"There's no point in rushing my comprehension of time," Markus mumbled, the weight of the day's spatial purges and metaphysical revelations finally pressing down on his shoulders.
He extinguished the ambient mana-lights of the dorm room, leaving only the faint, fading amber glow of the tome. Exhaustion, a rare visitor, claimed him as he retreated to his bed. Nagini slithered onto the mattress, her cold, obsidian scales providing a grounding contrast to the heat of his lingering mana as she curled tightly beside him.
Together, the master and his familiar were claimed by the velvet silence of the night, surrendered to the very flow of time that Markus had only just begun to decipher.
**
Markus awoke at the precise moment the first light hit the spires of the Valerian Royal Academy. Without a moment's delay, he headed straight for the academy's high-tier medical quarters.
Within the sterile, humming silence of the ward, Saylor Vane lay suspended in a cylindrical tank of translucent green healing liquid. The boy remained unconscious, his form bobbing weightlessly in the nutrient-dense fluid, though the devastation of the previous day was still visible: thick, dark blood vessels continued to bulge across his skin like a road map of the corruption that had nearly claimed him.
The reflection of Markus's uniform shimmered on the surface of the tank, a sharp contrast to the broken heir within.
"How is Saylor's status?" Markus asked, his voice cutting through the rhythmic hum of the life-support machinery. He didn't look at the medical attendant; instead, his eyes remained fixed on the fluctuating mana-readings on the primary monitor.
"Student Saylor is out of the critical phase and currently in a coma," the attendant reported, eyes glued to the flickering biometric readouts. "If he fails to regain consciousness within the next forty-eight hours, he may remain in a vegetative state for the rest of his life. It seems the trauma from the poisoning was simply too severe for his mind to bridge the gap back to reality."
Markus nodded slowly, his expression a mask of practiced neutrality. It was efficient to see the academy's official narrative—that Saylor's catatonic state was the result of severe poisoning from the toxic swamp—take such firm root.
By masking the violent expulsion of the Heart Demon and the subsequent spatial scouring as a mere environmental accident, the Valerian Royal Academy could avoid a public scandal while Markus maintained his image as the dutiful classmate who had dragged an injured peer back from the brink.
Markus cast a final, sweeping gaze over Saylor's suspended form, activating his Fate's Eyes to peer through the translucent fluid and deep into the boy's tissue. His eyes, sharp, scoured the boy's mana circuits for any lingering trace of the corruption.
Satisfied that the purge had been absolute and that the corruption was truly erased from the vessel, Markus turned on his heel. Leaving the rhythmic hum of the medical wing behind, he navigated the familiar corridors toward the combat training grounds for Professor Candle's class, his mind already shifting from the Saylor to the tactical combat class.
**
"How nice of you to grace us with your presence, Markus," Professor Candle joked, her voice carrying a dry, crackling warmth that matched her elemental affinity. As Markus strode into the lecture hall, his uniform immaculate despite the morning's grim visit to the medical wing, she offered a dismissive wave.
"Take a seat wherever you can find one," she added, already turning back to the holographic tactical display at the front of the room.
Markus moved toward the back of the class, claiming a desk in the shadows where he could observe the entire room without being watched in return.
"As I was saying..." Professor Candle continued, her voice projecting with a sharp, rhythmic authority that commanded the room.
This wasn't merely another lecture; it was a comprehensive Masterclass in Tactical Leadership, a core component designed for final-year students standing on the precipice of graduation.
Whether these students were destined for the rigid hierarchy of the Imperial Military or the high-stakes volatility of an Adventurer's Guild, Candle's words were meant to be the difference between a successful mission and a total wipeout.
As Professor Candle's voice droned on about squad formations, Markus's mind drifted from the lecture hall, retreating into the profound revelations of the previous night.
He became a silent observer of his own consciousness, pondering the Absolute flow of time—the relentless, mathematical river that continued to move even as he withdrew his focus from the physical world.
In what felt like a singular, elongated blink, the hour-long session dissolved; he looked up to find the tactical holograms extinguished and the rows of desks emptying as students rushed toward the dining hall.
Rosanne, Jessica, Donna, and Mika coalesced around Markus as the lecture hall emptied, their voices a lively hum of tactical debates and strategic queries.
They transitioned toward the dining hall as a collective unit, dissecting the nuances of Professor Candle's insights on leadership and military formation.
While the girls traded theories on squad synergy and high-utility guild roles, Markus moved in the center of their chatter—a silent pillar of gravity whose mind remained partially submerged in the mathematical flow of the Law of Time.
"Let's head to the mission hall after lunch," Markus said, his voice cutting through the girls' tactical chatter with the quiet authority of a commander.
"It's been a while since we've deployed as a group, and I want to see the improvements between you four." The response was instantaneous—a chorus of excited cheers erupted from Rosanne, Jessica, Donna, and Mika, their earlier fatigue from Professor Candle's lecture replaced by a surge of high-tier adrenaline.
The group retreated to a secluded corner of the grand hall, claiming a pocket of stillness amidst the chaotic energy of the Valerian Royal Academy.
While they dined in peace, the rest of the hall was a rowdy sea of first-year students, their voices a cacophony as they explored the various culinary options and tiered nutritional delicacies available to them.
The peaceful atmosphere of their secluded corner was briefly interrupted as Rosalind popped by to say hello, her presence a brief spark of energy before she hurried off to her next class.
Though she didn't linger, her greeting served as a reminder of the social threads that wove through the Valerian Royal Academy, connecting the various high-tier factions even during a quiet lunch.