The Graduate Student Wants to Assassinate the Professor - Chapter 1

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 1

A Professor Worth Killing

I scraped away at the withered mandrake root with a plane, stripping its bark between a flask blackened by char and another crusted with violet liquid.
“Did I really come here for this? I’m drowning in regret and self-loathing….”
But there was no one here to hear my lament. Only the monotonous sound of my work on the mandrake echoed through the empty Research Laboratory.
Scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape….
With my eyes half-dead, my jade-green irises—which would normally gleam with brilliance—looked like tarnished bronze mirrors. Whether it was my imagination or not, gray dust seemed to have accumulated on my platinum hair.
“Two weeks in….”
I muttered the words with a voice tinged with disillusionment, then exhaled a deep sigh.
I’d only been here for two weeks, and I already wanted to go home.
Then the Research Laboratory door burst open, and a man shuffled in. The moment he saw me, he asked bluntly.
“Results?”
“As you can see.”
I answered in a lifeless voice and shook my head.
The man with silver hair, celadon-blue eyes, and smooth chocolate-colored skin—Khalid—tilted his head and gazed at the empty flasks.
“Did they all fail?”
“Yes. No matter what I do, the reagents keep exploding. Don’t you think the fundamental premise itself is flawed? What if we abandoned this experiment and moved on to something else?”
Khalid met my desperate gaze and answered plainly.
“Can’t be helped. If it doesn’t work, keep trying until it does.”
“Pardon?”
“I think if you keep at it, you’ll eventually succeed. Ten times, a hundred times, a thousand times—eventually you’ll stumble onto something.”
With that, he gave his head a dismissive shake and gave me a thumbs up.
“Do your best.”
I stared at him blankly, my eyes devoid of all spirit.
Khalid, indifferent to my state, noticed the mandrake in my hands and asked.
“By the way, why are you trimming that?”
“Pardon? You told me to prepare it for the next undergraduate practical session.”
“Oh, that. The class got canceled, so it’s not needed anymore. Didn’t I mention that?”
“…No, you didn’t.”
“Really? Sorry.”
“….”
“I have another class coming up, so I’m heading out. Make sure you clean those flasks used in the experiment and put them away properly. Got it?”
Khalid waved his hand dismissively, quickly gathered his class materials, and left the Research Laboratory.
The door shut with a click, and alone once more, my hands began to tremble.
“I’m going to kill him….”
Grinding my teeth, I could no longer contain myself and let out a primal scream toward the firmly closed door.
“I’m going to kill that bastard! Aaaahhh! Argh! Ugh! Ahhhhh!”
But her fury had already vanished beyond the corridor, unable to reach Khalid who had long since departed.
So, how did this all come to pass….

* * *

The holy nation of Yorken had adopted the Petila Church, which revered Petila—the goddess of humanity—as its state religion, and the Pope governed the land.
Outwardly, Yorken pursued peace throughout the world.
Yet internally, it had established a secret organization to condemn those who betrayed the teachings of Goddess Petila, who guided mankind toward paradise. That organization was the Papal Special Task Force, abbreviated as the “Special Mission Unit.”
Leoryna was a mage and assassin belonging to that very unit, carrying out the Pope’s orders to uproot the shadows before they could rise into the light.
On a February day when the biting cold still lingered in the air.
Summoned by Pope Beronas and anticipating an assassination mission, Leoryna entered his Office, only to find several documents laid before her.
“Sit and read while you listen.”
As Leoryna, following the Pope’s instructions, took her seat across from the desk and began reading through the documents, Beronas continued speaking.
“Three days ago, Goddess Petila delivered an oracle through the mouth of a saint.”
“I see.”
“But the contents are rather grave. No, truthfully, they are very grave.”
“What exactly is it, Your Holiness?”
At Leoryna’s question, Beronas cleared his throat once before speaking.
“A single-horned demon shall one day reign as the Demon King, uniting the scattered Demon Race across the world, and through this, countless lands shall be torn asunder.”
At those words, Leoryna lifted her eyes from the documents she had been reading and looked toward Beronas.
“It is common knowledge that all demons possess two horns. A single-horned demon? And what does it mean that countless lands shall be torn asunder?”
Until then standing, Beronas slowly took his seat.
“The Demon Race currently lives scattered across various corners of this world. They have no nation of their own anywhere in this realm. Therefore, there exists no figure who could serve as a focal point. However.”
Beronas’s expression appeared somewhat troubled.
“If a Demon King were to emerge, the situation would be entirely different.”
“A Demon King….”
“The power of the Demon Race is truly immense compared to humanity. They are merely underestimated because they remain scattered. But if a Demon King were to unite them, what do you think would happen?”
As Leoryna fell silent, her eyes blinking helplessly, Beronas released a heavy sigh.
“They would wage war against other nations to establish a kingdom of their own.”
“Ah, so when you say lands shall be torn asunder….”
“Many nations would be defeated in war and lose their territories to the Demon Race. This is what we predict the oracle to mean.”
Beronas shook his head slowly, as if he found the very thought abhorrent.
“No matter what, we must prevent that war. This is why Goddess Petila has bestowed this oracle upon us.”
“But if I may ask, Your Holiness.”
Having finished reading through the documents, Leoryna posed her question in a tone utterly devoid of any gravity.
“What does this have to do with me entering Graduate School?”
Leoryna gazed down at the paper labeled “Application for Master’s Program Admission to Halderion Magic Academy Graduate School.”
“Why is my name written on this document? And what is this letter of recommendation?”
“Kaladniel Sigelo Huaderica. A professor in the Department of Magical Formula Design at Halderion Magic Academy.”
“I see. His name is written in the preferred professor section of the application. Is this a reference photograph? He’s quite handsome.”
I examined the photograph intently—a man with long silver hair cascading down, his violet eyes gazing directly forward.
He possessed a devastatingly handsome face, yet peculiarly, the horns that marked the Demon Race appeared only on his right temple.
“This one, called Caladniel, is your target for this mission.”
“I see. Now that I know his name and face, I just need to go kill him, right?”
At my hasty conclusion, Veronas smiled serenely.
“If it were that simple, why would we need all this paperwork?”
As I blinked my golden eyes, Veronas spoke with the cunning ease of a grandfather telling his granddaughter a story.
“Shall I tell you a frightening tale? Long ago, there existed a clan called Huaderica. A prestigious house even in the history of the Demon Race. Then one day, it was annihilated overnight. All because of a single demon.”
“My. Why?”
“People at the time suspected there must have been internal strife. Though we can never know the true reason now.”
“But not everyone died, it seems. Since this person is still alive.”
I tapped the photograph with my finger. Veronas nodded in acknowledgment.
“He alone survived because he was the one who destroyed his own clan with his own hands.”
“Wow.”
I held Caladniel’s photograph at arm’s length between my fingertips, pushing it away from my eyes.
“He slaughtered one hundred and eight clansmen, or so the records say. In a single night! Not ordinary humans, mind you, but one hundred and eight demons, Leoryna. So surely you don’t think this man is someone to be trifled with?”
I quietly set Caladniel’s photograph down on the table and slid it toward Veronas.
But Veronas simply pushed Caladniel’s photograph back toward me.
“A direct confrontation with him is dangerous, Leoryna. You must not treat this as a standard assassination mission. Abandon any notion of completing this task in a single night.”
“So… surely you don’t mean… that…?”
I trailed off, sensing something ominous, but Veronas issued his command without hesitation.
“Infiltrate Professor Caladniel’s Research Laboratory. Enter as a graduate student, and wait for your opportunity at his side.”
“Wh…?”
“You’ve only graduated from the academy’s upper division and never attended university coursework, correct? It should be interesting.”
“Ha, ha ha…”
I wondered if this was truly happening.
But what could I do? Veronas was the Pope, and I was merely a member of the Papal Special Task Force—in other words, the Pope’s lackey.
Veronas ignored the wavering in my eyes and continued his instructions.
“Enrollment is in March, so you have roughly two weeks to prepare. If you need anything during your time as a graduate student, speak freely. I will arrange whatever conveniences I can. That is, provided you succeed in your mission.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”
I managed to collect myself and offered a crisp salute. But my mind was in turmoil.
Graduate school? I’d never even considered such a thing. What was he asking of me?
But I could not cry.
This was the life of a lackey.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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