When Lancet returned to his dorm room, he spent the rest of the day in an interrogation with his nosy roommates.
Kasto and Anita had practically ambushed him at the door, demanding answers after witnessing what happened in the underground training arena.
'How did you do it? How did you summon Astensia Valengard, the Ironwill of the North, a heroine we've only ever read about in history books detailing the Era of Ash?'
Lancet had played the fool. "I have no idea," he had lied, clutching his bruised ribs. "It just happened. I called for help and she showed up."
Anita had immediately asked if Astensia was his permanent summon now, her eyes sparkling with starry-eyed admiration. "Can I meet her? Can I see her armor up close?"
Lancet had forcefully shut that down, feigning exhaustion. "I don't know. She seems way too imposing to just casually summon for a meet-and-greet."
But it was Luke who had been the real problem. The cynical Arsenal student hadn't yelled or bombarded him with praise. He had just leaned against his bunk, his eyes sharp and calculating.
"Your class is 'Architect'," Luke had stated. "With a name like that it's expected that you're supposed to build stuff. Why are you now able to summon a legend from our past? No Summoner has ever had an actual person as a summon. Dead or alive."
Lancet had just shrugged it off, claiming he had no idea, before hiding the Record under his pillow, burying his face on it and pretending to pass out.
By morning, in a bid to avoid round two of the interrogation, Lancet had escaped the dorms before the sun was even up. Which brought him to his current, incredibly pathetic situation.
He was doing janitorial work.
Specifically, he had offered his free labor to the grouchy custodian of the Class Group-A floor—the domain of the Fourth-Year students.
The homerooms up here were way more decorated and equipped than the ones in Class Group-D. Lancet admired some of the educational equipment and training facilities as he used the hydro-mop on the marble ground.
He finally arrived at the room he had targeted. Resting the mop by the wall, he ducked into the Class Group-A training arena.
The room was empty, the morning light just beginning to spill through the high windows. Even though it was a tremendously stunning place, Lancet couldn't allow himself to mop about.
He made a beeline straight for the waste bins.
He remembered that he had first thought against this plan. He had the power to literally bend reality. Digging through the trash seemed disgraceful.
But desperate times called for desperate measures.
The Dungeon Clearing Curriculum started today. He couldn't walk into such an important situation with zero Grace. He had debts to pay and senior bullies to avoid.
He popped the lid off the bin and started digging.
Rich kids and elite Awakeners had one major flaw: they were wasteful. During intense training, they would pop high-grade Magical Supplements, take a few swigs, and toss the rest.
Lancet struck gold. Or rather, golden liquid.
He pulled out a fine, glass cylinder. It was mostly empty, but a thick, glowing golden liquid had settled at the bottom. About ten percent remained.
He quickly unstoppered it, pouring the dregs into an empty flask he had brought with him. He dove back in, tossing aside crumpled scrolls and broken training dummies, harvesting cylinder after cylinder.
By the time he had scavenged ten discarded vials, his personal flask was full to the brim with liquid magical energy.
"Hey. What are you doing in there?"
Lancet froze.
He slowly turned his head. The head janitor was standing in the doorway, a scowl stretching the wrinkles on his face.
"Oh," Lancet said, forcing a bright, innocent smile. He kicked the discarded vials deeper into the trash. "I just wanted to empty the waste bin for you, sir!"
The janitor stared at him. His eyes narrowed, analyzing the sweaty, nervous First Year.
Lancet gulped. Getting reported for stealing in the seniors' floor wasn't a good start for his already dramatic Academy life.
The silence stretched for three agonizing seconds.
"Eh... hold on," the janitor finally grunted, turning around. "Let me get the heavy waste trolley."
The second the man stepped out of the room, Lancet bolted.
He sprinted across the training arena, his sneakers squeaking wildly on the marble he had just cleaned. He burst through the side exit just as the janitor was wheeling the trolley back in.
"Hey!" the old man barked, watching the boy speed past him. "Come back here, kid!"
Lancet ignored him, diving around a corner and sprinting down three flights of stairs until he found a secluded restroom in the lower levels. He slammed the stall door shut, locked it, and leaned against it, panting heavily.
"Dignity is overrated anyway," he wheezed.
He pulled the flask from his pocket. The golden liquid sloshed inside, lighting up Lancet's anxious face.
Without hesitating, Lancet uncorked it and downed the concoction in three massive gulps.
It tasted like bitter honey and battery acid, though it wasn't too bad.
It burned on the way down, but the moment it hit his stomach, a massive surge of raw energy exploded through his veins.
His holographic window chimed into existence.
⸢ You have absorbed magical energy⸥
⸢ MP: 420 ⸥
Lancet wiped his mouth, a wide grin spreading across his face. One pristine cylinder of Class-A supplement usually contained about 500 MP. Combining the dregs of ten cylinders had netted him almost a full dose!
'Awesome,' Lancet thought, chuckling breathlessly. 'No wonder raccoons are always so fat. Who knew ransacking waste bins was this productive?'
But the job wasn't done. The energy he had ingested was raw and volatile. He could feel the Gloom starting to claw at his insides, making his skin crawl.
He closed his eyes, dropping into a meditative stance right there on the bathroom tiles. He used the Sieve method to complete the Separation process.
In his imagination, he grabbed the 420 MP of chaotic energy and forced it through the mental filter. He breathed in sharply, then exhaled, successfully expunging the unwanted Gloom from his soul core.
⸢ Separation Complete ⸥
⸢ Retained Grace: 280 MP ⸥
Lancet opened his eyes, feeling victorious. He could feel the Grace inside him, pumping in his core like a battery begging to be used.
It was more than enough to summon Astensia and keep her anchored for the Dungeon Clearing today. But as he put his empty flask away, his smile faded.
'This is only a temporary fix. I can't scavenge trash every morning. I need a permanent solution to my retention, soon.'
-xxXxx-
Later that morning, after the assembly, the Year One students were all gathered at the Academy's Dungeon Hall.
It was an impossibly massive building beneath the school, where lines and lines of Dungeon Gates filled the space.
They were separated according to levels and jurisdiction. The First Years—being Class Group-Ds—didn't have the jurisdiction to go any higher than the Basic Dungeons.
Level however, was a different topic. If some proved strong enough, they would be allowed to challenge the next tier of Dungeons: Higher Dungeons.
The First Years milled about, the air filled with their nervous chatter.
"Alright, Class Group-Ds! Form a line according to your Class Group!" a booming voice commanded over the speakers. "Elementalists, Specialists, Enchanters, and Summoners! Line up!"
Lancet found his place near the back of the Summoner formation. Up at the front, the Instructors stood beside their respective student lines like generals preparing for war.
Maecil Gudgarten stood tall, her arms folded. She kept shooting competitive, fiery glares at Phiodor Blaze, the Head Instructor for Elementalist-D, who simply stood there with a smug, condescending smirk, confident his students would sweep the leaderboards.
The Head Dungeon Instructor, a scarred man with a missing arm, stepped onto a raised dais.
"Listen up!" he barked, silencing the hall. "There will be no pre-formed groups today! You will be randomly assigned to three-man squads to test your adaptability. However, your homeroom instructors have been permitted to select three students to act as leaders for different squads."
Lancet watched as Ms. Maecil began her obvious selection.
"Min Tu," Maecil announced. "Dane." The two Brilliant-Talent students stepped forward to claim their leadership badges.
Maecil paused, scanning her list. Finally, her eyes landed on a boy leaning casually against the back wall. "...And Luke."
Lancet raised an eyebrow. Luke? The cynical Arsenal student pushed himself off the wall, his expression blank as usual as he walked up to take his badge.
Kasto and Anita were quickly swept up into Min Tu and Dane's respective squads, looking relieved to be with the heavy hitters.
Lancet ended up paired up with Patton, a Golemancer; and Vera, a Druid.
Patton was a stocky boy with dirt smudged on his cheeks, currently glaring daggers at Lancet. Vera, a girl with braided green hair and a wooden staff, let out a loud, dramatic sigh as Lancet approached.
"You've got to be kidding me," Patton groaned, throwing his hands up. "Why do we have to end up with the Dull Rank?"
"We are basically a two-man squad," Vera muttered, rubbing her temples. "Haaa. I guess we're just going to be carrying dead weight all week."
Lancet just stood there, hands in his pockets. It was painfully obvious that neither Patton nor Vera had been in the underground arena yesterday. They hadn't heard the rumors, or if they had, they thought it was complete fiction.
"Alright, everyone, shut your mouths and look up at the scoreboard!" the Dungeon Instructor roared, his voice echoing over the complaints.
Every head in the cavern snapped upward.
Lancet lifted his gaze to the tall, rectangular monolith hovering directly above the Basic Dungeon Gates.
The surface rippled like dark water, preparing to display the live rankings and tributes that would define their entire Academy lives.