Certified Grinder

Ranni searched through three different papers, each handwritten.

The first contained vague details about the unknown Mutant hermit—only known as the Cartographer within the novel. Mark made sure to give a heads up that the name would be subject to change, but likely kept the same 'theme.'

The second page revealed the next most effective Alchemist. The Archbishop of the Church of the Dryad, one of the Elven Gods, had a daughter who Mark suspected was a master Alchemist. The Archbishop's daughter crafted a God-like elixir as a prize for, you guessed it, a tournament arc.

'Come on, you know the drill.'

And lastly—and perhaps the most valuable—was the sole survivor of the Slaughter of Forsmark, the last remaining heir to the Forsmark family. According to Mark's memory, it should be a boy about 15 years old.

Count Forsmark ran the one and only Human settlement in the Mutant Realm. Mutant rebels, who of course weren't too keen on Human colonization, rebelled, completely razing the entire town of 10,000.

When the battle broke out, a few important civilians managed to escape. However, the Mutants broke the Kriophorus, trapping the vast majority in the Mutant Realm. None were taken captive—slaughtered on the spot.

Count Forsmark's young son was one of those few escapees. With a smoldering revenge boner, he dedicated his life to destroying the Mutants.

Back in the Human Realm, he was taken into custody by distant relatives—the Forsberg family—though with limited supervision. He found his talents in the art of Alchemy.

'And what better way to commit genocide on an entire race than to create mass-scale bioweapons?'

The Forsmark heir was an Alchemy genius, though obviously his talents were channeled into something far more sinister than a simple cure to Acute Mutation Disease

Mark decided to give this short history lesson based on the simple fact that out of the three options he gave, the Forsmark heir seemed to have the highest likelihood of bearing fruit.

That being said, the boy still had a few years before Awakening and reaching his full potential.

'Wonder how many years Ranni's mother can last…'

Acute Mutation Disease was the primary way the Mutants procreated, turning other races into their own.

It was a very slow and painful death, slowly chipping away at one's vitality. The Human's only remedy was through a medically induced coma and a constant supply of potion injections—an extremely expensive endeavor, but one the Luikots could afford.

That didn't mean it was indefinite, but it certainly bought time. If the Acute Mutation Disease didn't get her, then the overuse of potions would.

"I'd been meaning to ask," Ranni said, her eyes still trained on the papers. "How come your knowledge of the future seems so…"

"Hamstrung? Incomplete?"

"I suppose so."

"The future knowledge I have belongs to an altered version of this world," Mark explained, stirring his ice-cold glass of water. "I'm unsure of how events will unfold as of now. The only consistency between this world and my memories is Kaedom itself, along with the families that inhabit it. All first names have been changed, and personalities have been altered."

"And what of my fate?"

"The other version of you? Luikots heir?"

"Yes."

"A mindless servant, belonging to a man of unfathomable power. A slave to senseless desires and unrealistic motivations."

Mark's words lingered in the air as Ranni tried to interpret his words. However, the two thought about very different things.

"What about—"

"Why don't we talk about compensation?" Mark interrupted, wanting to move on as much as possible from a rocky and deceitfully told future.

"Very well," Ranni huffed, setting the papers down. "Do you have something in mind?"

"Just keep it on my tab," Mark replied. "There's something I want, but it'll take some time—and money especially."

"Thank you," Ranni folded up the papers, holding them tightly in her grip. "This means a lot."

"Don't mention it," Mark stood out of his seat. "Time to head to the Guild, then."

"Wait."

"Hmm?"

"Just take the rest of the day off."

"With pay?"

"With pay," Ranni nodded. "Well… there's one more thing I need from you."

"What is it?"

Ranni motioned behind her to a sleeping woman slumped over the bar counter, a perturbed look on the lone bartender's face.

Professor Everett's chest slowly bobbed with the steady and rhythmic breaths of rest—knocked out cold at the bar before noon.

"She needs some serious help," Mark noted.

"Preaching to the choir," Ranni sighed as she stood up. "Help me load her into the carriage and you'll be free of me. She's heavier than she looks."

'She can't be a match for my 6 Strength, can she?'

***

Answer: Yes.

Moving Everett was arduous, even with two Class 1-A students. But eventually, the trio made it down to the Luikots' carriage outside.

Wiping the sweat off his brow and saying his goodbyes, Mark took a carriage of his own back to Kolzig-Bondra. His contractual obligations were absolved—now it was time to focus on himself.

'With that list of names, she should feel indebted to me. I can basically get any monetary gift I want. How much was a loved one worth in Gold? For someone rich, a lot.'

But it wasn't Gold that Mark wanted—at least not entirely. He had another high-level object in his sights, though it would be a difficult endeavor.

Mark's real need at the moment was to improve his swordsmanship, and with this credit, he could try and obtain a powerful Art.

'But going after an Art right now would be inefficient. I need my foundations solid, not rushed.'

To that end, he decided to go all in on the Academy Art that he already had. It would be ineffective for his short-term combat, but in the end, mastering it first would allow him to rival William.

Killing William was still the ultimate goal, though it seemed more farfetched with each day. End also seemed to be playing the long game alongside Mark.

'I'll need to earn a bit more money to afford some proper investigators, but if End just told me what I needed to know, I wouldn't have to deal with all this bullshit.'

As End said, Mark had a lot of time. It was very likely that the future wouldn't be as easygoing.

…

Upon arriving at the Academy via massive blue giant instant teleporter, Mark immediately went to the Training Facility.

'Quite dead…'

Not many saw Humanity's imminent turmoil as a sign to grow stronger—or they simply wished it false.

Mark's main issue was his lack of practice. Instinct played a large role in swordplay. He had the tools, he just needed the reps.

With how simple the Art was, all it took was hundreds of reps of air swings.

Inside the Training Facility, he stood alone, going through the motions of his Art. Each swing cut into the air with a whistling wind that seemed to give Mark feedback.

It wasn't just the sword that needed work, he practiced the footwork required as well. His training wasn't precise, but it was improving.

But still, it wasn't fully impactful unless put into some practice—identifying incoming attacks was pivotal to the defensive form.

Utilizing a state-of-the-art magic doll—a robot in essence—Mark was able to practice his blocks, parries, and ripostes.

Practical work was much more helpful; it allowed him to recognize attacks rather than just studying theory. Still, this was just training. It teetered on the definition of 'practical.'

As the sun set, Mark's arm and back muscles began to give out. The movements slowly engrained themselves into his physical being.

The information forcefully shoved into his brain slowly began to actualize—appearing somewhat reminiscent of actual proficiency.

'Status.'

┌─────═━┈┈━═─────┐

◃───***Arts***───▹

✩ Academy Longsword: Defensive Style

➥Mastery: Beginner (60/100) +45

└─────═━┈┈━═─────┘

'Pretty solid. My Remedial Combat Class should clean the rest up tomorrow or the day after, I hope.'

…

With a job well done, Mark walked back to the Middle Boy's Dormitory. A hot shower and the night's embrace were calling out to him.

As it was soon to be the beginning of the week, more students returned. And with it came a flock of fiendish and combative stares.

'I should really stop talking about stares, but it's so difficult not to. How does Ranni block it out?'

Mark yawned as he kept his eyes forward. It was still a bit early to sleep, but he'd been feeling quite drained as of late. It couldn't hurt to catch up on some rest.

Things were going quite splendidly for Mark—he couldn't help but wear a slight smile on his face as he navigated his way to his dorm.

'This flight of stairs is killer though.'

The Middle Dorms weren't special enough to include a magic elevator, much to Mark's dismay, but it was only five stories. His room was on the third.

CLICK.

Opening his door, Mark's shoulders immediately released tension, the room contained an air of respite.

'Shower time.'

If only things were that simple.

Before he stepped foot into the dorm room, a peculiar sight pecked at his lower periphery.

On the ground was a letter.

'Hmm…?'

YOU ARE BEING WATCHED.