The cafeteria buzzed with the familiar din of clattering trays and chattering voices. The smell of roasted meat, fresh bread, and sautéed onions filled the vaulted hall. Sunlight streamed through high windows, catching the haze of steam rising from the food lines.
Valen Aldritch sat between two female students, Vaya and Tessa, both hanging on his every word. His story was reaching the big climax with only him and the mole-matriarch still standing. Then their attention wavered and turned to the side. He stopped mid-sentence and followed their gazes.
Weylan sauntered in, flanked by the dryad and Darken, the pony-tailed alchemist-wannabe, with the priestess trio trailing behind.
Vaya leaned around his chest to whisper to Tessa, right in front of him. "I heard the dryad is actually the true queen of the Borderland Forest Kingdom."
"No way!"
And just like that, he was forgotten. His left eyes began to twitch and he barely restrained himself from just storming over and challenging the brat to a duel to assert his dominance again. But no. He was a noble, he couldn't challenge a peasant! What else could he do?
There wasn't a combat practice planned for the next week, so he could not just wait for a chance to fight him in the arena. But even if he stooped so low as to challenge a peasant, he would hand the boy the right to choose the weapons. Aldrich still remembered his father's humiliation when he made a similar mistake. He had challenged a rival for a court position, only for the Marquess of Queensberry to demand a commoner's fistfight. That had nearly ruined both their reputations… as well as their faces. No, Aldrich would not debase himself in the same way. He would bait Weylan into making the challenge. Then Aldrich could dictate the terms. Fencing blades, where bloodline and training still meant something, and a gutter-born upstart would be cut back down to size.
He watched the upstart glide to his place like some stage assassin from a cheap play. Aldrich hated that kind of theatrical nonsense. As if any real assassin would ever be so obvious. A true killer would strike from the dark, unseen and unfelt until the moment the blade slipped in. This strutting display only made the boy look ridiculous. Not that Aldrich had much experience with hired killers, of course. The northern kingdoms dealt with their enemies more directly. Steel in the open, not poisoned cups and whispered daggers like those intrigant parasites in the capital.
He realized his thoughts had drifted and forced them back into line. The boy was no killer, just a house servant. What was it that galled him so much? Was it the way Weylan carried himself, or the way the others let him? Did the brat pour every point into dexterity, walking about as if the world were a balance beam beneath his feet? He certainly did not move like someone who had taken any dump stats. And yet… perhaps that was it. Perhaps the boy was all surface, a juggling act hiding a hollow core. Yes. Abysmal intelligence, brittle will, paper-thin under all the show. That was where Aldrich would strike.
* * *
Weylan slid his tray onto the end of a long table, Faya and Darken taking seats across from him. Ulmenglanz had secured a bowl piled high with salad greens and was already humming contentedly over them, turning heads at nearby tables.
Kane sat down next to them, slamming down his tablet with a big bowl of scrambled eggs with ham and cheese. The students let up a small cheer.
Weylan slapped him on the shoulder. "Welcome back! We were shocked when we heard from Lyriel you'd all perished."
The muscled mage shrugged. "That was quite an adventure. I'll tell you all about our epic fight tonight at the bar. Provided you pay for drinks."
"I don't know if I can afford that."
Darken laughed. "I'll pay. You both still need to tell me the whole story."
Faya interjected. "Did you get good quest rewards?"
Kane stuffed a forkful of scrambled eggs in his mouth and answered after swallowing. "We didn't fully recover the xp loss for dying, but we got a lot of level ups for our skills and Kaelthorne promised to fund my alchemical ingredients for the rest of the semester. You see…"
Weylan noticed Valen Aldritch approaching, looking altogether too pleased with himself for someone who had been lying in his own sick not twelve hours earlier. His noble posture was polished, his smirk razor-sharp.
* * *
"Well, well," Valen drawled, planting himself nearby. "The heroes of the canyon return. Or so the whispers go." He plucked an apple from a passing tray without asking and inspected it with casual disdain. "Funny, isn't it, how your supposed triumph sounds grander with every retelling. By next week, I expect they'll say you slew a canyon dragon."
Darken groaned and dropped his forehead into his hands. "Do we have to do this?"
Valen ignored him. His eyes fixed on Weylan with the slow, deliberate weight of a duelist choosing his angle. "Tell me, Shadow-rat, how much of the glory was yours? Or did you hide in the dark while your companions did the work and died for it?"
Kane just rolled his eyes and started eating. A few students at nearby tables perked up, sensing drama. Forks paused midway to mouths. Even Alina, usually patient, narrowed her eyes at Valen.
Weylan picked up his spoon, gave it a stir in his soup, and looked entirely unimpressed. "Considering you were too drunk to walk last night; I'll assume you're speaking from extensive combat experience."
That drew a ripple of laughter from the onlookers.
Valen's smirk thinned, but he didn't back down. He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping to a sharper edge. "Don't mistake revelry for weakness. Some of us have bloodlines worth more than a dozen back-alley strays. And when the next trial comes, we'll see whose achievements are worth remembering."
Faya's hand twitched toward her spoon like she was about to fling it, but Weylan shook his head just enough for her to see. He smiled faintly at Valen, calm and cutting all at once.
"Sure," Weylan said lightly. "Next time, try to stay sober long enough to actually show up."
That earned a louder round of chuckles from the surrounding tables. Valen's jaw tightened, but he masked it quickly, biting into his stolen apple with an exaggerated crunch.
"Enjoy your moment," he said smoothly, already turning away. "It won't last."
The room's hum resumed as he strode off, leaving a mix of smirks and mutters in his wake.
He winked, and one of the cafeteria staff brought him a tablet with food. He sat down, outwardly calm but fuming inside. That hadn't worked as intended. The peasant was better with words than expected. He'd have to think of a new angle of approach.
* * *
Darken peeked up from his arms. "You know he's going to make our lives miserable, right?"
Weylan finally started eating, entirely unbothered. "At least he's entertaining about it."
The tension Valen left behind rippled outward. Students leaned closer to one another, whispering over half-finished meals. By the time Weylan had taken his second spoonful of soup, the cafeteria already buzzed with embellished retellings of the canyon excursion.
"I heard they fought a kraken," one first-year whispered, wide-eyed.
"No, no," argued another. "It was a turtle the size of a house! With lightning breath!"
"That's ridiculous. It was bees. Giant bees. That's why Weylan still smells of honey."
Darken perked up. "Okay, I like that one."
Across the table, Mirabelle sat down with her tray, looking tired yet sharp-eyed in a way that set Faya frowning. The priestess smoothed her hair, smiled a little too brightly, and dug into her food with an energy that didn't quite match her pale face.
"You all looked like you were having fun," Mirabelle said sweetly. "The gossip practically writes itself. Glory, heroics, honey. But you did return alive, so congratulations."
Faya reached for her cup, but her gaze lingered on Mirabelle a beat longer than usual. The way Mirabelle's fingers tapped rhythmically on the table hadn't gone unnoticed.
At the far end of the table, two alchemy students were arguing over Darken's supposed miracle potion from the night before.
Weylan pointed at Darken "He drank something that sobered him instantly."
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"Impossible."
"I saw him. Drunk like a donkey next to a distillery, then he downed his potion. Five heartbeats later, he was clear as glass."
"Then I'll pay anything for it before next week's party."
Darken's grin grew smug as he leaned back in his chair. "One gold per vial. No refunds if you explode."
That drew a chorus of groans and laughter.
Meanwhile, Ulmenglanz plucked another leaf from her bowl, her voice gentle but firm. "All of you are terribly noisy this morning. Food is for nourishment, not for gossip and bickering."
"Easy for you to say," Erik croaked from further down the bench, still looking gray from his hangover. "You didn't have to carry Aldrich home last night."
He ducked a bit, as if feeling Aldrich's gaze throwing daggers at him.
The table burst into laughter, though it quieted quickly when the goblin servers stomped past with trays. Their sharp ears twitched at every word, and their muttering was only half in jest.
"Students break, students spill, students never clean. Always mess, always noise."
One of them shot Weylan a look that was far too knowing before shuffling on.
Weylan suppressed a groan. Even the goblins were getting in on the drama.
* * *
Valen hadn't strayed far. He was lingering at a table of nobles, all laughing loudly at one of his better jokes. When he noticed Weylan's table buzzing, he turned back with a predator's smile.
"You know," he called across the aisle, "there's no need to argue about your supposed cunning. Everyone here already knows Weylan's abyssal ability when it comes to strategy. Most have seen him play Knights and Monks. I doubt he could even win a round of Snakes and Portals."
A few students snorted. Snakes and Portals was the mage's version of the popular children's board game Snakes and Ladders, but with illusionary snakes and portals.
"Perfect for him, really," Valen continued, voice dripping with mockery. "Nice and simple. Roll the dice, hope for luck, no thinking required."
Aldrich suppressed a triumphant grin. He had him now. He'd try to weasel out of playing a strategy game by emphasizing his strength in real combat. It would be a child's play to turn around his words into a challenge to a duel… and then gracefully accept it.
Weylan raised an eyebrow. "You're suggesting a children's game to prove you're smarter?"
That earned a round of chuckles, but to Valen's surprise, someone at the back shouted, "Bring the board!"
Another voice echoed, "Yes! Let's see it!"
What? No, that wasn't the plan!
Within moments, a pair of eager students dashed off and returned with a lacquered wooden case. They set it on a nearby table, runes glowing faintly along its edges. With a flick, the lid unfolded into a glowing board spread across the surface. Shimmering squares floated upward, filling with colors. Illusory snakes coiled lazily between spaces, while small glowing portals yawned open, crackling with blue and red light.
Aw… crap. Well, couldn't be helped. He'd have to play his part.
"Excellent," Valen said smoothly, though the corner of his jaw twitched. "Time to show the crowd how luckless shadows fare against real strategy."
Dice appeared in the board's center, hovering and spinning until a hand claimed them. A ripple of anticipation ran through the watching students, some abandoning their meals entirely to crowd around.
Weylan and Valen sat across from each other, the board glowing between them. The illusionary snakes hissed and slithered along their squares, snapping impatiently.
Darken whistled impressed. "That's marvelous! That must be several high-level enchantments. How can someone afford that for a children's game?"
Selvara jumped down from Weylan's shoulder and inspected the glowing illusions. She hopped up and down excitedly, almost as if she recognized the board. She pecked at a corner and a crest consisting of a stylized letter "T" made from tiny squares appeared for a moment.
"Only a king could afford something like this," Mirabelle said with a too-quick grin, tapping her fingers against the table again. "Thankfully there's a dungeon that gives such game boards as loot. You saw that dungeon crest just now? It's loot from the Toymaker's Dungeon."
Darken grinned. "That's a dungeon I'd really like to visit."
Alina shuddered. "No, no you're not. That dungeon is known for the highest fatality rate of all dungeons."
"Really?" Darken sounded surprised.
Mirabelle nodded. "She's right. The dungeon floors consist of giant board games with humans as players. If you're the game piece that's removed, you're killed by completely overpowered spells."
Weylan turned from inspecting the game. "Then, why hasn't it declared rogue and destroyed?"
Mirabelle was prepared for that question. As always. "Well, you see it's absolutely fair. Entering a floor, you get a written exact explanation of the rules for the floor and a chance to back out. Once you start a game, you're stuck. Move against the rules, try to cheat or just lose, and you're out." She nodded her head at the fuming Aldrich. "You better get back to the game, before he bursts a vein."
Aldrich snatched the dice before the upstart could lay a finger on them and cast them across the board. They rattled against the carved edges, glowing numbers flaring as they tumbled. At last, they settled, and the result gleamed in Valen's favor.
His token blazed with golden light, his family crest unfurling proudly across its surface. With a hum of power, it surged forward, leaping several squares in a single bound. Aldrich allowed himself a thin smile. "Ah," he said. "A fortunate beginning."
Weylan rolled next. His token took on a much plainer appearance, a simple shadowy pawn, and landed squarely in front of a snake's head. The illusion lunged, wrapped around it, and hissed triumphantly as it dragged the pawn backward into its coiled body. The watching crowd erupted with laughter.
Aldrich noticed the peasant hadn't even tried to connect his mana to the dice. That could not stand. People would accuse him of taking advantage of his enemy if he didn't at least explain the main rules. He leaned back, smirking. "You do know you can influence the dice with mana-manipulation?"
Weylan only smiled faintly. "No. I did not. But the game's not over."
His tone carried enough steel that a few students hushed, eager to see where this would lead. The dice rattled again, illusionary snakes hissing louder as if hungry for the next move.
* * *
Now that he knew it was possible, Weylan could feel it: a faint, gossamer connection to the illusionary dice. They weren't entirely bound to gravity or chance. There was an enchantment on the dice. They spun as if alive, tumbling with more motion than should have been possible. Even when gently placed, they wriggled and flipped, hungry for input. And with Mana Control, he was supposed to guide them. By now, he wasn't as terrible as before.
He reached for them again. This time, he let a trickle of mana seep into his fingertips as he cast them. The dice danced midair, tumbling far too long, as though caught in unseen currents. When they landed, the numbers tilted just slightly in his favor. His pawn leapt through a portal, skipping ahead three rows.
A ripple of surprise ran through the crowd.
Valen narrowed his eyes. "So, the rat can learn." He took the dice, his mana surging so strong the air hummed. They spun like fireflies caught in a gale, and when they hit the board, his token vaulted across five spaces, bypassing a snake's fangs by a hair's breadth.
The crowd cheered.
Back and forth it went. Weylan, subtle and precise, threading shadows into the dice like threads of silk. Valen, raw and forceful, hammering mana into every throw. One moment Weylan's pawn slipped through a portal to leapfrog ahead, the next it was dragged back by a snapping serpent, much to the crowd's delight. Valen's crest-marked token seemed charmed, but twice his heavy-handed manipulation nearly made the dice spin off the board entirely.
Faya leaned forward, biting her lip. "He's forcing them too much. That'll cost him."
Darken grinned. "Maybe. Or maybe brute force wins children's games too."
The audience hung on every throw, their cheers and groans rising with each illusionary clash. What had begun as a petty insult was fast becoming a spectacle, with half the cafeteria gathered to see whether the noble's bluster or the shadow-assassin's newfound finesse would triumph.
The game board glowed brighter with every round, the snakes hissing more aggressively, the portals shimmering like storm clouds. Students pressed closer, bowls of soup forgotten, wagers quietly changing hands.
Weylan steadied his breath, keeping his mana thin and subtle, guiding the dice with precision. Twice he slipped his pawn through portals that vaulted him ahead rows at a time. Once, he coaxed the dice to land on the one exact number he needed, the pawn sliding neatly past a snake's fangs to the crowd's roaring approval.
But Valen was relentless. His control of mana was heavier, more practiced. Where Weylan finessed, Valen dominated. His dice spun like comets, blazing trails of light before slamming down with uncanny accuracy. Each time, his token surged ahead by leaps that looked more like inevitability than chance.
The board tightened as they neared the final rows. Weylan's pawn was only two squares behind Valen's crest-marked token. One bad roll could reverse everything. One good roll could hand him victory.
The crowd fell silent as Weylan reached for the dice. He let his shadows curl delicately around them, pushing and pulling, shaping the flow with careful pressure. They spun and tumbled with perfect grace, clattering to a halt on the exact number he needed. His pawn leapt through a final portal, landing almost shoulder to shoulder with Valen's token.
The hall erupted in cheers. Even Darken slammed the table, grinning like a madman.
Valen's jaw clenched, but his eyes gleamed. "Not bad… for someone who's never played before."
He took the dice. His mana flared like a bonfire, visible even to the untrained. The dice spun so violently they blurred into streaks of light. For a heartbeat, it seemed they might spin out of control… then they landed, perfectly balanced, the number shining like a verdict.
Valen's token surged forward, the illusionary snakes hissing in frustration as the crest-marked piece crossed the final square. The board blazed, signaling victory.
A roar went up from the onlookers. Some cheered, some groaned, others shook their heads.
Valen leaned back, victorious smirk firmly in place. "And that, Shadow-rat, is how you win a game of Snakes and Portals. Perhaps strategy simply isn't in your blood."
Weylan exhaled slowly, expression unreadable. Then, to the surprise of a few who knew him best, he smiled faintly. "Maybe not. But it was closer than you thought."
That cut Valen's smirk for half a heartbeat before he recovered, lifting the dice as though toasting his own triumph.
The cafeteria was still buzzing when a sharp voice cut through the noise.
"Enough!"
Silvea strode in, her expression like a stormfront. The crowd melted before her; students scrambling to hide trays and slide back onto benches as if they hadn't just spent half the morning betting on dice.
"You are all almost late for your next lessons," she snapped. "Move!"
Chairs screeched. Half-finished meals were abandoned. Students bolted for the doors in a clamor of boots and robes, some laughing nervously, others muttering complaints under their breath.
Weylan shouldered his way through the flow, trying to keep Faya and Darken in sight. But the tide of bodies separated them, and before he knew it, he'd slipped down the wrong corridor entirely.
The sound of the crowd faded. Ahead, in the shadowed hall between two classrooms, a knot of goblins stood clustered around a pile of books. Their leathery ears twitched, their clawed hands sorting tomes with sharp precision. As Weylan's boots echoed closer, their voices cut off.
Silence fell. Dozens of beady eyes turned toward him.
One of them stepped forward. Grrlka, the goblin girl with the cut ear. She tilted her head, her sharp features unreadable.
"So," she said, voice low, "it's true then. You met the Were-Bee Queen?"
Weylan stopped a few paces away. "…Yes."
The other goblins leaned in, whispering in their harsh, hissing tongue. Grrlka's gaze didn't waver.
"Do you…" Her throat clicked, and she glanced at her companions before finishing the question. "Do you still have any of her Gelee Royal?"
Weylan shook his head. "No. I gave all of it to Silvea. I heard it's meant for the peace negotiations."
Her shoulders slumped, and for the first time, her sharpness softened into something almost weary. She sighed, clutching a leather-bound ledger closer to her chest.
"I see."
The goblins began gathering their books again, muttering, their eyes sliding away from him. Grrlka brushed past, but as she did, she paused just long enough to glance back at him.
"I'd love for peace to be possible," she murmured. Her cut ear twitched. "But it isn't. The Empire has no choice."
Before Weylan could ask what she meant, she was gone, swallowed by the scurrying knot of goblins vanishing into the next corridor.
Weylan stood alone in the dim hall, the echo of her words lingering heavier than any victory or loss at dice.
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