The eastern mountains rose like jagged teeth against the sky, their peaks perpetually shrouded in mist. Adrian had ridden three days through increasingly harsh terrain to reach Ashbourne Academy—a fortress carved into the mountainside itself, walls of dark stone that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.
This was monster and demon hunter territory. The air itself felt different here—colder, sharper, carrying the faint scent of sulfur from nearby volcanic vents where creatures spawned and thrived. Perfect training ground for warriors who specialized in hunting threats in their own domains.
Adrian dismounted at the academy gates, where a stern-faced guard examined his acceptance letter with professional scrutiny.
"Adrian Blackthorn. Tournament champion." The guard's expression shifted slightly—recognition mixed with assessment. "Mistress Elara is expecting you. Stable your horse, then report to the main hall."
Inside, Ashbourne Academy was exactly what Adrian had imagined. Spartan halls lined with weapons rather than tapestries. Training yards where students practiced brutal combat forms. Trophies mounted on walls—monster horns, demon claws, preserved heads of creatures that had terrorized the kingdom.
This was home to warriors who brought the fight to monsters and demons rather than waiting for them to come to civilization. Adrian felt something settle in his chest. This was right.
"Adrian Blackthorn."
He turned to find a woman approaching—middle-aged, scarred, carrying herself with the confidence of someone who'd survived countless encounters with hostile creatures. Her eyes were sharp, assessing him with practiced evaluation.
"Mistress Elara," Adrian greeted, bowing slightly. "Thank you for accepting me."
"Your tournament performance made acceptance easy. Crimson Spirit Sword, solo General kill, demon territory veteran at sixteen." She smiled slightly. "You're exactly the kind of student Ashbourne seeks. Come. We'll discuss your training path."
Her office was practical—maps of monster and demon territories, reports of creature sightings, weapons in various stages of maintenance. Shelves lined with rune-enhanced equipment and crystallized power sources. A workspace for someone who took hunting seriously.
"Ashbourne specializes in what others avoid," Mistress Elara began, settling behind her desk. "We don't train knights to defend cities. We train hunters to eliminate threats before they reach cities. Both monsters and demons—though monster encounters are far more common, we specialize in eliminating both types of threats."
"I understand," Adrian said. "That's why I chose Ashbourne. My demon experience is solid, but I need comprehensive monster knowledge."
"Good awareness of your gaps. Three years here will be brutal. We lose students who can't handle the intensity. Why Ashbourne specifically? You had acceptances from all six academies."
Adrian touched the violet pendant beneath his shirt—brief gesture, but Mistress Elara noticed.
"Personal reasons," he said carefully. "I want to become strong enough that people I care about don't die because I wasn't prepared for every threat. Demons, monsters—all of it."
"Good answer. Protection sustains warriors through years of hard combat." She pulled out a schedule, then paused, reconsidering. "Your background is unique. Northwatch border experience—primarily demon-focused due to your fortress's location, though I know monsters occasionally threaten the area. Demon territory operations, actual General combat. That's specialized knowledge most of our third-year students don't possess." She paused. "Here at Ashbourne, you'll expand that demon expertise to encompass the full spectrum of monster hunting. Your demon experience gives you foundation, but you'll need to adapt those skills to creatures with completely different behaviors."
"I understand. Demons and monsters require different approaches."
"Exactly. Demons have intelligence, hierarchy, tactics. Monsters are often more instinct-driven, unpredictable in different ways. Both deadly, both requiring mastery. Your demon knowledge is exceptional—now we'll build comprehensive monster expertise alongside it." Mistress Elara leaned forward. "Placing you with first-years would waste your demon combat experience. But you need monster hunting fundamentals. Second-year curriculum balances both—advanced techniques you can apply to your demon knowledge, while teaching monster-specific tactics you lack."
"Second-year placement?"
"Yes. You'll have gaps in monster theory the second-years learned last year, but your practical demon combat compensates." She met his eyes seriously. "This will make you target for challenges. Students don't like seeing newcomers placed above their year. Can you handle that?"
"I can."
"Good. Because there's another factor to consider." Mistress Elara pulled out additional documentation. "Your tournament championship and demon territory veteran status put you in special situation. If you perform exceptionally well here—maintaining top marks in coursework and demonstrating superior combat capability—you could qualify for early graduation."
Adrian's attention sharpened. "Early graduation?"
"Two years instead of three. It's not uncommon for students who prove their worth to graduate early. Ashbourne values results, not arbitrary timelines. If you master the curriculum faster than standard pace, there's no reason to keep you here." She studied him. "Given your existing experience and demonstrated skill, you're strong candidate for this track. But it requires exceptional performance. Any interest?"
"Yes," Adrian said immediately. One less year separated from Alice. One year less to wait.
"I thought so. The pendant gave you away—someone waiting for you, I assume." Mistress Elara smiled knowingly. "Two years is still significant separation, but better than three. Just know that early graduation track means higher expectations, more scrutiny, constant pressure to prove yourself. Can you handle that while also learning comprehensive monster hunting?"
"I can."
"Then we'll place you on that track. Perform well, and you could graduate alongside the current second-years next year. Fail to meet standards, and you complete the full three years like everyone else." She returned to her desk. "But you should understand Ashbourne's culture first. We have open duel policy. Any student can challenge another at any time, so long as both accept. It's how we establish hierarchy—who's strongest, who deserves respect, who leads."
"Survival of the fittest," Adrian observed.
"More like constant proving ground. First years, second years, third years—only the strongest stay at the top. Tournament champion status will attract challenges from students wanting to test themselves against you." She turned back to him. "How you handle those challenges will determine whether you're respected or resented here."
"I'll handle them appropriately."
"See that you do. Ashbourne values strength, but we also value discipline. Hunters who can't control themselves don't survive long in monster or demon territory." She pulled out detailed curriculum documents. "Let me explain what second-year training entails, starting with enhanced rune application—something you likely didn't cover extensively at Northwatch."
Adrian's first advanced class was Rune Theory and Application, taught by Master Torven—grizzled veteran missing his left hand, replaced by rune-enhanced prosthetic that moved with unnatural fluidity.
"Most of you learned about runes during first year," Torven began, addressing the second-year class. "Basic understanding—demons and monsters have runes, we harvest them, they power our civilization. True?"
The students nodded. Adrian listened carefully, noting the new face among them—tournament champion placed directly into second year. Several students were already eyeing him with competitive interest.
"But that's surface knowledge," Torven continued. "This year we go deeper. Runes aren't just power sources—they're tools. Weapons. The difference between survival and death in hostile territory." He gestured to the wall where various rune-enhanced items hung. "Three categories you need to master."
He pointed to mundane objects first—lamps, heating plates, water purifiers. "Everyday Runes. You see these daily, so common you've stopped noticing them."
"Light runes—carved into lamps lining our streets, sconces in your homes, lanterns carried by the Watch. Simple application, stable power drain."
"Heat runes—fuel the forges that make your weapons, stoves that cook your food, furnaces warming noble halls in winter. Controlled heat generation."
"Water runes—purify rivers feeding our aqueducts, draw wells that never run dry, keep fountains flowing. Essential infrastructure."
"Power runes—stored in crystals, driving the capital's mechanisms. Mills, lifts, the great gates themselves. Civilization runs on these."
Torven moved to a different display—equipment that glowed faintly with internal energy. "Enhancement Runes. This is where hunting gets interesting."
"Speed runes—sewn into boots, making scouts faster than horses. Critical for evasion and pursuit."
"Strength runes—bound into gauntlets, letting knights wield weapons that would normally break them. Raw power amplification."
"Endurance runes—woven into armor, allowing warriors to fight for hours without rest. Stamina extension beyond human limits."
"Focus runes—etched into training weights and helmets, sharpening the mind under pressure. Mental clarity when exhaustion hits."
Finally, Torven gestured to weapons and armor mounted prominently. "Weapon and Armor Runes. What keeps hunters alive against demons and monsters alike."
"Edge runes—keep blades sharp even after a hundred battles. Never dulling, always ready."
"Impact runes—add explosive force to strikes, shattering shields and armor. Turns normal blow into devastating attack."
"Guard runes—strengthen shields until they can turn even demon claws or monster fangs. Defense multiplication."
"Resist runes—protect against fire, cold, lightning, or the corrupting touch of demon magic. Elemental and magical defense."
"This year, you learn to extract runes from creatures you kill and understand how to apply them to your equipment. Our qualified blacksmiths and runesmiths handle the actual crafting and binding—that's specialized work requiring years of training beyond what we teach here." Torven's rune-prosthetic flexed. "But by year's end, you'll know which runes suit your fighting style, how to extract them properly, and how to work with our smiths to create your own enhanced gear. Questions?"
A student raised his hand. "What about the new student? Did he cover this in first year?"
Torven glanced at Adrian. "Blackthorn is second-year placement due to practical demon combat experience at Northwatch border. He'll catch up on monster theory while contributing demon knowledge the rest of you lack. Any other questions?"
Several students exchanged looks. New student, tournament champion, placed directly into second year? The challenges would come quickly.
They came during free training period that afternoon.
Adrian was practicing forms in the yard when a voice called out, loud enough to carry across the training grounds.
"Well, well. The famous Blackthorn." The tone was mocking, confrontational. Adrian turned to find a muscular third-year approaching with swagger—flanked by several other students. "I'm Roderic. Heard they placed you straight into second year because of your family name. Blackthorns think they're special just because they sit on some border fortress?"
Students began gathering immediately. Not just casual observers—Adrian noticed a distinct group watching with particular interest. Their bearing, their equipment, the way other students gave them space. These were clearly Ashbourne's elite squires, the top-ranked students. He didn't know their names yet, but their presence was unmistakable.
"I earned my placement through tournament performance and demon territory experience," Adrian said evenly. "Not family name."
"Tournament champion, demon territory veteran," Roderic sneered, playing to the growing crowd. "Fancy words. But Ashbourne doesn't care about capital tournaments or family reputation. We care about real strength. So let's see if Blackthorns are actually worth the legends, or if you're just riding daddy's reputation."
The open duel challenge, delivered with maximum disrespect. Adrian could decline, but that would establish him as someone who backed down from confrontation.
"I accept," Adrian said simply.
The crowd expanded. Word spread fast—new tournament champion versus third-year Roderic. The elite group moved closer, eyes sharp with assessment. They wanted to see the crimson Spirit Sword that reports claimed was unprecedented.
Roderic drew his weapon, activating his green Spirit Sword immediately. "Let me teach you that Blackthorn name means nothing here."
Adrian drew his sword calmly, then activated his Spirit Sword.
White flame erupted along his blade. Base form. Not the crimson manifestation that had dominated the tournament—just standard white Spirit Sword that any competent knight could produce.
Disappointment flickered across some onlookers' faces. Where was the legendary crimson?
Roderic grinned. "Just white? All that reputation and you can't even—"
Adrian moved.
Three hundred years of combat experience compressed into calculated precision. He didn't need crimson power. Didn't need color manifestation. Just superior skill.
Roderic's taunt died mid-sentence as Adrian's first strike broke through his guard with contemptuous ease. The third-year tried to rally, launching aggressive combination attack—but Adrian read every movement before it happened.
Block. Counter. Redirect. Disarm.
Fifteen seconds. That's how long the duel lasted.
Roderic's weapon clattered to the ground. Adrian's white Spirit Sword blade hovered at his throat. The bout was over before the third-year had landed a single meaningful strike.
"Good match," Adrian said, deactivating his Spirit Sword and stepping back.
Stunned silence. Roderic stood frozen, face flushed with humiliation. He'd talked about Blackthorns being nothing special, about family reputation meaning nothing—and Adrian had demolished him using just base Spirit Sword form.
"You... you didn't even use your real power," Roderic said, voice somewhere between angry and awed.
"Didn't need to," Adrian replied simply. "You wanted to test if I earned my placement. There's your answer."
Among the elite observers, murmurs spread. One of them—a tall student with confident bearing and multiple rune-enhanced weapons—smiled slightly.
"Interesting," the student said to his companions. "Tournament champion just humiliated Roderic with base Spirit Sword. Didn't show the crimson at all."
"Think he's actually that strong?" another elite asked.
"Roderic's not weak. Third-year, decent combat record. Blackthorn made it look effortless." The first student's eyes fixed on Adrian with predatory interest. "I want to see the crimson. The real power."
Adrian noticed their attention but didn't acknowledge it. He'd proven his point—Ashbourne placement was earned, not given. The crimson Spirit Sword could wait for worthy opponents.
Roderic retrieved his weapon, face still burning. "I... underestimated you."
"You insulted my family name," Adrian said quietly. "Blackthorns might not be special to you, but we earn our reputation through combat, not talk. Remember that."
The watching students dispersed, conversations buzzing. Tournament champion was legitimate. Even without his legendary crimson Spirit Sword, he was beyond third-year level.
Adrian returned to his practice forms, aware that the elite group had taken notice. Challenges would come—stronger ones, from students who truly deserved to test him. But that was Ashbourne's way. Constant proving ground. Only the strongest at the top.
He was ready for whatever came next.
That evening, Adrian sat in his quarters writing his first letter to Alice. The violet pendant rested against his chest as he composed words describing his first week.
He wrote about Ashbourne's brutal culture focused on hunting both monsters and demons, the open duel policy, Roderic's challenge and his disrespectful taunts about the Blackthorn name. About Master Torven's rune theory class, learning enhancement applications he'd never studied at Northwatch. About being placed with second-years due to his demon experience, but needing to learn comprehensive monster hunting.
He wrote about the duel that he'd won using only white Spirit Sword—defeating a third-year in fifteen seconds without even showing his crimson. About noticing a group of elite students watching, clearly Ashbourne's top-ranked squires, though he didn't know their names yet.
And then he wrote about the most important news—the possibility of early graduation.
"Mistress Elara told me about early graduation track," he wrote carefully. "If I perform exceptionally well—top marks, superior combat—I could graduate in two years instead of three. It's not uncommon here for students who prove their worth. That means one less year separated from you. Two years instead of three. I know it's still long, but it's better. I'll work for it. Every day, every challenge, every class—I'll earn that early graduation. For us."
He wrote about missing her. About how the pendant was the only thing making the separation bearable. About counting days until leave period when they might see each other again.
Then he sealed the letter and sent it south to Silverkeep, hoping it would reach her quickly—and hoping the news about potentially shorter separation would give her the same hope it gave him.
Outside his window, Ashbourne Academy continued its eternal vigilance. Students trained in yards below, preparing for hunts that would define their careers—whether tracking monsters through corrupted lands or hunting demons in their own territories.
Two years at Ashbourne if he earned it. Maybe three if he didn't meet the standards. But he would meet them. He would excel. He would graduate early.
Because every day less separated from Alice was worth fighting for.
He touched the violet pendant and thought of her at Silverkeep, wearing his crimson at her heart and wrist.
Two years felt manageable. Two years he could survive.
That was promise enough to endure anything Ashbourne could throw at him.