《Fate Alchemist - A Regression Academy LitRPG》


 Chapter 1: 41 Years

    Wulf had imagined his own death many times. But he never thought he¡¯d choose how he died. He¡¯d lived a lifetime of war and fought in many battles. People like him didn¡¯t get much of a choice.


    But as the world basked in its last sunset, he climbed up the side of a mountain, using his splintered war-hammer¡¯s haft as a walking stick. His cloak swayed behind him, and he¡¯d shed his chainmail hauberk in favour of a light tunic.


    It might have been cold up here, immersed in the frigid autumn winds and whipping sleet, but his old Ascendant¡¯s body had long-since evolved past meagre trifles such as shivering. He could bear the cold, so he did.


    He wound back and forth along an alpine path, taking deep breaths and sucking in pine-scented air. His joints creaked and his bones ached, and a thousand different wounds from a thousand different battles all tried to catch up with him.


    His knee groaned from an old sparring accident with his now-dead comrades. His shoulder clicked each time he planted down his makeshift walking stick¡ªan injury from his first attempt at riding a giant golem.


    Those were good times, but there hadn¡¯t been enough of those. Not since the demonic armies had descended from the skies, wreaking havoc wherever they walked.


    I¡¯m tired. Just tired.


    Wulf was sixty years old, almost on the nose. He¡¯d lived longer than most people of his era. The world of the present was almost unrecognizable compared to the one he¡¯d grown up in, and to make it worse, all his friends were gone.


    These mountains¡­they¡¯d been J¨¢n¡¯s favourite meditation spot, bless his soul.


    The sun blazed crimson on the horizon. It¡¯d swollen to four times its normal size¡ªa byproduct of the demons¡¯ meddling¡ªand sent beams of harsh light coursing down to the surface, such that only the mountains were cool now. Oceans boiled, forests had become deserts, and deserts had become unlivable wastelands.


    And Wulf kept on trudging, stubbornly climbing the mountain despite the tremors in the earth. His last piece of armour, a vambrace made of granite (fitting for a stone-aspect Ascendant like himself), clattered as he walked. Its enchantments sputtered and choked on the last wisps of ambient mana.


    Out of habit, Wulf directed a pulse of his own mana into it. The enchanted parchment, which all Ascendants carried, adjusted itself. Ink automatically diffused through the paper, then condensed and stalled in place, taking on the shapes of letters:


    [Critical mana shortage. Arcane collapse imminent.]


    I know, Wulf thought, but said nothing. The Field¡ªthe living field of energy that governed all magic¡ªwas weakening.


    He carried on walking. The earth rumbled beneath his feet, and dust shook loose from the mountainside, along with loose snow and fallen pine needles. In the distance, a column of magma erupted from the crust, spewing high into the air.


    The world¡¯s collapse was imminent. Everything he knew was about to disappear.


    He hadn¡¯t been the strongest warrior, but despite his low mana attunement and an inability to grasp the more delicate side of magic, he¡¯d stubbornly made a life for himself fighting off demons and other monsters. It wasn¡¯t easy, especially after his injuries started stacking up and he began spending half his kingdom-allocated allowance on pain-killing potions. His fingertips had been stained green from all the potions he¡¯d drank, and he was pretty sure it¡¯d poisoned him over time.


    But it was still a life¡­


    Right? There wasn¡¯t anything he was supposed to do differently?


    I wasn¡¯t supposed to have regrets. I was supposed to go out with my chin high.


    His breaths grew faster, and the air thinned. The trees became shorter, and there was more snow on the trail. He turned, pushing between a few shrubs, and stepped out onto a rocky outcropping.


    This was where he and his party had met for the first time, only days after their last semester at the academy, following a recruitment poster from a campus job board. He snorted with amusement, remembering J¨¢n¡¯s overblown antics, Lisa¡¯s half-functioning enchanted paper, and Brin accidentally snapping her bowstring in her nervousness.


    With a sigh, he whispered, ¡°I¡¯ll be with you all shortly.¡±


    He walked to the very tip of the ledge and hooked his boots over the rocky edge. Another pillar of magma spewed up from the earth, tearing through a dry forest and spewing ash and sparks miles into the sky. Molten specks pattered down on the inactive corpse of his giant golem¡ªa thirty-storey-tall beast of stone which he¡¯d used to kill a monstrous demon.


    The demon¡¯s corpse, now a lifeless heap of scarlet skin and chitinous armour, lay unmoving beside his giant golem.


    When he clenched his eyes, he could still remember the shrieks of the villagers it had been chasing. The terrifying way it bellowed, the horrid squelches it made when he smashed its bone armour and struck its tower-sized legs, or harnessed columns of mana-infused stone to smash its chin.


    Not subtle, not pretty, but it did the job. If something didn¡¯t die when he hit it, that just meant he hadn¡¯t hit it hard enough. If something didn¡¯t move when he pushed it, then he hadn¡¯t pushed it hard enough.


    He inched forward, moving to the edge of the cliff. Did it make a difference if he died now, or in a few minutes when the world¡¯s core finally imploded?


    But he still hesitated. No regrets?


    It felt wrong. That¡¯d be giving up, and Wulf of Carolaign didn¡¯t give up.


    Even a few days ago, when over nine-tenths of the world¡¯s population was dead, he still clung to some faint hope that they¡¯d find a way through this¡ªas if the tremors hadn¡¯t already started, as if the demons hadn¡¯t ripped the moons to shreds, and as if the sun wasn¡¯t expanding before their very eyes.


    But yesterday, the last demons had just left, like they knew the world they¡¯d pillaged and destroyed was truly beyond repair. Probably moving off to some other poor world to destroy it too.


    Just do it, he told himself. Come on.


    He lifted his foot, and¡ª


    ¡°Are you busy?¡±


    He froze mid-step, still somewhat unsure if he was going to plant it ahead of him or behind him. The voice had been vaguely masculine, but it was hard to tell. It sounded like it was coming from the ground behind him.


    ¡°Depends who¡¯s asking.¡± He cocked his head to the side.


    I can¡¯t even have a moment of peace at the end of the world.


    He turned around. A small black cat with green eyes and a star-shaped patch of white fur on its chest stood on the path behind him. It plodded in a circle before slapping its tail down and sitting. It stared straight at him, then spoke. Its mouth moved with the same vague pattern as a human¡¯s lips.


    ¡°The Field is asking.¡± When the cat spoke, its eyes flashed a bright lime green, and a wave of invisible power radiated off it.


    A Messenger. He¡¯d rarely ever seen the Field send them, and never to him. They came only to the other stronger, luckier Ascendants he¡¯d served with, who had the honour of talking directly with the Field.


    He sighed. ¡°Is there a point? It¡¯s a little late for accolades, don¡¯t you think?¡± Still, he marched over to the cat, knelt beside it, then scratched it between the ears. The poor creature was probably scared, too.


    The Messenger purred and leaned toward him, then said, ¡°I have come to make a deal. There isn¡¯t much time before the world ends¡ªand with it, the Field. My master. That means me as well.¡± The cat walked a circle around him, rubbing against his legs. ¡°With you being one of the last remaining Ascendants, I want to offer you a deal.¡±


    ¡°A deal?¡± Wulf scratched the back of his head. He didn¡¯t much like being beholden to others, a trait that had often led to him¡­not having the most stable financial situation. But taking a stable job had never been his dream.


    ¡°With my last authority, I will send you to the past. Forty-one years ago, as is the limit of my power. Your side of the bargain is simple: use what you know, and do what you can to prevent this calamity.¡±


    Wulf was silent.


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    The Messenger said, ¡°Tell me this: are you afraid of death?¡±


    It was an easy answer. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you jump?¡± The cat stopped in front of him and placed its paws on Wulf¡¯s knees. ¡°We have seen you on the brink of death many times, always fighting against it, always resisting the pull. You practically caused this encounter with how stubborn you were.¡±


    ¡°Because there were still things to do. Skills to learn, Marks to earn. Demons to slay.¡± He crossed his arms.


    Admittedly, he¡¯d spent more time in sparring pits or dark dungeons than anywhere else. He¡¯d learned his Class¡¯s Skills, which he used to control golems and create enormous stone obelisks.


    But that meant no time to start a family, no time to explore, no time to taste exotic foods or even see the rippling waves of the ocean.


    With a pang of remorse, he patted the red demon-leather pouch at his belt. No time to spread his instructor¡¯s ashes, like he¡¯d promised so many years ago.


    ¡°Ah, yes, there is the Wulf of Carolaign we know. Slayer of the First Leviathan, Cleanser of the Third Gate, Watcher of the Broken Moon¡ªand the Pilot of Fiendhammer. But your great deeds, though numerous, were not your true calling. That is why you never spoke to a Messenger.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°The Field rewards those who strive for their deepest desires. We recognized your efforts, but you weren¡¯t aiming for what you truly wanted. A warrior like you may be powerful in some ways, but he always lacks in others.¡±


    Wulf sighed, then ran a hand down the cat¡¯s back, basking in the softness of its fur.


    ¡°What would you do if you had a second chance?¡± the cat asked.


    ¡°I¡¯d spend my time more wisely. With my knowledge, I¡¯d do the very best I could to stop the end of the world. And I¡¯d have the adventure of a lifetime while doing it.¡± He chuckled, then patted the pouch on his belt. ¡°I¡¯d keep my promises. I¡¯d enjoy my time at the Academy. I¡¯d see wondrous sights, explore the Great Plains, meet the dragons of the Litterlands, and cross the Rift Sea, and¡­¡±


    Another burst of magma erupted from the earth behind Wulf, making the ledge shudder. Boulders tumbled down the mountain¡¯s slopes, and the heat of the explosion warmed his back.


    ¡°I see,¡± said the cat. ¡°When you return, you will not have the same Class or Skills. You will only have this one chance, and you may fail. You may never see another Messenger again. But remember: follow your heart, strive, and you will become more powerful than any other Ascendant. Do we have a deal?¡±


    Wulf responded immediately. ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s a deal.¡±


    ¡°Then this is farewell.¡±


    Wulf opened his mouth, about to ask another question, but he couldn¡¯t find the right words to voice it.


    It didn¡¯t matter. The earth shattered behind him, and a plume of lava burst out. In an instant, it vapourized the ledge, and he couldn¡¯t even process that he had died.


    ~ ~ ~


    ¡°Harrel knocked him out?¡±


    ¡°Did you hit him that hard?¡±


    ¡°That can¡¯t be it!¡±


    ¡°I thought he¡¯d last a little longer!¡±


    Wulf awoke on his back, staring up at the timber rafters of a high roof. Chandeliers swayed above him, their candles flickering, and everything smelled of sweat, perfumed fabric, and torch smoke.


    A training gym.


    His body quivered, trying to come to terms with the fact that it was, in fact, still alive¡ªnot incinerated in a plume of lava. One by one, his fingers regained feeling, and he blinked rapidly. For a few seconds, he didn¡¯t move. He just tried to take in his surroundings.


    He was inside a suit of armour. Something covered his head, restricting his vision to a thin slice, and his arms felt sluggish.


    The armour wasn¡¯t metal. It was stone. He was inside a golem. He was piloting one, as most who wielded a stone aspect did. They climbed inside the seven-foot-tall golems and controlled them, almost like a living suit of armour.


    The seven-foot golems were the little ones, though. Good practice.


    Wulf gasped, then sat up, and the golem obliged. Stone panels peeled away, and mana-suspended gravel chainmail shifted aside, letting him bolt straight upright.


    Wulf jumped to his feet, blinking and rubbing his head, trying to stave off the disorientation and confusion. The Messenger said he¡¯d get sent back in time, but didn¡¯t warn him that it would feel like an archfiend had punched him in the face, or that someone had scrambled his mind like an egg.


    His mind was still slow, and at first, most of his memories resisted, trying to stay in the back of his mind. He could only recall the immediate conversation with the Messenger.


    Once more, he looked down at his wrist, where now, a simple leather bracer clung to his forearm¡ªand, pinned to its top, a sheet of enchanted parchment. Ink took the rigid shape of letters:


    [Class altered.]


    [Will of the Field detected. Adjusting Marks.]


    [Mark received: Memories of the End. Mark will be consumed in one minute.]


    Without warning, his mind ran at double speed. Memories of his past life flooded in, all the way up to the very end¡ªto his conversation with the Messenger, and his abrupt death. There even came a twinge of pain that he hadn¡¯t felt before.


    Your promise. Remember your promise.


    He patted himself down. He wore a simple sweat-stained tunic and trousers. An Academy uniform. Only one item had come back with him: the leather pouch containing his master¡¯s ashes, which now hung from his belt.


    Wait. My fingers.


    They were smooth. Only one or two scars, and no hardened calluses, but their tips were still stained green. He patted down his body. His muscles had faded, replaced with the lean body of a nineteen-year-old Academy attendee. His hair was still long, still in a ponytail, but it was a deep brown, and as usual, his chin was clean-shaven.


    He¡¯d just gotten forty-one years younger.


    ¡°It worked¡­¡± he breathed.


    ¡°You definitely hit him too hard, Harrel,¡± someone said.


    Harrel. Wulf knew that name. He dove through his memories, trying to explain why, but drew a blank. He blinked again, then flicked his head side-to-side, trying to take in his surroundings.


    The Istalis Academy gymnasium was a massive hall fit for a king. Its roof was taller than a ship¡¯s mainmast and it was large enough to fit an army of a thousand men. Today, only a crowd of about twenty or so other students gathered around. Boys in their formal white collared tunics, girls in skirts and tights. They formed a circle in the center of the gym.


    The other students surrounded him and another boy. Only problem was that the other boy was still inside his golem, still in a fighting stance. It was like staring up at the statue of a knight. Grey stone armour, and a helmet with a fake stone plume. Behind the helmet¡¯s eye slit, two piercing blue eyes stared out.


    Harrel. Harrel, Harrel, Harrel¡­


    ¡°Are you done yet, dog?¡± a muffled voice sneered from inside the helmet. ¡°Lowborn don¡¯t deserve to share the Academy with us. I hope you¡¯ve learned your lesson. Keep to yourself, and with any luck, you¡¯ll have dropped out by next semester. But if you make me rough you up some more, I will.¡±


    Wulf pressed his eyes shut as hard as he could, and finally, it came to him. That voice, that cadence of speaking. ¡°Ah. Kareon Harrel¡­¡± A lord presumptive. Wulf vaguely remembered the man from his youth. They¡¯d gotten into a few fights, hadn¡¯t they? Well, the memories were blurring together a little. He¡¯d fought so many people.


    But Harrel probably deserved it.


    ¡°I¡¯m not done yet¡­¡± Wulf groaned, pushing himself up to his feet. This had been a formal challenge between two golem pilots, hadn¡¯t it? Or, conducted in a formal manner. That meant between rounds of sparring, the contenders were entitled to a break.


    But, since he didn¡¯t see any professors or staff overseers, this fight was probably off the books. It was up to Harrel¡­


    ¡°Fine, take your five minutes,¡± Harrel sneered. He turned away, his golem moving smoothly along with his steps, like it was attached directly to his limbs. When he stepped, the thatched mats on the floor shuddered, and the crowd swayed. Everyone stared at Harrel.


    Wulf rubbed his chin and groaned. His chin stung, and his body ached, but not because of old wounds. He¡¯d just been in a fight.


    He concentrated on Harrel, and though his memories of the day were vague, he was pretty sure he¡¯d lost this fight in his past life.


    But things were different now.


    He staggered away from his inactive golem, huffing for breath, not in the least because his body still thought he¡¯d climbed a mountain and been incinerated in an explosion of magma. He bent down over a water canteen he¡¯d left near the edge of the room and took a long swig of water, downing nearly half of it in one gulp.


    Then, finally, he lifted his left arm, holding his bracer up in front of his face and examining it.


    The sheet of enchanted parchment fluttered, but he tightened the clasps and pinned it down flat, then guided a wisp of mana into it.


    But for Wulf, a ¡®wisp¡¯ of mana was more like bludgeoning the paper and magic ink with a hammer. He directed as much mana as he could, and he filled it with enough intent to bring up his main status sheet. For new Ascendants, a difficult task, but not for Wulf. It was a habit he¡¯d gotten into, a feeling he¡¯d gotten used to, and though this body didn¡¯t have nearly as much mana as he once did, it was more than enough.


    The inky letters rearranged into his main status sheet:


    Name: Wulf


    Class: Fate Alchemist (Unique)


    Rank: Low-Wood


    Skills:


    [By Your Will] All potions made by your hand have a random side effect regardless of the ingredients, but the side effect¡¯s strength will be one tier higher than your rank would normally produce. Likelihood of producing a harmful potion scales with the quality of the ingredients.


    Marks:


    [Unquenchable Drive] You have demonstrated great stubbornness in a past life. Your resistance to poisons has greatly increased.


    [Alchemist¡¯s Presence] You have consumed many potions in a past life, and they have left an impression on your soul. Consuming a potion temporarily creates a mana-aura that fuels all magical objects. Aura strength scales with potion tier.


    Wulf blinked. The Messenger had said he wouldn¡¯t have the same Class or Skills, but¡­this was a crafting class. An alchemist, no matter how unique, was just an alchemist.


    Not a warrior. Not a combat class of any sort, with no ability to manipulate stone or use spill Skills. They¡¯d kick him out of the Academy if they found out. He wasn¡¯t even an artificer, so they couldn¡¯t even enroll him in the constructs department.


    He cursed under his breath, then tongued his molars. But to say he saw no potential in this class at all would be a lie. Being able to use any ingredients to make a potion would be invaluable, but he¡¯d definitely need to find a way to control what sort of potion he made at some point. He couldn¡¯t just go¡ª


    You¡¯re getting ahead of yourself.


    To say he wasn¡¯t intrigued would be a lie, and¡­with a Class that didn¡¯t require him to fight and kill to gain mana, he might be closer to his desires than he thought. Not that he wouldn¡¯t fight, but he didn¡¯t need to. It left more time for a proper adventure. For spending time with his friends, for living.


    But he had to get through this encounter, and he couldn¡¯t get himself expelled from the Academy just yet.


    He needed to figure out how to use that golem, or his stint here was going to be much shorter than in his last life.

 Chapter 2: Golem Alchemy

    Wulf held up his water canteen. If every potion he made would have a random effect¡­he could use that to his advantage in the short term. It didn¡¯t matter what he put in. He¡¯d at least get something out of it.


    Though it would need some tweaking in the future, he could figure the rest out as it came.


    He glanced back at the golem. If he made something that the Field registered as a potion, then consuming it would create an aura that fuelled magic objects nearby. A golem wasn¡¯t necessarily a magic object, but its core was.


    Where a stone-aspect Ascendant¡ªa Pilot¡ªwould direct their mana into the golem¡¯s core to control it, Wulf could do the same with his aura. It wouldn¡¯t be pretty, but he could make the golem move. And if he could make it move, he could beat Harrel.


    He patted himself down, searching for any sort of herbs or alchemical ingredients. He¡¯d never been interested in how alchemy worked in his past life, and this branch of the Academy didn¡¯t offer any alchemy courses. It was too rare of a Class.


    But as he¡¯d gotten older, he¡¯d gotten used to drinking potions. At points, he¡¯d taken to buying powders from the odd wandering alchemist, which he could mix with water, and they made excellent painkillers.


    That meant he could mix an ingredient with a base of water. The Field just had to recognize it as a potion.


    Problem was, he only had the ashes of his old master from his past life, and he wasn¡¯t going to drink that.


    But his academy-issued haversack lay across the gym, leaning against the wall. He scrambled over to it, well aware of the countless gazes following him. He had five minutes, so he couldn¡¯t exactly run across campus, but if he remembered correctly¡­


    He ripped open the front pouch of his leather haversack, revealing a row of four glass canisters with metal caps, each about the size of a sword¡¯s hilt. They each held dried herbs and spices.


    His mother had said, I heard the food at the academy is so bland! On the last day before he departed for the academy, she¡¯d been fussing. She¡¯d been certain to pack his bag with herbs from their garden, against his will.


    Judging by the lime-green and slightly yellow colour of the trees outside the window, this was only a few weeks from then. Classes had only just started, and he was back in his first year¡ªand first semester.


    Wulf pulled out the herb containers and held them up. Sage, thyme, lavender, and dill. He considered just dumping them all into his water canteen, but that wouldn¡¯t do. It¡¯d just be tea. Really awful, lukewarm tea. Anyone could make tea


    No, he needed to infuse it with a little mana.


    He unscrewed the caps of his jars, then tapped a little dill, sage, and thyme into his water canteen. Not too much¡ªthose were savoury flavours back home. Then, finally, he added a much higher concentration of lavender.


    Nothing happened.


    It was just leaf-infused water.


    To infuse it with mana would¡¯ve been hard for anyone at nineteen years old, and Wulf¡¯s past self would¡¯ve never mustered the fine mana control needed for another decade.


    But mana control was knowledge, and he hadn¡¯t unlearned the progress he¡¯d made in his last life. He knew how to infuse stone with his mana, turn it into an extension of his will, or how to pump mana into his war-hammer to empower his strikes.


    Just this time¡­don¡¯t push as much mana.


    Fuelling magic items was a difficult process that required years of refinement, especially if you wanted the mana back, but simply giving your mana to an object was more natural.


    He shut his eyes and drew air in through his nose, then exhaled, and with the breath, pushed mana out into the canteen. His hand warmed up, and the signature tingle of the Field activating thrummed against his skin.


    When he opened his eyes, the letters on his bracer had shifted into a new message:


    Poisonous Potion (Low-Wood Quality)


    Poisons the consumer with weak nausea for ten minutes.


    [By crafting a potion, you have increased your mana. Advancement progress: 10%]


    Wulf snorted. No one would notice that it was actually magic, not at the level of the other students. They all wore leather bracers, too, each with a slip of enchanted paper to help them interface with the Field, but without putting their hand on his canteen, they wouldn¡¯t detect a thing. Him being an alchemist by Class wouldn¡¯t even be in the fronts of their minds.


    Besides¡­the potion wasn¡¯t very strong. There was only one tier of item weaker than Low-Wood, and the Field registered it simply as ¡°Scrap.¡± He doubted he¡¯d be able to make a potion that weak, not with his main ability, but it was possible for other items. His ingredients had definitely been Scrap quality.


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    Now he simply had a poison potion. Which he could resist with his Mark. Hopefully.


    There was no time to doubt, and he¡¯d never been one for second thoughts.


    He brought the potion up to his lips and took a long swig of the herb-infused water. It trickled down his throat with a tingle, then sloshed into his stomach. Nowhere near as strong as the High-Iron tier potions he¡¯d been taking in his past life, and it didn¡¯t send lances of power streaking out through his body, but it was there, swirling around his stomach.


    He tried not to taste it. His tongue had other ideas. Turns out, not all four of those herbs were compatible flavour-wise. He wanted to retch, but he held it in.


    For a second, he shut his eyes, searching inside, looking for any sign of deeper nausea.


    Nothing.


    Then, a slightly cool aura erupted around him, stretching for a few feet with a slight tingle. It was searching for magical objects.


    ¡°Five minutes are over, dog!¡± Harrel called. ¡°You ready to go again, or are you giving up?¡±


    Chances were, they¡¯d already fought two rounds. If Wulf couldn¡¯t beat Harrel this time, then he¡¯d lose the challenge anyway. Hell, if Wulf didn¡¯t knock the guy out cold, it¡¯d count as a loss.


    With a groan, Wulf tucked his herbs back into his haversack and sealed up his canteen, then marched back to his golem.


    Just fuel the core a few times, and hit him hard. That¡¯s all.


    Wulf approached his downed golem. It lay flat on its back in the center of the ring of students, still waiting for a Pilot.


    ¡°Ah, he can still move,¡± Harrel sneered. ¡°Well, let¡¯s finish this off. Farm-sons from Carolaign don¡¯t deserve to pilot golems, much less Oroniths.¡±


    Wulf said nothing. He slid into the golem, slotting his legs into the waiting suit of deepstone armour. It was a special stone found deep beneath the surface, which had spent so millennia basking in the Field and being altered by it. It responded easily to Ascendants with a Pilot Class.


    But now, without his mana, the golem was unwilling to move, even at the joints. Where previously, stones would shift, his mana operating them, they now resisted. He had to ram his legs in.


    The aura around him made the stones shudder, sure, and it loosened them slightly, but he didn¡¯t have a Pilot Class or Skills anymore. In his last life, after unlocking his Class¡ªPilot¡ªhis first Skill had allowed him to control a weak golem for a short period of time. Harrel probably had the same.


    Wulf laid flat in the golem¡¯s back and rammed his arms in. He wrapped his fingers around bars at the end of the arms, then tucked his head up into the helmet.


    The golem¡¯s core was right behind him, at the back of his neck. Eventually, Pilots would implant a dream-link, which would allow them to better communicate with golems and conduct their Skills, but he didn¡¯t have that right now. Maybe he could accomplish something along those lines with alchemy¡ªafter all, alchemy wasn¡¯t just potion-making, but also transmuting metals and creating permanent structures with natural and arcane elements.


    But, he reminded himself, problems for the future. Stop getting ahead of yourself.


    Right now, he had to make this golem work. He could sense a perfectly round, marble-sized stone. Behind his neck. Between his shoulders. It vibrated in the aura of power he was putting out, and he envisioned it in his mind.


    Etched runes covered its surface, the stone itself was a magical item. It was an artificially implanted core that made golems docile and usable by humans.


    At nineteen, a Pilot wouldn¡¯t have been able to manipulate the core directly. They¡¯d have just relied on Skills to flood the golem¡¯s form with mana.


    But thankfully, Wulf had four decades¡¯ experience working with golems¡ªboth small and large.


    He concentrated on the lower half of the marble sphere, then pushed up with his mana, fuelling the core how he wanted. The golem closed up. Gravel shifted to guard his chest, and panels of stone armour sealed overtop. His helmet closed.


    Then he willed the golem to stand up. Nothing happened.


    He couldn¡¯t just will it. He had to direct the aura. He had to focus on different parts of the golem¡¯s core, and¡­


    A rune line lit up along the side of the core. The golem heaved itself up. Stone clacked against stone, and panels groaned, but it moved.


    His aura dimmed and shuddered. He¡¯d only get about three more movements out of the golem before the aura sputtered out completely.


    Before Wulf could even adjust, Harrel sprinted at him, sealed inside his golem, arm pulled back to punch. Fast, angry, visually impressive.


    Wulf blinked. The punch was sloppy. He could tell by Harrel¡¯s stance, by the way his body was turned, by the way he stepped.


    Wulf ordered his golem to angle its shoulder to the side, directing a different rune-line on the golem¡¯s core, and it worked. Harrel¡¯s fist glanced off, and the man stumbled.


    Two movements left.


    Planting his feet, Wulf ordered the golem to face Harrel as he stumbled, then he directed the rest of his aura into the last rune-line. A line of bright blue mana flashed out the back of the golem¡¯s neck. Wulf¡¯s golem punched Harrel in the back of the head.


    Harrel¡¯s helmet shattered, and the man collapsed in a heap. The rest of Harrel¡¯s golem held together, and the boy still breathed¡ªthe back of his golem shifted with every inhale and exhale¡ªbut he wasn¡¯t getting up any time soon.


    Wulf¡¯s golem, now out of power, froze standing up. The chest opened halfway before stalling. It was just enough that Wulf could squeeze out.


    The entire crowd was silent, save for a few murmurs. Finally, one girl whispered, ¡°Where did that come from?¡±


    Wulf shook out his arms, then glanced back at the golem. It had no markings, no decoration. Chances were, it was school property. He brushed a scuff off one of the chest plates.


    ¡°Thank the Field,¡± he muttered, out of habit more than anything. But a burst of relief and satisfaction followed, and he smiled.


    But before he could go retrieve his bags and orient himself, a boom sounded at the end of the gym hall. The doors flew open, and a troop of two older men and two older women marched in. They wore the brown gambesons of faculty staff, and wore metal vambraces on their right arms¡ªeach with a sheet of enchanted parchment clipped to them.


    The crowd murmured, and someone whispered, ¡°Headmaster.¡±


    One older man marched forward faster than the others. He had long, gray-brown hair and glasses, and a green cloak fluttered behind him. ¡°Everyone, disperse. Everyone except you, Mr. Hrothen.¡±


    Wulf gulped. That was his family name.


    He winced, then looked the headmaster in the eyes. ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°To my office. Now.¡±

 Chapter 3: Dr. Langold

    Wulf followed the headmaster across the campus.


    They walked along a pathway, crossing a field of vibrant, green grass. The other three faculty members¡ªprofessors whose names he didn¡¯t remember¡ªtrailed behind him, hands on their vambraces.


    Judging by their equipment, they were Ascendants, but they weren¡¯t golem pilots. That didn¡¯t make them any less important. While golems and stone-aspect Ascendants were the most common, and always fought on the front lines, they relied on mage classes to deal proper damage to demons.


    Or¡­foes, in general. The demons would be arriving soon, but they hadn¡¯t arrived yet.


    The staff members all proudly displayed a badge pinned to the breasts of their gambesons: a circle of iron the size of a coin. One line down the center for Low-Iron, two lines for Middle-Iron, and three lines for High-Iron. All of them were Middle-Irons (the most common tier for Ascendants to achieve), except the headmaster, who wore a silver badge with one line at its bottom. Low-Silver.


    As they walked, Wulf inhaled. The sun was directly overhead, the sky was clear and blue, and two misty moons hovered on the horizon. Most importantly, the air was clean and clear. Clearer than he¡¯d ever tasted it for years. No smoke, no dust, no brimstone-soaked demon-breath. His heartbeat slowed, and his attention drifted away from the faculty members.


    The Istalis Academy was a sprawling expanse of land in the middle of the Istalis Confederacy. Hills of grass rolled up and down, hosting scattered stone buildings, and flagstone pathways ran between them. Students from all over Istalis milled about on the walkways, all in uniform, and all wearing leather bracers with their Academy-issued enchanted parchment (which would be a hefty cost to replace if lost¡ªabout the same as an entire textbook).


    Everyone at the Istalis Academy was an Ascendant, but there were only four major departments: Rangers, Mages, Artificers, and Pilots. Pilots were always stone- or earth-aspect.


    Except, apparently, Wulf.


    They passed between two buildings made of polished limestone, each with ornate facades, gargoyles, stained-glass windows, and steep shingled roofs. Students leapt out of the headmaster¡¯s way and dipped their heads. They all wore badges, but most were either wood, coal, or copper¡ªthe three lowest tiers.


    Beyond Copper tier was Bronze, then Iron, then Silver¡ªand it went much higher, all the way up to Orichalcum tier, but he didn¡¯t suspect he¡¯d see anyone higher than Silver for a long time.


    Finally, when they reached the top of a hill on nearly the opposite side of the campus, Wulf had to stop.


    Not because he was tired, but because he was seeing the main Academy complex for the first time in decades.


    A rocky butte protruded up out from a plain of fescue grass, and atop it was a sprawling city of beige sandstone and limestone. Halls clung to the side of the butte, with buttresses supporting them, and spires reached high up into the sky. Along the backside of the butte, facing toward the distant, snow-capped mountains, was a semicircle of stone with twenty enormous statues in front of it.


    Each statue had to be at least thirty storeys tall, and every one was unique, though they all had a vaguely humanoid shape. Their weapons, constructed out by Artificers, glimmered in the sunlight.


    They were the Academy¡¯s giant golems. Oroniths.


    ¡°One would think this is the first time you¡¯ve seen an Oronith, Mr. Hrothen,¡± the headmaster grumbled. ¡°Don¡¯t delay. The Harrel family has been putting pressure on me for the past two weeks, ever since they learned that a farmer¡¯s son would be sharing a class with their children.¡±


    They descended the hill for a few more minutes, before arriving at a causeway. It crossed over their fields and deposited them at the main center of the academy. They marched past lecture theatres and enormous, scattered halls that felt like they¡¯d been cobbled together over hundreds of years. Which they probably had.


    When they finally reached the hall at the top of the butte, the headmaster thrust the two-storey tall doors open with a grunt. Still, those doors were much larger and thicker than a normal human would¡¯ve been capable of moving.


    Irons would¡¯ve had strengthening Skills and Marks, though. He¡¯d seen plenty of them in his previous life. Wulf only put on a surprised expression because the others would get suspicious if he didn¡¯t.


    They marched up through the high-ceilinged hallways, passing other faculty members, then wound up a spiral staircase until they arrived at the top of a spire¡ªand at an office that overlooked the Oronith docks.


    The Headmaster motioned to the other faculty members. They all dipped their heads, then backed away, and dispersed down the hallway.


    ¡°Shut the door, please,¡± said the Headmaster as he sat down at the desk in the center of the room.


    Wulf kicked the door shut nonchalantly, then walked over to the desk. He leaned forward and placed his hands on the varnished wood. ¡°Sir, I¡¯ll be honest, I don¡¯t really remember how it started, but I know he deserved it.¡±


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    The Headmaster snorted, then motioned to one of the seats facing the front of the desk. Wulf nodded. He lowered himself down into the upholstery, expecting his joints to ache and muscles to creak, but they didn¡¯t.


    Ascendants could slow their aging, but that only came during the Gold tier, and Wulf had never made it that far. In his past life, he¡¯d been a Low-Silver, same as the headmaster.


    Wulf scanned the desk. Stacks of paper, inkwells and quills, and a block of metal that read, Dr. Langold.


    That was the headmaster¡¯s name. Right.


    Wulf scratched the back of his head, and though he shouldn¡¯t have been nervous, a glimmer of fear snuck in.


    ¡°Mr. Hrothen,¡± said Langold, ¡°I¡¯m inclined to believe you. And I will admit, for a first year student to control a golem within his first weeks at the academy is impressive. But likewise, the Harrel branch of the Fletchers Guild has been a pain in my backside for every single one of their children who has attended the academy, and I¡¯m sure their youngest will be no different¡ªand they aren¡¯t even the main branch. However, they are one of the Academy¡¯s main donors, and if they catch wind of me favouring a farmboy from Carolaign over their son, they will pull their funds. No matter how justified you might have been.¡±


    Wulf sighed.


    ¡°They might even drag the Istalis Academy through the mud with smear campaigns and the like,¡± Langold continued. ¡°I would lose my position.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°Not to mention, you did steal school property. That golem wasn¡¯t yours.¡±


    Wulf didn¡¯t exactly remember the details of that, but he was pretty sure he¡¯d borrowed it from the gym storage. They shouldn¡¯t have left a golem unattended.


    ¡°But, sir,¡± Wulf said, ¡°you¡¯re the headmaster. You don¡¯t have any sway over affairs here? They can just replace you with a complaint?¡±


    ¡°This is the Istalis branch of the Academy,¡± Langold said. ¡°And I am only a Low-Silver. The central branch could pull strings and have me removed.¡±


    Damn.


    Wulf hadn¡¯t exactly been keen on the ways of academia in his past life, and admittedly, he hadn¡¯t learned much about the system as a whole. But he supposed the academy would try to stay out of greater trouble as best they could.


    ¡°I am curious, though, Mr. Hrothen,¡± Langold said. ¡°How did a farmboy from Carolaign afford tuition in the first place?¡±


    That, Wulf remembered clearly.


    ¡°On my eighteenth birthday, I awakened my Class,¡± Wulf said. ¡°Pilot. Turns out, I was an Ascendant. My entire village pooled their earnings to send me here, sir.¡± He shuddered at the thought of what they had given up. They were expecting him to do great things.


    ¡°We¡¯ve only had one other student from Carolaign,¡± Langold said.


    Istalis was a confederation of many smaller nations, including Carolaign, and though Wulf didn¡¯t really understand the politics of it all, there was only one Oronith Academy in the entire confederation. That meant only twenty Oroniths for their entire generation.


    ¡°I¡¯m honoured to be the second,¡± Wulf said.


    ¡°I don¡¯t expect you to make it far, sadly. It¡¯s rare, and even moreso now.¡± Langold shook his head. ¡°Most of these guild kids have been favoured from birth. Some of them entered the Academy as Middle-Woods, and have two or three Marks.¡±


    The headmaster plucked a sheet of parchment off the top of the pile, then set it down and pushed it across the table, narrowly avoiding a candle. ¡°We have your entrance scan results here.¡±


    Wulf craned his head, then leaned closer to the page. Back when he was nineteen the first time, he¡¯d only just learned to read a few months before attending the Academy. This time, he had years of practice. But he had to maintain the appearance of a struggle.


    Name: Wulf


    Class: Pilot


    Rank: Low-Wood


    Skills: (1)


    Marks: (0)


    Wulf raised his eyebrows. That would¡¯ve been his old status, and thank the Field they weren¡¯t testing his status sheet again, or he¡¯d be in trouble. Unique Classes, while sometimes powerful, could also be useless. Unique didn¡¯t mean good. Aside from the fact that the academy had no proper alchemy department, they¡¯d probably avoid the risk a Unique Class posed for them.


    ¡°I see,¡± Wulf said. ¡°So I¡¯m behind. I can fix that.¡±


    ¡°I trust you¡¯ll give it your best shot,¡± said Langold. ¡°But there are twenty Oroniths, each with a crew of four operators: one Pilot, one Mage, one Ranger, and one Artificer. Only eighty students in this decade will move on to pilot Oroniths, and some have already been spoken for. The rest will be left to pick up the pieces. After all, we need the best pilots to defend Istalis from exterior threats.¡±


    That wasn¡¯t necessarily true. Last life, Wulf hadn¡¯t graduated at the top of his year. But later in life, he took control of an Oronith called Fiendhammer. A battlefield promotion, sure, but he¡¯d piloted the giant golem up to its very end.


    He nodded anyway, though his expression probably darkened.


    ¡°Now, for the matter of your punishment: your ration credits will be docked by two chits for the next week. Mild, and you¡¯ll only lose out on sweets if you spend your chits right, but it¡¯s a warning shot.¡± Langold tapped the sheet of paper. ¡°Stay away from the Harrels, and don¡¯t anger any guild kids. Much less the main branch of the Fletcher Guild.¡±


    Wulf nodded. But the way things were going, he doubted he¡¯d stay out of trouble for long.


    ¡°From one Carolaignian to another,¡± Langold said, ¡°good luck, and Field favour you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the other?¡± Wulf asked.


    ¡°If you need, use me as proof: the Field ensures a man can have anything as long as he strives for it, but it will be more difficult for you than most. You are dismissed.¡±


    ¡°I understand.¡± Wulf stood up, then walked back to the door.


    If he was going to do this, he¡¯d need potions. But he was ready to give it a shot.

 Chapter 4: Equipment Gathering

    The library was an enormous hall near the edge of the Academy¡¯s territory. It was over ten storeys tall, with an entrance like a courthouse and a sandstone hall that stretched off toward the border marker¡ªa ring of poplar trees that ran all the way around the academy¡¯s edge, which radiated an ancient power that Wulf couldn¡¯t identify. He probably wouldn¡¯t have even sensed it in his last life.


    The library¡¯s doors were wide open, and thank the Field, because they were five times his height, and he wouldn¡¯t have pushed them open on his own. Maybe with a golem to help, but even that was debatable.


    A pair of non-Ascendant guards in heavy plate armour and chainmail hauberks stood on the inside of the doors, watching him suspiciously. They held spears and shields marked with the green, eight-pointed star of Istalis, and short swords hung at their hips.


    ¡°Decently guarded,¡± he muttered. But then again, looking past the vestibule, there were hundreds of shelves on the first level alone. All the manuscripts in here were probably worth the yearly output of a small nation.


    As soon as he tried to walk into the library¡¯s main hall, the guards crossed their spears in front of him. ¡°Where¡¯s your rank-badge, son?¡±


    Wulf gulped, then looked down. He didn¡¯t have one. In the chaos of his resurrection, he hadn¡¯t even noticed.


    ¡°I, uh, left it in the dorms,¡± he said. ¡°Sorry. I¡¯m a Low-Wood, if that makes a difference.¡± He held up his bracer and showed them the slip of parchment. ¡°Does this help?¡±


    The guards sighed, then pulled their spears back. ¡°Bring it next time, alright?¡± the other guard said.


    ¡°Thank you!¡± Wulf took off into the library before the guards could change their minds.


    He didn¡¯t need anything complex. Though there wasn¡¯t an alchemy department, there had to be some sort of text on alchemy here.


    The library had an enormous atrium down its center, running from the bottom floor all the way up to the skylight above. The different floors all had different subjects, and there were plenty of tables and chairs scattered about (most occupied, of course, by other students).


    The first floor contained mostly introductory manuscripts, which was all he needed. He walked at a brisk pace, boots clacking on the marble floors, and stared at the labels on the shelves. Golem Studies, Golem Engineering and Modification for Artificers, Field-Based Magic Basics, The Oronith Crew, and Theory for Rangers.


    The farther down the hall he walked, the more frustrated he grew, until finally he reached an entire segment of miscellaneous books. For nearly a half-hour, he walked up and down it, running his finger along the spines, until he reached a small, beaten-up manuscript with a faded cover and tattered pages. The cover read: Introduction to Potion Alchemy.


    Perfect.


    He hunted down a librarian¡ªan old woman in a white robe, with long gray hair and pointed ears. She wore a steel vambrace with a piece of enchanted parchment on it, whose ink had shifted to display an inventory of books. He asked, ¡°Excuse me, miss, may I borrow this book?¡±


    The librarian squinted and pushed her glasses higher up on her nose, then leaned closer and said, ¡°That old rag? You may, but all books have a two week deadline, and I¡¯ll expect even this one back by then.¡± She tapped her vambrace. ¡°I will know, and I¡¯ll need your name.¡±


    ¡°Wulf,¡± he said.


    She stared at him blankly. ¡°Full name.¡±


    Oh. Whoops. He hadn¡¯t exactly frequented libraries in his old life.


    ¡°Wulf Hrothen of Carolaign, ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    At that, a few heads perked up from a table nearby. Someone whispered, ¡°It¡¯s him.¡±


    Oh no. Wulf turned and took a step toward the library doors, about to leave, when the students at the table hopped up. They were first years, judging by their rank¡ªLow-Woods, all of them.


    He didn¡¯t recognize any of them, though.


    ¡°You¡¯re the guy who beat Lord Harrel, aren¡¯t you?¡± a boy asked, clutching onto his textbook and an ink quill.


    ¡°Uh, yeah.¡± Wulf turned and was about to walk away, but he stopped himself. His promise hadn¡¯t been to sit in his room and make potions¡ªthat¡¯d hardly be any different than the life he lived before. He swivelled back to face the students. ¡°Yeah, it was me.¡±


    ¡°Can you tell us about Carolaign?¡± a girl with long black hair asked. ¡°We¡¯ve never been there. Is it full of warlords? Do you guys dress in furs? I heard you lived in tents and are complete nomads. Is it true?¡±


    Wulf chuckled. ¡°No, no.¡± With a sigh, he said, ¡°Admittedly, the villages are small, but we¡¯re farmers, and there are permanent settlements. And we produce a third of the confederacy¡¯s grain. But yeah, it can, uh, get a little rough with the bandits sometimes, and¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t pester him, Lianna,¡± another girl said. ¡°I¡¯m sure he¡¯s been through a lot there, a lot more than us.¡±


    Well, that was true. But not necessarily about Carolaign. His childhood had been mostly peaceful.


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    He shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m sure everyone has their troubles.¡± He gave a slight smile, then said, ¡°Nice to meet you, though. I¡ª¡±


    ¡°There he is!¡± someone shouted from down the hall.


    Three boys marched down the hall toward him. The librarian turned toward them and raised a hand to shush them, but stopped at the last moment and pulled back.


    These boys were dressed like the others¡ªwhite tunic, brown pants, shiny black boots¡ªbut they also had a second pin beneath their Low-Wood badges. A circle with an arrow through its center.


    ¡°Fletchers,¡± Wulf muttered. No wonder the librarian didn¡¯t want to be on their bad side, if what the headmaster said was true.


    ¡°He¡¯s the guy,¡± one of the Fletchers said. He had short blond hair and pointed ears, and green, plant-like markings ran along his high cheekbones. An elf. As it turned out, them being immortal was a complete myth, but they made excellent Rangers.


    ¡°Hey, hey.¡± Wulf held up his hands and backed away. None of them had golems, but he didn¡¯t know if they were Mages or not, and he didn¡¯t need to get in another fight, not when the headmaster had let him off lightly.


    Besides, he was starting to get a headache, and he needed some time to just relax and process the events of the past few days. ¡°I¡¯ve got no issues with you guys, alright? Unless you want there to be issues.¡±


    The three of them stopped right in front of Wulf, staring at him. He was slightly taller than them, and his shoulders were slightly wider than theirs. But everyone was watching, and the Fletcher kids had to know that, too.


    A different Fletcher with dark skin and wolf ears atop his head said, ¡°Watch your back. You don¡¯t mess with Harrel and get off without a scratch. He¡¯s friends with Umoch.¡±


    ¡°Well, then rest assured, because the headmaster docked me two ration credits a day.¡± Wulf kept his expression completely blank. ¡°Who¡¯s Umoch?¡±


    The group of Ascendants at the table gaped at Wulf in disbelief, and the Fletchers looked like they were about to explode. Wulf let a grin slip onto his face, but truly, he had no idea who Umoch was.


    ¡°The son of Sir Umoch, head of the Central Fletcher¡¯s Guild,¡± said the elven boy. ¡°He¡¯ll hear about this. And he knows about you.¡±


    ¡°...Right.¡± Wulf shrugged, then turned away. ¡°I¡¯ll keep it in mind.¡±


    Without another word, he walked down the hall, heading straight toward the library¡¯s entrance. Sure enough, the Fletchers didn¡¯t have the guts to follow.


    ~ ~ ~


    As Wulf was walking across campus, he began reading the potion alchemy textbook. It began with an epigraph:


    [Alchemists] are rare, and powerful [Alchemists] are even rarer. But with the help of my writings, the keen student will craft enough liquid strength to topple mountains, transmute scrap into gold, and alter the fabric of the universe to seat himself at the very top.


    ¡ª The Great Alchemist Panne


    The book then went into a lengthy description of some potential alchemy applications. There weren¡¯t very many that humans used in the modern day, save for potion making, but that was simply because human alchemists weren¡¯t very common, and powerful human alchemists were a once-in-a-millenia occurrence.


    But elven alchemists, while middling in strength, were excellent crafters. Instead of smithing, they used alchemy to transmute standard certain wooden materials into weapons (which the textbook promised to get into later). Glass-smithing, it seemed, was also within the purview of alchemy.


    Smithing. Not glassblowing. No, the textbook didn¡¯t elaborate.


    But Wulf wasn¡¯t interested in all the crazy applications, yet. He had to start small¡ªwith potions.


    He didn¡¯t get far into the textbook before it recommended a distillation setup¡ªpretty much every potion he tried to make would need it. If he distilled an ingredient down to a higher concentration, it would invariably raise the quality of the ingredient. Depending on the alchemist¡¯s skill, they could raise an ingredient¡¯s quality by an entire Tier.


    So he needed equipment.


    On his way back to the dormitories, he stopped by the Artificers¡¯ labs. As he understood, it was a relatively new building, constructed in a modern style¡ªblocky white stone, with lots of windows, and a roof that overhung the pathways and carriage loop at its front. A few wagons waited in front of its main doors, offloading lab supplies for Artificers to practice with.


    Wulf walked in the front entrance like he belonged, radiating as much confidence as he could. On the inside, the building was bland and brutalist. There was an atrium for students to gather (which they did), and labs with glass walls all along the edge. It might have been early in the semester, but labs had begun. Some of the rooms were already in use.


    Artificers in white coats and heavy helmets screwed together metal constructs, some carved runes, and in the high-level labs, practiced repairing life-size Oronith components. One room contained an entire stone finger, and a team of artificers worked to repair the rune lines at its joints.


    Wulf picked an empty lab room in the corner, then pushed open the frosted glass door. Since he didn¡¯t have a rank badge, he¡¯d simply tell anyone that he was a teaching assistant if he got caught.


    The lab room had two main rows of tables with stools behind them. Drawers lined the walls. He picked a drawer, opened it, and hunted through. Artificers wouldn¡¯t need to work with many liquids, but sometimes, paints and solvents were important for their constructs.


    At the back of the drawer, he found two glass flasks, and he plucked them out. Then, from a different drawer, he retrieved a simple metal holder for them, and a small burn-box¡ªa metal and mesh container designed to hold a fire without spreading sparks everywhere. Useful for Artificers¡¯ work, but also for his work. Thankfully, this one still had Middle-Wood Tier phoenix dust in the bottom. When he lit it, it¡¯d burn for hours.


    Phoenix dust was somewhat rare, but since Istalis had begun farming them, it was significantly less expensive. It wouldn¡¯t be a huge loss for the Academy.


    With his equipment in-hand, he needed to make just one more stop before he could return to the dorms.


    ~ ~ ~


    Wulf hid his stolen flasks, frame, and burn-box behind his textbook as he trekked across the campus. When he reached the mess hall, a large but nondescript building at the very center of the academy, with hundreds of chimneys on its roof and round windows on every wall, he stepped off the walkway and circled around its back.


    Behind the kitchen, where the cooks dumped their leftover cooking water (including some low-purity mana water, for the occasions that they fed the third and fourth years mana-infused food), was a patch of weeds.


    They shouldn¡¯t have been anything special, but they¡¯d been growing beside the chimney for years, getting watered with low-strength mana-water.


    He bent down and plucked a set of dandelions. Their heads were going to seed, but he needed the stalks and the leaves.


    When he gripped them tight and concentrated on them, the ink in his enchanted paper shifted, and displayed a new message:


    Dandelions (Low-Wood Quality)


    A plant grown with no love, scorned by all who see it. No effect.


    But at least the Field recognized it. Anything could become magical if given enough mana, but that was the trick. Rarely did a plant harvest enough mana in its life to become powerful.


    Tucking the stalks and leaves into his pocket, Wulf set off toward the dorms. He had everything he needed to get started.

 Chapter 5: My Dormitory is an Alchemy Lab

    The Academy¡¯s dormitory complex was on the western side of the campus. It was a sprawling building with tens of different wings each added in different centuries. All had the same general style: sandstone facades, simple lattice windows that glowed orange in the fading light of the day, and steep roofs.


    Wulf walked down the hallways, hoping that just being here would jog his memories and he¡¯d remember exactly where his old dorm was.


    He did a complete circle of the third floor (which he knew was the right floor) before returning to the stairs without anything to show for his progress. It was either the room in the northern corner, or the one in the southern corner¡­


    And the longer he stayed, the more chances someone was going to notice he¡¯d stolen artificer equipment from the labs¡ªespecially when he stopped by the communal amphoras (filled with river water) to top up his flasks.


    But thankfully, a familiar face climbed up the stairway and stopped at the third floor. J¨¢n, bless him, was now twenty years younger than when Wulf had last seen him. He hid behind a stack of Mage-studies textbooks, leaving only his swept-back blonde hair and sharp chin visible. He was a human, too.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, roommate?¡± J¨¢n exclaimed jokingly. When he spoke, he had a slight accent, revealing his heritage from East Istalis. But he was entirely fluent in Common-Speak. ¡°Can¡¯t a man have his books?¡±


    Wulf exhaled slowly, unsure how to respond.


    ¡°Nah, but seriously man, you look like you¡¯ve seen a ghost.¡± J¨¢n darted up the last set of stairs, then almost skipped past Wulf with how light his steps were.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡ªI¡¯m fine,¡± Wulf said. ¡°I just forgot my key.¡±


    ¡°Well, your saviour is here!¡± J¨¢n balanced his stack of books in one hand and reached into his pocket. He retrieved a key. Like all dorm keys, it was a simple steel rod with bars down its length.


    Wulf followed J¨¢n down the hallway until they reached the room in the northern corner. J¨¢n unlocked it, then pushed it open.


    Northern corner, dammit. Was right the first time.


    Their dorm was a simple rectangle with a bed and a desk on each side. J¨¢n¡¯s side had a couple woodblock prints hanging from the walls (a relatively cheap way to decorate a room, though being the son of minor Kollish nobility, J¨¢n wasn¡¯t lacking in funds).


    Wulf set his equipment down on his desk and lit a candle. He hadn¡¯t decorated his walls at all, except to hang his schedule above the desk. His rank badge had been pinned to the bottom of the schedule, and truly, he had forgotten his room key. It hung from a nail above the schedule.


    Wulf pulled out a stiff wooden chair and sat down at the desk. Being a Pilot, he had to have an understanding in a broad range of studies, as he¡¯d be the one giving his Oronith crew orders. Though he already knew about the other main Classes, this time at the Academy, he could focus on the lecture material, instead of trying to play catch-up with his poor reading ability.


    Five classes per semester. This first semester was all introductory classes: Introduction to Golem Piloting, Introduction to Mage Studies, Introduction to Artificing, Introduction to Scouting and Spotting¡ªthat was a lecture about Rangers¡ªand Basics of Field-based Advancement.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m gonna head to the common room,¡± J¨¢n proclaimed. He set his stack of books down with a thunk. ¡°Feel free to join us. When, you¡¯re done with¡­whatever you¡¯re doing over there.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, thanks,¡± Wulf said, old dismissive habits taking over. In his past life, it¡¯d taken weeks for J¨¢n to convince Wulf to come along to the common room. He shook his head¡ªthat wasn¡¯t going to happen again. ¡°Actually, I¡¯ll be there in a bit. Just have a little work to do. It was nice seeing you again.¡±


    ¡°Again? We woke up in the same room this morning, good sir.¡± J¨¢n narrowed his eyes. ¡°Was that a joke?¡±


    ¡°No. Why would I joke about something like that?¡±


    ¡°Ah, so you¡¯re just tired,¡± J¨¢n said as he walked to the door, pushed it open, then marched out backward. ¡°Well, then, the offer still stands.¡± He pulled the door shut behind himself.


    It was time to get to work.


    Wulf laid out his [Dandelions] on the table, then set up his two flasks. He placed them in the stand, resting them in holders meant specifically for flasks, then placed the [Dandelion] leaves in one flask. First, he mashed them to a pulp with the tip of a quill that he¡¯d left out on the table a few days before.


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    Then, with his candles, he lit the burn-box and placed it beneath the flask. The phoenix dust smouldered and emitted heat, but didn¡¯t deplete noticeably.


    For a few seconds, nothing happened, but slowly, heat transferred to the flask, and the water began steaming. The chunks of leaf began clinging to the bottom of the pot, so he dipped his quill back in and began stirring. A little ink got in the flask, but hopefully that wouldn''t cause problems.


    According to his textbook, alchemy wasn''t as simple as just mixing ingredients together. It might work for weaker potions, but not for all. Aside from obtaining the ingredients and brewing them, there was an extra element of attention that had to go into them. The Field recognized effort above all, and haphazardly mixing ingredients wouldn''t ever have as magical of results as dedication.


    Even if he couldn''t control the potion¡¯s effect yet, he could control the tier and the strength, and begin building up a stockpile. Problem was, he had no practice with potions.


    His experimentation with alchemy in his past life amounted to mixing pre-packaged powders that already had mana infusions and which the Field had already recognized. Now, he had to make it recognize his efforts.


    With slow, precise movements, he stirred the flask. The liquid shifted, slowly taking on a pale green from the leaves. Steam rose up the top of the flask and filtered out, and the leaves darkened. The heat of the water and the constant stirring made them crumble apart.


    Wulf watched intently. The liquid¡¯s colour changed, and the patterns of bubbles were¡­unnatural. He couldn¡¯t explain it, but it didn¡¯t make any sense with the rules of the world that his mind had gotten used to. He flipped through his alchemy textbook, thumbing over the pages as he stirred, until he arrived at the last page of the first chapter.


    Note: when distilling arcane ingredients, if boiled correctly, the Field will begin recognizing the ingredients, and you will notice shifting patterns of bubbles that may seem unnatural, or areas of high and low concentration where there should be none. Stir through those areas and concentrate your efforts. In other words, allow the Field to guide your efforts.


    Finally, at the end of the first chapter, it provided a list of basic potions and their ingredients, and their purpose. A potion made with dandelions¡ªeither arcane [Dandelions] or regular weeds (and then infused with mana)¡ªwould provide a subtle night vision effect. He couldn¡¯t expect that, but it was still nice to know.


    Wulf continued stirring, carefully moving his quill through the patches of bubbles, or stirring up the slightly darker wisps of liquid that hadn¡¯t properly diffused through the vial yet.


    He¡¯d need to get a proper stir-stick, too. But he added that to the list of objects to acquire in the future. The quill worked well enough for now.


    After about ten minutes, the mixture had thickened slightly, and the air around it seemed to vibrate with yearning. The potion was ready.


    Like he had in the gym, he could try to infuse it with his own mana. But if he spent all his mana creating potions, he¡¯d never increase his tier. The Field allocated mana to Ascendants for completing tasks related to their Class, and when they accumulated enough mana, they could advance their tier.


    But there was the catch: while completing tasks, they often used mana. Mages received enormous bursts of mana for defeating enemies and monsters, but they had to consume some to unleash spell Skills. It slowed their advancement.


    And since advancing your tier was the easiest way to gain and upgrade Skills, Wulf needed to advance quickly¡ªhe wouldn¡¯t settle for random potions, and if he wanted to convince everyone he was a Pilot, he¡¯d need to be able to fuel a golem for longer.


    Wulf, however, wouldn¡¯t gain nearly as much mana from making potions as a Mage or Pilot would from defeating enemies, and if he was constantly spending mana to complete his potions, he would never advance.


    He leaned back in his chair for a few seconds, thinking, relaxing, and stirring his potion gently. Then, finally, he muttered, ¡°The mana-aura didn¡¯t use my mana.¡±


    If it had, he wouldn¡¯t have been able to move the golem even once, with how little mana he¡¯d possessed.


    He rummaged through his bag and recovered his canteen with the nausea potion in it. He took another long swig of it, finishing off the last dregs of nauseating liquid. His Mark allowed him to resist the arcane effect, but the flavour still made him want to retch.


    But it worked. An aura expanded away from him, fuelling magic objects, and simply putting mana in the air. With his faint control of it, he willed it into the potion, begging the Field to allow his aura in and infuse the potion with magic.


    For a few seconds, it resisted, like trying to push a magnet¡¯s poles together, but he burst through, and the entire aura flooded into the potion. The glass rang, and the flask quivered. Steam still floated out the top, but now, the liquid itself glowed.


    As Wulf watched, the potion changed colours. He hadn¡¯t seen what his nausea potion looked like in his opaque canteen, but in a glass container, he could clearly see the green fade, and the liquid took on a brown-orange colour, almost like whisky.


    He reached out and pressed his hand against it, calling on the Field to sense it. His enchanted parchment shifted, and new words scrawled across it:


    Mothwing Potion (Middle-Wood Quality)


    Enhances the user¡¯s speed for thirty seconds. Potion is an irritant to eyes and throat when contacted in high quantities.


    [By crafting a potion, you have increased your mana. Advancement progress: 15%]


    Wulf sighed. He supposed a potion could have multiple effects, and if a negative effect got tagged onto a positive effect, it wouldn¡¯t do him much good.


    Although, a slightly corrosive potion could be an especially effective weapon. Sure, speed would be nice, but he had options.


    Gingerly, he removed the flask from its holder, then poured the potion into his canteen. His fingers stung on the hot glass. They didn¡¯t have as thick of calluses as he was used to, but he pushed through. He set the flask back on the rack, then leaned back in his chair.


    He had two more flasks, and he had time and ingredients.


    There was no reason not to make two more potions before he called it a night.

 Chapter 6: Corrosive Commons

    Wulf spent the next half hour distilling the rest of the [Dandelion] leaves with the same technique as before.


    Though the leaves were a low quality, he could in theory increase the strength of the ingredient before infusing it with mana, thus resulting in a higher tier potion. That is, so long as he stirred properly. Swirled the stir-stick (or quill) at the right time, brought it up to the surface at the right time or cleaved through a swath of darker, thicker liquid fast enough.


    After a few hours, he finished distilling the pseudo-tincture. That was what the textbook called it, because it wouldn¡¯t be a proper tincture until he found some sort of solvent to dissolve his ingredients in. He tested it with the Field:


    Distilled Dandelion Juice (Middle-Wood Quality)


    An ingredient made to be consumed in potion-crafting. No effect.


    But still, he¡¯d raised the quality of the ingredient one tier. Normally, it¡¯d make Middle-Wood tier potion when he completed it, but with his Skill, it¡¯d have to give him a potion a tier higher.


    So he tried infusing it with mana. To trigger the aura, he took a single swig of his Mothwing potion, hoping that it wasn¡¯t enough to irritate his throat (but if it was¡­well, he¡¯d dealt with worse discomforts in his time).


    With a single swig of a potion, the aura was weaker. He pushed it into the new potion still, and the flask let off a chime, but not as loud, nor did it shake as violently or glow as brightly. The colour shifted to a pale blue, though.


    He assessed the potion¡¯s quality:


    Sleep Potion (Low-Wood Quality)


    Makes the user mildly sleepy for two minutes.


    [By crafting a potion, you have increased your mana. Advancement progress: 20%]


    Only Low-Wood. Wulf scrunched his eyebrows.


    But then that meant the mana he infused it with also counted as an ingredient. He didn¡¯t drink much of his Mothwing potion, so his aura wasn¡¯t strong. It was essentially a Scrap-tier ingredient.


    Then that meant his ability also only worked off the lowest tier ingredient.


    But at least now, he didn¡¯t have a potion that risked melting his throat. From his small sip of the Mothwing potion, there was only a slight tingle now, and when he coughed a few times, it disappeared.


    Still, probably not a good idea to go drinking corrosive liquids in the future. He¡¯d have to keep some sacrificial potions¡ªlike the sleep potion¡ªaround that he could use to power his aura.


    With his last flask, he set to creating one more potion. He added the [Dandelion] stems and boiled them down, repeating the same process as before, but creating a slightly gray liquid. It thickened a little more than his last potion had, and his stirring had already gotten more precise and smooth. Still a Middle-Wood tier ¡°juice¡± though.


    He took a long sip of his sleep potion. It was bitter, but there was a faint sweetness. It elicited a little drowsiness, but it was a weak potion. However, that was enough to make an invisible aura erupt around him, and he pushed that into his last flask.


    The potion ran to completion, now filled with mana, and the glass let off a signature chime before calming. The liquid within turned a faint shade of magenta, and Wulf assessed it.


    Strength Potion (High-Wood Quality)


    Enhances the user¡¯s strength for thirty seconds. Poisons the user with greenvein.


    [By crafting a potion, you have increased your mana. Advancement progress: 25%]


    Wulf grinned. The best potion he¡¯d made so far. He removed it from the rack and put a stopper in it, then blew out the burn-box and placed the entire apparatus on the floor. To keep it away from prying eyes, he tossed his spare uniform over it, making it look like the average mess that a boy his age would leave behind. No one would think twice about it at a glance.


    For a few minutes, he sat still, staring up at the ceiling, barely thinking. The drowsiness of the sleep potion was taking effect, but it wasn¡¯t enough to quell the excitement of the day. Less than eight hours ago, the world had been ending, and he was preparing to go with it.


    Now, he had a chance to fix that. He wasn¡¯t sure if it¡¯d dawned on him, yet.


    Hells, he wasn¡¯t sure if this was even the same version of him. Was it the same soul in his body, or just the memories, and it felt the same anyway?


    It¡¯d take a little time to process it all, but he had promises to keep. He patted his belt, where the pouch with his master¡¯s ashes hung.


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    Master Arnau had found him after his time at the Academy, worked with him, and trained him to pilot golems in a way that suited him¡ªnot through the rigid rules of the Academy. Though stern, she¡¯d guided him and been a second mother to him. And on her deathbed, she had made Wulf vow to distribute her ashes around the world.


    That had never happened. Pesky demon incursions had always gotten in the way. Defending the realm, all that.


    But Wulf had a few months to get started. The demons¡¯ sky-spheres hadn¡¯t fallen yet, and there was a little time.


    He stood up, opened the window a crack, and sprinkled a few ashes out into the breeze, before shutting it and standing up. He placed both his potions and his canteen inside his haversack, then snatched up his rank badge and room key.


    The common room was a small, low-ceilinged hall at the very center of the wing of their dormitory. There was one common room for each floor.


    By now, the sun had set entirely. Candles sat in sconces at the room¡¯s edges, and a brazier crackled at the room¡¯s center. Seats surrounded it, where J¨¢n and a couple other students were chatting. A dragonfolk boy¡ªan upright reptilian race from the edge of the Litterlands, with scaly skin, dragon snouts, horns, and a mane of sinew behind their head¡ªand an elven girl sat next to J¨¢n, holding their hands out over the brazier to warm them.


    The elf¡­was that Brin? Wulf squinted. He barely recognized her with her short brown bob-cut hair and messy uniform. A textbook hung out of her haversack, with the title Oronith Support for Rangers.


    Wulf blinked quickly, then steeled himself to talk to the younger versions of his old friends.


    ¡°Oh, hey!¡± J¨¢n exclaimed. ¡°Finally got the hermit to leave the dorms. I thought it was going to be a few more weeks at least.¡±


    Wulf chuckled. ¡°So did I.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s been gloomy all this time,¡± J¨¢n said to Brin, speaking softly, but not so soft Wulf couldn¡¯t hear. ¡°Not sure what was up with him, but on the first day, I could barely get a grunt out of him.¡±


    Wulf rolled his eyes. ¡°I distinctly remember saying ¡®hello¡¯.¡±


    J¨¢n made a skeptical face. Then, after a pause, he said, ¡°Yeah, so anyway, we were just¡ª¡±


    A crash rang out on the other side of the room, and Wulf spun around, hand on his haversack.


    ¡°Somebody¡¯s jumpy,¡± Brin said with a giggle.


    ¡°And I¡¯m usually right.¡± Wulf narrowed his eyes.


    To no one¡¯s surprise, except maybe J¨¢n and Brin¡¯s, Wulf was right.


    In the corner of the common room, the three Fletchers he¡¯d encountered earlier in the library stood, backing a human-shaped lump into the corner. He groaned. ¡°Just my luck to be on the same floor as them¡­¡±


    ¡°That book¡¯s mine,¡± the boy with wolf ears growled. His ears flattened down against his curly hair. He bent down over a fourth boy¡ªone with a Fletcher pin, but also a Low-Wood. The boy, much like Brin, was an elf with fair skin, but he had red hair and leaf-like markings on his cheekbones. Orange leaves, but still elven.


    Wulf didn¡¯t recognize him, but then again, he hadn¡¯t spent much time in the common room.


    ¡°Hey,¡± the elf boy whispered. ¡°No, no, that¡¯s¡ª¡±


    The Fletcher with wolf ears snatched up the book¡ªsome sort of ranger textbook¡ªthen pulled a quill out of his pocket and scribbled a signature on the inside of the cover. ¡°Oh, look here! It¡¯s got my signature on it, now.¡±


    The elven boy tried to snatch the book back, but the Fletcher pulled it out of reach.


    ¡°Wait!¡± the boy exclaimed. ¡°Ferbig, you can¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes I can.¡± The wolf-boy smirked. ¡°Go, run home to daddy and complain, and see how well he does in a dispute with my branch¡ªtwice as large as yours. No one will believe you, what with your antique uniform and ancient badge. Are they hand-me-downs?¡±


    ¡°Wulf,¡± J¨¢n hissed. ¡°Don¡¯t. They¡¯re Fletchers.¡±


    Wulf hadn¡¯t realized it, but he was already walking toward the Fletcher boys. He didn¡¯t stop. If he understood the hierarchy well enough, these guys weren¡¯t as important as Harrel, but they were clinging to the glory of the more prosperous branches in order to throw their weight around.


    And, despite the headmaster¡¯s warning, Wulf couldn¡¯t just do nothing.


    He reached out and snagged the wolf-boy¡¯s¡ªFerbig¡¯s¡ªstolen textbook. He pressed the cover shut, smearing the still-drying ink of the signature.


    The three Fletcher thugs turned toward him. Ferbig, who seemed like their leader, another elf, and a human.


    ¡°You!¡± Ferbig exclaimed.


    ¡°I think your signature got smudged,¡± Wulf said. ¡°It¡¯d be a shame if no one could read it. You should give it back.¡±


    ¡°You should mind your own business, dog.¡±


    ¡°You¡­do see the irony in calling me that, right?¡± My name might be Wulf, but you literally are one.


    With a growl, Ferbig made a fist and threw a punch at Wulf¡¯s face, but he telegraphed it from a mile away. Wulf leaned to the side, then reached into his haversack and drew his canteen out. He unscrewed the cap, then splashed a glug of the Mothwing potion in Ferbig¡¯s face.


    Ferbig stumbled back, grasping at his eyes, and the other two Fletchers converged. Wulf dropped his canteen, then reached for his strength potion. He took a long swig, downing half the flask. It was bitter, too. Wulf was starting to think most potions were going to taste like garbage, but maybe a little sugar wouldn¡¯t hurt.


    As soon as the liquid hit his stomach, strength flooded his veins.


    When the elf Fletcher tried to tackle him, Wulf just widened his stance, and with a combination of the strength potion and experience, resisted the elf¡¯s pushing entirely. It didn¡¯t hurt that elves were half as heavy as an average human.


    As soon as the elf tired himself out, Wulf struck him on the top of his head with a fist¡ªjust hard enough to knock him out, then turned to the human.


    The human turned and ran, sprinting out of the common room and back through the hallways.


    It left only Ferbig, who flailed his arms wildly. ¡°What did you do?¡±


    ¡°Wash your eyes out in the bathhouse, and you¡¯ll be fine,¡± Wulf grumbled. He grabbed Ferbig by the collar, then pushed him toward the door as well, then ripped the textbook from his grasp. ¡°Now get out of here.¡±


    Without a second of hesitation, Ferbig sprinted out the door.


    Wulf dropped the textbook back in the ranger¡¯s lap¡ªthe elf boy they¡¯d been cornering. ¡°Keep hold of that, and sign your name in the cover. That way, they can say it¡¯s theirs. Are you alright?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m¡ªI¡¯m good,¡± the elf gasped. ¡°Like, not good good, but I¡¯m alright. Like, unharmed. Who are you?¡± He blinked a few times, then replaced his expression with a stupid grin.


    ¡°Just another guy on this floor.¡± Wulf tucked his strength potion back into his haversack, then knelt down in front of the elf. ¡°Why don¡¯t you take off the Fletcher pin and join us by the fire, hm? You don¡¯t need those guys.¡±

 Chapter 7: The Schedule Pans Out

    ¡°I¡¯m Irmond,¡± the elf boy said, taking a seat beside the brazier. He tucked his knees up to his chest, then rested his chin on them and sighed.


    ¡°Wulf,¡± said Wulf, extending his hand.


    Cautiously, Irmond took it, then shook it, as if Wulf was going to bite him. Wulf didn¡¯t. After a few seconds, he realized it was probably because his veins had turned slightly green. The greenvein poison was a subtle sickness that gave the victim cold-like symptoms, but he expected to resist most of it.


    Being a stronger potion, he might not resist all of it.


    J¨¢n and Brin both introduced themselves, and finally, Brin asked, ¡°How¡¯d a Maple Elf end up with the Fletchers, anyway? Didn¡¯t think you guys were the arrow-making type.¡±


    Irmond plucked his Fletcher pin off his tunic and tossed it in the brazier. ¡°They were the only guys who¡¯d sell me a textbook. They¡¯d bought out like the whole bookstore, and were upcharging people outside. Part of the deal after buying the book was that I had to help them and wear their pin, that kinda stuff. By the Field, I feel so stupid¡­¡±


    Wulf snorted. The Guilds were starting their greedy little businessmen young. Even if they never went on to pilot Oroniths, their kids would have a good education and connections, and most importantly, practice scamming people out of their gold.


    ¡°Well, can they prove you bought the book from them?¡± Wulf asked.


    ¡°N¡ªno.¡±


    ¡°Then they¡¯re a paper chimera. All roar, but no leverage.¡± Wulf crossed his arms. ¡°Don¡¯t deal with them again, though, alright?¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± Irmond said. ¡°I¡­I didn¡¯t know you were such a good fighter. I saw you sitting in the back in Introduction to Scouting and Spotting. I¡­didn¡¯t think much of you.¡±


    ¡°You can just call it RGST one-oh-three,¡± J¨¢n said. ¡°No one will be mad at you. Except maybe Dr. Kuali!¡± At that, he gave a cackle.


    ¡°You probably did see me,¡± Wulf said, ignoring J¨¢n.


    ¡°How¡¯d you afford potions?¡± Brin asked. ¡°Did the headmaster give them to you? You¡¯re the guy who had to go have a chat with him, right?¡±


    ¡°I, uh¡­¡± Wulf shrugged. ¡°What potions?¡±


    J¨¢n, Brin, and Irmond all sighed and stared at him blankly.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Wulf whispered. ¡°I¡¯d appreciate it if you kept the potion stuff to yourself. These guys are already so far ahead of us, and if we¡¯re going to catch up, we¡¯re going to need a leg up. They¡¯re probably not good for you guys to drink, but¡­well, I¡¯d highly suggest you try to find some sort of trick.¡±


    He knew how that sounded, coming from the guy with a unique Class, but they also didn¡¯t know about his Class, and he wanted to keep it that way.


    But then he yawned, and this time, it wasn¡¯t because of any potion. He was actually exhausted, mentally and physically. ¡°Alright, guys. I¡¯m going back to my room, and I¡¯m going to sleep.¡±


    ¡°Got it,¡± J¨¢n said. ¡°But¡­hey, are you sure it¡¯s such a great idea to stand up to the Fletchers?¡±


    ¡°Someone has to do it. Why not me?¡±


    ¡°What if they complain to the faculty?¡±


    ¡°Not after I humiliated them like that.¡± Wulf shook his head. ¡°People like that are little rats.¡±


    With that, he stood up, then walked back to the common room¡¯s door. The other students watched him curiously, but no one approached him. No one else probably wanted to be associated with him.


    When he reached the door, though, he looked back. Brin and J¨¢n said around the brazier, talking gently with Irmond, and Wulf let a slight smile seep onto his face.


    I already dragged J¨¢n and Brin through hell once, even if they don¡¯t remember, he thought. I¡¯ll hang out with them, but I¡¯m not bringing them along again. This time, they get to live a normal life.


    If I need a crew, I¡¯ll find someone who wants to go with me. Not someone who has to be convinced.


    ~ ~ ~


    The next morning, Wulf awoke with a sore throat and a stuffed nose, but after a few minutes, it faded, and that was the worst of the potion¡¯s side effects. The green veins along his hands had faded, though the tips of his fingers were still stained green. Not obvious, unless someone stared too long.


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    But he¡¯d keep that in mind. He couldn¡¯t resist all Tiers of poisons yet, and he¡¯d have to be careful about what he drank.


    He packed up his potions again, then pulled his haversack over his shoulder. According to J¨¢n, it was Thirdday¡ªhalfway through the week¡ªand that meant there were classes. They only got one day off a week, and that was Sixday.


    He reviewed his schedule and a hand-sketched map of the campus he¡¯d drawn forty-one years ago (or a week ago, depending on how you looked at it), then planned his route accordingly. The first class was ADST 101, or Basics of Field-Based Advancement.


    It was in a lecture theater on the main campus mound¡ªthe same butte where the headmaster¡¯s office was, except in a long, modern hall off to the side of the mound, where hundreds of students gathered outside, waiting for their class to begin.


    A bell tolled, the previous lecture¡¯s Ascendants stepped out, and the next batch stepped in. Wulf lingered near the edge of the crowd, minding his own business, and shuffling along with the line.


    That didn¡¯t stop a young panglian woman from crashing into him in her rush. Pangians were a humanoid race from the eastern reaches of the Confederation, who shared a few many traits with the pangolins they shared the land with. Scaly tails, clawed hands and feet (she didn¡¯t wear any boots) and a pattern of scales on their foreheads. Their eyes were deep black, and all pupil. Otherwise, like most races, she was a human.


    She bowed an apology, then scrunched up her eyebrows.


    There was something just slightly off about her, but Wulf couldn¡¯t put his finger on it. Experience told him that it was nothing to worry about. Then again, it was probably his experience that was making his mind run in circles in the first place.


    And the fact that she looked equally concerned about him didn¡¯t help.


    Wulf tried, ¡°Hey, it¡¯s alright, I just¡ª¡±


    But before he could finish, she took off into the crowd and disappeared.


    Weird.


    But he kept on shuffling into the class, then took a seat near the back and opened his notebook. He took out a quill, set his inkwell out, and prepared to take notes. Though almost everything here would be a review for him, it couldn¡¯t hurt to put in a little effort. There might have been something he missed his first time.


    ¡°Good morning,¡± said the lecturer once they sat down. The lecture hall could seat about three hundred students in its amphitheatre-shaped risers, and had a couple chandeliers hanging from the ceiling to light it. On the far wall, just behind the lecturer, was an enormous sheet of enchanted parchment.


    The lecturer tapped the sheet¡¯s side, and ink diffused upward through the paper, forming letters. It read: Dr. Maron, ADST 101, Lecture 9: Marks.


    It confirmed what Wulf had already assumed: the first week of classes was done, and they were in the second week. Now that he could pinpoint the date in his mind, he was starting to feel a little less disoriented.


    Though some things would still take some getting used to. Like the fact that his legs didn¡¯t have nearly as much muscle to cushion him from the cold, hard seat, or that he just didn¡¯t take up as much room as he used to, or when he rested his forearms on the table, it was just skin between the hard surface and his wrist bones.


    ¡°Marks are some of the most essential elements of arcane advancement,¡± Dr. Maron began. ¡°As such, our second topic¡ªwhich will occupy our next few weeks¡ªwill be covering Marks as a whole.¡±


    Dr. Maron began pacing back and forth in front of the class. He wore a long green coat, with a High-Iron badge pinned to the lapel and coattails that brushed the ground with each step. He was a human with swarthy skin and curly hair, and eyes that swept the crowd, almost always accusatory.


    Part of Wulf didn¡¯t want to like him, but another side was undecided.


    ¡°By the end of the semester, I expect that each and every one of you will have obtained a single Mark, but I will be available in my office hours for questions¡ªyou can find the hours posted on the wall over here¡ªand I would be happy to provide assistance within reasonable means. But remember: the Field will give you nothing if you don¡¯t work toward it with all your heart. If you recall our lectures from last week, it is not only important that you move toward your goals, but that you make your goal your main focus in your life.


    ¡°If you are a Mage, make focussing on a spell Skill your main task, not something that you fit into the cracks of your schedule. If you are a ranger, practice your archery and sight Skills during¡­¡±


    For a few seconds, Wulf let the man¡¯s voice trail off. It was easy for him to tell them to not let something slip into the cracks of the schedule, but then again, not everyone had that luxury¡ªespecially with five classes a semester.


    Then again¡­those who wanted it would make it work, right?


    Already, the challenge seemed appealing, and the fact that it was slightly unfair made Wulf want to try harder just to spite it.


    If nothing else, he¡¯d bash his head against the problem until it gave in.


    ¡°...Marks are granted by the Field for extraordinary achievements which a normal, non-Ascendant person would be incapable of achieving, and that most Ascendants don¡¯t achieve,¡± Dr. Maron continued. ¡°For example, owning one magical staff is not rare, but having a collection of twenty of them may earn you a Mark. Only the greatest, rarest, and most powerful Marks will warrant the visit of a Messenger to personally award your efforts.¡±


    He rambled on a little longer, and Wulf took notes, but there wasn¡¯t anything terribly interesting, until the end of the fifty-minute long lecture, where Dr. Maron said, ¡°The purpose of Marks is generally to provide the equivalent of a weak passive skill, or a permanent increase in your physical capabilities. There is a reason that Ruby-Tier Ascendants can move as quickly as they do, or shatter mountains with a single punch from their Oronith: they have accumulated enough Marks to do so.¡±


    After that lecture, Wulf had to run across the butte to a different theatre. On odd-numbered days, he had two classes, and even days, he had three.


    However, being an odd-numbered day meant everyone had mandatory combat training in the afternoon¡ªno exceptions. After his second lecture, for Introduction to Artificing, he ate lunch at the mess hall. The food was sorta bland, but considering that in his rush, he¡¯d skipped supper last night, and breakfast this morning, even the stove-grilled chicken and boiled barley was welcome.


    After scarfing down a meal, he gathered his haversack and marched to the training gym¡ªthe same place he¡¯d woken up yesterday.


    He ran across campus once more, then changed into a sleeveless sparring tunic and shorts, before running back into the gym.


    It was time for what he was best at: hitting things really hard.

 Chapter 8: Combat Training

    ¡°Every week on Thirdday,¡± said Instructor DeLark, ¡°we will test our skills against each other in¡­a controlled but less rigid manner.¡± He was a tall, muscular man, who spoke with a slight accent as he walked down the center of the gym. His long hair had been tied up in a bun, and an ornament poked out of it.


    Sparring mats formed two rows down the gym floor, and on each mat stood two students. The others took well-practiced, formal military poses¡ªstraight backs, legs spaced apart, hands behind their backs.


    Wulf stood as he usually did: hands tucked into his gym shorts¡¯ pockets, slightly slouched, and feet wherever he pleased. Like the other students, he still wore his leather bracer, but his potions and haversack were in a locker outside.


    He wouldn¡¯t need potions for this class.


    DeLark might not like Wulf¡¯s stance, but he didn¡¯t have to. Wulf wasn¡¯t military like the others. He was more used to being a member of a ragtag resistance that didn¡¯t have time for decorum. In the future, there were too many demons to kill and not enough time to worry about how you were standing.


    The other boy on his sparring mat, a sickly pale near-human with ram horns poking out the side of his head, regarded him with disdain, and that was all the better. The more they underestimated him, the easier it would be.


    ¡°Starting today,¡± DeLark continued, ¡°every Thirdday will be devoted to sparring with your peers. You will spar for five minutes, or until your opponent yields. There will be injuries, but you are not to purposely injure your opponents, and if they yield, you must respect it. My teaching assistants will be roaming the hall to ensure compliance.¡±


    Wulf remembered this. Not this specific experience, but the weekly brawls. An excellent way to blow off some steam, but back in his old Academy days, when he wasn¡¯t the best fighter, nor was he the strongest, it often turned into a beating session.


    DeLark finally added, ¡°Remember: we practice fighting techniques to hone our minds and will. The Field will not help you with every aspect of the arcane, and if you are unable to assert your will on it, or unable to control your mana, you will fail. Willpower requires personal drive. The best way to understand your personal drive is to engage in combat. True, unfiltered combat.¡±


    DeLark reached the end of the room, then spun around. His white robe fluttered with him as he spun, and his long gray hair fluttered. His pin marked him as a Middle-Iron tier Ascendant, which, with how many Marks he had to have, must¡¯ve contributed greatly to his physical strength.


    DeLark concluded: ¡°And, above all, the best way to drive yourself to advance a tier, to provide your mana the resonance it needs, is combat. The thrill and pressure of a fight is a force unlike any other. Face your partner, and you may begin. Once the five minutes have passed, the victors will pair up, and the others will find another partner as well. If you have not forced your opponent to yield, neither will be considered victorious.¡±


    Wulf turned to face the ramling on his mat, then bowed his head. He didn¡¯t know the other boy, and though everyone in the sparring class was a first year, he didn¡¯t need to make any more enemies.


    But also¡­this wasn¡¯t the entirety of their year. J¨¢n and Brin were nowhere to be seen. If he ruffled a few feathers, he wouldn¡¯t be too upset.


    ¡°Good afternoon,¡± the ramling said with a fake, haughty accent that he¡¯d probably been forced to adopt in his childhood. ¡°I¡¯m Nem. Who do I have the pleasure of defeating?¡±


    ¡°Wulf.¡±


    ¡°You may begin!¡± DeLark called.


    Nem took a wide stance. Wulf didn¡¯t take his hands out of his pockets.


    With a grimace, Nem said, ¡°Are you sure you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    Don¡¯t worry, Wulf thought, I won¡¯t hurt you.


    He did need to get back into practice with pure hand-to-hand combat, though. Not that he hadn¡¯t practiced, but he¡¯d gotten used to fighting with his hammer¡ªinside a golem or outside.


    Nem hopped forward a few paces, his hair bobbing behind him, then threw a few punches. Wulf leaned away from them just in time. A kick forced him to turn sideways and raise his shin, and one more punch at his shoulder forced him to take a hand out of his pocket and block it.


    Wulf planted his foot down and stepped behind Nem¡¯s knee, stopping him from moving backward. Then he punched Nem in the chest.


    The boy tripped over Wulf¡¯s leg and sprawled backward. Though Wulf¡¯s strength potion had long since worn off, he had better technique. He knew how to hit hard. And maybe, given how his new Class worked¡­he might just be able to become stronger than he ever was in his past life.


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    Wulf pounced and grabbed Nem¡¯s arm, controlling the other boy. He twisted and pushed down just enough that it¡¯d be a little painful, and that Nem¡¯s face would press into the mat, but not enough to hurt him.


    After a few seconds, Nem exclaimed, ¡°Alright, alright, I give up!¡± The accent dropped from his voice, and he spoke in a regular tone.


    Wulf released him immediately. ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    Nem rolled over, then pushed himself up. He rubbed his chest. ¡°Yeah. I¡¯ll be fine¡ªphysically. That was¡­fast. And we didn¡¯t get taught any of that.¡±


    Wulf sighed. It had only been a week for most of them. ¡°Sorry. I just¡­have experience.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll say. You¡¯re that Hrothen dude, right? The beast from Carolaign?¡±


    His name was starting to get around. Still, Wulf nodded.


    But, immediately after, Nem shrank away. He didn¡¯t wear a Fletcher¡¯s pin, but he did have a second pin beneath his Low-Wood chit. It looked like a bundle of wheat in a circle.


    The Fletchers weren¡¯t the only guild that wanted their members to mark their identity, apparently.


    ¡°Right now, I only have problems with the Fletchers,¡± Wulf said. ¡°Not¡­¡±


    ¡°The Threshers.¡±


    ¡°Threshers. Right.¡±


    After a few more minutes of awkward silence, DeMark announced that the first round was over, and the students shifted around the room. Wulf walked over to the other side of the room, where the victors were gathering, and a soft-spoken teaching assistant organized them into new pairs.


    The process repeated all throughout the afternoon. Wulf moved between sparring mats, defeating other students and moving steadily to the edge of the room with an increasingly smaller crowd of students. He practiced his throws and holds, or simply let his opponents tire themselves out by blocking their strikes, before taking them down.


    He took a few hits of his own, too. Sometimes, he did it so others wouldn¡¯t get suspicious of him, but sometimes it was a genuine mistake. He was used to being the strongest one in the room physically, but now, although he might have been at least an inch taller than all his opponents, he wasn¡¯t the bulkiest anymore. Sometimes, he tried to block a strike he shouldn¡¯t have, and it was his own arm that buckled, getting pushed into the side of his head and jarring him for a few seconds.


    But he always recovered.


    When he reached the top twenty, he was the only Low-Wood left. The rest of the students all wore a wooden badge on their gym shirts, but theirs had two lines. Middle-Wood.


    It wasn¡¯t impossible. Most Ascendants awakened their Classes when they turned eighteen. When magic objects started calling to them, when enchanted paper started responding to their touch.


    In Wulf¡¯s village, there had only been an ancient magic hoe, which had a weak enchantment, but he was the first one in a hundred years who could use it. They¡¯d immediately hunted for the wandering Artificer and had him test Wulf, and sure enough, Wulf had been a pilot.


    Usually, though, it took about a year for academy applications to go through. In that time, the Ascendants from powerful guilds often had chances to gain mana and advance to Middle-Wood. Whether they had Marks or not, some of them might have had Skills to strengthen themselves.


    Wulf faced a Middle-Wood girl with bronze skin, curly black hair, and jade earrings¡ªand another guild pin on her sleeveless shirt, which Wulf couldn¡¯t identify easily. A circle with a bird inside it.


    Without introducing herself, she leapt forward and threw a punch that someone of her size and build should never have been able to throw. When Wulf blocked, he had to raise both arms, and even then, he skidded back.


    ¡°Hi,¡± Wulf said, spinning around and circling to the other side. ¡°I¡¯m¡­Wulf? Nice to meet you?¡±


    ¡°Iryl,¡± she huffed, then turned back to face him.


    ¡°Guild?¡±


    ¡°Threnia Hawker¡¯s Guild,¡± she answered.


    Wulf didn¡¯t recognize it, save for knowing that Threnia was a small nation-state in the south of the confederacy.


    It didn¡¯t matter. She wasn¡¯t too talkative, and he was starting to get out of breath, too. This body didn¡¯t have nearly as much endurance as he was used to. It wasn¡¯t bad, considering he¡¯d grown up on a farm, but he couldn¡¯t maintain the power he used to.


    For a few minutes, they exchanged blows. She enhanced her strength either with a Skill, or since it wasn¡¯t fading, it was more likely a Mark. Whenever she charged headfirst into combat, her blows strengthened. That was an ability suited to a Pilot.


    Problem was, it didn¡¯t help her when she missed and ran past him, and he had decades of experience reading other brawlers. He could see exactly when she was going to charge, and ducked out of the way, before pummelling her in the back.


    She might have been strong, but she wasn¡¯t heavy, and her stance wasn¡¯t perfect. While she staggered, Wulf grabbed her arm and flipped her onto her back. She stared up at the roof, gasping.


    After a few more fights, facing Middle-Wood Ascendants with strength-enhancing abilities or Marks (mostly Pilots) he came face to face with the pangian girl he¡¯d bumped into earlier that morning.


    She was a Middle-Wood, too, but the way she stood reeked of experience. The way her head was angled, the way she held her hands¡ªfists closed in just the right way that her claws wouldn¡¯t bite into the palm of her hand. Gym shirt tucked into her shorts, black hair tied back in a practical braid.


    She knew exactly what she was doing, but more importantly, she was the only Middle-Wood without a guild badge.


    ¡°Hey¡­¡± Wulf said. ¡°You¡¯re the¡ª¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± she muttered. Her expression¡ªcompletely blank¡ªdidn¡¯t change once as she spoke. ¡°Didn¡¯t mean to bump into you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m Wulf.¡±


    She met his gaze, then, suspiciously, said, ¡°Kalee.¡± It wasn¡¯t casual, just¡­guarded, in a way that didn¡¯t want to give away any more than necessary.


    By now, a crowd had gathered around, and Instructor DeMark focussed solely on them. Wulf glanced side-to-side. Why¡­


    Oh. We¡¯re the only ones left who haven¡¯t lost a fight.


    ¡°Last sparring match of the day,¡± DeMark said. ¡°And then you are all dismissed. Let us see how our two victors of the week fare against each other, hm?¡±


    Wulf couldn¡¯t help but take that as a challenge.

 Chapter 9: The Pangian

    A hundred eyes bored into Wulf¡¯s back. In his previous life¡¯s stint at the Academy, it probably would¡¯ve stressed him out enough to make him fail, but right now, he had nothing to prove.


    He¡¯d thought about it a lot over the past hour. What he really wanted. To pilot an Oronith? To make potions? Both?


    Both. But there was a difference between looking like the strongest, and actually being the strongest. This was an opportunity to practice his fighting skills and get used to his new body, not a test that would determine his fate or his ability to pilot an Oronith.


    He¡¯d considered that, too¡ªwhether he actually even wanted to be a Pilot. But the answer was resoundingly a yes. The Ranger and Artificer were important roles, but they couldn¡¯t sway a battle as much as a Mage or Pilot could. And the Pilot, the team leader, always garnered the most respect.


    If he was going to convince anyone to listen to him about the end of the world, he¡¯d need to be a Pilot. If he was going to have an adventure, if he was going to live his life properly while he was at it, he¡¯d need the mobility an Oronith afforded its crew.


    DeMark snapped his fingers, signalling Wulf and Kalee to begin. It snapped Wulf out of his trance.


    He always started defensively, but Kalee had the same idea. Both circled each other, light on their feet. Kalee pushed herself up on her clawed toes and leaned forward, giving herself the perfect stance to react to any attack. Defensive.


    Well, someone¡¯s gotta do it, Wulf thought.


    After a feint to the right, he darted to the left. Keeping himself tight and contained, he threw a set of tight punches without overextending himself. She blocked them all with smooth movements, then countered with a high roundhouse kick right at his head.


    Thankfully, she bent her clawed toes down, and instead only contacted him with the patch of scales atop her foot.


    For a second of mild amusement, he considered that pangians were almost like halflings, with their exposed, callused feet, until she kicked at him again. They were much taller and feistier than halflings. He pressed his hand to his head and stuck out his elbow, so that her shin hit the point of his elbow.


    She hissed in mild discomfort, then sprang back.


    Interesting. No enhanced strength. Or, nothing that she¡¯d used right away. Just skill.


    ¡°You¡¯re good,¡± Wulf said.


    ¡°I aspire to be,¡± Kalee responded, taking deep breaths. A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead. ¡°I have to be. No one will look after me except me.¡±


    Wulf was starting to get tired, too, though. He¡¯d spent all afternoon fighting, and though his face wasn¡¯t flushed like the other students, sweat still dripped down his brow, and his muscles were starting to ache.


    He¡¯d have to do something about his endurance. Yet another problem for the list.


    This time, Kalee leapt back into action, unleashing a flurry of spinning kicks. Normally, Wulf would¡¯ve thought it impractical¡ªa martial art that was more art than martial¡ªbut with her scaly tail acting as an extra limb and protecting her back, it just let her attack faster.


    Wulf backed to the edge of the mat, blocking each blow, but not finding a chance to counter. If Kalee kept this up, she was going to wear him down.


    He dove to the side, and she chased him with a perfectly placed plunging kick. He caught it just in time, though, and her eyes widened¡ªbut only for a second, before springing backward out of his grip and landing in a crouch.


    ¡°How did you catch that?¡± she panted.


    Wulf shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve¡­been in a few fights before.¡±


    The crowd around them fell silent, all except DeMark, who announced that the fight was halfway over.


    But Wulf wasn¡¯t going to last another two and a half minutes.


    Without letting Kalee catch her breath, he charged forward, tanking a soft punch to the shoulder and blocking a knee before it hit his chin, then tackled her at the waist. She landed hard on her back, and for a half minute, they grappled. Wulf had been fearing how slippery her scales might have been, but they only ran halfway up her forearms and shins, and only covered her tail. The rest was regular human flesh.


    Finally, they both locked each other¡¯s arms and pushed, both applying a light, warning pressure.


    Wulf met her gaze, and she stared back.


    Without a word, they pulled away, and said together, ¡°Yield.¡±


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    Everyone was silent. Wulf registered Irmond in the crowd, watching with a gaping mouth. A few boys with Fletcher badges sneered, and slowly, whispers built up in the crowd.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t use any strengthening Skills or Marks,¡± Wulf whispered to Kalee.


    ¡°Neither did you,¡± she whispered back.


    ¡°Did you have any?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m a Mage.¡± She shrugged. ¡°So¡­unlikely. You¡¯re a Pilot?¡±


    ¡°It is a draw, then,¡± DeMark snapped, raising a hand to quiet the crowd¡ªand Wulf and Kalee. ¡°An impressive showing, to be sure, but two guildless farm-dwellers won¡¯t stay in the lead for long. You might have experience, but it is nothing in comparison to resources and arcane advancement. You are dismissed.¡±


    ~ ~ ~


    Wulf tried to catch up to Kalee after the sparring class, but she disappeared into the crowd of students almost immediately.


    What DeMark had said about them both being farm-dwellers intrigued him more, and he wanted to ask about it, but he never got a chance. She was already gone.


    Instead, he returned to the communal bathhouse. He remembered expecting, many years ago, in his first life, the bathhouse to be run-down and dirty, as most communal bathhouses were, but the Academy had to cater to the luxury expectations of the guild kids. It was clean, with warm water and towels, and a washbin to clean dirty uniforms and gym attire while they bathed. Not to mention, they provided perfumed soaps.


    That was probably on behalf of the faculty. No one wanted young students running around, reeking of sweat and the day¡¯s activities, if it could be helped.


    Afterward, Wulf gathered his uniform and headed to the mess hall, where he gathered dinner¡ªa flatbread of some sort, with sausage, tomato sauce, and cheese melted on top. Much more flavourful than their lunches.


    But before he walked back to the dorms, he had one more problem to attend to.


    Eventually, as he expanded his potion-making setup, it would catch people¡¯s attention. He couldn¡¯t just leave it in his room. Hells, J¨¢n might just run his mouth and say something, even if Wulf asked him to stay quiet.


    He headed back to the Artificer¡¯s labs, where the evening experiments were taking place. He climbed up the stairs, staring into each room, until he reached the top floor. On the far side of the building, tucked into a dark corner, where the spatial experiments took place. Artificers could create certain equipment that made spatial anomalies. With the right rune formations to influence the Field, they could cause it to warp the fabric world and create tiny pocket realms.


    In an unlit lab, Wulf spotted the remains of what looked to be storage pendants (a magical device whose sole purpose was to create pocket realms) cast aside and left in the arcane waste bin.


    He quickly unclipped his pin when a non-Ascendant janitor walked past, sweeping the floor with a broom, then walked past with utter confidence, once again pretending that he was a teaching assistant. He could just claim that he¡¯d forgotten his badge.


    When the janitor passed, Wulf turned and pushed open the lab¡¯s door. He hoisted the waste bin and dumped it out onto the table. A bunch of brass and iron pendants rattled out. Most were a simple ring on a chain, but some were disks, and some had more complex shapes. A few let off blue sparks as they clattered along the table, and Wulf pushed those into a pile at the end of the table.


    He normally wouldn¡¯t have expected to find anything good in the wastebins of a lab. If an aspiring Artificer made a fully-functional storage pendant, the faculty would keep it. Spatial manipulation was a third-year course, and they like to display and brag about the results of their best students.


    But Wulf knew institutions like the Academy. Their problem was that they were rigid in their rules, and so firm that it was to their own detriment. And the teaching assistants, who would be monitoring the labs, were no better. They wouldn¡¯t recognize something that was almost there, if it was too far off their known standards.


    Wulf sifted through his pile of potential storage ring candidates, all while glancing over his shoulder for anyone who might come and interrupt him. All the candidates were decent, but some of the runes were too messy, or they¡¯d messed up the rune-lines altogether.


    While he wasn¡¯t an Artificer himself, he¡¯d worked with one in his crew. Lisa, who he¡¯d met later in life, had shown him a couple tricks, and had made him a storage pendant of his own.


    Now, to put that knowledge to use. When he found a pendant¡ªa copper tube that had been wrapped around into the shape of a bow, allowing it to better conduct mana and fold the Field, he found his candidate.


    It was unorthodox, and the Academy would¡¯ve discarded it almost immediately, but they wouldn¡¯t have seen that it just needed a little tweaking to function. Wulf downed the rest of his strength potion, then set to work.


    The copper was still slightly malleable from the solvent they¡¯d doused it in (Artificers weren¡¯t blacksmiths, and rarely forged metal themselves) and with the help of the strength potion, Wulf manipulated it with his bare hands. He undid the bow shape, careful not to stress the metal too much and snap it.


    The bow shape bent the runes over, which was a first good step in confusing the Field, in making it stumble over itself and create an anomaly, but if you bent them too much, the Field would notice and ignore the object altogether.


    Wulf instead folded the runes into a simple loop, with its ends crossing over, then pressed the junction together so it¡¯d stay. After a few seconds, the aura he¡¯d created with the strength potion took effect, and the etched runes of the pendant lit up with blue light.


    Wulf grinned, then held the pendant up. Through its loop was a rift in space, and beyond, a tiny pocket world barely large enough to fit a bed. It had blank walls that looked exactly like the night sky¡ªa starry void¡ªand a floor of white mist.


    He raised the pendant and drew a circle in the air with it, creating a larger opening. The rift expanded, filling the space he¡¯d drawn. It was large enough to reach through.


    He put just his hand through the opening and tapped the misty floor. It was slightly spongy, but it held under pressure.


    ¡°And there we go,¡± he muttered. ¡°The start of a portable alchemy lab.¡±


    Silently, he thanked the student who was almost there, but fell victim to the rigidness of the academy. After a few seconds, his aura sputtered out, and the runes on the pendant darkened. The rift sealed.


    He attached the pendant to a brass chain and hung it around his neck, then swept the rest of the discarded pendants back into the wastebin and returned it to the corner of the room.


    He turned around, about to leave the Artificers¡¯ lab, when the door creaked open. A silhouette stood behind it.


    His stomach dropped. He¡¯d need an excuse, and fast.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡±

 Chapter 10: Lab Waste

    Wulf spun to face the figure at the door. He held his hands up, ready to react to an attack, and ready to run. It was dark, with the sun having nearly entirely set, and whoever was there might not have seen his face.


    Then she lit a candle and held it out, and light flooded out into the lab.


    ¡°You¡¯re jumpy. Don¡¯t worry, I won¡¯t snitch on you.¡±


    ¡°...Kalee?¡± Wulf whispered. He squinted. It was unmistakably her, even in the flickering light. She had the same face, same hair, everything¡ªexcept that now, she was wearing a regular academy uniform.


    ¡°Wulf?¡± she whispered.


    Wulf stepped back and rubbed his forehead. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± he hissed.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°You first.¡±


    ¡°I caught you, so you first,¡± she whispered.


    Wulf narrowed his eyes. ¡°Fine.¡± He held up the spatial storage pendant. ¡°Stealing some lab waste. Now you.¡±


    She tilted her head toward the cabinets on the other side of the room. ¡°Materials.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a Mage.¡± Wulf stared at her blankly.


    ¡°And you¡¯re a Pilot, no?¡±


    He squinted. ¡°I never said that.¡±


    ¡°Well, I guessed it, and you haven¡¯t argued. Am I wrong?¡±


    ¡°Depends.¡± He lowered his arms, then stepped closer and blew out her candle. ¡°You¡¯re gonna get us caught.¡±


    ¡°Could¡¯ve just told me to blow out the candle.¡±


    He ignored the comment. ¡°What sort of Mage are you, then?¡±


    There was something off about her. She could¡¯ve just been weird, but¡­she wasn¡¯t weird in the way that¡¯d make him think she was just crazy. But just¡­not quite right. More experienced than she let on, and more experienced than a nineteen-year-old Academy student ought to be. Perhaps she had a rough life before this, but she was a martial artist, not just a scrappy street fighter.


    ¡°If I tell you my class, and you swear on the Field to keep it secret, then will you tell me yours? A Field pact,¡± Wulf said. He held up his arm and showed her his Bracer. They weren¡¯t told this so early on in their degrees, but an Ascendant could use the Field to make binding promises, and it¡¯d force them to keep them.


    If she agreed, or understood what he meant¡­what would that say about a farmgirl? She shouldn¡¯t have had any knowledge of the Field.


    She raised her own bracer, and angling her sheet of enchanted parchment out, said, ¡°I swear on the Field to tell you my Class if you tell me yours.¡±


    Wulf grasped her hand, then said, ¡°I swear on the Field to tell you my Class.¡± He pushed intent through it, into the Field, and resonated it with his will. It wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d done that, and it came easily.


    Both of their sheets of enchanted parchment swirled with ink, and a message scrawled across both of their sheets:


    [Field Pact detected.]


    [Field Pact sealed.]


    As an experiment, to see if it worked, Wulf contemplated not saying anything, but a compulsion overcame him, and he said, ¡°My Class is unique. Fate Alchemist.¡±


    ¡°Consumption Mage,¡± Kalee said. ¡°Unique as well.¡±


    Wulf narrowed his eyes. ¡°When¡¯d you get that Class? And how¡¯d you know how to form a Field Pact?¡±


    She hesitated, then said, ¡°When I was¡­eighteen?¡±


    Wulf immediately rolled his eyes. ¡°This is going to sound insane, but¡­¡± Oh, to the hells with it. This was already shaping up to be a crazy day, and to think that he¡¯d just met her only this morning. But mincing words was for the unconfident and meek. ¡°How does a farmgirl know that, hm?¡±


    ¡°How does a farmboy from the middle of nowhere end up with an alchemist class?¡± She crossed her arms. ¡°How does a farmboy like you know how to fight at all?¡±


    ¡°There were some absolute demons of fighters back home.¡±


    At that word, her eyes widened. But¡­there was something else. Confusion, sorrow, rage. Everything Wulf felt.


    ¡°Demons mean something to you?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Back at you.¡±


    They were dancing in circles, but he was starting to suspect¡­


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    ¡°Next insane thing, then,¡± Wulf began. ¡°And properly insane. You wouldn¡¯t happen to be from the future, would you?¡±


    Kalee swallowed, then set her unlit candle down on the lab table and hunched over. ¡°Ah, out with it, then. The Field sent you back in time, too? You fought the demons?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I saw a Messenger. Right before the end of the world.¡± He crossed his arms. ¡°I thought I was the only one.¡±


    ¡°So did I.¡± She rose up on the claws of her feet, then dropped back down. ¡°You saw it, then? The world¡­destroyed?¡± Her lower lip began quivering, but she wrenched it under control quickly.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    Just saying that brought back memories of the end. His hands shuddered, and an image of the columns of magma bursting through the crust flashed in his mind. He purged it immediately. He was here to stop that.


    ¡°You think it¡¯s just us?¡± Wulf whispered.


    ¡°Eighty two years, in total,¡± Kalee said. ¡°That¡¯s how much time it rewinded for us both. And that¡¯s the same time the Golden Tome says the Fieldfather spent questing around the world, supposedly creating the Field.¡±


    ¡°Coincidence?¡±


    ¡°You know the Field doesn¡¯t work in coincidences. Numbers and rankings are its most important structures.¡±


    ¡°So we¡¯re the only ones, then.¡±


    Kalee nodded, then turned her back. ¡°Look, I have my charge. You probably have something for yourself. Let¡¯s not cause each other problems.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Wulf said. ¡°You agree to keep this quiet?¡±


    ¡°I agree.¡±


    He doubted they¡¯d need a Field Pact for that one. Whatever her Class was, it didn¡¯t sound like a pure Mage, either, and she¡¯d want to keep it quiet. They had leverage on each other, and they had to keep their mouths shut.


    ¡°Then¡­I¡¯ll be on my way,¡± he said. ¡°If you don¡¯t mess with me, I won¡¯t mess with you.¡±


    She nodded, and he nodded back. Curiosity gnawed at him, but he didn¡¯t want to push his luck. He didn¡¯t know her, he hadn¡¯t met her in his past life, and he didn¡¯t need to cause any problems¡ªhe already had one of the most powerful guilds in Istalis pissed at him.


    Clutching his storage pendant tight, he walked out of the lab and turned out into the hallway. To keep suspicions low, he tucked the pendant into his shirt before he reached the stairs, and when he reached the bottom, he fastened his rank pin to his shirt again.


    When he stepped out of the Artificers¡¯ lab complex, his bracer tingled with the telltale feeling of the Field interacting with it¡ªinteracting without his express intent.


    He leaned against a post with a hanging lantern at the side of the path, and held his bracer up to the light. The ink shifted into position on the page, altering its position to read:


    [Mark unlocked: Spatial Awareness and Repurposing.]


    Wulf chuckled. The academy scholars liked to make gaining Marks sound more difficult than it was. For them, it was a process that could be codified, manipulated, and exploited. And to a certain extent, it was. But, as Master Arnau had explained to him, it didn¡¯t work as well as just doing things. Testing yourself, pushing your limits, and trying new things. Slaying monsters well above your tier, for one thing. Or making things you weren¡¯t supposed to.


    Wulf concentrated on the feeling of the Mark and pushed mana into his bracer, willing the Field to show him the Mark.


    [Spatial Awareness and Repurposing] You have repurposed a magic device at least one tier higher than yours. Your awareness of nearby alchemical herbs has increased, and you can seek them out better.


    Awareness of herbs? Wulf tilted his head. He didn¡¯t feel any smarter, and he certainly hadn¡¯t just learned anything more about botany, but something felt slightly different in his mind. He tapped the side of his head and rubbed his eyes.


    In the distance, across the rolling fields between the buildings of the campus, was a faint green glow. It¡¯d be barely noticeable in the daytime, but at night, it was unmistakable.


    He lowered his arm and set off toward it, disregarding the path. The grass scratched his ankles, but it was well-kept, and he didn¡¯t have to worry about any thorns.


    As he walked, he reached for his spatial pendant and clasped it with his hand. In the excitement of making it, and the confusion of realizing what Kalee was, he hadn¡¯t even thought to examine how strong the pendant was¡ªnot until the Field had awarded him a Mark for finishing it.


    Inactive Arcane Construct: Spatial Storage Pendant (High-Coal Quality)


    A pendant whose maker couldn¡¯t see its potential. Opens a 5-foot by 10-foot rift in space, and stores objects inside. Objects can be removed at any time.


    High-Coal. Not as high as he was hoping, but he still couldn¡¯t complain. Besides, if he found an actual Artificer for his team, he could have them redo the runes or upgrade it¡ªif he ever got that far.


    When he reached the top of the hill, the glowing patch of grass was right in front of him. It barely glowed anymore, and even with his Mark, he doubted he¡¯d have been able to tell the difference up close.


    He bent down and wrapped his hand around the stems of the grass. It was just a regular patch, like the other grasses across the campus, except¡ªfor some reason¡ªthe Field had taken a liking to it.


    Wulf assessed it with his enchanted paper:


    Dr. Jerrol¡¯s Fescue Grass (Middle-Wood Quality)


    A failed experiment by an eccentric professor of ages past. No effect.


    But ¡®no effect¡¯ only meant it didn¡¯t have an effect on its own. In a potion¡­well, he didn¡¯t know what exactly it would do, but he needed some more ingredients, anyway. A grass potion might not have been powerful in the hands of a regular alchemist, but he could make it work, and there was enough grass here to make many more potions.


    If anyone had been watching, he¡¯d probably have looked like a madman, just ripping up grass in the middle of a field and stuffing it into his pockets, but no one was watching.


    Once he¡¯d ripped up most of the grass and pocketed it, he stood up, wiped his hands on his pants, and returned to the dorms. On his way upstairs, he filled his canteen and empty flask with more water.


    He entered his room as soon as J¨¢n was leaving it, and for a second, they both stopped and stared at each other. Finally, J¨¢n said, ¡°Why¡¯s there grass in your pockets?¡±


    Wulf cleared his throat. ¡°Uh¡­n¡ªno reason.¡±


    J¨¢n sighed. ¡°I changed my mind. You¡¯re weirder than I thought. But Brin, Irmond and I will still be hanging out in the common room. You can join us¡ªas long as you don¡¯t start any more fights.¡±


    Wulf nodded. He was too tired to work on potions for the night, and he needed to rest. But first, he took a small sip of the sleep potion, then used his aura to trigger the pendant and open it.


    He only had a few seconds, but he shovelled his stolen equipment into the pocket realm, then dumped the ripped-up grass in a heap at the center. He hadn¡¯t provided the pendant much fuel, and a moment later, the runes sputtered out. He pulled his arms back before they got caught in the middle of interdimensional space.


    For now, he had a good start. He had enough of the sleep potion left to open the storage pendant again if he needed, he had enough materials to make at least fifteen more potions, maybe twenty if he spread it out, and he knew how to make basic potions.


    Kalee was a wildcard, for sure, but he could worry about that later.


    For now, he was on the right track, and that was all that mattered.

 Chapter 11: The Kitchen

    The next morning, Wulf woke up early¡ªwell before the wakeup bell sounded, when the sun was only just rising¡ªand got to work.


    He wasn¡¯t tired, not really. This younger body was better at sleeping than he ever was in his fifties and sixties, as if somehow, it had less burdens on its mind. Or maybe he was just excited to work on more potions.


    J¨¢n still lay on his back, sprawled across his bunk, arm out to the side, staring up at the roof, snoring. Wulf tried to be as quiet as possible, but it didn¡¯t stop his flasks from clinking as he pulled them from his haversack.


    He downed the rest of his sleep potion, and the drowsiness returned for a few seconds, but he kept his eyes open and resisted the pull of his bed.


    The aura fuelled his storage pendant, activating it, and he drew the opening large enough to step inside. At the moment, he didn¡¯t have a strong enough aura to keep the door open for long, so he gathered his equipment and brought it out, then saved the rest of the aura for finishing his first potion.


    He attached his flasks to the rack, lit the burn-box and placed it beneath the first flask, then got to work, using only a handful of his enhanced grass.


    The [Grass] condensed just like [Dandelion] leaves, turning into a green slurry¡ªor juice, as the Field labelled it. It was High-Wood quality, but when he flooded it with the rest of his aura, trying to turn it into a magical object, it only became Low-Wood.


    Understandable. He didn¡¯t have much aura left from the sleep potion.


    He just hoped, crossing his fingers, that this new potion was one he could drink large amounts of without hurting himself. Otherwise, he¡¯d have to use his own mana to make the next potion.


    Blindness Potion (Low-Wood Quality)


    Applies a mild blindness effect to the user. Lasts ten seconds.


    [By crafting a potion, you have increased your mana. Advancement progress: 30%]


    Good enough. Even if it made him completely blind, which it probably wouldn¡¯t, considering how weak it was, it was only ten seconds. He set the flask aside and poured water from his canteen into the second flask.


    A potion like that wouldn¡¯t be effective as a weapon, either, unless he could convince someone to drink it. There were ways to craft area-of-effect potions that worked upon splashing someone, but he didn¡¯t know how yet.


    For now, he just needed to increase his tier.


    He moved to his second flask, hoping to create the best potion he ever had. Everything lined up now.


    He put a little more [Grass] in the flask and distilled it down to a dark green fluid, stirring constantly with his quill, until finally, it thickened, and he had a High-Wood quality juice.


    Then with the help of half of his blindness potion, he flooded the potion with his aura, and the glass chimed. Though his vision blurred slightly, and darkness crept in from the edges (the blindness¡¯ doing), he could still see the potion change. The liquid within glowed lavender, with faint bubbles swirling up from the bottom, and the glass chimed in a high pitch.


    He pressed his hand against the still warm glass, and when the blindness wore off, he assessed its strength:


    Fate Potion (Low-Coal Quality)


    Increases the user¡¯s luck for ten minutes. Poisons the user with nausea for thirty minutes.


    [By crafting a potion, you have increased your mana. Advancement progress: 40%]


    Making a stronger potion afforded more advancement progress, huh? Wulf nodded in understanding, then placed the potion down on the desk. That one would be useful.


    Luck as a Field-granted effect never interacted with the real world. It couldn¡¯t increase one¡¯s chances of winning a game of dice. But when it came to Ascendant Skills and Marks, some of which depended on chance, luck was incredibly effective.


    He transferred the rest of his blindness potion to his canteen, then worked on his next flask. He had to take a break and refill the flask, but when he returned, J¨¢n was still asleep, and the sun was only barely above the horizon. Wulf had a little more time.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    He applied the same principles as he had to the luck potion and used the same techniques, and eventually, almost completed his potion. With a hesitant sip, he used the luck potion, and a powerful aura sprang up around him.


    Immediately, his stomach churned, and he held back a retch. Despite his poison resistance, Low-Coal nausea was a lot more than he¡¯d been expecting.


    Woulda been worse for someone without any resistance at all, though, he thought.


    He focussed, pushing through the churning of his stomach, and directed his aura into the last flask.


    This time, no matter how warm the flask was, Wulf kept his hand on its side, excited to see the result. His skin protested, and he ignored it.


    The liquid, he noticed, began glowing before it shifted colour. For a brief moment, before his ability took effect, the enchanted parchment on his bracer described a mild ¡®Wind-Aspect Amplification Potion¡¯ before shifting¡ªwind-aspect amplification being the regular potion fescue grass made, according to his alchemy textbook.


    After a few seconds, the ink on his bracer reformed to read:


    Balance Potion (Low-Coal Quality)


    Improves the user¡¯s balance and strengthens their stance. Effective for thirty seconds.


    [By crafting a potion, you have increased your mana. Advancement progress: 50%]


    No negative effect whatsoever. That had to be the power of the fate potion.


    But now, with all his flasks full, he was starting to see the bottleneck. He needed more equipment, more flasks, and eventually, he was going to need more materials.


    By his estimates, he had about an hour before the wakeup bell sounded and they had to be at the mess hall for breakfast. That meant plenty of time to gather more equipment. He pulled on his uniform¡¯s shirt, fixed the collar, attached his rank badge, then set off. He descended through the dorms with his haversack over his shoulder. His storage pendant hung around his neck beneath his shirt, cold against his chest, and his potions clinked in his haversack, but not so loudly that anyone would hear if they weren¡¯t listening closely.


    When he exited the dorm building, he cracked open his alchemy textbook and read as he walked (today, he aimed for the mess hall¡ªhe didn¡¯t need solvent flasks specifically, so long as he could fit it in on his holding rack).


    He flipped through the first chapter once more. Aside from the concept of distilling herbs and other inorganic materials, the chapter also described using solvents like harsh alcohol and vinegar to further purify and concentrate the ingredients. An alchemist could soak an ingredient in solvent, using it to draw out more of the material into the liquid¡ªthe active ingredients. He¡¯d have a syrupy tincture. It¡¯d make it much easier to strain out the remains, increase the quality, and overall improve his potions.


    And for that, he¡¯d need the kitchen.


    First, he stopped by the back door of the mess hall and scanned the patches of weeds along the back of the building.


    In the dim light, a few feet to the left, his Mark made a patch of weeds shimmer and glow. They were bloodwort, with a red stem and leaves that had crimson veins through them. By feeding on the remains of the enhanced food and mana-water, they¡¯d grown to be Middle-Wood tier.


    Wulf plucked them and stuffed them into his pocket before sneaking into the kitchen.


    The back door was open a crack, probably to let cool morning air into the kitchen, but Wulf pushed it open just enough to slip through, then darted behind a brick stove.


    It was smokey and hazy inside the kitchen, and a troop of non-Ascendant cooks shuffled around, cracking eggs into pans, placing bread into ovens, chopping onions and frying bacon, and Wulf''s stomach growled.


    He clenched his gut. Had to keep quiet.


    The cooks, busy on the other side of the room, weren¡¯t watching. He stayed low, then crept across the room and ducked behind a counter. He rolled his feet, keeping his footsteps quiet on the flagstone floors.


    When he reached a cabinet, he pulled it open. It creaked. He winced, but none of the cooks turned to face him.


    Inside the cabinet were rows upon rows of clear glass cups. Some were wide¡ªmuch too wide to fit in his holding stand¡ªbut the wine glasses would work. If he broke off their bases, he could fit their stems in the holders.


    He took as many glasses as he could fit in his haversack¡ªsix. Since they wouldn¡¯t be very portable when they had potions in them, he¡¯d either have to leave them on his holding rack, or keep them in his void pendant. The best potions, the ones he wanted to keep access to all the time, could go in the flasks and his canteen.


    After he had the glasses, he crept down a set of stairs and into the wine cellar. Although he could make a proper tincture with alcohol, he would much prefer to do it with vinegar. Wine wouldn¡¯t be a strong enough alcohol, and he didn¡¯t want to get drunk on his own potions. But it still might be useful in some way.


    Kegs lined the wall of the cellar. Thankfully, they all had labels above their spigots. Some held freshwater, some held saltwater, most held wine of all different varieties. Some even had mana-infused wine in them¡­which would probably make an excellent ingredient, or be helpful somehow.


    Without hesitation, Wulf gulped down the rest of his blindness potion, then used its aura to activate his storage pendant. He filled each of his wine glasses with mana-wine from three separate barrels (that way, no one would notice as much missing), then sealed up the pendant. He might not use it for making tinctures, but he¡¯d still use it for something.


    The pendant was heavier now. Significantly heavier. Though the glasses themselves didn¡¯t have much mass, and not enough to affect the barrel, their arcane presence weighed it down. It was nearly five pounds, by his estimate.


    With a now empty canteen, he ran to the far end of the cellar, where a few kegs of vinegar waited, and filled it up.


    Now, time to leave.


    On his way out, with a significantly emptier haversack, he snagged a few more wine glasses from the cabinets, before slipping out of the kitchen without anyone noticing.


    Once outside, he leaned back against the wall and exhaled. This haul of stolen goods had to be worth about thirty to forty silver, depending on how fancy the glasses were. But considering his tuition had been well over five hundred silver, this would barely be a counting error in the academy¡¯s ledge.


    In the interest of saving the world, they could spare some resources.

 Chapter 12: The Bounding Bobcat

    Wulf returned to his room, then immediately began an experiment. He crumpled a few leaves of bloodwort into a ball, then placed them in the bottom of a wine glass, before pouring in a glug of vinegar.


    He¡¯d let it sit throughout the day and come back in the evening to see how his first attempt at making a tincture went.


    Then, with a small sip from his balance potion, he opened up his storage pendant for a few seconds¡ªenough time to place the rest of his wine glasses, his canteen, his holding rack, and burn-box inside the rift.


    It sealed, leaving him with a haversack and two flasks. A luck potion and a balance potion.


    Almost as soon as he closed the spatial rift, the morning bell chimed, signalling that breakfast was ready, and that classes would start in a half hour.


    ~ ~ ~


    Wulf went about his day and paid as much attention as he could during his classes. Out of curiosity, he kept an eye out for Kalee, but she was nowhere to be seen today.


    The fact that he wasn¡¯t alone in having a new life, he decided, was reassuring, so long as her goals aligned with his. If he had to deal with someone else like him who was working against him¡­well, he didn¡¯t know what he¡¯d do. Being a Mage, she¡¯d gain tiers faster than him, which meant gaining more Skills and establishing her Baseline.


    For every sub-tier before reaching Copper, an Ascendant gained a new skill, whether it was active or passive. These became their baseline. After that, the rewards for advancing a tier became more varied. Skill upgrades, mana storage upgrades, and more.


    Not a problem to worry about now. He attended his first lecture: Introduction to Mage studies, which, while he wasn¡¯t a Mage, would be helpful to learn, as he¡¯d be working in teams with a Mage.


    The professor, Dr. Timme, was an older woman with short gray hair and thick-rimmed glasses. She wore a long violet dress and carried around a staff, which was the weapon of choice for Mages (as Wulf understood, the lack of a blade helped them concentrate their spells better).


    ¡°A Mage¡¯s most important ability is conducting spells through stone,¡± Dr. Timme said in a scratchy voice¡ªtoo many years of smoking, Wulf guessed. ¡°Although it is not a Skill that one earns through the Field, it is nonetheless necessary. As a Mage, you are the second most important member of an Oronith crew. You are responsible for operating an Oronith¡¯s weapons systems.


    ¡°With your spells, you will either enhance an Oronith¡¯s weapons, create ranged attacks, or defend against enemy spells. Thus, it is important for us to understand how different spells move through stone, and above all, understand how different stone types react with our spells, so as to not interfere with a Pilot¡¯s control. Our second topic of the semester, which will take us the longest, is our discussion on stone and spell conductivity¡­¡±


    After that, he attended his Introduction to Scouting and Spotting course, where the professor continued lecturing them through the details of scouting patterns and formations. Rangers climbed around the outside of golems, observing and watching their surroundings while picking off smaller enemies with their bows. Though the Oronith cockpits were good, they didn¡¯t provide perfect visibility.


    After lunch, Wulf sprinted over to a different theater on the other side of the academy¡¯s central butte, where he attended his ¡®Introduction to Golem Piloting¡¯ class. It would probably end up being his most boring class, as he knew more than the basics of being a Pilot, so he used the time spent sitting in the back of the lecture to make notes and theorize on how he was going to use his abilities to actually make a golem move for long enough to win a fight against an equal opponent.


    On the first day, he¡¯d scrawled plenty of notes, but made no headway, and it turned out the only helpful thing he gained from that class was learning exactly when their piloting labs were¡ªon Sixthday evening.


    But when Wulf was leaving the class, Irmond intercepted him at the doorway.


    ¡°Hey, Wulf,¡± the elven boy whispered, jumping on his tip-toes as he followed. ¡°A bunch of us are going to the village tonight. New tavern opened, and they¡¯re giving discounts to all Academy students. C¡¯mon, it¡¯ll be fun. Like, like really fun. Is that how humans say it? Okay, I¡¯m still learning how to interact better with humans, so I kinda need this too.¡±


    ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t really have any silver or gold,¡± Wulf whispered back. He walked with the current of the crowd as they left the theatre.


    ¡°It¡¯s no problem. Sounds like Prince E¨¨ras is footing the bill.¡±


    Wulf raised his eyebrows. Considering the Academy was the best school in the confederacy, of course there¡¯d be a few higher nobles. He simply remembered Prince E¨¨ras as a hardened commander, leading an army against a swarm of demons and somehow pulling off a victory. Not as a young boy going around buying drinks for everyone.


    ¡°Fifth in line for the Confederacy All-Throne still gets a big stipend, hm?¡± Wulf muttered. ¡°Sure, I¡¯ll come along. But¡­alright, I can¡¯t stay too late.¡±


    ~ ~ ~


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The village of Arinilka was one of the Academy¡¯s satellite cities, which helped provide staff and resources to support the massive institution. It was to the west of the Academy grounds, still located on the rising and falling hills, but with the shadow of the mountains in the background.


    The sun was setting by the time Wulf and Irmond made it out to the village. Though Wulf¡¯s only clothing was his Academy uniforms, Irmond had loaned him a casual doublet with leaf-pattern embroidery. Its top buttons didn¡¯t do up very well (which Irmond insisted made him look more casual, and was a good thing).


    They passed the village outskirts¡ªa watermill with a cobblestone base and a half-timber upper half, topped off with a thatched roof, and a few shacks.


    Villagers strolled the streets. Most were fair-skinned humans, but there were a few travellers from across the Confederacy. They swept the brick roads and tucked their wares indoors for the night, but the windows of their two-story half-timbered houses still shone amber, and silhouettes moved behind them.


    Wulf only saw one Ascendant who wasn¡¯t academy-aged. Natural-born Ascendants were rare, he reminded himself¡ªonly about one in a million could interact with the Field, which was why there were so few Oronith Academies. They could, however, pass their power down through bloodlines.


    ¡°Just there, at the end of the street,¡± Irmond said, pointing to a larger building at the end of the street, almost in the exact center of the village. Like the other buildings, its first floor was cobblestone, and its upper floors were made of wood, wattle and daub, and thatch. Chimneys puffed smoke, and a sign hung above its door, reading: The Bounding Bobcat.


    Wulf inclined his head to the side. He¡¯d never really been one for going to parties, and he hadn¡¯t exactly taken Irmond to be the type, either. ¡°You¡¯re full of surprises.¡±


    ¡°Oh, come on, it¡¯ll be fun.¡± Irmond himself had donned a sleeveless tunic with swirls of autumnal embroidery down the front, fitting for a Maple Elf.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t take you for the partying type,¡± Wulf said.


    ¡°What? I mean, alright, maybe I¡¯m not the top elf here, but¡­¡± Irmond marched on ahead. ¡°Back home, I was a lord¡¯s son, and we put on plenty of parties. Like, elven parties, I suppose, so it probably went differently. But compared to these guys, I¡¯m a peasant. You helped me, and now, I¡¯m dragging you along with me. You can¡¯t just sit at the back of the class all the time and pout.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t pout.¡±


    ¡°...Yeah.¡± Irmond shook his head, then pushed open the tavern¡¯s door.


    Immediately, a wall of sound and colour hit Wulf. Fiddles and lutes strummed in the distance, and he thought he could hear a zither, too. People banged on empty kegs like they were drums, and half-drunk students sang songs, egged on by the barmaids.


    No one was in uniform¡ªthey didn¡¯t have to be if they went off campus¡ªand a wall of bright colours flashed in the candlelight. Wulf rubbed his forehead and blinked, then clenched his teeth and forced himself to make sense of the chaos.


    There had to be at least fifty, if not a hundred students milling about in the first floor of the tavern, weaving between thick supporting pillars, stacks of barrels, and tables. Some smoked pipes and cigars, and Wulf coughed on the haze. They wore vibrant silks and embroidered tunics, trousers and skirts and shorts, all probably more revealing than they would¡¯ve gotten away with at home. Tankards of ale clinked in their hands, tables shuddered, and cheers erupted from the corner.


    Wulf exhaled, then breathed in the life of the place. Someone pushed him from behind, and the crowd swept him up, and everything blurred. After a few minutes of following Irmond, his mind began clearing. The tension lifted out of his shoulders.


    Then, when the fiddlers began a new song, he joined in, singing with the others and even at one point jumping over a table. He helped a struggling satyr boy pack pipeweed into his pipe, then caught a serving tray when an elven girl knocked it off a table.


    It was like a coat of dust had been brushed off his soul. His body was young, but his soul had still been ancient¡ªup until now. Everything, even his mind, was that of a nineteen-year-old student, and he could have a little fun. It was just¡­memories.


    What if he truly was a different person?


    He had memories of the end, consciousness of the end, but those had been all the Field sent back.


    He pushed those thoughts aside, and stored them away for good. The mechanics didn¡¯t matter in the long run, so long as he did his job.


    Finally, Irmond caught up with him. They stood beside an artificer¡¯s construct¡ªa heap of stone and brass and runes, that slowly shifted as it consumed mana. It projected a moving painting¡ªa three dimensional portrait of arcane-suspended pigment, like a statue, but constantly shifting.


    At the moment, it displayed an image of a woman playing a harp, though up close, it was pretty blurry, and her movements didn¡¯t match the fiddlers¡¯ song at all.


    ¡°Why are you here?¡± Irmond shouted over the din of the crowd.


    ¡°Me?¡± Wulf shouted back.


    ¡°Yeah!¡±


    ¡°You brought me here!¡±


    ¡°Like¡­at the academy!¡± Irmond called. ¡°Do you actually want to be here?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± Wulf shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s not the worst, not the best. But it¡¯s a means to an end! Moments like this, I admit, make it much better! What about you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never wanted anything more than to be on an Oronith crew!¡± Irmond yelled back. ¡°I¡¯d be the first one in my family to ever do it, and it¡¯d be a great honour for us!¡±


    Wulf chuckled. ¡°That it would. I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Hey, dogs!¡± someone shouted, and Wulf wouldn¡¯t have even thought it was meant for him, until a group of Fletchers pushed through the crowd. There were three of them, again, but Wulf wouldn¡¯t¡¯ve recognized them if it hadn¡¯t been for their proudly displayed pins¡ªthey weren¡¯t in uniform. All three were Middle-Wood.


    Two humans, one with long blonde hair, and one with gelled, combed-over black hair. Wulf could¡¯ve hit it with a hammer, and it probably would¡¯ve been fine.


    And, in the lead, a skyhorn¡ªa humanoid race with vibrant blue skin, black hair, red eyes, and fleshy horns sticking straight up out of their foreheads. She was almost as tall as him, and she wore a sleeveless shirt, proudly displaying an arm covered in rune-etched bangles. She was probably an artificer.


    Wulf groaned, but his stomach dropped slightly. ¡°Ugh, these guys again.¡± He tilted his head back and sighed. ¡°What is it, now?¡±


    He didn¡¯t know what he¡¯d done to get the nickname dog, but it seemed somewhat widespread. Now, Irmond was getting it, too.


    ¡°You beat up Ferbig,¡± the skyhorn girl said. ¡°Umoch knows.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡± Wulf asked antagonistically.


    The girl scowled, and Irmond provided, ¡°That¡¯s the son of Lord Umoch, head of the main branch of Fletchers!¡±


    Wulf rolled his eyes.


    ¡°Sorry, headmaster¡­¡± he muttered. ¡°But I think I¡¯m getting myself in more trouble.¡±


    She reached out and tapped his chest with her finger. ¡°Watch your back, and check your door. Umoch made sure that we¡¯d tell you this: you won¡¯t make it long here.¡±

 Chapter 13: Threats

    Wulf didn¡¯t let the encounter tarnish his evening, but he had to admit, he was curious about what the Fletchers had left on his door. If they kicked it down, they wouldn¡¯t find anything incriminating, but that didn¡¯t mean they couldn¡¯t cause trouble in some other way.


    After finishing off a tankard, he was about to leave, but a human boy jumped up on a table. He wore a silk vest, a wide-brimmed hat, and baggy trousers, and held a mug of ale in each hand.


    But, though he was young, Wulf recognized him immediately.


    Prince E¨¨ras.


    After a soft burp, the prince proclaimed, ¡°The bill for tonight is on the crown¡¯s tab!¡± He swayed, then called, ¡°To many long years, and to the King and Confederacy!¡±


    Wulf blinked. The mental image he had of a serious commander in a seven-foot golem, leading the Confederacy¡¯s armies from the front lines, shattered. He almost wished he¡¯d have known Prince E¨¨ras was like this in his youth, just for the sake of it.


    But he knew now, and that was for the best. Nothing he could do about the past, but the future¡­that was what he could change.


    Still, Wulf wasn¡¯t one for late nights, and the longer he stayed, the more trouble he was going to attract. He stepped out of the tavern, and Irmond followed him.


    When he made it out to the street, he found that his ears were ringing¡­and he didn¡¯t really mind. It was the sign of a good night. ¡°You¡¯re done, too?¡± Wulf asked.


    ¡°I can¡¯t keep myself awake past the third moonrise,¡± Irmond replied, tilting his head toward the mountains. Already, two moons slipped into the sky. One, pale gray, and the second, a mottled green. The third, a faint yellow, peeked up above the mountains.


    ¡°Like, elven parties start earlier, and don¡¯t go so late,¡± Irmond said.


    Wulf rubbed his forehead, expecting to feel some sort of buzz from the alcohol he¡¯d drank, but he felt nothing. Did alcohol count as a poison, which his Marks gave him resistance to? That¡¯d kinda suck¡ªor just mean that he needed really potent drinks, either way.


    Irmond stumbled, though, as he walked.


    ¡°Wouldn''t expect an elf to hold his ale well¡­¡± Wulf muttered. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s get you back to the dorms.¡±


    They walked slowly across the campus, making straight for the dorm building. They arrived at Wulf¡¯s room first, and J¨¢n was nowhere to be found. Sure enough, the boy was probably out at the tavern too, and Wulf had just missed him.


    But that meant the note in the center of the door was untouched.


    A sheet of regular parchment had been pinned to the center of his door, with an ink note scrawled hastily in the center.


    Wulf Hrothen. Let it be known that you have angered one Mr. Umoch. By beating his enforcers and harbouring an enemy of the Guild, you have identified yourself as an enemy. You have two weeks to abandon Irmond and apologize profusely to Mr. Umoch, or we will take every effort to destroy you.


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Fletchers</li>


    </ul>


    Wulf unpinned the note from his door and crumpled it into a ball, then cracked open his dorm room¡¯s door and tossed it in the wastebin.


    Then, he laughed.


    ¡°What?¡± Irmond asked. ¡°Why? Why are you laughing? Like, I saw what the note said.¡± He knelt down and rubbed his forehead. ¡°Oh, I should¡¯ve just let them have the textbook¡­now they¡¯re gonna hurt you, too.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not going to hurt me, and they¡¯re not going to hurt you,¡± Wulf said assertively. ¡°We¡¯re going to teach them a lesson, that¡¯s what.¡± He had to admit, the Fletchers¡¯ antics were amusing, but this was crossing a line, and if he didn¡¯t stand up for himself, then no one would.


    He just had to do it in a way that wasn¡¯t going to get him kicked out of school.


    ¡°No, no¡­¡± Irmond groaned. ¡°Just let them deal with me, and apologize. That¡¯ll make it so much easier. Don¡¯t waste your time with me. I can take a few beatings.¡±


    ¡°But you shouldn¡¯t have to.¡± Wulf shook his head. ¡°I¡¯ll stand up for my friends. And¡­eventually, I¡¯ll need a crew. That means I¡¯ll need a Ranger.


    ¡°It better not be me. Even now, I¡¯m a Low-Wood.¡±


    ¡°And so am I¡­¡±


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    ¡°All the more reason not to go toe-to-toe with the Fletchers!¡± Irmond groaned. ¡°Umoch¡¯s a genius. He¡¯s already Middle-Coal, and only in first year.¡±


    ¡°...but not for long.¡± Wulf shook his head. ¡°A Pilot looks after his crew. Always.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re insane.¡±


    ¡°Tomorrow morning,¡± Wulf said. ¡°Meet me at sunrise. Puke your guts out, get over your hangover, and then we¡¯re going for a run.¡±


    This body needed to build up more endurance, and it couldn¡¯t hurt to start early. Gaining physical stamina would always help in the long run, but it¡¯d also help focus his mind, and above all¡­well, he had some ideas.


    ¡°A run?¡± Irmond said.


    ¡°Yeah. And we¡¯re going to gather some potion materials.¡±


    Irmond narrowed his eyes, then shook his head, and stumbled off down the hallway. ¡°You¡¯re going to get yourself hurt.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll see you tomorrow morning,¡± Wulf insisted.


    Irmond said nothing more.


    With a sigh, Wulf stepped into his room. He had two weeks to get ready for whatever Umoch threw at him, and he had to make it count.


    First, he took a sip of his balance potion. He didn¡¯t need as much to trigger his aura and open up his storage pendant, since it was a higher strength than his other potions. He retrieved all his equipment and placed it on his desk. When J¨¢n returned, he¡¯d be too drunk to notice, and Wulf didn¡¯t want to waste more of his potions tomorrow morning trying to open his storage pendant.


    Once he had everything out, he examined the bloodwort tincture he¡¯d begun in the morning. As expected, the leaves had shriveled into husks, and the vinegar had been stained dark brown. All the useful elements of the leaf had fled. When he assessed it, the Field dubbed it High-Wood quality.


    Wulf could put mana into it now and turn it into a potion, but he still hadn¡¯t distilled it.


    He snapped the wine glass¡¯s base off, then inserted it into an open spot on his holding rack and lit the burn-box. If he distilled it¡­


    For a few minutes, he boiled off the excess liquid, making the entire dorm room smell like vinegar, until he was left with a thick brown slurry¡ªnow Low-Coal tier¡ªawaiting his mana.


    To finish the potion, he used a swig of his luck potion, then fed the mana into the awaiting slurry.


    It didn¡¯t get any thicker, but the liquid cleared into a transparent neon green colour, which glowed faintly. The potion glass vibrated and let out a low tone. When Wulf assessed it, battling against the nausea side effect, the Field said:


    Might Potion (Middle-Coal Quality)


    Increases the user¡¯s strength and durability for sixty seconds.


    [By crafting a potion, you have increased your mana. Advancement progress: 70%]


    No negative side-effects, and a strong main effect. Wulf was definitely keeping this one. He let it rest in the potion stand, then flopped down on his bed. When the nausea side-effect of his luck potion wore off, which happened relatively quickly (it seemed that the overall duration of the potion effect would only last its full length if the user drank the entire potion), he passed out from exhaustion.


    In the morning, he found that J¨¢n had returned to his bed, and was still asleep. The suns were rising, and Wulf had woken up at the perfect time.


    He looked over his potion-making setup and considered what to do next. He had an enormous quantity of mana-wine, which might make a decent base for a potion of some sort (especially knowing not that he had alcohol resistance), but he hadn¡¯t read that far in the textbook, and he wasn¡¯t quite that advanced yet. He could save it, of course, but he also knew where to get more.


    No, he had a better idea.


    When he went out for a run, he was going to need to collect some pots.


    He¡¯d be back before J¨¢n woke up, and in perfect time to put his equipment away. But for now, he could leave it out.


    So, he locked the dorm door behind him, then ran down to the main door of the building. He¡¯d wait for five minutes, and if Irmond didn¡¯t show up, he was going on his own.


    But he barely had to wait one minute. Irmond stumbled out the doors, leaned over the wrought-iron railing of the front stair, then puked in the bushes beside it. He stood up, coughed, raised a finger, puked once more, then wiped his lips on his sleeve and said, ¡°I¡¯m ready. Ready. Like, definitely ready.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t expecting you to make it,¡± Wulf said.


    ¡°And I thought I¡¯d surprise you. After all, a Ranger needs to run, too.¡±


    ¡°Then let¡¯s go.¡±


    Wulf set off at a light pace around the outer border of the campus. He wasn¡¯t exactly sure where he¡¯d find potted plants, or just pots in general, but he was going to keep looking. Finally, halfway around the circular border of the Academy, they passed by the faculty housing. Around its back was a stack of small clay pots, and Wulf broke off toward them.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Irmond hissed.


    ¡°Starting a garden,¡± Wulf replied, picking up a stack of pots. They were empty, dusty, and a few had cobwebs in their bottoms¡ªno one was using them, and no one would miss them. He gave half the stack to Irmond. ¡°Practice your balancing. Rangers need that. Or something.¡±


    ¡°We need to balance ourselves on the shoulders of an Oronith,¡± Irmond said. ¡°Not a stack of pots!¡±


    ¡°Ah, well, good practice anyway.¡± Wulf began running again anyway, and with a groan, Irmond followed.


    They circled back toward the dorms, but along the way, in the dimness of the early morning, Wulf used his Mark to spot another patch of mana-infused grass. It was only Low-Wood quality, but that didn¡¯t matter. As long as it drank strong mana-wine for a few days, it¡¯d get more powerful.


    He dug through the soil, this time ripping up the grass and its roots, then filled as many pots as he could hold with mud. Both he and Irmond carried four each.


    Arms full, they jogged back to the dorms, then ran upstairs.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Irmond asked outside the door of Wulf¡¯s dorm. ¡°How do you know how to make potions? Like¡­I thought it was an alchemist only thing.¡±


    ¡°Family secret. I¡¯d like to keep it that way.¡±


    ¡°...I guess.¡±


    ¡°Thanks for the help,¡± Wulf said, then took Irmonds pots. ¡°Now, I¡¯m going to go put my stuff away, and get cleaned up. I think we¡¯re gonna have a long two weeks ahead of us.¡±

 Chapter 14: The Next Week

    Wulf placed his new potted grass inside his storage pendant. He arranged them in neat rows along the far edge, then put his hands on his hips and stared at them.


    Sunlight might be a problem, but¡­there was something odd about the void within the storage pendant. When Wulf stepped inside, it didn¡¯t get dark. Instead, the walls just looked different. But the light was coming from somewhere.


    Having used the rest of his balance potion to keep the pendant open, he had time to experiment. He placed the pendant under a blanket, and the space inside darkened. He placed the pendant on the windowsill, and it felt like he was standing in the sun.


    He could keep his garden alive that way. At least, when it came to sunlight. Next, though, was a matter of water.


    He planned to use the mana-wine to further enhance his grass, but if he watered it with too much wine, they would die. It was red, viscous, and had a decent alcohol content. Too little, and it¡¯d take much too long to improve the quality of his ingredients. He had to find a balance.


    After running to the water basin and filling a flask with water, he returned to his pendant and watered each plant individually with a different amount of wine and water, then labelled each pot with how much. He¡¯d experiment with which plant did better and produced the best alchemical ingredients.


    Then he sealed up his pendant, placed it in the corner of his windowsill where no one would see it, and changed into his uniform for the day.


    ~ ~ ~


    Wulf spent the next few days running between his classes, making potions, gathering ingredients, and accumulating more bottles. He acquired a set of empty wine bottles from behind the Bounding Bobcat, and he used those to store his ingredients. He labelled them all, overwriting the glued parchment slips.


    Water, vinegar, mana-wine. Best not to get confused on what he had.


    He later went to the academy woodworking shop, a small hut near the southeastern border of the campus, where the non-Ascendant woodworkers repaired and built furniture for the academy. Sneaking around the back, he picked up a damaged, discarded shelf covered in cobwebs and sawdust. No one was going to miss it.


    He placed the shelf in his storage pendant, his portable lab, and stacked up all his ingredients in it. When all was said and done, the shelf still only went up to his waist, so he used it as a table, too¡ªand that was where he left his holding rack.


    He made a routine. He and Irmond woke up early in the morning and went for a run around the edge of the campus. Wulf kept his eyes out for any special plants, and as the season latened, it grew darker and darker in the mornings¡ªmaking the glow especially easy to pick out from the rest of the grass.


    What he couldn¡¯t package up and put in a pot, he simply plucked, and stored in a set of jars he¡¯d found in a wastebin. They¡¯d probably been for pickled vegetables, but he washed them well and used them to hold dried plant material.


    By the first Seventhday, their day off, Wulf had added three new plants to his collection: a wild basil, some chamomile, and orcweed¡ªa hardy plant with large, olive-green leaves that was nearly impossible to kill.


    Which was good for him, considering his track record with plants in his past life. He hadn¡¯t even been able to keep the grass in front of his little hovel alive, let alone houseplants, but he was willing to learn.


    After his runs, he would eat breakfast and attend classes like a regular student, taking notes and studying along with the others. Then came lunch, and that passed normally, too. In the afternoon on his odd-numbered days, he had combat training, which he looked forward to the most.


    Instructor DeMark paired him up with Kalee for any activity that required a partner, and Wulf had initially thought it¡¯d be the perfect opportunity to talk, but it turned out that he just didn¡¯t know what to ask, and he didn¡¯t really want to talk about the end of the world, either. She said very little, too.


    They never discussed their past lives.


    Not hating each other, not asking any questions¡­just trying to silently glean a little more about the other.


    Not ideal, but then again, he¡¯d figure out where she stood eventually. He had time, and she was still a Middle-Wood.


    Besides, as far as he knew, she had no Marks. Nothing that improved strength, anyway. Marks¡¯ strength often scaled with your tier, and that meant him focussing on gaining extra, lingering passive abilities would be invaluable in the long run.


    After combat training or his afternoon class, he cleaned up in the bathhouse, then went to the mess hall for dinner. Every day, he sat with Irmond, and whoever else they managed to pick up. Sometimes J¨¢n and Brin, sometimes others. They caught dirty glares from Fletchers and other guild kids, and there were plenty of students who outright avoided them, but Wulf didn¡¯t mind.


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    Soon, he was going to put the Fletchers in their place, and show people that they didn¡¯t have to be afraid of this Umoch guy.


    There was the slight problem of retaliation, though. He had to get Umoch in a situation where Wulf was so obviously not the aggressor, and with plenty of witnesses, that they couldn¡¯t expel him. Hells, it¡¯d be even better if he could embarrass Umoch so much that the boy didn¡¯t even want to talk about it, so word wouldn¡¯t spread.


    He might suffer a little retribution for fighting on campus, but he needed it to be as minimal as possible. As long as he didn¡¯t end up restricted, unable to work on his abilities, he¡¯d be satisfied.


    As for potions, he spent his evenings developing potions, improving his techniques, preparing tinctures, and reading his borrowed textbook. He hadn¡¯t created anything too powerful, but he¡¯d filled a few wine glasses with a mixture of poisons and assorted weak effects (they were only Middle-Wood), like enhanced sight and a slight durability boost. Most ended up simply poisonous or otherwise harmful, which was fine for his purposes. He could still use them.


    A few times, he considered if he truly needed the Academy at all. But, on top of the exclusive dungeons they provided for the higher year students, which granted numerous Mark-gaining opportunities, he couldn¡¯t forget the Oroniths. He¡¯d probably make his own small golem eventually, and hopefully through the use of alchemy, but Oroniths were another topic altogether. A lot harder to make, and in his early years, he¡¯d still need the resources of the Academy


    And of course, the academy also held a monopoly on high-quality mana-infused food and treasures that anyone could use to slowly increase their mana.


    As they discussed in Basics of Field-Based Advancement, an Ascendant could burn through all the mana currently available to them at their level. For a Mage, they used mana for spells, and were at the highest risk of running out. Pilots poured mana into their golems, but they guided it in a stable loop through the golem, and when they were done, they could draw the mana back in. There were mild inefficiencies, and if the golem received extreme damage, they would lose mana from, say, a severed golem limb.


    An artificer gained mana much like Wulf did¡ªby completing constructs and golem weapons, or by repairing golems. And Rangers, though they gained mana the slowest, almost never lost it in Skills.


    But, as Dr. Maron had explained, ¡°An Ascendant can set aside free available mana, which can be stored in a secondary mana core. This mana is your supply that you are willing to expend and lose in a fight, and is highly recommended for Pilots and Mages. For Pilots, an enormous supply of easily drawn mana will be necessary for operating an Oronith, and for Mages, you do not want to undo all your advancement progress because you cast one too many spells.¡±


    All Ascendants had a mana core¡ªthat Wulf knew beforehand. He¡¯d never been great at envisioning his, but when he shut his eyes and pushed his consciousness down to around his stomach, he pictured an empty black void-like cavern with a sphere of simmering blue light in its center.


    They were all born with one. That was what made them Ascendants, and giving it an elemental alignment was what¡­well, gave their skills an elemental alignment. It stored mana, and when there was enough inside, the Ascendant advanced to the next tier. Hence the helpfulness of mana-infused food and such.


    But in his past life, Wulf hadn¡¯t created a secondary core. He¡¯d tried, but he only found out about such a thing later in life, and it was much easier for a Copper-Tier Ascendant to split a chunk off their original core than for an Iron.


    (He had, of course, attended the same lectures, but it turns out that when you¡¯re busy concentrating on reading letters that you¡¯ve only had a couple months to learn, or worrying about taking notes, you end up missing important details. But now that Wulf was better at reading, he had much more time to take in the Academy¡¯s knowledge.)


    On Sixthday, after all his potion-making, he¡¯d reached ninety percent advancement progress. But it was also the day that the Academy delivered its arcane resources to the first years. They each received a small vial of mana-infused water (rated at Middle-Wood) along with their meals. It tasted normal, and felt normal, except his enchanted paper shimmered in response, reading:


    [By consuming mana-water, you have increased your mana. Advancement progress: 95%]


    Not much, but then again, most Ascendants in the academy would probably be lingering around ten to fifteen percent progress to Middle-Wood at this point. There were exceptions, of course¡ªthat being Umoch¡ªbut he could deal with those as they came.


    Wulf, however, made sure to keep the little vials. They were only wide enough to fit a single finger inside, but they were a few inches deep, and he could hold proper potion portions in them. Enough that a single vial would be a single effective use of a potion. J¨¢n, Brin, and Irmond gladly gave up their empty vials to him as well.


    But there came the next issue: Wulf couldn¡¯t just carry around all his potions in his haversack.


    On Seventhday, their day off, Wulf and Irmond walked to Arinilka, in search of supplies. Wulf didn¡¯t have much money left over, but it turned out he¡¯d brought a little gold and silver along from his hometown. Ten silver. Probably his life savings after buying the rest of his supplies.


    In Arinilka, that was just enough for a single coat. They walked into the academy surplus store, where rows upon rows of unused uniforms waited. The villagers had sewn and spun them, and what the academy hadn¡¯t bought got sold as leftover.


    Wulf, however, eyed the extra supplies. He hadn¡¯t bought an academy-approved coat (which could be worn as a uniform and not be subject to reprimand) in his past life, thinking he¡¯d spend his money on other equipment, but now, he needed the pockets.


    He picked out a dark green coat with brass buttons and pristine lapels. It had deep outer pockets, but he was more interested in all the pockets on the inside¡ªwhich would be perfect for his purposes.


    He bought the coat, then, in the common room, spent the rest of the day chatting with the others while he sewed the inner pockets. Sewing was a skill most soldiers ended up learning eventually, considering how often they got in fights and took hits.


    With a thin strand of thread, he divided his new coat¡¯s inner pockets into vertical segments¡ªeach perfect for hosting a single potion in a vial. On the left side, he would hold as many miniature vials as he could, and on the right side, he left room for larger potions and flasks, just in case.


    Once he finished, he returned to his dorm to finish a few more potions. As soon as he used his aura to fuel a potion, though, the sheet of enchanted paper on his wrist fluttered, and a message scrawled across it:


    [By crafting a potion, you have increased your mana. Advancement progress: 105%]


    [You have increased your Tier to Middle-Wood.]


    [Please select a new Skill.]