I move into the dorm the next day. Really, it’s not necessary since Alan’s place isn’t that far from the campus, but he insists I should be as close as possible for reasons other than getting to classes on time. Building comradery with my peers and such. I suspect that he just wants me out of the house, but then again, my presence has never been much of a hindrance to his pursuit of pleasure.

  The dorm is nice enough. A downgrade from Alan’s luxuries but not by much and easily mitigated with additions. The building is a square stone thing, three stories with rooms surrounding a courtyard garden. The garden isn’t as nice as Alan’s, but it has its advantages. It’s surprisingly relaxing to watch my fellow students go about it from my window on the top floor.

  The walls of the building are made of smooth thick grey stone blocks giving the room a simple and clean appearance. I can tell they’re enchanted by inverting the eye while examining them, but their symbols are inscribed on the connecting surfaces (standard for buildings) so I can’t tell what all the effects are. Self-cleaning and temperature adjusting are the obvious ones (the latter having a symbol by the door to adjust) and I guess durability and self-repair. But I’m sensing more that I cannot guess at.

  There’s room for a pair of beds of decent size, plus writing desks and other furniture, but half of it has been removed. I have the servants drag in one of Alan’s magic bathtubs and put it where the second bed would be, plus a long series of shelves for all my plants.

  All of the dorm rooms have windows opening to the courtyard that, while worryingly large, are still too small to permit sufficient light to grow my collection. Fortunately, it seems I’m not the first to grow plants in my dorm as the ceiling has a second large window with bars going across it and a large wooden shutter that opens and closes via chain pulley. Unlike the stone blocks, the shutter’s enchantments are visible for inspection and include durability, self repair and a water sealing effect to keep the rain out.

  This does make me somewhat wish the standard window was smaller. Certes it’s good that it’s big enough for me to crawl through in case I want to sneak out, but someone could also sneak in and attack me while I’m sleeping. A perhaps silly fear, since who would dare attack an academy building? Not nobody, but those who would have more important things to do than abduct the son of an isolated Baron.

  Still, it’s not impossible that someone hostile might crawl through the window. I’ll put something in place just to keep my mind at ease.

  “May I ask what you’re doing my lord?” The servant that Alan lent me for my stay here says, walking through the door with some more of my excessive luggage as I’m tying a thin rope to the shutters, heavy crossbow leaning on the wall.

  “Oh, well, you know,” I scratch my head, for some reason embarrassed to let him know my intent. He’s just so serious. He’s not much older than me, but he has an air of presumed propriety that I associate with his seniors. “Anyways, is that the last of the luggage, um… M…?” Michael… Mitchel… Marco…?

  “Marcus,” he says, completely unperturbed by me forgetting his name for the third time. At least I got the starting letting right this time. Really, it was fine, well not fine, but acceptable for me to not learn the servants’ names when there were dozens of them, but there’s really no excuse to be unable to remember just one. “and yes,” he continues, “this should be the last of everything.”

  “Excellent.” I say a little forced, glancing to the rope in my hand and dropping unceremoniously after a beat.

  “I would like to remind you my lord that one of the guest lectures you expressed an interest in is nearing. If you wish to leave now, I should have everything tidied up by the time you return.”

  “Yes… I think I’ll do that.” I’m a bit unnerved since I’ve only expressed interest in the guest lectures to Alan, and I don’t think Marco was present when I did. Of course, it would have been easily forgotten if he were given my tendency to forget the servants, but the impression in my memory was that no one else was around. Well, Alan likely told him anyways.

  “Very good my lord. I’ll be in the servants’ quarters down below when you return. Ring if you need me.” He gestures to a thin rope attached near the window and going through it down below to his paired room.

  “Right,” I say hesitantly walking towards the door. A slight clearing of the throat causes me to pause. “Was something the matter Michael?”

  “Marcus.” He corrects without missing a beat. “Far be it from me to comment if you’re trying to make a statement, but you did wear that outfit yesterday.”

  I blink, trying to parse his meaning. “I changed after I got back from the ceremony. Nobody saw me in it.” I finally decide to respond with facts that may or may not be relevant to his intent.

  “As you say,” he says flatly in a way that conveys that he is not at all convinced by my statement.

  “Sigh, fine,” I say, walking to the armoire and grabbing one of the prepared outfits while tapping a symbol on my clothes. “Happy?” I say a moment later after my attire has morphed to imitate the mundane template. His expression hasn’t changed from his normal one, but I can somehow tell he has something to say, but wouldn’t had I not asked.

  “Some do consider magical wardrobes to be cheating.” His dry tone doesn’t change throughout. So annoying.

  “Cheating is supposedly what I do best.” I walk out the door before he can respond, thinking back to what the headteacher said during my interview.

  Strictly speaking, classes start next week, but there are guest lectures available prior to the regular lessons. Mostly experts in various fields brought in to judge the exam and given the opportunity to speak on their work while they’re here. They do get paid some for the lecture, but I get the impression most do it because they have something to promote – either an idea or themselves.

  Still, even if it is self-interested, I don’t see why so few of the new students attend them. The first one I go to barely has a hundred attendees, most of which are adults. It’s likely due to it being on the first day when everyone is still busy getting situated, and it being one of five personal accounts of the Caethlon insurgency on the schedule, but it’s still free knowledge given by someone whose expertise is backed by the best educational facility in the world.

  …Admittedly the talk is a bit boring. It’s factual but dry, even for someone with such a personal interest in the subject like me. It’s mostly just a descriptive list of the various tactics deployed by both sides – measure, countermeasure. It is interesting to hear things I’ve done described by those who experienced them and vice versa, and I do come up with a few refinements to our tactics based on what he said, but nothing groundbreaking.

  There’s a question answer section at the end which I refrain from participating in. Showing knowledge of Caethlon type tactics might have been necessary to get in, but no reason to press my luck.

  If I had to give such a talk, how would I do it?

  The thought strikes me on the way back to the dorm, and I spend the entire trek thinking about it. The talk was competent, but if there was one thing he missed it was our mentality. When we innovated, how we judged whether the cost benefit was worth the action. The ratio of how many of us died to them that was considered a successful tactic. How we constantly thought of ways to hurt them even if it didn’t result in deaths, so long as it was easy. Things like that which would help predict new tactics rather than just listing old ones.

  Well, it’s not like I’ll be giving a lecture to help the empire fight Caethlon type enemies any time soon.

  When I get back to the dorm there are three invitations waiting for me to attend other guest lectures tomorrow. The first is from Erika asking me to attend an economics lecture with her. It didn’t sound particularly interesting before, but it is in a gap I was being indecisive on how to best fill, so I write back agreeing to attend.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  The other two are unfortunately set for the same time, which from the titles is likely not a coincidence. They’re both on governmental theory, but seem to be from opposing perspectives. The first invitation is from Lucas – not entirely unexpected since we didn’t talk as much as planned. The second however is from Adrian, which does surprise me since I didn’t get the impression they were interested in me as a contact.

  It almost seems like a proxy argument. Neither Lucas nor Adrian could convince me their side was correct before, so they’re inviting me to see better arguers. I don’t see why I’m being a particular target for conversion – Preston at least didn’t seem particularly invested on either camp, though he did at least express favourable sentiment towards the empress. Perhaps that’s enough to mark him to a side. But since I explicitly expressed neutrality, they must have both took that as something to rectify in their favour.

  Unfortunately for Adrian, while I would normally choose to attend their preferred lecture, I do need to deal with Lucas, so I write back saying I won’t be able to attend. I briefly consider including that I’ll be attending a rival lecture with Lucas, but decide that would just be needlessly stirring things up, no matter how amusing I might find it. Though perhaps I should anyways. It’s not like I enjoy being a proxy battle, so a little retaliation wouldn’t be too churlish. Well, at least it wouldn’t be if I weren’t trying to avoid remark.

  I meet Erika the next morning near the scheduled lecture. She’s wearing the sort of pastel dress that I’ve come to associate her with. We don’t talk beyond the normal pleasantries before entering the lecture hall.

  When we do, I immediately feel overdressed. From the look of it, I would say we’re the only nobles in the room. Certainly, no one else is wearing magical apparel, or even high-end mundane fabric. The room is even less filled than yesterday, with fewer students. Most of the attendees seem to be either craftspeople or merchants.

  They all look at us as we enter, all of their faces asking ‘what are they doing here?’

  Erika doesn’t seem perturbed by their stares, so neither am I. I follow her to a seat in the middle back and we sit down with posture completely unconcerned by the looks. I mean, what could they possibly do? Cudgel me in the back of my head? I haven’t left the house without my shield spell active since arriving in the capital. Since no one is trying to divine mages by them here, and I’ve built up my ‘magical muscles’, as they were, to be able to sustain it without conscious effort.

  But what’s the source of Erika’s confidence? What would she do if all the glaring faces suddenly decided to attack us? She’s completely defenceless and yet she’s displaying confidence with no cracks that even my enhanced perception can detect. Hopefully, she’s not counting on me to keep her safe. Perhaps she’s just confident that they wouldn’t dare strike a noble, or perhaps she just is so used to the peaceful capital that the thought of violence never crossed her mind. Maybe she just likes the attention, hostile as it seems.

  Well, she’s probably right about their glares being just idle intimidation.

  Attention reverts to the stage as an upper-middle aged man takes the podium. He’s attired a little less affluently than the wealthiest merchant in the crowd. Likely not a noble, nor does he give the impression of being a merchant. I don’t know what details might contribute to this lack of impression, but I have a sort of nebulous template of a merchant in my mind, and he does not fit it.

  He speaks like a merchant though, at first at least. It’s all numbers and values – the material output of an average mundane. It takes a while to reach his point, but when he does it’s just as boring as the rest of his lecture.

  “As you can see the mages are entirely dependent on us, yet we remain on the bottom. We make their homes, their clothes and grow their food. Without us, they can’t survive, but without them, we will be fine. Why then do we let ourselves remain so pitiful? There must be a rebalance.”

  “I can make my own food, you know,” I whisper to Erika.

  “Hush.” She whispers back.

  “I just think he’s not considering all of what magic can do.”

  “…Good, keep that in mind,” she says, then frosty silence.

  The speaker continues for a half hour after he’s made his point. Presumably, the academy allotted the same amount of speaking time to everyone, and he intends to use it no matter how much he actually has to say.

  “Well, that was a lot of nonsense,” I say as we’re eating lunch together afterwards.

  “Oh, I completely agree,” Erika says between sips of her sugary milk drink, “first, as you pointed out, he completely ignored the material potential of mages, and second he ignored how power accumulates from power. He treated the world as a rational system to be solved a priori rather than a process to be traced. Mages are in power because we have power. It may be maladaptive for society as a whole, but it’s what will happen every time. He’s just peddling ‘new noble’ rhetoric redressed for the commoners.”

  “Right…” I say a bit uncertain. “If you disagree with him so strongly then why did you invite me?”

  “Oh well…” she plays with the accompanying sugared hollow bread stick, given to suck up the sweet liquid through quickly before it gets soggy. “While his claims are all wrong, he was unfortunately the best guest speaker to convince you of our point. His conclusions are wrong, but his numbers aren’t. Ironically, going through them is the best evidence for our claims.”

  “And yet the academy platformed him, lending him credence, but didn’t do the same for anyone of your position?” I say a little bit teasing.

  She grimaces. “Well, let’s just say he’s considered harmless, while we’re suspect. Riling the mundane masses isn’t going to lead to anything lasting, but convincing the empire’s mages to completely change their methods would. Every major battle in the empire’s history has deployed battle mages, and we’re saying they’re a waste.”

  “Most battle mages have utility spells that they use on their territory between battles,” I point out, imitating her playing with the overly sugared drink.

  “Yeah, but they’re all minor things. Growing a few plants and the like. Their main focus is always combat. Well, at least any noble mage’s is. There are of course a whole middle class of commoner mages who enchant all of our magic items, but they hardly count. They’re all too mediocre to have much of an impact on the empire’s economy, and focus on making either arms or convenience items for nobles who don’t need them. I mean, what’s the point of self cleaning clothes that we never get dirty and can have servants wash anyways? Hardly something that will make us prosper. But things like my material shaping, and your plant growing, those are the sort of things that will lead us into the future.”

  “…So, is everyone being recruited to various factions today, or is it just me?” I ask, a bit annoyed at being sold a position so hard.

  “Hmm? What do you mean?”

  “Well, you’re just the third person who sent me an invitation for today that was obviously meant to recruit me.”

  She shrugs. “Well, most people from the capital have inherited the factions of their parents. You, coming from such an isolated territory, and not expressing any opinions marks you as a potential recruit. Frankly it stands out, not standing for any of our little sides.”

  “Right…”Alarming. Naturally, as a subversive agent, I don’t care about any of their oft debated claims beyond how I can use them. I thought not making noise would help me blend. It’s disturbing to think it’s doing the opposite. “And what should I do if I don’t want to stand out?”

  She shrugs. “Oh, you know, join a club or the like. Conveniently Ellen and I have one which is looking for members.”

  “Thanks… I’ll think about it,” I say getting up, “for now though I have another recruiting attempt to go to.”

  “Naturally. Well, maybe we’ll share some classes?”

  “Maybe,” I agree then leave.

  Lucas’s lecture is even more boring. Just someone arguing that the basis of imperial authority is from an agreement to be governed between the people and the sovereign, and definitely not an agreement between the people and themselves to be ruled by an entity not party to the agreement like Adrian argued. I was hoping to settle the Greg matter, but he just seems interested in recruiting me to his political faction. Perhaps he views the two matters to be one, but he gives no indication if that’s the case, or, if it is, if that’s his family’s perspective or just his own.

  The interaction with him is exhausting. I go to a few more lectures after his, but don’t really pay attention, just stare blankly as I recover from his annoying recruitment attempt. Fortunately, I wasn’t looking forward to these lectures too much.

  I stumble back to my dorm room and collapse on my bed, going unconscious the moment my face hits the pillow. I’m awakened about an hour later as… Martin? comes in with dinner. I take it in the bath, and then go back to bed.

  I’m awakened a few hours later to the sound of my heavy crossbow (which I did end up tying to the window once I was alone) being shot, followed by a loud crunch of the bolt penetrating stone, a short yell and finally a crunch on the gravel below.

  I jolt up. I wasn’t expecting the trap to ever be triggered, I just set it up for my peace of mind, but it seems my paranoia was justified. Who could my enemy be? Maybe Greg was better at hiding resentment than I thought. Perhaps the Talhals didn’t like my interactions with Lucas and decided the deal is off. Maybe an imperial agency found out my secrets and came to disappear me. I’m eager to find out.

  I grab the preloaded light crossbow next to my bed, rush to the window and fling it open, aiming down to finish the intruder off. My fingers slider to lever, eager to release the bolt and show them the mistake they’ve made by …

  “Ser Terry, what are you doing here?” I whisper shout in horror as I see the knight lying in a pool of his own blood beneath my window.

  He gasps for air, stunned by the sudden pain and unexpected position on the ground. His hand goes to his chest and comes back wet with blood.

  “What the fuck? You shot me!” He whispers shouts back, placing an embarrassing amount of emphasis on the obvious.