Isekai'd Into The Wrong World-Chapter 103: Ch - Stubborn Old Hag

"Who are you calling a stubborn old hag?" Helena’s voice was dangerously quiet.

Her hand rose.

The stone chair beside her desk hurtled through the air toward Gregory.

Gregory didn’t move.

The chair struck him dead-center in the chest.

Stone shattered on impact, the sharp crack echoing through the office as fragments burst outward in every direction. Dust followed a heartbeat later, a thick cloud rolling across the room and swallowing everything in a dull grey haze.

For a moment, it was impossible to see anything clearly.

Then the dust began to settle.

Through the drifting particles, Gregory’s silhouette emerged—exactly where it had been a moment before.

He looked down at the debris around his feet.

Then back up at Helena.

"Are you finished?" he asked calmly.

Helena’s chest heaved. Her fingers danced in the air, "Don’t test me, Gregory."

"I wouldn’t dream of it," he replied, brushing a speck of dust from his sleeve with mild disinterest. "Though I will say—you’re running out of furniture. At this rate, we’ll be conducting meetings standing."

The corner of Helena’s mouth twitched.

A quiet sound—close to a laugh—escaped her.

She flicked her fingers once more.

The shattered stone stirred.

Fragments shifted, lifted, reversed. Cracks sealed themselves as pieces slid back into place, edges knitting together until, within a breath, the chair stood whole again beside her desk—as if it had never moved at all.

Gregory’s attention drifted past her, toward the doorway.

"Ryan," he said. "Come sit."

Ryan, who had been frozen near the entrance, moved mechanically. He pushed the heavy door shut with a soft thud, then crossed to the chair in front of Helena’s desk.

He sat.

The office fell silent except for the faint sound of settling dust.

Gregory moved away from the window, positioning himself near Helena’s desk. Still standing. Still watching both of them with that unnervingly calm expression.

Helena took a long breath, then sat down behind her desk. Her hands folded in front of her.

"Ryan," she began, voice controlled now. "I’m sure you’re wondering why—"

"You caused the tremor," Ryan interrupted. "That seems... against the rules."

Helena’s eyes flicked to Gregory, then back to Ryan. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because—"

"Because," Gregory cut in smoothly, "Helena decided that a sacred Trial of Twelve was an appropriate venue for personal intervention."

Helena didn’t snap back immediately.

Her fingernails scraped against the desk.

"I had my reasons," she said tightly.

"Oh, I’m certain you did." Gregory replied. "The question is whether those reasons justify the consequences."

"What consequences?" Helena asked. "Keeping Ryan alive?"

Gregory tilted his head. "You’ve cast Ryan and his companions as the villains of this trial."

Ryan frowned. "What?"

"I mean... did you seriously need the statue of Jupiter to collapse," Gregory continued, still looking at Helena. "The statue of Jupiter, falling during the Trial. What do you imagine people are saying about that, Helena?"

"That was an accident, the statue’s base was weak so—"

"They’re saying the gods disapproved of the trial," Gregory corrected. "They’re saying that the Trial was interrupted because Ryan and the accusers were in the wrong."

Helena exhaled softly, like she’d heard something tedious.

"It doesn’t matter what you intended." Gregory’s voice remained level. "What matters is perception. And right now, the perception is that the heavens themselves deemed Ryan’s cause unworthy."

Helena stood abruptly. "You want to talk about perception, Gregory? Fine. Let’s discuss what would have happened if I HADN’T intervened."

"Enlighten me."

"Ryan’s team was losing!" Helena’s voice cracked with frustration.

She leaned forward, hands flat on the desk.

"If I had done nothing, Ryan would have been defeated. Decisively."

"And that," Gregory said, "would have been the outcome."

"And that outcome would have settled everything," Helena replied. "A clear loss doesn’t just end a Trial—it defines it. It validates Navius while discrediting Ryan. Permanently."

"At least it would have been contained."

Helena’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Gregory continued, voice even.

"One decisive loss is a story that ends in an afternoon. What you created..." He paused briefly. "Doesn’t end."

Ryan glanced between them.

Gregory’s gaze shifted, just slightly, to include him now.

"You didn’t just interrupt the Trial, Helena," he said. "You transformed it into myth."

He gestured faintly again.

"The problem," Gregory finished, "is that you’ve turned a loss we could manage... into a story we cannot contain.

Helena slammed her hand into the desk. "The problem is that he shouldn’t have fought in that trial in the first place! All he gained was combat experience. I knew it was a mistake to let him step in!"

"Thank you, Helena for worrying about my safety," Ryan said carefully. "But... why am I here...? Just to watch you both bicker?"

"No," Gregory said. "I asked her to summon you here to tell you that I’m leaving for the frontlines."

Ryan tilted his head. "The frontlines? Why now?"

Gregory’s lips pressed into a thin line. "The first fortress has fallen. And so I cannot remain off the frontlines a second longer. I will be leaving for the Rupes mountain range, today."

Ryan nodded slowly.

"You won’t see me for some time," Gregory continued, his hands clasped behind his back as he paced the office. "Weeks, maybe months. You must improve while I’m gone." He stopped pacing. "And please Ryan, don’t get yourself killed in childish arguments with young hot-headed nobles."

Ryan opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Childish politics.

"I’ll try," he said.

Gregory studied him for a moment.

"See that you do." He glanced at Helena. "I trust you’ll keep an eye on him."

Helena’s expression was unreadable. "Don’t I always."

Gregory gave a short nod—not quite a farewell, not quite an acknowledgement. He moved toward the door, paused with his hand on the frame, and looked back at Ryan one last time.

"Work hard," he said simply.

Then he was gone.

The door clicked shut.

The office felt larger without him in it.

Ryan sat in the silence for a moment. Helena had returned to her chair, fingers pressed together beneath her chin, staring at the middle distance. She didn’t seem to be inviting further conversation. He rose quietly, pushed in the chair, and let himself out.

—————

The morning air carried the particular quality of a day recovering from rain—the stone paths still dark with moisture, the grass heavy, the sky a pale and washed-out grey that was only beginning to thin. But it was warming. Slowly, steadily, the kind of warmth that follows a downpour and means it: the clouds pulling apart at their edges, light starting to push through in long, diffuse stretches that fell across the courtyard without quite committing to anything yet. Ryan walked without hurrying, his footsteps quiet on the wet stone path that wound back toward the student dormitories.

His thoughts moved in slow, overlapping circles.

Gregory was leaving. The first fortress had fallen, which meant the front was worse than the public realised.

He thought about Navius. About the way the trial had ended—not with clarity, but with noise, and dust, and a statue that shouldn’t have moved. A result no one could cleanly interpret, which meant everyone would interpret it differently, and loudly, and for as long as it suited them.

At the far edge of the grounds, past the outer wall and the tree line, the remnants of the morning’s storm still clung to the horizon—a dark mass retreating slowly eastward, its edges bruised and heavy. The sky above the academy was already lighter for its leaving. Another hour, Ryan thought, and it would be gone entirely.

He watched it for a moment, hands in his pockets.

Then he looked away and kept walking.

The dormitory corridor was quiet. Most students were still at breakfast, or whatever passed for it at this hour—the kind of loose, unhurried gathering that followed an interrupted morning.

I wonder when they will bring back lessons.

Ryan pushed open the door to the room.

James was sitting up.

He looked like he’d been sitting up for all of thirty seconds—hair flattened on one side, the blanket still half-tangled around his legs, blinking at the wall with the glazed expression of someone whose body had only recently agreed to rejoin the conscious world.

His head turned at the sound of the door.

"You look great," Ryan said sarcastically with two thumbs up.

James blinked at him. "...How long was I out?"

"A few hours." Ryan let the door fall shut behind him and dropped into his bed. "How do you feel?"

James performed an internal check.

"Like I was hit a lot, and then set on fire," he said at last.

"You were."

"Right." James pressed the heel of his hand against his temple. His gaze drifted around the room slowly, taking in the familiar walls, the quiet light coming through the window, the ordinary stillness. Something in his expression shifted—not quite relief, but close to it. "Did we win?"

Ryan leaned back in his chair.

"Well," he said, "we didn’t lose..."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​