Lazarus stepped out of the Dueling Hall without looking back.
The murmurs of the crowd followed him like a trailing mist, but he paid them no mind. The Paper Tiger already collapsed into nothing more than scattered scraps of light and memory after its purpose had been fulfilled.
There was no need to linger and watch Zurbluris process the humiliation.
The deep evening sun of the Academy’s artificial sky washed over the Middle Court as he walked.
His steps were steady, almost leisurely, though the earlier physical fight had left a faint ache in his limbs. He ignored it. Pain was temporary. Reputation, on the other hand, had a habit of sticking around longer than most people preferred.
’This way, I’ll have less people bothering me. I’ll also be able to help more students since I have proved my competence.’
He had only made it halfway across the open courtyard when hurried footsteps approached from behind.
"Wait!"
The voice was clear, bright, and just a little breathless.
Lazarus paused and turned.
Madeline skidded to a stop a few paces away, golden-brown eyes wide and cheeks faintly flushed from the short chase. A few strands of her yellow hair had come loose, and she quickly tucked them behind her ear before straightening her posture, as if suddenly remembering she was supposed to look composed.
"You... you left so quickly," she said, slightly out of breath. "I wanted to talk to you."
Lazarus studied her for a moment.
There was no hostility in her expression. Her gaze held open curiosity and something close to admiration.
"About the duel?" he asked.
"About everything!" Madeline took a step closer, then seemed to catch herself and stopped. "The way you fought those students earlier, the way you handled Zurbluris, and that... that Paper Tiger. I’ve never seen anything like it. It looked so real. Everyone was terrified. Even I—"
She cut herself off, cheeks coloring a little more. Then, she continued, "I mean, it was impressive. Really impressive."
Lazarus’s lips curved into a faint smile.
"You don’t hold back on praise, do you?"
"Why would I?" Madeline tilted her head, genuinely confused. "If something is amazing, you should say so. My father always told me that people who hide their thoughts end up lonely. Besides..."
Her gaze sharpened with interest.
"I want to understand how you did it. That summon. The way you used it. Everything."
For a moment, Lazarus simply smiled at her. Most students would have either avoided him after the scene or approached with some hidden agenda.
Madeline had none of that.
She stood there openly, waiting, eyes bright with the kind of earnest hunger for knowledge that most Historians only pretended to have.
’Interesting,’ he thought.
"Alright," he said at last. "Walk with me."
Madeline’s face lit up.
She fell into step beside him without hesitation as they left the denser part of the Middle Court and moved toward one of the quieter garden paths that wound between the public buildings.
The artificial breeze carried the faint scent of the Academy’s cultivated flowers, and the distant chatter of other students gradually faded.
"You already know the basics of summoning, right?" Lazarus began.
Madeline nodded quickly. "Identity, honorific name, and a proper chant. Sometimes additional conditions depending on the Projection. And for Echoes, the knowledge doesn’t have to be as deep as higher ranks."
"Correct. But knowledge alone isn’t sufficient in a real fight." Lazarus kept his hands in his pockets as he spoke. "Most Squires treat Historical Projection battles like a contest of strength. They think the bigger or scarier Echo wins. That’s only partially true. The real battlefield is the mind."
Madeline listened intently, her earlier excitement settling into focused attention.
"Zurbluris chose the Sable Hound of the Marsh Keep," Lazarus continued. "An Echo from the Second Aeon. Its history is tied to guidance and loyalty. It keeps those under its charge from getting lost. That makes it excellent for exploration or long-term support, but poor for direct confrontation against something that radiates pure dominance. The moment the Paper Tiger appeared, the Hound’s instinct recognized a superior predator. It didn’t matter that the tiger was empty. The Hound didn’t know that. Zurbluris didn’t know that either. Fear did the rest."
Madeline’s eyes widened slightly.
"So you chose the Paper Tiger specifically because of what he summoned?"
"I waited until I heard enough of his chant to confirm it," Lazarus replied. "Then I picked the counter. That’s the first lesson. Patience. If you summon too early, you give away your hand. If you wait just long enough, you can choose the perfect matchup."
He stopped walking and turned to face her fully.
"Want to try summoning it?"
Madeline blinked. "The Paper Tiger? Right now?"
"Why not? The knowledge is simple enough. And you’ve already seen it once. That helps."
She hesitated for only a second before nodding firmly.
"Yes. Please teach me."
Lazarus’s smile deepened a fraction.
He raised one hand and began speaking in a deliberately casual tone, the same irreverent cadence he had used in the duel.
"Listen to me and come out right now, Echo from the First Aeon, brutal and fragile, the source of provocation without substance... Paper Tiger."
A soft pulse of light gathered in front of him. It was weaker than the version he had used in the Dueling Hall, but the silhouette still formed—a white tiger with black stripes, large and imposing, though its presence lacked the crushing weight from earlier.
After a few seconds, the Projection stabilized, standing silently between them.
Madeline stared at it with open fascination.
"The chant doesn’t have to be solemn," Lazarus explained. "Some Projections prefer reverence. Others respond better to familiarity or even mockery, depending on their nature. The Paper Tiger is an Echo of intimidation without substance. Treating it too seriously actually weakens the connection. It thrives on the idea of being more than it is."
He dismissed the Projection with a thought, and the light faded.
"Now you try. Use the same structure. Don’t force the tone to sound grand. Just call it."
Madeline took a breath, straightened her shoulders, and raised her hand. Her voice was a little more formal than his, but she made a clear effort to keep it lighter.
"Listen to me and come out right now, Echo from the First Aeon, brutal and fragile, the source of provocation without substance... Paper Tiger."
Light gathered again.
It flickered once, twice, then solidified into a smaller version of the white tiger. It was only about two meters tall this time, and its presence was noticeably weaker, but it held form.
Madeline’s eyes shone with pure delight as she looked at the creature she had summoned.
"I did it..." she whispered, then broke into a bright smile. "I actually did it!"
The tiger remained for several more seconds before dissolving. Madeline turned to Lazarus, practically glowing.
"That was... that was amazing! The way the knowledge settled into place after seeing it once... and the chant really does feel different when you don’t try to make it sound sacred. Is that how you approach most Echoes?"
"Depends on the Echo," Lazarus said. "But the principle is the same. Understand what the Projection represents, then speak to that representation. Force and formality are tools, not requirements."
Madeline nodded rapidly, absorbing every word.
"And the psychological part... you said fear did most of the work. Is that something you can train? Reading what will break an opponent’s focus?"
"To an extent. Experience helps. So does knowing history. Every Echo carries the weight of its past. If you understand that past better than your opponent does, you can exploit the gap." He glanced at her while rubbing his chin. "You’re from a Martial Historian household, aren’t you?"
"Yes. My family prioritizes physical tempering and combat applications of Projections." She paused, then added more quietly, "But I’ve always liked the knowledge side too. The stories. The reasons things happened the way they did. Most people in my family think that’s secondary."
"It’s not," Lazarus said simply. "A Historian who only knows how to swing a Projection around is just a fighter with extra steps. The ones who last are the ones who understand why their summons exist in the first place."
Madeline gawked at him for a long moment. The earlier flustered energy had settled into something warmer.
"You’re different from the others," she said at last. "Most talented students either brag or stay distant. You just... explain things. Like it’s obvious."
Lazarus shrugged. "Maybe it is obvious. People just overcomplicate it."
She laughed softly.
The sound was light and genuine.
"Well, I don’t mind if you keep explaining things to me. If that’s alright."
He met her gaze.
There truly was no hidden intent present in her gaze. She was simply a pure and curious soul.
’My favorite kind of person.’ Lazarus smiled before replying, "I don’t mind."
Madeline’s smile widened.
"Then... friends?"
The word hung in the air for a second.
Lazarus quietly considered it. In his previous life, friendships had been rare and usually temporary.
In this one, he had no particular reason to refuse.
"Friends," he agreed.
Madeline beamed as if he had just handed her a rare Historical record.
"Great! Then you have to tell me more later. About other Echoes. About how you move when you fight without Projections too. That was also incredible, by the way. The way you handled all those students—"
"Madeline."
"Yes?"
"You can just call me Lazarus."
She blinked a few times, then nodded firmly.
"Lazarus. And you can call me Maddie if you want. Most people who are close to me do."
"Maddie, then."
They continued walking along the path, the conversation flowing more easily now.
Madeline asked questions. Lazarus answered some and deflected others with mild amusement. The tension of the duel and the earlier fight had drained away, replaced by something lighter.
Neither of them noticed the figure standing in the shade of a distant colonnade.
Nyssa watched them in silence.
Her grayish white hair hung loosely around her face, partially shadowing her expression.
Her Integration sat at nine percent—higher than anyone else in their year—yet she stood alone, as she preferred.
Her arms were loosely crossed, and her gaze remained fixed on the two figures moving farther down the path.
’Why don’t you join them?’ a quiet voice in her mind asked.
Nyssa’s lips barely moved as she answered herself.
"There’s no point."
The internal voice pressed again, soft and insistent. ’They’re forming connections. Groups. Bonds. Isn’t that what people do here?’
"They are," Nyssa murmured. "And it won’t matter."
A faint, humorless curve touched the corner of her mouth.
"They’ll all die anyway."
She turned away from the path and began walking in the opposite direction, her steps unhurried.