The academy was located in the nobles district. A symbol of a scholar's status being a step removed from commoners. Luckily this section of the city didn't actually prohibit non-nobility from entering, provided they gave a reason for their visit. Of course, my entry was accepted after I provided proof that I was wealthy enough to apply.

The area was essentially what I expected. It was clean, with smooth streets and a higher guard to civilian ratio than the rest of town. I was better armed than most of the guards here, and several of them stopped me to ask what my business was here. I understood their questioning and tried to remain polite and calm despite the wasted time.

When I arrived at the academy, I was impressed. The building was beautiful, a complete waste of resources used to show off, but breathtaking nonetheless. Knights were guarding the entrance, and one of them held the same shield and crest as the late Santiago wore. Neither of them stopped me as I passed into the building. The foyer contained several clusters of individuals, most likely based on their respective factions or positions in society. I couldn't see a single adventurer at first glance, which suited me just fine. I found a seat in the corner and waited.

*

Over an hour passed while attendants or receptionists would occasionally appear from an adjacent hallway and take one of the applicants away. Almost none of them returned through the foyer to leave the building, which was to be expected. The academy simply wanted gold and applicants with magic. There was around one-fourth of us remaining when I was received. He was a short and round man who quickly surpassed my expectations. "I presume you are here to apply, Mr?" He was polite despite my appearance marking me as neither nobility nor a wealthy merchant.

"Yes, I am. Trace is my name." I stood to follow the man.

"Right this way, Mr. Trace." He led me down the left hallway to a set of large double doors. As the man opened one of the doors, he announced my presence. "Student applicant, Mr. Trace." The nobility probably got a few titles thrown into their introductions.

The room was unremarkable at first. Three men and two women sat behind a single long table; opposite their position was a single chair with a series of stone balls of varying sizes between them. The woman to my left spoke to me first. "Have a seat Mr. Trace." I followed her request and noted that the attendant remained inside the room next to the door. "We will begin with a series of questions. Most of the time, the answers to these don't impact your application. They are primarily to determine the burden your protection might have on our academy. Do you understand?"

I nodded.

"Very well, are you nobility?"

"No." The five of them began writing my answers down.

"Are you an enemy of any noble factions?"

"Possibly, I killed a man in a defensive honor duel. I did not know at the time that he was some form of lower nobility." They briefly looked over my shoulder in the direction I had last seen the attendant.

"Do you know what family he belonged to?"

"His name was Hector, and he was an adventurer, so I can't imagine he was important." Nobility rarely worked in the 'dirty' business of adventuring.

"Are you related to any significant merchant factions here in Thumsland?"

"No."

"Have you made enemies with any significant merchant factions here in Thumsland?"

"No."

"Is there a legal bounty for your capture?"

"No."

"How have you acquired the Stones necessary to use magic?"

"Adventuring, mostly." They cast another glance over my shoulder. I was beginning to suspect the attendant had a method of determining lies from truth. Luckily I hadn't lied so far.

"How have you acquired the gold necessary to apply here?"

"Adventuring."

"Can you read and write?"

"Yes."

"How well do you know your numbers?"

"I'm capable of addition and subtraction, as well as basic multiplication and division."

"What is your goal in attending this academy?"

"To learn more about the laws that govern life and the universe." I risked a half-truth.

After looking towards the attendant, the speaker turned back to me. "We do not find that answer to be sufficient. If you are unable to answer honestly, we can not have you here." Shit. Time slowed to a crawl as I utilized my combat reflexes to think faster. I could only think of two outcomes here, dependant on their response to my next words.

"I have a unique, non-contagious, affliction. I wish to cure myself of it." There were several seconds of silence. My breathing was becoming difficult, as though there was a weight pressing down on my chest.

"What is the affliction?"

"Must I answer this question?"

"Yes, if you aspire to attend here, we need to know. You may say it's non-contagious, but we would be idiots to assume you're correct."

"Will my affliction become public knowledge?" I had to focus on preventing my leg from bouncing.

"Written copies of this conversation are available to the King and our headmaster. They don't have the time to read such things under normal circumstances. We are forbidden from speaking about your interview with anyone, including the King, unless he requests it specifically. It is unlikely for news of your response to reach anyone's ears."

While she was speaking, the other interviewers were growing increasingly more impatient. It was likely they believed I was making an enormous deal about some embarrassing disease. I couldn't blame them for the mistake, and I doubt they'll accept what I'm about to say.

"I have died six times and have been born seven times. I want to stay dead."

Almost instantly after I finished speaking, the rightmost man replied in a level tone. "Horse shit." Honestly, that was an entirely appropriate response to someone who just claimed to live through multiple lives with a straight face. I was surprised there wasn't a larger and more vocal adverse reaction to my statements.

I heard the attendant's voice pipe up from behind me. "He believes it." Well, that confirmed my theory as to what his purpose here was. I wonder how he does it; that would be a useful skill to have in the future.

The man responded once again. "So he's insane. You can tell he believes it, but that doesn't make it true." There were a few moments of silence before the original woman spoke again.

"Why would you want to die? I see some downsides to your situation if it exists, but there are so many ways to abuse your position." She seemed an inquisitive person, and I was fortunate to have her in this interview.

"In my first life, my village was attacked by bandits. I watched everything I helped to build burn to the ground. My wife died without me, and I followed her shortly after. What followed after can only be described as torture. I can not give justice to my suffering with words, but I will try. Imagine for a moment that you can not hear, see, or feel anything. The black abyss of closed or covered eyes is a comfort compared to the complete nothingness surrounding you. The feeling of your air on your skin is a memory that becomes more obscure and difficult to place with each passing moment. A never-ending silence evokes a longing you never knew you possessed, for the rustling of leaves blowing in the wind."

I stopped for a few moments, re-focusing on my surroundings, and realized I had their full attention now. Some of the listeners seemed better able to picture the scenario than others. None of them were taking notes anymore, just looking towards me with mixed expressions.

"Throughout your time, which seems to stretch endlessly, there is a slowly increasing sense of isolation. A heated argument with a rival seems like an oasis in comparison. You can't help but look back on your life and contemplate every mistake you've made and every loved one you'll never see again. Now take that scenario and stretch it out to nine sleepless and painfully conscious months. You now return there every death."

The woman who hadn't spoken asked a question. "What if you do manage to stay dead and are then stuck in that place forever?"

"I refuse to believe that would be the result of real death. To think that every soul who's ever died ends up stuck there is a thought I won't entertain."

We sat in silence for several minutes. "Well, provided you possess magic and can pay the entrance fee, you'll be accepted here." I pulled the aforementioned gold from my backpack.

"I'm assuming I must push one of these stones to prove I have magic?" One of them nodded, and I mentally tapped the smallest stone. It rolled a few centimeters before coming to a stop. I was relieved, to say the least. Having come all this way and answering their questions only to fail at the magic test would be beyond humiliating.

"Please continue with the larger stones until you are unable to move one." I got through three more of the remaining nineteen before I was unable to continue. "Your ability is passable to attend." She pointed towards the attendant who escorted me earlier. "He will show you to your room. Classes begin in two days. The first six months of classes are standardized to give every student a baseline of knowledge. Next semester you will have more choice in your learning focus. Good luck, Mr. Trace; you seem to need it."

*

The room contained a small bed, desk, and a single window. It was incredibly barebones, but the material was of decent quality. The room's window had a decent view of a large garden behind the university. I was somewhere in the back left of the facility, on the third floor.

I sat in my bed with my back against the wall, reading over my schedule. I had three classes a day for the first four days of the week and then three days off. My Mondays and Wednesdays consisted of Introduction to Magic, Algebra One, and Biology of Flora One. Tuesdays and Thursdays held Biology of Fauna One, History of Thumsland One, and History of Stones.

Many subjects contained words I hadn't heard of, and I was hopeful for possible breakthroughs in understanding my situation. Specifically, the class related to magic may be able to help me. Magic was capable of practically anything given enough power and knowledge. I just had to hope that some information on my subject existed. Either way, I had two days to kill until my first class.

*

The building was a fucking maze, and I couldn't find the dining hall for an hour. When I got there, I was surprised and a little anxious to see just how crowded it was. The students sat on benches long enough to seat ten, and all but two of those tables were full. There was an odd trend in their order. The quality of outfits got slowly worse as my gaze moved further from the buffet. One table was an exception. Directly next to a nearly empty table in front of the buffet sat seven faculty members, two of which I recognized from my interview.

Still, everyone here was younger than I am by at least half a dozen years, being in their early twenties, and they were all better dressed than I. I wore my usual cloak, jacket, and leather armour, opting to leave my half plate in my room for mealtime. Under my cloak on my back rested two mithril axes, not visible to the casual observer. The male and female students both wore shirts, sleeveless waistcoats, and coats. Their kerchiefs, hats, and shoes were clearly of excellent quality. I found the fashion here pompous and unnecessary compared to my original homeland's utilitarian garments, and it caused me to stick out like a sore thumb.

My breathing became a little challenging to manage, but the room didn't react much to my presence as I moved towards the buffet. A few heads turned, and I faintly picked up a few words about me—nothing friendly certainly. Still, some utterances were purely curious and not hostile. I had little difficulty in deciding where to sit. I picked the table with only two students and opted to sit at the opposite end. Sadly the table slowly started to fill up over the next few minutes as friends of the original two inhabitants arrived. I felt a growing unease as the empty spaces between myself and the other students became occupied. I hadn't noticed this table was damn close to the buffet and therefore at the height of rich kid territory. Whoops.

I had been trying to eat fairly quickly, which was a challenge with shortness of breath when I heard a student approach me from behind. There was only one seat remaining now, directly across from me, and I wasn't entirely done eating. "You're in my seat." The voice was intensely male and held a lisp; I ignored it and continued eating. "Low-born, you will get out of my seat, or there will be consequences. I am Rodriguez Mateo, second in line to inherit the Mateo barony." There was no Stone forsaken way I was this unlucky. I turned my head towards him and saw the same sigil Santiago wore and a strikingly similar face. Fuck. "One such as you cannot expect to sit with the likes of us." This was going to get annoying really fast. I turned back to my plate and raised another bite of sausage to my lips. His voice rose to a yell. "Hello, are you LISTENING TO ME?"

"No." A biscuit this time, it was deliciously buttery. The food here was divine compared to anything I had eaten this life. Although some of the spicy noodle and soup-based dishes from my fourth life were arguably better. There was a simplicity to the flavors offered here that appealed to me.

He stood there stuttering for a few moments; I assume no one has given him this kind of response before. "Wha- I... Are you an imbecile?"

I stopped eating to consider the question for a few moments. Yes, at times, I could undoubtedly make foolish decisions. Still, I figured these kinds of situations happened due to boredom more than stupidity. I had lived several lives, after all. At my age, you had to go to extreme measures to relieve unending monotony. "No, I don't believe I'm more idiotic than most people." The last bit of sausage went down my throat, alongside a sip of water. I stood and stepped past Rodriguez Mateo towards the designated dish depository area.

He didn't move until after I had left the room. Maybe I made an enemy today, but I figured he was bound to be against me at some point—either way, that was a future Traces problem, not mine, and honestly, screw that guy.