Raised in Dungeon

"Allen, which classes are you considering?"

"I'll opt for the same classes you're interested in."

"Oh my, haven't we discussed this already? We each have our paths to follow."

"But Felicia, we're already in separate classes for the special and compulsory courses. So we should, at least, share the same general classes."

"We will, indeed."

Students possessed the liberty to select their preferred classes, yet they were obliged to meet certain requirements for graduation, which included completing a specific number of courses.

"Is my input irrelevant here?" inquired Sharik.

Allen, Felicia, and Sharik found themselves in Sharik's home, the esteemed school equipment and armor shop, Adelskold.

"Aligning my class with Allen's is as far as I can go. I won't willingly join a class that offers no practical value for me; it will be useless." retorted Felicia.

"Oh, that's cruel! I was hoping to join your discussion as well," Sharik lamented with a glum expression.

"Speaking of seemingly useless classes, I'm actually considering one of those," Allen confessed.

"What class is that?" inquired Felicia, curious.

"This one," Allen pointed to his chosen paper. "The Study of Healing."

"EEEEEH?!!!" exclaimed Sharik in surprise.

Felicia, perplexed, questioned, "Why the loud reaction?"

Sharik turned to Allen, incredulous. "Are you serious about studying healing? Aren't you a vanguard?"

"Yeah, but I want to delve into healing as well," affirmed Allen.

"But healing is notoriously challenging, isn't it? You have to memorize a plethora of body parts and intricate details!" Sharik protested, attempting to dissuade Allen.

"That's precisely what intrigues me. I believe it could prove beneficial in the future," Allen explained.

Sharik wore a visibly confused expression before reluctantly stating, "I-I guess I might consider healing studies too..." It was evident he wasn't enthusiastic about the prospect but was compelled by the desire to be in the same class as Allen.

Felicia also inspected the healing study on her paper. "Are you sure about this? Doesn't this class seem pointless for you?" Allen questioned.

While it might be considered useless for Felicia, who could heal nearly anything with her abilities, she responded, "Perhaps, but my god's blessing also has a time limit for wounds to be healed. Though not highly useful, I believe it still holds some value."

While immersed in their discussion about chosen classes, Adelskold, the proprietor of the armor shop, interrupted them with a tone of irritation.

"Why is it so crowded here? This is an armor shop, not a tavern," he grumbled.

"Pa-pardon us, mr Adelskold..." Felicia replied, a hint of fear in her voice.

"I also apologize for disturbing you; I can help you out a bit," Allen offered.

Adelskold placed a glass of water on the table and instructed Sharik, "Hey Sharik, bring the rest of the water and bread from the back."

"Ah, good!"

Adelskold continued, "Next time, choose a more suitable place for young people."

In an uncanny reminder of Master Rodion, gruff yet benevolent, Allen accepted the glass and, with a smile, said, "Thank you, Master Adelskold." As he drank the water, a sense of nostalgia washed over him, longing to reunite with the people of Barkaley once again.

'I wonder what Susan and the others are doing now. Well, most likely at this hour, she's being scolded by Master Rodion for wasting ingredients for cooking practice, and she will frustrate and vent everything in front of me." Allen thought. 'But I am not there anymore. So she probably just venting alone," a sudden worry filled him.

'Hopefully she'll be able to meet up with her brother soon.'

...

…

...

In the bustling corridors of Oxwade School, two new teachers crossed paths. Both were alums of Oxwade and had returned under similar circumstances. These new teachers are Petronella, a former mithril dungeon explorer, and Norman, one of the Noctem Dolls.

As Petronella caught sight of Norman passing before her, a surprised and displeased "Geh!" escaped her lips. Norman, in turn, emitted a "cih" sound as they accidentally collided in the corridor.

However, after the unexpected noise, they locked eyes and

"BHHAHAHAHAHAHA" almost in unison, burst into laughter.

"HAHAHA Look at that teacher uniform you're wearing! It doesn't fit you at all!" teased Norman.

Petronella quickly picked up on the teasing. "Pffft, you too! Your clothes are too big for someone of your stature. The school must not have appropriate attire for short!"

"HAAAH! Watch what you say! Even though that old man instilled an oath not to kill anyone in the academy, I can still split those two hairs of yours!"

"Well, just do it then, but could your hand reach them? Little kid, don't try to talk about impossible things; you'll trip."

"Haha, the one who tripped should be you. Where are your ugly round glasses? Did you use amnis to change them? Trying to use your face to attract students? How tacky."

A tense silence followed as they both suppressed their anger.

'This guy/woman is so annoying,' they thought simultaneously.

The oath imposed on Norman extended beyond merely refraining from killing students to intentionally causing harm for unclear reasons, including personal feelings such as annoyance. On the other hand, Petronella, lacking the oath, couldn't harm or attack Norman despite her hate for him. Despite her hatred, she acknowledged Norman's strength, and any intention to harm him would require an advanced type amnis, which is inappropriate for doing it in the school corridors.

"By the way, where is Clarissa? Didn't you come with her?" Petronella inquired.

"Hmph! I'm under no obligation to tell you," Norman retorted as he walked away, brushing past Petronella.

"Of course there is; murderers like you are required to tell everything to others, otherwise there would be no place for you in society."

"Bleh bleh bleh, thank you for the advice, most holy lady. I don't intend to blend in with society."

'This child is really annoying!' thought Petronella. Frustrated, she finally became blunt.

"HEY! I'm seriously asking! At least tell me that she didn't do something that old man Eliphas told her to do!" Petronella shouted.

Norman stopped and turned his head. "No, she didn't do anything related to that. In fact, she's not even under any oath to the old man," he explained.

"Huh?"

"It's more like she already had a different oath before, so the second oath doesn't work on her anymore."

Petronella cared little about Clarissa's actions; her primary concern was Eliphas' purpose for enrolling them in the academy. The atmosphere grew more serious. Perhaps in acknowledgment of the gravity of Petronella's question, Norman queried her.

"Have you seen the current list of teachers and students at the academy?"

Petronella promptly replied, "I have. You're aware of it too," confirming she also had seen the list.

"I wonder what the old man is planning?" Norman mused.

'What is he planning? That's my question too,' thought Petronella. 'Other-worlders, heroes, criminals, and even... demons are here. And the list of students, too, are all important people from each continent and country. Coincidence? Let's hope so. But with this shorty here, plus Clarissa and me, that old man must be planning something, and it must be serious.

"I don't know; there's no way I can get inside his head," Petronella said, waving her hand dismissively as she left. "Don't forget to give Clarissa my regards."

"Huh?!"

"Tell her I'll kill you for sure."

Norman sighed and shouted, "Tell her yourself!"