Chapter 98
The Royal Academy was established to cater to the increasing number of young adults that came from many different statuses and backgrounds; the school started out with a dozen educators with a hundred students, but now because the kingdom grew in status and size with millions of people residing inside an enclosed walled city, the academy grew to accommodate nearly one thousand seventy-five students and two hundred staff and school personnel. The academy was established to cater to all the education they could teach, from magic to combat and other different skills related to their current society and culture. The Royal Academy became known for producing highly skilled individuals in the past who went on to serve the kingdom in various capacities, contributing to its growth and prosperity.
The Royal Academy at Solnara Cererindur even gained fame in the regional school tournament, as in the past they won 4 times in consecutive rows, but soon these victories were overshadowed by a scandal involving cheating allegations. Many participants lost their trust in the integrity of the academy's teachings, and the reputation of its graduates was tarnished.
And after a few more years of many noble and aristocratic upbringings of the seceding generation, the culture drastically changed in the school, as most students who were wealthy and came from influential families became entitled and lacked any honor and moral code to uphold what the academy stood for. Now the Academy is filled with arrogance, and the shine and allure of gold ruined the old ways of learning and personal growth. The once prestigious institution now struggles to regain its former reputation and values amidst the culture shift towards materialism and entitlement.
The small city-sized territory was where dozens of large structures stood, including the Royal Academy. Like the other district, it's a place where the wealthy and nobles should have no influence inside its sacred halls, but unfortunately, the influx of wealth and power has corrupted the integrity of the institution. The struggle to maintain its original values and principles becomes increasingly difficult as external influences continue to seep into the once sacred halls of the Royal Academy.
Duchess Elleena Rothchester is one of the members of the council running the academy; the seven council members came from different families that gained the position due to their contribution to the kingdom's history and economy. Despite their noble intentions, a few council members find themselves constantly battling against the pressures of outside forces seeking to undermine the Academy's traditions and values and personally monopolize the students based on their personal reasons and gains. As tensions rise within the institution, it could be seen openly as segregation of the students is seen and certain families are favored over others, leading to a growing divide among the student population.
Daniel already knew this fact, and he is tired of the same scenario. In his mind, hiding and bowing his head to conform with what the rich and arrogant dictate wasn't an option for him. Survival of the fittest was never part of his belief system. He always sees himself as a hunter, and those he sees as prey are the ones that don't contribute to the well-being of others.
Being weak is not a sin. At least, not to Daniel. To him, weakness is a natural part of existence—an honest moment that everyone, at some point in their lives, must confront. But strength? Strength is a choice. And using that strength to trample others, to assert dominance for the sake of pride or cruelty—that is where Daniel draws the line.
He believes in standing up for what is right, even when the world sneers. Even when it means being alone. Even when the tide crashes against him with overwhelming force. Principles are not something you abandon when they become inconvenient. They are the anchors of one's soul.
Daniel wasn't born with this mindset. He was molded carefully by the hands of his parents, carved from trial, reason, and relentless discipline.
He recalls his childhood vividly: the quiet strength of his father and the sharp intelligence of his mother. His mother never raised her voice out of emotion. When he erred, she didn't lash out she corrected him, calmly explaining why his actions were wrong. No vague lectures, no blind punishment. Just clarity. Just reason. For a boy whose mind didn't process emotions like others did, this approach saved him. His brain didn't respond well to emotional pressure or vague morality. It responded to logic, to consistency, to patterns of truth. His parents knew this—and they adjusted.
They trained him not with punishment, but with understanding. Not with fear, but with structured consequences. Where other children were taught through feelings, Daniel was raised through reasoning. Every lesson was deliberate. Every rule had a cause. Every scar, physical or emotional, was a stepping stone in the creation of his identity.
His father once told him, "The world is not kind. It will not hold your hand. It will not slow down for you. You can cry, yes, but never forget—while you're crying, someone else is moving forward."
Life, his parents taught him, is harsh. Cruel. Cold. In many ways, they instilled the belief that showing vulnerability was dangerous not because it was shameful, but because the world would take advantage of it. And yet, they also taught him that power is never an excuse to harm the powerless. That real strength is having the ability to hurt—but choosing not to.
Daniel internalized this duality. The world was merciless, yes, but he didn't have to be.
Over time, he became a paradox, hardened by logic yet softened by purpose. He became someone who could analyze a battlefield, calculate the odds, and still choose to stand on the losing side if that side was just. He could dismantle his opponent without hate and spare an enemy without hesitation.
Even now, as death stalks closer, as war and bloodshed tear the world apart, his resolve doesn't waver. He delineates the moral line that he will not cross. Because, as his father once said, in one of the few moments he allowed emotion to bleed into his
"Death is fair and inevitable. It comes for kings and beggars alike. But how you live… that's the difference. That's what echoes after you're gone."
And for Daniel, that echo will never be one of cruelty or fear. It will be the sound of a man who stood, even when the world told him to kneel.
It was a sunny morning when the new semester of the Royal Academy began. The kingdom's most elite institution, reserved for heirs, prodigies, and battle scholars, had welcomed a new wave of hopefuls.
Among them walked Daniel no fanfare, no procession, no title.
Clad in a simple uniform, his presence was easily overlooked… until one looked closer. His jet-black hair carried a faint silver shimmer under the sun. His eyes, though calm, seemed to carry the weight of another world. He moved with purpose—measured, quiet, and strangely detached from the clamor of the others.
Despite being the confirmed son of Duchess Elleena Rothchester and heir to one of the kingdom's most powerful noble bloodlines, he never used his name.
To the others, he was just another commoner in a sea of royalty.
In Class-B Silver Blade, Daniel took the corner seat, where the quiet ones sat. Where those with no status were left to survive on their own. Around him, his classmates oozed arrogance: sons of warlords, daughters of nobles, and scholars bathed in ego.
"He's just another peasant lucky to get in."
"He'll be out before the mid-year trials."
"The academy must be desperate, taking in people like that."
They laughed. Sneered. But Daniel said nothing.
His hands rested calmly on his desk. Unshaken. Unbothered. For beneath his skin, magic older than their kingdom pulsed like a sleeping storm.
The grand oak doors of the classroom slammed open.
A wave of silence fell like a curtain.
She stepped in.
Melgil Veara Gehinnom, a name wrapped in recent whispers and ancient fear. She bore a new noble crest, one that had been missing for centuries: the House of Gehinnom, once rulers of the forgotten western region before it was swallowed by a magical cataclysm. Her family's bloodline was believed lost… until now.
She was five foot eight. Pale skin, silk-white hair cascading down like starlight, and eyes that shimmered crimson like freshly spilled wine. Beautiful, yes—but something more. Dangerous. Calculating. and really strong.
A name few dared to speak aloud, at least not without a hushed voice or a nervous glance over the shoulder. To most, the name Gehinnom was a myth. A ghost from the distant past. Her family, once sovereign rulers of the West Region, had vanished centuries ago during what scholars now called the Withering Calamity, a chain of magical disasters, civil collapse, and spiritual plagues that swallowed entire cities in silence.
The old House of Gehinnom had stood at the heart of that lost realm, their banners once feared and respected by kings and warlords alike. Their mages were said to whisper to the stars. Their knights bled shadow instead of blood. Their capital, Obrelin, was a city carved into a massive twin mountain of black glass, eternally shrouded in twilight. And then, one day, they were all gone.
No survivors. No records. Just a haunted expanse of cursed ruins, unreachable by normal means. Even the bravest of adventurers dared not enter the Shaded Wastes, where time unraveled and mana twisted into monstrous echoes.
To claim descent from House Gehinnom was to claim blood tainted by legend—powerful, yes, but volatile, feared, and whispered of in the same breath as forbidden tomes and cursed artifacts. Nobles scoffed at the idea of their return. Clerics denounced the bloodline as impure. And yet… there she was.
Melgil Veara Gehinnom. Living. Breathing. Unapologetically present.
Her arrival at the Royal Academy was not just an academic enrollment; it was a political upheaval. Her noble crest was newly forged, yet based unmistakably on the ancient sigil: a black spider holding a cracked moon, ringed in infernal script long outlawed by the Church of the Eleven.
The Kingdom of Solnara Cererindu did not recognize the old house officially, but no one dared question her. Not with the arcane documents she presented. Not with the sealed approval from the Magisterial Circle of the Western Frontier, whose reappearance itself sent shockwaves through diplomatic circles.
Her existence raised questions no one could answer.
How had she survived?
Where had she been?
Who restored her bloodline, and why now?
More importantly, what did she want?
In this sudden reappearance in society related to the empire of graves in the closed land of Karion, her family's territory is located at the furthest part of the western continent, where a huge towering wall has separated them from the other region. New and other vital information about the west can only be gained from newspapers that get delivered from their location and travel around, either going toward the north or to the south, where a different situation has made the south mysterious and uncharted. place
Every step Melgil took down the marble halls of the academy echoed like a declaration:
The West is not dead. The cursed line still breathes.
She was not merely attractive; she was unearthly. Eyes that burned crimson with restrained fury, skin like moonlight, and hair that flowed like woven silver silk. She moved like a dream carved from noble steel, every movement precise, every glance deliberate.
Even the most arrogant nobles in the class fell into silence when she entered. Some stared in awe, others in fear. A few looked at her with greedy curiosity, seeing power to be tamed or courted.
But they all misunderstood her.
Melgil was not here to prove anything.
She was here to reclaim something.
And if her name alone wasn't enough to make the room tremble, her mana affinity silenced any remaining doubt. When her fingers touched the Harmonizing Crystal, it did not glow it devoured light. The orb responded not like a tool, but like a creature obeying an ancient master. Her mana was an abyssal a rare classification of power not tied to elemental schools but to the void between laws.
Her presence caused ambient spells to weaken. Enchantments flickered. The air grew heavier when she passed.
Some wondered if her family had made a pact with something ancient and dangerous.
Others suspected she was the pact.
But none of them dared confront her.
None, except for Daniel.
And when she sat beside him—the boy with no crest, no title, and eyes like sleeping storms,a new whisper began to form across the academy's hallowed halls:
Two monsters have returned to the world. One born of shadows past. The other… from a silence deeper than death.
Every arrogant brat who had mocked Daniel just seconds earlier now stood at attention, some tripping over their own words trying to greet her.
"My lady, what an honor!"
"Please, sit here! It's the best view of the courtyard!"
She ignored them.
Her eyes scanned the room like a predator until they stopped on Daniel.
There was a flicker of recognition. A spark of interest. She walked across the room in complete silence, her heels tapping rhythmically until she stopped beside him.
Without a word, she pulled the chair next to Daniel and sat down.
The others stared. Eyes wide. Some were even whispering, "Why would she sit there?"
Then came the moment no one expected.
Melgil rose from her seat, turned slowly to face the class, and said in a calm, chilling tone:
"You bark like pampered mutts, mocking a man whose power you cannot begin to comprehend. Not even I would cross him carelessly."
She then placed her hand gently on Daniel's shoulder.
"Remember this day, because when you discover who he truly is... you'll wish you had shut your mouths."
The room froze. You could hear a pin drop.
Even the most arrogant student, Larnic Vestem, heir to a viscount, swallowed his pride and said nothing.
Daniel, still calm, glanced at Melgil.
"That was unnecessary," he said quietly.
Melgil smirked, her red eyes glowing faintly.
"No… That was fun."
The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, like the air before a lightning strike.
The students, who had moments ago puffed out their chests with inherited pride, now looked like children caught stealing from the imperial pantry. Their gazes flicked between Melgil, whose smirk radiated icy amusement, and Daniel, who sat still as a stone, calm as a deep, undisturbed lake.
He hadn't moved. Hadn't flinched. He simply looked at her, and in that brief, silent exchange, a message passed between them. One that no one else in the room could decipher.
Larnic Vestem, once the loudest among the mockers, had turned ghostly pale. His jaw slackened, his eyes wide, not with embarrassment, but with a dawning, crushing horror. He wasn't just afraid. He was re-evaluating his very reality. A reality where power was supposed to come from crests, titles, and wealth not hidden behind the unremarkable face of a boy he had mocked.
Then, just as the tension stretched to its limit, the doors at the front of the classroom opened—not with a grand flourish, but with a soft, deliberate creak.
In stepped an elderly man, his steps measured, his posture slightly hunched with age, but no less imposing. A meticulously trimmed white beard framed his face, and tiny spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. This was Professor Alistair Finch, head of Magical Theory, a man rumored to have forgotten more about mana than most archmages had ever learned.
His sharp, discerning eyes swept the room. The momentary frown that crossed his face said he didn't miss the heavy silence or the thick cloud of fear and confusion still hanging in the air. His gaze paused as it reached the back corner, where the terrifying scion of House Gehinnom sat beside a boy who, at first glance, seemed to radiate nothing at all.
"Good morning, class," Professor Finch began, his raspy voice laced with quiet authority. "Welcome to your first lesson in Mana Affinity Assessment."
He strode to his desk and gestured to a crystal orb resting atop a silver pedestal. The orb pulsed faintly with a soft, inner glow, alive, reactive, and waiting.
"This is a simple but essential exercise," he continued. "We do not care for your family name, your bloodline, or the weight of your purse. We care only for what flows within you."
"Each of you will come forward, place your hand upon the Harmonizing Crystal, and channel a small amount of mana. The color and intensity of the glow will give us a preliminary reading of your affinity."
He clapped once. "Let's begin. Mr. Vestem, you seem eager."
Larnic flinched as if struck but forced himself to the front. He placed a trembling hand on the orb. A moment later, it flared with a bold crimson light, strong and respectable, but nothing extraordinary.
One by one, the students followed, each revealing their mana in bursts of blue, green, gold, and even a rare silver spark. Some glowed brightly, others dimly. The room filled with murmurs and hushed judgments.
Then came Melgil; she moved with the grace of a stalking predator. Every step was confident and deliberate. When she reached the orb, she laid her fingers upon it without hesitation.
The light didn't glow.
It darkened.
The room dimmed as if the orb drank in the light around it. A deep violet aura bloomed—webbed with cracks of seething red energy. A low hum filled the air, rattling the bones in every chest. Some students gasped; others instinctively backed away.
Professor Finch's eyes widened.
"Abyssal affinity… Highly volatile and extremely rare. Be seated, Lady Gehinnom."
Melgil turned from the orb, casting a cool, triumphant glance over her shoulder at Daniel as she returned to her seat.
Finally, Finch looked toward the last student.
"You, in the corner. Mr…?" He paused, checking his roster. "No listed name. Only a sealed confirmation from Duchess Rothchester herself. Come."
A murmur rippled through the class.
"Rothchester…?"
Daniel rose without a word. Every eye was locked on him now—no longer mocking, but tense. He walked to the front slowly, deliberately. Calm. Silent.
He reached out and placed his hand on the Harmonizing Crystal.
He meant to give just a flicker, barely enough to pass.
But what happened next wasn't a flicker. It wasn't even a flare.
It was nothing.
The crystal's light vanished.
Not flickered. Not dimmed.
It simply ceased to exist.
The gentle, pulsing glow that filled the room moments before was gone. The ambient magic recoiled, as if the very fabric of mana had drawn a breath in fear. Sound collapsed, not just muffled but extinguished, leaving behind a silence so profound it devoured thought.
The Harmonizing Crystal didn't just stop reacting.
It descended into absolute stillness, a void where magic, sound, and sense unraveled.
A hole torn through the laws of reality.
And then, it shattered.
A thunderclap of cracking glass tore through the silence as shards of light exploded outward, chaotic streams of energy slicing through the dark like celestial blades, shooting stars hurled by a vengeful sky.
For a single heartbeat, the room stood within the eye of a storm.
Frozen. Breathless.
As though the world itself paused to witness something it could not comprehend.
The glowing fragments rained down, scattering across the marble floor in a slow, almost reverent descent. But in their wake, they left only emptiness, an unnatural void that pressed against the skin and whispered to the soul. A foreboding hush hung in the air, cold and eternal, like the aftershock of a god's judgment.
No one moved.
The students, once arrogant and laughing, now sat motionless, eyes wide, faces pale.
Professor Alistair Finch's lips parted in disbelief. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the desk, the weight of decades of magical understanding unraveling before him.
He had seen miracles. He had seen horrors.
He had witnessed divine awakenings, demonic pacts, and ancient bloodlines awakening to celestial fire.
But this?
This was not power.
This was the denial of power.
Not a void born from weakness, but a presence that commanded the world to halt.
As if reality itself had heard a voice say:
"Stop."
Finch's gaze drifted from the lifeless fragments of the crystal to the boy standing before them.
Daniel.
He stood in perfect calm, his expression unreadable.
But in his eyes…
In his eyes was the depth of something ancient, like storms that had forgotten how to rage.
A tremor ran down Finch's spine.
"That…" he managed, his voice thin and dry, "…will suffice."
Daniel turned silently and walked back to his seat.
Behind him, the remains of the Harmonizing Crystal flickered faintly—like a broken dream struggling to remember itself.
The rest of the class remained in stunned silence.
Except for Melgil.
She watched him not with fear, but with something far more dangerous, a deep, burning fascination. Toward the man she will marry soon, her red eyes gleamed, not with uncertainty, but with certainty.
Whatever Daniel was, he did not belong to this room. To this academy.
To this age.
And Professor Finch? He swallowed hard.
His lips tried to form an explanation, to frame the event within some rational spellcraft. But no theory, no text, no legend fit.
Finally, he said the only thing his mind could grasp:
"Ah… it's broken. That's the most logical answer."
He turned to the class, voice quieter now, as though afraid of waking something still lingering in the air.
"The Harmonizing Crystal… is broken."
A single cough broke the heavy silence in the room.
Then came a voice. It was tight, shaky, and full of disbelief—like someone trying to argue with reality itself.
"No," Cassien Thorne said, pushing himself up from his chair. His legs were unsteady. His hands clenched the table as if it could hold him upright. "No… That's not possible."
Cassien wasn't just any student. He was the best in the Academy top of the class, a natural at magic. He could bend the elements to his will. His father was a member of the Academy Council, one of the most powerful mages in the world.
He had seen real battles. He had watched dragons scream. He had pulled lightning down from blue skies.
But this?
This was something else. Something is wrong.
"That crystal's been harmonizing magical frequencies since the Third Concordance," Cassien said loudly, his voice rising.
"It's older than most guilds!" Cassien Eladar shouted, voice cracking with disbelief. "Do you even understand what that means?"
He turned to face the others in the room, his hand trembling as he gestured toward the shattered remains of the crystal.
"That artifact, a Harmonizing Crystal, isn't just some relic on a pedestal. It's one of twelve oldest magically attuned objects still functioning in our world. It predates the establishment of the Grand Arcane Guilds by centuries.
Before there were schools, before there were councils, before magic was even classified into disciplines, that crystal was already here. Already working. Already listening to the weave of the world."
His gaze snapped toward Daniel, accusing and confused. "And it's not just decorative; it's not just some dusty heirloom. It's the only known artifact that can fully scan, identify, and determine every type of mana frequency—all of them. Not just elemental or divine or arcane, but even the obscure ones. Mana bound to bloodlines. Cursed mana. Wild mana. Forgotten threads lost to the old wars."
He stepped closer, pointing directly at Daniel now, his voice rising with each word. "You can't just stand near it and make it stop. You can't just walk into a room and kill something like that. It was designed by the First Harmonist Circle using resonance theory so advanced that even today, no one has replicated it—not even the Archfire engineers or the Dwarves with all their tech-magic hybrids.
It draws directly from the host core! It's synced with the very pulse of the world's mana source."
Cassien's face twisted as if trying to piece it together in real time, his thoughts spinning too fast to catch.
"Even if you flooded it with raw mana, , whatever it's built to adapt. To cleanse. To redirect. It should've protected itself. It should've survived."
His voice dropped slightly, filled now with confusion and fear. "But it didn't. It just… went dark. Like it recognized him. Like it shut itself down. Or worse—like it surrendered."
He turned again to Daniel, arm still outstretched, but now his finger slowly lowered.
"You can't just… do that," he said softly. "No one can."
But the silence that followed offered no answer.
"You can't just stand there and make it shatter into pieces!"
His words didn't help. They didn't fix anything. The crystal was still broken. Its faint glow was still fading, sparkling weakly like dying stars. Shards of it lay scattered across the floor.
Cassien stepped forward, hand reaching out toward the remains as if, somehow, the pieces might lift and come back together. His fingers hovered just above the shards, shaking.
"What did he do?" he said suddenly, turning his head. His voice cracked. "What the hell are you?"
But Daniel didn't speak. He didn't move. He didn't even blink.
That silence was worse than any answer.
Cassien's breathing grew faster. He looked around the room, desperate.
"It was a trick," he said, now speaking more to himself than to anyone else. "Some kind of trick. A feedback loop. Illusion magic. A timed mana pulse or—or something!"
He turned toward the teacher. "Professor Finch! You saw it, right? You felt it? You had to feel something!"
But Professor Finch didn't say a word. He stared into space, pale and still, like a man who had just witnessed something he couldn't explain.
Cassien looked around at the rest of the class. Their eyes were wide. Their mouths slightly open. No one spoke.
"You're all just going to sit there?" he shouted.
"He broke a crystal that channels universal resonance. Do you even know what that means?! That's like breaking gravity! And you're all just acting like this is just another normal Tuesday?!"
Still, no one said anything.
Because none of them could explain it. None of them understood.
Even the ones who wanted to believe him couldn't find the words.
Daniel just sat quietly. Calm. Hands folded. Staring forward like nothing had happened.
Melgil, at the back, smiled. That grin grew just a little wider.
Cassien lowered his hand slowly. His eyes never left the crystal's broken pieces. His voice fell to a whisper.
"No," he said again, as if saying it might change things. "I don't believe it. I won't."
But belief didn't matter.
The crystal was still shattered.