"My lord, you're overthinking this. No one refuses money. For a mage, to practice their art requires buying rare tomes, vast quantities of reagents to refine one's craft, and if one wants to research a particular subject, an enormous sum is needed to prepare materials and facilities. Money is a problem that even the strongest human mage cannot escape." Winton smiled faintly.
"She can't possibly be a demon that use curse system, who strengthen their magic through slaughter. She must lack money too."
"I understand. But—" Byron frowned slightly. He recalled the arrogant figure at the banquet, purple hair, proud bearing, who never once removed her hat. "Even if she desires wealth, would she really betray her principles for such a small temptation?"
"My Lord, the new Director herself may not lack money, but the Magic Association has so many mouths waiting to be fed, they will always be short of money."
At this, Graf Byron shot him a glance.
"You're seeking profit for yourself, aren't you?"
"How could I?"
"Don't think I don't know. If donations are reported to headquarters, your branch can skim some off, distributing it as salaries among the members."
"Graf Byron sees clearly."
"Spare me the excuses. I don't care how much you profit. What I care about is whether the Association can be bought."
"Of course. Mage are human too—double their wages and who wouldn't be pleased? Even those indifferent to money will care when the headquarters sends more materials because of the donations. They'll absolutely support it."
Byron finally eased a little at Winton's reply.
As long as they found a crack in the Association, the nobility could gradually erode it, until the branch became their power.
At that point, the new Director would be nothing but a lone commander—no matter her strength, she'd have no choice but to cooperate.
Graf Konrad had already tried to buy her with authority and was rebuffed. Now Byron would try with wealth. He refused to believe there existed any human raised in society who cared for neither power nor riches.
All humans growing up among society's temptations inevitably fell prey to these two desires. Only some wild beast, born in the deep mountains and gnawing raw flesh, could reject both.
"But what if she refuses?" Although he was certain in his heart, Graf Byron still had a bad premonition.
"Even if the Director herself scorns wealth, others in the branch will not. For their own benefit, they'll side with us. Even a she can't cover the sky with one hand."
——————————
Aura walked slowly through the long, drafty corridors of the Association's Academy, her steps echoing on the cracked stone floor. Dust floated in shafts of sunlight that streamed through windows with panes long since dulled by grime.
She peeked into each classroom in turn.
The first room she glanced into was meant to be a lecture hall for basic spell theory. Dozens of wooden desks stood in crooked rows, many with one leg shorter than the rest, forcing students to wedge stones or folded parchment beneath them. The chalkboard at the front was split through the middle, forcing the old instructor to write only on the edges while avoiding the jagged crack that cut across it. The air smelled faintly of mildew.
Aura's frown deepened.
'Isn't this too broken?'
She moved on.
The next room was meant for alchemy practice, but the equipment was shamefully outdated—rusted cauldrons patched with iron clamps, chipped mortar and pestles, and cracked glass beakers that had clearly been in use for decades. The apprentices inside struggled to grind dried herbs with tools that barely held together, and one boy flinched as his cracked flask suddenly burst, spilling liquid all over his robe. Aura pressed her lips together, resisting the urge to sigh aloud.
Unlike the association's departments that appear to be impressive from the outside, the truly important educational venue, where magic apprentices attend classes, is in a dilapidated state. Not only are the various instruments damaged and have not been replaced for many years, but the floor and walls are also peeling off.
Clearly shoddy construction from the beginning.
'Where had the budget from headquarters gone? What's the point of just building a facade?'
'Could a fancy exterior produce good students?'
Finally, she reached the cafeteria.
It was large, but bleak and lifeless.
The ceiling beams were smoke-stained, the long wooden benches scarred with old knife marks. Apprentices sat in silence, eating bowls of watery soup or dry bread, their faces expressionless as if the monotony had crushed any expectation of joy.
'Especially the cafeteria! That needed fixing most of all.'
She took a seat at one of the benches, folding her arms over the table before finally ordering a tray. The server returned with a plate of mashed potatoes piled high like a small hill and a bowl of carrot soup.
At first, Aura attacked the plate with her usual vigor, scooping up spoonful after spoonful. But only a few mouthfuls in, she stopped.
'How could a few bland dishes satisfy anyone?'
'They should change menus daily—no, every meal!'
'But hadn't the reports to headquarters described Hohenburg branch as well-funded and well-run?'
'This was nothing like it.'
She has always had a good appetite and can eat most human delicacies. Even if they are a little unpalatable, Aula will just treat them as nutritional supplements and eat them all in one gulp without caring about the taste.
But now, staring at the lukewarm carrot soup and mashed potatoes that barely clung together on her plate, Aura felt nothing stir within her. Her hunger had fled.
The food was bland, monotonous, and carelessly cooked—vegetables boiled until all their strength seeped into the water, then served without thought.
It reminded her of the dry rations she had eaten in the wilderness, when she prowled the mountains on the hunt. But back then, there had been something else to mask the flavor of ash and dirt: blood.
Here, where could she find a splash of blood to flavor her food? From whose still-beating heart could she scrape sweet, hot blood?
Aura felt her restlessness rise again.
She didn't know why, but she had never been in a good mood since she left Kribi and came to Hohenburg.
Perhaps it was the lack of Flamme's looming threat. Here, she wanted nothing more than to unleash herself, to tear something apart!
"My Lady, so you were here…"
A voice intruded, cutting through her haze of bloodlust. Aura's hand froze on her spoon.
"We've just received a large sum of money."
The voice came from the cafeteria entrance. A middle-aged man in an official's cloak stood peering inside, his eyes searching quickly until they found her seated alone at a corner table.
He hurried over, bowing his head slightly before leaning in close to whisper.
It was Winton, Mage Association's finance officer.
After Graf Byron had sent wagons laden with gold and silver, Winton was the first to hear and rushed to inform the Director—while also testing her reaction.
"A large sum of money!"
Aura's eyes lit up. Suddenly her appetite returned, and the bloodlust faded.
After quickly finishing her food, she urged Winton to take her to see it.
"This way, My Lady."
Winton bowed deeply, his mouth twitching in a half-hidden smile.
He was pleased—no, more than that, relieved. That look of hunger in the Director's eyes was something he understood. It was the gleam of someone who desired coin, who valued gold over ideals.
If Byron's wagons had truly brought riches, then with her cooperation, Winton could siphon even more for himself.
His mind raced as he walked ahead of her. Normally, he kept a careful balance: 30% to the branch, 70% reported to headquarters. It was safe, respectable skimming.
But with this new Director—greedy as she appeared—perhaps they could invert it. Keep 70%, hand over 30%. Or even less.
As they left the cafeteria, Winton glanced back in disgust. Why would the Director dine in such a filthy place for paupers?
Surely it was poverty. Once she had money, she'd abandon it—just as he had.
He loathed the memory of counting copper coins for cafeteria meals. Since becoming finance officer, he never once returned.
At the storerooms—
Aura stood before the wagons as chests were pried open and heavy ingots of gold and silver were hauled down by sweating workers.
The dull clatter of wealth filled the chamber, echoing against stone walls.
She crouched, running her hands through the coins, letting them spill between her pale fingers. She even lifted a piece to the light, testing its weight, biting its edge. Authentic. All of it.
Then she turned to Winton.
"Who sent this?"
"Graf Byron," Winton replied smoothly, his bow practiced. "A donation to our branch."
"For free?"
"Donation means free."
"So generous?"
Aura showed a look of doubt. Although she was a demon and didn't know much about humans, she could understand that most humans were not selfless. Why would Graf Byron offer such a gift to the branch?
He wasn't under obedience magic—why give wealth as if serving a master?
Winton explained:
"Graf Byron has a kind heart. Donations to branches are common. Not just in Hohenburg—other branches too receive support from local nobles. Even Kribi headquarters runs partly on donations… My Lady, shall we report this to headquarters?"
"Report it? Why?" Aura stared at him in disbelief. Since it was delivered to the branch, wasn't it hers now? Why give it away?
"But… such a large transfer will be recorded. To keep it here, we must provide a reason," Winton stammered, momentarily thrown off.
His scheme crumbled in his head.
Keeping three parts was already daring. But this girl wanted to keep all of it.
Not a coin returned.
And worse—her expression was not one of cunning theft. She looked at him as though the idea of giving any of it away was absurd. Natural.
'A proper reason?'
Aura thought for a moment, then clapped her hands.
Pointing at the academy building in the distance, she said:
"The school is falling apart. I'll renovate it."
"My Lady, you can't—" Winton's voice cracked. "If we report that rashly, headquarters will send inspectors. The building is vast, the expenses enormous. It would be impossible to conceal."
"Why do you want to hide it?"
Winton froze.
At last he realized something was off. Meeting Aura's gaze, he saw in her purple eyes no trace of greed.
She simply wanted to repair the school. She had no thought of pocketing even a single coin.