Despite the late hour, Noah's room was still lit. After returning, he had explained everything to Arnold — or almost everything. The parts too sensitive, too dangerous, he left unspoken.
The crystal-powered lantern flickered, shadows crawling along the walls. Arnold squinted against the light, scribbled something quickly on parchment, then leaned back in his chair. The room wasn't large, but Noah made it feel smaller by pacing it in tight circles.
At last, Arnold set his quill down. His voice carried a dry bite.
"So let me get this straight — the Emperor blackmails you, Elira's dragged along, and your grand reward is becoming the Strongest Man's pet project?"
He ticked the points off his fingers as though listing bad jokes. Noah's lips pressed together, but he gave a stiff nod.
Arnold stretched his arms above his head with a groan. "Honestly, I should accuse you of substance abuse, but instead I'll ask something better." He glanced back over his shoulder. "Why did you even come to the Academy?"
The suddenness of it stopped Noah mid-step. He stared.
"What do you mean? I told you already. I was scouted at the festival I joined a few times."
Arnold chuckled hollowly. "Yes, yes. Heroic Noah, dazzling the crowd. I know the story." His gaze drifted toward the pile of books stacked on the table. "But that's not what I'm asking. Being scouted was the chance. I'm asking why you leapt at it."
The words landed heavier than Noah expected. His thoughts spiraled, looping back on themselves. At the back of his mind, he had always assumed the Academy was simply… a good offer. A door opened, and he stepped through. But was that all?
His brows furrowed. "…I think anyone else would've done the same if they were in my shoes."
Arnold sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "I can't tell if you're the fool, or the scout who picked you is." His gaze flicked back to the lantern's sputtering glow. "Why do you think I came here?"
Noah hesitated. "…Because you had the talent? Isn't that how it works for mages?"
Arnold massaged his temple, muttering, "O Great Aetherion, please grant this lamb half a brain." His tone sharpened as his eyes met Noah's. "I didn't ask why I became a mage. I asked why I came here. There's a difference."
Noah blinked. "There is?"
Arnold rose from his chair, shoulders squaring. "I'm a count's son, you idiot. I could have sat around doing nothing and still inherited a county. I'd never have to risk my life, never worry about grades, never fear knives in my back from heirs of greater houses." His voice hardened. "And yet I chose the Academy — where every mistake costs, where failure means expulsion, and where the competition will gladly drag you down just to climb higher themselves. Why do you think I traded the safety of a small heaven for the grind of this greater hell?"
Noah swallowed. The question hung in the air, unanswered.
As Arnold climbed to the upper bunk, Noah found himself asking softly, "Why?"
Sprawling across the mattress, Arnold let out a breath that carried both fatigue and finality. "That's for you to figure out. I've shown you the path. If you can't walk it, that's your problem." His tone thinned into a smirk. "Though I'd advise against thinking too hard. Thinking isn't your strong suit."
With a snap of his fingers, the lantern went out. Darkness swallowed the room.
Noah stood frozen in the silence, the echo of Arnold's words gnawing at him.
'Path? What path? We were talking about the Academy, weren't we? What did I miss?'
He turned the words over again and again, but they only tangled further. Eventually, with a frustrated groan, he dropped onto his bed.
'Ugh… I'll figure it out tomorrow.'
Sleep crept in slowly, but even as his eyes shut, the unanswered question lingered.
A week passed without anything remarkable. Noah kept up his training, but Arnold's question lingered at the back of his mind day and night. He could have just asked again, yet he knew Arnold well enough to realize the silence was deliberate. If Arnold wanted him to think it through, then there was a reason.
At first, Noah guessed the obvious: maybe Arnold came to the Academy to become a famous mage. But he dismissed the thought almost instantly. Arnold despised the spotlight. Then he considered whether it was a love of magic itself. That fit better, but it still felt incomplete—more like a piece of the picture than the whole of it.
Eventually, Noah began to suspect he was framing the question the wrong way. Arnold wasn't asking him to puzzle out Arnold's life. He was nudging Noah toward his own. Why had he taken the offer to come here when he might have become a knight in some county guard or even a mercenary with a decent reputation?
And then the realization struck: the situation mirrored the Emperor's offer. Back then, the Academy had been a leap into something far greater than swinging a sword for coin. Now, the opportunity to learn under Leon Valcrest stood just as far above the ordinary path of a knight who would one day serve under someone else's banner.
Both choices boiled down to one thing: what Noah wanted.
The Emperor's threats mattered less than they seemed. Even if Noah refused, the worst would be expulsion. Unfair, yes—but hardly the end of the world. He doubted Drosamir would waste any more time targeting him afterward.
And truthfully, Noah wasn't ready to leave. Life here, for all its pressure, was still brighter than the stagnant days of his hometown. He had found friends. He had found a place to push himself. And that had been his choice—joining, training, staying.
So why stop there? Why let himself be tossed about like a pawn?
If he wanted, he could seize this new chance, risk everything, and carve out something more than a life of obedience. He could turn the Emperor's manipulation into a step toward freedom.
Or he could lie low. Keep his head down, survive the mission, and settle for the safe road—steady work, a comfortable life, maybe even a future as a knight in service. But that path would always leave him chained, always watching for the blade aimed at his back.
It was, in the end, a matter of high risk and high return.
Back in the present, Noah stood in the training ring, the platform raised just a step above the concrete ground. A circle of trainees gathered close, murmuring, waiting. Every week they held duels like this—bare hands, no weapons—until one fighter could no longer stand or was forced out of bounds.
No rules beyond that. Just fists, grit, and whatever tricks a swordsman could use.
Across from him stood Arwin Loretta. The same Arwin who had beaten him last week, though everyone knew the fight hadn't been clean.
The trainer's voice cut through the tension.
"Begin!"
Loretta smirked as he stepped forward. "Still scared from last time?"
Stretching his wrists, Noah's reply was flat. "Stop farting around and come at me."
A vein twitched on Loretta's forehead. He lunged, shoving off the floor with explosive force. To the spectators it was a blur of speed. But to Noah, the world seemed to slow. His focus narrowed to a blade's edge. The hostility radiating off Loretta told him exactly where the strike would land.
'This is the same man who beat me?'
The punch came for his face. Noah tilted just enough for it to miss, caught Loretta's wrist, and turned with the momentum. In the same motion he dragged Loretta off-balance and slammed him down hard onto the ring. The thud cracked across the courtyard.
Before Loretta could recover, Noah drove his heel into his spine, pinning him. Gasps broke out from the trainees. They had seen Noah fight before, but never like this—sharp, decisive, merciless.
The trainer leaned forward, ready to call the match, but Noah crouched lower, his voice barely reaching Loretta's ear.
"Ah, did you think I'd let you off after you pulled that shit last week?"
He shifted his weight, stomping down on Loretta's shoulder. A sharp crack split the air.
"Arghhhhhh!?" Loretta's scream cut through the ring, raw and broken. The sound sent a chill through the circle of onlookers.
His body sagged. The pain swallowed him whole, dragging him unconscious before he could even finish the cry.
Noah let go of his wrist, letting the limp arm fall against the dusty floor. He straightened, dusted off his hands, and stepped off the platform. Trainees parted instinctively, giving him space.
The trainer barked at the frozen crowd.
"Well? Don't just stand there! Get a stretcher; take him to the infirmary now!"