As I said this, as if the stars of the universe decided to aline, a long twenty minutes later, Professor Plimor came back from walking out to go get some wipes. She seemed unfazed that I was in her classroom. Although the affectionate mother I had witnessed out of her home, was replaced by her, now, detached and cold impersonator. It was shocking how monotone a voice could become.

“What is it, that you need Arthur?” she asked, as she began wiping the makeup off of Rose’s face.

“A disguise, if that's ok with you. I heard that some of the professors don’t like mana batteries in their classes, and I would like to try out some of the other classes.”

“You’re studious. Yes, I can show how to do your makeup so that you’re unrecognizable. I also have some prosthetics that can do some of the heavy lifting.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“No, thank you. You were hired for a job, and it looks like you’re making the most of it, unlike my son.”

“What? I’m sure he’ll be at the next class.”

“That is not what my tracker says? He better be safe!” said the professor, breaking out of the composed and calm persona she wore if only for a second. Those who had taken her class before knew this was very uncharacteristic of her.

“Oh, our professor ended our class early. He’s probably just wandering around the school like I am.”

“He didn’t come to school. My tracker shows he’s on the other side of the town.” she fretted.

I found that odd. While I understood that becoming a mana battery was not desirable in the least, even Brethslan admitted that you couldn’t run from your duties. There was a chance that Brethslan was seeking aide elsewhere, but I had the sneaking suspicion that maybe he’d given up. I know that he wanted me to stay away from him, although I knew that I couldn’t let him flunk out. Not if I wanted to pay back my debt.

It was undeniably selfish. But if the end result benefited Brethslan, as well, then it couldn’t be bad. That was what I was paid to do, even if Brethslan would argue otherwise.

A disguise is more than just an illusion, even if illusionists often attempt to make you see, feel, and sense otherwise. A disguise is a permanent part of this world, not bound by the archaic laws of magic. There is reliability in makeup, reliability in fake noses, and reliability that the Adjudicator wasn’t misusing a natural font of mana.

The way that the makeup was caked on my face, made me feel nostalgic. Unlike Rose, I had never worn makeup before, nor a wig, nor the strange nose piece. But the feeling of particles clogging my pores reminded me of playing clean up in my mother’s furnace during long and cold winter nights. I remember how jealous I was of the people who got paid to play in the soot and grime. I eventually outgrow the desire to look and fill my lungs with ash, but that didn’t mean that I couldn’t reminisce over the simpler days.

The nose was annoying, I hated the nose. There wasn’t much to be said about that.

“Well, dear. This was the best that I could do in such a short notice. The gray hair makes you look older, and the dark eye shadow makes you look sleepless. No one will want to talk to you, even if you went out of your way to start a conversation. Have Rose apply the makeup in the mornings for now, later you can start attempting it for yourself. It’s always easier to do other people's makeup than your own.”

“Because of sight?”

“Yes, because you’re able to see the face.”

“Thank you. This is everything I asked for and more. Just one thing.”

“Yes? What is it?”

“When you say that know one will want to talk to me, do you mean like they’ll give in to a little bit of small talk or if they won’t touch me with a ten foot pole.”

“The second. They won’t want to touch you with a ten foot pole. Actually, thank you for the request. I’ve never had someone come to my class, ask me to make them hideous. It was a very interesting challenge.”

“You’re welcome.”

Rose could not stop smiling. As if me being ugly, made her happy. Maybe it was a consolation for me seeing her look like a trainwreck. It wasn’t as if no illusion magic was applied on top of the disguise, but it was minor and didn’t require large amounts of mana. I was given a small artifact to stick in my pocket, that charged and maintained the minor glamour placed on top of the makeup.

Some people would call this illusion magic and that I was a hypocrite for disliking illusion magic, but I had to admit even the best disguises benefited from minor glamours. If there were cracks in the makeup, the illusion would fill in the cracks in my appearance. It did no more than that. A failsafe was better to have, than not. It wasn’t like I was the Adjudicator. I didn’t rely on it completely.

As I left Rose’s classroom, I walked down the halls and people still avoided me. Nothing out of the usual, I supposed. But while they avoided me, it didn’t seem like a conscious effort but more of a non-conscious by-product of my not-so good looks. Some of them even entered my supposed blast radius.

With hours to spare before my magic primers class, I decided to head to the beginner necromancy class. According to some students I’d overheard, it was the second class of the day after The ethics of Grave Robbing. I made a note to skip such an unnecessary class. Bones were meant to be enslaved and turned into a mighty work force. No amount of written essay assignments was going to change that for me, especially since I couldn’t write that well.

Necromancer for beginners was my dream class. It hadn’t always been my dream to become a necromancer, but I realized, in that moment, that I was actually excited. I was actually passionate about raising a fine number of undead. It wasn’t the threat of death, disobedience, or the everlasting and eternal fear of being perpetually unhirable that drove me to take the class. As I nearly skipped down to the class, I wondered if this was how Azog felt about bartending. It really was a magical feeling.

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The journey back to the lower div classes took longer than the in-between class break. The Necromancer classes were held outside in a courtyard far away from the other buildings. Presumably, where dead bodies were kept under the soil for extra freshness. It was the closest thing you’d get to being outside in the Underground.

An amphitheater made of tattered wood surrounded the professor teaching the class. Already, everyone for class had assembled and the professor had even started to introduce himself before I scrambled to a seat. Although I tried to enter without causing suspicion, walking in front of everyone and struggling to climb up the amphitheater steps made me stand out. The professor even noticed me.

“You, the ugly one. You’re late. Take a seat and don’t interrupt my class again. If you were any prettier, I would have flunked you on the spot.” spat a hunched over old man, whose three teeth sent spittle on my nice and new student aide robes. I nodded but didn’t dare say a word. There were times to speak and there were other times where opening your mouth caused more trouble. I figured that this was one of those times where speaking would end poorly.

The class stared at me, astonished at my brazen tardiness. Rath Bloodbark, was not known for his forgiving nature. Many students in my position would opt to drop out before facing the Wrath of Rath. I once again, thanked my ugly appearance for giving me privileges that those with nice faces and reasonable aesthetics weren’t afforded. Yes, it was unfair. But life was never fair and will never be fair. Some people were just born ugly. Others had the means to turn themselves ugly.

I took a seat in the back of the class, away from the other students. I still feared that my disguise wasn’t perfect, that any of these students could potentially see through it. They could gossip among themselves, while I focused on the lecture.

Among the students I pushed my way past, I saw Marcus and his student, Helfen Milrich. If they noticed who I was, they didn’t let on. They looked intently at the professor as they waited for the class to actually start. Marcus carried a small notebook to write down notes as needed. Helfen looked on.

I didn’t have a notebook. I thought about buying one, even if Brethslan was not going to show up to class now. I would also need to take notes for myself later.

“Well, ahem. As many of you know, I’m Rath Bloodbark, esteemed necromancer, scholar of the unalive, and part time archeologist of Tatum. My standards are high; that is why this class will not be easy, nor for the warry, nor for the faint of heart, nor for those with heart conditions, palpitations, or hearts who have a tendency to attack. I will not be blamed for your deaths from rogue undead, nor from physical exhaustion.”

“How about abnormal bone growths?” asked someone from the crowd.

Rath Bloodbark scowled.

“Per University rules I am only at fault for abnormal bone growths, if you can definitely prove with personal evidence that the bone growth has killed you.”

“So only if we are dead can we argue that you were in the wrong?”

“That is absolutely correct.”

“So you’re saying that we legally can, but from a practical standpoint we wouldn’t be able to argue our case because we’d be dead?”

“That is also absolutely correct.”

The girl who stood up, leaned back into her chair thinking, but couldn’t come up with a retort on how to solve this dilemma.

“Now that we've gotten that out of the way, can someone tell me what the first rule of necromancy is?”

“Raising the undead?” asked one of the students.

“No, Arlmondo. Nice try, but a completely stupid answer.”

“Anyone else?”

“Summoning a spectral aberration?”

“Nope, you’re also wrong.”

“The first step to learning how to raise the dead is learning how to dig. Unless you want to end up with a lot of back pain, it's best to learn how to wield a shovel better than a swordsman wields a sword. Never. I repeat. Never, lift the dirt with your back.”

The class groaned as they realized they weren’t going to learn any magic today. But they failed to realize that this was Necromancy. The procrastination and desire to teach anything but raising the dead was what made the profession what it was.

“Now, I’ve only got this shovel here, so you’ll have to practice in your free time. Right now, watch my form. Look at my bent knees and dig the spade into the ground. You’ve got to learn to work fast before a gravekeeper finds you…” Rath monologued.

It was informative to most of the students, who’d probably never dug a hole before even though they lived underground. If only they knew that Rath Bloodbark was cheating.

There was a spell being used on the shovel. I could see the earth mana that was being siphoned into the tip of the shovel, that pushed the dirt away from the somewhat sharp edge.

“See. With proper form, you can dig through the ground like it’s butter.” instructed the non-trustworthy necromancer professor.

Maybe that was also a key tenant of the profession, I thought. Maybe I had been doing necromancy, with all the lying, conniving, and trickery. There was more to Necromancer than a few spells. If a few spells were all it took, then anyone who had a bit of mana could call themselves one… Which they often did, but that’s not the point.

The point was at the other end of that shovel. It glided through the hard dirt as if it was butter. In and out the shovel went for the entire class period. Not a single student dared stand up and leave the classroom. There were rumors about Rath Bloodbark, and those rumors weren’t about his ability as a Necromancer, but more along the lines of his talent for flunking students. There was a method to his madness, but no one had cracked what it was that ticked him off. Students could do the same thing multiple times and get varied results. Most chalked it up to him being temperamental.

There was power in hiding in the crowd. If you were among the sea of silent ones, you’d have a greater chance of evading notice. It was the preferred survival method of blurgbugs. However, they were rumored to have gone extinct in the very same forest that Mudville was famous for. That is what the blurgbugs wanted you to think.

Rath Bloodbark paused. His eyes gazed at the crowd, his shovel ready to be pointed at any student. Something was off among the student body according to Rath Bloodbark’s body language. For a split second, I was worried he could see through my disguise. Relief washed over me, as he pointed at a meek girl, who tried to hide behind a smaller meeker girl.

“You! Youuuu! What is your name!”

“E-e-em-i- lee”

“Well, Eamily. You’re done. Your attitude and beliefs do not fit that of a Necromancer. You may leave.”

“What? I just got p-placed.”

“Yes, go find another path to follow. This is not the one for you.”

“But the sorting shoe...”

“Bah, you bring up that nonsense? Scram. Leave. Begone. You’re not needed in this class. Your mockery of my shoveling will not be tolerated.”

“But I’ll flunk out.”

“No one who made anything of themselves cared about flunking out. They just did it.”

“Do you think the Dark One cares about letter grades? Do you think Golbic Blackrot even knows what a grade is?”

“Well, he’s a goblin. They’re not known for their schooling," Marcus spoke up.

“Correction, they’re not known for human-centric schooling. You’ll make something of yourself if you put effort in. But you will not become a Necromancer. Now, leave.”

Emily picked herself up and stormed out of the classroom. The rest of the class looked shocked, some even angry. It was probably a tight knit community. She was probably friends with someone in this very room. Professors’ words were almost ironclad in the academy. It was rare for the student academy president to ever overrule a decision made.

Without saying a word, Rath went back to digging.