Fallen Mage Regressor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jackpot.

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

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

His foot caught on something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon. If Mal wanted to remain under the cover of darkness, he would not have much time. Students would start to wake up, and he might attract a little more attention than he wanted to get.

Of course, it would not take long for Mal to check.

Mal held out his hand and shut his eyes.

Spellcasting was, to some degree, based on practice and instinct. Your body learned how to more effectively warp and move mana through the core, and your core, in turn, grew stronger and more able to cast certain spells. The more you practiced them, the more the “grooves” worn by individual spells along the core allowed for easier spellcasting of that particular spell.

Mal felt the flow of mana from outside. He gently pulled it into his body, passing it through his fingers, to his arms, to the center of his being, where his magic core resided. At the same time, he washed it of impurities.

An uncomfortable prickling ran up and down his body. He frowned sharply.

The mana hit his core and ground against the smooth, unused surface. It was uncomfortable, almost painful.

Once he was done with that came the real work. He moved the mana in complex figures and patterns across his core.

Sweat dripped from his forehead and down to the ground. His muscles were tense, and he was breathing in a shallow manner.

After nearly ten minutes of painstaking, careful movement across his core’s surface, the tiniest Void Orb appeared in front of him.

Mal opened his eyes and confirmed.

A pure white void. The height of magic.

Mal picked up a random stone and gently tossed it into the void.

The rock disappeared—but so did the orb. With a quick plop, it popped like a balloon.

Mal let out a sigh.

It was better than he had been expecting, frankly. An F-grade core being able to cast something of such complexity at all? That was a miracle in and of itself.

But at the end of the day, this was almost useless. There was no way that an enemy would simply sit around and wait for Mal to summon one of his orbs.

And sure, Mal would probably be able to increase the speed—though that would take an absolute eternity—but Mal was doubtful he would be able to put much more power into it.

Mal brought his hand up and bit on the knuckle of his thumb.

There were ways to increase the strength of his core. He had dabbled in many of them. But all of the methods were expensive, time-consuming, or dangerous to Mal’s health and sanity. Oftentimes they were all three at the same time.

Mal wasn’t going to be able to get a hold of a dragon heart anytime soon. That was simply not happening.

So what was he going to do? Bide his time for the next several years, until the right opportunity came along? Absolutely not.

Mal was not entirely sure what he was going to do, but he knew traditional spellcraft was more or less out the window.

The question was, what would take its place?

Potions were promising. Mal had been attracted to the glamour and raw power of spellcraft, but there was no denying that potions had their own power. And more importantly, they relied very little on the strength of one’s core.

Mal glanced out of the corner of his eye back toward the dormitory. A few students were stepping out, and the sun was beginning to rise over the horizon.

A faint blue glimmer caught his attention.

A flower?

He leaned down and took a sniff.

Mana. Enough mana to destroy a small building. Enough mana to bring tears to his eyes and make him almost vomit.

Then, in a blink, it was gone.

His eyes fluttered, and he swallowed down the fluids that had been working their way up his throat.

The flower had shriveled up. The vibrant blue petals had turned a dull, dead brown.

Mal reached out and tapped it.

The whole thing fell apart and evaporated into dust.

In the place where it had once been was a single microscopic blue seed.

Mal narrowed his eyes. He had never heard of any phenomenon like this. Was that mana some sort of delusion? Perhaps the flower had a defense mechanism of some sort, similar to how certain animals pretended to be other animals in order to trick a predator into believing that they were dangerous or venomous.

Still, Mal thought, he would have heard of such a thing.

Unsure what to do, he picked up the tiny blue seed and put it into his satchel.

Who knew? Maybe he would take up gardening as a hobby.

He turned and walked off toward the dormitory.

Mal had just arrived back at the dorms when an older-looking student approached from the direction of the main building at the center of the campus. He looked bored, his back slouched and his eyes half-closed. His robes fluttering in the wind and a staff resting against his shoulder.

He caught sight of Mal and nodded. “You’re up early.”

“Force of habit.”

A flicker of mischief crossed the older man’s face. “You’re lucky, then. Since you’re awake, this is gonna be a hell of a lot less annoying.”

Mal blinked. What was the man going to do?

The man raised his staff, and an entire cluster of bells appeared overhead.

The man stuck out his tongue, and his eyes narrowed. He shook his staff back and forth, and the bells moved in time with his motion. Mal covered his ears. Even so, he could hear the near-deafening ring. The man was right—anybody who hadn’t seen him casting it would currently be having a miserable time.

A student burst through one of the doors, red-faced, left eye twitching. He looked in the direction of the bells and stomped up to the older student.

“What are you doing?” the boy shouted, spit flying. “It’s not even six o’clock!”

The older student stared off to the side toward nothing and idly picked his ear with his pinky finger. “Yeah, and the examination starts at six a.m. So unless you want to be late . . .”

At that, the boy paled.

“I—I’ll get my clothes!”

He ran off back into his room. From inside, Mal could hear frantic packing, the sounds of clothes being strewn all over the floor.

“Not gonna change, little man?” the older student said. “Sure, it’s a nice enough dress shirt, but it’s clear that you slept in it. Never mind all the dust.” He grimaced. “Someone really needs to clean that place up.”

Mal supposed he should have been offended by the nickname. At most, this was a fifth-year student, only twenty-two. Mal was mentally older and certainly more mature, given the horrific events he’d been through.

But he could tell it wasn’t meant out of malice or condescension. The older student was simply calling him a silly title. No need to get up in arms over such a small thing.

Mal shook his head. “No, the examiners aren’t going to judge us based on how clean-pressed our clothes are.”

The older student tilted his head.

“You sure about that?” he said. “You know, they won’t admit it, but they’re all watching. The alumni, the nobles, even the crown. If you don’t take the opportunity to show your stuff, you’re going to get forgotten.

Mal blinked and registered the information in his mind. That would certainly change his approach.

Last time he’d done this, he’d been under the assumption that everything was based off nothing more than an internal rubric, not this weird political crapshot the older student was implying.

Did Mal really want to leave things up to chance? Exodi Academy had an enormous amount of resources that he needed to advance his magic, especially since he had decided that he probably wouldn’t be taking the traditional spell-crafting route. He needed their library. He needed their teachers. It would be a major setback if he had to go to another academy. It would also cost him time—potentially even months.

Not to mention, scoring the lowest, as he had done, brought attention in and of itself. It contributed to a reputation that made him well-known on campus. He fit easily into an archetype, a slot: the worst student in the Academy. This gave him a certain type of infamy which he didn’t need in his second run through the academy.

“Kid? Yo, you alive?” The older student snapped his fingers in front of Mal’s face. Mal jolted backward and looked up at the man with wide eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” the man said. “You went quiet for nearly two whole minutes. Just standing there like a statue. What were you thinking of?”

Mal scrambled for an answer. “Sorry, I was just thinking through what I was going to do with that information you gave me.”

“Gotcha.” The man rested against his staff. “Hope it helps, little man. If you make it into the school, be sure to hunt me down at some point. I’d be happy to help you out if you have any trouble with your classes.”

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to do that.”

The older student held out his hand. “Norin.”

Mal took it. “Malfrasius.”

After a second, Mal frowned. “Why did you help me, by the way?”

“Us commoners have to stick together.”

“I’m a duke’s son.”

Norin stared. Then laughed. “Huh.”

Norin looked behind Mal. A line of disheveled, tired-looking students stared vacantly off into the distance.

Norin groaned and pressed his face into his palm.

“First hero save me. What an absolutely miserable bunch.” He raised his voice. “Follow behind me! Don’t get lost, or you’ll get found and kicked out of the campus by the Keepers, and that would suck for you!”

Mal fell in line. The group set off, following behind the older student. Off to the left and right, Mal saw that several other lines of students were joining in, also led by what Mal presumed to be older students as well. They weren’t all dressed the same—some had chosen to show up in a simple casual jacket and loose pants. A few were using wands. More than a handful had elected not to show up with any kind of foci at all.

The towering, cathedral-like central building came into view. The central hall—equal parts a common area and a dining place—was by far the largest building on campus.

The older student passed by the building without a second glance. A few students turned and looked at it longingly but quickly fell back in line and resumed following the student.

After a few more minutes of walking, they arrived at a large open field where two professors stood.

Mal felt an itch under his dress shirt. The introduction, right? And then…

The exam.