The tutor lasted exactly forty-seven minutes.
Marcus considered this something of a personal record for academic casualty rates.
He'd been expecting this ever since the household staff started whispering about finding him "conducting seminars for the silverware" on thermal expansion coefficients. Master Aldwin arrived with all the fanfare of a medieval guidance counselor—gray beard meticulously maintained, stern expression factory-installed, and the unshakeable confidence that came from thirty years of successfully beating basic literacy into noble children who'd rather be playing with swords.
"Young Master Marcus," Aldwin began, settling into the study chair with territorial authority.
A man who'd never encountered a student he couldn't bore into intellectual submission.
"Your parents have expressed considerable concern regarding your… unconventional interests. While intellectual curiosity is commendable in moderation, proper education must focus on practical fundamentals."
He adjusted his robes with practiced ceremony.
"Today we shall commence with elementary Latin, progress to basic arithmetic, and conclude with—"
"Actually," Marcus interrupted, glancing up from the chunk of iron ore he'd been examining through his improvised magnifying system—water droplets suspended in crystallized tree sap, because apparently medieval worlds didn't believe in proper optical equipment—"I was wondering if you could explain the theoretical framework underlying sympathetic magic?"
Master Aldwin blinked with the slow precision of someone whose brain had just encountered a syntax error.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Sympathetic magic. The principle that similar objects influence each other, or that previously connected elements maintain quantum entanglement across distances."
Marcus was warming to the topic, which was dangerous because it meant his mouth was about to outrun his survival instincts.
"It's clearly the foundational theory behind most magical applications in this world, but I can't determine the underlying mechanism. Are we looking at genuine quantum entanglement? Some kind of field effect operating outside conventional spacetime? Or are we dealing with a completely alternative set of physical laws that just happen to produce similar observable results?"
The silence stretched long enough for Marcus to realize he'd made another tactical error.
In his previous life, surrounded by graduate students who lived on energy drinks and existential dread, diving straight into advanced theoretical discussions was normal Tuesday behavior. Here, apparently, twelve-year-olds were expected to struggle with basic alphabet recognition.
"Master Marcus," Aldwin said slowly, like he was addressing someone who'd recently suffered severe head trauma, "perhaps we should begin with more fundamental concepts. Can you recite the letters of the alphabet?"
Marcus sighed.
This was going to be like trying to teach calculus to someone who insisted on using Roman numerals because Arabic numbers were "too foreign and complicated."
"A, B, C, D, E, F, G," he rattled off, then switched to Greek because why not dig the hole deeper: "Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, Epsilon, Zeta—"
"That's… that's Greek."
"Yes. Also Latin if you prefer: A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P, Q, R, S, T, U, V, W, X, Y, Z."
Marcus paused thoughtfully.
"Though technically W didn't exist in classical Latin—it's a medieval addition influenced by Germanic linguistic drift, which raises interesting questions about how this world's linguistic evolution compares to—"
"You speak the ancient tongue?"
Aldwin's voice had risen about an octave.
"Enough to read academic papers. Also Vaelthari, Northron, Eastern Kingdoms dialect, Imperial Standard, and some Old Draconic script, though my pronunciation is terrible since I learned it from manuscripts rather than conversation."
Marcus paused, studying Aldwin's increasingly pale face.
"I'm sensing this is not the normal curriculum for twelve-year-olds?"
Master Aldwin was staring at him with the expression of someone who'd just watched their entire worldview perform complex acrobatics and stick the landing while juggling flaming torches.
"Perhaps," the tutor said faintly, "we might discuss mathematics instead?"
"Perfect!"
Marcus brightened like someone had just offered him unlimited research funding.
"I've been working on some calculations regarding the correlation between ambient magical field density and matter transmutation efficiency. See, if mana operates as a fundamental force similar to electromagnetism, then we should be able to derive predictive equations that account for—"
"I meant basic arithmetic," Aldwin interrupted with the desperation of someone watching their sanity pack its bags. "Simple addition. Subtraction."
Marcus stared at him.
"You want me to… add things? Like, one plus one?"
"Yes. One plus one equals?"
"Two. But more interestingly, in modular arithmetic one plus one can equal zero depending on your base system. And in binary, one plus one equals ten. Though if you're really interested in mathematical elegance, you should examine how addition behaves in complex number systems, where one plus i gives you coordinates in two-dimensional space that—"
"Stop."
Aldwin held up both hands like he was trying to ward off an academic demon.
"Just… stop talking."
Marcus tilted his head with genuine curiosity.
"Are you feeling well, Master Aldwin? You've gone sort of gray around the edges."
The tutor began gathering his materials with the careful movements of someone trying not to make any sudden gestures that might trigger another explosion of theoretical discourse.
"Master Marcus," he said with formal precision, "I believe your educational requirements exceed my current instructional capabilities. I shall inform your parents that you have progressed beyond my pedagogical scope."
"Wait," Marcus called as Aldwin headed for the door like he was escaping a burning building. "I haven't even told you about my theory regarding magical forge temperatures and their relationship to atomic excitation states! It's actually quite fascinating when you consider how thermal energy might interact with supernatural fields to—"
The door slammed with a very final-sounding thud.
Marcus sat back in his chair, absently rotating the iron ore between his fingers while his mind processed what had just happened.
This was proving more complicated than anticipated.
In his previous life, being intellectually advanced just meant you got to skip grades and start your doctorate early. Here, apparently, it meant you traumatized your teachers and made the household staff nervous about bringing you breakfast.
He needed a different approach. Something more… practical.
"Thomas!" he called to the young servant who'd been hovering near the door, probably hoping to witness the complete psychological breakdown of yet another authority figure.
Thomas stuck his head back into the room with obvious caution.
"Yes, young master?"
"Do you know where I might find the local blacksmith?"
Thomas's entire demeanor shifted, relief flooding his features.
Finally, a request that made sense in the normal world where twelve-year-olds asked about blacksmiths instead of delivering impromptu lectures on quantum mechanics.
"Old Henrik's workshop is in the village square, young master. Though… your parents might not approve of you visiting such establishments."
Marcus smiled with the particular expression he'd perfected right before every major breakthrough of his academic career—equal parts excitement and complete disregard for conventional wisdom.
"Thomas, I'm about to revolutionize metallurgy in ways that will fundamentally alter the trajectory of technological development in this world. My parents' approval is quite literally the least of my concerns."
Thomas nodded as if this made perfect sense.
Servants were infinitely more adaptable than tutors when it came to accepting the impossible.
"Should I prepare the carriage, young master?"
"Yes. And Thomas?"
Marcus was already mentally cataloging everything he knew about medieval forging techniques and how spectacularly wrong they probably were.
"If anyone asks, tell them I've gone to conduct field research in applied thermodynamics."
"Of course, young master. Should I know what that means?"
Marcus was heading for the door, his mind racing with possibilities.
A traditional forge, primitive tools, centuries of accumulated knowledge, and one very surprised blacksmith who was about to discover what happened when someone with a PhD in materials science decided to optimize their entire profession.
"It means," he said, grinning with the pure joy of someone who'd just found the perfect laboratory for conducting experiments that would probably violate several laws of nature, "we're going to teach some very unsuspecting metalworkers what happens when you combine medieval craftsmanship with modern scientific principles."
"And if they don't understand what you're talking about?"
Marcus paused at the doorway, his grin widening.
"Then I'll do what every good professor does, Thomas. Start with the fundamentals and work up from there. By the time I'm finished, Henrik's going to understand molecular chemistry whether he wants to or not."
Behind him, the chunk of iron ore on his desk began to emit a faint, warm glow—not from heat, but from proximity to a twelve-year-old boy whose very presence seemed to make the fundamental forces of magic sit up and pay very interested attention.
The revolution was about to begin.
And like all the best revolutions, it would start with someone asking extremely inconvenient questions about why things worked the way they did.
Poor Henrik had absolutely no idea what was coming for him.
But he was about to get the education of a lifetime.