The Price Is Your Everything - Chapter 8: You Should Take Classes Suited to Your Level

The instructor for Verlaine Language 3 was Sir Voltaire, a former diplomat whose primary subject at the Academy was international politics.

Upon seeing the two new students in his classroom, Sir Voltaire’s eyebrows twitched, but he made no further acknowledgment of their presence.

Nerys didn’t care at all about Sir Voltaire’s attitude. However, Megara, after a few attempts to catch his attention with dazzling smiles, seemed increasingly unsettled by his indifference.

Finally, when Sir Voltaire handed out a rather lengthy Verlaine text to the students, Megara began conversing with Mahradi Ennyn in a cold tone.

“Eskel ma tendros suain? (Does he dislike you?)”

Ren, who had been glancing over the text, leaned his chin on his hand out of apparent boredom and asked Nerys in Sacred Tongue—a language typically reserved for clergy rather than current lessons in Verlaine.

‘This person?’ Nerys responded in the same Sacred Tongue.

“Yo nensabe parent. (I don’t know.)”

Ren’s eyes narrowed into crescent shapes, amused by her ability to reply in Sacred Tongue so effortlessly.

Having grown up in a unique household, Ren had learned Sacred Tongue from a young age, though most nobles considered knowing a few phrases of it sufficient for maintaining their cultured image.

It had been clear from the start—Nerys was different from the other freshmen.

She knew things even upperclassmen typically wouldn’t, and she understood details that even they struggled to grasp. Yet, despite being so capable for her age, she didn’t exude the arrogance expected of someone so talented. In fact, she wasn’t showing off at all, making her abilities seem genuinely impressive rather than pretentious.

“Porquel tendros suain? (Why does he dislike you?)”

Nerys was dumbfounded. Why even ask?

“Yo boz habeo dit, ‘Yo nensabe parent.’ (I told you, I don’t know.)”

“Hm.”

Ren didn’t press further but continued to watch her. Nerys ignored him and began reading the text.

Shortly after, Sir Voltaire gave the class instructions in Verlaine and observed how the students followed them. Then, out of nowhere, he switched to Imperial.

“Can anyone tell me what the first instruction I gave meant?”

A few upperclassmen raised their hands, and Sir Voltaire selected one of them.

“Arthur Pendland.”

Nerys was familiar with Arthur Pendland. His father was the Foreign Minister, and his mother was a Verlaine noble. Naturally, Arthur was expected to lead Verlaine diplomacy after graduation.

Arthur answered in a confident tone, “You instructed us to summarize the given text.”

Without indicating whether the answer was right or wrong, Sir Voltaire moved on with a stern expression.

“Let’s hear everyone’s answers, then. Who will go first?”

More hands went up this time. Sir Voltaire picked the lowest raised hand.

“Megara Lykeandros.”

Megara seemed to regain some confidence, pleased that Sir Voltaire knew her name. She spoke in a deliberately humble tone.

“Livingston Kinze attempted to improve the windmills of Gallia but failed due to budget constraints and was subsequently killed by the local residents.”

Sir Voltaire’s stiff expression remained unchanged. He turned his gaze to Nerys and asked her in Verlaine.

“E ton, du ahisare pensla? (And you, do you agree?)”

Many students, convinced Megara’s answer was flawless, showed little interest in how Nerys would respond.

However, Ren’s eyes sharpened. Nerys replied softly in Verlaine, “Ka d’pandera. (Perhaps.)”

It wasn’t a good answer.

One should either clearly agree or present a differing opinion. Most students in the class were mature enough not to show their displeasure openly, but they undoubtedly found Nerys peculiar.

Rumors of her arrogance seemed justified. Half the class began to believe she was insufferably conceited.

“Doken? (So, what’s your answer?)”

Sir Voltaire pressed on without reaction. Nerys met his stern gaze calmly and replied.

“Livingston, the ambassador to Gallia, attempted to improve relations with the local populace using popular policies. However, with limited support from the homeland and an exhausted budget, he was eventually killed.”

“That’s wrong!” Mahradi Ennim shouted involuntarily, though some students nodded in agreement. Megara’s gaze turned hostile.

Sir Voltaire slightly pulled back his chin.

“Nerys Truydd. What was my first instruction?”

“You told us to explain the story in the given text.”

“Are Arthur Pendland’s answer and yours different?”

“They are.”

“How so?”

“Because you are a diplomat, Sir Voltaire.”

In Imperial, the word “summarize” restricts the answer to the text’s content. In contrast, the word “explain” allows for logically inferred information. Verlaine lacks such distinctions.

While the two answers could be considered equivalent in normal circumstances, Nerys focused on the nuances of Sir Voltaire’s wording.

The term he used belonged to a set of expressions in Verlaine that diplomats must carefully distinguish. Using such a word intentionally suggested a deliberate meaning.

What use would a diplomat have for merely analyzing the information presented to them? They must include their interpretations and deductions in their “explanations.”

For the first time that day, Sir Voltaire smiled—a fleeting but unmistakably satisfied smile.

“Why do you think we learn foreign languages?”

The students realized that Sir Voltaire was not the type to simply point out incorrect answers on the spot. Instead, he compared answers openly, which left them hesitant to speak up. When the class didn’t progress further, Arthur Pendland cautiously broke the silence.

“To communicate with people from other countries, isn’t it?”

“That’s a basic reason, Arthur Pendland. But you are nobles. If you absolutely must speak with foreigners, you could hire interpreters. Alternatively, you could use Common Lundish, which allows you to converse with nobles from any nation on the continent. So, why do you go to the trouble of learning other languages?”

In the frozen silence, Nerys answered smoothly, as if the question had been meant for her.

“To gain an advantage in diplomacy.”

“Correct.”

Sir Voltaire’s eyes gleamed as he looked at her. The students could tell that he approved of Nerys.

Even in retirement, Sir Voltaire was a well-respected figure in the diplomatic world. If Nerys desired, his favor could open doors for her career in diplomacy.

“You learn foreign languages to practice diplomacy. Never gloss over a single word. Don’t just take information at face value—analyze what it means to you. Diplomacy fails if you only understand ‘roughly.’ Nerys Truydd knows this, which is why she can attend the same class as you.”

His final remark caused a noticeable shift in the atmosphere.

While calling someone “smart” could be dismissive when said about Megara—as it implied she was unnecessarily assertive in front of her peers—Sir Voltaire’s evaluation suggested that Nerys could be an asset to her classmates.

He was careful not to appear as though he was favoring one student over the others, knowing it could breed resentment. His words stopped just short of favoritism.

‘As expected, he’s still an excellent diplomat.’

Nerys smiled inwardly. During her time as the crown princess, her main duty had been diplomacy. Because of a diplomatic conflict with Verlaine, she had even briefly studied under Sir Voltaire. That was why she had enrolled in his class again this time—though she hadn’t expected Megara to follow her.

“But, Professor.”

Megara raised her hand, her face composed. In a deliberately sweet voice, she asked, “Isn’t Nerys’s interpretation incorrect?”

“That’s true,” Mahradi Ennim quickly agreed, his voice rising as he began criticizing Nerys.

“She’s a freshman from a rural village, so it’s only natural she’s lacking. But shouldn’t she be taking classes that match her level? Isn’t she just wasting the upperclassmen’s time when she can’t even interpret simple words properly?”

“What?”

For the first time since entering the classroom, Ren straightened his posture. Mahradi flinched under Ren’s sharp gaze but quickly regained his nerve and glared back.

“What? Am I wrong?”

“Who was it that just correctly identified a diplomatic term in Verlaine?”

“I don’t trust it. How could she possibly know a diplomatic term? Even Arthur didn’t know it. You must’ve taught her, Ren Fayel.”

“Why would I teach her that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because no one wants to be close to you, so you’re sucking up to her?”

Ren’s eyes glinted coldly. A charming yet dangerous smile—a hallmark of his anger—spread across his youthful face like that of a mischievous demon.

“That sounds like something I’d say.”

“What?”

Mahradi lacked Ren’s finesse. His face turned red as he erupted in anger, creating a discomforting scene.

Nerys watched Megara with an unreadable expression, while Sir Voltaire observed the unfolding drama with a sharp gaze.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Can’t you understand words? If not, never mind.”

“Hey, Ren Fayel…!”

“Tous, arete. (Both of you, stop.)”

Before Ren’s casual shrug could further provoke Mahradi, Sir Voltaire intervened, restoring order. He then turned to Nerys.

“Kerna du pensla a discours previen? (What are your thoughts on the earlier conversation?)”

“Ka nemme derange paran, Sior. (It has nothing to do with me, sir.)”

Nerys’s calm response left Mahradi visibly irritated, while Ren remained indifferent, as if the matter didn’t concern him. In Ren’s view, the issue was solely between him and Mahradi.

“Mahradi Ennim, Ren Fayel. Both of you will report to me during lunch as punishment for forgetting you’re in class. And Nerys Truydd, come forward and explain why you interpreted it that way.”

“Yes.”

All eyes turned to Nerys as she calmly walked to the podium.

She was so accustomed to such scrutiny that she displayed none of the nervousness typical of freshmen. If anything, she seemed as though she were basking in deserved praise.

The enormous chalkboard affixed to the podium was magically managed, allowing even those of small stature to write on it with the help of the instructor’s baton. Nerys took the baton from Sir Voltaire and wrote several Verlaine words on the board, alongside their Imperial translations.

“Impressive penmanship.”

Arthur Pendland couldn’t help but voice his admiration louder than intended. Catching Mahradi’s resentful glare, he merely shrugged. What? He was just saying what he thought.

Achieving such refined, elegant handwriting would have required years of dedicated practice. Even Arthur, often praised for his writing, fell short of her skill. Writing legibly on a magical chalkboard, particularly for beginners, was no simple task.

Megara bit her lip as she noticed one of the words Nerys had written: “Kangè: Ambassador.”

The word Megara had pronounced as “Kinzei,” assuming it was a name, was actually read as “Kangè” in Verlaine, meaning “ambassador” in diplomatic terms.

The Imperial name “Kinzei” itself had originally been derived from that term.

Additionally, the word Megara had translated as “windmill” actually referred to “a continuous flow within a defined scope.” While her translation wasn’t entirely impossible, in this context, it was a complete mistranslation.

(T/N: Damn, I admit it. This is pretty hard to translate.)