The morning started dark for me. Someone completely dumbfounded pulled the blanket off me and grabbed my heel, then I distinguished the muffled sounds of blows. Sleepily sat up on the bed and was practically not surprised to see Elmar. He occupied my chair and looked disgustingly fresh and rested. An impeccably clean uniform with a fourth-year stripe, shoes polished to a shine, it is immediately clear that Elmar's berg worked out his content at the academy one hundred percent.

Without dwelling on the shoes, my gaze again slid up the body of the militant. I mentioned in passing that there was no battlemage in my personal memory vault. Interestingly,...