The next morning's classes were... different.
I walked into Advanced Magical Theory ten minutes late—deliberately. Wanted to see how people would react.
Every head turned. Conversations died mid-sentence. The whispers started immediately.
"That's him."
"He fought Solaris."
"Did you see him fly?"
"Those things—were those really soul fragments?"
Professor Artemis stood at the front, chalk frozen mid-word on the blackboard. His expression cycled through several emotions before settling on carefully neutral.
"Mr. Vale," he said. "How kind of you to join us."
"Had to visit the headmaster. Official business." I walked to my usual seat in the back. Students practically threw themselves out of my way. "Please, continue. I wouldn't want to disrupt the lecture."
Artemis's eye twitched. "We were discussing post-graduation career paths for mages."
"Fascinating. Please, go on."
He turned back to the board, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. He was terrified. They all were.
Celeste leaned over from the next seat. "You've become the campus cryptid," she whispered. "People are placing bets on what you actually are."
"What are the current theories?"
"Reincarnated hero, secret prince, demon in disguise, and my personal favorite—an ancient dragon in human form."
"That last one is creative."
"The dragon theory is currently winning. Something about how you fought Solaris."
Artemis cleared his throat loudly. We shut up.
"As I was saying," he continued, voice strained, "upon graduation, mages typically fall into several career categories based on their rank and specialization."
He wrote on the board:
**D-RANK GRADUATES:**
- City Guard positions
- Basic healing clinics
- Merchant escorts
- Minor noble households
**C-RANK GRADUATES:**
- Military officers
- Adventurer parties
- Private security firms
- Teaching positions
**B-RANK GRADUATES:**
- Royal Guard candidates
- Dungeon exploration teams
- Monster suppression units
- Independent practitioners
**A-RANK GRADUATES (Rare):**
- National defense forces
- Hero candidates
- Major guild leaders
- Court mages
**S-RANK AND ABOVE (Extremely Rare):**
- Continental threats
- Hero status (official)
- Personal discretion on employment
"Most students," Artemis said, "will graduate at D or C rank. This is not a failure. These ranks form the backbone of civilization. City guards keep streets safe. Healers save lives. Escorts protect commerce." He paused. "The academy's purpose is not to create heroes. It's to create competent professionals who maintain order."
A student raised her hand. "What about monster suppression? How does that work?"
"Excellent question." Artemis seemed relieved to have a normal topic. "The kingdom maintains several Monster Suppression Units—think of them as specialized military. They patrol the Corrupted Forests, the Eastern Wastes border, anywhere demon activity is high."
He pulled down a map of the continent.
"The Thornwood Forest here—" he pointed, "—requires constant patrols. C-rank minimum. Teams of five to eight mages, rotating shifts, clearing out lesser demons and corrupted beasts before they can breed."
"Why not just burn the forests?" someone asked.
"Because they'd grow back, and we'd lose valuable resources. The Corrupted Forests contain rare materials—mana crystals, demon cores, alchemical ingredients. The suppression units harvest while they patrol. It's dangerous work, but profitable."
He continued: "Demons are classified by Circle. It's an old system, but effective."
He wrote again:
**DEMON CLASSIFICATION:**
**FIRST CIRCLE (Equivalent to F-E Rank humans):**
- Imps, lesser wraiths, corrupted animals
- Minimal intelligence, operate on instinct
- Dangerous to civilians, manageable for trained mages
- Killed on sight, bounty: 10-50 silver per demon core
**SECOND CIRCLE (Equivalent to D-C Rank):**
- Hell hounds, spectral knights, minor demons
- Pack tactics, basic strategy
- Require teams to handle safely
- Bounty: 1-10 gold per core
**THIRD CIRCLE (Equivalent to B-A Rank):**
- Named demons, demon captains, corrupted mages
- High intelligence, magical abilities
- Require specialized teams or solo A-rank fighters
- Bounty: 50-500 gold per core
**FOURTH CIRCLE (Equivalent to S-Rank):**
- Demon Generals, ancient entities
- Strategic commanders, massive power
- Require multiple A-rank fighters or single S-rank
- Bounty: 5,000+ gold per core
**FIFTH CIRCLE AND ABOVE (SS-Rank+):**
- Demon Lords, reality-warping entities
- Continental threats
- Require coordinated national response
- Bounty: Variable, usually 100,000+ gold
"Azkaros," Artemis said quietly, "is classified as Fifth Circle. Peak Fifth Circle. In the last war, it took our strongest hero and thousands of supporting forces to defeat him. And even then..." He didn't finish.
The class was silent.
"The point," Artemis continued, forcing his voice to stay steady, "is that monster suppression is vital work. Every demon killed is one less that could attack a village. Every corrupted beast eliminated is one less that could breed. The work isn't glamorous, but it's necessary."
He turned back to the board, but I could see his hand shaking.
Because he knew. Everyone knew now. In seven years, Azkaros was coming back. And when he did, all these neat classifications and career paths would become meaningless.
The lecture continued, but I stopped paying attention. Instead, I thought about the system.
D-ranks protecting cities. C-ranks escorting merchants. B-ranks exploring dungeons. A-ranks defending nations. S-ranks being "heroes."
It was neat. Organized. Gave everyone a place.
And it was completely inadequate for what was coming.
When class ended, students scattered quickly. Afraid to be near me, afraid I'd do something else inexplicable.
Professor Artemis stopped me at the door.
"Mr. Vale. A word."
I waited until the room emptied.
"I owe you an apology," he said stiffly. "For doubting your... capabilities. And for my previous conduct."
"You mean the plagiarism?"
His face went red. "That's—I never—"
"Professor. I don't care about your research ethics. I care about preparing for Azkaros. If you want to make amends, help with that."
"How?"
"You know demon classification better than anyone. You've studied Fourth and Fifth Circle entities. I need everything you know about Demon Lord combat patterns. Weaknesses. Strategies that actually worked."
"That's classified military information—"
"The headmaster gave me clearance. Check with him if you don't believe me."
He studied me for a long moment. "You're really preparing to fight him."
"Someone has to."
"You're sixteen."
"I'm a lot older than that. Trust me." I headed for the door. "Think about it. If you want to help, let me know. If not, stay out of my way."
I left before he could respond.
---
The rest of the day followed the same pattern. Professors terrified. Students whispering. Me ignoring both and focusing on preparations.
By evening, I was exhausted. Not physically—the healing potion had fixed that. Mentally. Emotionally. Being the center of attention after 127 loops of trying to stay invisible was draining.
I headed for the archives—the real ones, deep beneath the main library. Used the clearance Aldric had given me.
The archive keeper was an ancient woman named Matilda. Same one who'd run the restricted section upstairs. She looked at my authorization papers with rheumy eyes.
"Headmaster's seal," she muttered. "Haven't seen this level of clearance in twenty years. Last person who had it was..." She stopped. "Well. He died fighting demons."
"Encouraging."
"You'll want Section Seven. Deep history. Demon Wars. But be careful down there—some of those books are cursed. Literally."
"I'll be careful."
She handed me a mana-lamp. "Three hours. Then the wards activate and you get teleported out. Violently."
"Noted."
The archives were massive. Rows upon rows of books, scrolls, tablets—knowledge spanning centuries. I found Section Seven easily. Pulled volumes on the Demon Wars.
The information was... disturbing.
**FIRST DEMON WAR (400 years ago):**
- Death toll: 15 million
- Duration: 50 years
- Demon Lord: Valdris the Corruptor
- Defeated by: Coalition of twelve A-rank heroes
- Cost: Nine heroes died, three were permanently corrupted
**SECOND DEMON WAR (267 years ago):**
- Death toll: 3 million
- Duration: 12 years
- Demon Lord: Morgath the Devourer
- Defeated by: Seven A-rank heroes, coordinated assault
- Cost: Four heroes died, two went insane from exposure
**THIRD DEMON WAR (134 years ago):**
- Death toll: 7 million
- Duration: 8 years
- Multiple Demon Lords: Coordinated attack
- Defeated by: Celestial Academy founded, trained response forces
- Cost: Approximately 200 A-rank+ casualties
**FOURTH DEMON WAR (19 years ago):**
- Death toll: 2 million
- Duration: 3 years
- Demon Lord: Azkaros the Unyielding
- Defeated by: Hero Marcus Vale (Single S-rank combatant)
- Cost: Hero died achieving victory
I stared at that last entry. My own death, recorded in history books. From Loop 96.
There was a sketch—my face, older, scarred, tired. The face of someone who'd fought too long and knew he wouldn't survive.
I looked exactly like him. Would look exactly like him in twelve years if I lived that long.
"Creepy," I muttered.
I kept reading. Found tactical analyses. Azkaros's patterns. His weaknesses.
He was a Fifth Circle Demon Lord specialized in combat durability. Nearly impossible to kill through conventional means. He'd shrugged off A-rank attacks like they were nothing. Only S-rank power had been able to hurt him.
And he learned. Each war, he came back stronger. Adapted to previous strategies. The fact that I'd beaten him in Loop 96 meant he'd studied that defeat. Would know my techniques. My weaknesses.
This time, he'd be prepared specifically for me.
"Fuck," I whispered.
A voice spoke from the shadows: "Interesting reading?"
I spun, hand going to where my swords would be if I summoned them.
Raven emerged, carrying her own stack of books. "Relax. It's just me. Matilda gave me access too—curse specialist privileges."
"You nearly gave me a heart attack."
"You've died 127 times. A little surprise shouldn't bother you." She sat across from me, dumping her books on the table. "Finding anything useful?"
"Just confirmation that we're probably all going to die."
"Optimistic as always." She opened one of her books—something about soul magic and temporal mechanics. "I've been researching your curse. The regression anchor. I think I found something."
"What?"
"The entity that gave you the choice when you died on Earth—it's not from this universe."
"I knew that."
"But did you know it's actively maintaining your regression? It's not an automatic process. Someone or something is manually resetting you every time you die. Which means—"
"Which means I can potentially contact them. Ask them to stop."
"Or ask them to modify the terms." She leaned forward, excited. "What if you could keep your memories and power but break the loop? What if you could die for real but choose when?"
"That sounds too good to be true."
"Probably is. But it's worth investigating." She pushed a book toward me. "This is a ritual for cross-dimensional communication. Dangerous, painful, probably suicidal. But it might let you talk to whatever entity cursed you."
I looked at the ritual. It required insane amounts of mana, several rare components, and had a note at the bottom: "WARNING: 87% mortality rate for practitioners."
"I'll add it to the list of stupid things I might try."
"Your list must be very long."
"You have no idea."
We worked in companionable silence for a while. Her researching curses, me studying demon combat patterns.
Around 9 PM, my three hours were almost up.
"We should go," Raven said, checking a pocket watch. "Unless you want to experience violent teleportation."
"Pass."
We gathered our books, heading for the exit. As we climbed the stairs, Raven spoke quietly:
"Marcus? In all your loops... did you ever find happiness? Even for a little while?"
I thought about Elara in Loop 34. Aria in Loop 112. Sarah in Loop 96, pregnant and planning our future.
"Sometimes. Brief moments. But they never lasted."
"Maybe that's the point. Maybe happiness isn't supposed to last. Maybe it's just... moments we collect between disasters."
"That's a depressing philosophy."
"It's realistic. And you're all about realism."
We emerged into the main library. Students studied at tables, normal academy life continuing around us.
"Want to get food?" Raven asked. "I'm starving, and the dining hall should still be open."
"Sure. But you're buying. I'm broke."
"You get 500 gold per month in scholarship money."
"And I send most of it to my mother. Priorities."
"Fine. I'll buy. But you owe me."
We headed for the dining hall, and for a few minutes, I felt almost normal. Just two students getting late dinner, complaining about coursework, existing in the present instead of preparing for apocalypse.
It was nice.
It wouldn't last.
Nothing ever did.
But for now, it was enough.