Death.
What is death actually…?
We all know death is dying but what is it really other than dying.
People are often afraid of dying… they are always afraid of dying. Whether it be natural death, illness or being murdered, we all fear death nonetheless.
Murder is the most scariest form of dying, the pain you also go through the emotions that strike you. But now what do the ones who do the murder feel and sometimes what do the people who somewhat happened to witness the murder feel. Ecstasy, fear, anger, what do these people feel.
Well, we may never know.
To the main point.
The crowd roared.
It wasn't shock, it wasn't silence, it wasn't fear.
They were cheering for him.
Drake stood in the middle of the bloodstained arena, breathing heavily, his blade still dripping red, his eyes crimson and wild with that feral grin he couldn't wipe off. His opponent, Theo Belmore—no, the "prince" of this rotten kingdom—was nothing more than a ruined corpse.
And yet, the stands thundered with excitement.
"Primordia!"
"Did you see that?!"
"He destroyed him!"
Drake's brows furrowed. What the hell…
He had just killed a prince of Belmore. That wasn't some spar, wasn't a clean victory—it was outright murder in front of thousands of witnesses. Shouldn't this count as treason? Shouldn't guards have rushed the arena, should the Academy officials not have drawn their blades on him instantly?
But nothing.
The people screamed his name. The announcers celebrated it as the most brutal, most thrilling fight of the entire admission exam.
Drake clicked his tongue, irritation flickering across his face. That was when Rin's words echoed in his skull.
"They'll try to kill you during the entrance exam."
Yet here he was, alive, and instead of being executed, he was celebrated.
Maybe they saw my power and got scared… Drake thought. Or maybe something bigger is moving behind the scenes. Doesn't matter. Fine. Let them tremble.
But then the world twisted.
The sky above turned black—pitch, endless, suffocating—but only in his eyes. The crowd blurred, the arena faded, and there, standing in front of him, was a figure of blinding gold. A man, no—something higher, glowing with divinity.
The golden figure's voice shook him to his bones.
"You've grown out of control… Malice."
Drake's heart skipped. Malice? Who the fuck is Malice? He had never heard that name. Yet when the figure said it, it didn't feel foreign. It felt like it was him. Like some truth buried deep inside was being forced to the surface.
But before he could speak, before he could demand answers, everything snapped back to normal.
The roaring crowd, the bloody arena, the sunshine overhead. No golden figure. No black sky.
Drake's lips twisted. What the fuck was that?
And with that the exam ended.
Those who had fought and won were admitted. Those who lost but survived with skill—or had a recommendation from one of the nobles—were spared and allowed to join. For the first time in Academy history, nearly ninety students were admitted, far higher than the sixty average.
Drake barely paid attention.
He was taken, along with the others, to the dormitory assignment halls. The system was simple: three rankings.
The Nova Dorm—the pinnacle, for only one student who displayed unrivaled strength.
The Sky Dorm—below the nova form and were grouped in fours.
The Normal Dorm—where groups of six were placed, average but still carrying potential.
It didn't surprise him when the overseers whispered his name with reverence. Nova was practically his by default.
They were given Academy uniforms—bright white, tailored perfectly to each student. The color would've looked foolish on anyone else, but when Drake put it on, the contrast against his dark hair and crimson eyes made him look sharp, lethal. The crowd that had followed the admissions gushed when they saw him wearing it.
Drake smirked. Yeah… This is the life I wanted. The beginning of it.
But his goals were beyond the Academy. He wasn't here to simply study or spar. He was here to carve his own path, build something this world had never seen, and gather people around him not to save the world—but to burn it.
And the first step was obvious: founding his organisation.
The following morning, Drake wrapped his face in a hooded cloak. He couldn't afford to show himself here. Not yet. If word spread that a member of the Primordia family—the boy who had just butchered a prince—was already scheming to start an organisation, it would explode into a scandal.
The Guildmaker Organisation towered before him. A massive hall reinforced with runes, manned by powerful guards, and covered in wards to suppress violence. It had to be—this was where groups, guilds, and even clandestine factions were formed.
Inside, a receptionist greeted him.
An elf.
Her hair silver as moonlight, her eyes sharp emeralds, her mana swirling with such purity it felt suffocating. Drake instantly recognized it—archmage-level, easily 9th rank. She wasn't here for decoration; she was here to annihilate anyone dumb enough to start trouble.
She smiled politely. "Welcome, stranger. State your purpose."
"I'm here to form an organisation," Drake said flatly, voice lowered.
Her eyes narrowed with curiosity. Few so young dared to say such words. But she didn't pry. Instead, she handed him parchment. "Fill these out. When done, proceed to the emblem chamber."
Drake scribbled down his details.
Name of Organisation: Crimson Flowers.
Estimated members: above 1000
His lips curled into a satisfied grin. The name dripped with the malice he wanted to spread. A beautiful flower—but crimson with blood.
In the emblem chamber, he placed his hand on a crystal and visualized it. A rose, crowned in red, dripping blood from its petals. The crystal pulsed, burned, and then etched the design into parchment—officially registered.
The elf took it and stamped the seal. "Crimson Flowers… hm. It is done."
Drake nodded and walked out, pride bubbling in his chest. The process had been long, exhausting, but worth every step. His future had begun.
Later that day, he found his sister.
Drakelle sat at a quaint café, sipping tea with another girl. Drake's steps slowed as he recognized her. Golden hair tied back, silver eyes sharp with confidence, an aura of noble superiority but calm grace. She was unmistakable.
Athena Ragna.
Of the Ragna family. One of the four Peak families.
And she was laughing with Drakelle as though they'd been friends for years.
"Hey, Drakelle," Drake called, approaching.
His twin lit up. "Ohhh! Hey!!" She waved him over. "Sit, sit!"
He sat, pulling the hood back.
"It seems you made a friend already," Drake remarked, his voice calm but eyes sharp as they flicked to Athena.
Athena smiled faintly. "I am Athena Ragna. And yes… I am a friend."
Her voice carried elegance, but there was steel underneath it.
The three talked. Small things, casual exchanges about the exam, the dorms, the ridiculous crowd cheering after Drake's fight. But beneath it all, Drake's mind churned.
When Athena excused herself to order another drink, Drake leaned closer to Drakelle.
"I started it."
She blinked. "Started what?"
"My organisation."
Drakelle nearly choked on her tea. "Wait—you actually—"
Momentary flashback.
After the exam and the assigning of the dorms, Drake had approached Drakelle in terms of creating the organisation but Drakelle dismissed it as nothing but utter nonsense.
Present.
"Yes," Drake cut her off, a dangerous grin splitting his face. "The Crimson Flowers. It's official."
She stared at him, then at his grin, and instead of hesitating, she smiled back. "Fine. I'm in. Who are we recruiting?"
Drake's crimson eyes gleamed. "I haven't asked you to join and yet you want in, you truly are my sister."
"Hmph!! Just who is the first to be recruited." Drakelle said with a curious tone.
He glanced at Athena Ragna across the café.
"That one," he said. "She'll be a good choice."