Reincarnated as an Apocalyptic Catalyst
Chapter 54: Reinforced Resolve

Chapter 54: Reinforced Resolve

Waking up didn’t feel like I’d been trampled by a carriage today. Small victories, which meant the world to me. A hundred small victories would equal the biggest victory to me here in a few weeks.

There was still a lingering weight in my limbs, a dull ache in my skull, but it wasn’t the same crushing exhaustion that had become my constant companion over the past few days. My mana reserves were still low, probably lower than I liked, but it certainly felt like I was 10 times as capable as I was just a few days ago. There was something else, it was as though my movements weren’t as sluggish, my body a little sharper. Maybe I was starting to adjust to the pace of this new life, or maybe it was just the old man’s grueling training finally kicking in. As I mentioned earlier, training this skill had a significant effect on my body.

Whatever the reason, I wasn’t dragging myself out of bed, feeling like I’d been crushed under the weight of the world. It was a small win, and I’d take it.

I stretched, trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep. A few cracks popped in my back, but it didn’t feel like a war zone this time. I glanced in the mirror. Hair still a mess, eyes still too tired, but I could live with that. At least today I didn’t look like I was about to pass out from the effort of standing up.

Still wasn’t ready to completely ditch the "tragic head injury" excuse, though. Let’s be real—if I threw that out completely, I’d be up shit creek without a paddle. The "poor little Caidan, tragic backstory" was still my best defense, and as much as I hated using it, it was the only armor I had.

But maybe, just maybe, I could dial it back a little. Maybe a slight shift from "tragic head injury" to "mild lingering effects." Subtle enough to still get me the benefit of the doubt, but not so dramatic that I started looking like I was milking it.

I grabbed my uniform, still half-wrinkled from yesterday, and tugged it on. Couldn’t pretend to be perfect; I wasn’t that good of an actor. A few minor imperfections would make me look more believable. A tiny little concession for the sake of looking like I was trying.

Breakfast was the usual madness. A few dozen students packed into the cafeteria, voices overlapping, though I could discern every word they spoke–a gift of the trade–, gossip and half-formed opinions about a multitude of students across the campus. Thankfully for them, it was nothing about Mara. If I hadn’t spent so much time avoiding social interaction, I might’ve been more inclined to join in. Instead, I settled into my usual spot, away from the main clusters of conversation, where I could listen without being noticed. This was enough for me, just the fact that I was around other people helped to soothe my loneliness.

I didn’t care about the food; it wasn’t about the food. It was about the talk. Magic terms, snatches of conversation about the latest theory or spell formula. Etheric resonance here, mana flow there. It was all a little over my head still, but I was getting better at picking out bits and pieces. At least it didn’t all sound like gibberish anymore.

There was something strangely comforting about it, though. Sitting there in the middle of this chaos, eavesdropping like an invisible observer, I realized I was starting to pick up on the rhythms of the academy. The students talked about magic like it was second nature to them, which made sense. They’d probably been raised with it, and learned it from birth. Meanwhile, I was scrambling to make it all fit.

It wasn’t just the academic terms that I was trying to absorb. I was watching how the students interacted, and how they carried themselves. The way they spoke to each other, the little signs of familiarity they gave off. It wasn’t just knowledge they were sharing, it was like a code amongst mages, and as the outlier, I had to work twice as hard to decipher it.

I heard snippets of conversation about the last lesson on elemental control, and how some of the students had struggled with balancing heat and density in their fire spells. Fire magic. I could barely get a flame to stay stable, let alone control its properties. But I listened closely, trying to pick up something, anything, that might help when I inevitably screwed up in class again. This was the perfect topic to bring up with the old man. I still hadn’t asked who he was, what his story was... But this guy was on another level. He likely dwarfed my professors in knowledge, which was great, because I was paying several platinum coins a day to keep him helping me. Bribing the guards was pennies compared to this geriatric genius.

One conversation caught my attention, a pair of students murmuring about mana resonance and how it was the key to understanding more complex spellwork. I wasn’t entirely sure what they meant by it, but I made a mental note to ask about it later. I was starting to realize that the language of magic was more like a web of interconnected ideas, each part tied to the others in ways that weren’t immediately obvious.

I kept my head down, pretending to study my food as the conversations swirled around me. Picking up terminology was one thing, but understanding it all? That would take a lot of time. Honestly, after the first semester, I would be lucky to learn enough for a student to have a 50/50 chance of even applying here, let alone thriving. Still, the more I absorbed, the easier it would be to fake it when I needed to. I just had to be patient.

When I finished eating, I grabbed my things and headed to class. The walk across the campus was familiar by now, a routine I was getting used to. The stone paths, the distant chatter of other students, the looming towers of the academy itself—it was all starting to feel like it was natural. At the very least, it was an exercise in acting as though I had any idea.

As I walked, I caught a glimpse of Mara ahead. She was talking with a group of students, laughing at something one of them had said. For a split second, I was hit with the familiar pang of envy. She looked so comfortable here, she was in her element and appeared perfectly natural amidst her friends.

I wondered if she ever had to fake it like I did. But I shook the thought away. I wasn’t here to worry about her, I was here to survive.

I walked into class, and there it was again, the overwhelming feeling of being out of place. Students were seated at desks, books open, scribbling notes. They were all so...normal. So immersed in the lesson. I didn’t plan to be here long, but if I would stay for a while, I hoped to be as fluent as they were.

I took a seat near the back and tried to steady my breathing. If I could fake confidence long enough, maybe I could trick myself into believing it. And if I could do that, maybe everyone else would buy it too.

The professor walked in a moment later, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes. He had that professor air about him, the "I know everything, and you don’t" vibe that grated on me. To be fair, he honestly knew everything and I didn’t, but still, it was a foreign feeling. Typically I would show up and everyone would be dead. I would walk to my goal, accomplish it, and leave so much richer.

His robes were pristine, his hair perfectly styled, and his posture screamed academic authority. He didn’t even need to say anything to make it clear that he thought he was the smartest person in the room. As I said previously, I wanted to contest it, but these Academy folk were the real deal. Sure, they weren’t anywhere near the old man, but they stood miles above us students.

I’d learned a lot in the last few weeks, especially from watching how people like him operated. The trick wasn’t to confront them head-on; it was to let them think you were on their level and then slide by unnoticed.

As he began the lecture, I let my mind wander a bit. I had no clue what half of the stuff he was saying meant, but it didn’t matter right now. I was still in the "survival" phase of this, and if I could just stay under the radar long enough, I might actually make it through the day without completely embarrassing myself.

The one thing I did understand was the purpose of the lesson. Today’s lesson was about mana reinforcement, something I severely lacked.

The professor demonstrated it with a simple staff. With a single touch, he reinforced it so that the once brittle wood became as strong as steel. Simple, right? Theoretically, yeah. But practically? I had no clue.

And when it was my turn, I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to get the damn thing to stay together.

The professor’s demonstration was... impressive, I guess. He made it look so easy like it was nothing. A gentle touch to the wooden staff, and bam—it was a deadly weapon that wouldn’t shatter under the greatest stressors. The students around me nodded as they understood it. Some of them were already murmuring about how easy it was, while others just stared, waiting for their turn. I wasn’t sure if I should be inspired or terrified.

When my name was called, I dragged myself to the front, trying not to think about the dozen or so eyes on me. There was a weird pressure in the air when it was your turn to perform.

I grabbed the staff, feeling its weight in my hands. The wood was light, almost too fragile. I wasn’t sure I could do this without breaking it. But I was here, and I had no choice but to try.

Focusing on the task at hand, I forced the thoughts out of my head. I wasn’t here to think. I was here to make magic happen, even if it was just a little. My hands went to the staff, and I tried to call up the mana.

Nothing happened.

I’d done this a hundred times in my head. I knew what I needed to do. Push the mana into the object, strengthen it, and reinforce its structure. Simple enough, but when I reached for it, it felt like there was nothing there.

I’d been so focused on making it look like I knew what I was doing that I’d forgotten to actually do it.

I tried again. This time, I felt a shift in my palm. A faint tug of energy, barely there. That was something. I pressed harder, forcing the mana into the wood, and I could feel the fibers of the staff flex, bend, stretch as though they were straining to hold it together. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

The staff groaned under the pressure, and then—crack.

The wood splintered, a chunk breaking off the end with a sharp, echoing sound. The pieces fell to the floor with a thud, and I froze.

But the professor didn’t seem to care. He didn’t even bat an eye. Instead, he just gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod and moved on to the next student.

I stayed there for a moment longer, staring at the damaged staff. It was probably the worst possible outcome, but for some reason, I didn’t feel as bad as I expected.

Maybe it was because the other students were screwing up just as badly, if not worse. One kid’s staff had turned to dust. Another had set his on fire. So, yeah, maybe breaking the thing wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. I returned to my seat, head down, heart still racing.

But as the class continued, I noticed something. The professor wasn’t watching me as closely anymore. Not that he was ever watching me all that much, what with the defects I had spent too much time establishing. Today felt different though, he seemed to trust that I’d at least try to do the work. I kind of liked the guy, even if he was a cocky asshole. Part of me even wanted to show him that I could do the work. So when the next round came up, I tried again, I even volunteered for another shot, something that the others were too timid to do.

This time, I focused on the wood, visualizing the way the fibers twisted, and the way the staff could be reinforced—not with raw power, but with precision. Mana, I was starting to realize, wasn’t about throwing as much energy at something as possible. It was about control.

I closed my eyes for a moment, just to block out everything. The whispers of my classmates, the sharp clack of the professor’s shoes on the floor as he moved between the rows. I breathed in, slow and steady, and stretched my senses until I could feel the flow of mana beneath my skin.

When I reached for the staff this time, I felt something different. A warmth spread through my fingers, like the staff itself was alive, reacting to my presence, so much like the shadows. If I could mimic the way I handled the shadows, with the magic I was trying to control, this would be a cake-walk. The mana poured out in a controlled stream, not too fast, not too slow. I pushed the energy into the wood, felt it spread through the fibers, and then—click.

It didn’t splinter. It didn’t crack. The staff held firm, stronger than it had been before. I opened my eyes, half-expecting it to fall apart in my hands. But it didn’t. The wood was intact, and solid. I had done it! It was all starting to come together!

It wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot. I still wasn’t fully sure how I’d done it, or what I’d done differently this time. But it worked. That was progress.

The professor nodded again, this time with a little more approval in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, didn’t praise me, but there was something there that he didn’t show to the others. A slight flicker of acknowledgment. That was more than I’d gotten before, with the professor or the old man. I was rapidly improving and it felt amazing. Even Mara gazed up at me in wonder.

I returned to my seat, trying not to act too smug about it. Mara was watching me again. She didn’t say anything, but there was a hint of surprise on her face.

Class ended, but I wasn’t done.

I slipped away from the bustle of the Academy, ignoring the aches that tugged at my body and the burning fatigue I was sure would hit soon. The old man was expecting me, and I had no time to waste. No complaints. No excuses. Just work.

I set up in the little space we’d made into my makeshift training ground. There were no prying eyes here. No Mara, no classmates, no professor waiting for me to mess up. It was just me, the old man’s teachings, and the relentless need to get better—because that was the only way I could hold on to this act.

Today, I wasn’t reinforcing a staff or a chair. I was reinforcing myself.

I wasn’t sure if this was a terrible idea or a stroke of brilliance, but at this point, I was willing to try anything. I stood there, feet planted, and focused. I reached deep inside, feeling for that pulsing thread of mana. I could use it for objects; I could use it for fire. Couldn’t I use it for myself?

The first time I tried, the mana surged through me—too fast, too heavy. My muscles tensed up, and I felt like I’d been struck by a bolt of lightning. There was no finesse, no control. My arms felt like lead, my skin burned where the mana flowed too quickly, and for a second, I couldn’t move. This was a terrible idea, but I needed to continue.

I tried again. This time, I forced the mana to move more slowly, more deliberately, through the channels of my body. It wasn’t easy. I was pushing my limits, but something about it felt... right. It was like I was trying to fill a cup that had a hole in the bottom—harder than it should be, but not impossible.

I felt the burn in my muscles before they started to feel stronger. My fists clenched. The strength was there, but the movement was still sluggish. Too much at once. Too fast.

I pushed out a punch. The impact felt stronger than before, sharper, like I could break stone with just my knuckles. But then the weight hit me. My arms felt like they were sinking into the ground, every muscle aching as if I’d just run a marathon. My body wasn’t used to this kind of strain, and the backlash was immediate.

I rubbed my forearm, the ache almost unbearable. But it wasn’t a failure. Not this time. I was doing something real, and wasn’t just faking progress—I was creating it.

Every screw-up taught me something, and this one would teach me how to slow down, how to control the flow, how to balance the strength.

I could afford a few mistakes, and that gave me the drive to take chances.

Mistakes were just another step toward being something real. And I wasn’t turning back.