Tom had managed to commit a crime within five minutes of entering the Noble District.

In his defense, Nvein’s side-entrance had left him with little other choice. Speeding down the neat cobblestone path, Tom’s silhouette would have been no more than a shadowy blur that flickered past the gazes of any onlookers until he rounded the first corner in his line of sight.

Finding himself in an alleyway that was flanked by two walled enclosures, Tom sought refuge in the shadows cast by the three-storey building to his right. The alley he was standing in was too narrow to field intense footfall, only wide enough to manage two people walking side-by-side across its length. He focused on his enhanced sense of hearing, trying to discern if there was anyone approaching his location, or more importantly, if either of the two buildings flanking him were currently populated.

It only took Tom a minute before he made his decision. With an outburst of movement, he scaled the three meter tall wall. Two steps in quick succession to kick off the wall, before latching onto its coping and then hoisting himself up almost effortlessly was all it took, the entire process a matter of moments.

Balancing himself on the top of the wall again proved no challenge for his proprioception stat, as Tom’s gaze turned to the lockless window on the first floor.

He leapt forward calmly, falling short of the window itself but catching on to the intended target. There was a light thump as he dangled from the windowsill, soon by one hand as he used the other to gently push it open inwards.

Hoisting himself for a final time, he was in.

Tom closed the window behind him and then deactivated [The Shadow] card, now that he was sure that the residence was unoccupied.

He took in the room he’d found himself in, before shaking his head.

“This won’t do,” he muttered under his breath, not even bothering to scour through the closets.

He winced as the door he was pushing open creaked loudly, the grating sound loud enough to alert anyone in the house. The presumably children’s bedroom he was currently in, complete with a pink wooden closet, a cot that was roughly three-fourths the length of an adult version and half a dozen cloth-dolls that were clothed in miniature dresses, spilled out into a hallway.

At the end of the hallway was another door, likely the master bedroom. Tom decided to explore the living area first, discovering an open-plan kitchen whose version of a stove was powered by a ruby red stone that was shaped like a tear-drop.

Finding no value in the comfortable looking loveseat, sparsely populated bookshelf or the dining table, Tom turned around and began to move to the only room that was left.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

There, thankfully, he found what he had been looking for.

“I really don’t like masks,” Tom grumbled under his breath as he plucked the uncomfortable wooden mask off his face and tossed it into his inventory. Then he chucked, as a wry thought struck him, ‘Ironic.’

On the king-sized bed before him lay five sets of outfits, all in the same Noble House’s livery. Red and Gold. The livery of House Nezaria, which was presently led by Lord Ramav Nezaria, the Noble directly in charge of the Kingdom’s trade and finances and the King’s right-hand man.

Serawin had caught his lie the first time around because he didn’t have enough knowledge on the Noble House he was feigning loyalty to. Tom wasn’t going to repeat the same mistake twice.

Thanks to Aleph’s lessons, he had a good idea of the basic political structure of every Noble Family, more than enough to pass off as the lowest social rung of citizens living in the District— those employed in non-essential roles on a permanent basis like custodians, chefs and groundskeepers among other professions. In a world populated with magical cards, Syrelore Kingdom’s definition of ‘essential’ seemed to revolve around combat and fields that facilitated combat.

Alchemist was a largely coveted and often even revered position, while gardeners were content simply by being allowed to live in the District.

To that end, Tom intended to introduce himself as a gardener. Coming across as humble and uninteresting was perfectly suited to his needs.

He also knew a thing or two about maintaining a lawn, having done the chore for pocket money for his neighbors in his late teens.

Standing before a polished mirror, Tom took in the unfamiliar man meeting his gaze. His skin was a warm hue of bronze, eyes a common brown. The smile playing upon his lips was gentle and disarming, even with the knife scar marring his right cheek.

The man named Zallark was a dungeoneer, if a pretty middling one at that. Nevertheless, even amidst only bright bronze stars, he had taught Tom a very useful skill— one that he might even need to rely on to accomplish his objective.

The coat he had chosen was more than a little tight, the trousers coming up a little short but there was nothing too out of place.

He was just another face in the crowd, one amongst hundreds.

Now, it was time to head to the place he was originally supposed to have upon arriving in Artezia.

A den of both current and future powerhouses, a training ground where young, pliable minds were forged into trained weapons capable of felling both phantasmal beasts and dungeoneers alike.

A place where a single misstep; A lone faux pas was enough to blow his cover amidst dozens of unknown card abilities and methods in the hands of their skilled and perceptive wielders. There would be no fighting back against that cascade, his end would be as swift as it was inevitable.

As Tom exited the residence the same way he’d broken into it and blended into a throng headed in the direction of the plaza, a wave of uncertainty hit him.

Only a few months had passed since he’d arrived in Artezia. He had been a convenience store clerk with no notable accomplishments to his name and now he was contemplating going up against a ruling class that had magical powers at their beck and call.

Had he gone insane?

“No,” Tom’s whisper was lost amidst the footfall of the crowd.

The grin that tugged at his lips wasn’t something he could fight against.

No, he was just a fool.

And he was headed directly for—-

The Academy.