The Runic Alchemist

The class was fun. The professor neither leaned into a particular belief nor elevated any one above the others, instead presenting all historical scholars within the context of their time. This impartiality was already more mature than many professors Damian had encountered during his university days. Truly, more education did not necessarily equate to better character at all.

The class lasted an hour, and by the end, Damian knew he would enjoy it—at least this one class. Though, much would depend on the topic of the day. The session concluded with the soft chime of enchanted wind chimes near the windows. They seemed to ring every hour, adding a charming touch. Though this world had clocks—some even bizarre contraptions that Damian once purchased from Sam and Anthony—the academy seemed to rely on simple enchanted bells-their own creation, a more cost-effective choice. Despite the Highswords' well-filled coffers, efficiency still reigned.

As the students slowly exited the classroom, they had about ten minutes to reach their next class. For Damian, it was Potion Crafting.

"What's your second class?" Damian asked as they walked out together, navigating through a mixture of stares.

"Healing and Restoration," Sam replied.

Damian nodded but quickly realized something was amiss. He had the light attribute affinity but..

"Wait, you can't do spells…" he said, confused.

"Yes, why don't you climb the academy tower and announce it to everyone? That'd be helpful," Sam retorted in a low voice.

"Ah, sorry."

"I saw Grace include it in hers, so I put it in mine," Sam admitted quietly.

Damian couldn't decide whether to laugh or scold him. She was the first girl that had come in contact with them, with no strings attached. And he was already smitten with her. How would he explain to the professor in the future why he couldn't use mana?

"Real romantic.. When she asks, tell her your healing leaves loving scars on patients," Damian chuckled.

"It's a work in progress, okay? I'll figure something out!" Sam defended himself a little too loudly, his face reddening. Damian laughed even harder.

Suddenly, Damian sensed someone's presence too close for comfort behind him. Instinctively, he turned, leaping back, his right hand ready to draw his sword or summon his spear, while his left hand began forming a third runic circle. Two circles were always prepared for emergencies attached with his two mana threads—one for a wormhole and the other for a fire pillar. Toph held his head tightly not to lose balance, as he trumpeted in surprise of the sudden movement.

Sam followed immediately, his movements a blur as he positioned himself beside Damian, hand resting on his sword hilt. Thankfully the hallway was massive and most of the kids had already left. Damian knew who the person was, he just did not expect him to approach them.

Only then did they notice the face of the person that had tried to grab Damian's shoulder. Feeling stupid for overreacting, Damian dismissed the new runic circle, straightened his hand. Yet he kept the two runic circles ready to activate anytime, one of a wormhole spell and another of a modified fire pillar.

"Prince of Faerunia," Sam spitted out, venom lacing his words, his voice almost unrecognizable.

Alex, surprised by the reaction of the two, took back his hand, it looked like he had expected such a reaction from them though.

"My uncle told me not to mess with you," Alex said, his tone measured but sharp. "But don't you dare think for a second we've forgotten what you've done, Morph Vialiast." He glared at Sam. "You two are criminals. The elves won't always be there to save you. The day will come when you're beyond anyone's protection." He said, his expression serious and resolute.

"How's your sister?" Damian asked casually.

The calm façade Alex wore shattered instantly. Drawing his sword, he lunged at Damian. But before the blade could reach its target, Sam's sheathed sword intercepted it mid-swing. The speed was blinding, even for Damian, though it did bring a smile to his face. Watching the prince's twisted, angry expression was amusing.

Alex's noble entourage appeared just in time, helping him regain composure. Realizing a staff member might catch them, Alex backed off.

"Just you wait," he growled before turning to leave.

"Still blinded by unconditional loyalty, huh? Think for yourself, Alex. For once in your life, think for yourself," Damian called after him.

Alex didn't respond, walking away with his followers in tow. Damian sighed, turning toward the direction his badge indicated for Potion Crafting class. Sam followed, falling into step beside him after a moment.

"You know him personally?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, I kind of fought him once," Damian replied.

"Why is he still alive, then?"

"The nobles are twisted people, Sam. They think their power and influence makes them strong, not realizing it's the same lust for power that controls them, manipulates every espect of their life. Alex, though, is just a victim of that environment—not the root of the problem."

"He felt pretty problematic to me. I know their kind.. Princelings like him think the world is theirs by birthright."

Damian refrained from commenting. Not that there was much he could say. If people formed opinions of others just because someone told them how they should, then what was the point of the individual mind..?

It was a personal thing for Sam, all he could do was influence these things and trust in his understanding. Not that he cared much about princelings and nobles to make a hard enough effort. The hate was kind of deserved..

It would be stupid of Alex, if he didn't recognize them, so it wasn't that out of expectations. Still, Alex's family's reluctance to act against them confirmed they weren't ready to escalate things. Negotiation was the nobles' preferred solution to most problems, and Damian had plenty of leverage if it came to that.

If all else failed, he was confident in his ability to handle any Third Ranker—especially with Sam by his side and years of preparation behind them. If anything, it was the Faerunians who should fear them and pray they never sought vengeance against them.