History is written by the victors, but unfortunately, it is taught by the boring.
The History Amphitheatre was a steep, circular cavern of a room carved from grey stone. I was struggling to stay awake, but truth be told, I was loving every second of it. Even the boredom felt like a luxury; it meant I wasn't currently bleeding, nothing was trying to actively kill me.
Another thing helping my mood was the fact that I was currently buzzing with enough energy to power a small city. Overnight, the landscape of my internal mechanics had shifted. We had discovered a terrifying new loop: my clones could shovel standard, dirt-cheap atmospheric mana into the Inventory, and the void would slowly digest it, purifying it into the heavy, high-authority White Mana. Ronan would then sit in the void, drinking the premium fuel like a smoothie.
The result? I had skipped the grind entirely. I woke up this morning with a Solid Green Core. My veins felt like they were reinforced with steel cabling. I felt heavy, anchored, and dangerous.
'We are cheating,' I had told Ronan over breakfast.
'We are optimising,' he had corrected, sounding insufferably smug. 'In fact, it is a necessity. The time required for evolution doubles with every rank. We were beginning to stagnate'
Standing at the lectern was Doctor Aris. He was a desiccated, skeletal man who looked like he had been personally present for the ancient events he was describing, mostly because he had simply forgotten to die.
"The Era of Ash," Aris intoned, his voice booming with that dungeon-like reverb. "A period of darkness before the First Emperor brought the Light of Order. And the primary agents of this chaos? The Fae".
He tapped a pointer against a large slate behind him. It bore a crude chalk drawing of a creature—a twisted, shadowy thing.
"Do not mistake the Fae for the whimsical sprites of children's tales," Aris lectured. "They were not a civilisation. They were a contagion. Chaotic Mana Parasites that lacked reason, logic, or soul. They sought only to consume life force".
'He is lying,' Ronan's voice cracked like a whip in my mind.
I winced, shifting in my hard stone seat. 'Or just mistaken. Relax, it's just a lecture.'
'It's not a lecture. It's an insult,' Ronan seethed. 'I was there, Murphy. I was already a hundred years old when we founded this Empire. With a great sacrifice from my mother and her allied gods , the Emperor was born, and together he and I took the shattered kingdoms of humanity and built a haven. We built the Legions. We wrote the Laws. We turned warlords into Noble Houses in less than a decade'.
'You and Vaelos?'.
'Yes,' Ronan answered, his voice thick with nostalgia. 'It was a golden age. The Empire was not just a place for humanity to thrive; it was a bastion to protect all races'.
"The Fae possessed no culture," Aris continued, oblivious to the architect of his civilisation fuming inside my skull. "They were simply a natural disaster that walked on two legs. When the Empire purged them during the Hundred Year War, it was not a genocide. It was sanitation".
Ronan was in shock at the realisation. 'We have been at war with them for a hundred years? They were our neighbours,' Ronan whispered, the shock draining into confusion. 'For years, there was peace. They traded with us. Lived among us. And then... one day, they just changed'
I traced the grain of the wood on my desk. 'Changed how?'
'They sent assassins,' Ronan said, the memory bitter. 'They tried to kill Vaelos in his sleep. No declaration of war. No demands. They just turned on us. Vaelos... he was terrified. He created the Inquisition to find the spies, to protect himself. I fought him on it. I told him we were reacting out of fear'.
I listened carefully, not about to interrupt him when he was on a roll.
'All-out war broke out in the south. After a few years, they had pushed us back all the way to Aethelgard. The Emperor tasked me to defend it, but I didn't for one second believe they had just gone mad. I went to the Southern Border to parley with the Fae Princes. I needed to look them in the eye and ask why they wanted my little brother dead'.
'But you never got the answer,' I thought.
'No. Around the same time the Fae started trying to assassinate the Emperor, another war broke out among the Gods. When the battle was at its peak, my Lady called on me. I was banished to Earth. And Elrend was left alone to face an army that refused to speak'
"The Fae operated by consuming raw mana," Aris droned on, pulling me back to the present. "They siphoned power from the land and from other mages. This parasitic draining is the hallmark of Heresy. To take mana that is not yours... that is the mark of the Enemy".
I froze. My pen stopped mid-sketch. "OH, I see," I whispered, barely moving my lips.
'Murphy...' Ronan warned.
"Yeah, I heard him."
'Now you understand what I meant when I said taking mana that doesn't belong to us is a very bad idea,' Ronan noted grimly.
I smiled at the irony. "And I'm currently drinking the Emperor's personal mana supply to power-level my core inside a pocket dimension".
Aris wasn't finished. He tapped the slate again, creating a cloud of chalk dust.
"But theft is not their only crime. For a hundred years, they have besieged us. Every Winter and Summer Solstice, when the veil between realms is thin, their armies spill across the Southern Border. Thousands of creatures from nightmares appear out of thin air. They do not just kill; they capture. Those taken are... turned against us".
Aris clicked his tongue, a dry sound like a twig snapping. "And in recent years, they have unleashed the Rot. A biological curse that infects the dead and twists them into flesh-eating monsters. Do not think your expeditions into the Wilds are for glory, students. The Academy sends you out to find the Rot and burn it out before it spreads. You are not explorers. You are exterminators".
'The Rot?' Ronan's voice was quiet, horrified. 'They are using necromancy? The Summer Court viewed the dead as sacred. They wouldn't... they wouldn't defile a corpse'
'A hundred years is a long time, big guy,' I thought. 'Desperate times, desperate measures'
'What did Vaelos do to make them hate us this much?' Ronan wondered, the weight of the century crushing down on him.
I looked at the chalk drawing of the monster on the board. Then I looked at the grim faces of the students around me. They were absorbing every word. If they found out what the Inventory could do—sucking in raw mana—I wouldn't just be expelled for cheating.
"Class dismissed," Aris wheezed, snapping his book shut.
Stepping out of the History Amphitheatre was like walking out of a tomb and directly into a blast furnace. The midday sun hit us with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, instantly banishing the dungeon chill of Doctor Aris's classroom, though unfortunately, it did nothing to burn away the looming sense of existential dread.
The squad had gathered near the carriage rank, and the mood was... mixed. Finn was vibrating. He looked less like a scout and more like a tuning fork that had been struck against a rock.
"He said flesh-eating," Finn whispered, staring at nothing. "Are we going to face any undead on the upcoming expedition? Actual, literal walking corpses"
"They aren't simply 'undead'," Vespera corrected, adjusting her silk gloves with infuriating calm. "They are necromantic constructs driven by a parasitic fungal network. The distinction is quite important academically".
"If it tries to eat my face, Vespera, I don't care about its taxonomy," Finn snapped.
"Well, if you are that worried, perhaps you should pray we remain in the Rearguard," Vespera noted, checking her reflection in a small pocket mirror. "Though that would be a career catastrophe".
"Rearguard?" Finn asked, blinking. "What does that mean?"
Vespera sighed, snapping the mirror shut. "Tomorrow's Solstice Ball isn't just a social event, Finn. It is a marketplace. The Academy doesn't trust First Years to wander the Mist-Valley unsupervised. The Vanguard has four commanders—the strongest students from the third years. They select their teams through a bidding system using Merit Points".
"Bidding?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow. "I don't remember seeing a price tag on my admission letter. I thought I was a student, not a listed asset on someone's portfolio."
"It's the Draft," Vespera explained, her tone clipping along with the efficiency of a lecturer. "A Rift portal is brought in, and throughout the night, students show off their skills in the hopes of catching the eye of a commander. They must pick their team members from first and second years. If two or more Commanders select the same students, they must use their personal Merit Points collected throughout the year to break the deadlock".
"And if we get bought?" Finn asked, looking pale.
"We go to the front lines. The 'Vanguard'. High risk, high reward," Vespera said, a hungry glint in her eyes. "But if no Commander bids on us... we are assigned to the Rearguard. We would be left behind as base camp support while the real mages earn Merit".
"Camp support sounds great! I could peel potatoes. Potatoes don't try to eat my face," Finn noted, looking hopeful. "I like potatoes".
"I tend to agree. Why would we risk our lives in the Vanguard when we can have a cosy bed back at camp?" I added.
"It is professional suicide," Vespera countered coldly. "If we aren't Drafted, we are irrelevant".
"Students are picked individually, right? Not as a team?" I asked.
"Correct," Vespera answered.
"Then you have nothing to worry about, Finn." I put my hand on Finn's shoulder and gave him a relaxed smile.
"Great!" Finn said, relieved. "Wait... are you saying I'm weak?".
"No! Of course not! I would trust you with my life". 'I would not trust him with my life,' I thought.
Grace, meanwhile, had been ignoring the entire conversation about our potential irrelevance. She was busy sketching a schematic in her notebook with a piece of charcoal.
"Organic matter has a low combustion point," she muttered, not looking up. "The standard Spider-Walkers lack offensive output. They're just mana-sensers with legs". She looked at me, eyes bright with the mania of an engineer who has just found a problem that can be solved with fire. "Murphy, what if we mount an extra Core to the dorsal strut? I could inscribe a directional Ignis rune to vent the mana as elemental flame".
I blinked. "You want to turn the scout golems into flamethrowers?"
"It's efficient," Grace argued. "Burn the Rot before it spreads"
"Right," I said slowly. "Aren't they currently as smart as a bag of hammers?"
"I'd give it a conditional command," Grace said, though she sounded slightly less confident. "Something like: 'If Rot, then Burn'"
"Grace, that is a very broad instruction for a flamethrower with legs," I noted dryly. "How do you ensure it distinguishes between a Rot-infested corpse and, say, a very pale student standing next to a tree?. How do you ensure you don't burn down the entire Eastern Wilds along with the monsters?"
Grace paused. The charcoal hovered over her page. She frowned, genuinely stumped.
"I'm still working on the targeting syntax," she admitted. "I need to get a working prototype done by tomorrow night. Perhaps if they see what my spiders can do, I could get placed in the extermination squad?"
"Or the Rearguard with Finn and me!" I said with more enthusiasm than the moment required.
We rounded a corner in the main tunnel and nearly walked into a wall of students. They were gathered around a massive Notice Board that had been updated while we were inside the lecture. Gold letters were painted across the slate, impossible to miss and even harder to ignore:
THE SUMMER SOLSTICE BALL Venue: The Celestial Hall Time: Tomorrow, 20:00 Attire: Formal / House or Dormitory Colours Attendance: MANDATORY
"There it is," Vespera said, her voice grim as she pointed to the fine print below the party details: EXPEDITION DRAFTING CEREMONY. "Confirmation. The market opens tomorrow night".
"I was hoping you were being dramatic," Finn muttered, swallowing hard. "So it's real. We actually have to stand there and wait to be bought like prize cattle?"
"Don't even worry about it, Finn", I added.
"It is standard protocol, Finn," Vespera said, checking the time on the board. "And we have less than twenty-four hours to polish our resumes. If we walk into that hall looking like scared children, we'll be scrubbing pots and peeling potatoes in the Rearguard for a week".
"Great," I muttered. "So, we need to look expensive. It's just a waste of money in my opinion".
"Formal wear is the badge of nobility," Vespera corrected, eyeing my simple clothes with a disdain so sharp it practically had an edge. "Which you are, by the way, even if you represent a noble house that the rest of the Empire forgot. House or Dorm colours are the standard. And for the love of the Gods, Murphy, try to make an effort. Our association is well-known now, and what you do reflects on all of us."
'She has a point, Murphy,' Ronan's mental voice didn't just chime; it carried a resonant, heavy weight that made my vision blur for a fraction of a second. 'A Sunstrider does not attend a gala looking like a beggar. If I were the one stepping into that hall, we would be dressed in the finest silks and gold-leafed plate Lastlight has to offer. We wouldn't be looking for a corner to hide in; we would be claiming our place at the head of the Vanguard'
'Gold-leafed plate is just a shiny way of saying "Aim here for a slow death," big guy,' I thought, trying to ignore the sudden, cold pressure at the base of my brain—the sensation of Ronan leaning a little too close to the driver's seat. 'The Rearguard is where the logic is. It's quiet, it's safe, and there are significantly fewer opportunities to be eaten by a parasitic fungus'
'It is a waste of a soul,' Ronan growled, and for a moment, his indignation felt like a physical heat behind my eyes. 'You cling to the mud because you fear the light. If I held the reins, they wouldn't just see a student; they would see a King return'
"I can try?" I lied to Vespera, forcing a casual shrug while my pulse hammered against the sudden intrusion of Ronan's ambition. "I'm sure I look great in a suit. Just don't expect me to be the one volunteering for the front lines. I've got a very healthy relationship with staying alive".
"You are a liability waiting to happen," she countered, though there was no heat in it. "Just... don't embarrass us."
I leaned against the cool stone wall, rubbing my temples as the phantom weight of Ronan's idealised self lingered. The noise of the crowd was deafening, but a movement in the shadows near the tunnel exit caught my eye.
It was Lysander. He was standing in a dimly lit alcove, deep in conversation with Professor Vex. They weren't looking at the notice board; they were looking directly at me. Lysander whispered something, gesturing vaguely in our direction. Vex nodded, a sharp, unpleasant grin splitting his face. They held my gaze for a second too long, then slipped away into the stream of students.
'I don't like that,' Ronan noted, his regal tone dropping back into a low, predatory growl. 'They looked like wolves deciding which sheep to isolate'.
'My danger sense didn't trigger,' I replied, watching the empty space where they had stood. 'Which means they aren't about to kill me'
'No,' Ronan agreed, the growl in his voice sharpening into something cold and dangerous. 'Vex is faculty. He likely has access to the Commander rankings. If he wanted to, he could whisper in the right ears. Ensure no one writes our name down'
'Camp duty,' I realised. The thought should have felt like an insult, but instead, it felt like a reprieve. If Vex wanted to "sabotage" my career by forcing me into a position where the most dangerous thing I encountered was a blunt peeler and a sack of potatoes, then he was officially my favourite villain. It saved me the trouble of trying to look incompetent during the Rift trial just to avoid the front lines.
Since the universe was apparently conspiring to give me exactly what I wanted—an uneventful, safe, and thoroughly boring expedition—I decided I had more immediate problems to deal with. Specifically, there was a certain scrapyard I needed to visit before Grace decided to test her "flamethrower" on the dormitory curtains.