Blessed Time: A LitRPG Adventure

by Cale Plamann

  “Well.” Martin paused, slightly nonplussed. “Yes. The Academy accepts over twenty scholarship students with a Rare Blessing from a Major Deity, Mythic blessing from an intermediate deity, or one of the rare Chosen from a lesser deity each year. In addition, there are approximately five high-class scholarship candidates like you that are either the Chosen of an intermediate deity or the recipient of a Mythic Blessing from a Major Deity. Of those twenty-five, about eight to nine make it to graduation. The rest fail their exams or become too crippled to continue.”

  “What about the nobles?” Micah asked, donning his shirt and fiddling with the ivory buttons. “Surely they aren’t crippled and killed at the same rate. I would presume that their families would have something to say about that.”

  “Of course not,” Martin snorted, eyeing Micah’s clothing dubiously. “They’re from established brands. Most of them aren’t seeking full knighthoods anyway; simply a well-rounded education from the best tutors available. For you? Knighthood is the only way for a scholarship student to graduate. I would advise you to take your studies seriously.”

  Micah opened his mouth to speak, but Martin interrupted by saying, “Wait, is that boar tusk you’re using for buttons?” He snatched Micah’s hand away from the shirt, bending down to peer more closely at the shirt. Disappointment and disgust warred with each other in his eyes.

  “Yes,” Micah snapped back. “I know that it isn’t in fashion, but once again, I wasn’t told that formal clothing was required, and even if I was, I simply don’t have the money to invest in more valuable ivory and cloth. Unless the Academy is going to pay or clothe me, these shirts are simply going to have to do.”

  “Fine.” Martin released his hand, pacing back and forth through the room’s thick carpet. “You’ll make a laughingstock of me, but apparently selfishness is all your kind knows. I’m sure you’ll enjoy treading upon thirty years of my honor like it’s a cheap rug thrown on the floor of your family’s hovel.”

  Micah frowned at Martin and opened his mouth to respond, only for the older man to keep speaking, ignoring Micah’s unhappiness altogether.

  “Your first class is Introductory Enchanting.” Martin didn’t even look at him while reciting the itinerary. “Enchanting will last about four hours on Mondays and Wednesdays. On Tuesday and Thursday mornings, you will study Intermediate Ritual Magic. Every afternoon, you will continue to work on your spellcasting. Fridays and Saturdays will be devoted to level growth in the Academy’s captive dungeon. You will have Sundays to yourself to socialize.” Martin practically spat out the last word.

  “Socialize?” Micah asked, frowning in Martin’s general direction. “What is there to do around here?”

  “You’ll hardly have the time, boy.” Martin sniffed at him. “Your betters might be able to find a moment to visit the botanical gardens, restaurants, museums, and zoos attached to the campus. As for you? If you want to make Knight, you’d better put aside any childish dreams about having a fun and rewarding school life. You’re here as an investment, not to play foolish games.”

  Unwilling to argue with the ornery older man, Micah finished dressing himself under Martin’s disdainful gaze. Given that he was still unsure of his surroundings and the social order he’d been thrust into, a wait-and-see approach seemed best. After all, he wasn’t an expert on noble etiquette, but as far as he could tell, servants weren’t supposed to chew out and mock their masters. Whatever was happening, it wouldn’t be too late to stand up for himself after he learned whether he could safely do so.

  Class went about as well as Martin had predicted. Honestly, Micah wondered if some of the nobles had blessings related to sight, because one of them simply looked at him when he stepped into the classroom and stated “boar tusk” despite being over forty paces away. After that, none of the noble cadets even looked at him, and Micah ended up seated with the other scholarship students in the back of the lecture hall.

  Their section of the classroom was silent, following the professor’s words as best they could yet largely unable to ask questions. Whether it was how far back they were or another example of class stratification, Micah was simply ignored both times he raised his hand to follow up on something the professor said. Quickly, he learned his lesson.

  In the front of the room, it was a very different story. The professor would promptly answer any questions asked of him, likely afraid of the powers behind the students. As for the cadets, some of the nobles paid attention, but most of them simply chatted quietly with each other.

  Micah had no idea how much, if anything, they were actually picking up from the lessons. On the other hand, he also didn’t know how much it mattered to them. As far as he could tell, they were simply at the Academy so that they could later brag about their graduation as an achievement. Learning was a distant second to networking.

  Despite his chilly reception, to Micah, the class was a dream come true. The professor went in-depth over many of the more troublesome equations related to basic strength enchantments, including some that still troubled Micah. Although he took notes of his own to help cement the lesson in his memory, he was thankful for the Ageless Folio. The itch on his wrist was distracting, but he knew that it was taking down all of the lesson word for word.

  Lunch was more of the same. Micah didn’t even bother trying to sit with the nobles. Their section of the cafeteria was a minefield. From one glance, Micah could tell that their seating arrangements betrayed a complex web of social and political alliances and rivalries.

  In short, the cafeteria was the game board for a complicated and deadly social game. Even if he’d been welcomed at one of the tables, he probably wouldn’t have taken the offer. It presented too great of a risk of annoying someone else important.

  Instead, he sat in the corner with the rest of the scholarship students. They ate in silence. Even when Micah tried to ask them questions about their affinities and classes, most of them just grunted in response. Only one even bothered to talk to him, a rather lonely boy named Bart. Eventually, Micah just gave up on speaking to anyone else. He wasn’t at the Academy to make friends, and Bart’s rambling stories about how much he missed his dog and fishing would have to do.

  That afternoon, each student was assigned their own mentor for their mana-related classes. Some of the cadets that focused more on physical combat practiced their martial arts rather than spellcasting, but the model was the same for all of them. The instructor would force them to wear items enchanted to stimulate their mana regeneration. Then they kept casting spells at a series of dummies and targets until they ran out mana entirely. As soon as he was unable to cast any further spells, his instructor tossed Micah a practice spear and forced him to repeat basic spear forms until his muscles screamed.

  It was hardly an interesting way of training, but it allowed the students to safely and efficiently raise skill levels in their respective spells and martial arts. With everything else going on, it was strangely therapeutic. He didn’t need to think about his future or what was happening around Basil’s Cove. All Micah needed to do was try and shorten the chant to Air Knife as he cast it over and over again.

  The next morning was a repeat performance. Micah attended his intermediate ritual magic class, only to be snubbed by a different and more advanced set of nobles. Again, his wardrobe gave enough clues about his social status to strangle any socialization before it could begin. With a slight smile on his face, Micah went to the back of the room once more in order to find an open seat near the scholarship students. The middle-class cadets kept to themselves while the professor gave a very in-depth lecture on the role of lunar phases in ritual casting.

  Friday and Saturday involved Micah going into a dungeon while Martin supervised him. Surprisingly, the fussy old man was a level 44 Aquamancer, more than capable of defeating any of the monsters in the dungeon. It was possible that Martin’s advanced level had something to do with his dismissive attitude, but Micah suspected that the old man was just an asshole.

/>   Unlike Brenden, Martin actually let Micah fight the monsters, occasionally giving his spear form or spellcasting a halfhearted compliment. Really, Martin looked bored more than anything. The one or two times Micah got himself into trouble against monsters above his level, Martin stepped in, but the rest of the time his “servant” seemed more focused on reading the small paperback book he brought into the dungeon with him.

  Micah’s head hit the overly stuffed pillow. One week of school at the Royal Academy was in the books and it certainly could be worse. True, the training regimen assigned to him was grueling and there were more than vague hints that he could easily be crippled or killed at the Academy if he didn’t live up to his potential, but other than a cold shoulder from the nobles, no one had mistreated him. He wasn’t a target for scorn; simply a non-entity until he proved himself.

  He suspected that things would have gone worse if he’d tried to force the issue and sit with some of the nobles. Still, the lack of friends was a bit concerning. Micah worried that years of training with no one to talk to but Martin would crack his psyche like an egg.

  He closed his eyes. He’d have to get in touch with Bart and spend some time relaxing. If he’d learned anything about the difference between the Golden Drakes and the Lancers, it was that the Lancers knew the importance of downtime. He’d have to think of something to do. Bart was earnest, but he certainly wasn’t imaginative.

  23

  Settling In

  “Why don’t you just ask your batman for help with your homework?” Bart asked quizzically. “Whenever I struggle with a concept, I just ask Davis for help. He grumbles a lot, but I’ve found his guidance much more useful than the hands-off teaching and theory we get around here.”

  Micah glanced at him, a slight frown on his face as he debated shushing the man. They were in the Royal Academy’s library, a massive wood-paneled room lined with stained glass windows to let in light. When the sun set, staff would ignite magelights behind them, ensuring that the room was constantly lit in a rainbow of colors. The bookshelves around them were silent, the only sound being that of pages turning as other students tried to study.

  “I don’t think Martin would do that,” Micah whispered back. “He doesn’t really strike me as the helpful sort. He mostly just makes fun of me and threatens me. Any time I try to talk to him, it always just ends up with him reciting statistics about how many candidates fail Knight training.”

  “Davis doesn’t even bother.” Bart shook his head. “We all knew the risks when we signed up. Even if the odds are against me, earning a knighthood and entering the nobility is just too big of a prize to turn down. I mean, what are our other options? Risk our lives daily as adventurers in a minor guild? We might get a little bit of attunement, but they wouldn’t have the resources the Knights do. You might end up with a couple more levels than the average person, but eventually, you’ll grow old and slow.”

  “I wasn’t given a choice.” Micah pushed away the tome he was studying, resigning himself to unproductivity. “I joined a fairly prominent guild in my home city. After training me for a while, they stuffed me in a carriage and I ended up here.”

  “But they tell you everything when you sign up for the scholarship?” Bart asked. “After you get your blessing tested, they tell you the odds and how much help they’ll give you. I barely understood the contract they had me sign. I didn’t even know the first thing about how much attunement I’d need or what exclusive access to trainers and a beginner dungeon meant.”

  Bart blushed. “I needed my dad to help. He was scared of Davis, but the two of them talked it out. They explained to me that I could always join a guild controlled by the throne rather than the Knights, but that I would end up fighting monsters right after my introductory training. I don’t know the first thing about fighting. Even with the strict testing here, it seemed like better odds for me.”

  “But what about the constant threats of maiming and dismemberment?” Micah asked, the beginning of a frown on his face. “Martin barely even talks to me, but when he does, he absolutely will not shut up about how I’m an embarrassment that will end up crippled or dead within the year.”

  “Martin.” Bart tapped his chin for a second. “Wait, is your batman Martin Osswain?”

  In response to Micah’s nod, the other student shook his head, eyes going wide. “Why in the name of the Sixteen would you accept a sponsorship from Knight Osswain?”

  Micah winced as Bart raised his voice. Apparently, in his surprise over Micah’s response, he’d forgotten that they were in the Academy’s library.

  “Knight Osswain was one of the prime actors in the Elven Purges,” Bart whispered furiously, library decorum all but forgotten. “He was caught hoarding forbidden books and experimenting on captured elves. The senior knights spared him for his service to Pereston, but he’s been taken off of active duty in disgrace. It was the talk of the Academy last year.”

  “First of all”—Micah made a shushing motion, trying to ignore the eyes of the other students drawn by Bart’s voice—“I didn’t pick anything. I already told you that I was told to get into a carriage, and the next morning, Martin was tearing into me. Second, since when are you plugged in to Academy gossip? Third, what do you mean Martin’s a Royal Knight? I thought he was just a tutor or something?”

  “All of the batmen are either knights or senior squires assigned by a knight.” Bart shook his head, whispering excitedly. “They told us all of that at orientation. A knight needs to sponsor a scholarship candidate for them to get into the Royal Academy. The order rewards the knight based upon their scholarship candidate’s achievements. A lot of knights will take a year or two off of actively adventuring to hone their craft and train promising disciples. Davis said that most scholarship students don’t become squires or knights because their sponsors don’t support them.” Bart patted Micah’s hand sympathetically. “He says that if you’re prepared, there shouldn’t be trouble. The Academy doesn’t recruit students with weak blessings. They just want to make sure that we apply ourselves and prove our loyalty to the Kingdom.”

  “What happens if your sponsor doesn’t help you?” Micah asked, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. “I think Martin’s even showed up to my dormitory drunk once.”

  Bart frowned at him, confusion warring with unease on the man’s face. He closed his book, tapping the cover quietly for almost ten seconds before he responded.

  “Knight Osswain is notorious.” Bart bit his lower lip. “He has enough seniority that no one else is going to take you under their wing, but even before he was disgraced, the other knights would talk about how he was a bit of a bully. Now? I can’t imagine how bad he is. If you’re on your own, all I can say is study hard. The other scholarship candidates don’t talk much, but there’s supposed to be a give and take. The work here is hard and there are risks if you fail, but at the end of the day, we’re getting a once-in-a-lifetime chance to break into the upper classes. The Academy is a dangerous opportunity, but all of us are here by choice.”

  “Not all of us.” Micah sighed, chewing on his lip as he looked at the closed book in front of him. Once again, he toyed with the idea of telling Bart more about his situation. Ultimately, he held back. Talking too much had already stripped him of his freedom. Micah might trust Bart more than anyone else at the Academy, but that didn’t mean he should spill his secrets to the boy.

  “Worry about what you can control.” He smiled weakly at Micah, his mouth barely visible in the dim library. “If your sponsor isn’t going to go above and beyond to help you, I guess the only thing you can do is work hard. We’re not supposed to talk about the tests,” Bart whispered, licking his lips nervously, “but they can get pretty bad. You should be all right if you take things seriously and don’t just assume that your blessing will carry you through. Plenty of candidates with more potential than you or I have failed out because they got complacent.”

  “What happens if you fail anyway?” Micah asked thoughtf
ully, leaning back in his chair as he focused on his skittish companion. Bart’s eyes were practically bulging out of his head as they swiveled back and forth, searching for anyone that might overhear their conversation.

  “Bad things, Micah,” Bart muttered. “It’s all decided by your sponsor. If they like you and you fail by a hair? You get punished. With Knight Osswain as your sponsor? Don’t fail. Your tests will likely be harder than anyone else’s, and the punishment won’t be anything to play around with. Just don’t.”

  Micah frowned. This was probably the most serious he’d seen Bart. Usually, he was a little much, an attention-starved bundle of energy talking Micah’s ear off at every opportunity. It was more than a little jarring to see him like this.

  “I guess I just have to study twice as hard as everyone else, then.” He smiled at the agitated boy unconvincingly. “If my only options are success or whatever unspeakable punishment Martin wants to inflict on me, I’m going to choose success.”

  Bart chuckled, a strained titter as he looked away. Micah sighed. Whatever their earlier conversation, the other boy was too on-edge now to talk freely.

  Micah picked up the hefty book he’d been reading earlier and opened it. The words on the page seemed to run away from him as Micah tried to make sense of them, his mind spinning. The individual letters were hard to read, written in spidery hand and faded after the passage of years. He simply stared at them insensibly in the library’s dim light.

  As much as Micah needed to study, the focus just wouldn’t come. Mentally, he shrugged and began flipping through the pages of his book, consigning its contents to the Ageless Folio. He could catch up on his reading later. For now, he had an entire library at his fingertips and the ability to seamlessly record anything he saw. It would be a shame not to use it.

  24