Roland woke in a dim room, his whole body cold and stiff, stars swimming before his eyes.
The thick stench of blood, like that of a slaughtered chicken, lingered in his nostrils and turned his stomach.
"What happened?"
He raised his bloodstained hands and examined them. Memories surged like a tide, and he finally realized what had just happened.
He had actually transmigrated!
He had entered the body of a boy from another world!
Fortunately, at the critical moment, his memories had merged with the boy's, reminding him that there was a precious healing scroll nearby. Only then had he managed to save himself and survive.
Roland struggled to recall the details. The boy's name was also Roland, at least phonetically, and he was a student at Flandre, a renowned academy in Atrelin, in the Arcane Empire.
To be precise, he was a mage apprentice.
How had a young man with such a bright future ended up like this?
Roland suddenly realized he had fallen into a bottomless pit dug by his predecessor's own hands.
His predecessor had been a mage apprentice from a small town. All he knew was how to solve textbook problems; he understood nothing about how society really worked.
As graduation approached, he had failed to safeguard his thesis, allowing his classmate Ramsey to see it.
Far from taking precautions, his naive predecessor had even discussed it with Ramsey in depth, thinking they could inspire each other and refine their work.
What he had never expected was that Ramsey, who seemed so friendly and patient during their discussions, would turn around, incorporate the core ideas into his own thesis, and submit it first.
When his predecessor discovered this, he confronted Ramsey, only to be shut down with a single question: "What proof do you have?"
Unable to see a way out, the boy had done something foolish and left Roland to clean up the mess.
"This won't do. He had a perfectly good hand and played it into the ground!"
Roland's brow furrowed deeply.
Because his predecessor had given up on himself, Roland now faced two starkly different paths in life.
One was to pass the tower entrance examination, advance to Apprentice Mage, graduate after years of study, and secure a position in a tower, becoming a true winner in this world.
The other was to leave school without graduating and return home to farm, scraping by under crushing taxes and levies, or perhaps become a petty clerk in town, spending a dull, mediocre lifetime buried in paperwork, toil, and hardship.
"Whatever happens, I can't just do nothing and shut myself away in the dorm."
Roland left his dormitory. As a last-ditch effort, he decided to try reporting the matter to the academy's administration first.
If that failed, he would think of something else.
A short while later, in an office in the academic affairs department.
"Apprentice Roland, I'm very sorry, but I consider this nothing more than your side of the story."
The director of academic affairs, a high-ranking mage, adjusted the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose and addressed Roland with a cold expression.
"Moreover, even if what you described really happened, there is nothing I can do. In fact, I would advise you to give up as soon as possible."
"Why?" Roland's surprise eclipsed his anger, and he could not help asking.
"Because I have concluded that you lack the judgment and meticulousness required to become a Full Mage. You are merely a farmer's son from a small town. Being able to attend one of the empire's renowned academies is already a generous benefit of the Arcana reforms."
"Education has always served to weed people out, not merely to discover and cultivate talent.
"Under the Dark Dynasty, when wizards held power, apprentices had to fight to the death for opportunities to advance. A failure like you would have died aboard the recruitment ship long ago."
The director spoke indifferently, his words enough to send a chill down anyone's spine.
Startled, Roland said, "But this is the age of Arcana, not the Witchcraft Era."
The director replied mildly, "Then you have all the more reason to be grateful and count yourself fortunate to live in such a good age."
"I... understand!"
Roland's voice was low, like that of a wounded beast.
After leaving the academic affairs office, he raised his weary face to look at the sun rising beyond the window and let out a long, heavy breath.
Shit!
Bullshit!
Fuck the Arcane Empire! Fuck gratitude, and fuck this good age!
Roland clenched his fists, his knuckles cracking as he raged deep inside.
On the broad campus paths, apprentices hurried between the dining hall and classrooms. Only the graduating students had time to spare, taking commemorative pictures with an alchemical product called a Photographic Camera.
The scenes inevitably stirred some fond memories in Roland.
Unfortunately, all these lovely things would soon be beyond his reach.
Because of his predecessor's mistake, he would soon have to leave school without graduating and fall back to the very bottom of society, where his family lived.
Roland took stock of his possessions and discovered that, aside from a few spell scrolls won in competitions and the two Level 0 spell allotments issued to every Apprentice Student, his predecessor had owned next to nothing.
Even the most precious of them, the healing spell scroll, had already been used.
Perhaps his only merit was how hard he had studied. Over ten years, he had learned almost all the Level 0 spells across the various schools.
But to Full Mages, Level 0 spells were merely "cantrips." His proficiency amounted to nothing more than a bookworm's solid grounding in the basics.
His predecessor had been withdrawn, introverted, and somewhat timid. He had made no friends at the academy who could help him. His only stroke of dumb luck was a Childhood Sweetheart from his hometown, a top student in the knight program who had been his classmate for a full ten years.
After a moment's thought, Roland sent her a message through his apprentice badge.
He knew she was only a student herself and could not offer much help, but at a time like this, having someone to talk things over with was at least a lifeline of comfort.
"Roland, over here!"
A little while later, a soft, lovely voice drew the attention of Roland, who had been staring blankly beneath a tree.
Roland turned to look. A fit figure with long legs stood a dozen or so paces away. It was Atali, his Childhood Sweetheart, who had been his classmate for ten years and had gained admission to the same schools as him all along the way.
She wore a dazzling silver-white female knight's uniform, with tight black leather trousers that emphasized her shapely, powerful legs. A longsword hung at her waist, accentuating the youthful vigor of her tall, straight figure. Yet her face also held an indescribable worry over what his predecessor had done.
Beside Atali stood her close friend Cynthia, a foreign beauty with reddish-brown skin and hair like blazing fire.
She wore a Gothic-style purple-red dress and a large, wide-brimmed Ranni-style Witch Hat. Though petite and delicate, she flew into a temper at the sight of Roland, repeatedly tapping him with the little wand in her hand. "You bookworm! How could you do something so stupid? Are you trying to throw away your entire future?"
"All right, Cynthia. At a time like this, there's no point scolding him anymore. Let's help him think of a solution."
Atali's heart was as generous as her figure. Despite the worry she could not hide, she remained warm and gracious, forgiving the mistakes of Roland's predecessor.
Even Roland's heart, which had already turned cold, could not help feeling a faint trace of warmth.
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