In the early morning, the entire 1000-student roster of aspiring Dim first-years is summoned.
Hordes of students flock to the atrium in the central main campus area of the Dim. Quite frankly, all of them look scared shitless. They should be.
Like the messiah herding his flock, first in the massive line of students walking along impressive, wide cobbled paths is the Man of Gold himself.
Alexander Landeskog is perfect. He radiates charisma out of every pore. Sunlight beams onto him like a spotlight. Lush golden curls soak up the sun; a perfect face of impeccable, Pool-altered phenotypical traits. An impressive physique as well. I'm not crushing on him; he's just perfection incarnate.
He's the worst devil of all. They wear the flesh of beauty to entice the enraptured. He'll be put down like a sick mutt one of these days.
From what I can see, Leara didn't lie to me after all. Flanking Alexander's sides are Josi Blackwood and Maximillian Stamkos. I already believed Leara, of course, but this confirms it for a fact.
But there's a more pressing issue—directly at his side is the biggest wildcard: the black horse swordsman and sole scholarship student, Sebastian Cossa.
It's the guy Radio Raheem did the 'SWORDMASTER ALERT' sound byte for. Rank 3 at the moment. He's all but guaranteed to be dubbed a Swordmaster in the future.
I would use God's Eye on them, but they're a bit too far. Unfortunately, the range of this Imprint is short to medium. I don't really feel like running right now. It'll make me look weird. Optics are important. Sue me. I'll do it later.
It's clear, even at a distance, that he hasn't chosen a side. Alexander is attempting to court him to their side, though he seems to nod along and nothing else. Knowing Alexander's type, all he's doing is buttering him up—he won't be direct with Sebastian too early. Especially so if Leara is right about Alexander's lack of kindness toward the lower nobility.
It's even clearer that I've chosen—more aptly, I've been 'assigned'—to the disadvantaged side. Didn't have much of a choice, after all.
As of now, it's me, Valeria, and Leara versus the literal Avengers. And as an unproven wildcard, I barely even count.
It's quite simple: the scholarship student needs to be ours. If he isn't, the odds may tip too far against us, and fast.
I'm not sure what moves Leara has made towards wooing Sebastian to our side, but I certainly can't take any drastic measures at the moment.
Leara is the clear leader of our faction, but it's still been left tacit. I know it was said that we were close allies, but still, our relationship is more of a strange acquaintance. There's no way to win if we lack cohesion.
The Landeskog faction shows a unified front and is already taking proactive measures. Where are my allies? Only the Gods know.
Guessing based off character alone, Leara is at the very head of the pack, already sitting in the atrium, while I'm in the middle, blending in, and Valeria is all the way in the back, perhaps even still asleep for all I know.
I don't exactly care about winning; all that matters to the Cabal about my mission is that I'm involved. All I personally care about in this squabble is causing as much destruction to Humanity as possible.
So far, that means making this civil war a bit more competitive. If Landeskog stomps Mateiko, there'll be no war.
No war means peace, but with more power in the oppressive royal family's hands, they'll keep growing stronger. The Seven Realms will continue to be raped and pillaged as Humanity mounts a growing push against the Corrupted.
The civil war is but a seed at the moment. I need to protect from the Landeskog faction until it grows too large for them to stop.
Using my power and knowledge to prolong conflict and weasel my way into the pinnacle of the nobility's power will be vital to destroying Humanity. I'm slobbering like a dog just thinking about it.
After an eternity of staring at the black-red military uniform backs of frightened and groggy extra bums, I slowly push my way into my destination.
The atrium is a supermassive hunk of white and grey Roman-style marble, akin to many of the government buildings in downtown Columbia. Big, chiseled pillars. Large, echoing halls of stained glass and intricately detailed marbled floors.
Inside is a grand theatre. Curtained private suites line the upper edges, while three distinct sections of pristine, comfortable theatre seats comprise the ground floor.
The main characters take the front. I think I see Leara in the front left—we're far better off maintaining distance in public. We have the element of surprise in the conflict. So far, the Landeskogs likely think that they're the only ones making moves, completely devoid of any opposition. We can punish them for that false assumption.
The rows of seats fill out. The suites and upper deck seats are empty, save for many staff and faculty.
As for the bright, minimal stage, only two beings stand.
The Dim's Principal, Vincent Archibald. SS-rank, and the laziest, shrewd, rodent-looking man you could ever find.
He's a complete enigma. All he is known for is being SS-rank, immortal, and the Dim's Principal. He's been alive for hundreds of years, even back to the novel's time. Even to Darrow, he was an enigma. Not much screentime.
By his side is the beautiful, dead-eyed, Vice-Principal, S-rank, Everett Staal.
She is essentially Archibald's whipped dog. Everett does the day-to-day managerial work, acts as the official voice of the Dim in press conferences, handles the Dim's letters, and most of, if not all, of the Dim's decisions—although for the big stuff, she should likely have a council of administrators to advise.
Everett does everything, though the system does seem to work. The Dim is an extremely tight-run ship. Somehow, after all this time, it's been able to avoid the upper nobility's attempts at corrupting the institution. Though with this public broadcast decision, that uncorruptable nature may be put into question.
And thus, like usual, Archibald is quite curt with his speech. The menial stuff will be dumped to Everett.
With a wave of his hand, the idle chatter amongst the first-years dies down. He stands atop the sleek, dark-wooden lectern, clears his throat, and in a baritone, quite unfittingly strong voice, the greying rodent speaks with a disgusting smile on his face.
"Pack some sunscreen and swimwear. You'll all be going on an island vacation."