The Umbraxis Arcanum had arranged a private dormitory for Corvin. Clean, quiet, and warded with layers of anti divination runes. It lay at the far corner of the Aetherreach Spire, close enough to the arcane chambers for quick access but remote enough to allow solitude.
His first scheduled lesson was Lightning Magic under Master Velkhar Ys'loren, a gray haired Dark Elf with steel sharp posture and deep scars running down one cheek. A veteran from the Tidefront campaigns, if Corvin recalled the memories he'd harvested correctly.
Corvin expected little from this lesson at least. He had centuries of knowledge from absorbed minds, techniques, theories, layered exercises, real combat experience all folded into his being. What he lacked in formal tradition, he made up for in raw synthesis.
But the academy itself? That was the real treasure.
It was an open buffet.
The Academy's structure mirrored the hierarchies of Dark Elf society: quiet intensity, formal ritual, and ruthless ambition wrapped in silk etiquette. Every corridor was a theatre of posturing. Every bow, every phrase veiled a calculation. Students carried themselves with the arrogance of pedigree, instructors with the weight of centuries.
And Corvin moved among them like a ghost.
His spores were everywhere.
Drifting beneath the robes of instructors, latching onto overconfident duelists, listening at the edge of sparring rings. The Umbraxis Arcanum had a competitive backbone, leaderboards for each affinity, segmented into Basic, Secondary, and Rare classifications. Every day, ranking matches were held. Students were able to challenge one another. They fought to rise through the tiers, earning prestige, rare spell access, and faculty mentorship.
For Corvin, it was a catalog.
He didn't need to win. He just needed to watch.
To observe how each affinity unfolded in real scenarios, how mana shaped instinct under pressure, how each spell was channeled, broken, or redirected. Every duel was a demonstration. Every champion another syllabus.
He arrived at his first session, the Lightning Hall crackling faintly with ambient voltage. Black stone pillars etched with warding glyphs hummed. Students filed in one by one, each in full formal robes, their expressions either bored or bristling with anticipation.
Corvin took a seat near the back, folding his hands and smiling politely.
He was ready to learn.
Or rather, to harvest.
Master Velkhar entered the Lightning Hall with the rigid grace of a soldier. His attire matched the standard master's robes of the Umbraxis Arcanum. Dark cobalt, trimmed in silver. Mana thread, but a single lightning shaped brooch gleamed on his chest, marking his specialty.
His gaze swept across the room, unreadable, until it settled on Corvin.
He did not bother with introductions.
"Today," he said, his voice sharp as the edge of a blade, "we have an exception among us. A mercenary."
He spat the word like it left a foul taste.
Corvin met his eyes without expression.
"I've been informed that your affinity for Lightning is... considerable," Velkhar said, each syllable cool and clipped. "Is that correct, merc?"
Corvin raised a single brow. "It is, Master Velkhar."
He'd hoped to avoid the usual dramatics, but apparently the heavens had other plans.
Velkhar gestured toward the center of the hall. "Come. Let me see how good you are."
Corvin stood with calculated calm, drifting a single spore toward the master as he moved. Then another. And another. By the time he stood ten meters from Velkhar, the last had already settled.
"Begin when ready," Velkhar said.
Corvin smiled.
Twin arcs of lightning burst from both of his hands simultaneously, crackling in unison. Multi casting was rare. Rarer still was someone who could sustain it at this intensity.
The duel began as a dance.
Velkhar redirected the bolts effortlessly, bending them mid air and sending them spiraling back at Corvin. The younger mage shifted slightly, weaving a countercurrent and absorbing the deflected energy before reshaping it into more arcs.
Each time Corvin added a layer to his barrage, Velkhar matched him. Forking strikes. Chain flashes. Cross field ricochets. The hall filled with spirals of lightning that painted brief glyphs in the air. The stone pillars absorbed the rouge arcs.
Students gasped, not just at Corvin's execution, but at the sheer velocity of spell shaping from both sides. Lightning was the fastes element when it comes to attack.
For forty five seconds, it remained equal.
On the forty sixth, Velkhar missed a small arc which delayed his response time by a fraction of a second. As he adjusted a high velocity return.
Corvin didn't miss the opportunity.
The arc struck true. Clean. Efficient.
Velkhar raised a hand. "Enough."
He looked at Corvin with narrowed eyes. "You are good enough, merc. Go and sit."
He turned away before Corvin could respond. "It's clear common lessons are not beneficial to you. At least you will gain the theory. Stay after class. We'll arrange something more... appropriate."
Corvin gave a polite bow before returning to his seat, face serene.
Inside, he was already calculating how many days it would take to harvest the Lightning Hall entirely.
This was going to be fun.
The final bell echoed through the Lightning Hall, signaling the end of class. One by one, students filed out, still murmuring about the duel they had just witnessed. Corvin remained seated.
Master Velkhar's eyes shifted to him again, colder than before.
"I hate mercs," he said flatly.
"Duly noticed," Corvin answered without missing a beat.
"Take it personally or not, merc, I don't care," Velkhar continued, walking down the steps toward him. "Nor would I have accepted a mercenary into my class if the request hadn't come directly from Archmagus Vaelorin himself."
Corvin didn't react.
"Your affinity and effectiveness are above elite level," Velkhar admitted, begrudgingly. "There's nothing I can teach you here with the others, but I do suggest you keep an eye on the leaderboard. There's always a new way to learn there."
He stopped a few feet from Corvin, folding his arms. "I expect you to attend your two weeks of class on time. I'll call on you during sessions to demonstrate, and I'll need your assistance with instructing the students."
Corvin exhaled slowly. "For the record, Velkhar," he said, intentionally omitting the master's title, "I don't care what you like or dislike. I couldn't care less why you agreed to have me in your class."
Velkhar's jaw twitched.
"If there's nothing here for me to learn, don't expect to see me. I'm not one of your wide eyed students to boss around. And since you've reminded me with every sentence that I'm a 'merc,' let me be clear. I don't accept your request."
He gave the slightest smirk, then turned and walked out of the hall.
Behind him, Velkhar stood fuming.
And Corvin? Corvin was already smiling.
At least the leaderboard duels were fun to watch, Corvin thought as he sat in the spectator tier of the Lightning Hall's arena. Sparks danced lazily above the central stage, and sigils along the pillars glowed with light ambient charge.
He stood and approached the registry desk where a bored elven administrator noted names with practiced detachment. Corvin gave his own.
"Corvin Blackmoor, entering Lightning Affinity leaderboard."
His first duel was scheduled within fifteen minutes.
His opponent was a third year student. A slender dark elf with confident posture and an embroidered sash. Corvin raised an eyebrow. Umbraxis Arcanum had a five year progression path. This boy was likely solid, but probably too early to be interesting.
The official referee, a younger instructor with neutral robes, took position at the sideline.
By the time the student arrived, Corvin was already on the stage, arms folded.
The signal was given.
Corvin allowed the boy the first move.
A series of lightning arcs surged from the student's staff, fast but unfocused. Corvin, already reading the attack's trajectory, sidestepped with ease. His speed alone set him apart. Each motion economical, each shift in posture fluid.
He let the kid release a few more volleys, gauging style and capacity. There was no sign of multi casting. No advanced feedback loops. No layered casting structure.
Corvin sighed inwardly.
He responded with arcs from both hands, clean, silent, efficient. The first bolt grazed the boy's shoulder. The second struck center mass, lifting the student clean off his feet and hurling him across the stage.
The official raised his hand instantly. "Match over."
Scattered applause came from the small audience. Not many had gathered. It was still before noon. But even the sparse crowd whispered in surprise at the decisiveness of the match.
Corvin stepped down without a word and returned to the registry.
"Two more," he told the elf behind the desk.
The clerk blinked, then nodded and added his name to the list.
Corvin leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed.
"This day is not going to be great," he murmured to himself.
But perhaps, if the top ten offered something more refined, he wouldn't regret the entertainment value.
And the rewards from ranking? Useful.
Access to special archives, exclusive duel techniques, and perhaps a few rare spell scrolls.
More importantly, he would gain access to competitors worth siphoning.