alive.”

Fremont punctuated his threat with a cold, dismissive snort.

Flandre wasn’t the least bit intimidated by his hostile aura. Instead, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a standard video cassette tape.

“Professor Fremont, Flandre brought a video for you to watch! Flandre hopes you can take a look and see if there are any silly mistakes in the operations shown. Also, with your big brain, could you help us figure out a better solution?”

Fremont eyed the tape suspiciously before snatching it from her hand. He slotted it into the nearby media player and switched the television input.

The screen flickered to life, displaying the grainy, recorded footage of Flandre, Ch’en, and Logos performing their highly volatile, makeshift “surgery” on Talulah to extract the Deathless Black Snake’s influence.

Fremont did not utter a single word. He simply crossed his arms over his chest and watched the entire harrowing procedure in absolute, dead silence.

When the tape finally clicked to a halt, the ancient Lich closed his eyes. He stood there, motionless, pondering the sheer insanity of what he had just witnessed for a long time.

Finally, he exhaled a long, ragged breath.

“I have to admit… the sheer, suicidal boldness of you youngsters has vastly exceeded my imagination.” Fremont opened his eyes, glaring at the blank screen. “From the structural flow of those Incantations, and the raw, unrefined application of that little Banshee’s magic, I can tell this was your very first time attempting something of this magnitude.”

He turned to face them, shaking his head. “To dare to play around with a soul-binding curse like this on your first try… your arrogance is one thing, but the infected girl you were casting the spell on was equally insane to allow it. I can only say your luck is mathematically miraculous.”

Fremont snapped his fingers. A wave of Originium Arts rippled through the room, and a large chalkboard glided across the floor, stopping right beside the television.

“First, let us dissect the Incantations drawn across the walls of that room,” Fremont lectured, his academic instincts entirely overriding his caution. He picked up a wooden pointer. “The dense, overlapping arrays certainly look intimidating to a layman, but there is at least a twenty percent redundancy in the structural pathways. Then, look at these specific nodes here, and here. They provided absolutely zero stabilization effect. In fact, they acted as a massive magical drag on the entire array’s cycle, nearly causing a feedback loop.”

Fremont began writing furiously on the chalkboard, mapping out the flawed spell arrays from the video and aggressively correcting them with highly advanced, elegant solutions.

Flandre stood nearby, nodding repeatedly. Every so often, her eyes would widen in genuine realization as the Lich effortlessly untangled magical knots she had struggled with.

Ch’en, meanwhile, had quietly pulled out a handheld voice recorder, carefully documenting every single word and diagram the professor produced. Fremont noticed the Lung’s actions out of the corner of his eye, but he made no move to stop her.

Truthfully, after witnessing the raw, terrifying potential displayed in that video, the ancient Lich felt a rare, burning desire to actually teach them.

By the time Fremont finished tearing apart their Rune placements, more than half an hour had vanished.

He tapped the pointer against the frozen image on the television screen, specifically pointing at the young Sarkaz caster who was preparing to weave his spells.

“Now,” Fremont demanded, his tone dropping an octave. “What exactly is the relationship between this little fellow and the Banshee King?”

“His name is Logos,” Flandre answered cheerfully, deliberately withholding his true, inherited title. “He is the only male Banshee in the entire Valley, and he is that Banshee King’s child.”