A few days had already gone by since classes began, and Alaric and the other students had just wrapped up another one, preparing to go on with their day. They were preparing to leave as Orson Sturch, their instructor, gave a final reminder.
"Alright, before you go, remember that the Refinement technique I taught you is crucial. Practice it at your own pace, and don't push beyond your limits. Doing so will only end in disaster. That's all for today—you're dismissed."
The class began to disperse quickly, with Alaric among the crowd heading towards the dorms. However, he soon broke off from the others, moving toward another building he had discovered in his recent explorations of the academy.
The structure wasn't well-frequented, likely because most first-years hadn't familiarized themselves with it yet, and the second and third-years were still also not that active yet on campus. Alaric, on the other hand, had spent his first few days meticulously reading through every academy rule and guideline and exploring each building accessible to him. It was through one of these explorations that he had found this particular building, a trading center within the academy.
From the outside, the building appeared modest, a simple dark brown structure with large windows on either side, contrasting sharply with the grandeur of the academy's other buildings. Inside, it was exactly what one would expect of a small shop. The shelves were lined with a bizarre assortment of items: eyeballs of creatures suspended in glass jars, vials of blood, strange flowers, beast horns, scales, potions, and more.
As Alaric walked a bit to the counter, the faint scent of incense and something metallic hit his nose. He was greeted by a lean, sickly man sitting behind the counter, wearing an expression of boredom that seemed permanently etched onto his face. The man didn't bother acknowledging Alaric's presence, his eyes lazily wandering the ceiling as though he were in a trance.
"Hey, you still alive?" Alaric called out.
The man didn't flinch at the sound, his eyes slowly drifting from the ceiling down to Alaric. They settled on him with the same lack of interest as before.
"You again?" the man rasped, his voice like sandpaper on metal. "I told you, we don't attend to first years. Not this early, anyway." His words dragged, as if even speaking was too much an effort.
Alaric folded his arms and leaned against the counter. "And I'm telling you, classes have already begun today. In case that's news to you."
"Oh," the man said with mild surprise, but it quickly faded as his face returned to its neutral, tired state. "Well, whatever. What do you want, anyway?"
"I'll take a small stock of dried Mascara flowers and a vial of pure essence," Alaric said, smoothly pivoting to business.
That earned him a raised brow. The man scratched the side of his stubbled jaw, eyeing Alaric more closely now. "Bold order. Most of your classmates are still trying to figure out which side of the building their rooms are. And you're looking to get laid before the semester even starts?"
Alaric blinked, thrown off for a split second. "Seriously?" he replied, deadpan. "I'm here for ingredients, not advice on bad decisions."
The man gave a half-hearted chuckle that came out more like a cough and began gathering the items. "Ah, don't blame me. Those two are usually bought together for one of two reasons—intense training... or intense something else. And you don't exactly look like the type gearing up for cardio."
Alaric rolled his eyes. "Well, I hate to disappoint."
"Oh? So you're that type of kid, huh? Hasn't even been a week and already chasing perfection like it owes you money."
"Is there a difference?" Alaric asked as he eyed a jar of floating eyeballs. "One might call it efficient."
"Depends…" the man said, placing a vial of glowing blue liquid onto the counter beside a small pouch of purple-dried flowers. "Ambition gets you places. Impatience gets you dead."
"That'll be a hundred credits. Thirty for the flowers, seventy for the essence."
Alaric didn't haggle. He reached into his coat and pulled out the silver card issued by the academy. The man took it and slid it into a crystal-infused reader, an old, lesser artifact with a single function: deducting credits. A soft Etheric hum followed as it processed the payment.
Credits were a form of currency generally used in the academy, it wasn't like the universal currency of the world which was Ethereal stones used everywhere in everything else.
As the man was done with the payment, he suddenly added, his tone a bit serious this time.
"Oh and careful with that essence," the man said, his voice gruff. "It's not something to mess around with. You mishandle it, and things can get... ugly."
Alaric, already familiar with the dangers, gave a slight nod. "I know."
The man eyed him for a second, then shrugged. "Alright then. Just make sure you do."
His gaze lingered on Alaric a little longer than usual, as if silently gauging him before he finally gave him back his card.
There was a brief silence lingering in the air a bit, which made the atmosphere awkward.
"So," Alaric said, breaking the brief silence, "I've heard there's an exchange rate here. Ethereal stones for credits?"
The man's eyes flickered with a hint of interest, though it quickly vanished as he lazily leaned against the counter. "You heard right. One Ethereal Stone'll get you a hundred and twenty credits. It's the going rate, for now."
Alaric let out a soft chuckle, sliding the card back into his pocket. "Not the best exchange, is it? But I suppose it serves its purpose."
The man snorted, clearly amused. "Not a fan of the academy's monopoly? Join the club. But hey, it's better than running out of credits when you're desperate for materials."
Alaric nodded, but his eyes grew distant for a moment. "True, but Ethereal Stones are far more valuable outside these walls. You can't train with credits, can you?"
A sharp smile spread across the man's face, his cracked lips parting just enough to reveal yellowed teeth. "Smart kid. Most first-years don't get that. They blow their credits on junk like it's water, only to realize too late they've got nothing left for the real stuff."
"I'll keep that in mind," Alaric said, grabbing the pouch and vial from the counter.
With his items in hand, he turned toward the door, but before leaving, he cast one last glance at the man. "I'm sure we'll see each other again soon."
The man gave him a dismissive wave. "Oh, I'm counting on it, kid. You seem like the type to stay busy. Don't let the academy chew you up and spit you out too soon."
Alaric had a thin smile on his lips as he left the shop behind.
It was kind of refreshing to talk to someone more mature for once. At least the shopkeeper didn't prattle on about nonsense. The reason Alaric had so little interaction with most of the other students in the dorms wasn't because he was antisocial or some brooding, wandering edgelord—well, not completely.
No, it was because they obsessed over the dumbest things, and their conversations were so painfully shallow and mediocre, he'd rather avoid them altogether.
Who cares about what these blundering idiots think of your looks, or what you do?
They couldn't even see more than a few steps ahead. The mind-numbing nonsense they spewed made him feel like an idiot just being around them. Over the past few days, he'd felt cramped, with no one around to have a real conversation. No one he could talk to without feeling like his brain cells were dying. The few he could actually try and converse with also weren't really open to him for conversation yet.
And the noble kids? They were the worst of the bunch. Sure, they had more refined manners and carried themselves with a sense of order and elegance, but their attitudes were the most annoying. Every conversation with them felt like a negotiation you didn't sign up for, wrapped in a smile so fake it might as well have been painted on.
So no, he didn't waste his time entertaining their whitewashed fake friendliness. He cut it off at the knees. Like with Jason.
That little horror show he pulled a few days ago worked wonders. Jason hadn't looked at him since, and the rest of the noble crowd kept their distance too.
It was easier this way, no fake friendships, no shallow conversations, and no brain cells lost. Just peace and quiet.
Stepping back onto the academy grounds, he pushed those thoughts aside, already planning his next move but he couldn't help going back to the previous topic, the one of tokens and Ethereal stones.
Though he had more than enough Ethereal Stones to convert into credits, Alaric chose not to, for now. Ethereal Stones were far more valuable.
While they functioned as currency, their true worth lay in what they were: condensed Ether, solidified into egg-sized purple stones.
For Etherists, they weren't just money, they were fuel. Emergency batteries for training, refining one's core, or recovering Ether reserves in critical moments. Parting with them this early felt reckless.
Especially here in the academy, where a twisted rule barred any form of outside support. Families couldn't send Ethereal Stones, resources, or even backup help. Students were expected to fend for themselves under the guise of "promoting equality."
'Guess I'll leave it at that for now, he thought. Until I find a way to earn more credits, Ethereal Stones, or both. Especially with how many resources I'm planning to burn through.'
After a brief moment of contemplation, Alaric glanced at the small pouch in his hand before heading toward another part of the academy, a large, sprawling building that stretched across several kilometers. This was the academy's training facility, where students could hone their skills and practice techniques in a controlled environment.
As he stepped inside, the sheer vastness of the place struck him. Unlike the cramped confines of the shop, the training center was expansive, with wide-open spaces and only minimal furniture, just a receptionist's desk and a few chairs scattered around the lobby. It felt almost intentional, as though they were showcasing how much space they had to spare.
Only a few students were present, likely second- or third-years based on their uniforms. Alaric paid them little attention as he approached the receptionist—a middle-aged woman in a simple black outfit. Her sharp gaze immediately zeroed in on him.
Unlike the cramped shop earlier, this was one of the facilities Alaric had been barred from entering until now, so it was naturally his first time stepping inside.