That day, the academy amphitheater was not hosting an ordinary class.
The stands had filled earlier than usual.
Students, heirs, observers—everyone had gathered for the dialectical exercise.
A clash of words.
Two students.
Two assigned subjects.
No connection between them.
The goal was not to be right.
The goal was to make the other cease to exist.
On the stage, two lecterns faced the assembly.
Armand Decus stood motionless, hands clasped, his gaze steady—as if awaiting a conclusion already written.
Opposite him stood a young noble, quietly confident.
An assistant stepped forward, parchments in hand.
“Subjects.”
They took them.
A brief exchange of glances.
No smiles.
The instructor raised a hand.
“Begin.”
The debate had already been going on for several minutes.
“ … which is why I affirm that fire is the ultimate force.”
His voice carried easily.
“The stronger it becomes, the more uncontrollable it grows. Neither water nor wind can truly stop it. At best, they only delay its destruction.”
A few nods.
“A great fire mage is not contained.”
A smile.
“He is endured.”
He stepped back.
A heavy silence settled.
Armand finally lifted his gaze.
He had only seconds left to conclude.
“You claim that fire is uncontrollable.”
There was no challenge in his voice.
Only observation.
“That is a … comfortable assertion.”
A slight shift in the room.
“Because what is uncontrollable excuses failure.”
Some flinched.
“Let us consider fire differently.”
He slowly raised his hand.
“Fire is not a force.”
“What?!”
“It is an arrangement.”
The noble frowned.
“An arrangement depends on conditions.”
Armand raised one finger.
“Air, to lift it.”
Another.
“Heat.”
Then a third.
“The spark.”
He swept his gaze across the room.
“Remove just one…”
“ … and fire ceases.”
The noble reacted quickly, sharply:
“Words. Fire burns because it is fire.”
Armand nodded calmly.
“Then explain to me why it dies under water.”
“Because it is suffocated.”
“You just said it was uncontrollable—yet it is not.”
His tone did not change.
“Because its heat is taken away.”
A murmur rippled through the stands.
“And the wind?”
He turned toward the audience.
“You believe it opposes fire. It feeds it.”
The murmurs grew louder.
“More breath. More flame.”
His hand fell.
“Fire decides nothing. The wind guides it. Let it withdraw … and the blaze dies.”
A pause.
“It obeys.”
Silence.
The instructor stepped forward.
“Subjects.”
The noble answered immediately:
“Fire magic.”
A safe choice.
Almost obvious.
All eyes turned to Armand.
He calmly folded his hands.
“Persuasion.”
A shiver passed through the room.
“You did not speak of it,” said the instructor.
“On the contrary,” Armand replied softly. “Constantly.”
He looked toward the stands.
“I gave you three elements.”
A pause.
“Some of you agreed. Others doubted.”
He inclined his head.
Silence.
“You believed me. And yet… I invented them.”
The shock was immediate.
No one breathed.
“And yet…”
He slowly took a step back.
“You organized your thoughts around them.”
His voice deepened.
“I did not prove a truth.”
All were now hanging on his words.
“I gave you a structure … and you accepted it without proof.”
He raised his eyes.
“You did not believe my words.”
A pause.
“You believed your own reasoning.”
An absolute silence.
“And you chose to believe it.”
At the back of the hall, some of the instructors no longer blinked.
Armand Decus had already won.
That day, nothing was learned about fire.
What was learned was how certainty is born.
♦ ♦ ♦
A moment passed.
Then the instructor raised his hand.
“Vote.”
The students hesitated.
A few hands rose.
Then more.
A clear majority.
In favor of the noble.
A murmur spread through the stands.
Like relief.
As if order had just been restored.
The instructor observed the room.
Then Armand.
A moment.
Longer than the others.
“Victory goes to the fire subject.”
Armand did not move.
No reaction.
The instructor added, more slowly:
“ … and yet.”
A chill spread through the hall.
“He is the one who won.”
The gazes froze.
Some students lowered their eyes.
Others remained still.
The instructor clasped his hands behind his back.
“You voted according to politics, not facts … you understand.”
A shiver ran through the amphitheater.
Armand was no longer looking at anyone.
He had understood.
The world did not reward mastery.
It rewarded the compliant.
And that …
could be manipulated.
Profile
Role : Minister of Finance of the Principality of Eldoris, advisor to the prince
MBTI : INTJ
Race : Human
Standard language level, argumentative, logical, precise, structured, and concise, with a calculating, distant, cold, manipulative, negative, and sarcastic tone.
- Efficient
- intelligent
- organized
- pragmatic
- strategist
- Arrogant
- cynical
- selfish
- ruthless
- contemptuous
Armand Decus is a man of numbers and levers, convinced that true power does not lie in crowns, but in what keeps them standing: revenues, expenditures, debts, flows, and dependencies. He speaks with a methodical coldness, giving the impression of a “clean,” rigorous, almost unassailable mind—but this precision is not neutral; it serves an agenda.
Beneath his accounting discipline lies a posture of superiority. Decus takes pleasure in demonstrating, correcting, and crushing through evidence, instilling the idea that he sees further than others. He readily attacks the nobility, not out of virtue, but because he views it as an obstacle—an unproductive caste he ultimately dreams of dominating through economic necessity.
His competence makes him dangerous: he knows how to present a brutal decision as a logical conclusion, a “reasonable” inevitability. Where Danjou hesitates and Du Vale weighs the human cost, Decus calculates the political cost and looks for the angle that forces compliance. And when opportunity arises, he positions himself exactly where needed—indispensable enough to be heard, venomous enough to bring down those he envies.