Corvis Eralith
The sharp scent of healing balms still clung to me as I navigated the crowded hallway, the dull throb beneath the bandages on my right arm a constant, unwelcome companion.
Classes dragged, the theoretical droning a stark contrast to the frantic energy of my thoughts—schematics for replacement Ineptrunes, potential Draneeve sightings, the immense potential locked within Sylvia's core.
A voice cut through the post-class murmur.
"Corvis! How are you doing?"
I turned to see Claire Bladeheart weaving through the students, her stride purposeful, her gaze sharp and assessing even as she offered a friendly wave. The black uniform she wore wasn't the standard Xyrus scholar or battle mage attire. The Disciplinary Committee. Cynthia had formed it early. Why? Grey hadn't mentioned it. A sliver of unease pricked me.
"Oh, Claire. Hi," I managed, forcing a neutral expression as she drew closer.
"I see you're mostly fine," she stated, her eyes scanning me withprecision from head to toe. "Mostly. What happened to your arm? Actually, what happened at all? You just fainted like you'd been hit by a high-tier spell, but surely that wasn't the case." Her tone was light, curious, but the observation was razor-sharp.
"I fainted," I replied flatly, the lie tasting like ash. Weakness was a vulnerability I couldn't afford, yet the truth—shattering my own prosthetic magic conduit—was infinitely more dangerous.
Claire's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of skepticism before she shrugged, seemingly accepting the evasion for now. "Sure. Anyway, I wanted to congratulate you—belatedly, since you were probably still unconscious. That plan you came up with against Grey during the practical exhibition? Brilliant tactical use of positioning and Grawder. Too bad we still lost, though. If it wasn't for your… final maneuver…"
She trailed off, gesturing vaguely towards my bandaged arm, a silent question hanging in the air about how I had managed it.
Only then did I focus fully on her uniform. "The Disciplinary Committee?" I asked, feigning mild surprise. "When did Director Goodsky establish that?"
"You were probably still bedridden," Claire explained. "Director Goodsky created a parallel group to the Student Council. The Disciplinary Committee." She squared her shoulders slightly, pride evident in her posture.
In the original timeline, the DC was a response to racial tensions after Xyrus opened its doors. Here, the political landscape was different. "May I know why the Director made such a decision?" I probed, keeping my tone casual.
"Precaution," Claire stated firmly. "That was her stated reason. But bullying, Corvis… it's always been a problem here, long before elves and dwarves joined us. With the Tri-Union proclaimed, the Director wants to show the Academy is evolving beyond just integration. She's not content with surface-level
changes. She wants order, respect, consequences."
Her explanation made sense. A proactive DC could be invaluable against Draneeve's inevitable machinations and ready the Academy for when the rime will come. "Who's part of it? Besides you, obviously."
"Curtis Glayder," she listed, "Grey Goodsky," Of course, "a noble elf by the name of Feyrith Ivsaar—" Feyrith, interesting "—and two others: Theodore Maxwell and Doradrea Oreguard."
Theodore and Doradrea. Kathyln was too young, and Kai Crestless… whatever Cynthia had done with him, he was out of the picture. The DC was two members down from its original roster, but still formidable.
"Thanks for telling me," I offered.
Claire waved it off with a friendly shrug. "All students know by now. Hardly a secret seeing that we wear black uniforms."
"I'll see you around." I said as I made to move past.
My mind was raacinh once more, but Claire stopped, her hand landing lightly on my shoulder. "Actually, Corvis," she said, turning back, her expression earnest, "I was very curious about what you did back there during the exhibition. We could talk in the cafeteria? It's lunchtime, after all."
Damn. How do you politely decline an invitation from someone without sounding suspicious or rude? Trapped. "Yeah, sure," I heard myself say, the words escaping before my better judgment could intervene.
Dammit, Corvis!
———
The cafeteria buzzed with the clatter of trays and student chatter, the smell of roasted meat and baked bread thick in the air.
We found a relatively quiet corner. Claire made easy small talk—classes, the DC's first patrols, Grey's terrifying efficiency at breaking up duels. I responded mechanically, my focus divided, the bandage on my arm still itching fiercely making concentration harder.
Halfway through a discussion about Professor Drywell, Claire set her fork down, her gaze turning serious, piercing.
"Corvis," she began, leaning forward slightly, her voice dropping, "can I ask you a question?"
The shift in atmosphere was immediate. I braced myself. "...Yes?"
"You don't have a mana core, am I right?"
Fuck. The air seemed to leave the room. Without Against the Tragedy active, there was no persistent hum of channeled mana to mask the absolute void within me.
Claire, a perceptive augmenter who had already fought beside me, had seen me move, spoken to me multiple times already… she had obviously noticed.
Denial was pointless, and all the pathetic excuses I could come up with wouldn't hold against her scrutiny.
"Yes," I admitted, the single word feeling like a surrender. Vulnerability washed over me, cold and unwelcome.
Claire's eyes widened, not with pity or disgust, but with pure, unadulterated astonishment. "That's… that's incredible," she breathed, leaning even closer, her earlier seriousness replaced by intense fascination.
"I mean, without mana, you managed to power up amd substain Curtis's spells through Grawder during the mock battle! That alone is mind-blowing! But doing it without a core… how? You weren't using crystals, I would have seen them." Her excitement was palpable, genuine.
She saw it not as a lack, but as an impossible feat of will. Resoluteness made manifest—one of her family's core tenets if I remembered correctly.
"Thanks to this," I said, gesturing towards my bandaged forearm, the ruined Ineptrune hidden beneath. "Although now it's… useless. Please," I added, urgency sharpening my tone, "don't tell anyone about my condition. I really don't want to be the target of unwanted attention."
The last thing I needed was hassle while I was weakened, while I held secrets that could shatter balance between continents.
"If that's what you want…" Claire agreed slowly, though her expression clearly conveyed she thought I was underselling myself. "But if you want my opinion? You should be proud. You're the first person in recorded history to wield influence over mana without a core! That's… revolutionary!"
"Calling myself a 'mage' is a bit excessive," I demurred, the pragmatism ingrained deep. I could manipulate ambient mana, channel it with frightening efficiency through a conduit, but create it? Shape it intrinsically?
The backlash from attempting a single focused beam was etched in scar tissue on my arm. Mine was realism, not humility.
"You're humble. I like that," Claire chuckled, misinterpreting my caution entirely.
Before I could navigate that conversational minefield, salvation arrived in the form of a familiar voice.
"Finally! Here you are. Bra—" Gideon Bastius skidded to a halt beside our table, correcting himself mid-syllable with visible impatience, "—I mean, Prince! I need to speak with you. Urgently."
His wild hair was more disheveled than usual, his eyes alight with manic energy. He tapped his foot rapidly against the floor.
"Master Bastius?!" Claire exclaimed, startled by the professor's sudden appearance.
"Yeah, the very same," Gideon confirmed, barely glancing at her. His focus was laser-locked on me. "Now, Prince, while I am genuinely happy for your blossoming love life and wish you all the luck in the known world—I need you. Now."
His words tumbled out, a chaotic blend of social obliviousness and desperate urgency. If Gideon was seeking me out like this, bypassing all protocol, the matter was critical. I ruthlessly shoved aside his bizarre comment about Claire.
"Thanks for your time, Claire," I said quickly, rising. She nodded, still looking slightly bewildered.
"Right, injured," Gideon muttered as we hurried down the corridor, heading not towards his labs, but towards the specialized training area Cynthia had allocated to Grey.
"Heard about that. Nasty business. Where are we going? To the training room I designed for that other scary kid friend of yours. The quiet one with the intense stare and the fox." He meant Grey, obviously.
"What happened between you two?" I asked, curious about the dynamic.
"I prefer not talking about it," Gideon grumbled, a rare shadow crossing his energetic features. "He showed up one day, demanded I turn a Phoenix Wyrm's core into a protective pendant. Said it was a gift. For you." He shot me a sidelong glance. "Seeing the state of your arm lately, I'm guessing you never got to enjoy it?"
"The pendant was already broken," I admitted. "I broke it soon after receiving it."
"Figures," Gideon sighed, though whether at the pendant's fate or Grey's choice of recipient was unclear. We reached the heavy door to Grey's training room. "Anyway! Admire!" Gideon threw the door open with a flourish, revealing the space beyond.
It was impressive, even by Gideon's standards. An expansive indoor garden bathed in artificial sunlight projected by intricate ceiling artifacts. Lush greenery, carefully engineered water streams mimicking natural rivulets, varied terrain—it was a controlled slice of wilderness mimicking the Beast Glades. Perfect for honing combat instincts and mana control.
Grey clearly hadn't spent much time customizing it yet; it retained Gideon's signature blend of functionality and slightly overwhelming spectacle. "Now," Gideon said, his earlier manic energy returning as he closed the door, his smirk turning decidedly less whimsical and more… predatory. "About the real reason I brought you here."
I knew it! This was Gideon. There could always be an ulterior motive. I braced myself.
"I need something," he stated, the playful inventor gone, replaced by the cold pragmatism of a man facing an impossible problem. "A way to travel long distances. By sea. Efficiently. Reliably and faster than modern sail."
Ice flooded my veins. No. The answer screamed in my mind. Giving Agrona, or even just the Greysunders or Glayders, access to advanced naval technology—steamships, engine designs—was unthinkable.
It would hand the enemy the keys to Dicathen's undefended western coastline. A nightmare scenario. The Council hadn't announced Alacrya's existence publicly yet.
Why was Gideon asking me? Did it mean the Greysunders were already orking with Agrona, pushing for reaching their shadowed master? Or worse, pre-empting an invasion?
My meeting with Curtis made Blaine Glayder harder to condemn outright—a dangerous emotional complication. Meta-awareness required a clear mind, no emotions for the enemy, those were the chains that stopped me from using the unlimited potential of Meta-awareness.
"That's a rather… peculiar request, Professor," I managed, keeping my voice carefully neutral, buying time. "Especially with no known continents beyond our shores." The lie felt flimsy even to me.
Gideon snorted, waving away the political subterfuge. "Don't play coy, Prince. You're the only one in Dicathen with a brain good enough—and unconventional enough—to help me crack this." His gaze was piercing.
"The only one."
The only one in Dicathen… The implication hit me like a physical blow even if Gideon didn't know it.
Grey mentioned Nico was still alive. Nico, the engineer. Nico, loyal to Agrona, brainwashed by him. If Nico was working for Alacrya… they might develop steam technology anyway.
If I refused Gideon, Dicathen might fall behind, defenseless against Alacryan ships. If I helped him, I might be arming the enemy directly. The Bloodfrost massacre near the shores of Etitsin flashed in my mind—Arthur that fled to the Castle to rescue Grampa leaving alone the Dicathian army.
Could I risk that horror again? Could I risk not giving Dicathen a fighting chance at sea?
Think, Corvis! The internal command was desperate. Was there a third path? A way to gain the advantage while mitigating the catastrophic risk? An idea sparked, cold and brutal, born of necessity and chilling pragmatism.
"Is your brain cooking up some good idea?" Gideon pressed, his eyes gleaming with anticipation, oblivious to the moral abyss I was staring into.
No, I'm trying to decide if giving you this knowledge damns us all faster. Aloud, I forced a semblance of calm. "I have an idea, actually," I said, the words tasting like iron. "Give me a couple of days. I'll have a design for you."
Relief washed over Gideon's face. "Knew I could count on you, Prince!"
As he began enthusiastically describing potential engine placements and materials usable for the ship my mind was already elsewhere.
The design wouldn't be just for a ship. For that I would simply ask Grey as to have a design as similar to the canon one as possible.
We would create Gideon's engine… and I would simultaneously design something else. Naval mines. Anchored, submerged, triggered by Alacryan mana signature or pressure.
Packed with force amplification runes, fueled by high-grade beast core shards and explosive materials—at least ten times more powerful than necessary. A minefield. A silent, invisible graveyard waiting beneath the waves.
If Alacrya came by the western sea, they would find not just resistance, but annihilation before they even reached shore. I could prevent Bloodfrost. I could turn the ocean into our first line of defense.
The knowledge curdled in my stomach—designing weapons that would kill hundreds, premeditated slaughter.
Innocent Alacryan soldiers, conscripts brainwashed by the Vritra's propaganda, would be the first victims. They weren't inherently evil; they were Agrona's tools. They just didn't know any better, they were convinced their actions were for the good and for the will of a god.
But I wasn't a hero. I wasn't strong enough, noble enough, to gamble my family's lives, Grey's life, Tessia's life, on the hope of moral high ground against an enemy who reveled in cruelty.
The path of the Thwart was paved with good intentions, but directed straight to hell.