Solomon realized, all too late, that he should have skipped the welcoming banquet.
For over five minutes, he stared into a bowl of red punch. Memories bubbled up inside and threatened to overwhelm his senses.
He heard the echoes of screams. Smelled the blood pooling on the floor as he cut and carved through not only nobles, but men and women he had seen train tirelessly every day.
And then he remembered the quake. The act that would stain his soul for the rest of his immortal life and haunt all of his waking thoughts.
He had yet to realize his hand was beginning to shake from the stress of remembering. His psyche was on the verge of collapse.
"Well, you're certainly of sturdy stock. I am rather envious."
Solomon returned to reality when he heard someone talking to him. A young man he didn't recognize.
He was of the polished sort. His clothes were tailored to fit his toned body and made from fine materials.
His velvety black hair was packed with gel to ensure that it stayed in it's desired shape.
The stranger seemed to be of the overtly friendly variety. He clasped his hands on Solomon's shoulders and marveled at the rock-like mass underneath his clothes.
"My word! Where did they find a bruiser like you? Why, I've been doing muscle training since I could walk, and my arms are only half as thick as yours! I simply must know your secret, sir!"
Solomon could tell right away that the individual he was speaking to had led a very reclusive life full of privilege.
For one, his hands were calloused but still soft. A telltale sign of someone who had only ever done weapon training, but probably never even had to lift a hand to feed himself.
Or wipe his own ass, for that matter…
"Eating, repetition, and rest days." Solomon finally said.
The stranger looked surprised. "Say again?"
"Eat enough so that your body actually has something to build on when you're done training. Set a day or two aside for rest so that your body can recover from a strenuous routine and rebuild itself. Repeat."
The stranger looked genuinely perplexed. "But would my growth not atrophy if I took that course? S-Surely a bit of light training in the mornings and afternoons would be better than lazing about."
"It's not about lazing around. It's about allowing your body to recover and rebuild itself. If you put it under constant burden, you'll achieve the opposite of what you're looking for."
The stranger rubbed his chin as he stared at Solomon with a scrutinizing gaze.
"…You don't seem like the conniving sort. I'm not inclined to believe that you are giving me bad information in an attempt to sabotage me."
Solomon hadn't even considered that as a potential option. He simply had never been asked about training methods before.
…But the young man was right. Solomon was not a particularly shrewd individual.
Besides, Raizel's challenge to make friends seemed far easier if he could talk about training while doing so.
He was already looking for a way to work in a joke about muscular atrophy. Raizel was going to take back his claim that Solomon wasn't funny if it was the last thing he did.
"I suppose I'll have to take your word for it then, chap. But if I don't look like you within a fortnight, then I will have to challenge you to a bout of fisticuffs." Aloysius jokingly held up his fists.
Solomon had no idea what the young man was saying but he just assumed that it had something to do with gambling. Rich people really liked gambling.
"Ah, pardon me, old chap. I've neglected to introduce myself. I am Aloysius Arue Augustus III. Heir to House Augustus." He held out his hand.
Solomon knew that name at least. It was the name of a family with ownership of tens of magical mines not only in Komen, but also in Raidis, the realm populated by trolls and dwarves.
It was a very lucrative business. Solomon was likely staring at one of the richest people in the entire realm.
"My name is Solomon." He shook his hand.
Aloysius seemed vexed. "Just Solomon? No House name?"
"…A'Kenai."
Finally, Aloysius realized the significance of his new friend's bright orange eyes.
"Oh…oh, I see. Nasty business, that was. To not leave a single person alive was nothing but barbarism of the highest order. You have my sympathies." Aloysius bowed.
Solomon shrugged as he turned to the punch bowl. This time, he actually managed to pour himself something.
"I've made my peace with it. Been a long time, anyway."
Aloysius was quite surprised. Nobles, without exception, were a vengeful sort. They were raised from the time they began etiquette classes to never allow another individual to shame or embarrass them without recourse.
Because if one person is allowed to do it, then everyone else starts to believe they can as well.
High society is a fish tank filled with piranhas. The first one to bleed will inevitably be ripped apart to feed the rest.
Solomon should have known that. So, Aloysius began to expect that he was simply giving uncaring answers to bide his time. That's what he would do.
The young nobleman smiled.
"... You just might be my kind of man, Solomon A'Kenai. We're going to be fast friends, I can guarantee it."
Solomon paused and stared at the young man calculatively.
"This isn't exactly the kind of place I expected to hear the term friendship being used so loosely. I thought people here would be more guarded."
"Ah, you're too paranoid, my very large friend. Academy life is to be lived to the fullest! Tell you what, there are plenty of beautiful peers around us, so why don't we, as two very handsome and eligible bachelors, go and make their acquaintances!"
Solomon's mood quickly soured. The last thing he wanted to talk about as of late was women. But Aloysius couldn't have known that.
"Besides, everyone knows that forming relationships in this place is an advantage, especially come graduation. And, I'm sure the rumors around this place were just a fit of... hot.. air..."
Suddenly, Aloysius began having difficulty keeping his balance.
Solomon grabbed his arm in an attempt to steady him, but the noble did not seem to respond to his support.
"Aloysius? What's wrong with you??"
The noble stumbled onto the floor, and Solomon put his drink down.
At the same time, cadets began falling onto the floor by the dozens. Then the hundreds.
Solomon couldn't figure out what was going on. He looked around the room for some signs of magical interference, but there was nothing.
And then, just as he started to call for help, he was hit hard in the back of the head, and all of the lights went out.