Chapter 2: Auxiliary
Leon Ashford learned three important things on his second day at the Royal Arcane Academy.
First, auxiliary classes were not optional.
Second, auxiliary students were expected to know their place.
And third—perhaps most importantly—people noticed beauty far less than they noticed confidence.
Leon walked through the eastern corridor of the academy, following the small wooden sign that read Auxiliary Wing – Section C. The corridor was older than the rest of the campus, its stone darker, its enchantments quieter. Unlike the main halls, there were no floating lights or decorative mana streams. Only simple lanterns embedded in the walls, glowing steadily.
This was where students who failed to impress were sent.
Leon adjusted the cuffs of his uniform as he walked. The fabric fit him well—tailored, clean—but the way he wore it dulled its effect. His shoulders were relaxed, posture slightly withdrawn, head inclined just enough that people tended to look past him rather than at him.
It wasn't magic.
Not entirely.
It was experience.
At the entrance to Section C, a group of students lingered, their voices carrying clearly.
"…seriously, zero-point-six. I didn't even know the crystal could show decimals that low."
Leon slowed his steps.
A tall boy with neatly combed hair laughed. "They probably kept him for comedy. Makes the rest of us feel better."
"Do you think he cried afterward?" another asked.
Leon stepped past them quietly, neither speeding up nor slowing down.
None of them stopped talking.
He entered the classroom.
Auxiliary Room C was smaller than the main lecture halls, with wooden desks arranged in tight rows. There were perhaps thirty students inside—some bored, some irritated, some resigned.
Leon took a seat near the back, by the window.
Outside, the forest bordering the academy stretched endlessly, ancient trees heavy with mana. Leon's gaze lingered there for a moment longer than necessary.
Something in that forest was wrong.
He noted it calmly and looked away.
The instructor entered without ceremony.
Professor Rendel was an older man with tired eyes and a permanently unimpressed expression. His robes were simple, devoid of rank markings. He glanced at the class, then at the list in his hand.
"So," he said flatly, "you're the leftovers."
No one laughed.
"Auxiliary students exist for one reason," Rendel continued. "Support. Logistics. Research. You will not be heroes. You will not lead charges. You will not become legends."
His gaze swept across the room.
"But if you do your jobs properly," he added, "you might survive."
Leon listened attentively.
This man was honest.
That alone made him more respectable than most.
Rendel tapped the board behind him, and a faint projection appeared—maps, diagrams, supply routes.
"This term, you'll be assigned to field support teams. Dungeon expeditions. Border patrols. Recovery units. You will not engage unless ordered. You will not improvise. If something goes wrong, you retreat."
Leon nodded slightly.
Improvisation was dangerous.
The irony was not lost on him.
The lecture continued, dry and practical. Leon took notes with careful handwriting, precise but unremarkable. Every so often, he felt glances from other students—curious, dismissive, uncertain.
One lingered longer than the others.
Leon did not look up immediately.
He didn't need to.
Alicia Windmere sat three rows ahead of him, turned halfway around in her seat. She wasn't staring openly, but her attention drifted back to him again and again, as if something about his presence refused to settle in her mind.
Eventually, she frowned.
Leon looked up then, meeting her eyes briefly.
She froze.
For half a second—just half—her breath caught.
Leon's face, seen properly in good light, was undeniably handsome. Not in an aggressive, attention-grabbing way, but with balance and clarity—sharp features softened by calm eyes that seemed too steady for someone his age.
Then the moment passed.
Alicia blinked, irritation flickering across her face.
She turned back around.
Leon looked back at his notes.
NPC Mask still effective, he assessed internally.
The lecture ended with assignment distributions.
"Field support teams will be announced this afternoon," Rendel said. "Until then, you are dismissed."
Chairs scraped against the floor as students stood. Conversations resumed instantly.
Leon packed his things slowly.
"Leon."
He looked up.
Alicia stood beside his desk, arms crossed.
"Yes?" he replied.
She hesitated, then sighed. "You're really going to the auxiliary teams, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"…You don't seem upset."
Leon considered the question honestly. "I don't see a reason to be."
"That's ridiculous," she snapped. "This academy determines your entire future. Don't you care?"
Leon met her gaze calmly.
"I care about surviving," he said.
The bluntness caught her off guard.
"…That's a low bar," she muttered.
"It's an achievable one."
She stared at him for a few seconds, then shook her head. "You're impossible."
"People keep saying that."
Alicia hesitated again, then lowered her voice. "Look. Field support teams still end up in dangerous situations. If you're really as weak as your test says—"
"I am," Leon said smoothly.
She winced. "—then you should at least stay close to someone strong."
Leon tilted his head. "Like you?"
She flushed faintly. "I didn't say that."
He smiled—small, polite, fleeting.
"I appreciate the concern," he said. "But I'll manage."
Alicia opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. She studied him, eyes narrowing.
"…You're not scared," she said quietly.
Leon did not answer.
After a moment, she turned away. "Try not to die."
"I'll do my best."
She walked off.
Leon watched her go, then returned his attention to the window.
Beyond the academy grounds, the forest shifted subtly.
The wrongness he had sensed earlier was growing.
Soon, he thought.
The System stirred.
[Notice: External anomaly probability rising.]
[Assessment: Monitor.]
Leon exhaled slowly.
After lunch—a simple meal in the auxiliary dining hall—Leon was summoned to the assignment board. Names glowed faintly on the surface as students gathered around.
Leon found his quickly.
Leon Ashford – Support Team Seven
He committed it to memory.
Support Team Seven assembled near the eastern gate of the academy an hour later. There were six members in total—three combatants, two support specialists, and Leon.
The team leader was a broad-shouldered man in his early twenties with a scar across his jaw. His name was Garrick, a third-year knight trainee with earth affinity.
He looked Leon up and down once.
"…You're the zero-point-six guy."
Leon bowed slightly. "Yes."
Garrick grimaced. "Great."
The others didn't bother hiding their reactions.
A slender mage with blue robes snorted. "Why do they even send people like that?"
"Because someone has to carry supplies," Garrick replied flatly.
Leon accepted the pack handed to him without complaint.
The mission was simple: escort a supply caravan to a nearby outpost bordering the forest, then assist in surveying an abandoned ruin recently uncovered by a landslide.
Low risk.
On paper.
They set out by mid-afternoon, the academy gates closing behind them with a heavy clang. The road was quiet, winding through gentle hills before narrowing as it approached the forest edge.
Leon walked at the back, keeping pace easily.
The others talked among themselves, occasionally glancing back at him.
"He's not even breathing hard," one of the combatants muttered.
"Probably conserving energy," another replied. "For all five minutes he'll last."
Leon listened without reacting.
As they entered the forest, the air grew cooler. Mana density increased slightly, enough that even untrained individuals would feel it as pressure behind the eyes.
Leon felt it like a whisper.
He suppressed his presence further.
The trees grew thicker, roots twisting across the path. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in fragmented beams.
That was when the first sign appeared.
Garrick raised a fist. "Stop."
The team halted.
"Do you smell that?" the mage asked.
Leon did.
Blood.
Fresh.
From deeper in the forest.
Garrick frowned. "Scouts said this area was clear."
Leon shifted the pack on his shoulders.
It wasn't clear, he thought.
Something had moved.
Not yet hostile.
But curious.
The System responded faintly.
[Notice: Hostile probability increasing.]
[Recommendation: Maintain NPC profile.]
Leon remained silent.
A scream echoed suddenly through the trees.
Sharp. Brief. Cut off.
The team tensed instantly.
"That came from the ruins," Garrick said. "Formation!"
Weapons were drawn. Mana flared.
Leon stepped back, eyes lowered.
They advanced cautiously.
As they reached the clearing, they saw it.
A shattered stone structure half-buried in earth. And beside it—
A body.
Blood pooled beneath a fallen scout, eyes wide and unseeing.
Alicia Windmere stood a few paces away, wind swirling around her defensively, blade drawn.
Her expression was tight with fury.
"They're not supposed to be here," she said coldly. "The beasts. Something drew them out."
Her gaze flicked toward Leon.
For a brief moment, something unreadable crossed her face.
Leon met her eyes calmly.
Then the forest roared.
And something massive began to move.
Leon sighed inwardly.
So much for low risk.