The next morning, Zero woke before the sun, his internal clock still set to the harsh rhythms of his past life. For a brief, disorienting moment, he was back in a cold, damp cave, the snores of Leo and the soft crackle of a dying campfire his only companions. Then the feeling passed, leaving the familiar, musty smell of his dorm room in its place. The memories were becoming less like dreams and more like intrusive data packets, ghosts of a future he was now actively working to unmake.
He rose and began his day with a new, almost monastic discipline. His `[Abyssal Carapace]` was slowly consuming his stamina, a barely perceptible drain. To counteract this, and to build the physical foundation his ambitious plans required, he started a rigorous training regimen. While the other students were still sleeping off the excitement of their Awakening, Zero was in a secluded corner of the academy grounds, moving through a series of demanding physical exercises—push-ups, squats, sprints—pushing his pathetically weak body to its absolute limit.
His System dutifully recorded his efforts.
`[Repetitive physical exertion has been detected.]`
`[Your Endurance stat is resisting the strain.]`
`[Endurance has gained a fractional point of experience.]`
It was a slow, grueling process. Unlike the explosive growth he gained from combat and absorbing skills, this was the hard, unglamorous work of building a foundation. But Zero knew its importance. His high Agility made him fast, but without the Endurance to sustain that speed, it was a hollow advantage. He was forging a weapon, and the steel had to be tempered through sweat and pain.
When the morning bell finally rang, signaling the start of classes, he was already back in his room, having washed away the evidence of his exertion in the communal bathhouse. He dressed in the simple, drab uniform of a general studies student, his face a perfect mask of quiet mediocrity. He was Ashe again, the F-Rank Porter.
His first class was "Introduction to Dungeon Ecosystems." The lecturer was a portly, middle-aged professor named Alistair Finch, a man whose passion for his subject was matched only by his utter inability to make it interesting. In his first life, Ashe had been one of the few students who had hung on Finch's every word, fascinated by the intricate relationships between dungeon flora and fauna.
Zero now sat in the back of the lecture hall, feigning attention while his mind was actually miles away, cross-referencing Professor Finch's simplistic theories with the hard-won, bloody truths recorded in the Cartographer's Journal.
"...and so, the symbiotic relationship between the Glowcap Mushroom and the Cave Crawler is essential to the stability of a Level 1 cavern," Finch droned on, gesturing to a crudely drawn diagram. "The mushroom provides light, and the crawler, by preying on Silver Grubs, prevents them from consuming the mushroom's root system. A perfect, simple circle of life."
Zero nearly scoffed. *Simple?* He remembered a mission in the Glimmerwood Caverns where his party had been nearly wiped out because they hadn't known that a specific strain of Glowcap, when its spores were disturbed by a loud noise, released a neurotoxin that sent Cave Crawlers into a frenzied, cannibalistic rage. A detail Finch had conveniently left out. The academy taught a sanitized, textbook version of the world. Zero was a living, breathing encyclopedia of its horrifying footnotes.
He used the lecture time to subtly observe his classmates. He saw Helena Croft, the B-Rank Pyromancer, openly yawning, her attention focused on a new, expensive-looking bracelet. He saw Thomas Crane, the future S-Rank assassin, hunched over his notes, desperately trying to keep up.
And then he saw Marcus Vance.
The young noble was not in the lecture hall. He was, however, the main topic of conversation for the students sitting in the row in front of Zero.
"...heard his kneecap was practically dust," one whispered. "Master Elara, the Head Healer, said it was the strangest injury she'd ever seen. No trace of mana, no signs of a physical blow. It's like the bone just… decided to break."
"Gorok and Pike are in the infirmary too," another added. "Gorok's got three broken ribs, and Pike's leg is a mess. They're telling everyone they were attacked by some man in a black cloak. They said Ashe, the Porter, tried to help them."
"A Porter?" the first student snickered. "What did he do, try to carry them to safety?"
Zero listened, his expression placid. His plan had worked perfectly. He had been established as a victim, a helpful bystander. The mystery of the "cloaked man" was a far more tantalizing story for the rumor mill than the idea that an F-Ranker had systematically dismantled three B-Rank prospects. People believed the story that was easiest and most exciting to believe.
His gaze drifted to the front of the hall. Celeste was there, sitting in the front row, a picture of rapt attention and serene piety. Leo was beside her, though he looked bored, his hand resting on the pommel of a sheathed sword, even in a classroom. Silas was nowhere to be seen; he likely attended a different, more specialized set of classes.
Celeste, he knew, would be paying a visit to the infirmary later. It was part of her persona. The compassionate Saintess, tending to the wounded, offering a kind word and a gentle healing touch to even the lowliest of students. She would hear the story of the attack, and his name would be mentioned. He was planting a seed. A single, innocuous seed in the garden of her perception: *Ashe, the helpful, weak boy.*
The class ended, and the students began to file out. Zero lingered, waiting for the hall to empty. He had a reason for being in this specific lecture. He approached the front, where Professor Finch was gathering his notes.
"Professor?" Zero said, his voice quiet and hesitant—the voice of Ashe.
Finch looked up, his spectacles perched on the end of his nose. "Ah, yes, young man? Did you have a question about the symbiotic cycles?"
"No, sir. Not exactly," Zero said, feigning nervousness. "It's just… my family, back home, they were herbalists. They taught me a bit about fungi. And I was reading an old book… it mentioned something called a 'Whisperwood Cap.' It said they only grow in places with high concentrations of… um… 'Abyssal Mana'." He deliberately used the archaic term, the one that would pique a scholar's interest. "I was just wondering if it was real."
Finch's eyes lit up with a genuine spark of academic fervor. "Whisperwood Caps! My boy, that's a subject from the fringe texts! Most believe them to be a myth. Abyssal Mana is a concept largely dismissed by modern elementalists. But the theory is that these fungi have a unique property. They don't just glow; they are said to absorb and neutralize harmful magical energies. Fascinating, but entirely hypothetical. Why do you ask?"
This was the moment. Zero reached into a small pouch at his belt and pulled out a single, perfectly preserved mushroom. It was one of the smaller, non-luminous ones he had harvested from the Sunken Grove. It was a dull, grey color, but its cap was covered in a delicate, silvery filigree that seemed to absorb the light.
"I… I think I found one, sir," Zero said, offering it to the professor. "In the Amber Zone of the training forest. I got a bit lost."
Professor Finch stared at the mushroom as if it were the crown jewels. He took it with a trembling hand, his eyes wide behind his spectacles. He pulled a small silver tool from his pocket and scraped a tiny piece from the cap. He sniffed it, then touched it to his tongue with extreme caution.
His face went pale. "By the Founders… it is. The texture, the scent, the faint numbing sensation on the tongue… this is a *perfect* specimen! In the Amber Zone, you say? Incredible! The ecological ramifications are astounding!"
Zero had his hook. "I was thinking, sir," he continued, pressing his advantage. "I'm only a Porter. My combat classes are… not very demanding. I was hoping I might be able to… assist you? With your research? I'm good at finding things. And carrying them." He added the last part with a touch of self-deprecating humility.
Finch was practically vibrating with excitement. An academic breakthrough, and a willing, unpaid research assistant had just fallen into his lap. "Assist me? My boy, you'll be my primary field researcher! This is wonderful! We'll need to organize a proper expedition, of course. Document the location, collect more samples… oh, the papers I could write!"
"I could show you where I found it," Zero offered. "There were many more."
"Excellent! Excellent!" Finch beamed, already lost in thoughts of academic glory. "Come to my office after your last class. We'll draw up a plan. I'll need to secure a special access permit for the Amber Zone, of course, but for a discovery of this magnitude, the Headmaster will surely approve it."
Zero bowed his head respectfully. "Thank you, Professor. You won't regret it."
He walked away, leaving the ecstatic professor cradling the mushroom like a holy relic. The first piece of his new strategy was in place. He now had a legitimate, professor-sanctioned reason to be in the dangerous parts of the training forest. He had an alibi. More than that, he had access to the academy's resources—its labs, its libraries, its knowledge base—all under the guise of being a humble research assistant.
He would use Professor Finch's passion to fuel his own ascent. He would lead the man to minor, genuine discoveries—enough to keep him happy and to justify the continued expeditions—while keeping the true prizes, the hidden dungeons and monster lairs from the Cartographer's Journal, for himself.
He was a predator, and he had just convinced the shepherd to give him the keys to the pasture. The flock would never see him coming.