The Undying Warrior's Rewind

9

The Dean of the Royal Magic Academy stood perfectly still as the emergency medical squad rushed Julian out of the arena. 

To the thousands of students murmuring in the stands, the Dean’s face was a mask of grave, authoritative concern.

But beneath his expensive, gem-encrusted robes, his heart was racing for a completely different reason.

Initially, the Dean had secretly thought the High Mage Tower Master was completely losing his mind. 

Making a national hero out of this boy? Reinstating a piece of magic-less trash who had been kicked out of the academy just a week prior? 

It seemed like a political circus. But the Dean had trusted the old man's judgment; if the Tower Master truly believed this pathetic dropout was the last living lineage of the legendary Berserker King, then he would play along.

When Ethan Hoke had cowardly stepped onto the stage and chosen a weak, low-ranking commoner student for his sparring match, the Dean had inwardly scoffed. He had thought, Finally, the old man was wrong. The kid is just a lucky cockroach.

But then, the air had shifted.

The Dean, a seasoned high-mage himself, had detected the subtle, toxic ripple of the Tier-3 Heart-Wither Curse. 

He had tracked it instantly to Julian. The prodigy was chanting a forbidden, fatal spell right from the spectator stands. The Dean’s mana had flared, his instincts screaming at him to intervene before a royal scandal unfolded on his campus.

Yet, before he could even raise his staff, Ethan Hoke did it himself.

It was a display that the Dean had absolutely not expected. The boy had acted weak, flailing his arms and screaming like a terrified child, but behind that pathetic mask, the kid knew exactly what he was doing. 

The Dean’s refined vision had caught the split-second truth: Ethan hadn't just dodged; he had caught the invisible strand of the curse and cleanly reversed it.

To manipulate, redirect, and bounce back a Tier-3 curse using nothing but a freshly unlocked Tier-1 mana core wasn't just brilliant, it was practically impossible. 

The magic-less boy indeed had awakened. But he wasn't just a mindless, physical brute like the Berserker Kings of old.

He was a Berserker who could wield mana. A hybrid anomaly. A monster in the making.

Interesting, the Dean thought, a dark, slow smirk spreading across his face as he smoothed down his golden hair. Very interesting.

He needed to report this to his boss. Immediately.

Leaving the vice-principal to handle the panicked crowd, the Dean swept away from the arena, his expensive robes billowing behind him as he retreated into his private, warded sanctum. 

He pulled a heavy, black leather-bound mana scroll from a hidden compartment beneath his desk. 

Infusing his golden mana into the parchment, he rapidly penned the terrifying display he had just witnessed, detailing everything he had witnessed.

With a sharp flick of his wrist, the scroll dissolved into a burst of purple, abyssal smoke, rocketing out of the window and tearing through the sky toward the northern horizon.

*****

Miles away from the glittering, hypocritical capital, the sky hung in perpetual twilight over the Forbidden Mountain. Perched precariously on the jagged, skeletal crags sat the Dark Tower, a monolithic spire of black stone completely invisible to the mortal world.

At the highest apex of the tower, a figure stood staring out at the brewing cosmic storms.

The figure didn't even turn around as the burst of purple smoke materialized inside the chamber, solidifying back into the Dean's mana scroll. A pale, slender hand caught the parchment out of the air.

As the glowing abyssal script bled across the leather, revealing the boy's reawakening and his terrifying adaptation of the Berserker bloodline, a low, melodic laugh echoed through the damp stone room. 

It was a voice that carried the weight of a thousand dead worlds.

"So, you survived the drop, Vance," the figure whispered, the scroll bursting into a brilliant emerald flame between their fingers. "You always were a stubborn bastard."

The flames illuminated the room for a brief second, catching the glint of a heavy, royal crest ring on the figure's finger, the unmistakable mark of the kingdom's highest ruling bloodline.

The figure stepped into the light, a twisted, anticipating smile cutting across their face. 

"Let the boy play the hero at the academy. By the time he realizes who is actually pulling the strings from this tower, I’ll have already bled this world dry."

*****

ETHAN POV

The aftermath of the dueling arena was a masterpiece of administrative panic.

While the student body was being forcefully ushered away by shouting instructors, the Dean himself practically ran to my side. 

His expensive, gem-encrusted robes rustled frantically against the polished marble as he grabbed my shoulder, his long golden hair completely disheveled.

"Ethan," the Dean had whispered, his voice laced with a bizarre mixture of awe and deep political anxiety. "Are you unharmed? Did the... did the bloodline awakening cause any internal strain?"

I frowned.

"I—I think I’m okay, Master," I stammered right back, pulling off a textbook performance of a traumatized teenager and let my knees tremble slightly for effect. 

"My chest just feels really hot, and my head hurts. Did I do something wrong? Is Julian going to be okay?"

"You did nothing wrong, boy. You survived a tragedy," the Dean said quickly, though his golden eyes were darting around the arena, subtly analyzing the residual mana in the air. 

"The academy guards have just detected traces of a forbidden abyssal curse spell within the spectator perimeter. 

Julian's sudden collapse was likely a targeted attack by a hidden assassin meant to eliminate you before your Berserker blood could fully stabilize. Classes are officially canceled until further notice while we conduct a thorough investigation."

He waved over a squad of elite guards. "Escort Master Hoke directly back to the Sovereign Elite Class Dormitory. He is under the highest tier of royal protection. No one enters his suite without my direct authorization."

"T-Thank you, Dean," I whimpered, letting a guard gently guide me toward the waiting luxury carriage.

But the moment I stepped inside the dark, velvet-lined interior of the carriage and the door clicked shut, my pathetic posture evaporated. I sank back into the leather cushions, threw my head back, and let out a low, mocking laugh.

I smirked.

An assassin? A hidden threat? The administrative spin doctors were already working overtime to protect the academy’s pristine reputation. 

They couldn't face the terrifying reality that one of their own top-tier noble prodigies was a sleeper agent who had tried to execute a classmate in broad daylight. 

Instead, they were framing it as an outside infiltration, completely oblivious to the fact that the "targeted victim" had just bounced a lethal curse straight back into their prize student's chest.

"Let them investigate," I muttered, looking out the carriage window as the grand spires of the academy faded into the distance.

"The longer they spend chasing ghosts outside the walls, the more time I have to dismantle the vipers sitting right inside their classrooms."