The first day of true Academy life weighed heavier than any battlefield armor. From history and culture, to magical theory, mathematics, and even the intricacies of language and literature, Connor endured four classes that drained his body and dulled his spirit. Lunch had offered a brief reprieve, yet even that strength was gone within hours.
Kyle urged him to adjust, claiming that one year would be enough to endure. To Connor, the thought of suffering for a single year was already unbearable, let alone three. Still, he acknowledged bitterly that writing with a pen was safer than bleeding daily in the mud as a mercenary.
Forcing himself, he opened his bag and began reviewing the morning's lessons. Only then did a strange realization strike him—Maiael had been in every single class. Four times, across different subjects, she had been there. Coincidence seemed far too weak an explanation.
As that thought lingered, a shadow fell over him. A young woman in a maid's uniform stood before his table. Her attire resembled that of noble attendants, practical yet refined, and she bowed deeply as she introduced herself as Kur, exclusive maid to Lady Maiael.
The moment their eyes met, Connor's instincts screamed. His skin prickled with gooseflesh, his forehead burned with unnatural tingling. Every fiber of his being recoiled as though a predator stood disguised in human form. Survival instincts—sharpened by years of slaughter against monsters—roared a single warning: this woman is not human.
Kur's presence smothered the room in an eerie distortion. Students nearby acted oblivious, their eyes turned away unnaturally, as though some veil of magic clouded their senses. The maid's voice cut through the stillness, cold and precise. She accused Connor of overstepping, of humiliating her mistress Maiael before nobles and professors alike. Her words were not mere complaints—they were a warning to retreat, to keep his distance.
Connor's heart froze, yet pride flared within him. He despised chains, despised the notion of being forced into silence. Fear drained away, replaced by defiance. But the maid's next words twisted the knife deeper. She promised that Maiael had forbidden direct harm against him until graduation, but hinted at consequences beyond those walls. The message was simple: stay quiet, or pay later.
When she finally departed, the air shifted. The students who had ignored him earlier now stared with contempt, as if he were nothing more than an unwelcome commoner. The illusion had lifted, leaving only venom in its wake.
Connor slumped forward, hiding his turmoil under the guise of studying. Kyle's voice finally broke the silence, explaining his absence—he had remained quiet to avoid detection. Kur, he confessed, was no mere servant. She was Kurnugia, a dragon cloaked in human guise. A beast of death and shadow, lord of the Geold Mountains, feared across the Hercule Empire for a thousand years.
The revelation shattered Connor's composure. That a dragon could walk within the Academy, hidden beneath a maid's uniform, was madness itself. His outburst drew the stares of nobles, who now whispered that he had lost his mind. Shame burning his face, he fled the café, praying that no new rumors would stalk him by nightfall.
The day's final trial awaited: Weaponry Class, under Professor Scarlett. Students were tasked with choosing unfamiliar weapons and pairing off for sparring. The air rang with clashing steel and awkward movements, the chaos of novices forced beyond their comfort.
Connor's eyes lingered on a glaive, a long weapon reminiscent of his mercenary captain's choice. Before his hand could grasp it, Kyle interrupted, urging him toward a one-handed axe. The reasoning was subtle yet strategic—Professor Scarlett herself favored that weapon, and impressions mattered.
Obeying, Connor claimed the axe, catching the professor's approving smile.
Soon after, a noble boy in the red sleeves of the Crown Dormitory approached. His words dripped arrogance, offering Connor the "honor" of being his sparring partner. Behind him, his companions smirked, awaiting the mercenary's humiliation.
Connor accepted with unnerving calm. To the boy's surprise, the mercenary's deference felt like mockery in disguise. As their match began, the noble lunged with his mace, expecting an easy victory. Yet Connor, guided by Kyle's instructions, turned the axe into a trap. With one smooth motion, he hooked the mace and tore it free, sending it clattering to the floor.
The duel repeated again and again. Each time the noble attacked, he fell harder. Seven disarms, four tumbles to the ground. By the end of class, the boy seethed with humiliation while Professor Scarlett looked on with unrestrained satisfaction, her gaze fixed on Connor as though she had discovered a rare gem.
The day closed not with rest, but with echoes—whispers of dragons, the weight of enemies among nobles, and the cold certainty that survival at this Academy required more than skill. It required cunning, willpower, and a defiance strong enough to meet both men and monsters head-on.