Chapter 5: Invitations Are Not Requests
The academy did not allow silence after rankings.
It allowed movement.
By the next morning, Aren Valerius Arcanveil felt it the moment he stepped into the main training grounds—the subtle shift in atmosphere, the way conversations paused for half a second too long, the glances that lingered before turning away.
He had not entered the top ranks.
But he had entered consideration.
And that was enough.
"Hey… that's him."
Aren ignored the whisper and continued walking.
"He's the Arcanveil extra, right?"
"Rank one-forty-seven. That's not low."
"I heard instructors called him in personally."
So rumors travel faster than mana, Aren noted calmly.
He took his usual place near the outer ring of the training field, drew his sword, and began running the academy's standard forms. Nothing flashy. Nothing aggressive.
Just precise.
Just controlled.
The first interruption came ten minutes later.
"Aren Valerius Arcanveil."
The voice was calm, confident—and deliberate.
Aren finished his form before turning.
A tall noble student stood a few meters away, academy uniform immaculate, a silver insignia pinned near his collar.
"I am Roderic Hale, Rank 112," the man continued. "Sword Division."
Several nearby students subtly shifted their attention.
A challenge.
Aren already knew the rules.
Academy duels below the top hundred did not require instructor approval—only registration and mutual acknowledgment. Refusing too many challenges resulted in forced ranking penalties.
"I'm listening," Aren replied evenly.
Roderic smiled thinly.
"I am issuing a formal duel invitation. Standard conditions. No lethal intent."
That was polite language.
What it really meant was simple.
Fight me, or lose rank without fighting.
The system pulsed faintly.
[World Convergence System]
Event Detected: Duel Invitation
Classification: Plot-Relevant Engagement
Recommendation: Acceptance Increases Growth Efficiency
Aren exhaled quietly.
So it begins.
He nodded once.
"I accept."
The surrounding murmurs grew louder.
Roderic's smile sharpened—not cruel, but eager.
"Tomorrow afternoon. Arena Three."
With that, the noble turned and walked away.
Aren sheathed his sword slowly.
One duel.
That was manageable.
Two more voices followed before the hour ended.
A mage ranked 138.
A hybrid combatant ranked 121.
Three invitations.
Three tests.
Three signals.
They're probing, Aren realized. Trying to see if I'm worth targeting.
That evening, he sat alone in his dorm room, staring at the registration slip glowing faintly with mana.
Tomorrow's duel would not be against a protagonist.
Nor against a genius.
It would be against someone hungry.
Those were often more dangerous.
Aren stood and picked up his sword.
"No flashy wins," he murmured. "No crushing defeats."
A draw would be ideal.
A narrow win… acceptable.
A loss?
Unnecessary.
Mana flowed.
Sword intent followed.
Pain bloomed in his arms as the two forces synchronized more tightly than before. His breathing slowed, steady and deliberate.
The system responded.
[World Convergence System]
Name: Aren Valerius Arcanveil
Title: Canon-Dead Extra | Ranked Academy Student
Affiliation: House Arcanveil
Path:
- Magic Cultivation
- Sword Cultivation
Realm:
- Magic: Apprentice Mage (Mid)
- Sword: Sword Trainee (Peak)
Attributes:
- Strength: 15
- Speed: 14
- Stamina: 16
- Vitality: 17 (+1)
- Mana: 19
- Mental Focus: 18
Combat Stats:
- Physical Power: C
- Mana Control: C+
- Sword Mastery: C+
- Battle Instinct: B
Skills:
- Dual Path Sovereignty (Authority · Passive)
- Basic Mana Control (Improved)
- Foundation Sword Forms (Refined)
Plot Metrics:
- Plot Engagement: 14% (+2%)
- Rival Nodes: 3 (Stirring)
- Fate Attention: Slight
Condition:
- Physical Fatigue (Light)
- Combat Readiness: High
System Evaluation:
- Status: Prepared
- Recommended Action: Controlled Engagement
Aren read the final line carefully.
Controlled engagement.
He smiled faintly.
"So even you agree."
Tomorrow, he would step into the arena—not to dominate, not to submit, but to prove existence.
Rankings had opened the door.
Duels would decide whether he was allowed to stay inside.
Aren tightened his grip on the sword.
"Let them come," he whispered.
"I won't disappear again."