Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (57/?) Revised Version (Patreon)

Hey everyone! There's been quite a bit of additions to this chapter, as I wanted to clarify a bit of Emma's drone activities in the beginning of it, as well as wanting to add a bit to the end in order to give the scene a little bit more of an impact that I wanted it to have! :D Those are the most major additions to the chapter! The rest of the revisions I made were to grammar and word choice! But given the stuff that was added and how much I think it adds to the overall feeling of the ending, I do suggest you guys take a look at this one again! :D And as always, all of the revisions are highlighted with an underline to easily see what's been revised! :D

The walk to the Dean’s office was one marked by silence. Not a word escaped either of our mouths as we made the long drawn-out trek through the mind-bending labyrinth that was the faculty tower.

Or at least, that’s what it looked like on the surface.

For despite the outward silence, a series of rapid fire back and forths between me and the EVI was currently taking place underneath my helmet. As we began our final few preparations for the more practical aspect of this operation.

“EVI?”

“Yes, Cadet Booker?”

“Prepare to deploy the infildrone when I say so. Set it to long-term static recon mode, activate advanced power saving profiles, make sure we get as much out of it as we can. We now have a shot at bugging the office of the man-in-charge himself, so let’s make the most of it.”

“Affirmative Cadet Booker. Please set and clarify the minimum tolerable margin of error for the potential of mission-endangerment.”

“MEM-Es set at lowest possible parameters. I don’t want to take any chances. This idea is already risky as it is. I want the thing to self-destruct if it even thinks it’s being looked at the wrong way.”

“Alert: Discrepancy detected. Advanced Power Saving profile will result in several advanced stealth features being disabled. Low MEM-E sensitivity settings will not have an effect on the frequency on the use of active-camouflage systems as a result.”

“Acknowledged, EVI. The intention isn’t to dictate the frequency of advanced stealth feature usage, but rather, the low tolerance I have for it being discovered. Besides, I know we can’t use those advanced stealth features here. It’s a long term mission without any chance of a recharge, so we have to be conservative when it comes to power consumption.”

“Acknowledged. MEM-Es set. Mission parameters set.”

Good.

“Error: Unable to execute and confirm.”

What now?

“Reason: RTB Pathfinding not found. Source: Previous mission failure due to cached pathfinding resources’ incompatibility with anomalous terrain.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that EVI. I have a plan to get around our little handicap there… Set the drone to immediately RTB once either its storage is full, or its battery is depleted by half, and set the Dean himself as the pathfinding agent. The idea’s simple. He’ll be the drone’s guide to pathfinding its way out of the faculty tower.” I commanded with a mischievous cackle.

“Acknowledged. Parameter conflict resolved. Ready to deploy on your command, Cadet Emma Booker.”

I acknowledged the EVI with an affirmative blink, before shifting towards another, more light hearted topic. One that eventually came to mind the further we marched into the textureless and unrendered hallways of the faculty tower. “EVI?”

“Yes, Cadet Booker?”

“If a situation ever comes up where we have to provide a gift to the Academy, just remind me to hand them the cumulative works of M.C. Echer, Salvador Dali, E.D. Park, and Superl337archidev.”

“Purpose of this reminder, Cadet Booker?”

“I think that’s abundantly clear, EVI.” I let out a massive sigh, using my eyes to quietly and discreetly gesture at the non-euclidean surrealist nightmare that was the faculty’s home turf. A series of expanding but shrinking, winding but straightening, orderly but chaotic, perspective-bending paths that led from corridor to corridor in an unending loop of insanity. An amalgamation of magical tricks that spat in the face of physics, and played loose with the rules of mathematics.

A pile of data that the compilers back at home were going to have a field day with once I got home.

No doubt relegated to the ‘junk data’ drawer until they can verify the validity of the nonsense I’d be providing them with.

“Affirmative, Cadet Booker. Context-dependant reminder set.”

“Thanks EVI, but just for the record, that was a joke. Also, sorry about messing with your sensors for the literal upteenth time this week.” I acknowledged with a dry chuckle, prompting the expected silence from the EVI, given that it didn’t come pre-loaded with banter-mode pre-installed like your typical household bot or Augmented Reality assistant.

That was, until I heard a beep of acknowledgement, a high-pitched tone that normally only came up in response to minor requests or status updates.

A brief pang of worry hit me, but not for the obvious concern of a potential over-improvement of the EVI’s parameters. Rather, I was more worried about the EVI’s stability given the wealth of nonsensical contradictory data it’d been inundated with so far in such a short period of time, courtesy of the Academy and the Library’s reality-bending architecture.

Those concerns were short-lived however, as unlike the case when it came to the twenty-minute trek to get to Mal’tory’s office, the trek to the Dean’s office barely took ten.

But the differences didn’t end there.

In fact, that was only the start of where things significantly diverged from my experiences with Mal’tory.

Starting right off the bat with the entrance into the room itself.

In the place of the dark and dreary double doors of ashen gray and jet-black wood, were a set of pure-white oaken doors, gilded with gold and adorned with a series of crystals that glowed tastefully in their recessed fixtures.

Opening those doors revealed a room that was completely antithetical to the black-robed professor’s design philosophy. But for vastly different reasons.

Their intended effect was still obvious: to instill a sense of shock, awe, and an overwhelming sense of impersonality to those that crossed the threshold into their spaces. It was an extension of what I was quickly understanding to be the Academy’s more ‘subtle’ power plays; a means of demonstrating strength, power, and sophistication through the very architecture that surrounds those which inhabit their spaces.

However, where Mal’tory’s office utilized a mixture of darker colors, an overabundance of ornate furniture, and an eclectic collection of morbid and macabre artifacts that hinted at an outwardly sinister intent, the dean’s office instead projected an overwhelming sense of cold hostility. It was sterile and controlled, despite being as, if not more ornately decorated in engravings, carvings, flourishes and statues that despite being masterfully crafted and meticulously detailed, all felt lifeless and meaningless.

There was no story being told in the masterfully crafted works of art here.

There was no artistic intent or authorial meaning behind any of the grand works.

There was nothing being conveyed, and nothing that could be read, save for the overwhelming sense of conformity in the sameness of the patterns and stylistic choices used in all of these works.

Beyond that, there was nothing.

Nothing but grandeur for grandeur’s sakes.

Yet the starkest difference here from Mal’tory’s office wasn’t in the theming, nor was it the polar difference in color palette.

It was the fact that there were actually people here.

In fact, the EVI counted at least twenty-seven.

As what we entered wasn’t quite exactly a personal office, as much as it was a vast open hall with windows lining either side of it. Sunlight bathing the varnished desks and white-wood shelves lining a central path that led towards another set of doors. Most of the desks were empty, but those that were staffed were staffed by elves, many of which were busy with one desk-bound task or another. Some meticulously scrawled on piles upon piles of documents, some combing through books and ledgers, whilst many more walked and dashed about from shelf to shelf, shuffling stacks of paper from one place to another. Yet the state of the room never once reflected this frenzied pace of work. There were no stray pieces of paper sitting around, every stack and pile of documents were all impossibly neat and geometrically aligned, every piece of stationery and every writing implement was uniformly arranged no matter the desk, table, or person using them. Everything just looked too perfectly neat.

This fact was tested when one of the apprentice-cloaked elves found themselves bumping into me, letting out a solid oomf of pain before falling flat at my feet. And whilst he’d crumpled down into a sorry heap, that stack of perfectly aligned papers never once shifted, instead landing neatly, almost cartoonishly so right next to him.

“Ah-ah? S-sorry. I…” The elf stammered out, a weird foggy haze in his eyes lifted to reveal two brilliant sapphire eyes. He had the eyes of someone who had just recently woken up from a nap.

“I apologize on behalf of my new appointees, Cadet Emma Booker. It seems as if quite a few of them are so preoccupied in their thoughts, that they default to navigating-by-stream, supplementing if not replacing their sight by temporarily relying exclusively on manastreams to navigate. This is, as you may imagine, quite non-conducive to navigating around what is in effect a large, lumbering, mass of mana-less metal; more akin to a non-living construct and thus inevitably absent from the absent-minded ministrations of those relying purely on mana-field sight.” The man managed out in an impressive display of polite belligerence.

I couldn’t help but to be impressed, offended, and then impressed again at the dean’s ability to shift the direction of his words on a dime. From being genuinely apologetic, to disciplinary, to being passive-aggressive in his slights towards me as a mana-less being, and then finally back to disciplinary again. He eventually ended that brief aside by concentrating his polite ire on the elf who’d begun picking himself up, too preoccupied in wiping the sleep from his eyes despite the fact he hadn’t been sleeping. The man was able to, in less than ten seconds, attack everyone around him in that polite patronizing way only a wizened wizard could.

I chose to respond with silence.

To which he responded with a dismissive wave of his hand, signaling me to continue following him.

I did so wordlessly, but not before a revelation suddenly struck me, prompting me to formulate a quick but insurmountably beneficial deviation to the spy-drone operations.

“EVI?”

“Yes, Cadet Booker?”

“Analyze the sunlight. Can the drone’s solar arrays make use of it?”

“Affirmative. Wavelengths compatible with INFIL-DRONE01’s solar-recharging systems.”

“Alrighty then.” I acknowledged with a toothy grin. “Reset parameters for the drone, only partially enable advanced power saving features. Set active-camo to activate contingent on possible inference of line-of-sight. We now have a source of power to keep the active camo engaged if we need to.” I chuckled deviously underneath the helmet.

“Affirmative, Cadet Booker. Updating mission profile and operational parameters.”

We eventually arrived at a final set of double doors, leading to an office that prompted me to do a double-take using my side and rear mounted cameras.

The room was practically identical to the last. With every dimension, every engraving, every carving and statue virtually an exact carbon copy, down to the square inch of their placement.

Save for only two key differences.

First, was the placement of a large desk at the very end of the room, and a large floor to ceiling window that overlooked the lake and the town below.

Which more or less confirmed my earlier suspicions and outright guaranteed the success of the gambit I’d made in the previous office.

As there was now a limitless source of sunlight, offering the drone an unlimited power source for its intended mission.

“EVI, do the thing.”

“Suggestion, Cadet Booker. I advise to deploy the drone at the most opportune time wherein the subject in question is most inattentive to maximize the successes of drone deployment. As mission commander, do you approve of this proposal?”

I couldn’t help but to raise yet another brow at the EVI’s adaptability and resourcefulness, as I blinked once in response, all but affirming that proposal. “Suggestion noted, amendments approved. Deploy the drone when you think it’s most appropriate, EVI. Just make sure it’s when he’s really not paying attention.”

“Affirmative Cadet Booker.”

The second key difference was the replacement of all of the desks from the previous room by statues. Hundreds of them in fact. All of them showing absolutely no wear or aging on their marble exteriors. All of them flanking the main pathway that led to the Dean’s desk. All of them being elves, wearing almost exactly the same robes as the Dean himself.

“Two-thousand five-hundred and twenty seven.” The dean uttered abruptly, breaking the deafening and oppressive silence of the room with a voice that reverberated throughout the space, generating an ominous echo that continued on high above. This prompted me to crane my head upwards, towards an enormous ceiling that would fit in right at home with the hyper-revivalist Cathedrals over in the EF. The empty cavernous space was lit up by thousands of candles that hovered ominously overhead, dripping and generating what could easily be classified as a drizzle of hot molten wax, if not for the droplets fizzling into nothing before it even reached ten feet of our heads. “That is the number of individuals who have elected to answer the call of academic enlightenment, taking on the mantle of pedagogue, and eschewing their worldly lives for the pursuit and endowment of knowledge.” He narrated as he walked by the statues, all but answering the question of exactly who they were, yet opening up another question just as quickly as that statement was made.

“I count only five-hundred and twenty-seven.” I interjected questioningly, gesturing at the statues that lined our path.

This… seemed to elicit something in the Dean, as the man paused, before turning towards me just as he’d reached his desk. “I assume you mean you estimated.” He corrected a-matter-of-factly, prompting me to shake my head firmly in response.

“No sir, I counted each and every one of them.” I reaffirmed.

The man took a moment to ponder that, not once flinching or betraying what I assumed would’ve otherwise been a baffled reaction. “Whether by counting or by estimation, you are correct in your initial observations, Cadet Emma Booker.” The man acknowledged. “But what you see is only part of the greater whole. Look up.” He pointed up towards the ceiling. “Now count the number of candles hanging above.”

“Two-thousand.” I responded flatly, the EVI having noted the number in barely a millisecond, not that I needed it given it was now obvious where the Dean was going with this.

“Correct.” The man acknowledged. “The former is the number of those who have, in some way shape or form, demonstrated outstanding commitment to their duties as a Dean of this great and storied Academy. The latter… is the number of those who merely inhabited the role, embodying mediocrity, despite the otherwise great potential afforded to them.” He paused, taking the time to walk up and around the desk that sat a few steps above the rest of the room on an elevated pedestal.

“I assume you intend on being grouped into the former, and not the latter?” I quickly surmised, cutting off the man’s Argyle-villain spiel before it could even begin.

“My personal intent is not of your concern, Cadet Emma Booker. I merely wished to highlight and explain that which your young and curious mind would have more than likely had questions for, given the eclectic nature of the artifacts present within this room. I am, afterall, an endower of knowledge. It would be unbecoming of me to not preempt the questions my pupils may carry.” He quickly corrected, the man’s tone of voice sitting somewhere between the faux-fatherly warmth that he’d used in public up to this point, and a more serious, cutthroat sharpness of authority. “Now, with matters of properdom and officialdom over and dealt with, I believe you had a matter you wished to address?” The man gestured towards my belt, and the contents that lie within, all but giving me the floor to speak without interruption.

A completely different track and narrative compared to that of the black robe professor.

“Yes. I did, Professor.” I began politely, unsealing my pouch with a satisfying click, followed up by a pneumatic-like hiss. But instead of immediately reaching in, and instead of simply jumping straight to the point, I began my Nexian-grade social gambit. “Professor… I’d also like to take this opportunity to address what may have been considered a social faux pas during yesterday’s emergency assembly.” I began, prompting barely any response from the man’s aged and wrinkled face, save for a small narrowing of his eyes.

“You mean to say, you would like to apologize for the repercussions incurred by such a brazen and unwarranted action?” The Dean clarified, in the same manner an overzealous parent would.

“I find verbal apologies as weightless and fleeting as the air that carries them, Professor.” I stated a-matter-of-factly, eliciting no further reactions from the man as he allowed me to continue. “My people have a saying. An ancient adage that states that actions speak louder than words. I intend on following through with the principles of my people, Professor. And it is with those principles that I present to you this-” I paused, pulling out the neatly folded letter that had magically un-creased itself the moment I pulled it out of my mana-sealed pouch. “-the palpable results of the actions I have taken, which just so happens to address a matter of great significance to the Academy.”

I took a few steps forward, placing the letter gently on the desk.

The man took a few moments to regard the letter before him.

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 200% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 380% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 500% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 700% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

Several mana radiation signatures signaled the man’s attempts at ascertaining the authenticity of the document before him.

Each and every one prompting the man’s brows to furrow further and further, as if trying to dispute the reality of the situation that stood before him, all without breaking character and devolving into ramblings of outright denial.

A half a minute and about five or so mana radiation signatures later, he seemed confident enough to open the letter.

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 200% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

But as expected, the man refused to use his hands, instead relying on good old magic to do the job for him.

Within the sealed envelope was a small parchment just under a quarter of the size of a standard sheet of UN-ISO-A4 paper. One that, to my surprise, looked completely blank.

This was more than likely the result of some more magical shenanigans that I couldn’t overcome just yet, as the Dean demonstrated that there was in fact something written on there, if his darting eyes were of any indication.

Another minute passed with the man reviewing the document in utter silence, eventually electing to hold it in his wrinkled hands, instead of levitating it inches away from his bespectacled face. “I see.” Was all he could say in response to the letter’s contents. Spoken in a way that didn’t once betray the turmoil of emotions that I was sure was now churning within his mind.

The less a talkative person has to say, the more it speaks to their defeat. I recalled a small adage from Aunty Ran popping up from the recesses of my mind.

“Well then.” He continued, finally placing the letter down, and then promptly-

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 500% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

-sending it straight to the shadow realm.

“Do you understand what you have brought to me today, Cadet Emma Booker?” The man took a sharp turn towards the dark and questioning, his eyes now piercing my lenses in the same way he did the day before during the stunt I pulled at the emergency assembly.

“I do, Professor.” I replied simply.

“And you understand the implications that bringing this letter to me entails?” He continued in that darker, severe tone of voice.

“Yes, Professor. In fact, it was why I wished to address you post-haste, as this letter more or less negates the necessity for this morning’s investigation. I thought it would be prudent to inform you of that, such that no further effort need be taken to address the library situation as it were.” I concluded, channeling my inner Thacea, trying my best to put on the loftiest of Nexian phrasings in order to best play the game on my terms.

The man remained completely still throughout this, his poker face not once shifting as he placed both hands on the desk before him, locking them together.

“And pray-tell, how was it that you managed to come across this letter, Cadet Emma Booker?”

“I didn’t just come across it, sir.” I answered without pause. “I was assigned its delivery to you.”

“By whom?”

“The librarian himself, Professor.”

The man’s hands tightened before me, wringing harder, as he kept up that calm expression in spite of everything. I could feel him locking eyes with me, or rather, as he tried to read the expressionless gaze of the red and unfeeling lenses.

There were many paths the man could now take.

He could pull a Mal’tory, going straight into denial and pushing this matter further.

He could simply acquiesce and take the higher road.

Or, he could simply ignore everything, and simply proceed with the morning’s investigation.

What he did instead however, was something that I should’ve expected.

“And should this matter be brought to the attention of the librarian himself, you are certain that he would verify your assertions?”

“Yes.” I replied simply and with a firm nod, allowing that statement to hang in the air. “Though I wouldn’t want to waste your time like that, Professor.” I quickly added, giving the man an off-ramp, and by extension, an olive branch.

“So it would seem, and indeed, I am appreciative of your respect for both my time and the efforts of my faculty and staff.” The man paused, before moving on to what felt like a completely unexpected trajectory. “You have a fire and passion that I have yet to see in many a new realmer, Cadet Emma Booker. With that being said, the most brilliant of flames are more often than not the most at risk of burning out first.”

“I promise you, professor, that compared to the rest of my people… my flame can best be compared to an ember.”

“Then let us hope that this ember does not find the wrong kindling to ignite.” The man continued in vague overtures of metaphorical threats. “For the flames you may next incur, may not be as easily quenched. For you see Emma Booker, your candidacy belies a far greater degree of scrutiny than that of the Academic kind. Your character, your actions, your interactions will all be taken into account and scrutinized by powers not just limited to the walls of this Academy, nor the walls of the Library-” The man made an effort to highlight that latter bit in particular, as if trying to urge or dissuade me from my dealings with the library. “-but by those that you may never even have the chance to meet.”

“What exactly are you implying here, Professor?”

“That more cloaks exist to be singed by your embers than my own, Emma Booker.” He replied uncharacteristically simply, whilst maintaining that dour and threatening gaze all throughout. “And to tread wisely as a result.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because it is in my best interests to disclose to you the full extent and expectations that a candidacy entails. More specifically, your candidacy, Cadet Emma Booker.” The man spoke cryptically.

The sudden turn and direction was unexpected, but at the same time, more or less matched the particularities of dealing with the man. “With all that being said, do you have anything else to add, Cadet Emma Booker?”

“No.” I announced simply. “The letter, and my intent behind delivering it, was all I needed your audience for, sir.”

The man once more nodded, taking a moment to regard the envelope that still remained on the table, before glancing back at me.

“With that being said-” The man started up again, his tone now returning to the former, more amicable one. “-I sincerely hope that you redirect this fire and passion, this unbridled energy towards your studies and curricular-based activities. I need not remind you what this candidacy represents, and I need not remind you the precipitating factors and propagating catalysts behind the very events which you have so graciously brought to a close.” The man added vaguely, clearly hinting at the events of the past five days. Though how much he knew and where exactly he stood in those events was still very much up for debate. “I will watch your progress with great interest, Cadet Emma Booker. However, I wish to see that this progress is made linearly, and preferably not laterally.”

“Of course, Professor.” I acknowledged with yet another nod. “But I wish to make something else very clear…” I began, rummaging through my pouches for my re-minted library card, but stopping halfway.

I needed to cap off what was effectively a diplomatic venture based on the allusion of mutually beneficial acts, social debts, and causal inferences to power dynamics into something more palpable.

I needed to, if only tangentially, temper the amenability of my conversation by the establishment of clear boundaries between our two parties.

To establish myself not as just another piece in the dean’s games to be easily moved around the board, but an independent player that just so happens to be open to reasonable dialogue.

This wouldn’t be done by just flashing him a gun, a bomb, or any other tool of violence. No, that would be too easy, and would be playing right into the stereotype of the barbaric newrealmer; even if the tech was light years ahead of anything the Nexus had. I needed to keep the long term viability of my mission in mind, to protect the future prospects of my activities within the Academy and the Nexus, in order to sustain the two primary goals that had already made themselves clear to me - diplomacy with other realms, and data-gathering on the Nexus itself. A statement of violence would irrevocably damage more nuanced endeavors, and would act as a provocation rather than serve as a firm statement.

The best way to get my point across would be through a statement of social and political might, by using the elements of the world the Dean knew, to back it up.

And I had just the thing for that.

The seekership. Or rather, by vaguely confirming that my relationship with the library had now transcended the level of patronage, and had now reached ‘working relationship’ levels of affiliation.

The act of delivering the letter itself, serving as evidence enough for this fact.

“I wish for today to mark a new beginning for the both of us, Professor. I wish to see our paths progress in parallel directions, preferably without intersecting for the foreseeable future. For further actions taken against me that may be construed as antagonistic in nature will no longer just be affecting me in my capacity as a candidate and a newrealmer…” I paused for added effect, garnering a look of conceited confusion from the man. “... But as a Seeker of Truth as well.” I added vaguely, capping those words off with just a brief flash of my reminted card, pulling it out just far enough that the new edges to its borders were visible, but nothing else. Giving the man an image of just enough of the developments, keeping him on edge, but otherwise keeping him from the full picture. I held myself and the pin-drop silence for the longest second of my life, before finally, and just as swiftly, I walked out of the man’s office with an unseen wink; not once glancing behind me as my rear mounted cameras did all the work for me.

They revealed to me the face of a man who maintained that expression of calm, all the way until I finally faced my back towards him, when a look of shock and confusion finally took hold.

I now had four different wide-angle shots of that, in fact.

[Alert: Successful deployment of INFIL-DRONE01 confirmed. Undesignated infiltration mission initiated 3 Minutes and 27 seconds prior to alert.]

Make that five, and then some, once the infiltration drone was finished with its mission.