The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the Academy courtyard as Rowan made his way to the dormitory. His mind churned with strategies and contingencies, but his body moved with the casual gait of a seventeen-year-old student. The act was crucial—Julian's eyes could be anywhere.
"Rowan!" Marcus's voice echoed across the stone pathway. His roommate jogged to catch up, sweat still beading on his forehead from afternoon archery practice. "What the hell happened out there this morning? I mean, what the actual hell?"
Rowan kept walking, but allowed a small smile. "Hard work paying off, I suppose."
"Hard work my ass." Marcus fell into step beside him. "I've roomed with you for two years. You've never fought like that. Hell, last month you couldn't even beat Timothy in sparring, and he fights like a drunk cow."
The casual mention of Timothy hit Rowan like a punch to the gut. Timothy Brennan—a cheerful third-year who would die screaming when demons overran the Academy's west wing. Another name on the endless list of people Rowan had failed to save the first time around.
"People change," Rowan said quietly.
"Not overnight they don't." Marcus grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. "Look, if you're in some kind of trouble—if someone's been training you in secret or threatening you—you can tell me. We're brothers, remember?"
The earnest concern in Marcus's voice nearly broke Rowan's composure. Brothers. They had been, until the end. Until Marcus died with Rowan's name on his lips, begging him to save his sister in distant Millbrook.
"I'm not in trouble," Rowan lied smoothly. "Just finally taking my studies seriously. The kingdom needs strong knights, especially with all the border tensions."
Marcus studied his face for a long moment, then shrugged. "Fair enough. Just... don't become one of those arrogant pricks who forgets his friends once he gets good with a sword, yeah?"
"Never," Rowan promised, and meant it absolutely.
They climbed the winding stairs to their shared room in comfortable silence. The dormitory was typical Academy fare—stone walls, narrow windows, two beds separated by a chest for personal belongings. Rowan's side was spartanly organized, while Marcus's looked like a hurricane had recently passed through.
Once the door closed, Rowan pulled up his system interface while pretending to organize his weapons.
[CHARACTER STATUS]Name: Rowan Ashford
Level: 2
HP: 120/120
MP: 60/60
Strength: 13 (+1)
Agility: 12 (+2)
Constitution: 13
Intelligence: 11
Wisdom: 8
Charisma: 9
Available Stat Points: 3
The level-up had provided solid improvements, but Rowan needed to think strategically about point allocation. His future knowledge was his greatest weapon, but it meant nothing if he lacked the physical capabilities to act on it.
After a moment's consideration, he allocated two points to Intelligence and one to Wisdom. The changes were immediate—his thoughts became sharper, connections forming faster between disparate pieces of information. Most importantly, his enhanced Wisdom helped him better understand the nuances of social situations and deception.
[SKILL ANALYSIS: Combat Instinct]Current Level: AdvancedEffects: Automatically assess opponent weaknesses, predict attack patterns, enhanced battle awarenessNote: Skill effectiveness scales with user's combat experience
The skill description confirmed what Rowan had suspected. His future memories weren't just knowledge—they were actively enhancing his system abilities. The more he remembered about fighting specific opponents or techniques, the more the Combat Instinct could analyze and predict.
A knock at the door interrupted his planning. Marcus answered to find a nervous first-year student.
"Message for Rowan Ashford," the boy squeaked, holding out a sealed letter.
Rowan recognized the Academy's formal stationary immediately. Sir Alden's evening summons had arrived earlier than expected.
"Thank you," Rowan said, tipping the messenger a copper coin.
Marcus peered over his shoulder as he broke the seal. "Formal summons to the Knight-Commander's office? Bloody hell, Rowan, what did you do?"
The letter's contents were brief:
Ashford—Report to my private office immediately. We have much to discuss regarding your... unique talents. Come alone. —Sir Alden
"Probably just wants to discuss advanced training options," Rowan said casually, tucking the letter away. "I'll see you at evening meal."
The walk to Sir Alden's office took him through the Academy's oldest section, where stone corridors were lit by flickering torches and ancient tapestries depicted long-dead heroes. Rowan had walked these halls countless times in his original timeline, but now he noticed details that had escaped his younger self's attention.
Scorch marks on certain stones that could only come from magical fire. Repair work in the walls that suggested recent structural damage. Small signs that the Academy had already faced threats the students knew nothing about.
Sir Alden's office occupied a corner tower, its windows offering commanding views of the surrounding countryside. The knight was waiting behind his desk, but he wasn't alone.
Master Wilhelm sat in one of the guest chairs, his weathered face grave. Beside him stood a woman Rowan didn't immediately recognize—elderly, wearing the robes of a court mage, with silver hair pulled back severely and eyes that seemed to look straight through him.
[THREAT ASSESSMENT ACTIVE]Master Wilhelm - Level 18 Weapons Master - No immediate threatUnknown Mage - Level ??? - Powerful magical aura detectedSir Alden - Level 15 Veteran Knight - Concerned but not hostile
"Sit," Sir Alden commanded, gesturing to the remaining chair.
Rowan took the seat, keeping his expression neutral despite the racing of his pulse. Three senior Academy staff didn't gather for a casual chat about training techniques.
"Lady Seraphina," Sir Alden said, nodding to the mage, "this is the student I mentioned. Rowan Ashford."
Lady Seraphina. The name triggered a flood of memories—the Archmage of the Northern Tower, one of the kingdom's most powerful spellcasters. In his original timeline, she had been one of the last heroes to fall, her magic holding back demon hordes while civilians evacuated. Seeing her alive, studying him with those penetrating eyes, was both comforting and terrifying.
"Indeed," Lady Seraphina said, her voice carrying the authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed. "Show me your hands, boy."
The command was so unexpected that Rowan almost refused on instinct. Then he remembered he was supposed to be a confused seventeen-year-old student, not a battle-hardened veteran with trust issues.
He extended his hands, palms up.
Lady Seraphina leaned forward, her fingers tracing complex patterns in the air above his skin. Magical energy crackled around her hands—not enough to harm, but sufficient to make Rowan's hair stand on end.
"Fascinating," she murmured. "Wilhelm, look at this."
The Weapons Master moved closer, his expression shifting from concern to confusion to outright alarm.
"That's impossible," Wilhelm breathed.
"What's impossible?" Rowan asked, though he suspected he already knew.
"Your hands," Sir Alden said quietly. "They show callus patterns consistent with decades of sword work. Advanced techniques, multiple weapon styles, combat under extreme conditions." He paused, studying Rowan's face. "But you're seventeen years old."
Lady Seraphina's magical examination intensified. "More than that. I'm detecting residual magical signatures—divine magic, demonic corruption, planar energies. This boy has been exposed to forces that shouldn't exist in our realm."
The room fell silent except for the crackling of the mage's spell. Rowan felt exposed, vulnerable in a way he hadn't experienced since his return. These people were too skilled, too experienced to be fooled by simple explanations about library research.
"Well?" Sir Alden's voice cut through the tension. "Care to explain how a Academy student has the hands of a Knight-Commander and the magical residue of someone who's fought demons?"
Rowan met each of their gazes in turn. The truth was impossible, but these people deserved something closer to honesty. They were his allies in the original timeline, his mentors and friends who had died trying to protect others.
"If I told you the kingdom was going to fall," he said carefully, "that demons would overrun the Academy and Prince Julian would open the gates for an army of darkness, would you believe me?"
The silence stretched for nearly a minute.
Finally, Lady Seraphina spoke. "I would say that sounds remarkably specific for a student's imagination."
"And I would ask," Sir Alden added grimly, "how you came by such knowledge."
Rowan took a deep breath. The moment of truth had arrived far sooner than expected.
"Because I've lived through it before."