Chapter 84 – Excellence Camp – Outcast XII

Ashern City - Reinhart Institute of War, 30th of Brightforge, year 315 UC

Bryan sat in the chair across from Octavius Reinhart's desk. The office was opulent in the way only old nobility could achieve—dark wood paneling, crystal decanters catching afternoon light, portraits of stern-faced ancestors watching from gilded frames.

His hands rested on his knees. Two days. It had been two days since the forest, since he'd—

Bryan's mind shied away from the memories like a hand jerking back from flame. But fragments slipped through anyway. The weight of Alexander's body as it fell. The sound of his blood spear finding Christopher's back. The look in Farrah's eyes as—

'Stop.'

He commanded himself, focusing instead on the man behind the desk.

"...understand the severity of this situation."

Octavius was saying.

Bryan forced himself to focus on the words. The past two days had passed in a blur of medical examinations, interrogations, and isolated confinement. He'd answered questions he couldn't remember, signed documents he hadn't read, submitted to tests that left him feeling hollow.

"It was a training accident, nothing more."

Octavius continued.

Bryan's head snapped up at that. Training accident? The forest trial had been many things, but an accident wasn't one of them.

"Silvermark was a commoner, so there won't be any significant blowback. His family will be compensated, of course. They raised an excellent son, but it was stated that everyone should stay safe. The final testing area was difficult, so they'll understand."

Octavius spoke as if discussing commodity prices rather than the death of a fifteen-year-old boy

'Huh?'

Bryan's mind struggled to process what he was hearing. Alexander's death was being dismissed as if it were nothing

"The Vanes on the other hand will cause a commotion, I'm sure. But they deal with this sort of thing often, losing a son here is no different than losing one on the battlefield. They were expecting this to happen, it's like a tradition for them."

Octavius reached for a crystal decanter on his desk, pouring amber liquid into a glass.

'What is he talking about? Training accident? Stay... safe?'

Bryan's confusion deepened as the implications of Octavius's words sank in.

The rage that had been simmering beneath Bryan's forced calm finally boiled over.

"You're talking out of your ass."

The words came out before he knew it. Bryan's hands clenched into fists on his knees.

"There were no precautions, no safety. An accident?"

He slammed his hands on the desk with explosive force. Papers scattered, the crystal decanter jumped, and amber liquid sloshed dangerously close to the rim of Octavius's glass.

"What a joke."

Octavius didn't even flinch. He set down his glass, his ice-blue eyes never leaving Bryan's face. The gesture was infuriating in its calmness.

"Are you done?"

The question was asked in the same tone one might use to inquire about the weather. Octavius reached into a drawer and withdrew a silk handkerchief, dabbing at a few drops of spilled liquid.

Bryan's chest heaved as he fought to control his breathing. The urge to leap across the desk, to make Octavius feel even a fraction of the pain he'd caused, was overwhelming. But some distant part of his mind—the part still capable of tactical thinking—recognized the futility of such action.

"As I was saying, this was merely an accident, military academies have them all the time. It's a bit early in the year, but everyone knew it was bound to happen at some time. As for you, however..."

Octavius folded the handkerchief before returning it to the drawer.

"You'll need to take some time off, get your head straight, recover."

The clinical detachment in Octavius's voice was maddening. He spoke as if Bryan were suffering from nothing more serious than a head cold, as if the deaths of two students were minor inconveniences to be managed rather than mourned.

"So, business as usual then?"

Bryan's voice dripped with bitter sarcasm. He leaned back in his chair, creating distance between himself and the desk.

"Yes, business as usual, Mr. Blackwood. You'll still be attending the academy, but your ranking will drop to the bottom. All of your benefits, academic credits, dormitory, all of it will be removed. And you'll have to wear a suppressor while on campus, unless instructed otherwise by an instructor."

Octavius's fingers drummed once against the desk's surface before stilling completely. The gesture lasted barely a second but somehow managed to convey infinite patience wearing thin.

Bryan stared at the man across from him. A suppressor—a device designed to limit magical ability, typically used on prisoners or those deemed magically dangerous.

"Why not just lock me up?"

The question emerged hollow.

"That would be foolish. You're strong, the kingdom would not toss you away to rot in a prison cell. You've yet to achieve the greatness the Roan Kingdom sees in your future."

Octavius lifted his glass, studying the amber liquid within as if it held answers to questions Bryan couldn't begin to formulate.

"Right. Just another weapon to shine and show off."

Bryan's voice was flat now, empty of emotion. The words felt like stones in his mouth, each one harder to speak than the last.

"The alternatives would be far less pleasant for you."

Octavius took a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving Bryan's face over the rim of the glass.

"Would they?"

Bryan asked. Death was starting to seem like mercy compared to whatever future Octavius was outlining.

"Yes, they would."

Octavius set down his glass with a soft clink against the desk's surface.

Bryan's jaw worked silently for a moment before he found his voice again.

"What you've just told me outlined essentially no punishment. So, murdering other students is allowed? Is that what the kingdom wants?"

The words came out strangled.

"Training accident. The number of mages who die on a yearly basis while attending military academy, do you know what it is?"

Octavius reached for a folder on his desk, flipping it open to reveal pages of statistics and charts. His finger traced down columns of numbers with the casual interest of someone reviewing quarterly reports.

"It's over three hundred, let me save you the time."

He closed the folder with a snap that seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet office.

"You think two first-years matter? Maybe if it was the prince or the princess, but no. They don't. The kingdom has bigger matters to worry about than two numbers."

Bryan's stomach turned at the casual dismissal. Alexander and Christopher reduced to statistics, their lives measured only by their potential political impact.

Numbers.

"They—"

Bryan started.

"Please, shut your mouth. I've entertained enough as it is, merely as a formality. This whole conversation could have been sent directly to you."

Octavius waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. The casualness of the motion was more infuriating than any shouted insult could have been.

Bryan's mouth snapped shut. The reflex was automatic, ingrained through months of training where defiance had been met with swift correction.

"You seem to be forgetting something Mr. Blackwood. You are a military asset, nothing more. You have no say in this matter. When a direct superior gives you an order, you should be eager to obey it—without hesitation, without question. Do you understand?"

Octavius leaned forward slightly. The office seemed to grow smaller around them, the walls pressing inward as the weight of authority filled the space between desk and chair.

Bryan's throat worked silently, his vocal cords refusing to cooperate. The words Octavius wanted to hear felt like poison on his tongue, but the alternative—whatever consequences awaited defiance—loomed larger than his pride.

"I said, do. You. Understand?"

Each word was enunciated with crystal clarity.

"Yes."

The word barely made it past Bryan's lips, emerging as little more than a whisper. His head dropped forward, white hair falling across his face.

Octavius cupped his ear in an exaggerated gesture of someone struggling to hear.

"I didn't hear you."

"Yes."

Bryan repeated, forcing more volume into his voice.

"It's yes, sir."

Octavius corrected. His fingers drummed against the desk again.

Bryan's jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached, but he forced out the required words.

"Yes, sir."

The submission tasted like ash and copper, leaving him feeling smaller than he had since childhood.

"Good."

Octavius reached into another drawer, withdrawing a thick document bound with ribbons and seals. He placed it on the desk between them.

"Now, you are going to sign this, and forget this whole incident ever occurred. Erase it from your mind. Erase them. Just a bad dream, nothing more."

Bryan stared down at the document, his vision blurring as he tried to focus on the dense text. Legal language swam before his eyes—clauses about confidentiality, non-disclosure agreements, penalties for violation that seemed to stretch into multiple pages of creative punishment.

"What is this?"

He asked, though part of him already knew. Official documentation of the lie Octavius was constructing, a legal framework to support the fiction of training accidents and acceptable casualties.

"Sign it. Now."

Octavius pushed a pen across the desk's surface.

Bryan's eyes skimmed the document's contents, catching fragments that made his blood run cold. References to "psychological evaluation," "temporary incapacitation," "necessary medical intervention." The language was clinical, but the message was clear—sign this, or face consequences that would make his current situation seem like paradise.

'Can't talk about the 'training' accident? Drug usage? Heroic deeds?'

His mind latched onto the restrictions outlined in the dense legal text. Everything that had happened in the forest—Alexander's confession about enhancement drugs, Sabrina's spell breakthrough—all of it to be erased, declared false, forgotten.

'I can't sign this.'

The thought crystallized in his mind. To sign would be to betray not just the truth, but the memory of the people who had died because of his actions.

"This can go one of two ways. Either you sign it of your own free will and go about your day, or I'll have to be forced to make you sign it."

Octavius's tone remained conversational.

Bryan's fingers moved toward the pen, then stopped.

"You can't be serious, these are all lies. You can't just make up—"

"I can, and I will. Don't make me force you Mr. Blackwood."

Octavius leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly under his weight. His expression remained pleasant, almost grandfatherly, but his eyes held the cold calculation of someone deciding how best to destroy an obstacle.

Bryan stared at the document, then at Octavius, then back at the paper.

"No."

The word escaped before Bryan could stop it.

His hand moved away from the pen.

Octavius's pleasant expression didn't change, but something shifted behind his eyes. He reached for another piece of paper from the seemingly endless supply in his desk drawers.

"Force it is then."

He said with the resignation of someone who had hoped for cooperation but was perfectly prepared to proceed without it.

The new document rustled as Octavius unfolded it, his eyes scanning its contents. A slight smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"I see you've gotten close to Ms. Heartland over these last few weeks. A shame that she murdered her own teammates and attempted to do more harm before you intervened."

Bryan’s vision tunneled, the office walls seeming to close in as the implications of Octavius's threat became clear.

"Her actions will have caused quite the stir. Seems the Vanes would want retribution for their son's death, and with the king being irritated as of late. He'd grant their request. Wouldn't be surprising if her entire family was ruined because of this treasonous act of hers."

Bryan's breathing became labored as images flashed through his mind—Farrah's mother Helena, who had been nothing but kind to him. Young Elie with his boundless energy and innocent questions. The entire Heartland family destroyed because of lies, because of his refusal to cooperate with a cover-up.

Octavius set the paper down. He knew he had won.

"Or, how about the more direct approach, where I call in my dogs to beat you into submission. I feel the subtle one would have more of an effect, though, don't you think?"

The choice wasn't really a choice at all. Bryan could accept his own destruction, could endure whatever punishment Octavius devised. But he couldn't—wouldn't—allow his actions to destroy Farrah's family.

Bryan's hand moved toward the pen. The nib scratched against paper as he signed his name.

Octavius smiled as he took back the signed document.

"You will be confined to your new quarters effective immediately. When we deem it right for you to return to the civilized world, you'll do so under our conditions—not yours. Until then, remember your place, Mr. Blackwood. You are not indispensable. Dismissed."

He was already turning his attention to other papers on his desk.

"Oh, and be sure to see the secretary about your arrangements and the suppressor before you leave."

Octavius added without looking up from his work, his pen already moving across a new document as if the conversation had never happened.

Bryan stood, his body feeling disconnected from his mind as he turned toward the office door.

Bryan paused before the door, his hand hovering over the handle. For a moment, he considered simply walking away—leaving the academy, disappearing into the city beyond, finding some way to start over. But Octavius's threat echoed in his mind, the promise of retribution against Farrah's family if Bryan failed to comply.

Then there was the question of where he would go? Abandoning military academy would cause him to become a wanted criminal, he’d have to leave the kingdom. Which would be hard with the Inquisition knowing who he was.

He was trapped as surely as if he wore shackles.

Bryan pushed open the door and stepped outside.

“Guess I’m an outcast.”