An hour had passed.
Lance remained slouched in his seat, absently staring at nothing in particular as the monotonous drone of his teacher's voice faded into the background. Something about classroom expectations, rules, and guidelines—it hardly registered.
I should be grateful for this opportunity. In my past life, I would have killed for the chance to study in a proper school like this. Yet, no matter how much he reminded himself, his mind refused to focus. The enthusiasm he had once felt for learning was nowhere to be found.
Around him, the other students showed varying levels of engagement. Some sat upright, hands neatly folded on their desks, nodding along as if the teacher's words were the most fascinating thing in the world. Others whispered to their neighbors, their hushed voices carrying an air of arrogance.
Lance's eyes narrowed.
Some of them may have also been using mana since they were toddlers, he realized. Lance clenched his fists beneath his desk. I can barely circulate mana through my body for a few seconds…
His mind drifted again, pulling him into a memory.
September 1st, 1173 – 10:50 AM
Damian sat hunched over in an old, decaying classroom. The air was thick with dust, the scent of damp wood lingering in every breath. The floor beneath his feet creaked with every slight movement, and the walls—patched together with uneven planks—allowed slivers of sunlight to filter through the gaps, casting jagged patterns of light and shadow.
His chair wobbled beneath him, one leg shorter than the others. He tried to adjust his weight, but the slightest shift made it groan in protest. The desks were no better—most were scratched, chipped, or outright missing chunks of wood. Outside, the distant sounds of farmers shouting across the fields mixed with the rhythmic clang of metal striking metal from the village blacksmith. Life went on beyond these walls, but here, inside the dimly lit classroom, time seemed to crawl.
"Does anyone know the answer?"
Damian squinted at the board, barely making out the scrawled words. Something about amplifiers, self-contracts, and an equation he couldn't make sense of.
Five more days…
That was all that mattered. His sixteenth birthday was almost here, and with it, his long-awaited right to use magic outside of school. No more waiting, no more rules—just pure, unshackled freedom. He could finally use magic to help with farming back home, making life a little easier.
"Damian!"
His head snapped up. "Huh?"
"Do you know the answer?"
His gaze darted back to the board, but the jumble of words and numbers meant nothing to him.
"Uhm… no?"
The teacher sighed. "Of course you don't."
Lance was yanked back to the present, reality slamming into him like a cold wave. He let out a deep sigh, rubbing his temple as the lingering emotions of his past life faded.
So much for nostalgia. His memory wasn't as fond as he had believed. Turns out I didn't pay much attention back then either.
Suddenly, a notification flashed before his eyes.
[Archetype and Title Quest Interrupted…]
[Timer ended. You have survived.]
[Title 'Noble' granted.]
[Archetype 'Weakling' granted.]
[Skill Unlocked: Memory Surf]
Lance blinked.
Weakling?!
His face twisted in frustration. Out of all possible archetypes, that was what he received? Still, the interruption was more intriguing. Did it have something to do with the mysterious man above the stage? Had he been stopped, or was Lance never his target to begin with? Pushing those thoughts aside, Lance refocused on the skill he had unlocked.
[Memory Surf]
Cooldown: 10 Hours
Description: The user can experience a 95% accurate recreation of any past experience for up to 10 minutes.
Lance frowned.
So, I can relive my past but not change it? He let out a long sigh, sinking deeper into his seat. What a useless skill.
Before he could spiral further into disappointment—
BOOM!
A sudden explosion rang through the classroom, sending a thick cloud of smoke billowing across the room. Students coughed and flinched as the blackened remains of a spell sizzled against the chalkboard. At the front of the class, Mr. Snix stood with his arm extended, the remnants of a fireball spell still flickering at his fingertips.
Gasps and murmurs filled the room, but one student scoffed. "Only a One-Star spell?" It was a boy Lance had noticed earlier, he looked strangely familiar, he had deep blonde hair and shining blue eyes. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "I was casting Fireball when I was three."
Mr. Snix's sharp gaze snapped toward him. With a flick of his fingers, a second fireball ignited in his palm—only this one burned a deep crimson, swirling with dangerous intensity. "Oh?" Snix's voice was calm, yet laced with a quiet threat. "Care to demonstrate a proper Fireball, then?" The student's confidence faltered for a brief second before he quickly covered it up with a smirk. "I—uh, I wouldn't want to set the classroom on fire."
"Of course not," Snix said, letting his own fireball vanish into a puff of smoke. "Then keep your mouth shut and listen." Silence settled over the room. "The Fireball spell is a One-Star spell," Snix continued, his voice regaining its usual teaching tone. "Spells are ranked from One to Six Stars, based on their difficulty to cast and their potential damage relative to the user. This year, we will be focusing on the foundations of magic theory, mastering One-Star spells, and learning to amplify them." Excitement buzzed through the classroom. Even the arrogant student, though clearly embarrassed, was now sitting up straighter. Lance, however, swallowed hard. We're expected to cast spells already? A sinking feeling settled in his gut. I can barely circulate mana for more than a few seconds…
Before he could worry further, the school bell rang, signaling the end of class. Relief flooded him—at least he had some time to prepare. Wasting no time, Lance pushed himself up from his seat and hurried out of the building. As soon as he stepped outside, the sight of Frederick waiting for him brought an unexpected warmth to his chest.
He hesitated for a moment, then walked up to him. "Young master!" Frederick greeted him warmly. "How was your first day?" Lance thought about it for a moment before deciding to get straight to the point. "It was fine. Our teacher showed us a Fireball spell today… I really want to learn how to do it." His voice carried a note of hope. "Could you help me?"
Frederick smiled but raised a brow. "Well… I'd have to ask your father first. But if he agrees, I'd be more than happy to teach you."
Lance's face lit up with anticipation.
This time around… I won't be weak.