We walked for a while before Flint flagged down a carriage — one of the cheaper ones, pulled by two weary white horses that looked about as enthusiastic as I felt.
"Ten bronze to the academy district," the driver grunted.
Flint paid without hesitation, and we climbed in. I opened my mouth to protest — some empty show of politeness — but he waved me off before I could start.
"I'm good, don't worry about me. Besides, walking would take close to an hour, and you're already late."
Carriages and mounts dominated city transportation, though regular summoners with their bonded beasts occasionally moved through traffic too. According to Knight Flint, those were rare — mostly merchants who could afford the upkeep costs.
Along the way, Flint steered me toward a street vendor in what he called the Eastern Market. The smell of fried dough and sizzling meat hit me like a physical thing, and my stomach growled loud enough to make Flint glance over with amusement.
"Two spiced rolls and two skewers," he ordered, counting out bronze coins carefully.
I watched him pay — twenty bronze total. For a knight, even a low-level one, that probably wasn't much. For me?
'That's four days of survival as a single person.'
"You didn't have to—"
"You're starving," Flint cut in, handing me a roll still warm from the grill. "And you're going to need energy for the academy. Besides—" His smile turned wicked. "You knelt to Jerry and didn't even get directions out of it. Consider this my payment for the entertainment."
The roll was warm in my hands, spiced with something that tasted like cinnamon and black pepper mixed together. I devoured it without dignity.
"So," Flint said, tearing into his own food. "Let me tell you what you need to know about this world."
The world itself, according to his explanation, was called Ealdrim. Seven realms made up the whole — commonly referred to as Ealdrim. While we were in the Central Continent now, I confirmed something that made my chest loosen slightly: elves existed, along with several other races besides humans.
The currency system was universal across all realms. Bronze coins at the bottom, then silver, then gold, then platinum at the top.
One silver equaled a hundred bronze. One gold equaled a hundred silver — ten thousand bronze. One platinum equaled a hundred gold, or a million bronze.
One bronze coin bought one apple, one mug of cheap ale at a tavern, or one loaf of bread — granted, bread quality varied wildly here. A family of four needed about ten to fifteen bronze daily to survive, while a single worker could get by on five to eight.
The meal we'd just eaten cost about twenty bronze coins, mostly because I'd needed my fill after yesterday's ordeal.
A cheap meal for one person should cost about five to ten bronze. He explained other details too — complex things like the military system in the Kingdom of Aetheris.
Apparently Jerry, who'd tried to bully me before, was a Common Soldier. Mundane soldiers with no abilities, no bloodline powers, and definitely no summoning abilities. But he was a veteran, so he earned about fifty silver coins every month.
'Five thousand bronze a month for being an asshole with a spear. Not bad.'
Knight Flint earned a hundred and twenty silver coins every month, even as a low-level knight.
Another fascinating detail he explained was bloodlines. Bloodline abilities were inherited powers — fire manipulation, enhanced strength, eagle-eye vision, things like that. Flint said most were fairly weak compared to summoners.
"A bloodline user might throw a fireball," he explained between bites. "But a Spirit Summoner can call a legendary pyromancer who burned entire armies. There's no comparison."
He paused, something shifting in his expression. "Unless you're from the Imperial family. Their bloodline — Radiant Imperium — is the only one that can match a Spirit Summoner in raw power."
The carriage slowed as we approached the academy district. Flint leaned forward, gesturing.
"There."
The Academy rose before us — a sprawling complex of white stone buildings with soaring towers and crystalline windows that caught the morning sun like captured starlight. Students in pristine uniforms moved between buildings, laughing, chatting, their spirits visible as shimmering auras around them.
I felt very small suddenly.
'School… again.'
"I can't go in with you," Flint said as we climbed out. "Low-level knights like me aren't expected or allowed in facilities like these." He hesitated, something almost awkward crossing his features. "But if you need anything, I'm usually around the Eastern Market, or we can meet at the barracks. Just ask for Flint."
He rummaged his hand into his armor and brought out a pouch of coins, pressing it into my palm.
"Here. Twenty silver coins. I'm only lending you, and I will definitely have it back."
I nodded, managing a broad smile despite everything. "Thanks. For everything."
He smiled back—that too-wide smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Good luck, Cade. Try not to kneel to anyone in there."
I watched him walk away, Ash padding silently beside him like a ghost, before turning toward the academy gates.
The moment I stepped through, the whispers started.
"...that's him, the disaster summoner..."
"A Spirit Summoner that's F-Rank? Can you believe it?"
"I heard he attacked the knights."
'Of course you did. Why let facts get in the way of a good story?'
I kept walking, hands in pockets, heading toward the building Flint had pointed out earlier. The main lecture hall.
Inside, the seats were arranged in descending arches, carved like a semi-circle facing a raised platform. Students filled the seats — my classmates from the summoning, all dressed in crisp new uniforms that probably cost more than Flint made in a month.
I was still wearing my wrinkled school clothes from Earth.
Every head turned when I entered.
'There it is. The look. Like I just tracked mud across their expensive carpet.'
I found a seat in the very back corner, near the window. No one sat near me. The empty space around me felt deliberate, like a quarantine zone someone had marked off with caution tape.
Fine by me.
A few minutes later, the instructor arrived — a square-faced, muscle-bound man who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. Like teaching was some kind of punishment detail he'd drawn for pissing off the wrong superior.
The man scribbled on the board without a word. Behind me, the chatter died instantly — my classmates leaned forward in their seats like eager puppies.
He turned and jabbed a finger at his scrawl.
"What are Spirits?"
The instructor's question hung in the air. Hands shot up immediately — eager, desperate to prove themselves. I recognized the hunger in their eyes.
'The same hunger I felt once. Back in Grade 6, when I still believed trying mattered.'
"You." The instructor pointed at Kai, sitting front and center like he'd been born for that exact position.
"Spirits are manifestations of essence," Kai said confidently. "Beings that exist between the physical and metaphysical realms, capable of forming bonds with summoners."
"Textbook answer." The instructor's expression didn't change. "Useless in practice. Anyone else?"
'Ouch. Shot down immediately. Welcome to real education, Kai.'
Maxwell — a boy with messy, silvery white hair that looked deliberately styled to appear un-styled — raised his hand. "Spirits are categorized by consciousness level and origin. The classification determines their capabilities and threat level."
"Better." The instructor turned back to the board. "But still incomplete. Let me educate you properly, since the Church's propaganda apparently got to you first."
He drove the chalk into the board with enough force to crack it.
"There are four primary classifications of spirits in Ealdrim. Understanding the difference could save your life—or end it."
Wild Beasts - He wrote quickly, his handwriting barely legible.
"Mundane animals. No spirit essence, no supernatural abilities. Wolves, bears, hawks. Dangerous if you're stupid, irrelevant if you're not. These are what commoners hunt for food. Moving on."
Spirit Beasts - The chalk scraped aggressively.
"Now it gets interesting. Spirit Beasts are creatures born from concentrated pools of spirit essence. They possess supernatural abilities tied to their element or nature."
He turned to face us. A long scar ran down his jaw, disappearing into his collar.
"The Church calls them 'heretical abominations.' The guilds call them 'profitable hunting targets.' I call them 'things that will kill you if you underestimate them.'"
A few nervous laughs scattered through the room.
"Spirit Beasts are ranked in nine tiers, mirroring our own spirit classification but inverted. The Church named them to brand these creatures as corruptions of natural order." He listed them quickly, each word punctuated by chalk strikes:
"Feral, Savage, Bestial, Primal, Apex, Tyrant, Profane, Primordial, and Cataclysm."
I straightened in my seat.
"Feral and Savage are common. You'll encounter them in the wild, kill them for materials, move on. Bestial through Primal require actual tactics. Apex and above?" He paused, letting the silence stretch. "Those are walking disasters. There are maybe twenty Apex-tier beasts across all seven continents. If you see one, you run. You don't fight it. You don't try to capture it. You run."
"What about Cataclysm-tier?" Elena Volkov asked, her Russian accent crisp and precise. The A-Rank ice queen looked genuinely curious rather than trying to show off.
The instructor's jaw tightened. "There are only three confirmed Cataclysms in existence. All three are sealed. If any of them were to break free, Ealdrim would end. Not 'face a crisis.' Not 'suffer casualties.' End. Completely."
Silence swallowed the room.
"Next." He moved on like he hadn't just described the apocalypse in three sentences.
Regular Spirits - More chalk scraping.
"These are what most summoners work with. Lesser spirits — beasts, elementals, nature entities. They lack true consciousness and legendary power, but they're common enough that guilds and academies can actually teach you how to use them properly."
He counted off on his fingers. "Beast Summoners call wolves, eagles, bears — multiple at once usually. Elemental Summoners bind fire, water, earth, air spirits. Nature Summoners work with plant life and forest guardians. Contract Summoners bargain with strange and different spirits for temporary aid."
"These make up about five percent of the population. Respectable profession. Steady income. You can't change the world with these, but you can survive it."
Disdain colored every word, like he was describing accountants at a warrior convention.
Heroic Spirits - He underlined this one three times, hard enough to leave grooves in the board.
"And finally, what makes you lot special."
The instructor's gaze swept across the room, lingering on a few students — Kai, Elena, Maxwell — before skipping over me entirely like I was part of the furniture.
"Heroic Spirits. Legendary figures from history and myth. Heroes, conquerors, saints, warriors, mages — the people who changed the world when they were alive."
He tapped the board again. "These spirits possess true consciousness. They think, strategize, remember their past lives. They can teach you, advise you, even refuse your commands if you're idiotic enough to deserve it."
"Spirit Summoners — Heroic Spirit Summoners — are approximately 0.05% of the population. You twenty-three students represent more Spirit Summoners than some kingdoms have produced in centuries."
Pride rippled through the room like a physical wave. I felt nothing.
"Don't let it go to your heads," the instructor continued flatly. "Rare doesn't mean competent. Half of you will waste your potential through arrogance, another quarter through incompetence. The rest might actually amount to something."
'Telling a room full of teenagers they're special and then immediately crushing their egos. What is this man?'
He turned back to the board and wrote one more thing:
Spirit Tier ≠ Summoner Rank
"Your Summoner Rank — F through S — determines your capacity. How much spirit essence you can channel, how long you can maintain manifestation, how many attributes you can use simultaneously. This is fixed. You cannot raise your rank. Ever."
Several students shifted uncomfortably. Faces darkened, especially among the E and D ranks who'd been hoping for some kind of upgrade path.
"Your Spirit's Tier — Mortal through Sovereign in the orthodox classification — determines their inherent power and potential. This is also fixed. A Mortal-tier spirit will never become a Legend-tier spirit."
He let that sink in before continuing. "What can grow is Fortitude and Attributes. Fortitude measures your spirit's consciousness, autonomy, and sense of self. It ranges from 1.0 to 10.0. The stronger your bond, the higher their fortitude, the more they can teach you and fight alongside you rather than as your puppet."
Maxwell raised his hand. "What's the highest recorded fortitude?"
"6.8," the instructor said immediately, no hesitation. "Achieved by Grand Marshal Vaheem the Unbreakable, bonded with the Heroic Spirit 'Titan of the Last Stand.' It took him forty years of constant combat and near-death experiences to reach it."
'Forty years for 6.8. My Tyrant Empress started at 8.2. Either I'm incredibly lucky or incredibly doomed. Or both.'
I kept my expression blank, slouching lower in my seat.
"Attributes are skills and traits you inherit from your spirit's legend," the instructor continued. "A blacksmith spirit grants crafting abilities. A warrior grants combat techniques. These can improve through training and usage. However, when you reach the level cap for your attribute's tier, you have to evolve them using Spirit Cores and whatever else you need — you'll know when that moment comes."
He counted off on his fingers. "Basic, Advanced, Expert, Legendary, and Mythic are the attribute tiers that exist. And your attributes can even branch into specialized versions as they evolve."
He turned to face us fully. "Your Spirit Tier gives you potential. Your Summoner Rank gives you capacity. But your Fortitude and Attribute mastery? Those determine whether you live or die."
The lecture continued — combat classes, manifestation mechanics, essence management. I half-listened, filing away useful information while my mind wandered to more interesting calculations.
'Eight point two fortitude. Calamity tier. Multiple spirits waiting to be summoned. I have world-ending power locked inside me, and all anyone sees is the F-Rank failure in the back corner.'
Perfect.
"One more thing," the instructor said as the lecture wound down. "Tomorrow, we begin practical assessments. You'll demonstrate your spirits, your attributes, and your basic combat capabilities. This will determine your class placement, your training regimen, and your access to academy resources."
His eyes finally found me, and something unreadable flickered across his face. Curiosity? Pity? Disdain?
"Everyone participates. No exceptions."
'Great. Public humiliation: the sequel.'
The class ended. Students filed out in clusters, already forming their social hierarchies like it was instinct. S-Rank with A-Ranks. B-Ranks networking with C-Ranks. The D and E ranks clustering together for safety in numbers.
And me, alone in the back corner, watching it all like a documentary on human nature.