On the following day, the morning breeze chilled Erik’s skin, the sun had just begun to rise on the horizon.

  “I wish you the best, my boy. Stay safe,” Alice said, hugging Erik tightly and planting a kiss on his forehead.

  “Come on, Mom. They’re going to make fun of me if they see this,” Erik said, already thinking about the potential embarrassment if any students were to be around.

  As his mother released him, she shook her head with a smile. “Nothing wrong with taking care of my kid.”

  Then, it was Phillip’s moment. He had already said goodbye to Eleanor the day before, and she didn’t even come to the school gates to say goodbye now, so it was Erik’s moment now.

  He placed a firm hand on Erik’s shoulder. “You’re a courageous kid, Erik. I wouldn’t be able to go on after that,” he said with a smile, his tone showing his admiration. “If you ever need help, you can count on me. I’ll do everything in my power.”

  “Thanks,” he answered with a grin he couldn’t hold.

  The Duke nodded before escorting Alice into the carriage. Erik watched as it pulled away, leaving him alone again.

  Erik walked to the training grounds. He had maybe an hour before classes, so it was more than enough for him to get some exercise—even though he hadn’t eaten anything yet.

  He stretched his arms as he entered the open area, his gaze scanning the surroundings. He could see that some students were already practicing. They used their spells against the durable dummies or did some sparing.

  He went to an unoccupied spot, deciding to do train for what he had been trying for a while—unleash a third-tier spell. Sure, he had done that with [Inferno Strike], however, he needed something that could be used on long range. Spell tier was determined by mana cost, so maybe he could achieve that by releasing more energy than normal on a fireball—though the control required would also be far greater than that of second-tier spells.

  There was also the opportunity to learn to cast multiple things at once. The spell [Multiple Fire Arrows] was a good example of the third-tier, and the only difference from its second-tier counterpart was the number of arrows. However, Erik hadn’t gotten the hang of it yet. Imagining multiple things at once seemed too hard still.

  But as he stepped toward the practice dummies, a familiar voice cut through the morning calm.

  “You, there!”

  He froze mid-step, turning toward the source. Eleanor stood near the center of the grounds, her eyes had an intensity that rivaled her element.

  Erik sighed, dropping his hands to his sides. “What do you want, Eleanor?”

  She strode toward him in a quick, mechanical pace. “I’m challenging you to a duel.”

  So that’s what this is about?

  A few heads turned at her words, murmurs rippled through the nearby students as they expected a fight.

  Erik only shook his head and sighed, though.

  “I’m not interested,” he said flatly, turning back toward the dummies.

  “You… wait, you can’t just walk away like that,” Eleanor shouted at him. “Do you know how long I’ve been training for this? How much I’ve improved?”

  Erik raised an eyebrow, glancing at her. “And?”

  “Hah, I see,” she said, crossing her arms. “You’re just too scared to face me now, aren’t you?”

  Those words hit a nerve. He felt like teaching her a lesson and showing her he was also more powerful than before, but he held back on this.

  Come on, breathe slowly. He had to tell himself that, forcing his clenched fists to relax. The last thing he needed was to let Eleanor get under his skin.

  “I’m not scared,” Erik said. He turned back toward the practice dummy, ignoring the stares of the onlookers. “I just don’t see the point in entertaining you right now.”

  “You don’t see the point?” she repeated, her tone incredulous. “You humiliated me in the entrance exam, peasant, and now you think you’re too good to give me a rematch?”

  Erik sighed, simply shugging. “I didn’t do anything, and I have other priorities.”

  “Priorities?” she snapped, the air crackling as energy started building up around it. “I’ve been training for weeks—months—to get stronger. To face you again and win. You owe me this fight.”

  “I’ll say it again,” Erik continued, his voice quieter now but no less resolute. “I’m not going to fight you. Not because I’m scared or because I think I’ll lose, but because I don’t have time for whatever grudge you’re holding,” he said, looking back with a sidelong glance.

  Eleanor gritted her teeth, her gaze fell to the ground. “Just… how far are you planning to humiliate me?” her tone spoke of her feelings. She clearly had some problems inside that were more than a petty rivalry.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Erik wasn’t in the state of mind, and neither did he know her enough to care.

  “Honestly, I just wish you wouldn’t bother me anymore.”

  After dismissing her completely, Erik turned to his training.

  She was mad and shouted a couple more at him, but he didn’t respond, and soon, she stopped. He had more important things to do, after all.

  He had to get stronger quickly.

  Erik stepped into the House of Mischief's common room. The usual lively atmosphere was absent; the only sound came from a fireplace near the corner, its blazes crackled through the room.

  Helen, the house leader, sat on a worn leather couch, her head in her hands, her shoulders and back slumped forward.

  She glanced up as he entered. “Blake,” she said softly, gesturing vaguely toward the couch opposite her.

  Erik hesitated, as he never had a proper talk with her—especially after the recent events. But something about the way she sat—defeated, small—made him walk over and sit down.

  “How are you holding up?” Helen asked after a moment, holding her hands together.

  Erik glanced to the side for a moment, avoiding her, before shrugging. “I’ve had worse, I guess…” he leaned back against the couch. “What about you?”

  Helen let out a laugh, though it sounded forced. “I’ve been better.”

  Erik raised his eyebrow, now noticing the signs of wear on her. Her face was pale, with dark circles under her eyes, and her hands were rougher than before, faint bruises and calluses marking her knuckles. Even her posture seemed off, like she was too tired of everything.

  The boy could also feel faint flickers of pressure oozing off her hands—her mana system must be going haywire.

  Helen was someone from a noble family, a high-standing one at that, so these changes in her body and behavior were likely easily noticed by many and yet still went on to happen.

  “You’ve been training,” Erik said.

  Helen raised an eyebrow. “You’re more observant than I thought.”

  “I guess I am,” he crossed his arms. “But it wasn’t so hard to guess. You look like you’ll fall over from exhaustion.”

  She chuckled, this time it seemed more lively. “I’ll live. Better me pushing myself than...” she trailed off, her gaze fixed on the fire.

  Erik frowned. “Than what?”

  “Than putting others at risk again. Like I did with all of you.”

  For a moment, Erik couldn’t answer. What she felt couldn’t be changed by words, but he had to at least try.

  “It wasn’t your fault. Even the professor was stunned by that creature. People are also saying he took a break from teaching after that happened. So don’t blame yourself.”

  “Maybe…” she said in a strained tone. “Many people have been telling me that, but somehow, I don’t believe any of them.”

  As she finished her sentence, something clicked in Erik. This felt like his situation. He also saw his own fault in the doing.

  If not sad, it would be laughable. The two of them seemed miserable, and Erik was just the one trying to hide it.

  He didn’t want to do it anymore.

  “I understand that.”

  Helen slowly glanced back at him, her curiosity seemed piqued. “You mean…?”

  “I mean… I get it. The guilt. Feeling like no matter what anyone says, it’s still your fault.”

  Her features softened as he spoke. “You’re wrong. It wasn’t your fault, you’re a first-year student. Whatever happened in the dungeon wasn’t your doing.”

  Erik snorted, his lips twisting into a bitter smile. “If I’d been stronger, smarter, maybe I could’ve stopped it before it even started. Maybe Colin wouldn’t have left the academy… maybe I wouldn’t have hurt my friend yesterday. Maybe…” His voice wavered from the emotions. “It’s all just ‘maybes,’ though, isn’t it?”

  “Erik, you—”

  “It’s all just maybes, Helen Drakemore,” Erik said. “And ‘maybe’ doesn’t change what happened, does it? No matter what anyone tells me, no matter how many times they say it wasn’t my fault… I still feel it.”

  There was a long pause in the room. Perhaps it was because of their own resemblances or that it was all so detestable right now, but a laugh escaped Erik’s lips.

  It wasn’t funny. This wasn’t funny.

  He just needed a release.

  Helen blinked a few times, she seemed thrown off guard. “What’s wrong?”

  Erik’s laugh continued for a few moments before slowly dying down. “It’s just funny, you know,” he said, shaking his head. “You think you’re the only one who feels this way. But I feel it, too. The guilt. The pressure. We’re not so different, are we?”

  Helen stared at Erik, taken aback by his words. Her brow furrowed slightly, and her lips darted as she tried to respond, but no words came out at first.

  "You're telling me," she said slowly, "that you’ve been feeling this way the whole time?"

  Erik gave a sardonic smile. "Yeah, pretty much. Doesn’t matter how many people say it wasn’t my fault. It still feels like it’s all on me."

  Helen looked down at her clenched hands, the words sounded familiar. "But it wasn’t your fault," she repeated, though it sounded hollow even to her, almost laughable how she was saying the same things he said to her..

  "Maybe not," Erik muttered, his voice tight. "But it feels like it. If I’d been stronger... smarter... I could’ve stopped it. Could’ve saved Colin and Kyle..." his words faltered, and for a moment, the weight of it all crashed back.

  The memory of the dungeon returned, and the dark and suffocating feeling crept back on him.

  Not now…

  Erik clenched his jaw, biting the inside of his mouth hard enough to taste blood. The sharp pain snapped him out of it, forcing the horrors to retreat—at least for now.

  Helen leaned forward, her voice softer now, and Erik could feel her concern, though she didn’t seem to notice the shift in him. Not that he wanted her to. “I get it. The guilt. It’s always there, lurking, no matter what anyone tells you. But Erik, you’re not alone in this.”

  Erik’s gaze dropped, the weight of his thoughts pressing harder on him. “I’ve been pushing myself, trying to make up for things that aren’t even my fault. But it doesn’t change anything, does it?”

  Helen looked at him quietly, her hands still tense in her lap. “It won’t fix anything,” she said softly. “But sometimes we do it anyway. We push ourselves, hoping it’ll make a difference. And I want to help you, however I can.”

  Her words hung in the air, her intent clear.

  Erik sighed. There was some tension in his chest, he was tired of feeling lost and spiraling down. It seemed like they were mostly the same, and the mutual understanding of their perspectives brought him some comfort.

  Then, a thought hit him suddenly, clarity cutting through the haze of his emotions.

  “You know,” Erik said, his tone shifting, “there’s something you can do.”

  Helen raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. “What’s that?”

  "Train me," Erik said, leaning forward, a new conviction in his voice. "Push me. Teach me how to be stronger. Maybe, in the process, you’ll find a way to make up for what happened."