Chapter 8: Trouble

Yaaro's jaw dropped when he saw the room.

It looked like a 5 star hotel on Earth, complete with a shower and a working bidet.

'I thought this world was in the medieval age…'

He tinkered with the shower and a wide grin appeared on his face. There were even temperature controls! After some exploring, he excitedly started to strip and threw his ragged clothes in the trash. Unable to contain the giddiness, he rushed to the bathroom, turned on the hot shower and let out a sigh of relief.

The warmth of the water pleasantly melted into his skin. The shower got so warm, he couldn't tell where his skin ended and where the air began. They even had a bar of soap!

'The city stinks and they don't have sewage systems. But they have hot showers… How wonderful.'

Without complaint, he sang all his favorite songs in the shower— atleast the ones he could sing, and excitedly scrubbed his body clean. An hour later, he finally dried himself clean.

"This is life." He murmured and strode over to his bed, which already had a pair of clothes on it— courtesy of the University: a plain set of pyjamas and a white uniform. Quickly changing his clothes, he jumped into the soft and springy bed and stretched.

"Indeed. This is life."

But his relaxation only lasted a short moment.

He brought out the black egg and inspected it— peering at it closely for any blemishes to its perfectly matte surface.

"What are you…"

When he could not decipher its secrets, he stowed it away in his inventory.

His mind wandered as he lay in bed. The sun had long set and his room was dark, with a slightly blue tint.

Just this time yesterday he was excitedly looking forward to the trip with his friends. Now, a mere 24 hours later, his life had changed so much.

Sure, magic was great but…

"I wonder what they're doing…"

The minutes ticked by as he gazed at the dark ceiling.

With a sigh, he stood up and paced around.

The minutes ticked by.

"So boring…"

And then a lightbulb went off in his head, making him groan and facepalm.

'Why do I need to be bored? I have magic!'

Immediately he brought up his status panel.

Name: [Yaaro Ilay]

Titles: None

Level: 3

Skills: [Enhanced Speaking] [Mana Manipulation Lv4] [Tentacle Manifestation Lv1]

Stats: Mana-> 10,315,780 Strength-> 3 Speed-> 2 Stamina-> 2

Internally, he revised the principles he had learnt so far.

When mana is assumed to take a certain form, it takes that form.

He could give it any form and texture he wanted, but there seemed to be a limit. He couldn't make a perfect basketball for example, which might be because of his low mana manipulation skill.

He couldn't make a mana construct that was completely separated from him— because to prevent it from disappearing, a small tether had to be present.

'How do I make something like a fireball…'

'Ariadne said to assume mana already is the form you want. Let's try that.'

Yaaro closed his eyes and created an invisible ball of mana in his hands. He imagined feeling fire, hot and burning. Red and searing. He imagined its tongues of flame licking his hands and suddenly yelled.

"OW. FUCK." Instinctively, he waved his hands in the air and looked at where his mana ball was supposed to be. It was very hard to see, but there was no mistaking it. There were the last embers of a flame. He had created fire out of nothing but magic.

[Skill: Temperature Control has been learnt!]

'Nice! But let's not put it in my hand this time.'

And so, this time, he opened his eyes and entered the state of concentration. He made the ball of mana float a metre away from him and repeated the same process.

Pwoof—

An orange ball of fire danced in the air. Despite its distance, he could still feel the heat.

[Skill: Pyrokinesis has been learnt!]

"NICE!" He yelled instinctively and immediately shut up. He looked cautiously at his door. He didn't know if there were other students outside, but he didn't want to be that one loud and boorish person.

Never.

There was a time when he was that person. Extremely loud and boisterous.

Back in school, his laugh was so loud the whole cafeteria could hear it. What better way to share your mirth than to laugh from the bottom of the heart? His father had told him that the secret to a fulfilling life was a good laugh and he had kept his advice to heart ever since.

For Yaaro, his boisterous laugh was something he took pride in. Until one day.

It was a routine hangout with his friends. These people were his ride or die. Like other times, one of them had suggested they play a game that went as follows. It was a word guessing game where your partner had to guess the word from a clue.

Although it seemed innocuous, the competition turned fierce and the game was more fun than it seemed. Until one of his friends, his best friend of three years, gave his clue.

"Yaaro does this all the time." His partner could not guess. So another person had to give the clue.

"It's really fucking annoying bro. Like I wish he'd stop." Someone else gave a clue. It was another one of his best friends. Likewise, this friend's partner could not guess either.

"Loud." It was another clue. This person's partner couldn't guess it either. And finally, it was Yaaro and his partner's turn. His partner's clue was:

"It's a synonym of 'chuckle'".

"Laugh." Another friend said.

"Ah fuck. I should've just said that." His best friend said.

"Hey that doesn't count. You can't just say 'This word is a synonym'. Redo the round." His other best friend said.

Yaaro laughed.

But from then on, it was never as loud.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The cafeteria was a spacious room. In contrast to the medieval city outside, the interior looked strangely modern. With sleek panel lights, neutral wall colours and long wooden white benches that looked very out of place.

A line of students waited to receive their food and Yaaro stood at the end. After lying in bed for so long he felt hungry. Luckily, the cafeteria was still open. From the moment he entered however, he had been getting stares and glances which made him uncomfortable.

Surprisingly, the food he received made him salivate. There was a glistening reddish-orange meat stew that looked like goulash, bread with a hard crust and soft, springy insides and finally, a tiny bowl with salted butter. Simply imagining the buttery bread dissolving in his mouth was enough to make him grin widely.

When he first saw this city, Tuszeldwarv, he had been slightly worried about the quality of the food. Now, he thanked the Gods for not forsaking him.

But before he could sit down and dig in, a loud and arrogant voice boomed across the cafeteria.

"#@! %#@!"

The massive room turned silent and everybody looked at Yaaro. In front of those gazes, he curiously looked to the source of the yell.

There was a boy sitting in a laid-back position with his legs on the table. A prominent scar ran along his forehead and he had an arrogant, threatening aura. With jet black slick hair and sharp features, he glared at Yaaro. Surrounding him were a few other people who looked like his lackeys.

"Are you calling me?" Yaaro asked, using his enhanced speech skill. This seemed to elicit quite the reaction from the crowd as they burst into hushed whispers. The arrogant boy clicked his tongue and furrowed his brows.

"Yes. You." It appeared that he could use the voice too.

Yaaro walked to the boy with his tray of food and waited impatiently. From his demeanor alone, he could tell the boy was bad news. And from how nobody intervened, this boy seemed to wield considerable power.

"Name." The boy asked in a dismissive tone.

"Yaaro Ilay."

The crowd once again burst into hushed whispers. Aside from the boy and his lackeys, there was a general air of confusion in the cafeteria.

"Never heard a name like yours. Where are you from." He asked.

"I come from far away." Yaaro replied in a neutral tone.

"Where." The boy asked again, irritated.

Yaaro took a moment to look around. By now, there was a sizable crowd circling them. Eyes of anticipation, contempt, excitement and hope dotted the faces of the crowd. Just who was this polarizing figure? Yaaro wondered if he was simply the neighborhood bully or someone much more important.

'No, to have this much influence definitely means he's nobility. Of considerable influence too.'

"Eyes on me." The boy snapped his fingers, "Where are you from."

It was at this moment that the faces of the crowd changed to a single emotion.

Shock.

The sound of laughter echoed through the walls of the silent cafeteria. A casual, drawn out laughter.

"Why are you laughing." The boy's brows furrowed.

Yaaro spoke plainly.

"'Eyes on me'..." He laughed again, "I'm guessing you're nobility. But so what?"

Back on Earth, Yaaro would never be this daring; this brazen.

But now, he had the power of magic. He was in another world with 10 million mana. Even with no reference to compare it to, it was no doubt a mind-boggling amount of mana. Despite being in another world, his sights were set on going home.

Everything he did in this world was temporary.

A single eyebrow rose on the boy's forehead, along with a corner of his lip.

"You don't seem to know who I am."

"I don't."

In reply to Yaaro, one of the boy's lackeys: a tank-like hulk of a man, answered.

"My Lord is the eldest son of the Duke von Straaten. Darius von Straaten."

"You shall address him with respect." Steel hissed as the man drew his sword. It was a gleaming blade, rusted and stained only on one side. No doubt it had severed countless heads. With the fierce eyes of a lion, the man glared at Yaaro.

"If you don't—" A hand interrupted the man.

The boy, Darius von Straaten, stopped him.

"Holstein." Darius seemed visibly annoyed. More by his lackey acting out of line, than Yaaro's flippant attitude. "Do not draw your sword here."

The man, Holstein, bowed and obeyed his liege.

Darius leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees.

"Yaaro…" Darius said, "Is it not proper to pay respect to those worthy of it?"

Yaaro was unmoving.

"To those worthy of it…?" He murmured.

"Did you not hear him? Bow!" Holstein commanded.

The words of the old man flashed in his mind, and he belatedly realized that this was what they meant. It was better to bow your head and live another day.

No. Fuck that.

And then nobody could believe their eyes.

And every member of the audience prayed fervently:

For Yaaro Ilay to not be executed.