A single linchpin can change the fate of an empire.
Without Don's valor at the manor, the defense would have crumbled. Two Carian Knights would be dead or rotting in a cell, and the emboldened Cuckoos would have dashed themselves against the main fortress walls until Caria lost all ability to strike back. In that timeline, Raya Lucaria would have simply sealed its gates and watched the two "rabid dogs" tear each other apart outside.
But reality had shifted. With the Royal Family's strength intact, the Academy suddenly found itself needing the Cuckoo Legion. Fearing the mercenaries might abandon their posts, they had recalled their wandering sorcerers. Not all returned, but enough battle-hardened casters arrived to bolster the Academy's ranks.
Don took this opportunity to return to familiar ground. He had left as an unremarkable initiate; he returned with hands stained in blood and a soul tempered by a thousand slashes.
A man's destiny is shaped by the currents of history and the strength of his own will.
Don followed a guide through the Academy, clutching his trunk and scanning the surroundings. It was a hall of knowledge, radiating a sense of understated luxury. Sorcerers in various glintstone crowns were scattered about, most sunning themselves while buried in ancient texts.
It felt like a university.
After weeks of gore and steel, this atmosphere was almost nostalgic. However, he quickly noticed the Academy's hypocrisy. They provided for every physical need and handed out runes like candy, yet they forbade the wandering sorcerers from removing their Olivinus Crowns. It was clear they didn't intend for these "guests" to stay; once the war favored the Academy, they would be cast out.
His guide, a Karolos apprentice named Yora, chatted incessantly. Don gave non-committal answers. When Yora heard that "Roland" had only hunted bats and boars in Limgrave, his enthusiasm visibly cooled.
In the Academy, the weak had no voice. Don was perfectly fine with that. After passing through the magnificent Church of the Cuckoo, they took the massive waterwheel lift to the second level. The density of sorcerers increased here, all of them hurrying past with books clutched to their chests.
"Is class dismissing?"
"There's a joint seminar between the Karolos and Lazuli Conspectuses this afternoon. As you know, the two houses have never seen eye-to-eye," Yora said with a shrug.
Don nodded. The Academy wore its factionalism on its sleeve. Without the Carian Royals as a common enemy, these scholars would likely be at each other's throats.
It's less a school of magic and more a nest of vipers. Five different schools of thought—it would be a miracle if they didn't clash.
Yora pushed open a heavy wooden door. Inside, six sorcerers sat around a long table, all wearing crowns identical to Don's. These men lacked the scholarly air of the others; they smelled of iron and blood. One toyed with a dagger on the table, while another wore chainmail beneath his silken robes.
"Senior Roland, these are the others who returned with you. Please wait here; Professor Oritiys will conduct the Drawing Ceremony shortly."
"Drawing Ceremony? Are we being reenrolled?"
"No, no. It is merely to assign you a mentor to help you 'reintegrate' into Academy life. I must be going. Farewell." Yora bolted, clearly uncomfortable in a room full of "savages."
Reintegrate? You mean surveillance, Don thought with a cold internal smile. He found an empty seat. Several gazes flickered toward him before returning to their own business.
Wandering sorcerers were a different breed. Once you left the safety of this ivory tower, you realized the Lands Between were a nightmare. The knowledge in their books was useless when a rider on horse-back, shielded by a greatboard, was bearing down on you while firing his own glintstone magic.
Don closed his eyes, feigning sleep while he reviewed his four objectives:
Hide: Escape the Black Knives' pursuit.Information Leak: Use the Academy's library as a "source" to explain the secrets he knew to Ranni without raising suspicion.Sabotage: Destabilize the Academy from within and harvest sorcerer souls to further fuse magic into his blade.Knowledge: Master the secrets he didn't already know.
The first goal was achieved; the Black Knives would never expect him to hide in the enemy's heart. As for the others, the Academy was the perfect garden for his "harvest."
The side door opened, and a Professor entered, followed by a group of unmasked initiates—men and women acting as servants. In the Academy, if you couldn't pass the trials, you were "hollowed glintstone," fit only for menial labor. The scent of roasted meat and the presence of the servants lightened the atmosphere. Some of the wandering sorcerers immediately began pawing at the female initiates.
These men were no longer pure scholars. Don watched from the corner of his eye as the man next to him pulled a servant onto his lap, his hand wandering up her thigh. The girl didn't resist, offering only a strained, awkward smile.
Don didn't move. He wasn't feigning virtue; he just couldn't bring himself to care about the debauchery.
"Ahem. Initiates, leave us." Professor Oritiys tapped the table, looking pained as the servants retreated. Looking at the room full of eccentric, scarred mages, his blood pressure rose. These men had spent years as sellswords and bandit counselors; they cared nothing for Academy tradition. But their strength was needed.
"You are all weary. Eat while you listen," Oritiys said. The sound of stone crowns being removed echoed through the room, revealing faces marked by scars and hard living. Oritiys began his speech, thanking them for returning, speaking of the war's importance, and spouting lines about how "victory is within our grasp."
He talked until his throat was dry, at which point a mage buried in a plate of meat raised his hand.
"Professor, when do we actually burn the Manor down?"
"When we take the keep, how is the loot being divided?"
"What about our back-pay for the years we were away?"
Oritiys, who hadn't had time for his own research in weeks, answered them one by one, cursing the "mentor" proposal in his head. Before the Carians even attacked, these thugs would ruin the Academy's prestige.
Finally, he signaled for an apprentice to bring a ceramic jar. "According to the council's decision, we will conduct the Drawing Ceremony to assign you a teacher. Should you have questions, refer to them."
"A teacher? I don't need some bookworm who's never killed a man telling me what to do!"
"Aye! Unless it's someone from the Haima Conspectus, I'm not listening."
The room grew rowdy. Oritiys didn't back down. "This is not a negotiation. You will accept a mentor, or you will be escorted from the gates."
Don watched the scene with an amused smirk. The Academy was smart—if they didn't break this group up, they'd have a riot on their hands.
The Professor's authority held. The sorcerers, wanting to keep their comfortable lifestyle, quieted down. Oritiys reached into the jar.
"Bork Durant: Twinage Conspectus. Lecturer Olivera shall be your mentor."
"Donald Map: Olivinus Conspectus. Lecturer Traore shall be your mentor."
The names went on. As expected, there was no mention of the Lazuli Conspectus—the house that favored Caria was being systematically phased out.
After a few minutes, Don finally heard his name.
"Roland Heinberl." The Professor paused, nodding at the "honest-looking" student. "Karolos Conspectus. Apprentice-Lecturer Sellen shall be your mentor."
Who?!
Don, who had been half-way out of his seat, froze. His expression shifted instantly.
The Sorceress Sellen? Why is she still at the Academy?!
"Is there a problem, Roland? Go meet your mentor," the Professor urged.
Don didn't have time to think. He walked toward the small side door. Standing there was a woman in a slender robe, her face hidden behind the stone mask of a sorceress. She had her hand to the chin of her mask, eyes narrowed as she scrutinized her new student.
Don stared at her, unsure of what to say. Then, he heard a voice—mature, calm, and slightly sharp.
"You look like a simple, honest soul. You shall be my first disciple. Be warned: I am very strict."
Without waiting for a response, she turned and began to walk away. After a few paces, she stopped and looked back at the stunned Don.
"What are you waiting for? Come. We begin your lessons today."
Beneath his mask, Don's expression was a tangle of nerves. There was only one question he wanted to ask:
Teacher Sellen... you're not going to turn me into a stone ball, are we?