Chapter 6

The events of the day began to be familiar. The sword was always awake for the morning bell, at which point he would go immediately to the dining hall. He had learned quickly that if he skipped food he soon grew weak, but he still did not have anything like the appetite that was evident in his fellow students. With no other guidance, he copied what they ate, ate it quickly, and then went to the classroom where they saw Ms. Lopez.

Time would pass, how much he was not sure, and then the first of his classmates would arrive, talking quietly in pairs or trios. Some would glance at him, but none of them spoke to him. Homeroom lasted for a few minutes, he never paid much attention to what Ms. Lopez said. And then they all stood, and the sword followed the rest of the students to the next classroom, where on alternating days they were either taught history or languages. Then, there was mathematics or science.

In all of these subjects, the sword was completely lost. The afternoons were less academic, devoted to some combination of physical exercise, which the sword was very bad at, and what was generally called Practical Skills, which he was even more useless at.

Then they were sent off for their individual remedial lessons, which seemed to split most of the class into two large groups, leaving the sword alone with Ms. Lopez to work on reading and basic arithmetic.

The sword was interested in none of it, and was often so exhausted by the time he was alone with Ms. Lopez, that he couldn’t even pretend to be paying attention as she talked. This earned him quite a few threats and promises of retribution, none of which brought him back into focus.

And of course, he still wasn’t sleeping. Or if he did sleep, it was so brief he never noticed. But he didn’t go back to the kitchens either. It felt strange to be walking about on his own, he preferred going where he was supposed to go.

Neither of the other two wielder candidates spoke to him either. This was, he admitted to himself, very frustrating. He’d hoped the girl with amber eyes had simply been an anomoly, but it seemed that in fact none of his class, not even the ones who were unworthy of him, recognized what he was, or showed any interest in acquiring a sword at all.

He felt directionless, but had no words to say more than that.

It was the second week of classes, he was once more the first person at his desk.

“I had that dream again last night.”

“The dying one?”

“Yeah. My sixty third death. It was so bad. They missed my heart you know, so I just bled out on the floor of the Queen’s bedroom and—”

“Ugh, it sounds just like my seventy seventh. They didn’t break my neck when they dropped me so I just had to hang there with the rope around my neck—”

Two boys walked by him, wide eyed, talking in low voices. They both had dark circles under their eyes, and their hair was disheveled. The sword had heard them talk like this before. It seemed they had been some kind of immortal on their other worlds, but the kind that kept reviving after dying, not the kind that couldn’t be killed.

Strangely, they stopped at his desk today. “Were you a repeater too?” One of the boys asked.

The sword cleared his throat, then choked as he tried to answer. “N—no,” he finally managed.

“Oh,” the boy said, “You look like us. We seem to be the ones who can’t sleep.”

“And you aced the test so quickly,” the other boy said. “There’s a rumor going around its because you repeated your life so many times, you just know it all already, and you’re really like thirty years old or something.”

“Oh,” the sword said. “That’s not right.”

Silence.

Eventually the boys wandered to their own desks, still comparing notes on their various deaths.

The early risers amongst the girls all called themselves ex-villains. As far as the sword could tell, this meant they’d all become [Aristocrats] of various kinds, usually ones in difficult social situations involving cruel step-mothers and unfaithful fiancees. They’d all seemed to coalesce around the girl with amber eyes. Her name was Mei, the sword had learned.

They were quiet as well, but in a confident, careless sort of way. They seemed to sleep fine, they just preferred to arrive early, rather than late. They always arrived as a large group, Mei in their center, and settled into their desks in the same formation.

“ANOTHER DAY OF CONQUEST,” boomed Haldar Brassbones as he walked in, surrounded by followers. He had figured out how to project his voice, and, after the first day, spoke in a lower register as well. He also generally removed his shirt whenever he could, though after a week, he had been convinced to at least keep it on if he was only being asked a question in the middle of the class.

There were a few others like Haldar, loud, insisting on going by their other world names, and generally cheerful. Though no one took their shirt off as much Haldar.

The sword found them strange in a different way from the sleepless repeaters, although he couldn’t say exactly why. They just didnt quite seem real. Like someone shouldn’t talk like Haldar while giving an answer about long division.

The strongest wielder candidate, a [wizard] of some kind the sword was certain, had attracted a pair of silent followers, though neither of them was anywhere close to the candidate in strength. The sword thought of them more as survivors, they had quick reaction times, though not much else.

The last wielder candidate was also with a loud group, different than Haldar’s, two girls and a boy who laughed all the time, though the sword never understood what was funny.

But most of the class seemed to be what Arthur had said, [Knights] or [Paladins], all of them ex-heroes of various kinds, all of them constantly complaining about the fact that they’d used to be the strongest in all the world and now…they weren’t. They seemed to bond over the complaining, the sword didn’t understand how.

There were a few other loners like himself, a girl who clutched at a scratched up flip phone, an always smiling boy who was always the first to breakfast and the last to leave. Others whom the sword did not know, but were definitively not wielder candidates.

The bell rang, and Ms. Lopez walked into the room. The sword turned to look out the window, he didn’t have to pay attention to anything until everyone stood to go to the next class. Now was the time in which he stared out the window, watching as another class ran through their morning exercises and thinking…not very much.

But his thoughts, such as they were, were interrupted by a blue and white message from status.

The Demon Lord is Near—You Must Fight.

Chairs clattered as about half the class rose automatically to their feet, and Haldar Brassbones roared “SHOW YOURSELF, VILLAIN!”

Ms. Lopez used shockwave on the blackboard again, adding another fist sized hole to the wall. The first one had yet to be repaired.

“Shut up!” Ms. Lopez yelled. The class went silent. “As I was saying, we have a new student joining us today. I would hope you’re all settled in enough not to lose your minds. I can see that was in vain. Sit down, all of you.”

No one sat down.

The Demon Lord is Near—You Must Fight!

Ms. Lopez sighed, “You might as well come in. Let’s get the introductions over with.”

Arthur walked into the room to another round of The Demon lord is Near—You Must Fight!

“This is Arthur Hall, he’ll be joining our class. As you’ve all surmised, he’s a [Demon Lord]. This does not, I repeat, does not mean it is appropriate to fight, maim, or kill him under any circusmtances. Are we all clear on that?”

There was a general rumble from the class, and while the sword wasn’t good at interpreting social interaction, he did not think it signaled anything like agreement.

Arthur’s smile was wide. He looked perfectly comfortable standing in front of the class, hands in his pockets. “Hi everybody,” he said, “I hope we have a great year together.”

“THIS WILL NOT STAND,” boomed Haldar. “A DEMON LORD IS THE ULTIMATE EVIL.”

Arthur’s smile grew wider. “Oh goody, a proper [Barbarian]. Just the kind of testicles I was looking for.”

While the sword was no expert on human interactions, he knew perhaps everything there was to know about what his wielders had referred to as “fighting words.”

Without his meaning to, the sword found he was standing. Haldar was four rows from the front of the class, and already after a week of vigorous participation in their physical classes, he was in much better shape than the sword.

But the sword was two rows from the front, and had known, from his first day, the fastest route to the door.

He slid in front of Arthur as Haldar arrived, fist glowing.

“Oooo, I would not have done that,” he heard behind him, as he stepped forward into Haldar’s open front and struck, sending the other boy tumbling to the ground. He was fast, and on his feet again almost at once. Whatever surprise he felt at seeing the sword, Haldar didn’t show, instead he took a breath, and began his next attack sequence.

“Shockwave.”

The blast went off directly between them.

“That. Is. Enough.” Ms. Lopez said, her voice even, bored almost.

“Everyone will go back to their seats. Now.” Ms. Lopez said. There was no room in her voice for disobedience.

“Mr. Hall, your seat is in the first row. Try not to provoke any more brawls on your way to it.”

“Mr. Andersen, Mr. Smith, Mr. Hall, you will speak to me when the bell rings.”

For a moment no one moved.

Then Arthur said, “I’ll do my best,” in a perfectly sunny voice, and Haldar retreated, never showing his back to the sword. The sword went back to his seat, not bothering to do the same. Haldar’s reaction times were still too slow. He would have won quickly.

The rest of the class was staring at him.

He found this unnerving, and returned to staring out the window until the next bell rang and everyone got to their feet.