Surviving the Magic Academy With Just Intelligence Stats-Chapter 79: He Knows

[VOLUME 3 START]

My dearest children, Theodore and Adelaide,

By the time you read this letter, I will have already departed on a journey of indeterminate length. There are matters that require my personal attention, matters that cannot be entrusted to messengers or handled through correspondence.

Theodore, as my eldest surviving son, I hereby entrust you with the full management of our family’s holdings and interests. The necessary documentation has been prepared and left with our family solicitor. I trust you will handle this responsibility with the wisdom and prudence I have tried to instill in you over the years.

Adelaide, my bright star, continue to forge your own path. Your determination has always been your greatest strength, even when others failed to see it. Know that wherever I am, I carry pride in your accomplishments.

Theodore, while I know you and your sister have chosen different paths, I ask that you keep watch over her from time to time. Not to guide her choices—she has proven more than capable in that regard—but simply to ensure she knows she has family to turn to should she ever require it.

To both of you: The world is changing rapidly around us, and the old ways of doing things may not serve us much longer. Learn to adapt, but more importantly, learn to rely on each other. Whatever differences have divided you in the past, remember that you are family. That bond should mean something, especially in times of hardship.

I have faith that you will both continue to grow stronger in my absence.

Until we meet again,

Your father,

Maximilian Brightwell

…

Theodore’s Study

Theodore Brightwell sat alone in his dimly lit study, the heavy oak desk before him cluttered with ledgers and correspondence from the family business. Amber lamplight cast long shadows across the room as he held the letter from his father, the parchment crinkling softly between his fingers. His eyes moved methodically over each line, absorbing Maximilian’s carefully chosen words.

As he finished reading, Theodore set the letter down and released a deep, weary sigh that seemed to carry the weight of unspoken familial history. The corners of his mouth turned downward as he leaned back in his leather chair, which creaked under his shifting weight.

"So he knew," Theodore whispered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "Of course he knew."

From the letter’s measured tone, it was clear that their father had already pieced together what had happened with Sebastian. Yet Maximilian had chosen not to confront him directly, instead bestowing upon Theodore full control of the Brightwell fortune and business interests—everything he had schemed for years to acquire.

Theodore’s fingers drummed against the polished wood of his desk, a hollow victory settling over him. The wealth and power he’d coveted for so long were finally his, all neatly transferred through proper documentation waiting at the family solicitor’s office. No resistance, no final test of worthiness. Just... given.

Strange emptiness gnawed at him where satisfaction should have bloomed. He couldn’t quite identify the feeling—was it guilt? Disappointment? The absence of the challenge he’d prepared himself to overcome? Theodore stared at the family portrait hanging on the wall, his father’s stern face looking back at him, and for the first time in years, he felt something akin to regret stirring within his chest.

Crono Academy - Ambrose’s Estate

Meanwhile, within the meticulously maintained gardens of Ambrose’s estate on the academy grounds, Adelaide sat on an ornate stone bench beneath a flowering cherry tree. Pink blossoms occasionally drifted down around her, speckling her honey-blonde hair as she held her father’s letter, reading it through for the third time.

Her expression remained carefully composed, her training as a merchant’s daughter evident in the way she controlled her reactions. Objectively speaking, the letter offered her nothing tangible—no inheritance, no business shares, no material advantage she could leverage. Yet something in her father’s carefully chosen words stirred an unfamiliar protective instinct within her.

Adelaide’s fingers traced over the line about being his "bright star" as she recognized the subtle undercurrent of pain woven between her father’s formal farewell. Though Maximilian Brightwell had always been stoic and reserved, she could sense his genuine concern—perhaps even fear—hidden beneath his measured prose.

With practiced efficiency, she folded the letter along its creases and slipped it into the inner pocket of her academy jacket, close to her heart. As she did so, the soft crunch of footsteps on the gravel path alerted her to another’s presence.

"It’s almost time for the ranking exams," Liu Meihua called out as she approached, her academy uniform immaculately pressed, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Wanna walk together?"

Adelaide rose from the bench with fluid grace, brushing a few stray blossoms from her skirt. "Sure," she replied, falling into step beside her friend.

As they walked along the path leading back toward the academy’s main buildings, Adelaide’s thoughts remained with her father. The letter had mentioned "matters that cannot be entrusted to messengers"—words that spoke of danger and secrecy. Though she maintained her composed exterior, inwardly she hoped that whatever mission had called Maximilian Brightwell away wouldn’t lead him into peril beyond his ability to escape.

…

The Holy Sanctuary - Silverbrook Branch

The cathedral of Aurora, goddess of light, towered over Silverbrook city—a magnificent testament to faith constructed from pristine white marble and adorned with intricate stained glass windows that cast kaleidoscopic patterns across the polished stone floor. Vaulted ceilings soared heavenward, supported by columns engraved with scenes of divine triumph over darkness. The air hung heavy with incense, golden candelabras illuminating pews where the faithful knelt in prayer, their whispered supplications creating a gentle murmur that echoed throughout the vast chamber.

It was amid this scene of serene devotion that Maximilian Brightwell—once-proud head of the Golden Compass Trading Company—now stood disheveled before a young priest. His once-immaculate attire had grown wrinkled and travel-worn, his normally well-groomed beard now unkempt.

"Can you help me exorcise this creature?" Maximilian asked with unexpected directness, pointing emphatically at something perched on his right shoulder. His voice, though lowered in deference to the sacred space, carried the unmistakable authority of a man accustomed to command.

"Is this what a church looks like? It’s so boring," the entity on his shoulder remarked, its voice childlike. It twisted its head to examine the sacred imagery with obvious disinterest.

Maximilian ignored the creature’s commentary, focusing intently on the young priest before him. The cleric, dressed in pristine white robes embroidered with golden thread, studied the merchant with barely concealed skepticism. He looked at Maximilian from top to bottom, he wondered what this homeless man was doing here, and creature? What creature? He couldn’t see it, the man was just pointing at his shoulder, did he have some sort of mental illness? But the priest didn’t show his suspicion externally and just smiled at him.

"What creature?" the priest inquired politely, his gaze flickered briefly to Maximilian’s empty shoulder, then back to the man’s face.

"The creature on my shoulder," Maximilian replied impatiently, jabbing his finger toward the entity once more. Frustration edged his voice as he added, "Right here."

"I’m not a creature," the entity protested with a tone that resembled a pouting child. "My name is Fragment."

Maximilian’s brow furrowed deeper. "Can’t you see it?" he demanded, reaching up to pluck the Fragment from his shoulder. He held it before the priest’s face, his expression expectant.

The priest’s professionally composed smile faltered momentarily. Several parishioners nearby had begun to notice the exchange, their prayers interrupted by the unusual spectacle. The cleric’s mouth twitched slightly as he struggled to maintain his composure. What creature? It’s clearly your hand!

"That’s just your hand, sir," the priest explained gently, the careful tone one might use with someone in delicate mental condition.

Shock registered across Maximilian’s weathered features, his eyes widening as he stared at the Fragment in his palm, then back to the uncomprehending priest.

"Oh! I just remembered," the Fragment chirped, its form bubbling with what appeared to be amusement. "Only you can see me."

"What?" Maximilian hissed, lowering his voice as he noticed the growing audience of curious onlookers. "How does that even work?"

The Fragment seemed to consider this, putting its hand on its chin thoughtfully "Usually, only the contractor can see the fragment, and even that is rare," it explained, as if reciting from some internal manual of demonic protocols.

"Then how come I can see you?" Maximilian pressed.

"I don’t know either. It just happened."

"Sir? Sir? Sir?" The priest’s increasingly concerned voice finally penetrated Maximilian’s absorption in this private conversation. The young cleric had stepped closer, his expression now openly troubled as he watched the merchant apparently conversing with his empty palm.

A small crowd had gathered at a respectful distance, their whispers adding to the cathedral’s ambient sounds. Some made subtle warding gestures, while others looked on with pity or curiosity.

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The priest leaned forward, examining Maximilian’s hand with genuine concern. Despite years of spiritual training, he could sense nothing unusual—no dark energy, no divine presence, simply nothing beyond ordinary flesh and bone.

"Sir? Are you okay? Do you need any help?" the priest asked, his voice gentle but firm. He reached into his robes and produced a small crystal vial filled with clear liquid. "If you want, I can..."

Before he could complete his offer, Maximilian’s hand shot out with surprising speed, snatching the vial from the priest’s grasp.

"Gimme that," he muttered, pocketing the holy water. With his other hand, he tossed a leather pouch that landed with a heavy clink at the priest’s feet. The unmistakable sound of gold pieces shifting against one another echoed in the sudden silence.

Without another word, Maximilian turned and strode toward the cathedral’s massive doors, his once-regal bearing reasserting itself despite his haggard appearance. The crowd parted before him, a mixture of fear and fascination in their eyes.

The young priest stood momentarily stunned, then bent to retrieve the pouch. Loosening its drawstring, he peered inside and gasped at the gleam of pure gold coins—more than enough to fund the cathedral’s charitable works for months. His head snapped up, scanning the retreating figure.

"Sir!" he called, hurrying after Maximilian. However, the merchant had already vanished into the bustling throng outside the cathedral doors, leaving the priest holding the unexpected bounty, confusion etched across his youthful features.

…

Miles outside the city walls, Maximilian sat heavily on a moss-covered boulder at the edge of the forest road. The afternoon sun filtered through ancient trees, casting dappled shadows across his exhausted face. Beside him, the Fragment hovered, its form more defined in the natural setting away from prying eyes.

Maximilian studied the crystal vial of holy water in his hand, turning it to catch the sunlight. The liquid within sparkled with an inner luminescence that seemed more than natural.

"What’s that? A snack?" the Fragment inquired, drifting closer to examine the vial.

A wry smile tugged at Maximilian’s lips—the first genuine expression of amusement he’d shown in days. "Do you want it?" he asked half-jokingly, holding the vial toward the entity.

He expected the creature to recoil, assuming that holy water would naturally repel something of demonic origin. Instead, to his astonishment, the Fragment’s form liquefied entirely, transforming into a glistening puddle that slithered onto his palm.

In one swift motion, the entity engulfed both the vial and its contents, absorbing them completely. The Fragment’s body pulsated with brief flashes of golden light before reconstituting into its previous form.

"That was delicious!" it proclaimed, its upper limb forming a distinct thumbs-up gesture. "Do you have more?"

Maximilian’s mouth hung open in disbelief. Every tale, every scripture, every merchant’s story of the supernatural he’d ever encountered insisted that demons should cower before divine power—not consume it like a delicacy.

[TO BE CONTINUED…]

A/N - Let’s leave these two’s story here for now. To be honest, I don’t exactly know what to do with their characters, I’ll let it marinate for a while as I think of something. If you have any ideas, you can also comment them. Going back to Ambrose…