CHAPTER 8: Bending the Rain - Part 2

  Over the next days, Graf taught more complex spells, but they all followed the same principles. Not infrequently, two or three students fainted from expending too much Mana.

  “I don't care about you. But if you fail, it will reflect poorly on me. So, I'll tell you dimwits. The mild consequence of using too much Mana is feeling drunk to the point of fainting. Use more, and you'll be mentally impaired – well, more mentally impaired than you already are. Even more, and your mind will die even if your body lives.”

  Graf's explanation silenced the whole class.

  The second test was the real one that would determine whether they were accepted into the applied class, or more commonly known as the combat class. The second test was held at a moment’s notice when the sky showed signs of rain.

  Eiran concealed his labored breathing as he climbed the hill. He desperately suppressed a cough. He could not let anyone know his condition, or he would be expelled. The Decima Corps did not want to waste resources on something that could not provide a return on their investment.

  He looked up. The sky was growing darker. He hoped it would rain today. The test had been postponed twice already, and if it was delayed again, they might replace it with an even harder test. Eiran clutched the stone necklace at his chest. Violet's scarf was tied to his upper arm. He needed everything that might help.

  At the top of the hill, he and the other Water class students stood on a rocky terrain, waiting for the rain. Graf lay on one side of his body, drinking under a tent. Thunder rumbled a few times, and the raindrops began to fall. The test had begun.

  In this test, they had to be able to divert each raindrop and keep their clothes dry. Eiran glanced at his classmates' faces, which were as dark as the overcast sky, but then returned his focus to himself and concentrated. The raindrops curved to avoid his body as the rain roared.

  “FAIL!” Graf's shout made his shoulders flinch. However, those words were not directed at him. A teenage boy stepped down from the rock where he had been standing, head bowed.

  Eiran felt sorry, but for them, failing this year only meant repeating next year. This was not the case for him.

  A thud followed by a scream made him turn. The teenager had slipped and broken his leg. He cried out in the rain while Eiran and the others could only watch.

  Under the tent, Graf took a swig from his bottle and then belched.

  “He needs help!” Eiran exclaimed. His concentration was still unrefined, and shouting made the water flow around him waver.

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  “Quiet, don't disturb the others,” Graf replied, shaking his empty bottle. His posture reminded him of a fat seal sunbathing.

  The teenager's shinbone protruded, washed a pale yellow by the rain. He groaned and moaned. Eiran's teeth clenched witnessing it.

  Eiran shouted ‘anchor’ in its sixth profane form, then walked towards him, one step at a time while maintaining his concentration. And, like a baby learning to walk, he took another step. Another step. Another step, and a drop of rain darkened his clothes.

  “FAIL!” Graf shouted.

  His concentration shattered and the rain drenched him. Third form! Fourth form! With nothing more to lose, he ran to help the teenager stand.

  The lips of the other students tightened into white lines. They could not voice their support without disrupting their concentration, but their gazes conveyed whatever their mouths wanted to say.

  Eiran helped the teenager down the hill. Along the way Eiran coughed up blood, staining his collar red. Then, at the entrance of the academy's medical ward, he collapsed.

  He spent the next two days in the infirmary bed. It was not until that afternoon that he received an official summons to the academy headmaster's office.

  A varnished walnut desk separated him from the Head of the Academy and his two deputies. Eiran stood with perfect posture, feeling like a condemned person with the noose already placed around his neck. Paintings of past academy heads and various taxidermized animals with their shiny eyes seemed to judge him.

  “You failed,” the Head of the Academy began with the words he least wanted to hear. “When the results were announced, your friends, including those from other classes, ardently advocated for your success. They were determined to see you through, to the extent of contemplating a collective resignation in the event of your failure.”

  Once the Head of the Academy stopped speaking, an awkward silence filled the room.

  “Exhibiting unwavering trustworthiness and reliability to the extent that others are willing to make sacrifices on your behalf is an exceptional and rare quality.” One of the deputies, an elderly woman, breaking the silence.

  It was as if, just as the executioner was about to release the trapdoor, the crowd shouted that he was innocent.

  Then the small man on the right spoke, “While acknowledging your uniqueness, exceptions cannot be granted arbitrarily. We communicated to them that we would deliberate upon their requests. Yet, this was not truthful. Despite protestations, our determination remains unwavering. We are inclined to accept a collective failure rather than invest in the training of a potential disruptive element. The Decima Corps is already burdened with a surplus of… colorful individuals.”

  “Furthermore, you concealed your ailment,” the elderly woman continued. “Your condition is of a serious nature, beyond the remedial capacity of even a Healer. We cannot afford such logistical encumbrances.”

  Eiran closed his eyes. If they wanted to execute him, they should just do it! There was no need to keep jerking his noose.

  The Head of the Academy cleared his throat. “Nevertheless, in the end, all of that is irrelevant. This is not attributable to the protests. Do you comprehend the reason? It is Graf. He leveraged his connections and convinced us, in his words, ‘you’re a dull-witted crinkly goat, good-for-nothing lecher if you don’t pass that dolt.’ Despite the accusation, we remain steadfast in our convictions that we are not a goat nor lecher.”

  Eiran's gaze darted between the three, searching for any signs.

  What did it mean?

  “You passed, Dolt,” the Head of the Academy said, still in proper posture.

  Eiran could not contain his elation. He fell to his knees and screamed with all his might.

  In the end, the trapdoor opened, but the noose broke.