220 Mediation

"Cut it out, Allen."

"Weiss... I wasn't—!"

"Look around you. You’re the one picking a fight here."

Allen slowly scanned his surroundings, his fists still trembling with rage. It was clear as day: Neil had far more allies in this room.

However, the light of conviction in Allen’s eyes didn't dim for a second.

"...He should at least grant Priscilla-san a minimum level of dignity."

I didn't know the specifics, but it was probably about the Slave Crest after all. God, he’s such an easy guy to read.

"So, you're Weiss? I’ve heard the rumors," Neil said, his voice dripping with feigned exhaustion. "I was in quite a bind. It’s a huge help that you actually seem to understand the situation."

"I’m not like Allen," I replied smoothly. "Slaves are a perfectly normal part of this world, after all."

Hearing that, Neil narrowed his eyes, staring at me as if he were sizing up a piece of meat. 'Useful trash' or 'useless trash'—that was the guy’s favorite way to categorize people.

Beside him, Priscilla stood with eyes that were frighteningly cold. Even though she was the very subject of the dispute, she acted as if she weren't even there. She wasn't carrying herself as a person, but as an object.

This level of loyalty was terrifying. No, it was more likely the coercive power of the Slave Crest.

"Weiss... I’m disappointed in you," Allen spat.

"Hmph. Allen, I couldn't care less what you think of me."

Neil watched our exchange, a smug, satisfied smile spreading across his face.

But I wasn't finished.

"That being said," I continued, "Allen does have a point. A slave's dignity should be protected by the hands of their master. From where I’m standing, the one remarkably lacking in refinement isn't Allen—it's you, Senior."

"...What did you say?"

At my provocation, a shadow fell over Neil’s face. The same shift occurred in Priscilla. Not a single muscle in her face moved, but I could feel her Mana. It was impossible to hide. The stagnation and the violent fluctuations in her energy gave away her true anger.

Alright, now what? Honestly, picking a fight with someone from the House of the Duke is a massive pain in the ass.

Just as the tension reached a breaking point, Teacher Milk stepped in to break us apart.

"The eldest son of House Albert, and yet you're stirring up trouble immediately after returning to the academy?"

Neil had been on a leave of absence for about a year. Whether it was for work for the House of the Duke or he was just playing hooky, I didn't give a damn.

"Instructor Milk Abitus. A pleasure to meet you," Neil said, instantly switching to a polite tone. "I haven't done anything. It simply seems he took issue with Priscilla."

"Yes. Lord Neil is not at fault," Priscilla added.

It was the first time she had spoken. Ironically, her voice was beautiful.

"Do you know the phrase 'both parties in a quarrel are to be punished'?" Teacher Milk asked coldly. "I have no intention of listening to either of your stories. This is over. The rest of you, disperse."

I see. As expected of Teacher Milk. If she actually listened to the arguments, she’d be forced to admit that Neil was technically in the right according to the law. She’s settling this skillfully by refusing to engage with the details.

"...Fine then. Priscilla, we’re leaving. —Weiss, Allen, was it? As your senior, I'll give you a word of advice: watch how you speak to your betters. The Noblesse isn't that soft."

Neil walked away with a composed, arrogant smile.

He had clashed with Allen just like in the Original Story. I didn't know which direction things would take from here, but I knew there was a joint training session coming up.

Neil possessed a Gift that was rare even among the Noblesse—something so peculiar that it could literally change the world.

If I get the chance, I’d love to wring every bit of use out of him.