Casual Heroing

I simply wrote down the second set of Cantrips. They are useful, but nothing insane like the ones after the tenth set. Those are game changers. They will make you a better spellcaster once you have mastered them.

Bianca is on my lap, snuggling against my hand, while I look over some legal documents that the [Dean] had quickly drafted for this political maneuver. The man is nice. I can’t say much more. He certainly has a great interest in having me in the academy, and while this could all be a political ploy, there’s nothing more reasonable to do than this.

This is not Gossip Girl.

This is not some stupid fiction.

This is real life.

And real life has consequences. Apparently, the consequences of being a deranged idiot here are even harsher than you would imagine.

“Cursed classes? They have driven many mad in search of power. Others, instead, have simply taken them up by mistake or chance. And they, too, have been driven mad. Sometimes, the truly desperate need power to protect the people they love or maybe their selfish interests. Your [Dean] made a fair proposal, Joey Luciani. Princess Valarith and I will guarantee your safety if you were to accept. In the end, I owe you my freedom. And you are my disciple.”

That’s what Lord Juler said.

Man, I’ve been living like an idiot, haven’t I?

What would Selena Gomez say to me if she was here now, huh? How would I justify myself to her?

What happens when you put yourself in front of a superior authority like Selena Gomez’s thighs? That’s a fascinating mental exercise for your ethics and morality. Would you be worthy of those thighs if you behaved in one way? Or would you not be worthy if you behaved in another way? How much juiciness do you deserve if you act like a madman?

I have this plunging feeling in my stomach, this impression that I’ve been kind of blind. This entire idea was pure idiocy. Why did I not think about what the [Dean] said? Why did I have to behave like an idiot, to reject Lucinda when she said I was crazy for doing what I was going to do? Shoot, now I can plead for her too, can’t I? She got involved in this tangled mess because of me.

I put down a protesting Bianca and take out a teleporting artifact from my bag of holding.

…

Lucinda looks at me with a raised eyebrow.

“You are going to what?”

“No? Isn’t it a good idea? Even Lord Juler said it’s good!”

“So, you will walk among those who tried to kill you, those crazy [Archmages] who can’t wait to poison and kill each other, and who enslave their disciples? Is that the solution to your problems? First you fake being one of them, then you go and become one of them for real?”

“Lucy, the [Impostor] thing, though. Isn’t that a danger?”

I look at the woman, who hesitates for a second before penetrating my heart with her bright green eyes. I can’t decipher her expression—never could. But it’s not boding well.

“Joey, I’ll tell you what. You are a kind man. You are an incredible [Mage]. You are you. You don’t need the academy. You don’t need the Vanedenis, you flat-eared idiot. You have been pretending all this time, right? You were pretending to be a [Baker]. You were pretending to be a student. What’s next? Are you going to pretend to be a [Professor] among those snakes? Is that your master plan? You came this close to becoming the husband of a deranged princess and possibly a puppet of the royalty. Hasn’t that taught you anything?”

I look at the woman, incredibly hurt by the fact that she wouldn’t understand.

“Listen, people need social interactions. I’m not going to shut myself off like you did and—”

“Oh, who said you would need to do that? You have enough gold to do whatever you want. And you are looking for the approval of a bunch of rotten degenerates!”

I purse my lips in anger, looking around her room in Valarith’s tower.

“What do you know about it? You are hiding from the entire fucking world!”

“What am I supposed to do? Keep going around, trying to be something I’m not like you have been doing all this time?!” Lucinda shouts at me, coming closer.

“There are people out there that I helped, Lucinda! Even you, Christ! You are here because I chose not to put a hole between your eyes!”

“Oh, thank you for not killing me! You are truly a paragon of kindness!”

I look at the anger in her eyes and wonder what I have done wrong to deserve this. What kind of deed could I have done in my past life to deserve this treatment?

“I put food on the table for homeless people; I tried giving some of them a job. I try helping friends, their children even. At least, unlike you, I’m fucking trying.”

I see Lucinda gather some magic on the tip of her fingers. I don’t even need my skill these days; it’s like a sixth sense at this point.

“Do you want to strike me?” I ask.

“So much you can’t even imagine,” she hisses.

I can feel my heartbeat in my ears and behind my eyes; that’s how much blood is rushing to my head. But I’m not a beast. I’m not a savage. Or that’s what I keep repeating to myself as a mantra. I move a few steps closer to Lucinda until our faces are almost touching.

“Strike me,” I tell her.

“Do not provoke me, Joey—”

“Strike me,” I tell her again. “Fucking—”

A [Forcebolt] bounces off my clothes. The impact sends me straight to the floor – I was too close to neutralize the force completely. I lick my lips and get up.

“Come on,” I say, “try it again. You might temporarily exhaust the reserves in my clothes if you try hard enough.”

She throws a few other [Forcebolts], but I’m at least a few feet from her now, and the hat and the amulet I’m wearing entirely neutralize them.

“Is that all Valarith has taught you? You stayed with one of the greatest spellcasters alive, and that’s all you can do, Lucinda?”

Looking through her eyes, I wonder what I’m doing wrong. Not specifically with Lucinda, but with the rest of the world as well. Is she right? Am I right?

I’d like to know if my father used to wonder the same every time he lashed out at my mother or me. Was he the kind of person that questioned himself when he was alone? What happened when he was stuck with his thoughts? Am I like this because of him? Is this some deviant genetical transfer?

This academy has a lot to do with a [Light Mage] that built the bridges between the towers, right? Didn’t Marcus mention that when I first arrived here? Isn’t this a place where I could thrive, where I might create new bonds? Sure, the [Dean] is interested in my knowledge. But should I blame him?

An impact bigger than the others wakes me up from my trance. Lucinda just used a much more powerful spell.

“You are a pathetic loser!” she screams.

Am I, now?

But is this even something I should be doing? She’s a prisoner of this tower, of her own choices. Isn’t that the worst sentence? To be stuck with yourself and to be mediocre? Good, but never good enough?

Looking at Lucinda, I see the ugliness of this world, the problem that will always grip people like her. Maybe even people like the princess. Less so with Lord Juler. And I don’t care about Levener. But the point is that she is here – a forever pale and distorted reflection of whatever Valarith is. Lord Juler and I worked together, and he was a [Supreme Archmagus], the apex of his era, an unparalleled [Mage].

A rather stoic thought hits me.

[Impostor]?

Why not?

Whatever this world throws at me, I’ll take it. Let’s see what we can make out of it. And maybe certain choices were not for the best. But I need to own my mistakes. I need to fix my affairs in Amorium as soon as I talk with the [Archmages]. Hell, I even need to take on a few Gold-ranked missions, don’t I?

There are many things I need to take care of – really a lot of them.

Looking at Lucinda panting, out of breath, and with a red face, my anger dissipates. Now, I just feel pity for her. She’s really stuck here, huh? And not because she must, but because she wants to. Your head is the biggest prison, or however the saying goes.

“I hope you will find happiness, Lucinda. Whatever you do,” I try to sound sincere, but I’m honestly too burdened to care about her. We split up when I decided to take up a disguise. And sure, I think that wasn’t the best decision I ever took. But she flipped. And so, I guess this is it for us.

Now that I see the vein on her neck enlarge as she shouts weird Elven profanities at me, it’s like I can’t even hear her anymore. I simply don’t understand what’s going on in her mind. I’m sure that a psychologist could make a lot out of this. But whatever Lucinda is going through, I can’t help her. Not now.

…

“So, have you decided?” Lord Juler asks me as we sit across from each other.

“The truth is always better, isn’t it? Plus, aren’t the Vanedenis themselves all about honesty and being straight with each other?”

“Yes,” Lord Juler caresses his beard while nodding.

“I’ll be needing a teleport to the Royal Palace.”

“You understand I can’t ask the Princess to come with you, right? And you shouldn’t either. Valarith is incredibly strong, but they do have old artifacts in their capital. And they are afraid she will go there to cause a slaughter.”

“Don’t worry. It’s better if she stays out of it. I’m strong, Lord Juler. I’ll just need an in-and-out. Is that doable?”

The [Supreme Archmagus] nods.

“There are many artifacts that can do such a thing. However, we will have to consider the compatibility with your protection amulet and the hat. They are both very neutral, but it will take some calibration to ensure that the teleport shall not be impeded by a ward or anything like that. Teleportation is the kind of magic that this era has already forgotten. I’m sure they still have some protection against it, but they are clueless compared to my expertise. So, we shall create a fulcrum point inside a ring, use a topaz for—”

“Yeah, yeah. Ok. Spare me the details, please,” I tell the man with a smile.

“I trust your judgment, Lord Juler. Please, do it as soon as you have some time to spare.”

The man gets a little upset since I didn’t let him finish his little technical speech. And it makes me strangely happy. This is familiar. It’s something I’m used to – Lord Juler still feels the need to chat around, even if this is just a piece of his soul, an echo of the person he had been when he lived.