My world subsumes into black as I lose consciousness.
The world reappears in front of me as my eyes blink open, I scratch white chalk against the large whiteboard in front of me. My lecture hall is silent and a prominent air of staleness hangs around everything. The students in the university were on a break.
I was the youngest professor of sciences in the entire history of Oxford at the age of 19. A record-breaking scientific thinker they told me. The word 'genius' spouted at me my entire life.
Thoughts inside my brain heat up as I pick up focus with completing equations on the blackboard, the chalk chipping away with the intensity at which I do so.
A door at the very end of my lecture hall creaks open, nearly making me drop the chalk as I was snapped out of my focus. I pivot around grumpily to know the identity of the disturber.
A young looking man with a white beanie and brown cardigan is at the very top of the steps, quite far from me as the hall is sizeable. He begins to walk closer.
"Do you need help with anything?" I chirp, rather annoyed at his presence.
As he takes careful steps down the stairs, I notice more of his appearance, his white beanie has small holes in it, paired with some of the wool in his cardigan sticking out at haphazard angles gave him a very unkempt look. People like that in Oxford are often relentlessly tormented by the majority who are above them. I would know.
"You're quite young for a professor." His voice was filled with an annoying energy that I couldn't quite place.
"So they tell me. Though I'd say 19 is pretty old." My eyebrows drooped in visible ill amusement at his remarks, ones that have been repeated to me many times before.
"Well, you're the same age as me, and I'm a student, so I suppose that says something huh?" He fills the room with his chatters, I honestly just want to get back to my equation.
"Mhm." I attempt to end the conversation early by taking on a non-conversational tone.
"My name's Markus by the way, I take politics." He gives me a bright smile, but that isn't what catches my attention, my ears figuratively perk up as I hear him describe himself.
"Wait, Markus who does politics? Were you the organizer of that student protest?" I spout with surprise.
The working-class student had hosted a pupil protest that successfully further eliminated class discrimination from the campus weeks prior, an incredible action, and a cause that I shared sympathy with as I have faced the same issues that sparked the protest in the first place.
"I sure did, finally handed it to those above. I heard you had many of the same traits as me, that you lifted yourself out of poverty, and of course with you being a genius, I decided to approach you about something." His words were filled with honesty.
I blinked, rather less inclined to call him annoying, but instead more akin to intelligent, it took brains to organise a successful protest covering an issue that doesn't affect 88% of the University.
"My name's Gale, if you didn't already know." I remarked,
"Yeah, I know, what interests me most is that you're like me, obviously intellectually superior but still a good thinker from humble roots, brilliant enough to get to the very best university." He jabbers on as I walk back towards my whiteboard to finish the equation.
"Just tell me what you want." I state as my chalk once again runs across the now screeching black of the board.
"I've heard of your scientific achievements, if you could truly change the world with an invention, how would you do it?" This question sparks a motivation I had not felt since I started my studies. I thought I was locked into a life of academics, never amounting to anything, but this ask felt freeing to me, ridiculously so, almost as if he'd help me with it.
"Why do you ask?" I'd query as I place the chalk down.
"Because I want to help you do it. I envision us as both men of change, you're the only one brilliant enough to support my beliefs." He gloats, but his words hold absolute truth to him, I am shocked.
I burst into a fit of laughter, he narrows his eyes but I feel as though he expected the reaction.
"Uh huh, sure, I suppose I can tell you how I'd do it, but there's no way in hell it's happening in this world." I'd speak through bursts of giggling.
"Maybe in the next world then, or we could just bring it about now. You never know until you try." He'd still choose to spout these ridiculous beliefs, though somehow the grandness of his ideals made me want to entertain them.
"Right... of course." Skeptical words slipped out of my mouth as I'd place my hand on my nose, delving into thought about how I'd achieve such a thing.
My consciousness was suddenly thrown into awareness. Eyelids flying open as I lean up from a stiff bed. I twist my neck around, scanning the room with tired vision. The room is small to say the least, brown brick covers the floor, and pale yellow hay fills the underside of the door way, I feel flakes of it in my hair, it must be on the bed too. What an odd room.
So it wasn't a dream, that possibility is checked off. I truly have shifted into a world of magic and monsters instead of time travelling, so much for being timeless.
Though I may as well have time travelled as I observe the further oddities of the medieval room. My line of sight then aligns with a certain sleeping man, positioned clumsily on a chair in the corner, I assume it's my watchman, he's not exactly doing a great job. I recognize him as the swordsman who saved my life, meaning I'd ought to give my thanks when he wakes up.
As the sound of snoring quakes the room, I suddenly remember my arm, looking towards it to find everything back to it's normal skin colour, most of my systems must have recovered then.
I blink a few times, checking the diagnostics of my anatomy. All of my weapon systems are still down, including my energy field, but my brain, hearing, regeneration and retinal processes are all up to speed, I sigh in relief, it shouldn't be too suspicious that my red arm disappeared, as it must of happened when I was unconscious and in the meagre light of those dark corridors.
As luck would have it, my entire body easily passes for a regular unaugmented man, the pseudo-skin has no apparent marks in it, and the glow of my eye can be easily adjusted. I didn't want to invent for my own use the same overbearing cybernetics that Markus wanted from me.
The main cause for concern was my clothes, I look at a pair of folded clothes on an empty chair next to me, they were my own, a pair of bloodied cloth trousers and a grey shirt, obviously being too advanced for the time it might stand out, but I could probably excuse it as a foreign purchase in front of them. They must have dressed me in this grey tunic I am currently in, tad embarrassing that they did so, as it'd mean they stripped me naked.
My next focus was the language, it seemed my brain was able to catch up with itself whilst I was sleeping, and I recorded all of the voices around me as I was in an unconscious dream, using said recordings to subconsciously scan and translate much more of the language, there were many words said, which is good for me because I am now practically fluent in their expansive vocabulary.
Though until I gain access to their literature, don't ask me to write an entire essay in their tongue. I'd take the chance whilst the man was sleeping to sift through the recordings to get a better reading on if I was in deep shit or not.
"What a strange man, and he says he's of our allegiance? It looked like he could barely understand us, and take a gander at his clothes!" The brown haired woman spoke inside of my head with uncertainty.
"Whatever his origin, I think we should allow him to speak for himself, after all, we need more people like him, he must be strong to handle those goblins in such darkness, plus there's still the ritual to do." The blonde swordsman speaks with confidence, I'm glad he's taking a defensive stance surrounding me, though the idea of a ritual being mentioned sounds slightly ominous...
"Where's Lady Tzofia anyway?" I assume the brown haired woman is referring to the strangely powerful girl who ignited her blood.
"She thought it too lowly to stand in the stables, and instead ordered us to watch over him, I mean, as we're retainers for the Lord, and she's the daughter of him, she reserves the right, so I wouldn't complain about it if I were you, unless you're looking to get your shitty brown pigtails cut off." He cracked a joke that was not taken well by her.
"Shut up loser, I think my pig-tails are wonderful, also, it's you she ordered to guard him, so I'll be taking my leave now." Her ironic tone was not lost even through recording. And I heard an audible groan emit from him before it cut off.
I'm now back in the present moment, staring down the sleeping blonde swordsman. I exhale, seeing if I was ready to speak my first word in the language or not, even though my fluency was practically complete, deep down I still worried I would mess it up.
No matter, I swallowed down some spit, and spoke for the first time in this world.
"Hello?" I say in a raised tone, not loud enough for a shout, but with enough volume that his eyes seem to open like how an old creaking door would. When he caught sight of me laying up and speaking to him his pupils suddenly widened exponentially.
"Shit, you're awake!" He doesn't even focus on me as he runs out, almost tripping on the hay in the doorway as he sprints into the courtyard.
A couple seconds later the brown haired girl enters with him, along with two guards with swords at their hips, they surrounded me by the bedside, though they seemed relatively neutral as the guards still had their weapons at their sides.
"How are you feeling?" The brown-haired girl speaks up first, looking at me intently, I feel slightly uncomfortable with the intense staring of them all, but respond nonetheless.
"Yes, I'm in much better shape, sorry for collapsing back there." I'd tell them with as much friendliness as I could present.
"Where'd you get the strength to kill those goblins is my question." The swordsman questioned me.
"I'm just quite proficient in weapon handling is all." I shrug, trying to appear as neutral as possible.
"So you aren't a magecraft user?" The brown-haired girl keeps a keen line of questioning directed towards me
"I know some fundamentals." An incredibly vague answer escapes my lips, I have to move carefully in the exchange of words to not appear too suspicious, hard to do for someone with no idea of this world's customs and functions.
"Mhm, well we've got to lots to confirm, the ritual and meeting with our lord will ensure you're not working for them." The brown haired girl said, her suspicion palpable on each feature of her face. I infer that 'them' means the enemy.
"I'm Abern, a retainer for our lord the Duke." The blonde-haired swordsman, Abern, finally tells me his name. I blink, committing it to memory.
"My name is Bealla, also a retainer." The cloaked woman confesses her name as well, gesturing to me to spill my own.
"Gale, I'm a bit of a traveller myself and have just recently come here, but I assure you that I am loyal to the Duke." I try to pick back up rapport with my supposed interviewers on my bedside with this admittance.
"We'll see for ourselves, if you're good to walk, we'll escort you to the whitehall, he has a keen eye for good, loyal people and retainers, I advise you to become one with your strength if he deems you fit." Abern speaks confidently, I must admit I'm surprised of his trust in a stranger's ability, but it must simply be a sign of respect from the strong to another warrior, as I've claimed to be.
Though a question scratches at the back of my mind as I hobble out of my uncomfortable bed.
What will the Duke be like?