Frederic Whitefort, the exiled Vagabond, was wearing a ridiculously poor disguise as he jumped over the towering walls surrounding Erys.

He safely landed on the ground and safely looked around, spotting nothing but a peaceful and quiet forest.

However, scarce had his feet touched the grass did a shadow figure dash from afar and stop a couple of paces away.

The Dean, unlike his usual composed demeanor, was frowning and menacingly looking at Frederic.

“We do not welcome your kind here, vagabond.”

Unfortunately for him, Frederic’s was more infamous than famous. He wasn’t a criminal, nor was he a threat to the Nezulian Republic, but he was relatively well-known, especially amongst the powerhouses.

This young man, wearing a fake beard and a long mustache, had forsaken the distinguished Whitefort family in pursuit of mysticism and mysteries. Prior to his banishment, he was an unrivaled genius, a prodigy that shook the whole world.

Yet, he abandoned any and all training, obsessing over history long forgotten and always rambling about nonsensical stuff.

Evidently, his public image plummetted, and he was even regarded as a heretic, a person that would stop at nothing to achieve his objective, even if it meant resorting to the taboo.

Therefore, seeing the Dean look so unfavorably at him wasn’t a surprise.

“Hello?”

Frederic waved his hand in greeting, smiling wryly as he got caught almost instantly.

“I was lost… yeah just lost.”

He was about to flee but the Dean moved his stick at lightning speed, releasing a beam of light that struck Frederic in the chest.

The curly-haired young man has blasted away, his body crashing to the wall. Still, when the bit of dust cleared, he wasn’t injured, much less scathed.

He rubbed his belly while coughing.

“That hurt a little. Alright alright, I got it! I’m leaving!”

Like a monkey, he climbed the wall and disappeared soon after. However, the Dean kept standing there motionless, slightly worried that Frederic might come back.

Vagabonds weren’t particularly uncommon in the Aether Planet, but the kind to which Frederic belonged was somewhat special, so much so that the Dean didn’t hold back his power.

“If he didn’t give up on his training and got exiled, we would have been at the mercy of the Empire. Tsk!”

The Dean clicked his tongue and disappeared thereafter.

..

“Aw man! I can’t even get close!”

Frederic kicked the wall as he grumbled to himself in frustration. He had seen, felt, and heard the devastating thunderbolt originating from the artificial clouds yet he wasn’t able to properly investigate.

Erys was filled with strong individuals, thus rendering Frederic unable to sneak inside unnoticed.

Nevertheless, Frederic kept interviewing any students that left Erys, using the guise of a curious journalist.

At last, after many fruitless days, he had finally ‘caught’ a slightly knowledgeable prey that was willing to talk.

It was a short and bespectacled boy, timid and innocent-looking. It was none other than Alan, Zeke’s roommate.

The student was drinking apple juice, his head lowered as he wasn’t used to talking to strangers.

Meanwhile, Frederic was scrutinizing the youth, seemingly in a good mood after hearing one piece of good news.

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Actually, Alan had only told him that the Vyrsan Household had come to Erys and demanded to take a student with them, which had significantly lessened the scope of Frederic’s investigation and allowed him to pinpoint at least one plausible suspect.

“So… this Zeke Orland. Do you know anything about him?”

“H-he’s my roommate.” Shyly responded Alan, his face getting red.

“I see. Anything else? For instance, did he do something… unnatural recently?”

Surprised, Alan raised his head, “H…h-how did you know?”

‘Bingo!’

While widely smiling, Frederic tapped the table with his index while continuing, “Did you know that there are different types of Defects?”

“Ah?”

Confused by the abrupt shift in topic, Alan tilted his head in confusion and listened.

“Admittedly, the main reason for the inefficiency in using Aether stems from the lack of the dominant genetic code inherited by one’s parents or grandparents. However, that’s the most common cause. There are Defects that, despite having ‘gifted’ parents, fail to materialize the same abilities. If you answer my questions, I can give you a hint.”

“...”

Alan was perplexed for a moment, but he soon realized the meaning behind Frederic’s words, which made his heartbeat accelerate and his breathing heavy.

From that point onwards, Alan talked about his brief and handful of interactions with Zeke. He also spoke a bit about his roommate’s abilities. By the end of their conversation, Frederic was completely satisfied.

“Much like the blood flows through the veins, Aether flows through a circuit comprised of unseen layers. Some people have clotted layers… inherently blocked, so to speak. The solution is to find a way to either expand those layers or get rid of the blockage. As for how to do it… it’s up to the individual in question.”

Frederic shook the youth’s hand and winked, soon dashing out of the restaurant and returning to his hotel room.

He wasted no time as he instantly began researching any and all details regarding Zeke Orland, whom he was almost certain was the System’s user.

“Lightning magic, huh? That’s got to be the Aether-voltage path, but what happened that day proves he had actually upgraded the path. So soon! Either he’s frighteningly lucky or exceptionally talented.”

When he was done musing with himself and pacing around, Frederic kicked the chair and snorted,

“But he ran away! Why would he leave Erys? It’s the safest place by far. I need to know more…”

…

Azmer Lorson, after his defeat against Zeke, didn’t go back to Erys but returned home.

He spent several days holed up in his room, ignoring any received calls and simply sitting on the bed, cross-legged and concentrating.

He was following the method passed down to him by the Dean. Although it was painful and physically taxing, he had to do it to improve himself.

His loss notwithstanding, he had learnt a good bit by fighting Zeke. In more than a way, their fighting styles and abilities were opposite.

While Zeke relied on absolute speed and successive attacks, Azmer relied on powerful blasts that took a bit of time to cast.

Had he completed that final attack, Azmer would have won that fight. However, there were no ‘ifs’, and the best he could do was strengthen himself.

Azmer spent the entirety of the break afforded to the student in his room. During the day, he would train and, at night, he would sit on the balcony.

The blond-haired youth would hold a picture frame and look at it for long periods of time.

The picture was that of a beautiful black-haired woman hugging a young Azmer, who had a beaming expression that displayed unbridled joy.

Maybe his defeat against Zeke had knocked some sense into him, or maybe the latter’s words resonated with him, none could tell.

Feeling melancholic and sad, Azmer kept looking at his mother, lost in a daze and interrupted only when the manor’s servant knocked on the door.

The youth put back the picture frame on his desk and opened the door.

“Young master, you are being summoned to the lord’s office.”

Azmer nodded, closed the doors, then returned to his desk. He gathered what few personal belongings he had, beginning from the picture frame, then he changed into his uniform.

Soon enough, Azmer was facing his solemn father, who seemed to have gotten better.

“You still haven’t told me why you returned home looking like that. Who attacked you?”

Azmer shook his head and coldly retorted, “No one. I fought Zeke Orland and I lost.”

“What?”

Upon hearing Zeke’s name, William frowned and glared at his son. He instinctively touched his chest, remembering how much it cost him to remove the ‘curse’ inflicted by the lightning attack.

“Back then and now… you seem to be getting rebellious, Azmer. Rather than focusing on what’s important, your head is getting clouded by personal desire. Don’t forget that you need to catch up to your brother and not smear the family’s name with repeated failures!”

“My mind has never been this clear, father. Before I care what you want, I will care about myself and my life. Now, then…”

Azmer bowed then turned around and lift, much to his father’s surprise.

William, prideful and angered, didn’t stop his son. Instead, he shouted atop his lungs,

“Don’t think you’ll be able to keep this up for long, Azmer. Any more disobedience and you’ll share your mother’s fate!”