“That’s it! You’re just going to go back to digging like nothing happened,” said another student.

The professor ignored the student, answering his words with more digging. After the hole was about as deep as his waist, a clunk could be heard as the shovel actually touched something for once. It had yet to touch dirt.

“Ah, right where I left it.”

The other students leaned in, in anticipation. We all wondered what he had uncovered. Was it the remains of an archmage who studied here long ago? Was it treasure, or more specifically 25 platinum coins with a written letter stating that those coins were my birthright? Unlikely, yet possible. Was it half of a forgotten drunkard’s fractured skull? Yes, it was that last one.

By the size of the cranium, I knew for certain that this wasn’t an Archmage. You had to have a brain to become one of those. The skull's small and flat-natured cranium could not fit a brain, let alone have spare room for stray thoughts, ambitions, or even the most basic grooming instructions. Motor skills could’ve been squeezed in there, but it would’ve been a tight fit.

“This is Eddy. He’s been faithful to me through thick and thin, marriage after failed marriage. He might not have been the brightest person when alive, given his, erm, odd shape. But he’s served me well over the years. If he can love me, then why can’t any of the heartless wenches love me?”

“Hmm. It could be your posture?” said Alcarthorm, who was known for his lack of social queues.

“What? I’m standing up perfectly straight.” said professor Rath, whose back was bent like the rightest of angles.

“I don’t believe it is. You should really get it checked out by a chiromancer, so it’s aligned. I happened to know a guy, if you want to talk about it after class.”

“Sure. But I’ll have you know, my back is as straight as an arrow. I won’t have rumors about me spreading that just aren’t true.”

Alcarthorm, however, had just enough understanding of social cues to merely cough his disagreement.

“We’re going to do magic!” someone shouted excitedly, too excited to realize that magic was not on the metaphorical table yet.

“Magic? Oh no. We don’t cover magic until day two. We’ve got to clean the skull before I can begin pulling out my magic ingredients and ritual powders. I’m asking you, class. What is the second most important thing about necromancy?”

“Undead enslavement,” spoke a not very bright, Lucius Goodmore.

“No, absolutely not. The second most important part of Necromancy is cleaning your undead. In the same way that I should’ve brushed my teeth when I was younger, you should brush your bundle of bones dry. Not a drop of liquid should touch them, or you’ll end up rotting them faster. You don’t want gunk impeding your actions and getting all over your lair’s floor…”

Although I was engrossed in the lecture about dirt, my attention drifted as someone decided to punch my shoulder.

“Ouch. What was that for?!” I hissed at Marcus who decided to walk over.

“Who are you? I didn’t see you at the sorting shoe.”

“You know everybody at the shorting shoe?” I asked.

“In some way or another. What’s your name and we’re you from?”

In that moment, I realized that there was more to a disguise than just the physical elements and minor illusion. I had forgotten to make a backstory. I wondered if I could play myself off as a mute, before I remembered that I’d already responded.

“I’m from lands far from here. You wouldn’t know of it. The names…” I paused as I thought of a good name. It was too long of a pause, considering the situation I was in.

Marcus gave me a knowing look. He knew. My heart beat as I realized that I was about to be ousted in the middle of the class. Was it the makeup between my ears that gave me away? I wondered what had given me away. My lack of a backstory was probably the most compelling reason, I supposed. I stuck my hand in my coat and tightened my grip around my trusty dagger.

“Oh, I remember you! You’re Calvin,” said Marcus, who by all the miracles in the world didn’t oust me.

“Yes.” I lied.

“Well, you should’ve said something. You don’t have to sit all alone. Come join us.” Said Marcus.

Marcus turned to the rest of the student, whose eyes had glazed over the professor scrubbing a skull. They weren’t listening to his lecture when he spoke. Instead, they briefly glanced to the side, while talking amongst themselves. It was never safe to stop watching Rath Bloodborne’s lecture, but he never was one to stop chatter.

“And make sure you always rub under the jaw. The jaw doesn’t seem important, but that is where a lot of the magical energy will go. That’s why they make that horrible clacking noise…” continued the Professor.

“Oh, I’m just enjoying the lecture. No need to involve me.”

“You’re seriously listening to him on how to clean a skull? You know, the process is pretty self-explanatory.”

“That’s what you’d think. But cleaning is never as simple or as easy as it seems. It’s an arduous task, when you’re setting up your lair. At every least, my master’s lair was very challenging to clean. I’m here for the lectures, not the mingling.”

Marcus frowned, placing his hands on his hips.

“It’s not like talking to these people will make you explode, Calvin.” said Marcus, hinting at who I was.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

It wasn’t as if I didn’t want to interact with other students entirely, but I knew my disguise worked better from a distance. If it worked at all… Talking was going to end up with me kicked out of class, so the less talking I did the better.

Marcus wasn’t going to give me a choice. He grabbed my wrists and dragged me next to him, wedging me between him and his student. Helfen Milrich smiled at me. His eyes and expressionless face made me think he didn’t know what was going on, I knew that looks could be deceiving. I was in a disguise, afterall.

“”How are you, Calvin.” spoke Helfen, whose soothing voice was known for bringing down people's guard.

At the very least he must’ve been eavesdropping, the conversation Marcus had with me. Calvin wasn’t a real person.

“Umm. Fine. Listening to the lecture. Isn’t it interesting how he tells you to clear beneath the lower jaw. I would’ve definitely missed that, when I’m cleaning my undead.” I said.

Marcus groaned.

“Isn’t kind of dull. I’m sure that I’m not the only one who came here for some magic. This is a magical academy, not a diggers guild.”

“I can see where you’re coming from. But magic really isn’t as useful as people seem to make it out to be. At least, used on its own.” I retorted.

–

“It is true that other important skills are often neglected. But saying magic isn’t useful is a bit prosperous,” said Marcus.

Helfen Milrich paused, as if contemplating the great secrets of the realm.

“I like magic.” concluded Helfen before turning his attention back to Professor Rath.

There was something wrong with Helfen Milrich. Perhaps, he was dropped as a baby.

“Yes, Helfen, magic is cool. Did you hear about last year’s tournament winner, Jamorra Ilrich. She’s an enchanter, whose shaped magic shields around her body. Without visible chinks in her spell, no one could find a way to defeat her. She had the foresight to hoard magic seeds that she scavenged off of a dead magic gardener. The food cultivated from the seeds lasted her months. That’s not something that she could’ve done without sufficient magic to keep her barriers intact during the bombardment for Hellfire Mage Brolij.”

“Her victory was a byproduct of excessive luck. The type of luck you’d get from outside assistance, if you ask me.” interrupted Alcathorm.

Up close Alcathorm had very tanned skin, brown eyes, and a narrow frame. He wasn’t particularly skinny, but one would not call him big by any means. The sleeves of his wizard robes were rolled up just enough to show off his somewhat well-developed biceps.

“You’re biased, Alcathorm. A win is a win, no matter how you go about doing it. I know Brolij is friends with your family, who are also typically famous for their hellfire magic. You’re the black sheep of the family, if I’m not mistaken,” said Marcus.

“I was surprised when I was sorted as a Necromancer, I must admit. Both of my brother’s got sorted as Hellfire mages, so I had been preparing myself for a similar path. It’s not often that there is a shakeup in paths for any of the established families.”

“This was an interesting sorting to say the least. It’s like the hat got bored and decided to stir the pot.”

“I agree, Marcus.”

“I’m not from around here, sorry for my ignorance. But how was this year’s sorting shoe different?” I asked.

“Well, apart from the mana battery debacle, there were dozens of strange mix ups, in terms of who got sorted to what path. Especially after the sorting shoe malfunctioned for Brethslan. If he wasn’t so uptight, I might feel bad for him. Although, after seeing him hanging out with that loser, Silthus Dren, I haven’t felt a shred of doubt,” said Alcathorm.

“Oh, so you also saw them hanging out at the sorting shoe.” I said.

“Well, yes. Everyone saw them chatting with each other. The more important question is what psychos weren’t at least glancing at them. Silthus is a monster. But no, that was not what I was referring to. I saw them this morning, when I was running late to my first class. Actually, I was running the opposite direction of my class, but I had forgotten my copy of Necromancer Ethics. Like who needs an ethics class for raising some dead people? Probably, Silthus Dren is who.”

“What path did he get? I don’t see him here. He’s not a necromancer.”

“The sorting shoe decided to stick him in the curse path, if you can believe it or not. Very fitting, if you ask me.”

—-

“What’s wrong with curses?”

“Nothing on their own. But they tend to attract the most cruel people. Curses tend be used for torture, or targeting individuals to make their life decidedly worse. I would say that the ethics of magic falls on the user, but, rarely, has someone following the curse path turned out to be beneficial for society.” stated Alcathorm, as if his opinion was a fact.

“It’s rough when you realize they win the tournaments year in and year out.” added Marcus, who also had a tendency to dislike curses.

It only took one stray curse flung your way to, to teach how unpopular they were. No one wanted to spend their night, puking caterpillars out of their mouths: an unpleasant yet common experience.

“And what’s Necromancer’s chance at winning?”

“Never. There is too much ritual magic and setting up for Necromancers to typically do well with the current format. At least, we’ve had someone win it before… centuries ago… if the records are accurate. The gardeners are still trying to connive their way into a win. As if a plant based victory would ever be possible,” snorted Alcathorm.

“You just can’t substitute good old-fashioned demonic and remains based magic, with something so green,” agreed Marcus.

My journey to paying off my debt couldn’t be more complicated. I wasn’t actually in the Necromancer path, but I was too afraid to ask if a mana battery had ever won a tournament. I doubted it. They had a more noble and, frankly, more important goal: living.

Well, my life might’ve not been worth the twenty five platinum reward, but I wasn't like most people in the academy. I was poor. A negative twenty five platinum poor. Minus a few silver and copper here and there. There was no need to be exact. That was what merchant’s did, and no one really liked them all that much.

While it was in my best interests to follow a type of magic that would help me win the tournament, I couldn’t betray my roots as a necromancer. I couldn’t put it out of my mind that maybe my necromancer classmates were a little bit too close minded. They did not see the valuable magic before their eyes. The type of magic being taught by Rath Bloodbark.

“And then we bring ourselves to the toes. These are optionable unless you need a skeleton to climb a large tree to escape the claws of a tiger. Clean them however you see fit. Personally, I like to clean the big toes and neglect the smaller toes. If they fall off, they’re less impactful due to their size,” spoke Rath, his years of wisdom lost on most of his students. Not me of course.

“What exactly is the tournament format?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s your usual fight to mostly incapacitation but still quite often death, after being dropped into a large magically created arena that slowly shrinks until you have no choice but to fight each other. Or is this year the death maze? I’m not sure. I haven’t looked into it, considering my slim chances of winning.” said Alcathorm.

“Because you’re a Necromancer?”

“Yes, because I’m a necromancer. Well, mostly because of that. They’ve also got the best food stalls running day and night during the event. I don’t know why anyone would want to fight in a tournament when they’ve got meat skewers that you can’t find during the rest of the year. They’re limited edition.”

“How so?”

“Vendors come from all over to try and win the real tournament.”

“They have a food competition going on while our tournament is going on?”

“It’s timed perfectly to make sure the students have the least chance of being able to attend. Professor’s are known to hold exams, to thin the lines, and increase their chance of getting the good stuff. We must not let them get away with it.” Alcathorm tightened his fist as if in solidarity with me, assuming I too cared about the food.”

“And the prize? How does it compare to the twenty five platinum for the academy’s contest?” I asked, while rubbing my palms like a greedy alchemist. If there was another avenue for making back my debt, then I’d entertain the possibility.

“Bragging rights! Everyone across the entire land will know of your name. Rudimentary coin has nothing on the fame gained through the tournament.”

“I’d rather have the coin,” I mumbled to myself.