Min-Maxing My TRPG Build in Another World - Volume 5 - Chapter SS1

Manservant at the College’s Reception Desk

The Imperial College of Magic championed the lofty goal of venturing into the unknowable depths of all there was to know, and offered an environment for seekers of knowledge to hone their crafts. Yet, being an institution put together by humans, it had its fair share of problems. Jealousy, grudges, bullying—like war, these petty issues were simply ingrained in what made people people.

One young student found himself waiting in the lobby for the College’s job bulletin to be restocked with requests. He was the son of a wealthy merchant, so he wasn’t here to earn his keep; his only aim was to get some practical experience and sell his name among the professors and researchers putting out the requests.

In the same vein, a handful of well-to-do boys and girls who knew nothing of want were waiting nearby too. Plenty of professors placed great emphasis on how many of these bulletin tasks a student completed, and completing the right listings could lead to long-standing connections with those above.

As he leisurely waited for the board to be restocked, another boy caught his eye, appearing unannounced by the sound of footsteps. The newcomer’s carefully braided golden hair naturally drew stares: after all, this indentured servant occupied a unique position here at the College. Not only did he serve an accomplished magus who’d been gone for fieldwork for decades, but he was the personal pet of Dean Leizniz, leader of one of the Five Great Pillars.

His name was Erich...or was it Eric? Regardless, it seemed like he had business at the reception desk: he quietly lined up to wait for his turn carrying a massive stack of papers. It was this humility and his understanding of his place on the social ladder that had let him dodge public scrutiny despite his unique circumstances.

Again, it had been enough. No longer was that the case.

As his employer began to garner attention, the boy had slowly become the target of others’ ire. Though the student hadn’t heard anything of substance, nasty rumors that being his lord’s most trusted retainer—allowed free passage in and out of her laboratory, at that—had gotten to his head were making the rounds. By the young magus-in-training’s estimate, the nobles around their age weren’t exactly pleased to see the boy’s master climb the social ladder in leaps and bounds.

In fairness, the majority of aristocrats that enrolled were third or fourth sons who hoped to honor their families by winning a bureaucratic position at some point in the future. As privileged as they were, they weren’t that privileged, and seeing someone else bestowed the titles they so coveted was sure to fan the flames of their envy.

That said, mere students had no hope of standing up against a soon-to-be professor and count. Thus, the natural course of action was for them to take out their anger on someone below them: the unenrolled manservant she dragged along everywhere.

The young student saw a clique of noble children snicker at the poor servant and pull out their wands; they were going to do something stupid. Honestly, he could hardly believe that the so-called proud nobility of the Empire would stoop low enough to use magic in service of their own petty gratification.

His view hidden by the mountain of papers in hand, the servant was a sitting duck for the Unseen Hand creeping toward his feet. Worse still, the pranksters had loosened the cap off the ink bottle of the girl next to him—a count’s daughter, no less—to set up a dastardly trick as old as time. Their foolery was no better than that of the unwashed brats of the low quarter; seeing them was a good reminder that noble birth alone was not enough to foster noble character.

But then again, the student thought, ashamed, he wasn’t really any better. Here he was, watching without so much as offering a warning. But his family wasn’t strong enough to antagonize the upper classes, and he couldn’t justify bringing his master’s name up willy-nilly. Unfortunately, he couldn’t bring himself to throw away his own future for someone else’s sake.

Usually, this would be where the helpless servant is blamed for causing a scene, ruins his master’s paperwork with ink, and is put in serious trouble for bothering a count’s daughter—but not a single one of those timeworn story beats unfolded as they normally would. The boy hopped over the invisible appendage sweeping at his feet without even a hint of showmanship.

As an onlooker, the young student was impressed. The servant went on to dodge a second, then a third attack, so this clearly was no coincidence; he even kicked away the fourth attempt that had tried to grab his ankles. He could see.

On top of that, when one of the Hands went wide and slammed into the highborn girl beside him, he managed to break her fall with good grace. Throwing his stack of papers high into the air, he first caught her ink bottle before the cap could come loose; then, he used his free hand to gingerly catch the girl as she careened backward. Finally, the heap of papers came back down on a precise, gentle arc that he snagged between his elbow and shoulder with his bottle-holding arm.

His reaction speed, decision-making, and dexterity were all top notch.

“Please excuse me for making contact without asking. Are you all right?”

“U-Um, yes. Thank you.”

Having just been spared the embarrassment of toppling over in a public place, the count’s daughter seemed confused by the sudden turn of events—but her eyes were positively glowing. This, too, was a development as old as time.

In the end, the mean-spirited trick had turned out in the manservant’s favor. As the saying went, those who play with pits and snares have all the means to hang themselves. The student supposed that the pranksters hadn’t suffered any consequences in this case, but seeing their victim turn into a hero was surely punishment enough.

More to the point, the magus-in-training wondered to himself who the servant-boy was with equal parts awe and fear. He was currently studying to be a polemurge, and his familiarity with martial arts meant he could properly gauge how ridiculous the feat he’d just witnessed was.

His interest had already been piqued when noticing the steadiness of the boy’s gait, but his sheer stability when breaking the girl’s fall—a quite violent one—solidified the student’s opinion that the boy was someone special. The fundamentals that allowed for this accomplishment could only come from long hours of training. On top of that, his reactions and decisions had been honed enough to make full use of his trained body; what was more, he was so observant that he’d noticed the faint trace of a minor spell.

No mere servant or retainer could do all of that. For his part, the student could have avoided the Hands, protected the papers, or saved the girl—if it were just one, he was confident he could’ve pulled it off. But to do all three without the help of at least a minor cantrip was well beyond his level.

The servant-boy was decidedly abnormal: menial labor would never lead someone to carry themselves like him. From the polemurge-hopeful’s perspective, the boy, with his meticulous commitment to perfect form, was the spitting image of a warrior.

How did those innocent, kitten-like eyes see the world? the student wondered. From how the servant and young lady had been positioned, she should’ve been perfectly in his blind spot.

A tangential epiphany suddenly struck the student: those numbskulled nobles had managed to earn a terrifying enemy in their quest for amusement. He offered up a silent prayer for their tragic futures, but also lamented his own inaction. Had he spoken up, he might’ve made an equally terrifying ally today.

Alas, more words of wisdom came to haunt him: he who has not the courage to stand for justice shall reap not its rewards.

[Tips] Being a house of learning composed of many individuals, the College cannot entirely avoid the darker sides of human interaction. Further, it must always be remembered that even the “students” of the institution are better versed in the art of violence than the disciples of any other craft.