The old man's gaze lingered on the dark katana in Lorian's hands, the eerie purple aura flickering like a dying ember. His voice carried a tone of understanding yet curiosity.
"So, you've got yourself a sword." He stepped closer, his sharp eyes scanning Lorian's stance, his grip, his expression. "What do you plan to do with it?"
Lorian's grip on the katana tightened. His thoughts drifted back to the blazing ruins of his village, the lifeless bodies of his parents, and the boy with brown eyes laughing under the crest of the Rose Under the Sun.
"What is your goal?" the old man asked, his voice steady. "Do you seek revenge?"
Lorian exhaled slowly. "Revenge... You can say that. For now, my only goal is to destroy the family that destroyed my village."
The old man remained silent for a moment, then let out a dry chuckle. "A single noble house? You think so small."
Lorian furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"
"You believe toppling one family will change anything?" The old man shook his head. "You've seen it, haven't you? Nobility is a cycle. Kill one, and another takes their place. Destroy a house, and a new one rises. Do you want to cut a single branch or rip out the roots?"
Lorian hesitated. He had never thought of it like that. "Then… what should I do?"
The old man crossed his arms. "You must reach a rank where nobles—no, even kings—have no choice but to bow before you. Power is the only law they follow. And there's only one place that can lead you to that level."
"…Where?"
The old man smirked. "Syrus Academy."
Lorian frowned, displeased. "That place is filled with nobles. You expect me to train alongside the same people I despise?"
"Your hate is clouding your mind. Syrus isn't just an academy—it's a battlefield." The old man's eyes gleamed. "Only the strongest walk out of that place as legends. You want to take down nobility? Then rise above them. Become a force even they fear."
Lorian remained silent, gripping his katana.
"You have two choices." The old man continued. "Stay here, train alone, and waste your years—OR enter Syrus, sharpen your blade, and become a name that echoes through history."
A long pause filled the air. Then, with a deep breath, Lorian sheathed his katana.
"…Fine." His voice was firm. "I'll go."
As Lorian accepted his path, the old man took one last step closer, his expression turning solemn.
"At the end, just remember…" his voice carried the weight of experience, of countless battles fought and lessons learned. "Not all nobles are bad."
Lorian's eyes narrowed. "What?"
"Hatred blinds even the sharpest blade." The old man crossed his arms. "Some nobles are rotten, yes. But power itself does not corrupt—only those who are weak to it."
Lorian clenched his fists. "After everything I've seen, you're telling me there are good ones?"
The old man let out a dry chuckle. "You'll see for yourself." He turned away. "Just don't let your vengeance make you a fool. The world is not as simple as you think."
Lorian stayed silent, watching the old man walk off. His words echoed in his mind, but right now, he couldn't bring himself to accept them.
"Syrus Academy…"
The top academy of Lunavar, the place where nobles dream of sending their children, where the next generation of rulers, warriors, and mages are forged.
But me?
How? I'm just a commoner… someone with no name, no status. No prestigious bloodline, no fancy last name that makes people bow when they hear it.
Will they even accept me into the academy?
I mean, the academy's main focus is selecting students with talent. If I show off, I might just get a chance.
Yes, that's it! I'll just blow their minds. I'll dazzle them with my sword skills , and they'll have no choice but to let me in!
...Right?
Wait.
Nobles hate commoners.
If I walk in and start flexing, those rich brats will probably try to jump me behind the school building.
I can already see it:
"Oi, peasant, how dare you breathe the same air as us?"
Punch
Kick
Magic Explosion
...Yeah, no. I refuse to be some noble's punching bag.
But on the other hand… if I keep a low profile, they might think I'm weak. And if they think I'm weak, they'll mess with me even more.
Damn it! What's the right move here?!
Option 1: Show off, make enemies.
Option 2: Stay quiet, get bullied.
Option 3: ??? Profit?
No, no. I need a plan.
Maybe I should make an entrance so legendary that they won't even consider messing with me.
Like... what if I show up wearing a cloak, say something cryptic like, "The shadows whisper your fate," and then disappear in a puff of black smoke?
Wait, no. That sounds stupid.
...Actually, that sounds awesome.
Alright, Plan A: Intimidation.
Plan B: Swordplay.
Plan C: Run away if everything fails.
One month. I have one month to prepare.
Syrus Academy, get ready. Because I'm coming.
Alright. Deep breaths.
So, you want to enter Syrus Academy? The most prestigious academy in Lunavar? The place where nobles sip tea while learning how to swing a sword and throw fireballs?
Great. Fantastic. Welcome to hell.
The entrance exam isn't just hard—it's designed to break your soul, crush your dreams, and make you question every life decision you've ever made.
Want to take the exam? Hah. Cute. You think you can just show up and start swinging your sword? Nope.
Before you can even step foot into the examination hall, you have to get selected.
Every year, about 100,000 poor souls gather with hopes and dreams of becoming legendary warriors, mages, and scholars. Out of that massive crowd, only 1,000 people actually qualify to take the exam.
What happens to the other 99,000? Nobody knows. Some say they vanish. Others say they end up as janitors at the academy. A few try again next year, but they return with hollow eyes and a deep sense of regret.
If you're one of the lucky (read: cursed) 1,000 who get selected, congratulations! Your first challenge is a three-hour written exam designed by sadists.
Expect questions like:
"If a mage casts a Fireball at 45° with a wind speed of 20 m/s, how long until your eyebrows burn off?"
"List the 12 types of sword styles and explain why yours is garbage."
"Translate this ancient Elven text that even elves don't understand."
You thought fighting monsters was bad? Try fighting math.
Half the applicants will leave this test looking like they've aged ten years.
Ah yes, the famous Survival Test.
The academy drops you into a death forest filled with high-level mana beasts. No map. No supplies. No help. Just you, nature, and the constant feeling that something is watching you.
Your mission? Survive and kill.
This is where you realize some of these candidates aren't normal.
That one guy who brought a spear? Already hunting a wyvern.
That noble girl with shiny armor? Crying because her dress got dirty.
That quiet kid in the corner? He's already set up traps everywhere.
Meanwhile, you're just standing there, wondering why you signed up for this nightmare.
Oh, and don't forget—mana beasts aren't your only problem.
The other candidates can kill you too.
Yes, you heard that right. There are no rules against murder.
If someone decides you're weak, they'll take you out before the monsters can. After all, fewer competitors means better chances of getting in.
And remember—only 500 people make it past this round. The rest? Well… they don't talk about the rest.
The Final Test (a.k.a. "Insert Pain Here")
(Okay, I need to come up with something truly evil for this part.)
Would it be a 1v1 tournament? Maybe a battle royale? A mystery challenge where the academy throws something unexpected at us?
One thing's for sure—it won't be easy. Only 300 people will make it into the academy.
And if I want to stand among them, I need to bring everything I've got.
Syrus Academy isn't just an academy. It's a battlefield.
But I'm not here to quit. I've trained for five years for this moment.
If I have to burn my name into history, I'll do it.
If I have to fight every noble brat in the way, I'll do it.
If I have to survive hell itself, I'll do it.
Because I'm not here to lose.
I'm here to win