Min-Maxing My TRPG Build in Another World - Volume 3 - Chapter 5

One Full Henderson ver0.3

1.0 Hendersons

A derailment significant enough to prevent the party from reaching the intended ending.

Some things change with one’s duties; some never change at all.

“Master!”

The door to a tiny, neatly kept office burst open with more force than a government-sponsored drug bust with a young girl’s shout. Her almond eyes overflowed with indomitable spirit, and her wheat-blonde hair was set back with a simple headband. She looked about ten, but her impeccable palatial dialect pointed to a thorough education.

Mystic light shone through the doorway. The walls were buried in countless rows of beautifully bound books, but their owner was nowhere to be found. A half-written letter, an unfinished treatise, and several memos annotated beyond legibility. The loyal belongings had all remained at their post; their master alone had disappeared.

No, that wasn’t quite correct: an arcane hearth cut off the wall of bookshelves, and the timeworn sword that always hung above it was gone.

In its stead, a long, beautiful staff adorned with gorgeous gems had been left leaning against the fireplace. It seemed bored there, all alone, and the girl felt as though she could hear it say, “Sorry, it’s the usual.”

The sword had long since been sheathed, and there was only one reason for its absence. Knowing exactly what that reason was, the young visitor took in a deep breath, storing all the air in her stomach...before throwing down her wand and screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Another adventure?! You failure of a professor!”

A few minutes later, the robe-clad College student picked up her wand. She huffed and puffed her way to the elevator down to the castle’s entrance.

“Look who it is. What has you so upset? It’s a shame to be so angry with that cute little face of yours.”

“Huh? Oh, Professor Sponheim!”

The girl turned to see a living specimen plucked straight out of a museum of mensch beauty. The professor’s elegant figure and gentle smile were bewitchingly androgynous, as confusing as they were captivating.

Their wavy, pitch-black hair paired well with their large amber marbles that overflowed with kindness. While the bridge of their nose had a masculine toughness, the shimmering gloss of their lips was that of a maiden’s: their contralto voice was charming enough to make a blushing fool of anyone.

The magus was better suited to dancing in a fancy ballroom than walking around in drab robes with arcane catalysts dangling everywhere. In fact, their nickname throughout the College was The Darling Professor, though in no small part out of jealousy.

Mika von Sponheim was a prodigy, having ascended to professorship at the age of twenty-four and earning a name for themselves as a master of urban planning. Tivisco were a recent addition to the Empire, and Sponheim was the first magus of their kind. Especially popular with the largest faction within the School of First Light, the magus was regularly invited to cadre assemblies despite still being in their twenties. Aspiring magia looked up to the genius with great reverence, and many were awestruck if they so much as spoke to them.

“Remember not to kick your robe as you walk,” Sponheim warned. “This castle is full of gossipers.”

Scolded by the inexpressibly gorgeous professor, the apprentice mage shyly straightened the hem of her robe. Robes were an emblem of the elite magia, but they were so long that normal wear would cause them to track mud after a few paces. To don the symbol of status without allowing it to be sullied spoke to one’s standing.

The thought of a magus being too overwhelmed to protect their clothing from filth was so undesirable that “Your robe is stained” had become a stereotypical insult within Krahenschanze. Yet the girl’s anger had been so irrepressible that she’d forgotten this critical rule of conduct.

The tivisco watched her bashfully fix her attire and flashed her a smile akin to a blossoming flower. “Him again?”

“That’s right!” she exclaimed. “Professor Leizniz is calling for him, but my dumb master is harder to catch than a stringless kite! He promised to teach me today too!”

The student stamped her foot as she complained about her master, Sir Vagabond—or so the moniker went.

Erich von Dalberg was the School of Daybreak’s top polemurge and a great authority on phantasmal research; he was also one of the biggest troublemakers in a cadre already famous for causing trouble.

To begin with, he inherited a great deal of negative renown from his direct master: the infamous Agrippina du Stahl, who herself had been awarded her long-awaited professorship ten years ago—though she had seemed horrendously displeased during the ceremony.

Furthermore, his notably short temper whenever his sister Elisa von Romhild was concerned had caused no shortage of incidents. At times, he’d claimed that another’s gestures and flirtations were, quote, “ungentlemanly.” When a magus had once asked Romhild to cooperate for a study on changelings, he’d interrogated the poor soul on what the research entailed. And of course, it went without saying that the moron who’d claimed “dirty mixed bloods shouldn’t walk the same halls as us” hadn’t gotten away unscathed.

Any mention of his sister threatened to bring the broad-minded professor’s boiling point down to absolute zero; every time, his glove flew into the offender’s face—though proper etiquette was to throw it at their feet—faster than a whistling arrow.

Dalberg’s storied dueling record had brought more men to their knees than one could count on their fingers and toes. As of late, people had counterintuitively begun picking fights with him just to show their strength in a public setting. A normal magus would reprimand such an idiotic pretense for combat, but the lunatic invariably accepted their challenges with a smile; according to him, it was good to see the young ones so lively.

Furthermore, he was the exact opposite of the cooped-up recluse he called a mentor. His wanderlust was no mere love of travel; otherwise, his fellow magia would not so derisively refer to Sir Vagabond as they did.

When a new phantasmal entity was discovered in the west, he flew from his office to sketch it. When he heard news of pre-imperial ruins in the north, he vanished to secure historical artifacts. When the wreck of a sunken treasure vessel was found in the south, he threw all his plans out the window. When a new ichor maze popped up in the east, he teleported away without a moment’s delay. The so-called professor wasn’t just light on his feet; he was practically an adventurer.

It was a feat for him to spend two total months out of the whole year in Berylin. He attended obligatory lectures with farsight and familiars, and held all of his own with thought transfers and telekinetic blackboards. The College couldn’t sack him when he fulfilled all his responsibilities, but magia from every sect wondered why he didn’t just quit and become a full-time adventurer.

What was worse, his connections at the top made him impossible to snuff out politically. Although he rarely participated in noble power games, he famously drove anyone who opposed him into the dirt.

On top of that, if he took a liking to another magus—whether professor or student—he was liable to whisk them away on one of his lengthy adventures on a whim, further angering their superiors and fellow researchers.

Despite their many professional research obligations, Professor Sponheim was one of the usual (willing) victims. Naturally, all those who relied on the tivisco for their work absolutely abhorred Dalberg and his antics. Unfortunately, those he spirited away always seemed eager about the journey, and their support of Sir Vagabond only made the situation harder to deal with...

Why, then, you may ask, did these disgruntled professors not conspire together to overpower his political protections? Alas, Dalberg’s contributions to the field of magic were undoubtedly substantial; to expel him would lead to no shortage of academic issues.

Then why not simply kill him, you say. As previously mentioned, the battle junkie had no losses on his record, and was well regarded as a Daybreak polemurge, making this next to impossible.

The previous emperor had paved a large road to facilitate eastern trade, and one of the small nations adjacent to it had risen up against the Empire not too long ago. Dalberg had been tossed into the fray as the initial imperial response, and his work was unforgettable.

He’d posted up just in front of the enemy capital and used a homebrewed spell to reduce the area to a desert of glass; all that had remained were hot cinders raining back down to the cracked earth. Afterwards, he’d said, “Give me your leader’s head or the capital is next,” and that was it for the rebellion. He’d received a medal directly from the Emperor for his accomplishments, and those who witnessed his might spoke of the Ashbringer with fear and awe.

Dalberg had never lost a fair fight and could bring down a small country with raw power. To add insult to injury, he used forgotten space-bending magic to hop around to his heart’s content, and also as an impenetrable shield. When those who plotted his death asked “How do we even kill this thing?” they were forced to give up for a lack of solutions.

As a result, Erich von Dalberg had become one of the untouchables of the Imperial College of Magic. People spoke of him like they did an alf, warning others not to draw his attention lest he spirit them away—though perhaps that was a sarcastic jab at how his fellow professor-cum-sister followed him around like an assistant.

“Ah...” Sponheim said. “Well, don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll come home right away this time. I haven’t heard anything, and Miss Romhild is holding her opening lecture today. If he’s running away from Lady Leizniz, then he’ll be back within the month.”

“Why does he have to run from the dean of our own cadre? She’s so nice! Professor Leizniz even gives me pretty clothes. I don’t get it!”

Mika von Sponheim had all the intellect needed to become a professor, but they were at a loss for what to say to the young girl. Explaining that a man nearing thirty would rather abandon his apprentice than let his dean dress him up was easy, but ruining their best friend’s master-disciple relationship simply wasn’t an option...

[Tips] Professorship is the highest rank a magus can achieve. One must prove their own worth through publications and experiments before even being considered for the title. After a council of senior professors reviews their exploits, the especially noteworthy are granted unigenerational noble titles.

Bumping along on a rickety wagon with my woefully underused sword in hand always perked me up: this was the feeling of adventure.

“Thank you so much, sir. We’ll make it to our destination yet with a College professor by our side!”

“No, no, I should be the one thanking you,” I said. “You have no idea how grateful I am that you made space for me on such short notice.”

My host was a bald dvergar with a thick beard. He was the leader of a small caravan, and I’d caught hold of him just as they were leaving the capital. I didn’t see any mages or magia accompanying them, so they must have been bracing for a most unpleasant trip—hence his excitement to have me tag along.

“I’m so sorry about the rough accommodations,” he said. “Please, feel free to relax and take a moment to gaze at the sky.”

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer,” I said. “But if the time comes when my meager magic might be useful, don’t hesitate to call on me.”

I rolled onto my back and watched the wonderful weather. It would already be a waste to coop myself up in the College on a day like this, and playing fashion model with a pervert would shatter my mind. What was her deal, anyway? I was a grown man nearing thirty—nothing about me should have lined up in her strike zone...

I set all that aside and stretched my whole body, trembling from the unspeakable sensation of liberty. My life had been a hectic one: I’d thought to start my adventures after earning a foothold in society, but I never would have imagined this line of work to be so obnoxious. I wanted to go back in time and tell myself, “Take a moment to see how fervently your clever master resists promotion.”

Recently, I’d spent two weeks rummaging through the forbidden book vault at my master’s request, fighting off literal literary monsters and terrible curses leaking from ungodly tomes.

As soon as I’d finished, my antisocial sister came crying to me, saying, “Dear Brother, help me prepare for my lecture! I don’t want to be in the big lecture hall! I can’t be in a room with hundreds of people!” Getting everything sorted out for her had taken three days.

Just as I thought I was done, Mika had swung by and said, “I’m going to the next banquet as a woman, so would you mind being my escort?” Of course, she hadn’t told me that the banquet-slash-research-event was a five-day affair.

The gaudy limelight wasn’t for me. Where was the fun in making a battlefield of a night of drinks with the cohort, coating our tongues with sugared words and venomous implications? I admit that galas offer prime opportunities to secure research funding, but I’d stood out a bit too much in battle, and my potential patrons only seemed interested in sponsoring dangerous experiments as of late.

Honestly, I understood that Mika was tired of shooing away every suitor, but I would very much appreciate being relieved of my post as shield. In fact, they’d gone agender again mid-event, so I hadn’t known how to follow up when they’d continued acting out a feminine role for the remainder of the feasts.

Still, I didn’t have any mind to refuse when my best friend needed help; rescuing my little sister in her time of need was obviously a given; I took advantage of Master Agrippina as much as she did me, so I was willing to do her bidding every now and again. But Lady Leizniz? Absolutely not.

My recent struggles could have filled several long-form campaigns, and surrendering myself to a two-hundred-year-old wraith with a dress-up fetish immediately after was unthinkable. Of course I’d run. I don’t think my soul could take it if I’d stayed. That maniac was getting more deranged as time went on, and frankly, she scared me.

“Promotions aren’t all they’re cracked up to be...”

“What was that? Do you need something, sir?”

“No, sorry. Don’t mind me.”

They paid me fifteen hundred drachmae a year, made me a noble, and gave me fancy titles, but this was the reality of the situation. Had I known the Imperial College to be a nest of unglued weirdos where sensible professors like myself were tossed around like gofers, I would have stayed a researcher. “Think of how incredible it’ll be to become a professor at twenty-four!” Mika had said. “Let’s do our best together!” they’d said. I should never have turned in that thesis...

I couldn’t believe that a simple adventure like this had become so hard to come by. Nowadays, I even had an apprentice of my own, making it all the harder to go off in search of fun. She was still too green to bring along, after all.

My meandering thoughts were interrupted by a paper butterfly fluttering out of a tear in space. I’d stolen Master Agrippina’s modus operandi wholesale to send a letter to my hometown. Of course, the message had gone to none other than...

“Good, Margit’s free. Staying at a hot spring inn alone would be so boring.”

Thankfully, the hunting season had yet to begin, and my childhood friend’s schedule was open. I’d introduced her to a noble house who’d put her in charge of prestigious grounds that kept her horrifically busy. I hoped that this would be the perfect way to help her unwind.

Oh, I know. Once I arrived at the inn and ironed out the waypoint marking, I’d bring over my whole family to enjoy the hot springs. My Hands would clean up all their chores in no time, so I figured it wouldn’t be too difficult to make time for them to come.

This was perfect: I’d left the College to visit and nurse my ailing family. My father, you see, developed...intense lower back pain, and my mother had...let’s say nerve issues, just for shits and giggles. Soaking in a hot bath would be exactly what the doctor ordered, and who could blame a child for rushing to their ill parents’ side?

While we were there, Margit and I could stop by the local adventurer’s guild and scope out the work. If they had difficult quests gathering dust, we could clean those up and I could write off more of my trip as fieldwork. Mika would probably be free by the time we finished up at the hot springs, so I could call them over too.

For the first time in quite a while, I had a chance to enjoy my real job. Master Agrippina would scold me when I got home, to say nothing of Lady Leizniz’s crying, but I was going to ignore it all anyway. I couldn’t waste time with them; I had my apprentice’s education to attend to.

Speaking of which, I needed to send her an apology before I forgot—and why not drag her to the inn while I was at it? Seeing new sights, experiencing new things, and learning to be curious at a young age were key to becoming a sensible adult. Besides, I didn’t want her to lose her mind on contact with bourgeois cuisine later in life; I needed to acclimate her to classy cuisine now. All in the name of education, mind you.

I blissfully swung my shoulders, savoring the lack of burdens placed on them, and began to plot our adventure.

[Tips] College professors are allowed to hold other posts, but their innumerable responsibilities make secondary jobs difficult to maintain.

Sir Vagabond is a perfectionist who personally collects his samples of phantasmal creatures, and even goes so far as to stuff them as taxidermic aids. As a result, his lectures are highly regarded by those in his field, with his lectures boasting impressive attendance rates.

The girl was a College student. She had a name, but wasn’t very fond of it: as the youngest, it was plainly obvious that little thought had gone into her given name, and her uncaring parents’ family name was just as detestable.

That said, she didn’t like it when her master playfully called her “my little lady” either. That was embarrassing, and she was only two years out from adulthood! Teasing a nearly grown woman as “little” was rather uncouth, she thought.

Upset, the girl sighed and sat at a work desk she found too good for herself. In fact, the same could be said of everything around her. These apprentice’s quarters were fit for an empress, and no matter how many times the girl refused, Lady Leizniz sent her more and more splendid clothes to put in her stuffed wardrobe.

Her hair was too muddy to call golden; her face was littered with freckles; her dark eyes were closer to black than a shimmering blue; her frame was thin and without curves; her features were a far cry from anything she could consider cute.

As she stared at the desk she had so excitedly prepared for a lesson, she began to wonder why her master had chosen her at all. Her mind drifted to the memory of a cold day...

Noble as they were, the girl’s house was destitute; so much so that a wealthy merchant was sure to surpass them in every way.

Three generations ago, the patriarch had gambled on a failing business venture. Two generations ago, the family head had been driven out of his aristocratic clique. Alone, the last generation’s leader had staked everything on winning glory in the previous emperor’s eastern conquest, only to fall to a stray arrow. Out of heirs, the house went to the man’s uncle—the girl’s father—who was inept at all things political.

One day, the girl grew old enough to warrant debuting in high society, and was taken to a banquet hosted by some nobleman or another. Yet her father had no interest in his unplanned youngest: her clothes were visibly cheap and he disappeared after half-heartedly introducing her to a few other guests.

Her father shamelessly begged and pleaded for loans to restore their house. The girl’s bargain threads were too thin for the weather, and a terrible melancholy set in as she watched him with a thousand-yard stare.

No one dared speak to her; they could see she was an unloved daughter from a crumbling family. The greater part of highborn behavior was dictated by calculation, and none were willing to spend their valuable time with someone who carried all risk and no reward. Even the head of her household was stonewalled by fake smiles. “Another time,” they all said. The girl knew that time would never come.

Although she knew he didn’t love her, her father was still her father. She couldn’t bear to see him beg so desperately. Outcast and unwanted, the girl’s heart was full of shame and the desire to go home.

Even worse, the girl had recently been plagued with chest pains. While she didn’t know whether it was an illness or simply the effects of unbridled cold, she did know that the burning sensation in her heart would be followed by a stinging headache behind her eyes. She had spent countless nights sobbing in bed, praying for a way to make it stop—though of course, it never did.

The pain had made another appearance on the night of the banquet. The girl’s heartbeat had begun to quicken, and she had started gasping for air. In two hours or so, the headaches would come, and they would be unbearable an hour after that. But she knew her family couldn’t afford an iatrurge; all she could do was keep still and suffer.

The girl wanted nothing more than to go home...until a slip of paper came into view. Stunned by its sudden appearance, the girl blinked in confusion, only for the parchment to begin folding in on itself. After a long, intricate process, the flat sheet had become a snow-white rose.

“Wow!”

For the first time in ages, the girl smiled. The flower was so beautiful that she could hardly believe it came from one piece of paper—and she’d seen its creation! Her shimmering eyes were glued to the papercraft and the oddly calloused hand it rested on. In fact, she didn’t so much as glance at the person holding it until he spoke...

“Do you like it?”

...and he was beautiful. His hair was braided in the back like a golden crown. The girl’s mother had a prized sapphire stashed away in her jewelry chest, but it couldn’t hold a candle to the glimmer in his kitten-blue eyes. Despite the feminine contour of his face, the inner core of hardy confidence that her father had long since lost shone through. His soft smile exuded a gentle warmth.

“Consider it a gift for a pretty little lady.”

“Thank you... Thank you very much.”

How long had it been since anyone had called her pretty as anything more than a nicety? She accepted the unfamiliar gentleman’s gift without much thought, but then began to observe him more carefully.

His well-tailored robe and long, gorgeous staff were the signs of a magus. The girl could tell at a glance that his soft garments had been sewn with expensive threads imported from the east. Clearly, he was of considerable stature.

“My apologies,” he said. “I forgot to introduce myself. I am Erich von Dalberg. I humbly serve the Trialist Empire’s Imperial College of Magic, where they have honored my lowly skills with the title of professor.”

Unbothered by the girl’s staring, Sir Erich von Dalberg bowed gracefully. The girl was baffled that he would treat someone like her with the respect of a noble, and it took a moment for her to catch her wits and return his introduction.

“I’m sorry,” the gentleman said. “I realize it isn’t proper to call out to you without speaking to your parents first, but you seemed so bored here by yourself.”

“Oh, um, that isn’t a problem at all, Sir Dalberg.”

“‘Erich’ will do, my lady.”

He smiled cheerfully and gently patted her on the head as praise for her good manners. The girl was thoroughly enjoying the unfamiliar sensation of a hand on her head until the man suddenly grumbled to himself in a cryptic tone.

“...I knew it.”

Perplexed, the girl traced his eyes to find that he was looking at the rose. She glanced at her hands only to discover that the paper had turned a deep blue before she knew it.

“Do you ever suffer from headaches, miss?”

Although the gentleman spoke unhurriedly, something about his tone suggested that he would not accept any lies. The girl answered frankly, and did so for the queries that followed too—she even spilled the details of her family’s financial woes despite explicit orders not to do so.

Eventually, after asking a great many questions, the magus silently put a hand on his chin. He spent a moment in deep thought and then knelt down to speak to the girl at eye level. His gaze was an endless blue that threatened to swallow her whole.

“Would you like to apprentice under me, miss?”

All at once, the girl was shocked back into the present: something had tickled her. Focusing her eyes, she saw a papercraft butterfly—a favorite messenger of her master—had perched itself on her nose.

“Wha—hey! Get off!”

The young mage was embarrassed that she’d been too absorbed in her daydream to notice a message literally in front of her eyes; she swatted the living letter with a shout to dispel the lingering awkwardness.

However, the butterfly had inherited its creator’s habits of motion and easily dodged her hand, silently unfolding to present its contents. The letter had been written in her master’s obnoxiously perfect penmanship, but the lack of loathsome pleasantries usually found in aristocratic writings showed how fond he was of her. In their place, he’d apologized for his absence and asked her to join him on a short excursion.

She was to crumple the paper if she had other plans, but otherwise he would pick her up in two hours’ time.

“Gosh! You never tell me these things beforehand!”

For all her outward fury, the girl had a skip in her step and a smile on her face as she started to pack her bags. 

[Tips] Most mages awaken to their powers once they attain a certain amount of mana. However, an overabundance can cause a breakdown in the standard process.

The Trialist Empire was home to several healing spas. As you might expect, the one to drill into our few volcanic mountains and turn them into hot springs had been the Emperor of Creation who had founded Rhine in the first place. He’d declared that bathing was good for the body, and natural water even more so, spending his twilight years relaxing in the vacation spots he’d created. Nowadays, they were popular with people of every caste.

We had come to a southern resort renowned for spring water of both the bathing and drinking varieties. It was the sort of place a well-off commoner could reasonably afford to splurge on. After paying our dues, I gathered my bathing supplies in the lobby leading into the changing room.

“Goodness, your invitations are always so sudden.” Although Margit initially sounded annoyed, she sat down beside me with a rapt grin. She had her own soap in hand and seemed perfectly ready to enjoy a nice bath—and while I don’t think it needed to be said, the waters were not mixed.

“Sorry,” I said. “I thought you could use the break.”

“Oh, I very much could. Erich, the position you found me may pay handsomely, but I don’t know if you realize how exhausting it is. One moment I’m to keep the fox population level, and the next I’m to gather wolves to release for the next hunting event. The good count never seems to run out of requests.”

Margit shrugged to play up how demanding her work was, but I knew that she was doing fine. If nothing else, her employer appreciated her so much that he proudly introduced her to his hunting mates as “the keeper of my grove.”

“And on top of that...” She tested me with a sideways glance and sultry sigh. “Everyone around me seems so concerned about when I’ll find a husband and rear a successor.”

Look, I know—I know. But if I may defend myself, I hadn’t left Margit waiting. In fact, I couldn’t think of any unnecessary detours I’d taken on my path home to get her. But when I’d arrived in Konigstuhl, she’d sidestepped my proposal by saying, “Oh, but being a nobleman’s wife would be so stuffy. I could never.”

So, while she agreed to join me on our adventures, we’d dragged on our comfortable distance into our late twenties. No one had yet mocked us as unwanted and unwed on account of our impressive careers, but the pressure was starting to ramp up. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to force her into a position I knew she wouldn’t fit, so I was just as much to blame.

“Of course, it wouldn’t be so problematic if I had some way of hushing them up...” Margit leaned over the table with a fanged smile.

“Hey there, you two look like you’re having fun.” Out of nowhere, Mika showed up and popped in between us.

“Oh, Mika,” I said. “Finally here?”

“My,” Margit said, “it has been some time, von Sponheim.”

“Thanks to your space-bending portal,” Mika said to me. “And Margit, can’t you call me Mika, at least while we’re here? This sort of retreat is one of the few chances I get to drop the stuffy formalities.”

Mika casually took a seat between us. They were wearing a simple dress in place of their usual robe—a few years ago, they’d started dressing in both men’s and women’s clothing when between sexes—but failed to cover up their inherent class. Naturally, our party’s deft debuffer was well acquainted with our capable arachne scout.

The two of them sort of got along and sort of didn’t, though I’d noted that the air between them occasionally felt strangely enchanting. I’d tried probing the topic over drinks once, only for Margit to respond, “Not every venue is suited for a gentleman, you know?”

That night, I had decided that some questions men were better off not asking, especially when it concerned two women. Margit never made any comments when Mika and I goofed off like a pair of stupid boys, so I figured this was just one of those unspoken rules that helped keep a group of friends running smoothly.

“Boy, this sure is a nice place,” Mika said. “Someone was selling drinks on my way here. Do you think they’re any good?”

“We sampled some not too long ago,” Margit replied. “The refreshments have a wonderful tinge of salt to them. I hear that this inn customarily serves their drinks with sweet pastries.”

“Ooh! That sounds great. I’ve been craving simpler sweets lately. I hate the trend these days of trying to make desserts more luxurious by adding more sugar; this’ll make a great break for my tongue.”

See? Their maidenlike small talk had already begun. Our synergy as a full party was nothing short of perfect, so I didn’t mind being left out on occasion.

Speaking of which, it was about time to open up another portal. My student knew how things went, so the fact that my letter hadn’t been thrown in the trash meant she’d decided to join us on today’s field trip.

Margit and Mika both loved doting on her, so she was sure to learn a lot of vital lessons for any magus-in-training: close-quarters combat, detecting pursuants, recognizing poison, first aid...the list went on.

Every first-rate magus needed ten people with two pairs of hands just to begin counting the number of people after their life. Some came after valuable field samples, others tried to silence meddlesome publications, and still others wanted to steal the glory of an impressive breakthrough. Regardless of reason, one’s enemies grew in number as they climbed the social ladder.

I wanted my student to spend her youth having fun and learning important lessons—just like I had.

“Oh, it looks like your apprentice is here,” Mika said. “All right, let’s hop in the bath. Want me to wash your hair, Erich?”

“And what makes you think you can waltz into the same tub as him?” Margit retorted. “I should think a maiden so aptly dressed would join me in the women’s bath.”

“I picked these clothes on a whim. I’m sexless right now, you know?”

“Stop that. You’ll frighten the gentlemen enjoying the water.”

I could hear my student’s hurried footsteps grow closer as my companions bantered amongst themselves. My family would be on their way as soon as they finished all the household chores.

Tonight was going to be a fun night.

[Tips] Despite housing few volcanic regions, the Empire boasts a great number of bathing resorts.