Fallen Mage Regressor

Mal stepped away from the door and leaned against the wall.

Philo brought his head underneath the frame.

He looked over at the soil cubes on the ground.

"You're planning to grow those inside of your room?"

"Yes."

"…why?"

Mal raised an eyebrow.

"Are we going to talk about my newfound hobbies or are you actually here for a reason?"

Philo winced and let out a long sigh.

"I've been having nightmares," Philo said. "Nightmares of the demon attack. My mind keeps rewinding to that moment over and over when its claws nearly punctured my scales."

Mal hummed. "You're still young by your species standards. It's normal to be a little bit messed up after such an event happens."

"Yes, it is normal, isn't it?"

Philo's eyes mechanically turned toward Mal. "It's normal to be scared when your life is on the line. It's normal for a bunch of first-year students to die under such circumstances. It's normal for them to lose their heads and make stupid mistakes."

Philo turned his whole body to face toward Mal.

"So why weren't you?" Philo asked.

"Why wasn't I what?"

Philo spread his hands out. "Scared? Panicked? Anything at all! It feels like you were completely unconcerned—like that had just been another day for you. And now, you seem fine even though you were the one who was worst injured out of all of us. You nearly died, Mal!"

Mal tilted his head. "But I didn't. What's the point in dwelling on the past?"

Mal brought his hand up to his aching chest.

"Besides, I do have demons of my own. I just don't share them."

Philo's eyes narrowed. "That wasn't where you were injured. The claw marks were lower on your chest. Why are you bringing your hand up to somewhere else?"

Shit.

Mal brought his hand back down. "Why do you even care? I don't see how this is any of your concern."

"What else am I supposed to make of it?" Philo breathed out slowly. "What was that demon talking about when it spoke of fate? When it talked about you, like it knew you?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

Mal pushed himself off the wall and stepped toward Philo. "You think I don't have the same questions?"

"I think you know more than you're letting on. You know more than any normal student should know. You have more experience than any normal student should have. On their own, I was able to justify each one with some sort of story. You must have been tutored. You must have been a prodigy. But all together, it's painting a picture of something else entirely—what that picture is, Philo doesn't know. But Philo wants to know."

Mal was about to snap back with a retort when he bit into his bottom lip and chewed hard. Just short of drawing blood.

"If I could be frank," Mal's every word was sharp and biting. "This is none of your business, Philo. And frankly, after I saved your life, I think I'm entitled to a little bit of privacy."

At that, Philo stiffened. He looked off to the side and avoided Mal's eyes.

"That's a fair point," he said. "Whatever your past, Philo owes you a great deal. If the human wishes for privacy, he'll receive it."

Mal's shoulders untensed.

"With that said," Philo's eyes snapped back toward Mal. "If whatever you're hiding puts us in danger, we have a right to know."

"I'll take that into consideration."

A knock at the door.

"Again?" Mal said.

Philo looked off toward the entrance to the dormitory. "Philo didn't order anything, and packages aren't allowed here, if Philo remembers."

"I have no idea if you're right or not, but we should probably go see what it is."

The two walked over to the entrance. Mal pulled the door open with a quick tug.

A man with a satchel to his side and a piece of paper in his hand perked up.

"You're Malfrasius Patoal, yes?"

Mal narrowed his eyes. "I am. Why do you ask?"

"I was asked to retrieve you by a friend of yours? He needs bail money."

...Bail money?

"Who is this friend?"

"Rolam Knilum."

Philo groaned into his hands. "That accursed elf, what has he done this time?"

Rolam got arrested. And now he was asking Mal to get him out of jail.

Mal adjusted his robes. "I'll take care of it."

Philo took his head out of his hands.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"It's no problem. I'll deal with it."

Philo gave a hesitant nod. "Best of luck,"

Mal stepped out of the dormitory, then shut the door behind him. He didn't bother to say anything back to Philo.

"So can I ask what he did?"

The courier had been kind enough to lead Mal to the city guard station where Rolam was being held. In other towns, such a station would be little more than a shack. For Exodi City, it was a well-supplied center of order.

Four marble pillars had lined the outside, and three city guards had nodded at Mal on his way in.

"Harassment of a noblewoman." The guard flipped through her paper sheets. "He listed you down as his emergency contact."

Mal clicked his tongue. He'd been listed down because he was the only one Rolam knew who would be able to come up with that sort of cash in a reasonable time.

"Is this going to go to court?" Mal asked.

The guard woman shook her head. "Almost certainly not. Nobody likes to deal with the hassle of a lawsuit, especially over something so frivolous. Nonetheless, we're required to hold him for a certain amount of time."

"Unless I can cough up the money. How much?"

"Five gold coins."

Mal clenched his jaw. He didn't want to write out another check—he didn't remember how big his allowance was, so he'd be taking a gamble as to whether or not his father would care.

...No, his father would definitely care. Their house was in a state of disrepair, and every coin counted. He wouldn't be pleased if Mal exceeded his spending budget. Mal's father might even cut him off, or force Mal to pay for it himself.

But at the same time, Mal knew that Rolam couldn't afford to fall behind in classes any further. It wouldn't do if a future Herald was unable to do basic spellcasting.

"I'm the son of a duke," Mal said. "Can I write you a check?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Sure. But I'm surprised you came in person for something like this."

"I'm a very hands-on duke."

She looked him up and down, then nodded. "We'll have to do an identity check with your blood."

"Sounds acceptable."

She stood up and went toward the back. "I'll go bring him out. Please wait here."

She disappeared into the back of the building.

Mal crossed his arms and tapped his foot against the ground. What a hassle, to be dragged out here because of Rolam's irresponsibility. Mal would have to make it clear that this wouldn't fly in the future.

Footsteps, and the sickly sweet smell of jasmine.

Mal turned his head to face the sound.

It was a man in a black frock. His hair was pure white—the little of it that remained on his head, anyway. His stomach protruded through his frock, indicating a lifestyle inappropriate for someone wearing those garments. His jaw was square and harsh, while a sickly grin played upon his long, sagging face.

Mal narrowed his eyes. He'd seen this man before. In his past life. When?

"Greetings, young man," the priestly man smiled. "Might I inquire as to where I can speak to a city guard?"

"Sure," Mal asked. "But who's asking?"

"Ah, yes. I failed to introduce myself."

The man bowed deeply, both hands hidden inside of his sleeves.

"My name is Theologue Cornelias,” he said.

He brought his head back up. "A pleasure."

"Hello? Have we seen each other before?"

Mal jolted into the wall. He'd been lost in his own thoughts. The odds of running across Theologue Cornelias purely by random chance...

Already, Mal's mind was calculating the fastest way to eliminate him and steal whatever documents were on him related to his studies.. Break the glass of the window and stab him. Shatter his kneecaps, a strike to the solar plexus, followed up by a palm fist to the nose.

But every single one of his plans ran up against the harsh reality that Theologue Cornelias was in possession of a barrier spell that blocked both magic and physical attacks.

Not only that, but the exact details of the spell and how to reconstruct it... Mal doubted Cornelias had those details on him. That information would remain lost to time forever.

And there was also the unfortunate fact that they were inside of a guard station. Not exactly the best place to commit a violent assault.

"You seem to detest me quite thoroughly, when I don't even recall ever meeting you."

Mal had messed up. He'd allowed his hostility to leak into his expression.

He smoothed over his face as best as he could and offered a smile. "Apologies. I thought you were someone else for a moment. You said your name is Theologue Cornelias, yes?"

"Theologue is a title. My name is Cornelias—but feel free to refer to me as either," he said. "I suppose you're wondering what a man of the cloth is doing in a city guard station."

"No, actually."

Mal had seen many times when a priest had shown up to jails and prisons for the sake of ministering to the unfortunate souls contained within.

"I should be more specific—you might be surprised to see what a theologue is doing in a city guard station."

Mal opened his mouth to ask the obvious question when Cornelias beat him to it.

"Oh!" He laughed into his sleeve. "I forgot. Of course a random nobleman wouldn't know the finer details of the church's ranks."

Yeah, Mal was already pretty sure he would hate this guy.

"A theologue is akin to a cross between a researcher and a librarian. We’re magically adept, on par with a researcher at any other institution—but our talents are put toward the service of the church and humanity."

The "unlike you wizards," went unsaid.

Mal flicked his nose. What was that scent? "That smell is rather strong.”

"Yes, jasmine. A personal favorite of mine. I never leave home without it."

A little bit luxurious for a priest, huh?

"So what brings a theologue to a city guard station?" Mal asked. "You never did answer your own question."

"Yes, yes. You see, my research involves the augmentation of living beings. Advancing their physical characteristics, their speed, their strength, their magical powers," he said. "And rather unfortunately, one of my experiments escaped. It’s been a few years since then, but I had almost given up on ever finding her again. So imagine my surprise when I spot her out of the corner of my eye when I’m out buying research material."

"...Her?"

No, that made sense. He was using live research subjects—probably rats or mice. But it was incredible that he had been able to spot a rat and recognize it on sight.

"Yes, her. Her characteristics are hard to forget."

There was something about his tone that sent chills down Mal's spine. He felt nauseous, only a pull away from throwing up all over the ground.

Maybe it was just the jasmine, or maybe it was because Mal had been doing all of that gardening—but something inside of him screamed that there was something else, something he was missing.

"I think I've heard of you," Mal said. "I read one of your papers. Something about a theoretical barrier spell?"

Theologue Cornelias's eyes lit up.

"What a surprise! Do forgive me for the abhorrent writing—it was my earliest work, you see."

Mal leaned in. "Between you and me, did you ever manage to build a successful prototype?"

Cornelias smirked. "Perhaps."

He shrugged and spread his arms out in a lazy motion. "But really, I consider my magnum opus to be my experimentation on augmentation. There's far more potential there than in mere barrier spells."

His tone picked up in speed and volume.

"Imagine it," he said. "A soldier capable of moving at the speed of sound. A mage with ten times the mana of an S-core. An archer who can place a perfect shot from halfway across the continent. And imagine if we could mass produce them—Chama would become invincible. The Eastern Wastes would finally become ours."

Mal could see the appeal.

But more importantly, he could see the immediate applications. If Cornelias was trying to make super mages...

How about taking someone who couldn't be a mage and turning them into one?

Lusia's image flashed into his head, an image forming in his mind of her summoning an arcane sphere, the faintest of smiles on her lips.

"I can see that you're of a like mind based off of that look on your face," Theologue Cornelias said. "What's more, you have good taste in reading materials."

"What can I say? It was more luck than anything else."

Theologue Cornelias hummed at this. "Humility is a fine thing to have, boy, but too much of it can be detrimental."

Mal glanced over at the guard station counter. The guardswoman still hadn't come back with Rolam.

A thought struck him. "Do you really think that the city guard will be able to help you find a rat?"

"A rat?" An amused grin played upon his lips. "Yes, a rat. That is what she is. She has rather unique features, as I said. It would be hard to miss her."

"What kind of unique features?"

Cornelias's eyes went unfocused and he seemed to be looking at something behind Mal rather than at Mal directly.

"Even now, I can still remember every one of her features," he said. "The only successful prototype I've ever made. Everything after her perished in the augmentation process. But her... she survived, and she became stronger for it. By the end of it, her eyes glowed like rubies."

Like rubies.

Red.

Red eyes.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!