[Entering Arc I: 'Beneath the Banner of Enrollment'.]
[You have endured the prologue!]
[Reward Granted: +200 Plot Points]
Ruvian exhaled through his nose.
'So, the prologue has ended.'
Ruvian adjusted his collar, his gaze remained sharp and observant. The Administrative Hall stood in its grandeur, the towering marble pillars supporting a vaulted ceiling.
Despite its grand size, the hall was filled with a steady noise, new students murmuring among themselves and the occasional rustling of parchment as faculty members processed countless registrations.
Ruvian stepped inside without hesitation.
His gaze swept across the room, taking in everything at a glance. Five registration counters, each manned by instructors dressed in academy robes. A few robed disciplinary officers stood nearby, ensuring order.
'It was exactly as the novel had described.'
The air moved with faint mana fluctuations. Beneath the surface, magic formations lay embedded into the floor, designed to verify identities and detect fraudulent attempts.
A necessary security measure.
"Please infuse your mana into the artifact," the instructor at the front instructed a nervous-looking boy.
The student placed his hand over the crystal orb embedded in the desk, his fingers trembling slightly. Mana pulsed, weak and unstable.
A flicker of light confirmed his registration, but the delay was obvious.
A sharp voice cut through his thoughts.
"Next!"
Ruvian stepped forward. It was a sharp-eyed woman with silver-rimmed glasses, who barely looked up from her records.
"Name?"
"Ruvian Castelor."
She adjusted her glasses. "Castelor… You are listed under general admission, correct?"
"Yes."
She marked something on the parchment with a disgusted expression before motioning to the mana registration device.
"Proceed with imprinting."
Ruvian placed his hand on the artifact, allowing a controlled stream of mana to flow into the orb. The artifact pulsed with light. The inscription process had worked flawlessly. If there was any issue, it was undetectable.
"Confirmed," the instructor said, handing him a small, insignia-shaped badge and a booklet. "This will serve as your identification within the academy. Do not lose it."
The insignia was sleek and inscribed with mana circuits. At a glance, it was just a badge, but he knew it had multiple functions.
Identity verification within academy grounds and access restriction—certain areas required different insignia levels to enter. His gaze lingered on it for only a second before tucking it away.
"Next." The instructor had already moved on to the next student.
'As expected.'
Everything was proceeding as he already knew it would. The escort guided him through grand double doors, their gilded edges parting to unveil an expansive hall, its air alive with the glow of chandeliers hanging above.
The light danced across the polished marble floors, sending ripples of reflection to the high ceiling, where golden filigree traced patterns.
Banners from noble houses and influential factions swayed gently from the arches, their sigils telling stories of legacies both old and emerging.
Rows of students—freshly enrolled, brimming with ambition, filled the grand chamber, their expressions a delicate balance of awe, nerves, and pride. Ruvian's gaze swept over them, searching, assessing.
Names from the memory surfaced, drawn from his laptop screen.
Calyra Arcanis.
Rosalin Varion.
Silvena D'Elvoire.
Loden Armand.
And at the heart of it all—Julian Rozenberg.
The early antagonist. The one who would orchestrate Zian Herga's downfall.
Yet… Zian was nowhere to be seen.
'Is he late?'
"Sir Castelor, your seat is over there." The escort's voice cut through his thoughts.
He followed the subtle gesture to a row near the center, where those of a certain standing had been placed. Without a word, he made his way forward, settling into his assigned place.
He took his seat, silent and watchful, as the academy's story arc began to unfold around him. A hush fell over the hall, the murmurs of gathered students dissolving into expectant silence.
Then, after a few minutes that was closer to an hour…
Chime!
A sharp, resonant note rang through the air, reverberating against the marble columns, and settling deep into the bones of those who heard it.
It was no ordinary bell.
The sound came from an artifact—an ancient relic, older than the academy itself. A chime that marked the beginning of eras and the turning of fates.
Velthia Academy's Opening Ceremony had begun.
Ruvian lifted his gaze as the stillness parted to make way for a single figure. She ascended the stage with a measured grace, her steps deliberate, unhurried. Power clung to her like a second skin—far from the garish spectacle of lesser nobles, but more like the effortless strength of absolute authority.
Dilora Veohart.
The name echoed through history.
A former Grand Magus, a scholar whose strategies had shaped the tides of war, a woman whose intellect had once dictated the course of empires.
Now, she ruled Velthia Academy with the same adamant hand that had once commanded legions.
Her robes, a deep indigo embroidered with golden sigils of dominion, caught the soft glow of the floating chandeliers. The fabric did not billow, it commanded the air around it, settling only where she willed.
She came to a halt at the center of the podium.
For a moment, she did nothing.
No sweeping gestures, no grand theatrics. Only a gaze—cool, violet, sharpened to the precision of a blade. It passed over the students like the weight of judgment itself.
Measuring and determining.
Was the steel before her strong enough to be forged? Or would it shatter under the first strike of the hammer?
Then, she spoke.
"Aspiring scholars, knights, and mages, heirs of lineage, bearers of talent."
Her voice, smooth as tempered steel, rang through the hall, each syllable laced with unshakable command.
"Today, you stand at the gates of Velthia Academy. From this moment forward, your titles, your heritage, your past glories—"
She paused, letting the silence press against them.
"—mean nothing."
A ripple of unease traveled around the stillness. Velthia Academy did not bow to bloodlines. It did not shelter the weak beneath gilded names. The weight of a noble crest meant little if the hands that bore it could not wield strength.
Within the Academy, competence reigned supreme.
"Many of you have been cradled in praise, told since childhood that you were destined for greatness. That the stars had aligned in your favor but Velthia does not deal in empty destiny."
Ruvian, seated in the middle rows, merely watched in silence.
'She hasn't changed.'
From what he remembered in the novel, Dilora Veohart was not a woman who entertained mediocrity.
She raised her hand.
The atmosphere trembled.
A pull of raw mana unfurled from her palm, silent yet immense, a force that did not roar, but pressed upon the hall.
Above the stage, reality wavered.
Space itself yielded to her command, and in its place, an arcane projection bloomed. It displayed the academy grounds—grand libraries that housed centuries of knowledge, sprawling sparring arenas where warriors would be honed, towering spell chambers, and more.
As the projection shifted, three Runes words blazed into view, glowing with ethereal light.
"These are the pillars upon which Velthia stands. Mastery of the mind and the body. The wisdom to wield power, and the strength to leave behind something greater than yourself."
With a flick of her wrist, the vision shattered into shining fragments, dissolving into the ether.
Her gaze hardened. Then, with a graceful motion, she turned slightly and gestured toward the side of the podium.
"Now, In accordance with tradition, the highest-ranking student in the admissions exam shall now address the academy."
The air volatiled as the hall came alive in a heartbeat, whispers erupting like sparks from flint. Excitement, tension, and certainty. The nobles straightened in their seats, already preparing for the name that would follow.
Surely, it would be one of them.
A scion of an esteemed house. The heir of a long-standing bloodline. A noble whose name commanded respect the moment it was uttered.
'Well, the next words will shatter all expectations.'
Ruvian thought lightly.
Because the highest-ranking student in the admissions exam would be Zian Herga. Ruvian relaxed his posture as he already knew who would be called on the stage.
And then, Dilora announced:
"We recognize…"
'Let's get over this quickly.'
"...Julian Rozenberg as the top scholar of this year's admissions!"
The hall erupted with thunderous applause.
Cheers that rang like the fanfare of a coronation.
The swell of voices, unrestrained in their approval, filled the vast chamber as nobles straightened in their seats, their world neatly aligned once more.
But Ruvian…
Ruvian was stupefied.
His breath was sharp and sudden. His hands had curled into fists before he even realized it.
'The heck?!!'
But the reality before him was undeniable.
Julian Rozenberg—a noble, the son of an influential house. The white-haired scholar rose from his seat and walked toward the stage with effortless grace, as if the title had always belonged to him.
Ruvian's mind reeled as his thoughts lurched, scrambling for an answer.
'No, wait? This is not how it was supposed to go?'