The Laziest God Mortal Reincarnation

( Elizabeth Aurelius’s POV )

I learned very young that honesty was a luxury afforded to people without crowns.

At seven, I learned that servants smiled even when they disliked you.

At nine, I learned that nobles praised whichever royal child happened to be standing closest.

At eleven, I learned that friendship between noble houses generally meant both families wanted something.

By fifteen, I had become exceptionally good at wanting something first.

"Again."

The four spheres surrounding me moved.

Water rotated above my left shoulder.

Fire burned above my right.

A compressed sphere of earth hovered behind me.

Air remained invisible, revealed only by the loose strands of golden hair lifting around my face.

My instructor watched from beyond the reinforced barrier.

"Your Highness, maintaining all four attributes simultaneously isn’t the purpose of this exercise."

"I know."

"The exercise requires transitioning between them."

"I know."

"Then why are you..."

I closed my fingers.

Water struck earth.

The earth shattered.

Wind caught the fragments before they could fall.

Fire swept through them.

For half a second, dozens of burning stones circled the chamber like miniature meteors.

Then I opened my hand.

Everything stopped.

The flames disappeared.

The stones dropped harmlessly around my feet.

A perfect circle.

My instructor stared.

I smiled.

"I wanted to know if I could."

His mouth opened.

Then closed.

Good.

People often revealed more when they didn’t know what to say.

Finally, he lowered his clipboard.

"You could."

"Excellent."

"That does not mean you should."

"That sounds considerably less important."

A familiar voice then came from the doorway.

"You’re terrifying the instructors again."

I didn’t turn.

"I’ve never terrified anyone."

James Vellaroux entered the chamber.

My instructor looked toward James.

James looked toward my instructor.

Neither said anything.

I almost smiled.

The instructor bowed.

"I believe we’ve finished for today, Your Highness."

"Excellent work."

He departed somewhat faster than royal etiquette required.

Only after the doors closed did I look at James.

"You scared him away."

He folded his arms.

"Me?"

"Obviously."

"He looked frightened before I entered."

"Baseless accusation."

James looked at the ring of scorched stone surrounding me.

"Of course."

I stepped outside the training circle.

A maid immediately approached with a towel.

Another offered water.

I accepted both.

"You arrived early."

"You told me four."

"It is three fifty-three."

"Seven minutes."

"Early."

James gave me a look I knew extremely well.

It was the expression he wore whenever deciding whether arguing with me was worth the effort.

He had become considerably better at recognizing hopeless situations over the years.

Unfortunately for him, recognition rarely saved him.

"Your luggage is ready?" he asked.

"Since yesterday."

"Mine too."

"I know."

He frowned.

"How?"

I took a drink.

"Your mother told mine."

"When?"

"Breakfast."

"My mother had breakfast with the Queen?"

"No. She sent a letter."

"About my luggage?"

"Among other things."

James sighed.

I hid my amusement behind the glass.

People imagined royal information networks involved spies hiding behind curtains and servants secretly exchanging coded messages.

Occasionally they did.

Most of the time, people simply talked.

Parents bragged.

Servants complained.

Merchants negotiated.

Nobles wrote letters.

People willingly offered extraordinary amounts of information when they didn’t believe the details mattered.

The trick was knowing what mattered before they did.

We left the training chamber together.

Tomorrow morning, we would leave for Zenith Academy.

Fifteen years of preparation had led to this.

Tutors.

Etiquette.

History.

Diplomacy.

Elemental manipulation.

Military strategy.

Economics.

Law.

Languages.

Everything someone had decided a future ruler might conceivably require.

And several things I suspected had been included simply because my tutors enjoyed suffering.

Zenith would be different.

For the first time in my life, I would enter an institution where my father was not the highest authority.

That alone made it interesting.

Then Headmaster Vale had announced his new system.

Five permanent classes.

Five SSS students.

Five class leaders.

No individual ranking.

I had read the document twice.

Then a third time.

Not because I hadn’t understood it.

I wanted to understand the man who designed it.

"No individual ranking," I said.

James glanced at me.

"Still thinking about that?"

"Of course."

"Everyone is."

"Most people are complaining."

"You aren’t?"

"No."

That surprised him.

A slight movement of his eyebrows.

Small.

Useful.

"You like it."

"I think it’s clever."

James raised an eyebrow.

I continued walking.

"If they ranked us individually, what would happen?"

"We would compete."

"Obviously."

"One of us would become first."

"Eventually."

"And?"

I looked at him.

"And every noble family in the kingdom would spend the next several years obsessing over which SSS student ranked above the others."

"They’ll still do that."

"Of course."

Nobles could turn seating arrangements at dinner into political disputes if given enough wine.

"But now they’ll have to argue about classes instead."

James considered that.

"That’s better?"

"For Headmaster Vale?"

I smiled.

"Much."

Individual rankings created stars.

Class rankings created responsibility.

A powerful student could no longer simply become stronger than everyone else and call that success.

Their classmates mattered.

Their weaknesses mattered.

Their failures mattered.

The system forced every leader to turn individual strength into collective results.

I respected the design.

That did not mean I intended to enjoy being subjected to it.

We reached the private royal garden.

No attendants followed us inside.

I had arranged that.

There were conversations best held without witnesses.

James noticed the empty pavilion immediately.

He usually did.

There were people who noticed what had been placed in front of them.

James also noticed what was missing.

That was one of the reasons I liked speaking with him.

He sat opposite me beneath the pavilion.

Tea was already prepared.

His eyes moved toward the cups.

Then toward me.

"You planned this."

"I plan most things."

"I’ve noticed."

I poured his tea first.

A small gesture.

Meaningless, technically.

Most gestures were.

That didn’t prevent people from assigning meaning to them.

James accepted the cup.

We had been engaged for five years.

Most people assumed that meant I knew everything about him.

They were wrong.

People changed too often for that.

I simply knew enough.

I knew James hated losing.

I knew praise from his father mattered far more than he admitted.

I knew being the second son of Duke Vellaroux bothered him less than people treating his engagement to me as though his entire future had already been decided.

I knew he trained when angry.

He became quiet when hurt.

And when genuinely worried, his left thumb rubbed once along the side of his index finger.

He was doing it now.

"What’s wrong?"

His hand stopped.

"Nothing."

A poor lie.

I could have pressed.

A direct question.

A sharper tone.

Perhaps mention tomorrow.

Any of those would have produced an answer eventually.

But forcing information from someone and allowing them to surrender it voluntarily produced very different results.

So I drank my tea.

And waited.

Silence had a useful way of making people fill it.

James lasted eleven seconds.

"The five classes."

I lowered my cup.

"What about them?"

"We’re being separated."

There it was.

"Obviously."

His jaw tightened slightly.

Not anger.

Frustration.

Perhaps embarrassment that he cared enough to mention it.

"You’re not bothered."

"Should I be?"

"We’ve trained together for years."

"And?"

"We work well together."

"Very well."

"And now we’ll be competing."

I placed my cup down.

"James."

He looked at me.

"Did you expect us to remain beside each other for the rest of our lives?"

His expression changed.

Very slightly.

Too slightly for most people to notice.

I did.

I had struck harder than intended.

That happened occasionally.

Words were tools.

A skilled person learned how much pressure to apply.

A careless one blamed the tool when something broke.

I corrected immediately.

"We’re engaged, not conjoined."

"I know."

"You’ll lead your class."

"So will you."

"Exactly."

"And when our classes fight?"

I smiled.

"I intend to win."

He stared at me.

Then laughed.

Once.

"Of course you do."

"You should too."

"What if I beat you?"

"Then I’ll congratulate you."

Suspicion immediately appeared.

I almost felt offended.

"That’s it?"

"Naturally."

"Elizabeth."

"What?"

"I’ve known you for five years."

I smiled sweetly.

He sighed.

"There it is."

"What?"

"That face."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"The one that means you’re planning something."

I laughed softly.

James understood me better than most people.

That occasionally made him inconvenient.

I valued it anyway.

"If you defeat my class," I said, "I’ll simply ensure it doesn’t happen twice."

"That sounds more accurate."

His shoulders relaxed.

Good.

I preferred that expression.

People often mistook manipulation for making someone act against their interests.

Amateurish.

The easiest person to influence was someone who believed the choice remained theirs.

Usually because it did.

James had wanted reassurance that being separated didn’t mean losing what existed between us.

Telling him that directly would have embarrassed him.

Competition worked better.

For James, it usually did.

I reached toward the thin folder resting beside me.

Naturally, he noticed.

"What’s that?"

"The other three."

His expression sharpened.

Besides James and me, three other SSS students would enter Zenith tomorrow.

Three other class leaders.

Three people I would likely compete with for years.

Unknowns were dangerous only until they stopped being unknown.