Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 1171: The Chosen one ?

Most students found it difficult to separate Thalor Draycott from everything standing behind his name.

House Draycott had supplied methods refined across generations. The Magic Tower had provided instructors whom lesser families could not obtain at any price. Wealth had placed rare materials in his hands early enough that other students were still learning their names when Thalor began discovering their limitations.

None of those advantages were imaginary. They had shortened distances that most mages spent years crossing.

Yet privilege alone could not explain why Thalor remained inside a practice chamber after the examinations had ended, adjusting a formation nobody had required him to revisit.

Nobody had needed to teach him to enjoy the work.

The Academy array contained seven nodes arranged around a stabilization core. Thalor had completed its prescribed configuration nearly an hour ago. The intended exercise no longer held his attention, so he had inverted the third channel and inserted an eighth node where the formation possessed no proper means of supporting one.

The resulting structure had collapsed four times.

Thalor rested two fingers against the outer ring and fed another thread of mana into it.

Light moved through the first three nodes, reached the altered channel, and recoiled. The eighth node flickered once before the entire formation dissolved into silver dust.

His concentration sharpened.

The easy version had accepted his answer immediately. This one objected.

Better.

Other students occupied the open practice bays beyond the chamber’s dividing screens. Most had finished working and remained only to compare placements, examiner decisions, and stories that had already acquired several improvements since leaving their original witnesses.

Thalor let the noise pass around him while he restored the outer ring.

Someone complained about a Rotunda penalty. Another insisted that an examiner had mistaken confidence for disrespect. Several voices debated whether an acquaintance had earned his ranking or merely selected favorable opponents.

Then one student mentioned Gervase de Warenne.

Thalor’s finger paused above the fourth node.

House Warenne had never given House Draycott cause for complaint. Gervase had managed that accomplishment personally.

Thalor pressed the node into place and listened without turning.

The conversation had begun with Elowyn Caerlin and the dance. The students disagreed over who had approached whom first, though every version placed Gervase near her and Lucavion between them soon afterward. One account turned the exchange into a public humiliation. Another gave Gervase a speech elaborate enough that even he would have struggled to deliver it without rehearsal.

Thalor discarded both embellishments.

Gervase possessed many irritating qualities, but he rarely volunteered to look foolish before an audience. If the situation had escaped him, someone else had altered its direction.

That someone appeared to have been Lucavion.

”He made a flower out of it,” a student said beyond the screen. ”The ash, the flame—whatever remained around his hand.”

”That part is true,” another replied. ”My cousin was close enough to see it.”

”Anyone can make a shape if they prepare the spell.”

”He did not prepare anything. He moved his finger, and it followed.”

Thalor’s attention left the failed eighth node.

The surrounding conversation continued to decorate the moment, but its consistent pieces were simple enough. Something had happened around the ceremonial flame. Lucavion had gathered what remained into the form of a flower and dispersed it into petals before returning to the dance as though the display required no further explanation.

No prolonged construction. No visible struggle. No hesitation long enough for the witnesses to interpret the result as accidental.

Thalor turned slightly toward the nearest screen. ”Did he appear surprised?”

The conversation stopped.

A student leaned far enough around the divider to identify who had asked, then corrected his posture. ”Not while he shaped it, Lord Draycott.”

”Before that?”

”I couldn’t see his face clearly. But the flower looked deliberate.”

Thalor inclined his head and returned to the array.

Lucavion belonged to the Martial Arts Block. His formal magical education was fragmented, and his results showed precisely the sort of uneven foundation that should make detached finesse unreliable. Talent could excuse much, but it did not make unfamiliar control appear practiced.

Yet the witnesses remembered ease.

’He could do that?’

Thalor touched the eighth node again. Mana entered the altered channel, and this time he divided the returning pressure instead of resisting it. The formation survived for three additional breaths before collapsing.

He restored it more slowly.

Lucavion remained at the edge of his thoughts, another structure whose visible pieces did not quite explain the result.

A soft chime sounded from the notification seal beside the chamber entrance. The Academy crest appeared first, followed by a brief request bearing faculty authentication.

MAGISTER MARISSE REQUESTS YOUR PRESENCE.

Thalor read the message twice.

The finalized results had been released that afternoon. Marisse still possessed a wager, a vacant place for her representative, and diminishing reason to leave it unfilled.

The timing suggested a possibility. It did not prove one.

Still, Thalor looked from the summons to the unfinished eighth node and allowed the formation to fade from beneath his hand.

The Academy had unexpectedly improved his afternoon.

He accepted the request.

******

Thalor left the practice chamber after sealing the altered array beneath its protective cover.

The walk toward the faculty wing gave the failed eighth node enough time to recede from his immediate attention. Marisse’s summons replaced it, though Lucavion remained attached to both thoughts with increasingly convenient persistence.

Magister Marisse had chosen a private consultation room rather than her public office.

The distinction mattered. A public summons could concern placement, discipline, or any number of administrative inconveniences. A private room implied that she expected discussion, and the absence of another faculty member narrowed the possibilities further.

The wager file rested closed upon the table between two chairs.

’So it is that.’

Marisse rose as he entered. Her welcome included the proper recognition of his placement and a restrained acknowledgment of his examination performance. Thalor received both with equal courtesy before taking the chair she indicated.

Neither of them pretended that congratulations had justified the summons.

”The transition into formal lessons should leave you several free periods over the next ten days,” Marisse said as she resumed her seat.

”My instructors have already begun competing for them.”

”I expected as much.”

Thalor’s gaze passed over the closed file. Marisse had prepared two additional documents beside it, both turned facedown. She had decided what she wanted before calling him. The meeting concerned whether she could persuade him to participate in that decision.

Marisse rested one hand upon the wager file. ”You are aware of the agreement I made with Lucavion during Orientation.”

”I heard several versions. Some improved considerably in the retelling.”

”The registered version is less entertaining.” She opened the file. ”At the End-of-Term Exhibition, Lucavion will duel a student of my choosing. I retain the right to prepare that student for the match.”

”And the representative remains unregistered.”

”For the moment.” Marisse turned the document so he could see the empty line. ”I am offering the position to you.”

Thalor let his eyes rest upon the vacancy.

The proposition carried no surprise, yet hearing it stated gave the earlier Rotunda story a new weight. Lucavion had entered his afternoon twice through entirely separate doors. One account described effortless magical finesse where little should have existed. The other placed a sanctioned confrontation within reach.

Thalor looked back at Marisse. ”Why me?”

His ranking could have answered part of the question. His family, the Tower, and the instructors attached to both could have supplied the rest. Those answers were too obvious to justify asking.

Marisse appeared to understand that.

”If the Exhibition were held next week, I would have selected according to current ability.” She drew Lucavion’s finalized record from beneath the wager file. ”It will be held months from now.”

Thalor’s attention shifted to the sheet without reaching for it.

”Lucavion’s present standing is useful,” Marisse continued, ”but it tells me less than the way he obtained it. His weaknesses are genuine. His Oral result establishes that clearly, and Mana Control exposed another deficiency.”

”Yet neither prevented his placement.”

”No. Once the examination forced him to confront a weakness, he adapted quickly enough to preserve a strong result. His second Written score also repeated the first closely enough to establish a pattern rather than an accident.”

Marisse tapped the lower section of the record once. ”Then Combat and Weaponship attempted to pressure his practical ability. He received perfect marks in both.”

Thalor’s gaze moved across the visible row.

Marisse had taken Lucavion seriously. More importantly, she had studied the irregularities rather than allowing the weighted result to smooth them into a convenient average.

”The student who meets him at the Exhibition will face whatever he becomes by then,” she said. ”I require someone whose own preparation can produce comparable returns.”

”And you believe mine can.”

”I believe your foundation can support instruction that would overwhelm a less developed student. House Draycott and the Magic Tower already provide methods, teachers, and resources suited to your growth. My preparation would sharpen an established system rather than spend half the term constructing one.”

The explanation carried less flattery than most people used when approaching him.

Thalor preferred it that way.

Marisse had selected him for what he could become within the available time. His name mattered because of the machinery connected to it, but she had also accounted for the discipline required to use that machinery. A lesser assessment would have treated his inheritance as though it improved him without participation.

His thoughts returned to the account from the practice chamber.

Lucavion had shaped the flower without visible hesitation. Now Marisse’s record suggested that pressure did more than reveal what he already possessed. It gave him material from which to improve.

’How much of that ease was truly his?’

Thalor folded one hand over the other. ”Which development concerns you more before the Exhibition—his martial ability or his magic?”

”Whichever one he decides is currently insufficient.”

A slight smile touched Thalor’s mouth.

”That is a broad concern, Magister.”

”It is an accurate one.” Marisse returned the record to the table. ”I would rather prepare for his habits than gamble upon which discipline receives his attention first.”

Lucavion had become more interesting again.

Thalor could already see why Marisse wanted the match. She had encountered a student whose weaknesses refused to remain stationary, then obtained the right to build an opponent around that fact.

Her choice was understandable.

His participation remained a separate matter.

Thalor glanced toward the empty representative line. ”Suppose I allow you to place my name there. What authority would you expect over my preparation?”

Marisse’s posture settled by a fraction. She recognized the movement in the conversation, though she possessed enough restraint to leave it uncelebrated.

”Scheduled assessments, access to your existing training plan, and authority to assign preparation directly related to the Exhibition.”

”Alongside my Tower instruction?”

”Coordinated with it where possible.”

”And where coordination proves impossible?”

”That would be among the terms we need to settle.”

Thalor leaned back slightly. The match had earned his attention. Marisse had yet to earn his agreement.

”Then, Magister,” he said, ”we should begin with what you intend to require.”