I reached my room and found Miles and Douglas inside. They looked up as I stepped in, and I gave them both a small wave.
"Ran into Liam at the dining hall," I said, dropping onto my bed. "Figured we should probably exchange terminal IDs."
Miles chuckled. "We already did this morning. You vanished before breakfast."
Of course I had. Typical.
I passed them Liam's ID and added theirs to my terminal. Miles perked up almost immediately when he saw the name. "Oh, Liam? We were talking yesterday—he's into The Sprites too. And alchemy."
Alchemy? I raised a brow. "Since when are you into alchemy?"
Miles grinned sheepishly. "Always. Just… didn't bring it up yet."
Good to see them enjoying themselves, I thought. Maybe I wasn't as quick to make connections, but at least my roommates weren't wasting time.
After a bit of idle chatter, I let exhaustion win and collapsed for the night.
When I woke, it was already 7:00 a.m. The room was empty. Miles and Douglas had clearly gone ahead for the morning run, but I had no intention of joining them today.
Instead, I rolled out of bed and started push-ups. One hundred. Then twenty more. My arms trembled, sweat dripping into the floorboards. I cast Refresh.
[-30 MP]
Relief washed over me. I dropped for another round. Then another. I repeated the cycle until my mana reserves were empty. Training my body and testing my limits at the same time.
After a quick shower, I checked the clock. 7:57. Just enough time for breakfast.
And after that—of course—the library.
Combat theory, again. But one book in particular caught my eye, its spine cracked and worn from years of use. Inside, the pages described a martial art unlike the rigid stances I'd seen before.
The Art of the Silent Current.
It wasn't about brute strength. It was fluidity—movement as water, unpredictable and unyielding. Evading, redirecting, striking not where the opponent was strong, but where they were weakest.
The deeper chapters carried a different tone. Dagger techniques. Not flashy lunges, not wild slashes. Precision. Vein Piercer. Drift Fang. Whisper Fang Dance. A dance of silence and blood.
I wasn't sure I'd even use a dagger, but this style resonated with me. I wasn't the strongest. I wasn't the fastest. But control? Finesse? Those, I could build on.
When I finally surfaced from its pages, the time read 9:52. Barely enough to make it to lecture.
But "barely" was still on time.
History and Monsterology flowed together in a joint class today. We traced the first recorded appearances of gates and ruptures, then studied the creatures that emerged within. The room grew still when Voidborn came up. Even the word felt heavy.
Afterwards, I decided to explore. The silver building I'd mistaken for construction wasn't construction at all—it was the Training Hall, or, as everyone called it, the Stadium.
Inside, we paired off. Drills first—stances, strikes, blocks—then sparring. My partner turned out to be Nicholas Veil, tall and sharp-eyed, the kind of guy who carried himself like he'd been training long before Arcadia.
"Guess we're stuck together," Nicholas said, rolling his shoulders. His grin was easy, but there was a glint of competitiveness behind it. "Don't worry, I'll go easy on you."
I smirked. "Appreciated. Just don't cry when I surprise you."
He barked a laugh. "Bold. I like it."
Then he lunged.
Nicholas moved fast—too fast. His strikes were tight, efficient, nothing wasted. I was blocking and parrying by instinct alone, and within seconds I was cornered.
I activated Perception.
The world shifted. Angles and openings sharpened, every movement clear as if slowed just for me. I recalled the Silent Current and began redirecting his strikes—flowing with them instead of resisting, stepping into his momentum, letting him overextend.
Nicholas's eyes flicked with surprise. "Not bad, Laurel."
Forty-five seconds in, my breathing hitched. My body couldn't keep up with what I was seeing. My stats weren't high enough, and my muscles lagged behind the insight. A clean sweep later, I was on the mat.
Nicholas offered me a hand, smirking. "Eyes ahead of your body, huh? You'll get there. Again?"
We reset.
The next three bouts were brutal. Nicholas dismantled me each time, his strikes sharp, measured, relentless. I kept learning, though—my footing steadier, my timing closer, my confidence building even as I lost.
On the fifth round, my mana had recovered enough for another activation. I triggered Perception again, but this time I wasn't trying to land blows. I focused entirely on dodging.
Nicholas came at me with everything he had. I slipped past one strike, ducked another, guided his elbow wide, pivoted under a kick. Seconds bled into minutes. My lungs burned. My muscles screamed. But I kept moving, evading, flowing like water.
One minute. Two. My mana drained steadily, but I pushed on.
At the third minute mark, Nicholas's fist grazed my cheek, breaking my focus. My vision blurred as the skill ended, my body crashing into the mat in a heap of sweat.
But the grin on my face stayed. Because the notification appeared:
[New Skill Acquired: Dodge – Increases chance of avoiding physical attacks.]
Nicholas stood over me, breathing only a little harder than normal. "Three minutes of dancing around me? Not bad. You look way too happy for someone who just got flattened, though."
"Progress," I wheezed, forcing myself upright.
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Fair enough. Keep that up, Laurel—you might actually give me trouble one day."
From there, I went to mana circulation training. My reserves were low, but even then, I noticed something unusual.
The instructor explained: "Normally, 1 MP takes thirty seconds to recover. With circulation, about twenty."
For me, it was fifteen. Ten with circulation.
My mana recovered faster. Why? I didn't know yet. But I assumed it had something to do with my title.
When we began practicing Refresh, the class split—chanters on one side, chantless on the other. The instructor guided us:
"Incantations gather mana for you. Without them, you must hold the shape yourself. If you pour too much, you'll spill it."
I remembered the waste from yesterday. I steadied my thoughts, pictured mana as water in a cup, and let only the exact measure flow. Slowly, shakily, I began to understand.
Dinner came and went. Back in the dorm, Miles and Douglas were already asleep, utterly drained.
I sat on my bed and outlined my plan:
Day 1: Marathon, lectures, library, push-ups with Refresh.
Day 2: Push-ups, library, lectures, combat training. Rotate mana circulation.
Simple. Balanced. Efficient.
With that settled, I lay back and drifted into sleep.