Jayden Smith had been found to possess the spark of magic potential ever since he was small.
After the Farlier family took control of the lands, children like him who are gifted, talented, or marked by potential were gathered from every corner to grow up within the walls of some place called Academy City, rumored to have been built right along the shores of Death Beach.
Born as the third son to the minor noble house of Smith, Jayden learned early to walk carefully, watch his words, and keep his head low around those with greater backing.
He grew aloof and introverted, never raising his head even as he was taken to Academy City.
Officially, the place was declared to be a place built to raise and train the future rulers and defenders of the whole Chernobyl Archipelago. But in truth, it was a no less than a crucible.
In this place, Jayden realized something striking. Within these walls, the old hierarchies, titles, and family weights meant nothing.
Every child received the same food, the same lodging, the same simple uniform. No one got special treatment by birthright.
Where they differed was in the Knight Breathing Techniques as each one was said to have been personally adjusted, refined, and tailored to fit the individual's physique and potential alone.
Beyond that, only raw talent, willpower, and relentless effort set them apart. Day after day they drilled, trained, pushed past exhaustion, and pushed still further.
All striving for a place on the children liked to call the 'Survivor List'. It was a cruel, unforgiving ranking that slowly sifted the crowd like refining ore, or like separating grain from chaff, or pure metal from useless impurities.
Those who fell behind, who could not keep up or lacked enough potential, were quietly removed and sent back home, their paths cut short. Only the strongest and most persistent remained to climb higher.
When Jayden finally broke through and reached Knight Rank, something extraordinary happened, fragments of another life surfaced in his mind, vivid and clear.
He remembered being a mighty Knight who rose to become King… only to be betrayed by those he trusted.
He remembered spending his long, lonely remaining years imprisoned within the very tower he himself had built to hold criminals.
'Far too much tragedy and bitterness,' Jayden thought with a sigh. 'In this life… I will live it more freely. More happily perhaps...'
'After I finish all this grueling training first.' he added quickly in his mind while he sipped on the nourishing growth‑accelerating potion in his hand, grimacing slightly at the bitter taste.
He understood that if you want peace, you must have the right amount of strength to negotiate for it.
When he eventually advanced to Grand Knight at 15, he was considered to have graduated from the harsh curriculum and was officially inducted into House Farlier's Reserve Army, standing tall among the elites.
Then came the great airships who bore wizards from somewhere called South Coast. A new call went out, a selection to join a mage academy and learn the mysteries of 'magic'.
Soon enough, he and his fellow children of Academy city underwent rigorous testing once again, reminding Jayden of the evaluations from his childhood.
This time, the results surprised even himself, for his talent was revealed to be exceptional, rare, truly genius‑level.
Rare enough that he was hand‑picked to become the personal disciple of one named Professor Dorotte, a genuine Magus of Abyssal Bone Forest Academy.
As a reward and privilege of this position, he received a powerful protective artifact and was granted a mid‑grade meditation technique upon his acceptance of the offer.
Before the airship even docked at the Abyssal Bone Moor, Jayden had already stabilized his cultivation and advanced to Rank 1 Apprentice.
News of it spread fast.
Soon enough,whispers and admiration followed him everywhere he went aboard, turning him into a rising star and the center of attention much to his teacher Dorotte's delight and pride.
It was soon clear why he had been so favored by his master, his three affinities with Darkness, Shadow, and Plant aligned perfectly, and is almost like a mirror reflection of Dorotte's own.
Naturally, his lessons also focused deeply along those lines.
He was given thorough instruction on the mysteries of the soul, the delicate structures of human anatomy and magical beasts, spell construction, energy conversion… and all the specialized knowledge that led straight toward Necromancy.
Looking at his Professor Dorotte whose form was little more than well‑preserved bones wrapped in robes, speaking with a hollow, echoing voice, Jayden has long suspected that his master is a necromancer and felt no emotional fluctuations on the matter.
'Definitely a necromancer through and through.'
What no one else knew was that Jayden held far more than merely Grade 5 aptitude, Grand Knight physique, and the quick rise to Rank 1 Acolyte.
Hidden deep, revealed to no one, lay his most terrifying gift, it's the ability to truly absorb and perfect anything he saw.
The meditation technique Professor Dorotte gave him?
He read it through once before sleep, and when he woke, he possessed not only perfect, word‑for‑word recollection, but an intuitive, profound understanding that went deeper than the text itself.
It was as if he had practiced it for years before. The same applied to every lecture, every diagram, every complex principle of anatomy, spell structure, or ritual craft.
All he needed was rest, and he would wake up having already mastered what others spent months struggling to grasp.
He drank in every lesson, every secret, every scrap of knowledge Dorotte offered like a dry sponge soaking up water.
His teacher was thoroughly impressed and utterly convinced that barring any unforeseen disaster, Jayden's future as an Official Magus was already all but guaranteed.
Pride and elation naturally grew within him then.
Then one day, he looked back toward his fellow recruits, the young men who had come from the Chernobyl Islands alongside him.
As a successful 'gentleman', he expected to see them lagging far behind, overshadowed by his own fame and rapid progress.
Instead, he was stunned.
Though they lacked the public praise and spotlight that followed him, not one of them had actually fallen that far behind.
Almost all were now personally taken in and taught by professors of their own.
They advanced steadily, kept pace, and clearly possessed their own remarkable strengths and advantages.
This event was a sharp, humbling wake‑up call that instantly crushed Jayden's swelling pride.
'I am not some main character after all,' Jayden realized seriously. 'If I slack off now, I will be overtaken by these grind addicted freaks!'
From that moment onward, he cast aside complacency and trained, studied, and cultivated with renewed, burning earnestness.
This time, determined to keep moving forward and remain among the very best.
Meanwhile, deep within his mind, unseen by all, the real work began...
[Data Transmission Active]
[Initiating Memory Editing & Knowledge Consolidation]
[Rank 2 Apprentice Spell — Soul Grasp: Analyzed, Optimized, Ready for Integration]
[Rank 2 Apprentice Spell — Soul Devour: Optimized, Ready for Integration]
[Rank 2 Apprentice Spell — Memory Extraction: Optimized, Ready for Integration]
[Compressing folder on SOUL]
[Transmitting...]
*****
Around the ancient, heavy round table carved with winding, layered runic inscriptions that hummed faintly with suppressed power, the professors of Abyssal Bone Forest Academy chatted freely.
As dark‑aligned magi, their banter was sharp, crude, and clashing, far from polite harmony expected from intellectuals yet beneath their rough words lay the rational restraint of pursuers of eternal truth; they knew well enough to guard their shared vital interests.
"Did you notice anything strange with our students lately?"
Garan, the Divination professor asked seemingly curious.He is thin, gaunt man with dry-looking skin and seemed to always rub his cold, joint‑aching hands.
"Oh, so you felt it too?! I thought I was imagining things..."
Professor Ulritch, exclaimed with interest. His fingers constantly drummed rhythmically on the table edge.
Garan's gaze swept slowly across the room, eyes clouded like misted crystal. "You mean you've seen the same pattern in your own classes as well?"
"What on earth are you all going on about?" It was an disheveled man with unkempt hair. Out of everyone, even Dorotte, you'd expect him to be a professor last.
"Krestler, you really ought to step out of that lab and act like a professor once in a while. You're so out of touch that you probably haven't even sensed the rising tension between us and Sage Gotham's Hut." Snorting and leaning back with crossed arms, Ulritch spoke with a disdainful tone.
Professor Krestler scoffed loudly while accidentally crumpling a corner of his scroll in irritation.
"Tsk! Spare me your nagging Crazy Baldy! Forget it then!"
"There is a genuine phenomenon unfolding right under our noses… Recruits hailing from the Chernobyl Islands are displaying terrifyingly prodigious growth across every discipline. Reaching peak Rank one apprentice within two months of arrival… and that is the slowest of the bunch."
Garan explained with a hushed serious tone.
"What?! You must be jesting!"
Krestler asked while looking around looking for a tell.
"Go observe for yourself later… you'll see if it's true." Professor Garan slowly traced his finger on a faint rune on the table surface as if reviewing records.
"Better luck next time though, if I'm not mistaken, I swept up the last few promising ones just a week ago." An elegant, pale beauty with long midnight‑black hair spoke playfully, her fingers idly twisting a silver thorn‑ring, smiling faintly with knowing amusement.
"Hehe! Can't believe you only brought this up now, I guess it's too late for me to claim one for my research... I mean, our Sound Magic department desperately needs talents of that caliber. Dorotte, perhaps your young Jayden feels all alone in your company? Could use some living warmth to liven things up?"
A plump, rosy‑cheeked man that looked more like a merchant spoke leisurely, teasingly even.
"Ho ho ho... Would you truly dare to try and find out Fenwick?"
"Hehe, just teasing your old skeleton self! Spare me from your curses, will you?" Professor Fenwick answered waving his hands in mock fright, and laughing softly.
Suddenly the chatter died away, silenced in an instant. All heads turned as Chairman Siley stepped into the chamber.
He was a large, bald man with a sturdy, imposing frame, a heavy, unreadable expression etched into his face.
His eyes burned with a deep, ruthless crimson glint when he grew serious, radiating the heavy, suffocating pressure of a high‑rank dark magus who feared nothing and hesitated at nothing.
He moved with unhurried weight, taking his seat at the head of the table, and the air grew still and heavy.
"It appears we truly have no choice, we must commit to war if we want to secure a share of the resources in the newly discovered secret plane," Siley spoke low and steady, leaving no room for frivolity.
"I have negotiated with the Lighthouse of the Night and they have guaranteed us a place in the exploration… but only after enough blood is spilled in war. They will not intervene until the conflict rages to a certain degree, only then will they step in to uphold order and secure the distribution of spoils."
"Hah! Those sanctimonious white‑robed fools of Sage Gotham's… they've forgotten how they came crawling, begging for peace the last time we clashed!"
The hot headed Professor Ulritch struck the table with a clenched fist which made a dull thud, parts of his skin cracked revealing flickering flames from within.
"I'm not one for bloodshed… I'll stand aside." A quiet, withdrawn man, who was previously gazing at the floor, now spoke. His hands folded tight over his chest.
"Count me out as well." Professor Vian also expressed his stance while avoiding eye contact.
"Cowards! Traitors to our own kind! You sell us out behind our backs!" Professor Ulritch roared in anger, orange flames flared briefly around his shoulders.
"Enough." Siley's voice was flat, cold, utterly apathetic. He swept his gaze over those who shrank away.
"If you have made your deals and turned against this academy… leave now of your own will. I will not waste anger on those who only wish to live or follow their nature."
When the dissenters had hurried out, Professor Kroft who was always keeping a balanced, watchful stance leaned forward with genuine concern.
"What of the fodder problem?" he asked carefully. "I would hate to see my disciples thrown into slaughter."
"You can keep one," Siley replied plainly.
"Send them away on long‑term distant missions, or recall them home under some urgent family matter. The rest… leave them to fate. No word of the coming war shall reach any apprentice. If they have the wit and strength to sense danger and escape alive, that shall be their own merit. As for us, each one will prepare in silence." His tone hardened.
"I will rely on you, Kroft. We cannot bleed ourselves dry and become weak prey for others the moment we claim rights to the secret plane."
"I understand… I shall do all I can, Chairman," Kroft promised solemnly.
Siley turned his gaze to the skeletal necromancer. "Dorotte, I have delivered the materials you requested. Make proper use of them. I hear you have taken on a fine personal disciple, there are low‑rank corpses available for his practice; give him the resources he needs to grow."
"It is always an honor to serve, Chairman," Dorotte answered, bones clicking sharply as he bowed respectfully. "Rest assured, I shall produce results worthy of your trust."
The meeting continued as Chairman Siley delegated tasks to the experts.