The Auditing of Ignorance
Date: July 31, 980 GD (Grand Design)
Location: Nexus Hall -- Executive Floor.
The room was too big for one person.
The five-meter-high ceiling arched above me, made of magic-reinforced glass, showing a direct view to The Great Tether piercing the clouds. The floor was polished so brightly I could see the reflection of my own pale face on the black marble tiles.
This was the Grand Praetor's Office. The pinnacle of student power in Zero Point City.
And it felt like a cold tomb.
I sat behind a giant mahogany work desk seemingly designed for Valdor giants, not a human my size. Even though the room's temperature control system was set to 28°C—tropical temperature for ordinary people—I still wore a thick formal robe layered with synthetic wolf fur on my shoulders.
Not for style. But for survival.
My fingers were stiff and bluish as I held a digital pen. Every time I touched the desk surface, a thin frost was left there, a trace from the "broken cooling machine" that was my own body. I had to constantly rub my hands together under the desk, creating desperate physical friction just to keep blood flowing to my fingertips.
"Being a king is easy," I murmured to the echoing empty room. "You just point and order people to kill. But this?"
I stared at my work tablet blinking red aggressively.
[412 NOTIFICATIONS PENDING]
"This isn't a throne," I hissed. "This is a reception desk from hell."
I touched one notification at random. The holographic screen enlarged, showing dizzying bureaucratic documents.
[SUBJECT: AMMUNITION IMPORT PERMIT REQUEST -- VALDOR ACADEMY]
Content: Imperator Titus requests authorization to import 50 crates of military-grade phosphorus grenades for "Sports Week Preparation".
I swiped the screen left. Reject. Reason: Potential property damage.
The next notification appeared.
[SUBJECT: PARKING LOT DISPUTE -- EASTERN ZONE]
Content: Gilded Spire students block Sanctum of Grace ambulance lanes with their fleet of luxury Hover-Cars. Sanctum side threatens to curse their car tires to melt.
I massaged my throbbing temples. My headache wasn't from magic, but from the collective stupidity of the world's smartest people.
For the past hour, I realized one fatal thing: I was alone.
Elara Voss had civilian departments handling trash and electricity. Director Vianna had troops of AI analysts and corporate lawyers. Imperator Titus had a military chain of command.
Me? Grand Praetor Wynter Ash? I had no one.
The Nexus Hall administrative staff were stupid automatic golems that could only brew coffee (that tasted like oil) and schedule meetings. No aides. No advisors. No eyes and ears.
"If I request staff from Valdor, I'd be surrounded by Titus's spies ready to stab me the moment I let my guard down. If I recruit from Aurum, my office data would be sold to Vianna before lunch. And Aethelgard? They'd probably try to brainwash me with herbal incense," I muttered bitterly.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the glass ceiling showing the illusory busyness outside.
"Well then, let's create total chaos," I whispered with a dry laugh. A laugh that sounded wrong in this quiet room. "I'll mix them all in. Let them bite each other."
A crazy idea began forming in my head. If I couldn't trust anyone, then I had to create an environment where no one could trust anyone. Balance through absolute paranoia. A Frankenstein cabinet.
"Wynter, Wynter..." I shook my head, scolding myself. "Why do you always choose the most headache-inducing path? You could just sit quietly, enjoy your salary, and let Elara drive you. But no, you have to be idealistic. You have to be a hero-wannabe. And now you're freezing in this expensive chair, planning political intrigue with a brain that doesn't even remember its own mother's name."
I felt stupid. Very stupid. But the pain in my head and the cold in my bones were reminders that I was still alive. And as long as I was alive, I wouldn't be anyone's puppet.
I opened the desk drawer, looking for something useful besides stacks of paper. My hand found a thick book with a black leather cover and a gold Senate emblem on the front: THE SENATUS CHARTER.
I opened it, reading my rights. My weapons.
ARTICLE 4: ABSOLUTE ACADEMIC AUTHORITY.
"Grand Praetor has the right to enter, inspect, and audit any academic facility or class within Zero Point City territory without prior permission, to ensure educational standards."
ARTICLE 9: BUDGET VETO RIGHT.
"Grand Praetor can freeze operational funds of any academy if deemed violating the Ceasefire or endangering city assets."
A thin smile carved itself on my dry lips.
"This is my sword," I whispered.
I stood up. My oversized chair creaked. My fur robe swept the floor.
I needed two things now.
One: Understanding why my body was as cold as a corpse (I needed basic Mana knowledge I didn't understand due to amnesia).
Two: Finding wolf cubs for my cabinet.
"Time for a surprise inspection," I said to the empty room.
I walked out of Nexus Hall, crossing the connecting bridge towards the General Education Sector.
This was a neutral zone where basic courses were taught before students were streamed into their respective academy specializations. The buildings here were utilitarian in style—functional gray concrete, without Aurum's gold decorations or Valdor's statues.
Every step I took in the marble corridor created echoes that made students passing by move aside to the walls.
They stared at me with a mix of fear and awe. Rumors about the "Golden Chains Speech" had become urban legend. I saw whispers behind hands, widened eyes, and stiff respectful gestures.
I didn't greet them. I put on a cold, flat face—a perfect mask to hide the fact I was shivering beneath my robe.
I stopped in front of a large double door inscribed: AMPHITHEATER 3 -- BASIC MANA FLOW THEORY (TIER 1).
Here it was. Where babies learned to walk. And where the Grand Praetor would learn how to breathe.
I pressed my palm to the door sensor panel. The light turned green instantly.
[PRIORITY ACCESS: GRAND PRAETOR]
The door hissed open.
The lecturer's voice explaining was cut off instantly.
The amphitheater room was large, semicircular, accommodating about two hundred first-year students. A giant holographic blackboard hovered in front, displaying complex diagrams of the human body's circuits.
The lecturer, a thin, dried-up old man in a gray Retired Arbiter's robe named Magister Kaelen, dropped his chalk in surprise.
"G-Grand Praetor?" his voice squeaked.
Silence fell on the room like a snowstorm. Two hundred pairs of eyes stared at me.
I stepped in casually, though my knees felt stiff.
"Continue, Magister," I said, my voice calm but bouncing off the room's acoustic walls. "Don't let me interrupt. I'm just conducting a standard audit on basic curriculum efficiency."
I didn't walk to the VIP seat in the front row. That was too conspicuous. And too close to the elite block.
I scanned the room. The school's social map spread clearly before me.
In the left block, Valdor students sat in groups, upright like pillars, taking notes simultaneously with military discipline. Their uniforms were thick gray.
In the right block, Aurum students leaned casually, recording lectures with their smart glasses, some even asleep. Their uniforms shimmered with neon trim.
In the front block, Aethelgard students sat silently, hands clasped, listening with religious reverence.
And in the back rows... in dark corners and chairs with peeling paint... were They.
The Neutrals & Locals.
They didn't wear academy badges. Their uniforms were standard city jumpsuits in dull gray. They were children of market traders, lift technicians' kids, or scholarship students from poor villages not yet recruited by any faction.
They took notes the most diligently. Their notebooks were full of scribbles, their pens moving fast. They knew one thing the rich kids didn't care about: If their grades dropped, they'd be kicked out to the streets.
I walked up the stairs to the back rows.
The elite students turned, confused why their "King" chose to sit in the trash area.
I stopped at an empty seat next to a student with thick glasses who was taking notes with two pens simultaneously—one in left hand, one floating with weak telekinesis magic in his right.
I sat next to him.
The kid froze. His floating pen fell on the desk. Clack.
"Continue," I whispered to him without turning. "Consider me a ghost."
Magister Kaelen in front cleared his throat nervously, then returned to his material with a slightly trembling voice.
"A-alright. As I explained... we move to the Law of Mana Friction."
He waved his hand, the diagram on the blackboard rotated.
"Listen carefully," said Kaelen, starting to regain his rhythm. "Mana isn't smooth, delicate energy. When Mana flows through the organic circuits in your bodies, it rubs against the walls of your etheric vessels."
He tapped the red-colored circuit diagram.
"This friction creates resistance. And resistance generates HEAT. This is why beginner wizards often sweat or feel feverish when casting big spells. Your bodies heat up as a byproduct of your circuits' imperfection."
I was transfixed in my seat. My eyes didn't blink.
"Heat," I thought. "Byproduct of imperfection."
My brain spun fast, connecting this basic theory to my body's condition.
If friction generates heat because the circuit is narrow or imperfect... then what did it mean if I didn't generate heat? What did it mean if I was cold?
The answer hit me like an ice hammer.
"My circuits are too perfect."
I was a Super-Conductor. The Aqua and Gale circuits in my body were so wide, so slippery, that Mana flowed through them without the slightest resistance. Zero resistance. Zero friction. Zero heat.
Coupled with the nature of my elements:
Aqua absorbs ambient temperature.
Gale expels energy outward (convection).
And Flame? The fire element that should be the internal heater... was dead asleep.
I was a machine that was too efficient. I was freezing because I didn't have "flaws" that generated warmth.
"Ironic," my inner voice was bitter. "My greatest advantage is my disease. I have to learn how to become... inefficient. I have to create artificial friction, turbulence in my own blood, to survive."
This 101 lesson just saved my life. Or at least, gave me a diagnosis.
I shifted my attention from the blackboard to the student next to me.
His name was written on his book cover: Rian.
I looked at his notes. His handwriting was small, neat, and incredibly accurate. He didn't just copy the lecturer's words; he made his own flow diagrams in the margins that summarized the concept better than the lecturer's explanation. He even corrected the lecturer's formulas in his footnotes.
Smart. Meticulous. And from the frayed edges of his dull sleeves, clearly poor.
"Perfect," I thought.
I didn't recruit him now. That was too aggressive. Too conspicuous. I would just... mark him.
In front of the class, the bell rang. Lecture over.
"Essay assignments due tomorrow!" Kaelen shouted as students started pouring out.
I stood up. Rian beside me hurriedly gathered his books, afraid of blocking me.
I patted his shoulder softly as I passed.
"Your notes on thermal efficiency on page four," I said softly, my voice only audible to him. "Your formulas are more accurate than the lecturer's. Keep up that meticulousness."
I lifted my hand from his shoulder. On the dull gray fabric of his uniform, a trace of my palm remained as a thin layer of glittering ice crystals. A cold mark.
Rian gaped, staring at his shoulder, then at my back as I walked away.
The whole class saw that interaction. Whispers began.
"The Praetor talked to the Bookworm?"
"He marked him. Look at the ice on his shoulder."
In that second, Rian's social status in class changed. He was no longer a ghost. He was someone touched by the King.
I walked out of the amphitheater, back to the silent corridor. My hands were still cold, but my mind was ablaze.
I already knew my disease. And I had found my first seedling.
My footsteps echoed firmly towards Nexus Hall. I put my hands in my robe pockets, grasping the still-warm iron Zippo inside.
"One pawn found," I whispered. "Now just need to find the Fortress and the Treasurer."
Back in the Praetor's office, silence greeted me again.
But this time, that silence was broken by a rough vibration on my wrist.
BZZZT. BZZZT.
Not a bureaucratic notification. This vibration pattern was specific. High-level encryption.
Weaver.
I raised my arm, a blue holographic screen lit up in the darkness of my cold office.
[SENDER: THE WEAVER]
[SUBJECT: NEW ASSET]
"She knows," I thought. "Of course she knows. Her eyes are everywhere."
But the next line made my blood stop flowing.
[CONTENT: Good choice. That kid's smart. Unfortunately, he just entered the Iron Bastion Academy's 'Routine Cleanup' list. They don't like Neutrals with higher grades than their officers.]
I froze. "What?"
[TARGET STATUS: ACTIVE. EXECUTION TEAM DETECTED AT NEUTRAL DORM BLOCK 4.]
[SUGGESTION: If you want a Secretary, Wynter... you have to take him from the edge of the sword tonight. Time remaining: Little.]
The screen went dark.
The cold in my body wasn't from magic anymore. It was the cold of reality. I thought I had time. I thought I could play politics leisurely, send a job offer letter tomorrow morning. But in Zero Point City, talent without protection was a sin punishable by death.
"They want to kill my staff before he signs a contract?" I hissed.
I stared at the black mahogany desk.
Weaver gave me the what and where. But I was the Grand Praetor. I didn't need to guess. I had eyes.
I activated my Smart-ID, then pressed it hard against the authentication panel on the desk.
[BIOMETRIC AUTHENTICATION GRANTED]
[CITY DEFENSE GRID ACCESS: ACTIVE]
"Show Neutral Dorm Block 4," I commanded. "Now!"
A giant holographic interface exploded into the air, displaying a 3D map. The screen split into twelve real-time CCTV feeds.
I saw dim corridors, peeling paint, and students in dull gray uniforms walking lethargically.
"Search student: Rian. ID: UNSORTED-4491."
The system locked onto the target.
On the main screen, I saw him. Rian walking fast on the third-floor corridor, hugging his books, looking back panicked. He knew he was being followed.
And on another screen, I saw the shadows. Two Valdor executioners, moving silently with drawn knives. And outside, in the back alley, an Aurum pickup team waiting.
"Damn," I cursed. Weaver was right.
I stood up, my mahogany chair pushed back roughly.
I didn't need permission to save him. I had access to every door in this city, and I had a legitimate reason to be anywhere.
Tonight, the Grand Praetor wouldn't audit paper. Tonight, I would audit lives.
I grabbed my fur robe and stepped out the door, leaving the holographic screen still displaying the hunt.
The game was on.