Hypode let out a pained scream and fell backward, his body dropping to the cobblestone path like a rock.

  A loud crack echoed out, and the surrounding area turned completely silent.

  A roar.

  Mal jolted. A split second later, he felt a fist impact his cheek.

  The world lit up in stars. His head went light and his body lifted off the ground for a few moments before he hit the dirt.

  A moment later, pain washed over him. Blood trickled from inside his mouth from where his mouth had hit his teeth.

  “Ow,” he said.

  He glanced over at Lusia through blurry eyes. Her hands twitched, then she stepped to the side.

  Ah, Mal thought. I see what’s happening. She was ordered by father to stay out of schoolyard conflicts—it wouldn’t do to have a noble’s blood spilled by her.

  But that meant he was on his own.

  The giant boy stepped closer and—

  “FOR HONOR!”

  A blur of footsteps as a figure dashed by Mal. The giant boy’s eyes shot open. A split-second later, the figure leapt into the air and a kick launched into the boy’s jaw. His neck snapped back a full 90 degrees with a crack even louder than when Hypode had hit the ground.

  The boy stood there like a tree.

  The figure dropped to the ground, turned around, and extended a hand to Mal. He tilted his head, then took the figure’s hand.

  Mal blinked away the stars and finally saw who’d helped him.

  “Rolam?” he asked.

  “I’d been looking for an good excuse!” Rolam winked at Mal. “My newfound honored friend!”

  A few minutes passed. Mal continued to stand and stretched, giving off a yawn.

  When will the nurse come?

  Footsteps.

  “Who’s that?” someone looked back.

  “Is she a fourth-year?”

  Mal poked his head over the top of the crowd of students to get a better look at her.

  “No, that’s one of the professors,” a young man said. “I’ve heard of her. The potions and herbalism teacher.”

  Mal searched his memories.

  Cassandra, that was her name, wasn’t it?

  A woman with short hair, wearing a tank top with a jacket, appeared from behind the group of students. A long pipe hung from her mouth, a thin trail of smoke wafting into the air from the opening.

  “Let me see the latest idiot,” she said.

  After several seconds of the students looking at her in confusion, she raised her voice. “That’s code for get out of the way!”

  At that, all the people surrounding them quickly opened a path for Cassandra to pass through. When she came to Mal and the body of Hypode, she glared at Mal and pulled the pipe from her lips.

  “Was it you?” she said.

  A lesser man might have flinched. Instead, Mal shook his head.

  “He tried to charge at me and attack me with a spell. I used a shield spell and it refracted his attack.”

  “A perfect shield?” She frowned. “It would’ve triggered a runic backlash on his core, then. If that’s never happened to him before…”

  “Yes ma’am. I got lucky.”

  Cassandra looked doubtful.

  “And what about the other one?” she asked.

  The guy with the broken jaw made a strangled noise.

  At that, Rolam grinned and put his hands on his hips. “It was I, the honorable Rolam! This cur attempted to sneak upon my honorable friend, here, and I acted appropriately.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Cassandra’s eyes wandered over to Lusia.

  Lusia looked back at her, and the two engaged in a staring contest for the next thirty seconds.

  Mal waited to see what would happen, but nothing did. The two just continued to stare at each other.

  The woman with the pipe cocked an eyebrow. “Hey, girlie. Are these two telling the truth?”

  Lusia nodded. “They were.”

  Cassandra grunted and picked Hypode up by the back of his collar. “I’ll get him fixed up in time for the examination.” She looked around herself and raised her voice. “Now the rest of you, get to the dorms!”

  At that, the students scurried away like cornered rats. Before Mal even knew it, everyone had seemingly vanished.

  Cassandra turned around and walked off in the direction she came from. She stopped and looked back at Mal.

  “Bit of friendly advice,” she said. “Try not to get yourself in trouble. It makes my job so much easier.”

  She turned back around and walked off.

  The dude with the broken jaw groaned and ran after her.

  With that encounter done, Mal walked off toward the dormitory. His footsteps clicked against the stone path, while Lusia followed behind him dutifully.

  "That was a good save," Mal said. "Not sure why she believed you like that, but you did a great job."

  Lusia's tone remained neutral. "I was merely executing my duty, master."

  "You did a great job of it. Although . . ." He paused. She didn't want him to put herself in trouble for his sake. "If the consequences for you would be too grave, you don't have to lie."

  "I lied?"

  He turned around and stared at her to see that she had widened her eyes by the slimmest of margins.

  "Yes? I mean, I was clearly provoking that guy,” Mal said.

  "No, you were stating facts."

  Mal grimaced. Had Lusia always had such a warped perspective? Man, he’d done a terrible job of paying attention to her in his first life if he really hadn't noticed this.

  "It was the way I said them. Not just that, but the fact that I said them at all. Most people would consider it pretty rude to go around blabbing about their family drama."

  "I see."

  Mal nodded slowly. "So you get my point? If it'll get you in trouble, don't be afraid to throw me to the wolves."

  "But where will I get the wolves from?"

  Mal resisted the urge to groan out loud. She had to be messing with him.

  "N—no, it was a metaphor, Lusia."

  "A metaphor for what?"

  Was he really about to have this conversation with her?

  “It basically means that you’ll abandon me to my fate, so to speak.”

  A set of footsteps from up ahead caught Mal's attention. Rolam walked up to the both of them and gave them a cheery smile.

  "Heya, thanks for saving my bacon back there."

  "Where's the bacon?" Lusia said. "Why do people keep bringing up things that are not relevant to the current situation?"

  Rolam turned and blinked at her, his open ears twitching at the same instant. "Um, what are you talking about?"

  "Ignore her, don’t worry about it." Mal held out his hand. "The name is Malfrasius Patoal, it’s a pleasure to meet you."

  Rolam reached out and shook Mal's hand. "Rolam Knilum. Likewise."

  He looked over at Lusia and took her hand. Without the slightest bit of hesitation, he took her hand, briefcase and all, and gently pressed his lips to her knuckles. He looked up at her. His voice lowered into a thick, husky sound.

  "And who is this honorable rose I see before me?" he asked.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Mal blinked. He definitely didn't remember this encounter from his first life. How would Lusia respond? Would she actually enjoy the attention? That would be quite the interesting outcome—his maid and a future hero falling in love.

  Throughout the whole event, Lusia's expression hadn't changed the slightest.

  She flipped her knuckles around and rubbed them against her dress.

  I think she’s not interested.

  Rolam’s face fell, and Mal had to hold back a wince. Lusia’s eyes focused in on Rolam, and Rolam gulped, droplets of sweat rolling down his forehead.

  She opened her mouth. Rolam shut his eyes. Mal prepared for a tongue-lashing—

  “Roses are not native to the local region.”

  Rolam stopped. He tilted his head. “What?”

  “Roses are not native to the local region,” she said. “Part of this is due to the peculiarly specific requirements of the rose. If the nutrients in the soil are not calibrated to a very specific level, they die.”

  "Where did you even learn this from?" Mal asked.

  "I am required, as part of my duties, to assist the gardener from time to time," Lusia said. "I once asked him about roses because they were used so commonly in parlance, despite not making any sense. He then proceeded to tell me the above information.”

  "So why exactly did you bring that up?"

  Lusia's eyes shot back over to Rolam.

  "Because it is impossible for roses to have survived the trip down here, barring some sort of magic. I am unsure as to what rose you could be referring to."

  Mal felt his lips turn up into an awkward smile. This was going to become a running problem, wasn't it?

  Unfortunately, Mal knew it would be rude to simply walk off and head to his dorm. Instead, Rolam had more or less kidnapped the two by walking extremely slowly and forcing them to listen to his stories.

  Mal was willing to play ball, however. It wouldn’t hurt to be nice to a future hero.

  Rolam had just finished talking about how much of a prick Hypode was when he reached up and scratched his head. There was a change to his expression.

  “So what do you think the entrance exam is going to be like?”

  There was the slightest quiver of nervousness. Mal tilted his head. “I’m sure it’ll be nothing too bad. Why do you ask?”

  Rolam glanced back and forth. He let out a sigh and dropped his tone low.

  “The truth is that—” he slouched. “Hypode might’ve had a point. This honorable one has never had a head for magic. I failed out of the exam for the elven academy. At the end of the day, my core is still just a D rank.”

  He seemed to freeze up at the last part of the sentence. He frantically waved his hands back and forth. “Not that there’s anything wrong with having a low-ranking core! Really, it’s not about raw magical power, it’s about technique and knowledge, and there are plenty of fields of magic that don’t rely on the core anyway—”

  “Stop talking. Your voice reminds me of a rat,” Lusia said.

  Rolam winced and almost seemed to stagger back. “You really don’t hold back, do you?”

  “I’ve been told that many times, yes.”

  Before Lusia could burn any more bridges, Mal decided to interject and put a hand on Rolam’s shoulder. Rolam looked up at Mal with confusion.

  “I actually have some insider information,” Mal said. “And the written test doesn’t really matter that much. Remember, this was a military academy before it was a magic academy. The practical test is where they’ll really be paying attention. If you can show off your stuff there, then you’ll be golden.”

  Rolam’s eyes widened, and a sparkle flashed inside. “Really? Then I might just have a chance!”

  At that, the shadow of the dormitories touched them. Mal looked over to the side to see that the sun was already setting.

  Rolam followed his gaze and sighed. “We’ve been talking for a while. I guess I should let you go, it would be the honorable thing to do.”

  Mal held back the urge to raise an eyebrow. It seemed that the half-elf actually could take a hint.

  Rolam reached out his hand and took Mal’s, then shook it up and down quickly. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mal. If we’re lucky, we might even end up in the same circle.”

  Mal’s smile strained. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

  Rolam nodded and let go of Mal’s hand. He walked off toward the dormitory and disappeared from sight as he rounded a corner.

  Mal and Lusia resumed walking. Inside his mind, Mal turned to the conversation and tried to evaluate what the long-term consequences would be.

  Rolam had floated the idea of them being in the same circle. If Mal recalled correctly, all students were assigned to a circle. These circles acted like a sort of “team”. Circle members were your roommates, your companions, you dormed together, had lunch together, competed in team events together.

  He was slowly gaining a rapport with one of the heroes. That was good… But he definitely didn’t want to be bound too closely to them.

  An ally? Yes.

  Being in the same circle? Absolutely not.

  For one thing, just because he was able to put up a good front didn’t mean he didn’t hold some level of resentment toward the heroes for slaughtering his men one by one, and then himself. He understood why they did it. He probably would’ve done the same in their shoes. That didn’t change the fact that there was too much blood spilled for there to ever be any kind of real reconciliation.

  Besides that, it was dangerous, keeping them too close. These heroes seemed to spontaneously develop abilities at random. Not only that, but the Marks they would obtain were just completely broken. Who knew if one of them might spontaneously allow them to detect time travelers? Absolutely not.

  “That was very out of character for you, master.”

  Mal blinked and looked over at Lusia. She was staring at him with an inscrutable expression. Their footsteps clicked against the cobblestone while the light cast by the setting sun seemed to bathe her in a warm orange.

  “Which part?” Mal said.

  “You intervened in a conflict that was not your own. And then afterward, you spoke with that boy extensively. Normally, you would’ve ignored the conflict, and you would’ve told the boy to leave you alone.” She paused. “You would use much stronger language than that, but the point still stands.”

  Before Mal could respond, she continued speaking.

  “Not only that, but you’ve been acting unusually toward me as well. You’ve said thank you and have requested my opinion on a number of occasions. You’ve never done that before. Why has this changed?”

  Of course she developed social awareness at the most inopportune time available.

  But then again, this conversation would happen eventually. He would’ve had to kick her to the curb or somehow find a way to avoid her, and he didn’t see that happening. Firstly, she was far too useful. Her combat abilities and her loyalty would be essential during these early months when he was still recovering his power.

  Secondly, he still needed to fix things. He needed to make things right with her—and how could he do that if she was a million miles away?

  Mal would need an explanation that would cover his unusual behavior for the foreseeable future.

  “What would you say…” He trailed off, the words at the tip of his tongue. “If I told you that I had a dream?”

  She tilted her head. “I would tell you that dreams are a common occurrence, and you shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “No, no. It was the content of the dream that was weird.” Mal kicked at the ground, and his shoe skidded across the rocks. “I dreamt of the future.”

  “And what did this future depict?”

  “A couple different things. I dreamt of war. Battle. You were there too.”

  “What happened to me?”

  Her body, on the floor. Broken. Blood pooling on the wood like wine spilled from a barrel.

  He wasn’t ready to go there.

  “You were fine. But you did end up leaving me.”

  At the mention of her leaving, a small frown appeared on her face. It was gone as quickly as it was there. “I see. What does this have to do with your recent changes in behavior?”

  “In the end, I became a bad guy. A villain. The whole world rose against me, and I was killed.” His mouth went dry, and he reached up toward his stab wound. “It was disturbingly realistic.”

  “It was just a dream, master.”

  “Still, it made me reevaluate things,” Mal said. “I thought it might be a sign. Maybe the path that I was going down wasn’t one that I wanted to remain on. I figured now’s as good a time as any to make a change.”

  Mal gave a small smile and hoped that this would be enough to ward off any further questions.

  The seconds stretched on. Lusia was as stoic as ever on the surface, but Mal got the sense that behind her eyes, he could almost see the gears whirling.

  Finally, she nodded. “I see. If that is what you wish to do and how you wish to interpret this dream, master, it is not my place to say otherwise.”

  “I know it’s weird. But it’s probably for the best, right? Better this than how I used to be.”

  “… In my experience, master, people rarely change, and they rarely change so suddenly.”

  At that, she froze and bowed her head. “My apologies, master. It seems that the shock of what you said caused me to say something inappropriate.”

  Mal waved her off. “It’s fine. Totally understandable.”

  She bowed her head, but there was a distinct look of suspicion that he hadn’t seen there before.

  Of course she didn’t think that this would last. It was a totally reasonable assumption to make. Usually changes like this were preceded by some sort of emotional event: the death of a loved one, a loss of a job, a sudden change in one’s status, a great success. People don’t just change overnight.

  But at the very least, it seemed like she didn’t disbelieve that he had a “dream.” If she didn’t believe that, then the types of questions he’d encounter would be far more difficult to answer.

  Her distrusting his sudden change? He could work with that. And he was sure that, in time, he would earn her trust.

  “Let’s get to the dormitories,” Mal said. “We’ve spent enough time talking.”

  She nodded. “Yes, master.”

  They continued walking until they reached a crossroads. Each of the buildings was numbered, and Mal could see that his room was somewhere off to the left, while Lucia’s was off to the right.

  “I can take my briefcase, and you can take yours,” Mal said.

  Lusia shook her head. “I will take your things to your room, then I’ll head to the servants’ dormitories.”

  Mal didn’t see the point in arguing with her, and the two approached Mal’s dormitory.

  They approached the locked door. The keycard in his pocket buzzed. He pulled it out and hummed, then put it to the lock. A soft click echoed out and the door swung open.

  The room was fine—nothing special. A bed, some curtains. The usual amenities.

  Lusia stepped forward and placed the briefcase in the center of the room. She stepped back toward the exit and lingered by the door a moment. It seemed that she wanted to say something.

  Mal waited, but eventually she shook her head.

  “Have a good evening, master. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Mal felt a faint pang of disappointment. He had been hoping that she’d say whatever she was wanting to say. Still, he suppressed the feeling and smiled.

  “And you too, Lusia.”

  At that moment, the briefcase, which had been standing up, somehow unlatched, and the clothes spilled over the floor.

  Lusia stared at the briefcase for several long seconds.

  Mal let out a short chuckle. “I’m beginning to think that this briefcase hates you.”

  Mal stretched out across the bed. The blanket scratched against his arms and legs. He took it off and pushed himself off the bed and onto the ground. He ignored his clothes and walked out of the room. On his way out, he grabbed a small brown satchel that had been packed in the briefcase.

  It was just before dawn, that time when the sky is turning the slightest hint of grayish blue and when you have just enough light to see in front of you. Mal estimated it would probably be a good fifteen minutes before sunrise. The perfect time to accomplish his plans.

  He shut the door behind him and walked off toward the edge of the campus. If his nose was leading him correctly—and it usually was—then he’d smelled elder root nearby.

  Mal wouldn’t be able to do anything truly impressive with an elder root—not at all. But he would be able to at least give himself an edge. And he needed every advantage he could get with his F-grade core.

  The scent of wood was thick and plentiful, a faint cinnamon-like smell joined to the woody odor. If he recalled correctly, that was what elder root smelled like.

  He only had to walk for about ten more seconds before he spotted it in the ground.

  The flowering part of the elder root poked out—it reminded Mal of a dandelion, with the difference being that the white cotton-like things were replaced with cool purple nettle-like growths.

  While there were applications for the flower, the bulk of magical essence was contained in the root itself. Mal scraped away the dirt surrounding the flower with his hands.

  Jackpot.

  A thin greenish-white root was coming out directly underneath the flower. Most importantly—and the mark that this was truly elder root and not some lookalike—there were faint glowing blue lines running down the root.

  Mal carefully pulled out the root, taking care to avoid causing any rips or damage. He gently folded it up and put it into his brown satchel.

  His foot caught on something.

  He looked down to see a stone bowl—a mortar!

  He picked it up and looked it over. It was functional—nothing fancy. It didn’t have any kind of magical enhancements on it, and the quality of the thing was actually falling apart. There were little chips and dents all over the side.

  But for Mal’s purposes, it would do perfectly.

  He looked around for a pestle. Unfortunately, whoever had come out here and dropped the mortar apparently did not do the same thing with their pestle.

  Instead, Mal picked up a particularly long and vaguely cylindrically shaped rock and put it inside his satchel along with the mortar.

  With that done, it was time to give his core a whirl.