The world waited for no man. And that was true, even when you'd just fought a cultist and killed a priest at great personal risk of injury.
For about a week after the fight, Mal limped everywhere, great big purple splotchy bruises covering nearly every inch of his skin. This was problematic, given that midterms were fast approaching.
The rest of the school was in a tizzy. Something about the Cup of Tears disappearing right form under the school's nose.
Mal ignored the ceramic cup on his desk most nights. More important issues abounded.
See, Mal didn't have to just worry about his own midterms, and perfectly hitting the middle of the bell curve. No, he also had to worry about his circlemates. Philo really only needed help with the practical side of things—in particular combat class. Rolam, on the other hand, was a disaster. He needed help on virtually every subject save for sparring.
Nima was a little better, but he was still lagging behind and required some attention. The only moments of respite were when Hemp would break into his room and force him to listen to how she'd stolen massive amounts of jewelry from some nobleman or noble lady out on the town. Other than that, every second was spent drafting training plans and practice sessions for his team.
And then finally, the day they'd been preparing for arrived.
Magic theory was by far the easiest one for Mal. He'd had Hemp steal the practice exam results from several of his classmates, and had managed to approximate the bell curve with much greater ease compared to the last several exams. Combat and herbalism were also manageable. Same with potions.
The most troublesome one was spellcraft. Mal didn't have to fake struggling—he was struggling. Already, the limitations of his nonexistent core had shown themselves. He'd managed to hit his target spellcasting speed and quality, but it was by accident, not on purpose.
He'd had a wistful smile when he exited out of the classroom.
This was about as far as he would go in wizardry. Classical, spellcasting wizardry, that is. A stark contrast to the dizzying heights he'd managed to achieve in his last life.
He would probably have to craft items in order to fake his results going forward.
And that brought him to the current moment, where him and his circlemates were waiting inside of Central Hall for the exam results to appear. Funnily enough, the exam results were supposed to flash into existence in the same area where the entrance had been.
"I believe that I have honored my dynasty."
Rolam had a look of total confidence on him. His features were relaxed, ears in a resting state as opposed to being pinned backward.
"Philo thinks you mean that you barely passed."
"Jerk."
Nima shivered like a leaf in the wind. "I don't know why, but I get the feeling that I completely bungled it."
"Don't be so worried. You did great on the practice tests Mal put together," Philo said. "You'll easily make it to the top half of our year."
Rolam looked at Mal. "How do you think you did, honored leader?"
"I think I accomplished my goal. Also, don't call me that."
"Whatever you say, honored leader!"
The wall lit up with a blue glow. A stained glass pane summoned itself from the air, suspended from gravity via magic.
And on the stained glass were names.
Magic Theory:
1. Savaly Chama
2. Hypode Riant
3. Philo
"Honestly, I'm surprised you didn't take number one," Mal said. "You haven't needed any help when it comes to magical theory."
Philo shook his head back and forth. "While Philo wishes he was that impressive, the exam was surprisingly difficult, and he couldn't put the necessary time in. He was busy patching up his weaknesses.
The list continued on for about a hundred names in total. Mal worked his way from the top until he came across a familiar name.
57. Rolam Knilum
Rolam let out a whoop. A few students beside him jumped, then shot him a dirty glare.
"Do you see that?!" He pointed at his name. "Fifty seven! I almost made it to the middle!"
Philo rolled his eyes. "Come talk to me when you hit the top ten."
Honestly, Mal was somewhat impressed. Rolam had, in the course of only two months of work, managed to work his way from genuinely useless to middling. That might not have sounded like much, but it really was a huge jump.
26. Nima Blackthorne
"That's better than I'd expected," Nima said. "I think I can live with this result."
Philo stared up and down the list. When he spotted a name, he looked like he couldn't believe that it was there.
"Ape, you've somehow ended up in the direct middle!"
50. Malfrasius Patoal
"So I have."
Rolam shook his head. "That can't be right. We should protest this."
Mal resisted the urge to cackle like a maniac.
"No," he said. "I got my score fair and square. Just felt off today, I guess."
Philo growled, then snorted, a puff of smoke escaping his nostrils.
"Very well," he said. "The pitchforks will come out at a later time.
They moved to the next glass pane.
Combat
1. Savaly Chama
2. Hypode Riant
…
4. Rolam Knilum
At that score, Rolam's usually cheery expression turned dark.
"So the elf failed to even get number three in his preferred subject," Philo cackled. "How shameful!"
"Don't talk to me about scoring, Mr. 45."
Philo had indeed hit number 45 on the list. Nima had somehow been the lowest at around 56. Mal once again, had hit dead middle of the pack. 50.
Herbalism, potions, and spellcasting were about what they expected. Philo doing moderately well, Rolam just below average, and Nima coming in above average.
With each successive 50, his friends grew more and more confused.
"How does this make any sense?!" Philo drove his clawed fingers into his head. "The odds of getting perfect 50s for everything is inconceivable!"
"Maybe I'm just that average," Mal said.
Philo, Rolam, and Nima stared at him like he'd grown a second head.
"Let's go look at the overall individual and overall circle score."
Overall (Individual):
1. Savaly Chama
2. Hypode Riant
...
8. Philo
…
23. Nima Blackcaw
...
57. Rolam Knilum
…
50. Malfrasius Patoal
Not a bad set of results at all. But what Mal was most excited for was the circle rank.
Circle Ranking:
1. Circle Phoenix
2. Circle Sparrow
…
46. Circle Turkey
Just a little bit above average.
In spite of himself, Mal felt a faint pinch of pride at how well his circle had done. Before he'd come in, Rolam was due for dead last and Nima, if he was lucky, might have cracked the 75th percentile. Philo would have been fine for most classes, but it was doubtful he would have achieved anything good in combat, bringing his overall ranking down significantly. This was by far the most improved team this year. Maybe one of the most improved teams of all time.
The crowd shifted and murmured behind Mal. He glanced back and saw that they had already made way for two students walking toward the leaderboard.
Savaly walked with the ease and grace of a true member of the royal family. Her strides were unhurried, and she somehow had time to smile at every single person who waved at her.
Hypode, meanwhile, trailed behind her with a cocky smile on his face. He probably knew how well he'd done and was looking forward to lording it over everybody else. With the distance between the two, it looked as if they had simply happened to arrive at the same time, rather than coming together as a group.
Savaly came to a stop in front of the leaderboard. Her blue eyes scanned through the words with mechanical precision. There was no particular look of joy when she saw her name in first place. Her gaze passed over all of the names and only paused when she came to around the middle of each section.
Weird, Mal thought. I wonder what she's looking at?
Hypode grinned as he came to a stop. Unlike Savaly who looked at individual scores, he went straight to the circle scores. His eyes paused on Circle Turkey.
"What the hell?" His grin faded. "How did they—?"
He noticed that Mal and the others were standing only a few feet from him. He turned and shot them a glare, then looked over at the other sets of names.
The longer he looked, the more uncomfortable he appeared to get. The grin on his face, at first smooth and confident, had by this point become strained at the edges, turning into more of a half-grimace.
He clicked his tongue, then turned around. "At the rate they're going, it won't be long before…"
The last few words were muttered too low for Mal to hear.
Savaly had remained still. She looked over at him, her smile as cold as ice.
"You know that liars are punished by Eternus, my dear rival."
At that, Mal felt the gaze of his circle, and every single other student who'd appeared here for the rankings.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Mal said.
"Of course you don't." She walked up to him, eyes narrowed. "Next time, take the top scorer role away from me, in at least one category. Stop shaming yourself."
"Sure, I'll do that."
Her eyes lost their icy chilliness and her voice turned bright. "Excellent! I'm looking forward to seeing your end-of-year results."
With that, she walked off and left Central Hall.
The gaze of his circle hadn't disappeared. If anything, their stares had only become sharper.
"What was the princess talking about, Mal?" Philo asked.
"Also, you seem awfully familiar with her!" Rolam jabbed a finger into Mal's side. "Is there something we need to know?"
Curse you, you infernal woman, he thought.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
For some reason beyond Mal's comprehension, they didn't seem to believe him.
After fending off more questions (no, Rolam, he’s not in a romantic relationship with the second princess of Chama), they arrived back at the dormitory to the smell of fresh roasted meat and newly baked bread.
They stopped in front of the door as a unit. Mal took another sniff to see if his head was deceiving him.
No, that was definitely the smell of a feast. Roasted meats, chicken, beef, onion, and garlic.
“Did one of you order catering?” Philo asked.
“With what money?” Rolam asked. “I couldn’t even afford bail.”
“Philo wasn’t talking about you, you idiot. Philo was talking about the two nobles on our circle who presumably have pockets deep enough to fit a feast or two.”
At that, both Philo and Rolam looked at Mal and Nima. Mal shook his head. “It wasn’t me.”
Nima chuckled. “I’m only the son of a baron. My allowance is extremely small, at least in comparison to the likes of Mal.”
“Well if it wasn’t Mal, and it wasn’t Nima, then who was it?” Philo said.
Having had enough of the speculation, Mal reached out and opened the door.
It swung open, revealing a smorgasbord of food. A giant roast chicken sat in the middle of the table, garnished with greens and cooked to a perfect shade of brown. There was a side of visibly smoking and freshly baked bread, the scent strong enough to make Mal’s mouth water. There were other sides too, an arrangement of foods of every type, color, and shape.
Lusia set down a drink and Mal’s attention was brought to her. There was a serving cart to her side, and it was abundantly clear that she had been the one to set this up.
Right, Mal thought. She said that she was working on a feast. I guess it hadn’t fully hit me that she was serious.
Rolam’s hand crept out toward one of the plates before he grabbed that hand with his other hand and stopped it.
“L—Lusia,” he said. “Did you make this?”
Lusia nodded. “I did.”
A single tear of sorrow rolled down Rolam’s cheek. “And I’m going to assume that nobody helped you, did they?”
Mal could feel the same sense of despair washing over his body. In terms of visual and smell, she’d clearly outdone herself. But Mal knew deep in his heart, that the actual flavor would be horrendous. No, beyond horrendous. Beyond inedible. It would have to be classified as a toxic substance.
“Actually,” Lusia said. “Dahlia and the matron forced me out of the kitchen. I only had a chance to cook a small amount.”
“Really?!” Rolam perked up. “What did you cook?!”
She tilted her head. “I’m unsure as to why this is important to you, but it’s the plate of biscuits. That’s the only one that I was allowed to cook.”
Rolam not so subtly pushed the plate of biscuits further away from the center and toward the edge of the table.
The group settled in around the plates of food. Mal drew out the chair and sat himself down when he caught Lusia moving toward the door out of the corner of his eye.
“Lusia,” he said. “Where are you going?”
She stopped and faced them. “I have other tasks to do, Master.”
“Can they wait?” Mal asked. “I’m sure that everybody would love to have you.”
“Have me? Have me where? Clarify—”
“Yeah, yeah!” Rolam swallowed a massive chunk of meat. “You’re practically the circle mascot, you’re always taking care of us and helping the honored leader out.”
“Philo agrees,” Philo said. “In addition, you also had a role in creating this wonderful celebration. You should get to enjoy it.”
Mal noted that this logic didn’t really make sense, because that meant the matron and Dalia should be invited too, but he chose not to bring that up.
“Oh, you’re suggesting that I sit down and eat the food with you?” Lusia tilted her head. “That would go against protocol.”
“Ah, to hell with protocol.” Rolam waved her off, then looked at Mal. “Besides, he’s the boss and what he says goes, right? So what do you think, Mal?”
Mal took a sip of the cool water that Lusia had set up earlier.
“I believe that my circlemates make a compelling point,” he said. “Lusia, would you care to join us for this meal?”
Lusia stared at him for a few seconds before she nodded. “Very well.”
Mal’s gut twisted on the inside. She had to do what he said. There was a good chance that she was just going along with it, and had been trying to politely excuse herself. Then Mal had gone and put her in an impossible position.
He pushed the guilt away. He’d make it up to her at a later time. Lusia pulled up an extra chair and sat down.
It was time to celebrate.
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