Volume 4: Nuisance of Fate
Side Story: The Scrap-Metal Noble
The lecture hall of the Royal Academy was a place of prestige, ancient stone, and the constant, rhythmic hum of mana. For everyone except Rolien Edric Grey, it was a cage.
"Rolien Edric Grey!"
The sharp clack of a wooden pointer against the chalkboard snapped Rolien out of his thoughts. He wasn't thinking about war or gods—he was thinking about the structural integrity of a pressurized piston he'd been filing down under his desk.
Professor Vahn, a man who wore his noble robes like armor and his magical superiority like a weapon, stood over him.
"Since the 'Magicless' heir of the Grey family finds my lecture on Tier-3 Fire Circles so fascinating that he's decided to nap," Vahn sneered, his lip curling, "perhaps he can demonstrate the spell for us? Or does your lack of a mana-pool extend to your hearing as well?"
The classroom erupted in a wave of snickering.
"He's probably trying to figure out how to make a rock glow with a battery!" one student whispered loudly.
"Don't mock him," another jeered. "It takes a lot of work to be that useless in a room full of mages."
Rolien sat up, his expression unreadable. He didn't have the "thousand-yard stare" of a veteran. He just had the tired, defiant eyes of a boy who was sick of being the punchline.
"I wasn't napping, Professor," Rolien said, his voice steady. "I was looking at the board. Your third node is misaligned. The mana density in this room is higher because of the heat. If you don't adjust for the humidity, that circle is going to backfire in ten seconds."
Vahn's face turned a dangerous shade of red. "You arrogant little brat. You can't even light a candle with your mind, and you dare to lecture a Master of Theory on alignment?"
Vahn turned back to the board, his hand glowing with violet mana. "I'll show you alignment. Watch closely, class. This is how you stabilize a—"
Rolien didn't wait for the explosion. He knew the math. He didn't need magic to see the "glitch" in the logic.
"Item Box," Rolien whispered.
Sh-Clack!
With a heavy metallic thud, a primitive, bulky iron gauntlet materialized over his left arm. It was a mess of exposed gears, venting pipes, and thick leather straps. It was the Jawbreaker MK-II, his second successful prototype.
"Get down!" Rolien shouted.
He dove from his seat, his heavy iron arm leading the way. He grabbed the back of Vahn's collar just as the chalkboard began to hiss with orange sparks.
BOOM!
A surge of raw, unchanneled fire erupted from the board, shattering the stone and sending a shockwave of heat through the front row. Rolien slammed Vahn into the floor, shielding the Professor with the heavy plating of the Jawbreaker.
Splinters of stone hissed as they bounced off the iron gauntlet.
As the smoke cleared, the classroom was a mess of overturned desks and coughing students. Rolien stood up, the MK-II arm venting a massive cloud of hot steam.
Creeeeeak—Snap!
The main piston of the gauntlet shattered, the iron buckling from the force of the blast it had absorbed. Rolien didn't look surprised. He reached into his Item Box, and the broken arm vanished, replaced instantly by a fresh, identical one.
"That's the third one this week," Rolien muttered, looking at the scrap metal on the floor.
He looked at Professor Vahn, who was trembling on the ground, his face covered in soot.
"Like I said, Professor," Rolien said, his voice flat as he adjusted the straps on his new arm. "The third node was misaligned. Maybe next time, listen to the kid who actually has to study how things work instead of just wishing them into existence."
Rolien didn't wait for a response. He grabbed his bag and walked out of the smoking classroom, the heavy thud-thud of his iron boots echoing in the stunned silence.
He didn't know about the three-year limit. He didn't know about Luke or the Slayers. He was just a 16-year-old boy with a suitcase full of broken parts and a world that refused to give him a chance.
But as he walked down the hallway, his grip tightened on his mechanical arm.
"No magic?" he whispered to himself, a small, stubborn smirk playing on his lips. "No problem."
[VOLUME 4 START: NIUSANCE OF FATE]
[SIDE STORY END]