Surviving the Magic Academy With Just Intelligence Stats

Marcus remained rooted to the spot as Hualing's crimson figure diminished against the horizon. A troubled frown creased his features as he processed what had just occurred. Something fundamental about her had changed—not just the unexpected blood wings, but her entire demeanor. The cold calculation in her eyes, the measured speech patterns, even her posture had been distinctly different from the Hualing he knew. The transformation reminded him eerily of the version he'd encountered in his future timeline.

From the side of the devastated chamber, Meihua observed the exchange with interest. That must have been Minghua, she realized, recalling fragments from the original story about Hualing's alternate personality. She understood the basics of blood manipulation well enough—it was a cornerstone of the Blood talent—but the sophistication of those wings represented an application that should have required years of experience to master. How had Hualing developed such control so early? The timeline was accelerating, diverging further from the narrative she knew, and she strongly suspected Ambrose was the catalyst for these accelerated changes.

Adelaide helped Marcus to his feet, brushing debris from his clothing gently. Meihua watched them both carefully, already anticipating what would come next. Marcus was, after all, the quintessential hero archetype—his entire character built around an unshakable moral compass that would never permit abandoning someone in need, especially not someone who had shown him kindness. Even knowing that he lacked the power to challenge opponents of such caliber wouldn't deter him—it wasn't in his nature to calculate odds when justice was at stake.

As if confirming her prediction, Marcus straightened to his full height, a grim determination settling over his features. "Guys, the young master was taken away," he stated, emotion thickening his voice. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles whitening with resolve.

"The young master has always looked out for us," he continued, the memory of Ambrose's countless acts of assistance fueling his determination. "I can't let him be taken by those guys." His voice hardened with conviction, eyes sweeping between his companions. "I will definitely go to save him." The simple declaration carried the weight of an oath.

He looked up, meeting their gazes directly. "Will you guys join me?"

Meihua couldn't suppress the small, knowing smile that touched her lips. Marcus was proving as predictable as the sunrise—but she didn't mind this, after all, she could get some benefits by joining Marcus and even more by accomplishing the mission. Though it was hard, she didn't doubt that Marcus could do it. "I'll join you," she responded without hesitation.

Adelaide, standing beside them, seemed momentarily surprised by their righteous determination. Being from a merchant family, she naturally evaluated situations through the lens of profit and loss, risk and reward. But she had also developed a genuine connection to their group, and more practically, her future prospects were inextricably linked to Ambrose's welfare.

"I'll join you too," she declared, her merchant's practicality aligning perfectly with their moral imperative. "The young master is my backing—I have to help him" She thought.

With those simple declarations, amid the ruins of the princess's chambers, their rescue team was formed. They had no detailed plan, little understanding of their enemy's capabilities, and even less certainty of success…

…

"Do you know about the weak body physique?" Ambrose asked, seeing an opportunity to extract valuable information from the goddess while he had her attention. Since he was already in the presence of such a powerful being, why not leverage this encounter to his advantage?

Aurora tilted her head slightly, "Weak body?" she repeated, chains shifting softly as she adjusted her position. "I haven't heard of such a physique. Is there really such a thing?"

Ambrose couldn't hide his surprise at her response. How could a goddess be unfamiliar with something like this?

"Have you heard of any physiques that make someone weaker?" he asked, broadening his question. Perhaps the terminology varied across eras or realms; the concept might exist under a different name.

"Makes someone weaker..." Aurora's eyes drifted upward as she seemed to be in deep thought. After a moment of contemplation, her expression brightened with recognition. "Now that I think about it, the Chosen Hero did indeed have a constitution that made him weaker. Are you asking about that?"

Ambrose was surprised by this revelation. His ancestor—the First Hero Rothschild, also had the same physique as him? But how was that even possible? How could the first hero have been a weak person?

"How weak are we talking?" he pressed.

"Quite weak actually," Aurora confirmed. "Below the level of an average F-rank hero."

"But wasn't he the first hero?" Ambrose challenged, "How could he have been so weak?"

The goddess's lips curved into a knowing smile. "It's quite simple, actually," she stated, causing Ambrose to raise his eyebrows in anticipation.

"He just thought faster than everyone else," she revealed.

The words resonated through Ambrose's mind. Thought faster. It was the exact same thing the War Goddess Celestia had told him, it even appeared in the system's tip section. He didn't think that it was a coincidence that he and the First Hero had the same condition.

As he maintained his conversation with Aurora, Ambrose's enhanced mind raced along parallel tracks of thought. His Thought Acceleration skill propelled his cognitive processes to extraordinary speeds, while Parallel Processing allowed him to maintain multiple complex analyses simultaneously without sacrificing depth or clarity.

What connection did he truly share with the first hero? Earlier in this white expanse, he'd met both the first hero and the spirit who'd gifted him the system. When questioned about the system's origin, the spirit had confirmed it was related to the first hero.

Did this mean the system had originally belonged to his ancestor? Had the first Rothschild achieved heroic status because of the system's advantages? Or had he perhaps created the system himself after attaining heroism through his superior thinking speed?

…

Marcus, Adelaide, and Meihua slipped away from the capital while the streets were still in chaos. The royal guards were preoccupied with containing the situation, giving them the perfect opportunity to escape unnoticed. Marcus understood the situation all too well—the royal family would never allow news of the kidnapping to spread. If they remained, they'd likely be detained as witnesses, kept under guard until the situation was resolved through official channels.

"We need to move quickly," Marcus whispered as they navigated through back alleys, keeping to the shadows. "The longer we stay, the higher the chance we'll be caught and prevented from pursuing the young master."

Once they'd put sufficient distance between themselves and the capital, they found shelter in a small roadside inn. Gathered around a worn wooden table in the corner of the common room, they began to plan their rescue mission.

"So, how are we going to rescue the young master? You're not thinking of just charging in right?" Meihua asked, raising an eyebrow. Both women fixed their gaze on Marcus, waiting for his response.

"Well..." His voice trailed off, uncertainty flickering across his face.

Meihua studied his hesitation, then offered her own analysis. "Actually, we still have a lot of time," she said, leaning forward. "Those people from the Empire probably won't try making any big movements. If they did, the Rothschild patriarch would notice it immediately."

She tapped her fingers thoughtfully against the table's surface. "They have to stay low. They will likely move by carriage, taking indirect routes to avoid detection."

Marcus nodded slowly, considering her words.

"They don't have much fear of being caught as long as they don't slip up," she continued. "After all, the royal family won't let this information leak. It would damage their reputation too severely."

Adelaide and Marcus listened intently.

"Going from capital Lumina to the Xia Empire takes approximately one month," Meihua concluded. "How much do you think we can achieve in a month?"

Privately, she knew these details from the original story timeline, when the princess had been kidnapped without Ambrose. The plot had diverged a bit but she didn't believe this part would change much. She'd shared this information hoping to ease Marcus's obvious anxiety—to help him understand they weren't racing against an immediate deadline.

When Marcus heard her analysis, relief visibly washed over him. A month—that was workable. With that much time, they could prepare properly instead of rushing in half-cocked. The possibilities began to multiply in his mind, a plan taking shape.

"Here's what we're going to do..." he began.

…

In the throne room of the royal palace, King Alexander sat on his throne.

The king's face had grown ashen since receiving the devastating report—both his daughter, Princess Athena, and the Rothschild heir had been abducted during the attack on the capital. Beads of sweat gathered at his temples despite the room's pleasant temperature.

He noted that the great noble families had been growing increasingly bold in recent years, testing the boundaries of royal authority with subtle provocations. If word spread that the royal family couldn't protect a visiting noble—and not just any noble, but the heir to House Rothschild—those emboldened houses might see opportunity in the perceived weakness.

Even more concerning was the deteriorating relationship with the Rothschilds themselves. Friedrich had been growing noticeably distant in recent diplomatic exchanges. The northern dukedom's immense wealth and military strength made them arguably more powerful than the crown itself. If they learned their heir had been abducted under royal protection...

The king's knuckles whitened as his grip on the armrests tightened. The consequences would be catastrophic.

Without warning, the shadow cast by the throne itself seemed to stir, rippling like disturbed water. A figure materialized from this impossible darkness—a tall, slender form draped entirely in black, their features obscured by shadow despite standing in the well-lit chamber. The darkness seemed to cling to them.

The figure glided silently to the king's side, bending to whisper directly into his ear. Though no one else in the throne room could hear the words, the effect on the king was immediate. His already pale complexion blanched further, and a visible tremor ran through his frame.

After delivering their message, the shadow-cloaked figure straightened. The king offered a curt, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment. Without further ceremony, the mysterious messenger sank into the darkness beneath the throne, their form dissipating as though they had never existed.

The king swallowed hard, then turned to address the servant standing dutifully at his left hand.

"Make sure nothing about this gets out," he commanded, his voice strained but resolute.

The servant bowed deeply, understanding the gravity of the situation without requiring further explanation. He turned to carry out his orders, already moving toward the throne room's massive doors.

"Wait!" the king called suddenly.

The servant froze mid-step, pivoting back toward his monarch.

"The Rothschild heir came with four companions, right?" the king asked, a new calculation forming behind his troubled eyes.

The servant nodded in confirmation.

"Detain them," the king ordered, his tone brooking no argument. Then, after a moment's consideration, he added, "But don't treat them badly."

The servant bowed once more before departing.