Days after the failed demonstration in the Field of Wills, the Academy seemed to move on, but Loyaid could still feel the stares. His name was whispered in corridors like a ghost story—an heir to a mighty magical house with no power.
He had no classes assigned. No elemental alignment. He wandered the halls alone. The professors didn't know what to do with him. But despite the silence and rejection, he relished the peace. In the quiet corners of the library, he read ancient scrolls—not on spells, but philosophy, history, and magical theory.
That's where Celia found him again.
She dropped a book on the table in front of him.
"'Theory of Mana Inversion,'" he read aloud.
"Your situation reminds me of that," she said, sliding into the seat across from him.
"I'm not a subject."
"Didn't say you were," Celia replied casually. "But it's interesting. What if your mana is there, just… inverted? Hidden. Sealed. Or transformed?"
Loyaid blinked. "That's theoretical. Not proven."
"So is the concept of soul reincarnation," she shot back with a smirk.
He chuckled despite himself. "Touché."
She leaned forward, her eyes serious now. "What are you hiding, Loyaid?"
He met her gaze. "You wouldn't believe me."
Before she could press further, the bell rang—chiming with mana resonance across the entire academy. A deep tone, unlike the standard schedule chimes.
All students were called to the Grand Assembly Hall.
There, Headmaster Elthar stood with the other seven tower heads. His voice boomed magically across the chamber.
"We have received word that a fragment of the Demon King's army has breached the outer northern front of the Empire. The royal guard has responded swiftly. This attack, though repelled, was… unusual."
He paused.
"One of the commanders was sighted."
Gasps echoed. Murmurs exploded.
Celia looked at Loyaid. His expression was cold. Focused.
Elthar raised his hands. "To better prepare you, we will hold a Practical Combat Exam—two months early. Every student must participate. Those who fail will not be allowed to continue in the practical program."
Loyaid turned to leave.
Celia caught up to him outside the hall.
"This is it, isn't it? You're going to fight."
He shook his head. "I can't."
"You mean you won't."
He didn't respond.
Over the following days, training grounds were filled with intense sparring. Loyaid watched from the bleachers, expression unreadable. Celia trained furiously, sometimes alone, sometimes with other elite mages. Loyaid noticed her power was growing rapidly.
The academy had grown louder, buzzier. Rumors swirled around the students like wildfire. Loyaid's name was often whispered with mockery, suspicion, and lately—a hint of fear. Some students started giving him a wide berth.
One night, in the library tower's highest room, he stood before a mirror. He unsealed the pendant.
It began to glow faintly.
He closed his eyes.
"Why?" he asked the silence. "Why did I come back?"
The voice returned. "Because the war isn't over."
His reflection shimmered. For a moment, he didn't see Loyaid. He saw Max Van—the Archmage, cloaked in silver and flame.
"You chose this path. But you don't have to follow the same steps."
Loyaid opened his eyes. The vision faded. The pendant's light went out.
The next morning, he requested something shocking from the administration.
"Place me in the Practical Exam."
Professor Halandir, a strict Arcane studies mage, looked baffled. "But you have no registered affinity. You failed to cast even a basic spell."
Loyaid nodded. "Which makes it all the more interesting, doesn't it?"
After much deliberation—and likely the headmaster's secret approval—Loyaid was added to the roster.
Students began speculating about the nature of his power. A few even feared he might be a late-blooming prodigy. Others chalked it up to madness. Celia, meanwhile, observed silently, her curiosity growing.
The day of the combat exam arrived.
Each student would enter the Dueling Dome and face either an artificial enemy or a magical beast scaled to their level. Some would even face each other.
Loyaid stood at the edge of the staging ground. Across from him was an elemental chimera—a beast composed of fire, ice, and lightning. It was far above what most first-years faced.
Celia, in the stands, leaned forward.
"What are they thinking?" a professor muttered. "That thing could kill him."
Loyaid stepped into the ring. The dome sealed. The beast growled, flames curling from its maw.
He took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry, Max," he whispered to himself. "But I'm not ready to disappear yet."
The chimera charged.
He didn't move.
In the instant before impact, he raised his hand.
A pulse of light exploded from his palm—golden, pure, radiant.
The chimera was frozen mid-attack, caught in a sphere of condensed magic.
Gasps rang across the Dome.
Loyaid's body shook. The seal was breaking—cracking under the pressure. He dropped to one knee, clutching his chest, but he forced his will outward.
The light expanded, purging the chaotic mana of the chimera. The beast collapsed, unconscious—not dead.
Silence.
Then roaring applause.
Headmaster Elthar stood and smiled faintly.
Celia whispered, "You lied to me, Loyaid Floyen."
He staggered to his feet, eyes glowing faintly. He turned and walked out of the dome.
In the shadows, another presence watched through a scrying orb.
"He's awakened," said the twelfth commander.
The Demon King's voice echoed. "Good. Now the real trial begins."
Later that night, in his dorm, Loyaid collapsed onto his bed. His chest still burned. The mana seal had only partially broken—he could feel a torrent behind a dam. One wrong move, and he could lose control.
A knock came at his door.
It was Celia.
"I need answers," she said simply.
Loyaid sighed. "Not tonight."
"I saw it. That wasn't ordinary magic. That was… ancient."
He looked up at her. "You're right. But I can't tell you. Not yet."
She stared at him, her jaw tense, then softened. "Then let me help. When you're ready."
He nodded slowly.
Alone again, Loyaid looked at the pendant.
He remembered Sukasa, his village, the blood, the fire.
"I won't let your sacrifice be in vain."
Outside the academy walls, the twelfth commander stood atop a cliff, watching the moon rise.
"Begin preparations," he commanded the demonic cultists gathered below. "The boy is awakening. We strike the heart of the academy within the month."
And far, far beneath the earth, sealed in shadow and ancient spellcraft, the Demon King stirred.
"Come, Max Van," he whispered through dimensions. "Let us finish what we started."