The next day arrived quicker then expected.
The bell tolled once, twice, its iron voice carrying across the Academy— a call none could ignore.
Darian placed his blade into the scabbard on his waist, then stepped out into the chill air. Kaelric stood outside the room wiping the lens of his glasses.
He gave a short nod, dark eyes still heavy with sleeplessness. "Morning."
Darian returned the nod.
Words didn't seem necessary.
They stepped into the hallway.
"Where is class held today?" Darian asked, confused on where Kaelric was leading him.
You didn't check the calendar?" Kaelric's tone was clipped, though not unkind.
Darian raised a brow.
"Umm... What calendar?"
"The calender in our room,.. has our class schedules and details of every classes, its hanging on the wall" Kaelric explained.
"I must of missed it then"
"The courtyard" Kaekric pointed.
"First class of the term is always there. They want to see everyone together—strengths, weaknesses, all of it."
The courtyard came into view as they stepped outside, the chill morning air carrying the faint scent of dew and metal.
About twenty students had already gathered, their voices blending into a low hum of anticipation.
Kaelric adjusted his glasses and muttered, "Looks like we're late."
Darian said nothing. He followed quietly, the weight of his blade steady against his hip.
The courtyard was larger up close, a broad field of pale stone and sand bordered by low walls and banners bearing the academy crest. Rows of weapon racks stood at the far end.
More students trickled in until there were twenty-six in total — a sea of students, each distinct in poise and bearing. Some whispered in tight circles, others stood alone, their confidence like armor.
But no matter where one looked, two figures drew every gaze.
Melinda Rosavre stood near the center, her silver-white hair cascading down her back, catching the sunlight like threads of moonlight.
Mana shimmered faintly around her — not wild, but alive, radiating heat and light with each breath she took.
The air near her bent, faintly trembling as if acknowledging her superiority.
Those who stood too close instinctively stepped back. It wasn't fear — it was instinct, an animal sense that told them: this one stands above you.
Melinda's lips curved slightly as she noticed the attention. Her gaze swept over the crowd, pausing briefly on Darian before sliding away as if he weren't worth the thought.
Her voice, when it came, was soft yet cut through the murmurs like glass.
"Try
Kaelric leaned closer to Darian. "You'd think the world revolves around her," he whispered, his tone dry.
"Maybe it does," Darian replied quietly, eyes still fixed on her. "At least in her head."
Then came Lord Xavier of Vallarta.
He was standing a few paces away — tall, composed, the faint glint of sweat already on his neck from an early morning of practice. His blonde hair caught the light, his blue eyes calm, unwavering.
If Melinda burned like fire, Xavier was still water.
His mana didn't roar — it flowed, invisible yet vast. The ground beneath his feet hummed softly as faint blue light coursed over his skin before fading again, like breath drawn and released.
Students whispered, unable to decide who shone brighter — the radiant arrogance of Melinda or the silent, disciplined focus of Xavier.
"Those two… they're the top of our year," someone murmured behind Darian.
"Prodigies."
"Perfect heirs."
Kaelric adjusted his glasses, his tone half-amused. "Perfect is exaggerating?, dont you think ?"
Darian didn't answer. He simply watched. To him, both stood on pedestals carved from expectation — one gilded with arrogance, the other with relentless restraint.
The murmurs stilled as a sharp voice cut through the courtyard.
"Enough chatter!"
A man stepped forward from the far side — tall, broad-shouldered, his cloak marked with the academy insignia. His tone carried the weight of command, honed through years of drilling students into soldiers.
"I am Instructor Ravel. You will address me as Sir Ravel during training."
His gaze swept across the twenty-six of them, lingering briefly on Melinda and Xavier before landing on Darian. Eyes narrowing ever so slightly at the sight of the Cursed Count.
"Today," he continued, "we start with something simple. Your blades mean nothing if your bodies crumble. We'll test your endurance first."
He pointed toward the long stretch of packed earth that circled the courtyard — the academy's training track.
"Set your weapons aside," he ordered, voice cold and clipped. "Line up along the field. You'll be running laps until I say stop."
A few nobles exchanged uneasy glances. Others smirked, confident in their mana-reinforced stamina.
Darian's hand brushed the hilt of his blade before setting it down with care. He could already feel eyes on him, curious, doubtful, some even waiting for him to fail.
The morning wind swept through the courtyard, carrying the faint scent of metal and dust.
Then, one by one, the students stepped forward. The first test of the Academy had begun.