Reincarnated as an Apocalyptic Catalyst
Chapter 52: A Study in Kicking Your Own Ass

Chapter 52: A Study in Kicking Your Own Ass

The next few days were spent cramming everything I could into my head.

Magical theory, spellcasting fundamentals, the politics of the Academy—anything I might need to fake my way through student life. I memorized key figures, faculty names, and the general structure of courses. If someone called on me, I had to at least pretend to struggle through the material like everyone else–even as fast as I was learning, I felt like it wouldn’t take much ’pretending’ to look as though I was struggling.

My connection to the shadows hadn’t weakened, but learning structured magic was different. It required focus, specific hand movements, and spoken incantations. It was slower than what I was used to. Less instinctive.

I wasn’t bad at it—I picked it up fast enough—but I hated how inefficient it felt. I just wanted to look at my enemy, appear in their blind spot, and make them dead... Y’know, like a normal murderer.

Still, I played along. I followed the instructions, practiced the gestures, and repeated the chants. The tutor seemed pleased with my progress, not that I cared about his approval. Okay, maybe I cared a little... This was a big deal after all.

Magic or not, I wasn’t about to let this new body remain weak. Every night after studying, I trained.

Push-ups, sit-ups, sprints—anything to push my muscles, and force them to adapt. Agility drills, balance work, combat exercises. Despite this body, my movements were getting sharper, but I still felt the difference. I practiced my stealth, making sure my ability to move unseen wasn’t hindered by this unfamiliar frame. My efforts did produce some positive results, as I found that my magical studies improved as my body improved. I felt less fatigued afterwards, like my body was managing the flow of energy more efficiently.

Once I was satisfied, I moved on to the last step: getting my ass kicked.

I didn’t have the luxury of waiting around for someone to rough me up naturally, so I did it myself.

A few carefully placed bruises, a split lip, and a gash across my arm that looked worse than it actually was. Just enough to sell the illusion that I had been through hell and barely made it back. By the time I looked in the mirror again, I looked the part.

I smirked, rolling my shoulders. Now it was time to go back.

I arrived at the Academy just before dawn. The sky was still a deep shade of blue, the air crisp and quiet. It was the perfect time—early enough to avoid too many eyes, late enough that the few who did see me would be too weary to care.

My body ached in all the right places, the bruises settling nicely across my ribs and jaw. The cut on my arm still stung, though I had made sure it wasn’t deep enough to be a real problem. Every step was calculated, and every movement was designed to sell the story. I was just another lost soul who had clawed his way back from the brink.

The Academy portal loomed ahead. Two guards stood at their post, looking half-asleep. One of them blinked blearily at me as I approached, his hand drifting toward his weapon out of instinct.

"State your business," he muttered.

I didn’t have to fake the exhaustion in my voice. "I’m a student."

The other guard straightened slightly, frowning. "Name?"

I hesitated—just long enough to seem worn down, just short enough to avoid suspicion. "Caidan" I responded, recalling the name on his ID card I had found shortly after dispatching the troublemakers a few days ago.

Recognition flickered across their faces. Whispers had already spread about my disappearance. That was good. It meant I wouldn’t have to explain much.

The first guard gave me a once-over, his eyes lingering on the bruises, and the dried blood on my sleeve. His frown deepened. "Where the hell have you been?"

I let out a rough chuckle, shaking my head. "It’s a long story."

He exchanged a glance with his partner but didn’t press further. "Get inside. Report to the infirmary."

I gave a lazy salute and walked past them, feeling their eyes on my back as I crossed into the Academy grounds.

The Academy was waking up. Students shuffled through the halls, still groggy from sleep, wrapped in robes too expensive for their own good. The air buzzed with quiet chatter, books being opened, chairs scraping against polished floors.

I moved through the crowd like I belonged there. No one stopped me, but I could feel their stares—some subtle, some not. Whispers followed me like a shadow.

"Is that him?"

"He’s back?"

"Where did he go?"

"He looks awful..."

Good. Let them talk. The more they speculated, the fewer questions I had to answer.

I made my way toward the infirmary, playing the part of the weary survivor. A healer barely looked at me before waving me over to a cot. They muttered about students getting into trouble, but they didn’t ask where I had been. They just did their job, cleaned the wound on my arm, and handed me a bitter-tasting potion to speed up recovery.

It wasn’t until I left the infirmary that I felt a familiar presence... Mara... She was standing in the hallway, a book clutched to her chest, staring at me like I was some kind of ghost.

For a second, I saw something flicker across her face—relief, maybe. Then it was gone, replaced with frustration.

"You’re back," she said flatly.

I smirked. "Miss me?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "We had a project to complete, and you missed nearly the entire thing"

I shrugged. "Got lost."

"That’s bullshit, I’ve met people who were displaced, and you look like you just got your ass kicked and didn’t want to come back."

I chuckled, rubbing the back of my neck. "It’s a long story."

She narrowed her eyes, clearly unimpressed. "Whatever... The project is complete, but don’t expect to receive full credit. The professor knows you have been gone."

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice. "I’m here now. That’s what matters." The words were true, they were how I felt, but I knew she wouldn’t understand, there was no way for her to comprehend how quickly things had changed since she started her classes.

She studied me for a long moment like she was trying to decide if she wanted to hit me. Eventually, she just huffed and rolled her eyes. "You’re an idiot."

"You’re not wrong, but it’s good to be back."

She stood there for a long moment, analyzing me. I could feel her boring into my core, she had to know who I was, even if she hadn’t realized it yet.

"You have a lot of work to make up. You’ll never make it through the academy if you disappear for days at a time." She stated bluntly, before leaving me there to my own devices.

I watched her walk off before following, feeling something strange settle in my chest.

I ignored it.

I waited until nightfall before I left the Academy grounds. The guards were easy enough to bypass–with the money I had, I could bribe them every night until they were old and decrepit and still had barely scratched the surface of my wealth.

Vance was waiting in one of our usual meeting spots, a rundown building on the edge of the city. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching as I approached.

"You actually did it," he mused. "You changed bodies and are what? A mage now?"

"For now," I said. "How’s the network?"

His grin widened. "Better than yours."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

He pushed off the wall, pacing slightly as he spoke. "Garrett’s doing exactly what you told him. He’s reorganizing, cutting the dead weight, moving his influence up the chain. Standard stuff." He waved a hand dismissively. "But mine? It’s something else."

I barely gave him a glimmer of what I was planning, and here he was, setting up plans among plans, and initiating things I hadn’t even considered.

Vance’s network wasn’t like Garrett’s. He wasn’t just gathering thugs or business partners. He was removing problems, acting as I would in his position.

He had started hunting the wicked—not for justice, not for morality, but simply because it felt right. He liked it. Killing slavers, corrupt merchants, and nobles who abused their power. He wasn’t just growing his influence; he was cleansing the city in a way I no longer had the opportunity to do.

He was following my example. Just... a little differently.

"How many?" I asked.

Vance smirked. "Enough."

His methods were efficient, but there was something in his eyes, something a little too excited about the hunt. He enjoyed the act of killing more than the purpose behind it. He was helping, yes, but for the thrill, not the cause. I would have to watch him if I had the time. For now, I just nodded. "Keep at it."

His smirk widened. "I planned to."