The Crown Prince Who Raises a Side Character

A great mage's house built atop a hill.

Mary Wiston, a teacher at the Aldridge Training School and one of Delphinaris’s disciples, was staring at the master she had long known.

“Did you really have to do that? I’m not particularly close with Eris, but even I know how desperately that girl has worked to be acknowledged by you. She’s a child who’s thrown away hobbies, the kind of games other kids enjoy, and has done nothing but study and train over and over again. You knew that. And still, you had to do that?”

The reprimand held more than a little blame. Delphinaris avoided her gaze as she answered.

“Taking in a new disciple isn’t a bad thing. It just means she’s no longer the youngest. Eris is still my disciple, unchanged.”

“If he were just any disciple, I wouldn’t say anything. But that boy, Malik—your attitude toward him isn’t the same, is it?”

A gentle and virtuous mage.

That was how Delphinaris was viewed in public.

Most mages who had reached the level of 6th-Rank were, to varying degrees, eccentric or difficult, but Delphinaris wasn’t so fussy or arrogant. Hence, the praise.

However, her disciples—including Mary—knew the truth.

Though Delphinaris was gentle by nature, when she determined that punishment was necessary, she could be uncompromising and stern.

Gentleness never meant she was soft or could be taken lightly.

And yet, why was Delphinaris so lenient only with Malik?

“He might be talented, but his personality is rotten. He only puts on an act in front of you. The rest of us? He treats us like servants.”

“He’s still young. People grow through different experiences over time.”

“You’re not just telling yourself that because you want to believe it, are you?”

“......”

Delphinaris stayed silent.

Seeing the stubbornness in her tightly pressed lips, Mary let out a long sigh.

Unlike Eris, she had never heard Delphinaris speak candidly about her ties to the Empire’s Crown Prince.

That had only happened because of a drunken haze, some coincidental combination of circumstances, and a vague acquaintance being present at the time. Delphinaris wasn’t the kind of person to disparage her students with remarks like “You’re just not talented enough.”

But even so, Mary—and some of the more senior disciples—had begun to sense it: the anxiety Delphinaris carried, and her obsessive yearning for a truly gifted disciple.

And that part of the reason was their own failure to reach the level Delphinaris hoped for.

Though Mary appeared to be of a similar age, it was only thanks to the longevity granted by 6th-Rank mages. In truth, Delphinaris was of an age where it wouldn’t have been strange for her to already be in a coffin.

To an elder preparing for the twilight of life, being known as “a master who failed to produce a worthy disciple,” or “a great mage who lacked teaching ability,” was a wound that ran deep.

This wasn’t something words could fix.

“Take this.”

“...What is it?”

Delphinaris asked as she looked at the letter Mary had handed her, but Mary didn’t reply.

She simply gave a small nod, as if saying, “You’ll know when you read it.”

Delphinaris, puzzled, removed the letter and read it. At once, her eyes began to tremble.

“Please come see the mock battle this time. – Eris –”

It had been properly sealed with wax, the letter slipped into an envelope for formality’s sake, but its contents were so short they could’ve been mistaken for a mere note.

Yet the weight that short line carried was far from light.

“There was resolve, fear, and courage all mixed in her eyes. You could tell, just by meeting her gaze, how much she struggled to write that letter... and how long she hesitated before asking me to pass it on.”

Even long after Mary left the estate, Delphinaris quietly stared at the letter—for a very, very long time.

***

When you say “school trip,” some students think it’s about going on a group vacation with their classmates, but in truth, the essence of a school trip is learning.

Visiting ruins or museums and observing their exhibits is the actual point. Things like courage tests, campfires, and pillow fights are just extra.

Likewise, the mock battle between student representatives during the training school exchange was not that significant in the grand scheme.

It attracted a fair amount of attention as a final event and a bit of a spectacle for the nobles, but in terms of the actual schedule, it occupied only a small portion.

Most of the exchange program was filled with moral lessons, debate sessions, and joint classes—things that made many students bored out of their minds.

As for the demon contractor, Malik Grimloon, he wasn’t just bored—he was nearly in pain.

‘Damn it. Just skip all this crap and get to the damn mock battle already! Why is there so much useless fluff?’

If he had his way, he’d have jumped up and stormed out of the hall, but that was out of the question.

With so many high-ranking people watching, even Count Grimloon—drunk on his adoptive son’s magical talents—would’ve blown a fuse if Malik pulled such a stunt.

And then there was the demon contract.

[Oh, my friend. Just bear with it a little longer. You’ve been dozing off all throughout the theory lectures, and your grades are hanging by a thread. If you don’t show results during this exchange, your shot at entering Celestial Academy is really going to disappear.]

As always, the demon ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) Balzares whispered in a tone that was friendly, flippant, and ever-so-slightly threatening.

[You must get into Celestial Academy and fulfill the missions I’ve given you. You do know what happens if you don’t pay the price, right?]

Faced with Balzares’s warning, Malik shrank a little inside—but answered with feigned bravado.

‘I get it, so stop worrying and wait!’

[Haha, alright, alright. Sorry if I seemed pushy!]

And so he trudged through the boring schedule, one part after another.

Then, he spotted someone in his field of vision—and a faint smirk curled on his lips.

Even among the crowd, she stood out. Her appearance and aura were unmistakable.

A beautiful girl with brilliant crimson-gold hair—Eris. Without hesitation, Malik approached and greeted her.

“Hello, Miss Eris.”

Her cold green eyes flicked toward him.

Seeing her stunning beauty up close, Malik admired her inwardly.

‘I thought she looked nice at the last meeting, but damn—this is better than I expected. Bit of a shame about the chest, but if it’s just for a couple of flings, who cares?’

With a lewd thought that would’ve earned him a slap if she ever heard it, Malik continued speaking with a smiling face.

“It’s a shame we didn’t get to properly speak last time. Are you feeling better now?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for your concern.”

“That’s great to hear. Since it’s lunchtime anyway, how about a brief chat?”

“I’m sorry, but I already have plans with my classmates.”

“Haha, well, you can always see them anytime, but this is a rare chance to interact with students from other schools. I’m sure your friends will understand.”

His tone was more bearable than it had been at Delphinaris’s mansion, but the content was still terribly overbearing and selfish.

He was essentially telling her to cancel her existing plans to spend time with him.

Eris’s brows furrowed even more, but Malik didn’t seem to care at all.

Unlike with nobles, great mages, or demons—people he needed to impress—Malik saw Eris as someone below him. A weakling.

“No, I don’t think that’ll be possible.”

Yet even after repeated invitations, Eris responded with a cold dismissal—and Malik, annoyed, fired back with a more blatant threat.

“Are you really okay with that? I mean, we’re both disciples of the same master, so I was planning to go easy on you during the mock battle so you wouldn’t get too embarrassed...”

Thunk.

Eris, who had maintained a composed and professional demeanor, suddenly stiffened.

Malik interpreted it as a favorable sign and continued speaking in a suggestive tone.

“Other disciples might misunderstand, but I’m not the reckless type, you know? As long as you treat me nicely, I can also—”

“—Excuse me.”

In an instant, Eris’s atmosphere shifted.

The mysterious, polite honor-student façade fell away, revealing a tenacious and simmering fury beneath. Malik instinctively flinched and stepped back.

He was about to be hit with a flurry of scathing words—but Eris, becoming aware of the attention around them, instead offered a soft smile and spoke gently.

“It seems Mr. Malik never learned how to properly treat a lady. Such behavior could tarnish the honor of your house and our master Delphinaris’s name. I’d appreciate it if you could restrain yourself.”

Though Eris’s voice wasn’t particularly loud, her clear and articulate pronunciation cut through the surrounding noise and settled sharply into the ears of everyone nearby.

Those who had already been frowning at Malik’s pushy behavior now saw Eris’s retort and his dumbstruck expression, and they couldn’t help but smile.

Step, step.

As Malik watched Eris walk away with grace and confidence, he realized—just a moment too late—that he had become the butt of the joke. His face turned bright red.

He clenched his teeth.

‘Trying to be nice, and she dares to look down on me!?’

He would make her regret it.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

In front of everyone, he would utterly crush that aloof expression and leave her in pieces.

Fuming, Malik barely managed to suppress the urge to fire a spell at Eris on the spot. He waited. And waited.

Until finally, the moment he’d been anticipating arrived.

“Representative of Aldridge Training School, Eris. Representative of Lowten Training School, Malik Grimloon. Are both of you ready?”

“Yes, I’m ready.”

“Yes!”

Eris responded with her usual poise; Malik, as if ready to bite, with rough energy.

Once the referee confirmed that both were ready, they signaled the start—and Eris raised her staff toward Malik.

The instant Malik saw the compressed water projectile shaped like an arrow, the method to cast it was instinctively engraved in his mind.

Like a player using a skill with a single hotkey, even with no knowledge of swordsmanship or magic, he could replicate it without understanding or analysis—an authority requiring no thought.

But Malik didn’t stop there.

He had already resolved to completely humiliate Eris.

As the automatically constructed spell neared completion, he poured an enormous amount of mana into it.

And in the next moment, the arrow he was replicating collapsed entirely.

“Huh?”

Malik let out a dumb sound of disbelief—right as the water arrow Eris had fired slammed square into his face.

Thwack! It felt like getting hit with a bucket of water. Malik tumbled across the ground, unable to react.

A heavy silence fell.

Both those who had been cheering for Malik and those supporting Eris were too stunned by the sudden turn of events to comprehend what had just happened.

The one to break that silence was Malik himself, flailing to his feet.

“Ptah! Bah! What the hell is this!!”

Rising with a thoroughly annoyed voice, Malik glared at Eris with eyes full of rage.

But before he could get another word out, Eris cast another spell.

A bluish mana projectile the size of a fist shimmered in the air, difficult to see due to its translucent nature—but that didn’t matter.

He didn’t need to fully recognize or visually confirm it. The moment he acknowledged its existence, the demon’s authority would take over.

Malik successfully copied it and, still seething with humiliation, poured his fury into the cast.

Boom!

Once again, the spell collapsed instantly.

Thwack!

A freezing projectile slammed into him, and a thin white frost settled across his soaked face.

Blood began to trickle steadily from his nose.

The image of his wide eyes, filled with shock, combined with his battered face so perfectly that several spectators couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

Meanwhile, Eris shivered inwardly.

She had just confirmed that what the librarian, Ernest, had said was true.

“He copies spells exactly and sends them back with greater power.”

“Setting aside the intricacies of the structure for now, the strategy to counter it isn’t that difficult.”

“Most spells in the world are highly flexible. If you inject 10 units of mana, you don’t necessarily get 10 in return. With 8 to 12 mana, you can get results anywhere between 8 to 12. Each spell has a ‘sweet spot’ of efficiency, sure—but being slightly under or over usually doesn’t prevent the spell from casting.”

“Now, what do you think happens if you reduce that flexibility to the extreme? If a spell only works with exactly 10 mana? Or even more precisely—with a condition like 10.12515?”

“If the mana falls even a little short, the spell won’t activate properly. If it exceeds that tiny limit, it will destabilize and self-destruct.”

“Yes, I know. Creating entirely new spells is the domain of a 5th-Rank mage. What I’m doing isn’t invention, it’s transformation—but it’s still far beyond what most knowledge can accomplish.”

“But you can do it.”

“Like I told you—there’s no need to overwork yourself. Because...”

“...you’ve already worked so hard every day.”

Eris murmured the words from Ernest that surfaced in her mind.

His usually dry and matter-of-fact voice had never sounded so sweet.

She looked ahead.

There was no way she could lose.