Mad Dog Aaron (1)

Episode 5. Mad Dog Aaron (1)
“Hah… seriously…”
I reflexively rubbed the back of my neck, remembering the crimes I committed back in my cadet days—when I didn’t know any better.
Back then, I was obsessed with dark magic and judged others entirely by their skill in it, dividing them up however I pleased.
That’s how I earned the nickname “Mad Dog” among the cadets.
Thinking back on it now, I wasn’t just immature—I was downright pathetic.
Tch. Not that complaining in my head is going to change anything.
I was the one with the trash personality, after all.
Lost in thought as I glanced around at the cadets, Lloyd stepped in front of me.
“You planning to take out your frustration on the other cadets again?”
“Huh?”
The cadets nearby naturally turned their attention toward us.
“Even if you beat me in the graduation match, it doesn’t erase all the crap you pulled with the other cadets.”
“All I did was look. What’s the problem?”
“How many times have you insulted them? It’s not just once or twice.”
…That was fair. I had no excuse for that.
I remember Lloyd often stepped in to mediate whenever I lost my temper with the other cadets at Necropia.
But hey, didn’t I regress? I’ve mellowed out with age!
I really do regret all the stuff I said in the past, y’know?
Tch… But let’s be honest. By this point, both the cadets and instructors have already made up their minds about me—and it’s not good.
Even if I claim I’ve changed, they’d just think I’m faking it.
“Hiding that level of talent with such a rotten personality… As a fellow noble from one of the Four Great Houses, I can only say it’s a shame.”
Wow, Lloyd, that’s rich coming from you. Ever heard of tact?
Like you’re innocent.
“What about you? The guy who summoned an undead orc just to beat me?”
“T-That was…”
“If I hadn’t reacted fast enough, forget bones—I’d have had my organs damaged and spent over a month in the hospital. Maybe reflect on your mistakes. Or are you just bitter about losing and looking to lash out?”
“…I do admit it was wrong of me to go too hard during the duel.”
His face twisted, but he looked away, probably stung by the truth.
“I’m not trying to belittle your talent. You’re stronger than me now. I hate it, but… I’ll admit it. I hope this graduation match leads you to a worthy mentor.”
With that, Lloyd turned and walked off, eyes sharp, leaving me behind.
The other cadets followed, heading for the gates while arguing about how to spend the rest of their time.
“Damn… I guess this is what they call karma.”
I couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief.
I only used basic spells, sure—but I wielded three types of dark magic, and still ended up this hated? My past self must’ve really been insufferable.
Still… maybe that’s a good thing now.
‘If I draw too much attention, I can’t test the stigma in peace.’
With that, I turned and headed toward Necropia’s dormitory.
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Inside the personal dorm at Necropia.
I got on my knees, hands raised to the heavens, pretending to be lost in a divine trance.
Slowly…
I threw in all sorts of theatrics, then glanced down at the back of my hand.
Nothing.
“…Let’s stop this nonsense.”
Reality hit me hard. I collapsed onto the bed.
“I’m gonna lose my mind…”
I held up my right hand, almost comically close to my face.
“What the hell’s the activation condition?”
I’d been testing things, trying to make the stigma glow again.
Right after the graduation match, it had briefly flickered.
Which meant—the Stigma of the Sword of Light had settled on my hand.
That much was certain.
But…
“Why can’t I summon any holy power?”
I thought back to the principles of divine magic.
I hadn’t studied it deeply, but I clearly remembered how the Sword of Light used the stigma.
“Pretty sure she drew holy power directly from it…”
Divine magic needs holy power. And holy power comes from the stigma.
So then, do you need to be a devout believer chosen by a god to use it?
‘Yeah, right. Like a dark mage would ever worship a god.’
Still, just in case, I offered an intense prayer to some random no-name deity—but of course, nothing happened.
The stigma had definitely glowed.
That alone proved it had activated.
So why?
“Why did it glow if I didn’t do anything?”
Then I suddenly sat up.
Right. Why did it activate?
What exactly had I done just before that moment?
That doubt crept up in my mind.
Then something clicked, and I rubbed my sore right arm.
The arm I’d just transformed using magic from the Demonic branch of dark arts.
“…Was it because of the dark magic?”
Divine magic is the polar opposite of dark magic.
Casting a healing spell—normally harmless—on an undead creature turns it into a deadly attack. That’s the most famous example of this clash.
‘When holy power and dark magic meet… it causes a violent reaction.’
And holy power originates from the stigma.
So maybe dark magic acted as a catalyst, triggering the stigma.
‘Let’s test it.’
I straightened my right arm and began channeling mana.
Crack…
From my fingertips to my wrist.
The veins in my right hand—the one marked with the stigma—turned black-red.
‘Just a moment is enough.’
I cursed my entire palm and focused on the back of my hand.
Flash!
A brilliant light flared.
“…That’s it.”
Infusing the marked body part with dark magic creates holy power.
Even if it’s just for a moment—holy power is still holy power.
I clenched my right fist, a sly smile creeping across my face.
Sword of Light.
Your gamble… wasn’t in vain.
‘Now then…’
I can create holy power with the stigma.
But I don’t know how to use it.
To use divine magic, I’ll still need someone to teach me about stigmata and holy power—just like the Sword of Light said before my regression.
But this is the Dark Empire.
No connection to divine magic here.
Still, I’ve got a plan.
Or rather, the path has already been prepared.
‘Let’s see…’
I picked up the letter on my desk.
The sender: Rondo Bayonel—my father.
He’d sent it to the dorm today.
I opened the envelope and read.
________________________________________
Aaron Bayonel—I can no longer turn a blind eye to the disgraceful actions you’ve committed at Necropia, so I’m writing this letter ahead of your graduation.
Though you’ve posted the second-highest scores, just behind Lloyd Desmond, your disgraceful conduct toward instructors and vulgar language toward cadets is completely unbecoming of a noble from one of the Four Great Houses.
I’ve asked around extensively, but not a single dark mage wants to take you on as an apprentice after you graduate. As your father, I am deeply ashamed.
Therefore, I’ve decided to enroll you in Sancternim Academy immediately after graduation.
________________________________________
It was a long letter, but the message was simple:
“Even after graduation, no dark mage wants anything to do with your personality. Go to this place and fix yourself.”
‘This letter hit hard the first time I read it.’
Now that I’ve already been through it, it doesn’t sting quite as much—though I still have a bitter taste in my mouth.
Back then, I was practically dragged to Sancternim Academy.
But now? I want to go there.
Funny how that works out.
Sancternim Academy… brings back memories.
If I get in, I’ll be able to learn divine magic.
A battle training institution founded by a Blue Dragon hatchling—focused solely on combating demons and monsters, regardless of one’s origin, class, or nationality.
That’s Sancternim Academy.
________________________________________
“If you still bear the stigma after regression… come find me. I’ll teach you how to use it.”
________________________________________
The Sword of Light and I both attended that academy.
If it were truly founded just to fight demons, I doubt Father would’ve sent me there.
Sancternim Academy maintains strict neutrality—untouched by any nation’s influence.
And because of that, it’s also a refuge for people who are politically or personally… difficult.
Better to send a troublemaker there than risk problems in one’s own country.
In short—it’s a haven for misfits.
I’ve already attended before, so enrolling again doesn’t bother me.
What’s bothering me now is my current situation.
‘Tch. If only the graduation match had gone a little smoother, this wouldn’t feel so messy.’
I remembered what the instructor said at the training grounds:
________________________________________
“Based on the results of this graduation match, every dark mage across the Dark Empire will be forced to take notice of you.”
________________________________________
Not an exaggeration.
Thanks to regression, there’s no other cadet my age with this level of power.
But—
“Still… don’t get your hopes too high. The world can be unpredictable.”
If another cadet had achieved a triple-class, the instructor wouldn’t have added that vague warning.
It’s because I’m Aaron Bayonel—the Mad Dog.
Even my father isn’t looking at me favorably, as that letter proves.
So as I expected, no dark mage is going to take me on.
…Except for one person.
I thought of that stern-faced instructor.
Come to think of it, he used to be close with that “old hag,” didn’t he?
‘No way… is he planning to recommend me as a disciple?’
________________________________________
Meanwhile…
In the faculty office, Instructor Dave Borris reviewed Aaron’s final match results and evaluation report.
The consensus among cadets and staff boiled down to one sentence:
“He’s skilled—but such an insufferable bastard.”
From the day he entered until now, nearing graduation, Aaron had shown open disdain for every cadet—except fellow noble Lloyd Desmond.
He treated skilled instructors with a minimum level of respect, but if any lesson seemed even slightly lacking, he’d tear it apart without mercy.
Brutally critical of any weakness in others, yet harsh with himself and free from hypocrisy—a man of no pretense.
Hence the nickname: Mad Dog Aaron.
The name was so widespread even Dave, his instructor, had heard it from other cadets.
As a result, no dark mage wanted to take him as an apprentice.
“What a waste.”
A waste indeed.
Such talent—and not one mage willing to mentor him.
“Hm…”
After a few moments of thought, Dave pulled out pen and paper from his desk.
He scribbled down the recipient’s name.
________________________________________
Lienna Baroness
His former superior. A war hero.