Fallen Mage Regressor

Puck flipped through the magical tome in front of him with all the enthusiasm of a dead fish.

His eyes, tired and exhausted after what had already been three hours of work, shifted from the book over to the notes to his right. At this point, they'd long become incoherent and impossible to understand.

Why was he doing this?

Igna had requested an analysis of a magical theory she was developing. Puck had absolutely zero idea as to what she was talking about. He'd said some nonsense in the moment, but he was absolutely certain that Igna would ask further questions. If that were to happen, he wanted to at least show that he had a bare comprehension of the base fundamentals she spoke of.

The door to the library slammed open. He nearly jumped out of his seat before suppressing it at the last second.

A student strode through the open door. His footsteps clicked against the tiled floor and his hood fluttered in the air behind him.

But it was his eyes that caught Puck's attention.

Every time Puck had come across Mal in the past, he'd noticed a latent anxiety and guilt in the student's gaze.

Right now, they were as clear and unclouded as a summer day.

"Malfrasius Patoal," he said, deepening his voice for dramatic effect. "What brings you here?"

The librarian in the corner of his eye, who looked to be on the verge of screeching, had stopped upon hearing the headmaster's voice.

Mal walked up to Puck and looked down at him with a focused gaze.

Puck had the distinct feeling that he was an ant staring down a meteor strike.

What the hell is with this kid? Puck thought. I've only gotten this feeling from the king himself.

"Headmaster, let's drop the act. We both know who I am and what's actually happening."

"Indeed."

"This pointless charade has gone on long enough."

No, no, the pointless charade should continue.

Puck still needed to figure out what the charade even was.

"You know my true identity."

"Of course I do. You're Malfrasius."

At that, Mal stiffened. A faint smile crossed his lips.

"I have no other title to you? No other name?"

"If this is the identity you have chosen, young Malfrasius, then that is the way I choose to see you."

Malfrasius chuckled. "Yes, I see your game now, professor."

The sharpness returned in full force and the smile disappeared.

"Then if that's the way you truly see me, then I ought to repay it. And I promise I will, and that what I'm about to ask for will benefit us both."

"What do you require, young Malfrasius?"

"Advice. And possibly a little bit more."

Puck was deeply, deeply confused.

Identities? True names? Was this kid actually adopted, and that's what he was angsting about?

"Our mutual enemy has partnered with another. They've taken hostage people I need to protect."

Hostage? Puck was really hoping this was metaphorical and not literal.

"Young Malfrasius, you must realize that at times like these, it is better to let the enemy strike at you rather than the reverse."

Puck remembered reading that in a newspaper article one time.

"I've considered that. But how would I lure them out?"

I don't know, Puck thought. Some cotton candy? Twenty nickels? You figure it out.

"I'm sure there's an item of sufficient value in this school," Puck said.

"In... in this school? You'd really let me take it?"

Yeah, sure kid. Have a nut. I'm pretty sure there isn't anything too valuable around here.

"Why would you trust me?"

Oh, the kid was still anxious about his time in the brothel.

"As I've said before, young Malfrasius, you have a second chance. Your sins have been wiped clean. You don't have to let the past define you."

Mal's fist clenched. Then they unclenched and he nodded.

"Then I can count on your support?"

Just don't go to those brothels again! Puck thought.

"As long as you stay in line," he said.

Mal breathed out a shaky sigh. "Of course, Headmaster."

He turned around and exited from the library.

As soon as the pressure of the boy disappeared, Puck felt his head slam against the table. The entire object vibrated around from the force of the blow, his stack of books nearly falling over and scattering across the ground.

The librarian, who up to that point had been quiet, reached up and rubbed her eyelids.

"Sir, what was that?" she asked.

"I have no clue," Puck said, honest for the first time.

He sighed and got ready to get back to reading when he caught a glimmer of an eye out of the corner of his vision. A thin snakelike tongue poked out from the darkness, then both were gone.

It must have been his imagination.

Mal stopped a few footsteps out of the library. He looked up at the sky and felt the spring breeze ruffle his hair.

After a few seconds of this, he walked forward and began to walk in the direction of his dormitory. Once he finished brewing some infusions and potions, he'd head to Central Hall.

Why?

Because underneath Central Hall was where the Cup of Tears was located. The artifact that the cult was after, and the bait that Mal would use to lure the cultists and Cornelias out.

Puck was a genius, and he was absolutely correct. Trying to face those two in a head-on collision would only result in death.

But facing them outside of their home territory? Dragging them into the open? Mal and Hemp had a much better shot of taking them down there.

The words that Puck had said echoed in his mind. He didn't have to let the past define him.

Mal wanted to believe those words. Yet even Puck for all his wisdom couldn't convince Mal of that belief.

Mal was a man defined by his past. What he'd done to the world, to his friends, to the handful of people who cared about him—he could never let himself forget those things. Otherwise, he would simply turn into a monster all over again.

Not that he'd changed since he'd come here.

He'd manipulated everyone around him into gaining their loyalty. Hemp. Rolam Knilum, Philo, and Nima. Lusia.

The longer he thought about it, the more a wad of pressure built up inside of his chest.

He pushed the thoughts aside as he entered his room.

Mal entered back into his dormitory. He wandered over to his room, swung open the door, then brought out his mortar and pestle from his satchel. He was just about to get to work when there was a small knock against wood.

"Enter," he said.

The door swung open. Lusia stepped through, hands in front of her and amber eyes pointed at him.

"Lusia?" He set down his tools and looked over at her. "What is it?"

"I was going to ask you something, but it seems you're busy."

Mal chewed the inside of his cheek. He would normally be fine with talking about whatever Lusia needed to discuss. But right now, he was a little bit busy.

"The skin under your eyes have turned dark,," she said.

Mal reached his hand up at the location she'd spoken of. He knew that he'd been pushing himself for a while. Every day involved a massive amount of effort, and his body was probably starting to give out.

I'll need to talk with Cassandra about a brew that can alleviate exhaustion, he thought.

"May I ask what you're doing right now, master?"

Mal pulled out the latest harvest of Airgrass and set it to the side. He put the pot full of water on top of his makeshift fireplace and then struck some tinder with flint and steel.

"Essentially," Mal said. "There's going to be a bombing against the school. A group of children have been kidnapped and are being held hostage, and I need to steal a magic cup to lure out a bunch of cultists."

Rather than confusion or surprise, or any of the other emotions Mal would have expected, Lusia nodded, and without skipping a beat, replied with a small tilt of her head.

"May I assist you, master?"

Mal paused.

Frankly, he should have asked for her help much earlier. She was a talented combatant, but she'd not gotten any opportunity to use her skills. And now, in this situation, she was asking if she could give him a hand.

Even if she was only doing so out of obligation.

Yet, something inside of him said that it wasn't the right time. His instincts were screaming at him. There was something he was missing.

"Your core," he said. "It's still stabilizing, and you need to stay close to Cassandra in case the worst happens. Someone will be able to find you and bring you to her quickly. If you're helping me, that obviously becomes a little bit more difficult."

Lusia opened her mouth and Mal could see the objection coming.

"Besides that," he cut in before she could say anything. "I need you to keep an eye on who goes in and out of the school during the time I'm away. If the cultists doesn't come or escape me, the only way we will be able to know who it is is if we know who left the school at that time."

He was asking something ludicrous of her. The campus was the size of a small city. She'd probably have to somehow enlist other mages to assist her—and a lot of them too.

She nodded. "Understood."

And yet Mal had known that he would be able to count on her.

His most reliable ally.

The one person he could trust above all others.

The wound around his heart ached with a small flash of pain. He ignored it as best as he could and turned his attention back to his boiled water. He took his boots off and put them into the water along with that harvest of Airgrass. Unlike the previous harvest, this Airgrass had turned a pure, cloudy white. Despite that, the plant was obviously, visibly healthy. The structure of the fibers were strong and the leaf looked thick and well-grown.

The last set of Airgrass that he'd used to make his boots were a mixture of green and white and in comparison had much less leaf to them.

As he let his boots get infused with upgraded Airgrass, he started getting to work on a potion. He used up the last of the iron wolf materials and infused and made an iron skin potion. In a few minutes, he'd finished both tasks. He dried out the boots over the fire, and once that was done, he slipped them back on. It was like his feet were being packaged into a warm blanket.

Not a bad feeling at all.

He stepped around and noticed that not only were his steps quieter, there was a small puff of air that came from each step, accelerating him faster with no effort on his part.

"An unexpected benefit," he muttered.

The whole time, Lusia had waited by the door and Mal realized he had never properly dismissed her.

He walked over to her, and stopped.

He should ask for her help. There was no reason why she shouldn't assist him in getting the cup. None of his earlier reasons applied.

But once again, that tightness in his chest prevented him from saying anything.

Why? Why couldn't he say anything?

Was it because he didn't trust her? No, that couldn't be it. She was Lusia. She didn't have a dishonest bone in her body. Yes, her thoughts were hidden, but it wasn't out of deceptiveness—it was due to an inability to express herself. That was entirely different.

Then could it be some latent seed of affection? Perhaps he was concerned for her wellbeing? No, Lusia could handle herself. She was fast, powerful, and even with an unstable core, he didn't think that there was anything guarding the Cup of Tears that could possibly render significant threat to her.

There was only one thing he could think of that was giving him pause.

He cast the half-completed thought out of his head before he could finish it. No. He refused to believe that Lusia could be her. It wasn't possible. Lusia had died—he'd been the one responsible for it, and it was hard for him to believe that he'd somehow made a mistake.

He stepped past her. “I'll be heading out. Once you see me leave the campus, that's when I need you to do as I asked.”

“Of course, Master.”

As he brushed shoulders with her, it was impossible not to catch the faintest smell of her developing core. It was still wild and untamed, the stench of sulfur from the latent inferno mana filling his lungs.

But it was impossible to ignore the other odor, mixed alongside the sulfur. It was airy and fresh, something halfway between a springtime breeze and cool mountain air. A lamp in the dark. A flickering candle.

It was horribly close to a scent from his past life.

Mal halted his thoughts in his tracks for the second time in the past ten minutes. Yet even as he did so, a rebellious part of his mind whispered that he was only delaying the inevitable.

He ignored it.

Central Hall was more or less abandoned at the current moment. There were a handful of students doing homework or chatting with friends on the tables, but they weren't paying any attention to Mal.

Which suited his purposes just fine.

At the very back of the hall, the wall underneath where the teachers' table was—that was the entrance. He'd learned about it due to the wide reporting and gossips and rumors after the fact.

Plus, the hole in the center of the wall in plain view for everybody to see with an staircase leading down made it pretty obvious that the teachers had indeed been hiding an entrance in plain sight.

Mal ran his hand along the rough stone. He gave it a knock, and a hollow echo came out from behind it. On top of that, the blue mana lines running through the stone made it pretty clear whwat was going on.

The obvious way in would be to blow it up. But once again, this was where the gossip and rumors would come in handy.

It had apparently leaked that Vigil had been the one to set up the doorway. Supposedly, he'd keyed it to a password.

What was the password, much to the amusement of his fellow underclassmen?

“Password,” Mal said.

The bricks folded backwards with a flash of light from the mana flooding into them. Mal stepped forward and a torch lit up the darkness, revealing a long stone staircase descending into the ground. As soon as he stepped in, the bricks closed up behind him with a rumble.

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