Quill had finished enrolling for his classes.

  He sat himself on a bench behind the academy castle, the canopy above shielding him from the afternoon suns. Under the lush roof, he fished out a piece of paper.

  Lai had stamped the paper with her gold seal of approval. She was officially Quill's instructor, and it was going to do well for his summoning down the line. She wasn't as strong as he was at his peak, but it was clear she had many things to offer him.

  Quill continued staring at the paper, his eyes drifting to the rest of the seals on it. He had made it a point to finish enrollment by the afternoon so he could use the rest of his time practicing magic. The courses of the academy ranged from Magic Bestiary to Battle Dynamics, all the way up to Dungeon Crawling Foundations. This was going to be a busy year.

  Quill then stared at the second gold seal following the first. It was Kael's seal. He had given it some thought, and he opted for a secondary Caster Archetype.

  Quill had been a decent Fighter in his past life. He couldn't compare to primary Fighter mages, of course, his Fighter spells were a Tier or two lacking compared to his Summoner spells, but they had served him well when he was just starting. The gods knew how exceptionally bad Summoners were at lower Tiers.

  Summoners were only as good as the quality and quantity of their summons, and as a fledgling mage right now, it was expected of him to underperform given the current problems he had against him. For all of his past battles, he hadn't won because of his summons, but because of the other spells that made it possible.

  The Archetype was at its weakest when the Summoner didn't have armies or familiars beside them. True enough, Quill's situation right now was a reflection of that. It was the same thing when he first practiced necromancy.

  But now, he opted for a secondary Caster Archetype. He had already seen the limits of the Fighter Archetype when supplemented with summoning: it doesn't do well in conjunction with summoner familiars.

  With secondary Caster spells, he could support his summons from the back line.

  The new spell he just acquired, Liquid Stone, was more or less a mixture of a Summoner and a Caster spell. At its core, it was a Construct, but it was one that allowed him to send long-range projectiles, while still having the capability to act as a stronger White Sphere.

  The best part was that he didn't need to cast Scripts for it. He just needed to command the Construct according to his will. It was as maleable as clay, as flexible as any spell could be. That was why he took the chance to learn the Caster Archetype, and who better to teach him than the Void Mage himself?

  Quill folded the paper. The journey of a Summoner was slow and hard. That was the reason why there were so few mages willing to undergo the trouble, not when there were so many other options to choose from. But there was beauty in that.

  For all his human life, Quill had been creating immaterial figurines made of wood. Summoning allowed him to see his creations come to life, and there was a beauty to it that no one else saw. That was why he opted for necromancy, limited by the Aspect of his Core. Despite the forbidden nature of it, he wanted to be a Summoner more than anything.

  Quill stared at the canopy above. It just dawned on him that he had never been to school before, too poor in his past life to take up official magic education. He tittered to himself before he stood up.

  Rhena and the others were running late, but his stomach was already growling.

  Quill started through the pathway, wrapping around the academy castle before ending up at the foodhall. He passed by many other academy Initiates on the way, though he barely made eye contact with the ones who were glaring at him.

  Rumors had already spread of his misbehavior in Gren. He might've escaped the City Watch for now, but there was no denying the fact that he was ostracized by the majority in the academy, especially after the fight with Gerald. Even centuries later, this type of social rule never escaped the minds of mortals.

  It wasn't his fault in the first place; it was an act of self-defense. Though he knew there was no point in saying that, as the majority had already taken a side. People hardly change opinions once they've set their minds on something.

  Quill didn't care enough to do anything about it. As long as it wouldn't hinder his path to power, that was good enough. He passed through the doors, taking in the ambience of the foodhall. Food simmered in the air, grilled fat and meat leading him directly to the counter. “Two skewers and a piece of bread.”

  “Aye–well would you look at that?” The man behind the counter was large and fat, with a graying beard growing wild over his face. “So you passed the exams after all?”

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  “I told you.” Quill looked behind the man, finding exactly two skewers left for him, just in the nick of time too. Quill dropped him the coins. “I’ll take those two please, and a slice of bread.”

  “Two of those, and a slice of bread. Make it fast.” Another man arrived at the counter. It was Pheter Solheathe, the highest ranking Initiate, and the man who instigated the rumor. His scar ran deep from his cheek to his lip, and the sword on his hip was as white as the clothes he had worn.

  “I’m sorry kid, but we're all out, I’m afraid.” The old man bowed, deferring to him. Quill found that strange. “The supplies for the week have–”

  “What is that, then?” Pheter pointed to the skewers behind the kitchen. Before the man said another word, he then turned to Quill right beside him. His face turned from mild annoyance to a glower, resting his hand on his sword.

  “You seem familiar. Who are you, again?” Pheter looked Quill up and down, staring at him from his high position before he then scoffed. He turned again to the barman behind the counter, and this time, he fished out ten silver coins. “Two skewers, and make it quick.”

  The barman coughed. “I can't do that kid, the Circle especially has–”

  The man then poured all the silver coins from his pouch. “Not enough? Would you be willing to have a word with my father then?”

  “The prince has already spoken, old man.” A giant loomed over the outline of Pheter. It was the same giant that was above Quill in the rankings, the third-place Initiate. He had the same braided hair as Rognor did, but his eyes were stronger, and his skin was red compared to Rognor's blue.

  Quill noted in his head. He hadn't heard from anyone that the Solheathe was the ruling family in the city.

  “All this for a piece of meat.” A woman stood second to the giant, her pale white skin dotted with winding rows of tattoos and ink. Her hair was auburn, contrasting the green of her eyes. She was also one of the top five mages, placing right above Quill as the fourth highest.

  “You.” Pheter turned to Quill before he then poured silver coins at his feet. They clinked and shimmered on the stone floor, and Quill could only stare in silence. “Give me your portion, and you can have these. A good exchange?”

  Quill met his gaze, forcing an exchange of will before he then turned to the barman. In the silence looming over the foodhall, he then clicked his tongue. It was a show of status, and if it wasn't for the sake of Haref, he would’ve slammed a fist straight to this noble's face. Instead, he took back his coins.

  It wasn't worth it to talk back to nobility. The intricacies of politics were just something that would cause trouble for him down the line, and he wasn't stupid enough to start a fight he couldn't win with magic right now. The worst way to fight back against corrupt authority was to fight it straight on.

  “You forgot your coins, good sir.” Pheter mocked him as he made his way out of the building, his feet stomping over the coins. “You’re from Gren, are you not? Most gray elves would die to have this many, and you're just leaving them here?”

  “Yes, well…” Quill turned, a bitter taste pooling in his mouth. “If it's so valuable, why don't you go pick it up yourself, then?”

  The three Initiates in front of Quill stood in silence, staring at him with lingering eyes, before they succumbed to laughter.

  “Do you even know who you're talking to?” The giant wiped the grin off his face.

  “I’m well aware.” Quill said.

  Quill could talk all he wanted. Pheter may have been the heir destined to inherit Fey, but all of that status and power meant little to nothing inside the academy grounds. His status as a noble didn't matter in an environment governed by mages.

  Pheter knew that all too well. If it were otherwise, he would've ordered his execution right there on the spot. The only reason Quill could even talk for the moment without some guards assaulting him was solely because of the academy, and even then, he had to tread lightly not to stir up more trouble than it was worth.

  But he couldn't deny the relief he had, being able to talk back to a spoiled nobility. It wasn't every day he could talk back to princes without getting his head cut off. As long as he didn't do any harm to the prince, it was just banter in the eyes of others.

  “I remember you now.” Pheter pointed to him with a crooked smile. “You're one of Haref's pets, the grey mage that killed five City Watch guards. A murderer in the flesh.”

  “You don't know anything.” Quill gritted his teeth through the murmurs in the growing crowd. Pheter was taunting him. “You can talk all you want, for what it's worth. I’m leaving.”

  Pheter shrugged. “You may be safe now, but it'll only be a matter of time before the Chancellor hands you over. After all, the Circle wants to keep its amicable relationship with the elves.”

  “The Circle will know my value.” Quill said.

  With those words, Pheter turned to the woman and giant before they burst out laughing.

  “Man, you’re insane.” The woman said. “You have a lot of guts to say that when you're on the rankings. Maybe you should learn a bit of humility first.”

  “Let him make his threats.” Pheter wiped the grin off his face. “He’ll just humiliate himself at the first Expedition–if he ever survives until then.”

  Quill had his fair share of humiliation in his past life, but all of them fell one way or another to his undead army and superior magic. Their words were aggravating to say the least, but as of the moment, he could only swallow the bitter taste on his tongue.

  The satisfaction in the end was going to his. Until Quill had built up enough power and influence to do so, he was willing to swallow their words and kiss their boots. Fighting them now with only a month of magic training was straight up suicide, but he’ll have his chance. He pushed through the doors with blood on his lips.

  Their time would eventually come.

  Thanks for reading!