Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School Chapter 117: Academic Dishonesty

Grand Concourse of Learning. Betreyan’s Hall. Local Ti: 1155 Hours.

Professor Vanavan

Music blared behind the hall’s heavy-set doors, marking the end to a class that felt as if it had barely even begun.

So sudden was this passage in ti, that I could even attribute its anomalous pace to the involvent of the most impossible of magics — chronomancy.

The involvent of which… wouldn’t have been so out of place, given the weeks’ preceding events; inadvertently catalyzed by a single party.

My eyes turned to the aforentioned source of the past week’s blights.

The purveyor of crisis upon crisis.

The very reason why this morning’s class had felt so… brisk.

The Blue Knight.

It was her lack of involvent in today’s class that had restored a sense of equilibrium and balance, a state of normalcy to the morning’s lecture.

And it was likewise her incessant involvent that had brought about a week of veritable chaos, and the scrutiny of both forces and interests outside of our control.

A silent war was now well underway in the back alleys of social intrigue, between the crossroads of academia and noble ambitions.

A war, which while ostensibly started by the earthrealr, was one which she was not privy to.

As the battles were fought not with steel nor fists, but with words and ink.

Battles which I would continue to fight. If only to fulfil my oaths and promises, to a being I had both successfully managed to analyze yet woefully failed to predict.

My eyes quickly glanced down at the unfinished letter sitting beneath the pile of howork, a nearly-finished rebuttal to the Inner Guard Captain Anoyaruous Frital, as she continued to push forth for an investigation which was soon to proceed into its next phase.

A phase which would necessitate the involvent of an indisposed party.

A party which was now in the process of—

TOO-TOO-TOOOOT!

CLINK-CLINK-CLINK!

Grand Concourse of Learning. Betreyan’s Hall. Local Ti: 1200 Hours.

Qiv

“Class is dismissed! You may all be excused for lunch in the grand dining hall.” The professor spoke softly, or at least, that’s what it always felt like when the man was up against anything marginally louder than a stray whisper.

I silenced those thoughts as quickly as they arose however.

As in spite of my… personal reservations on the man’s character, this did not detract from his place within the de-facto hierarchy, and his natural position as a Crownlands-born elf.

Authority and rank. Title and birthright. Inalienable aspects of the greater ga which one simply could not ignore, not even for a character as weak as his own.

As character alone hardly spoke much for an individual’s capacity if Ping and Booker were of any indication.

The forr of which now stood up promptly, corralling his own cohort as I did my own, as we slowly filed out of the hall.

Though irrelevant to the growing gas of Academy intrigue, I couldn’t help but to focus on the newrealr’s… strangeness on this day.

A strangeness which began the mont I laid my eyes upon her howork, and one which continued on throughout the course of the morning’s lecture.

I could however attribute the latter to the newrealr’s gradual attunent to the social decorum of Nexian academia. As even beings with the thickest of skulls had the capacity to learn and adapt, if only to survive within hostile new environnts.

Though it was the forr matter that had truly lodged itself within the back of my mind.

And not for any real concern over the content nor quality of her howork.

No.

Instead… my concerns lay with the dium through which they were delivered.

Her words.

Or more specifically, her handwriting.

And her apparent mastery over Nexian calligraphy.

Utilizing high script, sans abbreviations, sans simplistic reduction, with not one apparent use of shorthand even when it was socially appropriate.

When combined with her newrealr status, and the purposeful lack of aningful ti to prepare what would otherwise take the most gifted of scribes decades to master, her few pages of howork served not as a passing oddity, but a window into a baffling mystery.

The simplest solution to this debacle — that she rely used a bespoke enchanted pen — was preposterous.

Even ignoring the apparent ‘shielding’ of mana granted by her armor — thus relinquishing any and all ability to interact with enchanted items — there was still the matter of intent behind her script.

Yes, each and every letter was perfect.

But the fact that each and every letter, of each and every word was written in highscript? With all of the flourishes and serifs that ca with it?

This… was near obsessive degrees of penmanship.

Which could only imply that she had either been specifically trained, or held so form of impregnable iron-willed discipline. The likes of which were only comparable to the zealous intensity of Ping’s piety.

But perhaps I was rely overthinking things.

Perhaps this was simply just a question of practiced skill.

Perhaps there really wasn’t anything more to ponder.

But when one factors in the newrealr’s proclivities for the eccentric… this unexpected developnt provided yet another aspect of her being to be wary of.

As… whatever it was that lay beneath that armor, was a dormant threat lying in waiting.

A sleeping dragon whose capacity for the impossible was only rivaled by their discipline.

Even if that discipline seed lacking in much of their social interactions.

“Lord Ratom?” A voice suddenly brought out of my reverie; a soft, high-pitched, purposefully inoffensive voice.

“Yes, Lord Rostarion?” I replied politely, turning towards the diminutive, round rodent-like creature.

“Are you feeling well?”

“Why yes, I was rely…” I paused, my eyes locking onto the newrealr’s sudden jolt in the midst of her stride, as if she was suddenly taken over by a ghost or a spirit. “... pondering a few matters.”

The small furry mage shot a look towards the ragtag group in question, his eyes leveling if only for a mont, relaying the true thoughts behind that inoffensive facade.

“They are no threat to us, Lord Ratom. I can guarantee you this.” He stated in no uncertain terms beneath a veil of secrecy.

“Practically? Yes. They seem to be learning their place. Refusing to compete in the accumulation of points even when they very well could. However, it is not the matter of practical competition which concerns .”

This answer brought about the raised brow ridges of the black-furred winged Airit and the ever-tired brown-furred Uven, the latter of which seed to have woken through their perpetual daze if only for this subject matter.

“It is the… unpredictable and enigmatic nature of their newrealr compatriot that I am most concerned with.” I stated in no uncertain terms.

“A weakfielder who works primarily with parlor tricks.” Airit responded with a dismissive chuff. “Believe , Lord Qiv, even the enigmatic have their limits. We have already witnessed this during the House Choosing Ceremony, where the newrealr barely even participated when she had the chance to; a tell-tale sign that she is capable of nothing else. In short, I believe this newrealr is no different from those overly-ambitious candidates that have co before her. For despite all of her bluster, she is nothing more than a fire that burns bright. Just as with any bright fla, there will co a point where it snuffs itself out.” The shatorealr ended off her tirade with a gleeful grin, wrapping her mbranous-winged arms around her shoulders in that signature Shatorealr display of pride.

“I suppose so.” I acknowledged with a nod, not willingly dismissing the fiery response of the shatorealr just yet.

“I know so.” She followed up with a sly grin, her eyes locking not on the newrealr, but on her tainted partner. “The only class which the newrealr excels in will soon be her downfall. For the first of the specialized gauntlet shall start, and depending on Professor Chiska’s inclinations, it may very well begin with the gauntlet of flight. Her brutish inclinations may have served her well for the duration of the introductory challenges. But when it cos to the gauntlets which hedge on these natural latent gifts, we shall soon witness the beginnings of her burnout. This shall leave only the tainted avinor as my only aningful challenge. And I will be more than happy to disprove her so-called ‘greater’ status.”

There was a venom to Airit’s voice that I rarely observed, which prompted to both clear my throat, and deliver her a stern glare.

“I understand the temptation, Lady Airus. Emotions, most notably those stemming from undue scorn, elicited by an even greater unearned slight, are powerful motivators which can overpower even the most disciplined of minds.” I began, eliciting a narrowing of the shatorealr’s eyes. “But I cannot in my good conscience allow emotion and emotion alone to govern your actions.”

“So you would shield the avinor from my earned vengeance?” She seethed.

“I would shield us from the repercussions of pursuing a course motivated entirely by emotion and bias.” I countered. “Do not forget, Lady Airus, that this rivalry between your kind and the avinor is but a Nexian ruse. The colloquialism that is Lesser Avinor, was one given to you by a third party. It is, and has never been, one willingly endorsed by the Avinor proper.” There was a pause, as I allowed Rostario to follow up on this explanation, reinforcing my claims with peer support.

“It is an unfortunate slight which purveys all diplomatic endeavors, but it is one that should be ignored, Lady Airus.” The inoffensive rodent surmised. “Allow the tainted one to make her own blunders. For no amount of learned decorum, nor self-restraint, will prevent her taint from becoming the crux of her eventual downfall.”

“Lord Rularia’s group… is a house of cards.” Uven finally chid in. “A tainted bomb on a short fuse. Consisting of an eccentric newrealr with more fire than she has fuel to maintain it, a rcenary prince who struggles in polite society, and a petite minister whose ambitions have far outstripped his capabilities; Nexian as they may be.”

“Lord Rularia has truly miscalculated his goals at Transgracia. But I cannot bla him. For his calculations were based on what had previously been an assured investnt — the personal approach to overlordship of a newrealm. It just so happens however, that this newrealr candidate has proven to be anything but typical of the norm for newrealms.” I shrugged. “But I digress, the man will beco but a casualty of his own ambitions. Though if we play our hand correctly, we may still be able to salvage sothing of a bond, if only with the Nexian wishing to flee his sinking vessel.”

I shifted my path following that speech, turning back towards the classroom. “Ensure our table is prepared for lunch. I need to have a word with Professor Vanavan.”

The Grand Dining Hall. Local Ti: 1205 Hours.

Thacea

The sudden jolt and shuddering of armor amidst a purposeful stride… was both peculiar and gravely concerning.

However, I garnered no more clues from Emma’s visage as to this sudden misstep from her opaque lenses and featureless face.

It was only after we’d sat down that I focused my attention towards her, but only after the application of a privacy screen and the arrival of our als.

“Emma, are you feeling alright?”

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Emma

Shift up, shift down, right arm, left arm, turn, then sync, aaaand sharp left, and—

“FUCK!” I ‘fell’ down into an infinite chasm, or at least, I felt like I did. As I found myself waking up in one of the worst ways possible — by tripping and ‘falling’ in my dream. Forcing back to the world of the waking with a violent gasp for air and a screeching skip in my heart’s rhythm.

I had barely enough ti to recover from that before I was thrust into yet another mini-nightmare in the world of the waking, as I felt both arms and legs, and my whole body moving autonomously against my otherwise groggy will.

However, unlike that… body-snatcher nightmare sequence with the null, this automatic movent lurched to a slow and gradual halt the mont the EVI detected Operator chanical Resistance, or OMR.

The gradual return of bodily autonomy and the transfer of motor privileges occurred over the course of seconds, as the EVI tried its best to follow the ticulously-programd motor function transferral processes.

Practically speaking, this ant that each and every movent felt sluggish at first, a preventive asure against operator error, saving an operator from the embarrassnt of falling face-first into the dirt upon rousing from unconsciousness.

This was because you had to really fight against the armor to regain control. With every movent of every joint feeling as if they were caked in a thick layer of oobleck, instead of the industry-grade variable-resistance-lubricant they were always swimming in.

In short, it felt like I was being forced through one of those in-armor exercise programs where artificial resistance was added to mimic weight training.

All of this was to say: it felt really weird.

Especially since all of this was happening just as I was thrust into the waking world.

In the middle of a walk.

But thankfully, I was trained for this.

“Your controls.”

“My controls.”

Despite it being sothing that was very much not recomnded in typical operations, this in-field bootup sequence was sothing that the LREF’s Rangers pioneered as part of their tactical training regin.

Complete malarkey. Was what Aunty Ran usually called it.

But then again, that was the TSEC marine in her talking.

Interbranch rivalry always did end up boiling down to poking fun at the weirder ‘quirks’ found in each respective branch.

It was the easiest thing to joke about after all.

It makes sense why the long-range pleasure-cruise forces decided on it. What do you think they do on their Long Patrols other than sleep? Of course they’d be the ones to pioneer sleeping in armor as a valid strat!

“Emma?” Thacea finally spoke, pulling out of my daze as I found that I’d auto-piloted onto our usual table for lunch. “Are you alright?”

“Ah, yeah! Don’t worry, I’m just a bit tired from last night.” I managed out through an awkward chuckle, as I instinctively moved to rub my eyes.

Only to once again bonk my armored hands against the tal of my faceplate.

It was small monts like these that made things really frustrating.

Because while haptic feedback was available on every part of my body covered by the undersuit, my face and eyes were tantalizingly out of range.

Just don’t eventhinkabout having an itchy nose. I sighed inwardly.

With the group’s concerns satiated, and with everyone now talking amongst themselves, I soon focused instead on the more pertinent task at hand — catching up on class.

“EVI, give the SparkleNotes version of Magic Theory class please.”

“Acknowledged. INTSUM (Intel Summary) is as follows… 1. There exist 29 distinct forms of mana.”

“Yeah, that fits in line with what we know.” I noted, grabbing a nutripaste tube in the process. “Except for the mystery ‘plus one’ type that we need to get to the bottom of. Continue?”

“2. Each form of mana corresponds to an elental form of magic. ‘Elental’ is disambiguated as ‘fundantal’, and not limited to the classical elents of wind, fire, earth, and water.”

“Ah. Classic Vanavan — semantics upon semantics.”

“3. The origin of all elental mana is pure mana, henceforth designated as ‘Type 1’, also referred to by VANAVAN as ‘Primavalic Energies’.”

This finally caught my attention as I began adjusting myself within the core of the armor.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have slept-in after all. Keep going.”

“4. Type 1 mana is derived entirely from the primavale. Purportedly — the Nexus’ unique disc-like shape is conducive to the natural flow and cycling of primavalic energies.”

I… had no response to that, as I watched as an annotated version of the Nexus’ supposed shape — a flat disc — was shown to on the HUD.

“5. All mana, but primarily Type 1 mana, erges through the ‘bottom’ of the Nexus, through its geological layers, and through discrete openings known asmanasprings.”

The conspiracy-theory-grade diagram continued, showing what looked to be sothing superficially analogous to the geomagnetic field lines of planets… except this was more fountain-like than anything, as this mysterious primavalic energy flowed up and through the Nexus’ flat disc, and out through distinct points encircling the center of the disc.

“6. Each ‘manaspring’, owing to its location and nature, has a natural inclination toward one distinct form of mana. As primavalic energies have a tendency to take on elental form as they travel through the Nexus’ geological layers.”

An example of this was quickly shown on screen, as the recording of Vanavan quickly sketched out the sa fiery volcanic realm we saw in one of the souvenir shop’s snow globes, denoting it as an infernium realm positioned at the edges of the crownlands; its fiery geography and ecology having ford as a result of its proximity to a manaspring rich in Type 2 mana.

“7. There are at least 28 major manasprings within the Nexus, all of which are positioned around the crownlands. Each with a specific inclination towards one of the 28 forms of elental mana. Though each manawell still exudes an equivalent amount of type 1 mana.”

“Right…” I acknowledged warily, wrapping my mouth around the oral induction port as I slowly chewed on the semi-solid baby food.

“8. In contrast to this, adjacent realms derive their primavalic energies through the tears naturally present in their skies, thus limiting them to a less refined and less reliable source of mana. Though so realms, owing to their similarities to the Nexus’ cosmological model, derive their primavalic energies from beneath the earth from their very own primavales.”

My eyes narrowed at this, as I shot a gaze towards Thalmin, rembering what he had to say about his realm’s local cosmology, and their beliefs on the skies.

“9. Vanavan notes that the first of the elental mana-types being that of fla, correlates with the rise of so of the first magically-inclined beasts — the dragons. Subsequent classes will cover each specific form of mana as the year progresses.”

…

I simply remained silent as my eyes went up and down those points, realizing that the class had gone from 0 to 100 real quick, especially when considering how introductory the last class was.

Beyond the class itself though, its contents seed to have just reaffird Ilunor’s outrageous claims.

Hearing it from the Vunerian was one thing, but hearing it from Vanavan of all people sohow hamred ho the reality of the situation.

That the Nexus, at least from the perspective of their own narrative, was in fact a literal discworld in a bottle.

A bottle that seed to contain an endless source of magical energy.

I… had to take a mont to process all of that.

As I ate in silence, once more leaving the armor to auto-pilot as I wiggled about inside of it, or as much as I could anyways.

“So… I’m assuming you actually sense the mana coming from your skies?” I finally blurted out, my question aid towards both Thacea and Thalmin, who both looked to each other curiously, before turning towards with a raise of their brows.

“Ever the studious one I see.” Thalmin first replied with a grin.” If you are referring to the seepage of pure mana into our realms, then yes, Emma. Though I can only speak for my realm, as tapesteric principles differ from realm to realm.” Thalmin began. “However, to get back to your point, yes. We can actually visualize it in a way, though it’s… difficult to describe considering how you can’t—”

“It’s fine, I just wanted to quickly double check Vanavan’s claims.” I justified, shifting my gaze once again back towards the man’s insane illustrations.

What the hell is going on? I thought to myself, before once again being brought back down to earth by the arrival of the elven waiter.

“Ah, thank you.” Thacea acknowledged, reaching for one of the glasses awkwardly positioned on his serving tray.

“Allow .” I interjected, reaching for that sa glass in an attempt to play the chivalrous knight… just as another student nearly crossed paths with my swing-around.

[A74 LORD TELEOS LOPHI]

The red-scaled fish man glared at for that perceived slight, his two golden pupils glowing softly in the afternoon sun.

“Sorry about that—”

“I request that you pay more attention to your surroundings. Your bumbling actions very nearly resulted in being soaked.” The man hmphed aggressively, but in a way that felt more akin to one of Thalmin’s growls, rather than one of Ilunor’s squealing hisses.

“Again, sorry.” I managed out ekly, just as the man turned to leave towards his table of three.

“Still not enough sleep, earthrealr?” Ilunor shot back dismissively.

“No, no. I’m just… still trying to process what the heck the Nexus is all about.”

The Grand Dining Hall. Local Ti: 1245 Hours.

Teleos

“This newrealr is a frustrating beast.” I began, my hands drumming up against the white tablecloth of the dining table.

“And yet you seem to halt my attempts at serving her the proper justice she so deserves—”

“I am halting you from dragging our peer group through unnecessary conflicts, Ilphius.” I shot back coldly, causing the serpentine female to recoil.

“You will address by my titles for you have yet to have earned the right to—”

“Lady Seleat, please.” Etholin managed out through a tired breath. “Teleos is correct. We cannot and should not bla the earthrealr’s successes for our own failures. We simply were not able to accrue the necessary points in order to achieve third-house status.”

“We put in our all.” Ilphius hissed. “So much so that it drained Daltor of his energies.”

“And yet we failed.” I acknowledged with a shrug.

This… garnered yet another glare of ire from the snake.

“How can you be so calm about—” She paused, as a crooked smile ford across her visage. “I see. Both of you have your own gas to play, don’t you?” She hissed playfully, before turning to the Rantolisrealr. “Especially you. It is more about earning business partners than it is about learning anything fruitful. Moreover, it is about earning new trade vassals in the form of economically-weaker newrealms now, isn’t it? Perhaps you are too afraid of standing up for your personal pride and dignity, instead trading both away in order to placate the emotions of your new client state.” She tutted. “Perhaps I truly am the fool here then. A fool… for wishing to do well in school.”

Grand Concourse of Learning. Betreyan’s Hall. Local Ti: 1645 Hours.

Qiv

The majority of class was once more marked by rather elentary topics ant to raise those of lesser adjacencies to the standards of those with learned intent.

Though a small minority of the ti was used to demonstrate those very topics. Of which both Ping and I were more than happy to oblige.

The demonstration of both pure mana and its conversion to its infernium form, as well as several back and forths between myself and the brutish Ping, resulted in the destruction of several drapes which the professor seed to acknowledge as being an unspoken rite of passage.

Auris… sohow earned more points for his bullish nature.

A fact that both baffled and infuriated , especially as that mindless beast shot a dismissive glare.

Our back and forths had increased following the conclusion of the House Choosing Ceremony, as the announcent for Class Sovereign rapidly approached.

Though with the absence of the black-robed professor, only His Eternal Majesty knows exactly when this would take place.

Once again, another frustrating developnt from an ever aberrant year.

However, my efforts quickly shifted as Professor Vanavan now approached the assignnt of this week’s howork.

As this would prove to be the only and most viable point for to address that growing itch at the back of my mind.

“Professor, if I may?”

“Yes, Lord Ratom?”

Our prior conversations during lunch had preempted this exchange.

So I needn’t say much to prompt him for this next act.

“I wish to propose a point of contention, towards the apparent… aberrancies present in Cadet Emma Booker’s howork.”

This declaration brought about a few murmurs, as the professor nodded warily, grabbing hold of the papers in question.

Papers… which themselves were quite distinct from the fine silken reliefs found on most typical Nexian docunts.

“Cadet Emma Booker, would you mind addressing this?”

The professor clearly kept the point of contention vague, so as to keep the newrealr on the backfoot.

“It’s… my assignnt, professor?” She responded, clearly agitated, confused, and very dearly underprepared for this assault. “Is there a problem with it or—”

“rely an observation with regards to the dium by which your answers were delivered.” The elf continued, once again causing the newrealr growing confusion, if that animalistic cocking of her head was of any indication.

I could only wonder what manner of creature lay underneath that armor; that material overcompensation for civilized decorum.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow, Professor.” The newrealr acquiesced.

Music to my ears.

“It is with regards to your peculiar use of High Nexian, Cadet Emma Booker. For there is… an anomalously high degree of calligraphic skill on display within these pages.”

“Erm, thank you?”

“It is as much a complint as it is a question of the authenticity behind its authorship. Now, I do not doubt the content within, as any student could simply reference texts from the school’s library to do so. No, I wish to simply confirm the legitimacy of its authorship, by requesting that you write today’s assignnt up on the board in the sa High-Script as you have done on these pages.”

I expected so form of hesitation to arise within the newrealr’s response.

But there was none to be had.

Instead, she simply stood up, requested that she approach the front, and then promptly arrived next to the professor.

From there, she was handed an enchanted piece of chalk.

Which she promptly declined, instead requesting chalk of the unenchanted variety.

This… elicited a series of gasps from the class, as she now took to the blackboard’s ladder, and began relaying the professor’s words into written form verbatim.

It was then… that I saw an artist’s hand at work.

As each and every stroke of her five-fingered hands, and each and every twist of her wrists, were nothing short of perfect.

So much so that not a single discrepancy seed to exist between each chalk-stroke, even as the multi-pronged serifs and infamously complicated characters were requested at the behest of the professor.

In fact, she went so far as to approach the dreaded five-headed dragon-like character that was Filch, in such a way that I’d hazard to even tackle myself.

Moreover, this perfection wasn’t rely a result of sacrificing ti for the sake of quality.

No.

It was being done… at the pace of the professor’s speech.

…

“And that is all for this week’s assignnts.” The professor spoke proudly, but ended up blinking in confusion as the newrealr went beyond the scope of duty by transcribing those words onto the blackboard.

“You needn’t have added that, Cadet Emma Booker.”

“Oh, sorry. I can start over if you’d like—”

“Nono! This is… quite alright. I appreciate your enthusiasm and your academic integrity. Moreover, I wish to express that it was never in doubt. rely that I wished to see your calligraphy in action.” The professor continued, garnering a silent nod from the newrealr as she left the front of the class.

Just in ti for the band to enter through those heavy-set doors.

As if to serenade the earthrealr’s small victory, inflating it to sothing far larger than it should have been.