As they were one of the types of “returned dead” that used to be quite common in cold, sea-faring areas of North Sea, there were plenty of detailed records about draugar in Akadem. Most wizards seemed to traditionally divide beings that have to do with death into two major groups: returned (or alternatively, reanimated) Dead and Undead.

The difference being, the Dead had truly died at some point and have no active physiological processes going on, while the Undead are actually alive. Notable examples of the Dead would be artificial or natural, controlled or wild zombies, moving skeletons, wights, ghosts and of course draugar. On a side note - I could see the energy that moved the Dead, so could it still be called a life force?

The Undead are less known, because of their usually human- or even above-level intellect, but among them the most famous are ghouls, yagas or Hags and some vampire bloodlines. Liches, living buddhas, all sorts of ascetics, holy guardians and such are debatable due to the differences in interpretation and the uniqueness of their practices.

Therefore, because of their inert nature, the Dead are almost always in damaged state. Due to the influence of the time, decomposition or even usual abrasion when moving. And so, a sea-draugr that was only missing his eyes was an unusual one. No fish had nibbled his face, no crab had dug into his flesh.

And that...armour. Most sea-draugar were (usually) viking warriors that had drowned during combat, the heated emotions and feelings serving as starting nucleus for further reanimation, usually by spiritual repossession. Because of that, armour was not exactly unexpected. Especially cloth or leather one, suitable for long sea voyages in open boats. But one directly grown from barnacle deposits, bearing the signs of intelligent design that incorporated segmentation for better movement and protection? Weird.

The shots from assault rifles had punched small holes onto the frontal armor and destroyed the helmet. The latter had cracked like an eggshell, falling apart and only leaving a soggy mass wrapped around the remains of the draugr’s head.

Most likely, either the headshot or the wound in chest had stopped the draugr. With my money being on the latter, as the vikings put greater focus on the role of the heart than the brain, same as most of the old cultures. Reflecting such beliefs, it would also often be an anchor point for the possession or reanimation.

At least that was how I understood the somewhat messy explanations I had found in the books. Wizards were not really good in dealing with things that were hard to calculate or quantify. They could bind and set restriction on spirits and such, but actually working with these was left to all sorts of shamans, witch doctors, spirit guides and warlocks.

The purplish liquid that seeped from draugr’s wounds interested me, and I would have loved to send it for a chemical analysis. Obviously that was not blood, as draugr were dead from beginning, but I remembered how several authors had mentioned that the powerful draugr were blue. And the darker and closer to purple, the larger and stronger they were. Dark blue draugr, according to the stories, could be almost impervious to the weapons of the vikings. Pity they lacked data for firearms.

As an excuse like “this is just a drowned body washed ashore” was not going to work, I carefully explained the main points about draugar to the soldiers. All questions about my identity and how I knew these things were answered simply - by claiming that the details were ‘Classified’ and waving around the contract from Ministry of Defence.

While I was explaining, the CMT man, the one who had mentioned Ningen, crouched by the body and was carefully poking it with his kevlar-gloved fingers.

“Interesting, I believe you said that these… draugr are dead, rather old human corpses?” - he asked me, when I mentioned the fact about the oddly well preserved body of the draugr.

I nodded: “Draugar. Roughly, yes.”

CMT turned back to draugr, pushing his finger against its flesh: “As I understand, the animals do not eat them when they are al… active, I mean.”

“Yes, they tend to avoid the reanimated Dead. Even microorganisms seem to ignore them.” - I explained what I could: “Why?”

“Well,” - the man used the other hand to push his glasses higher: “I may be old, but it doesn’t mean that I can’t learn new tricks.” - that earned a few jeers from the rest of his team - “Anyway, the skin of that draugr shows signs of mineralization - see, there’s that crunchy texture. That is odd, as normally, dead bodies in the sea would rapidly decompose and be eaten by bottom feeders. However, maybe by some chance it sunk into a deep pit, for example due to the armour.”

He paused to rap his knuckles on the armour and continued: “And was thus prevented from floating up with the accumulating gases. If it was rainy season, or even a proper storm, that would result in massive shifts of coastal mud deposits, that may have quickly covered the body. That would explain how he first drowned - slipped and fell into the restless sea after an exhausting fight, for example. Anyway, a body in deep sea, covered by fine mud and isolated from oxygen, would be well preserved. Just like juicy, crunchy pickles. And it would also keep all the crabs and starfishes away, I suppose.”

He looked around, only meeting slightly green faces of the team.

“Will, you old fart.” - said one.

“We just had to have these pickles for lunch, fuck?” - said another.

“Ahem, sounds like a reasonable analysis.” - I found his explanation to be believable.

But where did the armour come from? Bodies covered by mud would not grow barnacles over them.

---

I appreciated William’s analytical skills, and gave him one of my prepaid cell phone numbers. Then, after making sure I was not followed or tracked, I returned to the city.

I did not tell them about the suspicious nature of the fog. Or the fact that there was something lurking in shallow coastal waters.

But the encounter with the army made me to reevaluate some of my plans. It seemed that I needed to continue developing my personal network, just like I had done in London. Akadem, as an old organization, was way too complex to get it done quickly enough.

***

The next day, I was sitting on the desk, feeling quite comfortable in the dead-silent, huge cave that was my classroom in Akadem. However, for the first time, I had visitors.

After a few hesitant knocks, the door was pushed open. Looking somewhat lost, a youngster with short-trimmed hair looked in. He seemed to be around nineteen, twenty tops. Meeting my curious gaze, in an attempt to straighten up and bow at the same time, he showed an entertaining series of convulsions before I heard an awkward ‘Good morning, Sir.’. I suppose, most of the staff in Akadem did not sit casually on top of their desks. Welcome to twenty-first century, kid.

“Greetings” - I nodded to him, tapping the book I held in my hands. I suggested: “Come in?”

“Um...Sir...is that the new combat class?” - I noticed that I was rather getting used to British ‘sirs’ everywhere. Not that it was much different when I had to ‘maintain the appearances’ when my father’s work took us outside of the rather casual Europe back in the day. Especially Asia... very formal, as I could remember.

I interrupted the unexpected bout of reminiscing and shrugged: “You can call that so.”

Thanks to my senses, I was not surprised when the youngster pulled in a girl who had remained behind the door. She looked to be around his age, but appeared to be even more nervous than him, despite being a head taller. A rather amusing pair, I had to say.

In the ensuing silence, I looked at these two teenagers who stood by the entrance. As I used to be a junior instructor in HEMA group, I saw the familiar awkwardness of newcomers who have no idea what to expect. In 21st century industrial society, general populace has very little contact with genuine martial arts, so that was nothing unusual.

I could guess motivations of businessmen, university students, office workers and other ordinary people when they came to try some real fencing. Boredom. Fantasy dreams. New way to workout. Even upcoming role in a movie. But young wizards and their motivations sounded like something potentially new and interesting.

“As I said, welcome to this course.” - I greeted them again. Manners are important, after all. I continued: “This course, as Physical Combat, is different from most of the things you learn in Akadem. Let me ask you, what do you expect from it?”

After a brief moment of silence, the boy admitted: “I… we don’t know, sir. Matthew Marsh suggested us to come here.”

That was unexpected.

“Ah, Mr. Marsh. Why would he do that?” - I looked at them again. I doubted Matthew saw them as some promising talents who could use my fighting style.

Taking a deep breath, the boy said in one go: “Me and Julia are both from, um, muggles. I mean, we are from ordinary families, and we know little about magic world outside here. Some days ago we noticed that there are less people around and there are less and less of them, so when we asked around, it turned out that many old families are bringing students back home. So we thought, that something’s wrong, and, well, with the things going on in the world, its not safe, right? I know Matthew ‘cause he is student of Headmaster, and also from muggles, haha. So he said that it’s getting dangerous and told to come here...sir.”

It took me a brief second to digest and arrange the somewhat chaotic stream of information. So… old wizard families were evacuating their descendants? I had not paid much attention, but it was true that there were less people around and I had seen less stalls in central cavern during the last few weeks.

“So, you are here for something you do not know?” - I confirmed.

“Well…” - the boy was ready to agree, but then the girl, who should be called Julia, interjected: “Sir, we need to be stronger.”

“Ooh.” - I shifted my attention to her. I thought, she was the timid and passive one from those two.

Julia made a small step back under my gaze, but continued: “As he, I mean, Nick, said, we’re from ordinary families, so we fall behind compared to most others here.”

Nick added: “We know the stuff from curriculum, we’re not lazy or anything.”

Julia nodded in agreement: “Yes, yes, it’s just we can’t know some background, “inside” knowledge, or get support from families. And now, we can’t even be confident we can protect ourselves - I heard recently people were killed even in Akadem.”

I nodded, remaining silent.

Nick, apparently getting courage from Julia, followed up: “We can’t leave Akadem in the middle of the term, sir, because we don’t have official wizards among our relatives. We know, the things in the world aren’t that good now… but even if we go, we can do little but a few knacks that hardly qualify as wards. So we went to Matthew, and he said we can’t really get much better at magic quickly, but that maybe you, sir, can help us…”

I rapidly analyzed what to do. A part of my mind wondered about the conservative nature of the old wizards and how it affected Akadem. But another was going through the thousands of possibilities that I could offer Nick and Julia. I looked at them once to confirm they were one hundred percent human, considering how the energy flowed through them. This unconscious circulation brought several ideas into my mind, and rapidly, an idea took form.

I sat down at the desk and opened the book I had been reading.

“Sir…” - they nervously asked.

I pointed at the empty hall and said two words: “Start running.”

Nick wanted to protest or something, but got elbowed by Julia. Hmm, not bad.

Soon, they were doing what I said. Running. I had not specified the speed or duration, but apparently, they were taught not to question the teachers. Conservative British wizards… I could guess how teaching worked here. They also did not change their clothes...made sense for combat, but they better know some cleanup trick.

---

“It has been twenty laps. Can you feel how you use your magic to support yourself?” - my question almost caused the two to crash into each other. Obviously, I had no problems to keep up with them.

Huffing, Nick asked: “Magic?”

I chuckled: “What, you thought it was some sort of test to choose disciples, some mystical ‘bring me the tooth of giant tiger’ trial?”

Julia blushed deeply. Well, I had suspected that she thought so when she kept pushing and wordlessly guiding Nick. Way too cliché for my taste, and I had no interest in such things.

Choosing not to embarrass the girl too much, I explained: “Why do wizards, druids, sorcerers and so on live longer than ordinary humans? Heal better, get sick less often? They still have similar bodies and they can reproduce with ordinary humans, so they are the same species.”

I had read the vast majority of common books available in Depository that discussed magic, wizardry and the related theories. With my memory and analytical ability, I would be a passable wizard by now, only if I could sense magic.

Without waiting for an answer, I continued: “It is quite obvious, that the main difference is in utilization of magic energy. You should know that for some reason, the undefined magic, sometimes referred to as Plato’s fifth element, or also ‘aether’, can not interact with most living beings, physical matter and so on. However, as you should know well, after transformation it is different.”

Nick nodded: “Yes, sir, it is the Meta, right?”

I shrugged: “Well, that is the point of magic conversion. Because magic is controlled by mind, in humans it overlaps with body as spirit form. Therefore, potentially, your whole body is Meta, although it makes sense that the effectiveness varies. And so, that subconscious, weak use of whole body’s Meta also supports it, maintaining its health. Fat mages do not get a stroke exactly for that reason, by the way. And acts as a crutch for your muscles, taking a load off them. Can you tell me the result?”

Julia answered, already breathing hard: “Wizards, are, more, likely. To get fat, than, muscled?”

“Well, not exactly wrong, but…” - I admitted. Actually, it was even more likely for them to be gaunt.

“We...don’t use our bodies to full potential?” - suggested Nick.

As it was close enough, I hummed in agreement. For a moment, I looked at them - standing and panting hard. Speaking and running had ruined their breathing rhythm.

“So, your task is to CONTINUE RUNNING AND STOP USING MAGIC!”. The sudden shout made them jump. And got them back on track.

***

In the evening, I stood in front of a sports centre in New Town of Edinburgh. I confirmed the address before entering. It was surprising it was open, considering that the main news today was the loss of contact with Soyuz-TMA capsules that were supposed to evacuate the crew of International Space Station and simultaneous disappearance of 90% of GPS satellites, causing a real upheaval in the media. The fact that international media and communication still existed, was a miracle on its own.

I approached the two middle-aged men who were already inside. They had fencing masks hanging from their bags, so I knew there was no mistake.

“Good evening, that is the Sword Hall, right?” - I was acting casual, consciously working to appear ordinary.

“Yes, hello there.” - responded one, offering a handshake. He was Andrew.

“Rob. New?” - was the other one.

I waved my hand: “Not exactly. Liechtenauer, a bit of Fiore. I do not live here, actually, but apparently got stuck here for now. I get the cancelled flights, but even trains? Geh.”

They nodded, making appropriately polite noises to express their sympathy.

They were both in good shape, with slightly greying hair and usual Scottish accent. Both were humans too. I talked to them for a while, with our conversation shifting between the recent events in the city and occasional jokes about how fencing was soon to become a demanded life skill.

In the next half an hour, more people came, greeting Andrew and Rob and Howdoyoudo’ing me. I began to suspect, that these were the last people in Britain actually using this phrase for its original purpose.

The conversation topics shifted towards hunting. Recently, the city government was limiting the sale of food and took over the stocks of all private groceries, introducing the rationing of the necessities. But people were adapting, and those with hunting licenses, guns and sufficiently adventurous minds, had already discovered the sudden rise in wild game population in the vicinity of the city. But nobody could understand where did the moose, bears and wolves come from, considering that these animals were supposed to be extinct in Britain for centuries.

---

Everyone turned towards the new arrival - a tall and surprisingly thin, bald man of around fifty years old.

“Maître.” - most people politely greeted him.

A nod with “Peter.” - came the acknowledgment from those who looked older and more experienced.

By the time the previous group began to leave the gym, the Sword Hall had nine men and three women waiting in the lobby. Meanwhile, I greeted Peter MacEwen, the Maître d’arms, and briefly introduced myself as an ‘unfortunate person stuck in UK during holiday trip’. He even knew my fencing instructor from Denmark, a fact that definitely helped him to warm up to me a bit.

After some usual shuffling around, the venue was finally empty and we could go in. In the locker room, It was unexpectedly difficult to avoid attention as I was a new face, and extremely tall, to boot. But I managed to change into a thick hoodie that conveniently hid my overly long hair at my back, and confirmed that the Giant-lock chain was securely tied around my waist. After several weeks spent in Depository, I had sufficient understanding of the basic principles of things involving all kinds of magic and energy.

Even under the suppression from the chain, I still had the strength of a world champion-level weightlifter. But at least now it was unlikely that I would accidentally send a human sparring partner flying through the wall. I needed more structured combat technique training and suitable social connections with capable people. A dedicated group of martial artists suited perfectly for that. Unfortunately, it took several weeks to understand the Giant-lock chain. Its working principle remained obscure, and obviously did not come with an instructions manual. Without the chain, sparring would lose its value and dangerously increase the risk of an accident.

---

“Iaido?” - I asked my partner, a younger-looking man with goatee. The way he positioned his body and sword felt familiar.

We were going through basic forms with basket-hilted broadswords in our hands. Something I had not tried before, but well, there are only so many ways to hold a pointy, bladed thing that has a defined grip. The rest was some logic, understanding of principles and a fair amount of practice.

“Tenshin Shōden Katori Shintō-ryū.” - he answered, moving backwards to avoid my slowly-moving sword, responding with the similarly-paced counter.

I nodded: “Oh.”

“Victor” - I introduced myself, repeating the strike. Identical attack-counter-repeat motions were going on throughout the gym.

He smiled, nodding back: “Max. Italian?”

“Me? Or my skills?”

“Mm, skills.”

“German, mostly. Talhoffer, Liechtenauer - mostly those.”

“Cool.”

“Katori Shintō-ryū got a living tradition at least.” - I showed a grimace.

“A living tradition teaching costs like a private jet. The rest is the same. Nobody uses that in real practice anyway.” - Max complained.

Well, I doubted that point. But what I said was: “Haha, true that.”

As the group went through different sets of moves, we kept switching pairs. Some polite introductions, some small talk - soon I knew the names of everyone, with a bit of personal information.

***

The next morning I was walking down the stairs from Depository when I encountered Sandra. She was leaning against the low parapet of the stairs, her vigilant eyes glittering from the shadows under the raised hood of the grey Guardian cape. The scales of lamellar armour clanked softly as she raised her hand in greeting. The other hand stayed on the ornate hilt of the axe that hung from her waist.

“Mister.” - she had been waiting for me.

I nodded politely: “Lady Sandra.”

Sandra adopted the posture ‘at attention’, spreading her shoulders to let the armour to fit better.

“Headmaster is inviting you.” - she announced.

Hmm, I had not heard anything from Arthur for a while. Even M. Marsh, his personal student who still had not finished taking the inventory in my manor, had been complaining that he had not had a chance to meet his Mentor for weeks. Well, there was the thing with murders in Akadem and other disturbances, but that felt odd. Arthur did not seem to mind bringing Matthew with him when he infiltrated the underground market, so why would he keep his student at a distance now?

While following Sandra, I noted again how much less people were around, compared to the time of my arrival. I kept thinking about the things I had seen in recent weeks, and tried to guess what I had missed. In my mind, I continuously created, modified and broke down numerous flowcharts that endlessly branched into unlimited possibilities. For now, I estimated the chance for an internal power struggle within Akadem to reach 60%. Possibility of infiltration and sabotage by some kind of enemy forces, perhaps also involved with power struggle, could be anywhere between 30 to 70%, depending on details. The likelihood of a direct attack from outside was quite low, as Akadem was too well protected, so I guessed it to be around 15%. And the chance for some unknown magic jumbo going haywire that nobody cared to tell me about? Solid 50% - either it was or was not.

---

I had thought that it would be a private meeting with Arthur in his office. Instead, Sandra led me to a huge hall, which seemed to be the most desolate and gloomy room in the whole Akadem.

There, where a tiniest whisper left a long-lasting, distorted echo, thirty or so wizards sat around a long, massive stone table. Nobody seemed to pay my arrival much heed, and after a short glance, most of them returned their attention to their private discussions. Curiously, there seemed to be five or so smaller groups, divided into two camps taking up the opposite sides of the table.

I did not believe that a bunch of centuries-old relics were as careless as they looked. And while I could not sense magic, I was sure that quite a few of those present were using some means to observe me closely. To deal with that, I simply went around the table and sat at the end opposite from Arthur, who was sitting on a heavy, ornate chair. A ceiling-high, featureless bronze statue of a man stood by the wall right behind him.

As I sat down, I closed my eyes and sat still, leaving nothing for the observers. I doubted they could guess that I was not relying on my eyes that much. I focused on Arthur - he appeared to be reading a thick stack of papers, occasionally using an ordinary ballpoint pen to add some notes. Sandra, having fulfilled her task, left the hall. A few other wizards came in, each unhesitantly moving towards their group. Something metallic was embedded into the ceiling… bird silhouettes? Too abstract to determine the species, but quite large, with the wingspan more than one meter.

A wizard with familiar energy patten approached me. Tapping of the leg prosthetics and cane was also unmistakeable. Douglas, the one who had come to me with ‘best wishes’ from the Committee before.

“Mentor Ward, truly, I hope your courshe is advanshing well?” - he stopped next to me: “How about you join ush?”. He gestured towards one of the groups on the left side of the table.

“I appreciate your invitation, Lord Doug.” - I nodded, but stated: “I would, gladly. Perhaps, sometime after this meeting? So many things are happening now, you see...”

After Douglas left, no other person tried to contact me. But the frequency of looks towards me increased. Judging from the lack of obvious physical phenomena, if they used magic, it was subtle. According to my theoretical understanding, I guessed that they could use either artifacts or self-boosting enhancements. It was likely that sound amplification for better hearing was quite popular here. And it would be logical to have some kind of probes to monitor the surroundings. Such magics were relatively simple, because they were based on natural processes such as air vibrations. And wizards were best in manipulating the physical phenomena to achieve the desired effects with minimum energy expenditure. Sorcerers would be more tricky, using their innate talents to forcefully enforce the desired effects upon the world. However, it was unlikely I would have to deal with anyone other than these wizards during this meeting.

“Let’s start.” - Arthur’s voice echoed in the hall, silencing all the talks.

---

“Preposterous, the amplitudes don’t match!”

“Facultas?”

“Whence cometh dis assurance?”

“Calculations match, so possibility is still high.”

“We need to evacuate, now!”

“Where to, mon chéri?”

“Or solstice. Equinox is unlikely.”

“Samhuinn or more precisely, the night fits amplitudes. Also we can’t ignore the spiritistic coefficients.”

“Oidhche Shamhna? Of course, but druids are silent. Any contact with Danu’s children?”

“Not yet. Avalon is not a place we can send a mail to. ”

“We mostly deal with Courts, too, so it is a very… distant cooperation, true.”

“If Samhuinn, why not Là Bealltainn or Lùnastal?”

“Unlikely - calculation shows we have some leeway there. Models show the degradation equilibrium as stable for now.”

“Warum nicht christlich? Or if we consider the historical significance, Roman? Feralias was recently, with strong earthquakes felt everywhere.”

“Ja, ja, my German friend, but the earth shakes almost every day now. But good point you have there - we need to think wider. Asia - India? The stress is greatest during largest resonances, it makes sense.”

The table exploded into a cacophony of voices as soon as Arthur, supported and confirmed by Committee and Guardians, announced the unpleasant fact. The world was progressively stretching and warping, and the unexplainable events were stumping even the most ancient and experienced of wizards. And one thing was sure - the limit was approaching, with world’s self-balancing mechanism breaking down.

What they were unsure of, was the deadline. And even if they estimated it to be at least six months away, it did not mean that anyone knew what will actually happen. An Apocalypse? Last Battle of Gods? Final Judgement? Some kind of Great Godly Reset? Invasion from foreign dimensions? Ideas were suggested, mostly without any logical basis.

At least now I had a perfect excuse to avoid Douglas, and I slipped away as soon as the meeting was announced to be over. I had students to teach.