Lucan Velmoria gazed at the empty notepad sitting upon his desk with a thoughtful expression, his study table notably missing any bottles of Fire Spirit Wine, which to anyone familiar with him, would be surprising at the very least. He tapped at the grand silver oak table’s surface with his index finger, his repetitive actions lacking any sort of rhythm besides the lack of it.

  “I don’t know where to even begin,” Lucan finally revealed with a groan. “I don’t even think that my former… well, damn it all. To think that Eileen actually fought for me, back when she was just what, a toddler. Confronting those two… brothers,” His face twitched at mentioning his own blood relations, “... of mine is one thing, but the Duke himself?” He muttered aloud. The Guardian of the Northern Wall was not only a Duke, one whose authority could only be surpassed by members of the Royal Family when it came to managing his own vast and crucial territory, he was also a bonafide Master Mage, which meant that he could cast spells of the Fifth-Circle.

  What few memories Lucan had left remaining of the man after years of abusing the bottle, were stark to say the least. For that man had been part of the reason why Lucan was trying to forget it all. Lucan remembered his father’s stony expression as he watched over the comatose form of his mother, but all he thought at that time was the sheer helplessness he felt in his presence.

  To be in the presence of a Master, at whose very fingertips mana itself danced, one who could with a casual wave of his hand turn a river into an ice sculpture and a fortified castle into slag, a being whose mere existence cast a shadow around all those that chose to stand near him, one so thick and viscous it might as well have been a physical phenomena…. Well, safe to say the least, it was not an experience one easily forgot.

  Where a son should have felt awe, Lucan had only felt helplessness as a child. For what could he possibly do to a person like that, more living weapon than man? The few words he recalled exchanging with the man were either empty platitudes or plain directives, unassuming words that landed upon a much younger Lucan’s shoulders with a weight that had proven too heavy for him to carry.

  In Lucan’s eyes, his father, with his eerily calm gray eyes and ever so regal silver hair, was a man he ought to detest and loathe with all his heart. And he did— he had, until he grew a little older and realized the futility of it all. From where a teenage Lucan stood, Duke Velmoria was closer to demi-god than man, but even his power and connections in the world of man were incomparably superior to Lucan’s own.

  It was under Duke Velmoria’s watch that Lucan had suffered those torturous beatings from his older siblings, under his hound dogs’ keen gazes that the Duchess had driven his mother into a coma, whether through emotional hurt alone or something far more sinister. The Guardian of the Northern Wall had visited his second official wife only once after her mysterious illness, before returning to his hereditary post after exchanging a few curt words with Lucan.

  “I will have the best healers from across the kingdom attend to your mother. She will recover before long, so do not worry, son. All you need to do is focus on what you can do, which for now is your studies,” The old man had spouted some bullshit along those lines, the exact wording escaping Lucan.

  He had spoken with a calm conviction that irked Lucan to no end, as if he weren’t aware of what took place behind the walls of his own estate or he didn’t know who was responsible for the sequence of events that led to his mother lying comatose on a bed.

  Then he had left, after having said whatever he wanted to say.

  The Duke was not the kind of man that looked back or second guessed himself, of that much at least Lucan was certain.

  Yet his words had been proven to be a lie and those esteemed healers, mages or not, turned out to be capable of exactly nothing.

  That was when Lucan had finally admitted that the very institutions that governed, if not the world, then his world at least, were rigged against him. The Duchess had the ear of the Duke and Lucan had no interest in fighting an impossible battle.

  The song of despair sung in much sweeter notes to him, for it was easier to forget, easier to accept one’s place in the status quo and let the world flow past them.

  Until now.

  Lucan Velmoria took the brave first step of scribbling onto his notepad. His words were written in a text that was unreadable to him, let alone unfamiliar— or at least had been until yesterday.

  The Imperial Cypher was not released to the most trusted amongst the Royal Family’s forces until the beginning of the war, which meant that his notes would be unreadable to anyone that tried to pry.

  Pulling information from the memory bank he had inherited from Silvas Anderle was more vexing than he’d thought it would be, but not nearly as difficult. His hands penned the words with a jittery flow and it took him a few minutes to even pen down the couple dozen he wished to write, as he translated the words into the recalled cypher and then, after double checking, penned them down.

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  Eileen— Her assassination. The Dark Guild, Weeping Blade did the act, but who hired them? Was it really Marquis Leoric Blackbriar? It seems too convenient, but a Duke and a Master Mage all in one were convinced of the evidence. So was it really him or was it, as Silvas suspected, the Cyndran Empire? It seems too convenient for the Empire, but do they really have such elaborate means of trickery? Who- why- how??? And how did past me eliminate an entire blooming dark guild?

  Weirdly enough, once Lucan was done writing, even if it had taken him a good twenty five minutes to pen down the cipher, he could read it as fluently as the unified tongue.

  A sigh escaped his lips before he continued writing, noticing the increase in his translation to the Imperial Cypher almost immediately.

  Eileen confronted the Duke for me. I hear that he cherishes his daughter the most from gossiping maids, but even then, it couldn’t have been easy for a child to bring up a sensitive topic like that before him. Eileen cares. For some reason, one person carrying the last name Velmoria actually cares about me in this dreary, dark hovel of an estate that tries to cover up its reality with fineries and wealth. I can’t let her die.

  I won’t let her die.

  Not before I do.

  This time, it only took him about ten minutes or so to write about the same number of words in cipher, maybe even a little more. The improvement was remarkable and hopefully, the observations he was making now would apply to other such retrievals he made from his memory.

  He continued writing.

  Now, what assets do I have? What do I fight back against the end of the world with? Withdrawal is going to hit me pretty soon if I don’t sip some Fire Spirit Wine soon, but to hell with that.

  I have the following tools in my arsenal.

  - A longblade that’s still too heavy for me to wield.

  - Three of the greatest aura arts in the Kingdom of Nostura’s existence. But I can’t use aura. I need to find a way to mimic it, or find some compromise. Of course, the path of the aura expert exists but it’s too risky and I’ll lose my Mana Core if I fail. And even if I do succeed, not only do I cut myself from the path of the mage forever, there’s no guarantee I can surpass Silvas Anderle. Physical Reinforcement spells exist, even if they’re not exactly the same. It’s too early to rule out the path of the mage forever.

  -My old ebonwood wand, a below average medium even for an apprentice mage, that’s eating dust in one of my wardrobe’s drawers.

  - Silent Casting, which I believe I underestimated in my initial assessment. Grand-Master Andrea’s masterpiece was never allowed to display the terror it could instill in the hearts of the enemy black mages, because by the time it was developed to be compatible by the higher circle spells, too many mages had been lost and even fewer could be trusted with secrets. In terms of its value, well, in the present timeline, where even Grand-Master Andrea was unaware that such a mana technique existed, it was invaluable. But if the secret got out, then he was dead.

  -My training with Mr. Alexander, a Journeyman mage with a crippled Mana Heart, who could barely cast First-Circle Generalist Spells at full strength. So I know what a Mana Core is, I know how to convert my regular mana into shadow mana, though that discovery alone had taken me a year where it takes mages with more common affinities and a teacher that had kept up with relatively newer magical theory and research, I know how to hold my Mana Core at the prescribed ratio of 1:3 shadow mana to attuned mana and I have five First-Circle Magic Circles memorized before I gave up on the whole business entirely. Not like Mr. Alexander had much else to teach me and even if he did, it was probably too outdated or just plain suspect, like the other stuff I’ve omitted.

  Which are:

  First-Circle Generalist Evocation Spell- Flash of Light

  First-Circle Generalist Evocation Spell- Mana Bolt

  First-Circle Generalist Abjuration Spell- Mana Shield

  First Circle Generalist Illusion Spell- False Sound

  First Circle Generalist Formation Spell- Simple Ward.

  - Duke Velmoria. I see him as a fraud of a father and the man I hate most, but from Silvas Anderle’s perspective, he is just a resource. Without leverage, I cannot exploit him, but now, I do have leverage. And in the world of nobility, even enemies can be made allies with the exchange of blood pacts, for there is no closer bond than family— on paper, that is. He is the only one who won’t strike me down after I reveal an unparalleled aura art to him in a trade.

  - Mira. Because she needs to become strong enough to protect herself and I will find a way to make that possible.

  - Finally, my greatest asset. Silvas Anderle’s memories of the past. My memories of the future.

  With a weary sigh, Lucan returned the quill to its ink pot and shut his notepad, before quickly pocketing it.

  I hate thinking like this, He thought. Being so cynical, considering how to use everyone around me, it reminds me too much of the Duke. But if I don’t want everything I know to be reduced to ash, well, I guess I just need to suck it up.

  Getting up from his chair, Lucan walked over to his bed, before his gaze turned back towards the study table, noticeably to the spot where the imprint of Fire Spirit Wine bottles was still faintly visible on the surface of his study table.

  Another long, drawn-out sigh escaped Lucan before he collapsed onto his bed and wondered if there was anything in his memories that included a cure to the withdrawal symptoms that he knew would follow shortly after him.

  Unfortunately, it looked like an aid for recovering alcoholics like him wasn’t high up on the Imperial Academy’s research division, with the invasion going on and all.

  “Well, whatever,” Lucan grumbled under his breath, before falling asleep shortly afterwards.