Fallen Mage Regressor

It wasn't every day that you came away the winner of a fight against a demon. But if Mal knew that the consequences would be this severe, he might've tried to find some way to skip out on the whole thing, victory or not.

He picked at the bandages on his chest. Even now, they still itched, and he knew that if he tore off the white fabric, he would find huge red scabs reaching from shoulder to hip. Ordinarily, Cassandra, with her mastery of witchcraft and potions, would've been able to patch him up with ease and have him out of her clinic in less than a few hours.

But this wasn't an ordinary situation.

Every strike, every spell that the demon cast—it was full to the brim of inferno essence. By its very nature, inferno essence warped and twisted any material that it came in contact with. This meant that it could perform miracles if applied correctly. On the other hand, used offensively, it could do severe, long-lasting damage to the body's fundamental systems. Thankfully, one strike, even one so severe, wasn't enough to do that level of injury, not with somebody like Cassandra keeping an eye on him.

However, there were still consequences. The consequence was that at the current moment, his body needed time to recover from the intense purging that Cassandra had performed on all of the inferno essence that had taken root in his blood. Any attempt to rush things would've resulted in straining his energy levels too far. Healing wasn't miraculous, after all. All it did was accelerate the body's natural functions and give it a bit of a kick in certain extreme circumstances.

The herbalism textbook that Cassandra had dropped off for study seemed to taunt him from his bedside. It was all he’d had to read over the past two days.

So now, Mal was here. Sitting. Doing absolutely nothing.

He sent a small wave of internal mana into the Bramblevine bracelet on his left hand. In response, thorns poked out on the outside of the bracelet and a plant on the other side of the room shivered and extended itself by several inches. Mal noted that though he barely expended any energy, the plants around him responded as strongly as ever. This made sense—witchcraft didn't rely on Mal's ability to suck in mana and expel it out in huge gusts. All it asked for was a little bit to merely act as a handshake of sorts. Then, the mana in the atmosphere would do all the rest.

Mal leaned his head back into the pillow. Everything was spiraling out of control, and it was only the second month of the year. The storm moon, if he remembered his calendar correctly. The demon attack, the one that had put him in this hospital bed, wasn't supposed to happen until the midyear exam, two more months from now. Internally, Mal noted the absurdity of the school calendar. The midyear exam happened on the fourth month, and they had a 12-month calendar. Go figure.

He pushed aside the frivolity and focused on what was actually important. The Bird Eaters were moving, and they were moving fast. If Mal was particularly unlucky, he might have to expect the magical beast invasion from the East to happen next year, right at the start.

But right now, in the current moment, his biggest priority was the Cup of Tears.

The personal Cup of the winter witch.

An artifact of extreme power, hidden underneath the school at this very moment. An artifact that the Bird Eaters would use in their attempts to summon the Four Horned One and bring about the end of the world.

They'd bomb the school at the end of the year to steal it. At least, that was what happened in the first timeline.

He thought he had time. He thought that he could build up his power and take the cup when he was certain that nobody would be able to trace it back to him. But with the accelerated timeline, Mal was strongly suspecting that he would have to move much faster than he'd originally thought.

Mal needed to go on the offensive. He needed to find and hunt down the Bird Eaters and stop them before they ever got close to the school. Not for the first time, Mal wished that he had help—allies that he could rely on.

His thoughts drifted to Lusia—but no, he couldn't involve her in this. He'd already caused enough trouble for her in his past life. His circle mates? No, they had gotten lucky against the demon. Their skills were fundamentally lacking at the current moment.

He knew that there was somebody who could become his ally in the city. The young orphan girl—an expert thief and his future spymaster. And a traitor. Albeit one of his own making.

He mentally erased the option. He didn't want to think too hard about it.

Priority one was set—stop the cult from getting the cup. He could figure out the details at a later time. Priority two: he had to figure out a reliable way to defeat demons. Mal had gotten unbelievably lucky in his last encounter. By all rights, he should've been dead.

There were several excuses he could make—it was only his second month as a wizard, and he'd only just recently started his training in witchcraft. It didn't matter. The cult wouldn't accept his excuses, so neither could Mal.

Although Mal couldn't increase his general power very much—at least not in a particularly fast time—he could increase his power against specific types of enemies. He took the herbalism textbook from his bedside and flipped through it for a few minutes. He was starting to get worried that he'd have to ask Cassandra for a more specialized book when he caught sight of a stray mention of infusion in the corner of one of the pages.

There it was.

Mal had known about this technique from his time working with spell swords. One could infuse a weapon permanently with mana, either temporarily or permanently, to gain a bonus against certain types of enemies.

Temporary buffs were preferred among wizards due to their flexibility. Of course, Mal knew that he didn't have a strong enough core to do such a thing—he didn't have a core at all after he'd forcibly removed it just a few short weeks ago.

He mentally double-checked his type weaknesses. Creatures born of inferno-type mana didn't have very many type weaknesses. It was one of the reasons why the world put such a high priority on hunting them down to the very last individual. If left unchecked, they would be able to defeat lesser magical beasts and create outposts in the wilderness. The outpost could eventually grow into a fortress, and then you have the base for a demonic invasion by land. Nobody wanted to deal with that.

Inferno-type creatures had two weaknesses. Amusingly enough, they were their own mana type and blood type.

Inferno-type mana was hard to get a hold of and hard to work with. He would have to work with that eventually in order to fix Lusia's core, but he would have a tricky time just storing it.

The alternative was obvious. He'd use that Nettleleaf and try to transfer the blood properties into a weapon. Something easily concealable that he could carry around with him. A knife, maybe?

However, if he went that route, he'd be creating the recipe from the ground up. Nobody had ever tried infusing blood-type mana into anything, according to the textbook. At least, that was the implication. The textbook mentioned different infusion types for different mana types, but there wasn't a hair nor mention of anything for blood.

Mal rubbed his cheeks. He could feel his face drooping. He was exhausted. He set the textbook back on his bedside and lay down.

Before he could do anything, he had to get some rest. The next morning would be a chaotic one. He'd need to check in on the status of his circle and see how things turned out. He also needed to consider what his approach toward his circle would be.

The letter had made it clear—he wouldn't be able to transfer. He had been shocked when he'd read it. Wouldn't the chaos have convinced the Office of Student Affairs that he needed to go? He could only conclude that one of the professors had meddled and found out about Mal's transfer. That was the only thing he could think of.

If he was going to be stuck with them for another year, he couldn't afford for them to remain so weak.

As loath as he was to train his former enemies, it was rapidly becoming the best available option.

If nothing else, he thought, they should make good meat bags in case I need to run.

It would only be a temporary measure. He’d find a way to separate from them eventually.

His eyes fluttered shut. His thoughts drifted away. That night, he dreamed of blades and golden mana.

"So you see…"

"What we're trying to get at is that—"

"Don't cut me off! Don't you see how dishonorable that is?!"

"You're still on about honor? Philo doesn't understand why you insist on speaking about that after your precious honor nearly got the ape killed!"

"I nearly got him killed? If I recall correctly, this honorable one saved you two from imminent death!"

"Philo doesn't remember any saving. He only remembers an idiotic elf dragging me and the ape into trouble and nearly dying."

Mal sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It started out so well. Everyone had come to visit him. Lusia and Nima had stepped toward the rear of the room, giving Philo and Rolam space to do something. Philo and Rolam then stepped forward at the foot of Mal's bed and bowed their heads. They seemed sincerely repentant and had started going through the night, clearly building up to some sort of apology.

And then, as always, things spiraled out of control and the two were acting like this.

"Did you two learn nothing?"

Both of them froze and looked back at the source of the voice: Nima. He had a tight frown on his face and an expression of disapproval. The both of them froze. Philo dropped his head. "I'm sorry, ape."

Rolam made a choked noise and tangled his fingers into his hair. He bit his lip hard, then did the same as Philo.

"My… My apologies," he said. "We acted like idiots and Mal was the one to pay the price. It was the opposite of honorable. I must strive to do better."

Nima's frown disappeared, replaced by a small smile. Lusia stayed still, not a muscle twitching.

Mal waved the two of them off. "It's fine. No harm, no foul."

"But there was harm!" Rolam pointed at Mal. "You're in a hospital bed! There was serious harm done!"

"Agreed!" Philo pursed his lips like he'd just sucked on a sour lemon. "Loathe as I am to agree with the elf, he's right. We must compensate you in some way and make up for the foul deeds we have done."

Mal stroked his chin and looked up at the ceiling. A favor, eh? That was useful. He could keep it in his back pocket and use it at a later date. But there was probably no point in doing such a thing. By the time he came up with something, any feelings of repentance would be long gone. They would do it according to their whims, not according to the favor that he had stored.

Actually, Rolam would probably honor the favor, given his personality type. But still, he was pretty sure Rolam would agree to most of what Mal would ask him to do anyway. In such a situation, Mal judged that it was best to act immediately and take advantage of the opportunity on the spot.

"In that case," Mal said, "I want all of you to train together."

Both of their eyes widened.

"Train? Together?" Philo said. "Ignoring the fact that you're asking me to train with this fool—"

Rolam shot him a dirty glare.

"—I fail to see how this even repays you properly."

"I don't want to be put in danger during an assignment or mission because you two can't get along," Mal said. "So yes, this is proper payment. If I'm going to have to put up with you two, then I'll make sure that you're at least capable of working together as a somewhat competent team."

Philo flinched at the words but didn't argue. Rolam, on the other hand, shook his head. Mal stiffened his lips. He would've thought that the guilt would be enough to make them agree. What was Rolam going to even say?

"I'm willing to work with the reptile," Rolam said. "But Philo was right. This is to the benefit of everyone, not just to you. Really, we should probably do it anyway." Rolam looked sick. "And it's just now that I realized I agreed with the reptile for a second time in this conversation."

Mal's face scrunched up. Why weren't the two of them just going along with what he wanted? What did they want from him? Was this some kind of ploy? A game to get out of his group training idea? If it was a deception, Mal had to admit that he was quite confused and quite outplayed.

"I don't know what you're talking about. This is what I want. Honor my wishes," Mal said.

Nima stepped forward and rested his hands on both of their shoulders. "Just accept his generosity. I think we need to understand that we've had an incorrect impression of him all this time."

Rolam's body shook like a firecracker about to go off before he stomped his foot into the ground. "Fine!" The fight drained out of him and he slouched. "I had him pegged as that sort from the start, but after that assignment, Nima, I began to doubt. I don't know if I should be happy that I was right in the first place, or disappointed that my judgment was led astray."

"I mean, he did make it clear, didn't he?" Nima said. "When he proposed that idea, it was for the greater good. He was trying to make sure everybody got as high of a grade as possible."

"Philo agrees with you, Nima." Philo nodded up and down several times. "The ape acts cold, but he always has the circle's best interest in mind."

Mal didn't really know what they were talking about, and he kind of didn't want to.

Best interests? And what's this "sort" that Rolam has me pegged as? Mal thought.

Whatever. Mal had greater concerns.

He shoved aside his confused thoughts and focused on the next point. "Rolam, Nima, you two will be joining me and Philo in the mornings."

"What time do you usually wake up?" Nima asked.

"An hour before dawn."

Rolam's eyes grew wide. "I didn't even know people could wake up that early!"

Nima gave a shaky smile. "That does seem rather intense."

"That's the minimum amount of effort. We'll probably need to do afternoon sessions as well," Mal said.

Rolam tilted his head. "What would we even train?"

It was a valid question. There were two approaches to these sorts of things. Mal could either try to shore up his teammates' weaknesses or enhance their strengths.

Philo was already physically gifted to the maximum. That fight against the demon had proven it. Philo had a deep theoretical knowledge of wizardry—no, he had a passion for the subject—something that could be nurtured and turned into a real weapon under the right circumstances. Nima, while well below average in most subjects, had a bizarre talent for the illusion rune.

But on the other hand, Nima was still below average. Philo, despite his strength, was clumsy and lacked battle instinct. Rolam had almost no intuitive magical ability.

Mal's instinct was to play to their strengths, to sharpen their weapons and make them more deadly. But rationally, he knew this wasn't the correct option.

"We're going to focus on a wide variety of things," Mal said. "Everybody's going to get baseline training. Philo is going to get lots of sparring practice, Rolam will brush up on his magical theory and his spellcasting, while Nima will participate in all of the above activities."

Philo grimaced. "Philo is terrible at sparring. Once in a while is fine, but every day?"

"You froze up multiple times during that fight. Split-second hesitations like that could've cost all of us our lives," Mal said. "Not only that, but you made the wrong call. You tried to go for a shield spell against a vastly superior opponent—a major mistake."

"But the shield spell is supposed to be invincible."

"Against an opponent of equal strength. We were not fighting someone of equal strength. You should've run as far as you could, or at least tried to shore up your shield with a physical block of some sort—like what Rolam did."

"That's not fair!" Philo shouted. "Philo was panicking! He couldn't have made good decisions!"

"And that's why you need the experience, so that you can make better decisions under pressure."

Looking at Philo's defeated face, Mal let out a sigh. "Look, you're not hopeless. The fact that you pulled out a shield spell at all was good. A lesser draconid would've frozen up entirely and been decimated by that blast of energy. You at least had enough thought to think of that. But you can improve."

Philo was silent for several seconds before he gave a tight nod. "Philo will try his best," he said.

Nima raised his hand. Mal nodded at him.

"So I didn't see the fight firsthand," Nima said. "But it sounded to me like Rolam really is strong. Strong enough to do real damage against dangerous opponents. Why not make him stronger?"

Mal had thought the same thing.

"Because battles between magic users come down to versatility," Mal said. "If Rolam remains unable to use any kind of effective magic, then that cuts down two-thirds of his given options in any fight. He'll only be able to physically attack. The only reason he was able to work around that limitation was because we were there. But what if we're not?"

Rolam chewed his lips. "You're right, honorable leader. I must endeavor to do better."

"You'll be able to specialize at a later point. There are more physical options for wizards, like becoming a spellsword. But for now, you need to get the basics down."

Although Mal suspected that Rolam would eventually get past this block and take a more traditional path of ranged wizardry. After all, Mal would've remembered if Rolam had been swinging around a sword during their big fight. No, if anybody was destined for the path of the physical combatant, it was Philo.

Mal had to admit, he found it very strange. Their natural gifts at the present lied in options that were the complete opposite of what they'd chosen to focus on in the future. His best guess was that the marks of the Herald somehow forced them onto a separate path. Either that, or they did eventually find that they were better at those other things than their original talent had implied.

Mal coughed.

Then he coughed again, and again, until he was hacking his lungs out like they were about to explode. Philo and Rolam rushed forward to his side.

"Are you okay? Philo will go fetch Professor Cassandra—"

"Honorable leader, you can't die now! This is not a suitably dramatic enough place for you to do so!"

Mal held up his hand and forced the cough to stop. "I'm fine, you idiots. I think this is just—" He coughed into his sleeve. "A bit too much excitement."

The two of them remained at his side, their eyes locked onto his body with expressions of concern.

Nima puffed air into his closed fist. "He's saying that he wants us to leave."

"Oh, I didn't realize."

"To miss such an obvious cue—it's a stain on my honor!"

The two backed away and after a little bit more conversation, they filed out of the door. Nima stayed behind for a split second and gave him a wave. "I'm looking forward to these training sessions."

"Good."

Nima remained there for a bit as if he had something to say, then shook his head and stepped out. Mal was left alone with only his thoughts to keep him company.

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