Vanir Cambern waited patiently in his seat as his foot repeatedly tapped the floor. His blue eyes observed the two young men exchanging blows with their wooden swords, their blood staining the training ground. Their tattered dark green-vested uniforms were now painted in splotches of crimson, a more fitting color for the Orients. Their arms shook, yet they held their wooden swords firmly despite the increasing blows. It was only a matter of time before one of them keeled over.

‘Who do you think will win?’ A young voice asked directly to his mind. He couldn’t determine the gender though. ‘Dibs on the red hair.’

Vanir couldn't have cared less. Both were woefully inadequate. He found no pleasure in observing worms poking sticks with each other, disgusting. Nevertheless, he was obliged to witness their poor performance.

‘My input wouldn't matter,’ Vanir replied without verbally speaking. He scowled when he couldn’t comb his golden hair, so he opted not to. ‘You already knew the outcome, demon.’

He wasn't sure of the origin of this particular demon, nor had he heard of anything like it. One morning, Vanir woke up from a sudden scream, ringing in his head. It was embarrassing when he called his attendants to find the intruder but later realized that only he could hear the demon. He could have dismissed it as a nightmare, a figment of his imagination, but the capability of this demon—a very annoying one—was the problem. Though, it obeyed his orders for now, his trust in its compliance was shaky, at best. The situation seemed to amuse it, which only added to his frustration.

‘Oh come on, a guess wouldn’t hurt you know,’ the demon pouted. ‘As I told you, my knowledge is limited to key future events. This duel isn't one of them, so I don’t know who will win.’

‘I see.’

The demon claimed to be an otherworldly entity, a weaver of fate who manipulated the course of events through human avatars, all for its twisted entertainment. It spoke of having manipulated this same timeline countless times, each iteration featuring a new vessel with unique skills and traits. The difference now was that he, Vanir, was the current vessel, though in a somewhat different manner. This, the demon explained, was its first time possessing a human directly, as opposed to its usual method of puppetry using the "Vee'ar consoul".

One of the combatants let out a cry as his wooden sword burst into flames. The other student widened his eyes as he attempted to coat his blade with mana, but his reserves were depleted, and the mana sputtered. The flaming sword struck down, sending the student crashing to the ground, unmoving.

‘See, I told you he will win,’ it boasted proudly.

Vanir just ignored the demon. If anything, its claim of limited knowledge became more unlikely.

The downed student got carried over and two new students were called down for a match. This went on for a while until his name had finally been called.

“—Lord Vanir Cambern, Heir to the Duchy of Estine. Please enter the training ground.”

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‘Finally,’ the demon said excitedly, while Vanir scowled.

Vanir stood up and walked down the stadium without complications, so far. His peers, donned in deep navy uniforms for Imperial students, began to cheer for him and wished him luck. He took it all with silent strides. He approached a row of wooden weapons after reaching the arena.

‘Pick the furthest left,’ Vanir instructed.

His hand, seemingly of its own volition, reached out and grasped the hilt of the wooden sword. He turned on his heel to face his opponent, a small, nimble figure clad in a white shirt and dark trousers, a student from the Union. Unlike the Orients, who were graceful and elegant with their sword skills or mana usage, the Unions were cowards, hiding behind their technology. Not once, did they fight valiantly on the battlefield as they sent shells, bullets, and bombs at a far distance instead.

Unfortunately for his opponent, the exam was to test their sword skills.

His opponent circled him cautiously, gauging his reactions. When Vanir remained impassive, he launched a swift attack, closing the distance quickly. Vanir prepared his legs to leap in case the demon didn’t react. In the worst-case scenario, he would have to trample his opponent with his feet if his resident demon didn’t know how to swing a sword. However, the demon had other plans.

‘How about this, you swing the sword while I handle the footwork.’

“What?” Vanir felt a jolt as his legs felt disconnected, the control abruptly shifting to the demon. In exchange, he could now move his arms freely. He immediately raised his wooden sword in time to block a sweeping attack, producing a soft thud of wood hitting each other.

‘Don’t decide to switch controls without my consent next time!’ Vanir gritted as he shoved his opponent back and started to gather mana in his hands. The blade crackled with electricity.

‘Sorry, my bad,’ the demon sounded genuine with its apology. Vanir couldn’t properly gauge its sincerity so he ignored it as he brought the sword down. His opponent couldn’t block in time.

"Gaaaaaah!" he screamed, convulsing. Once finished, Vanir lifted the sword, and his opponent limped and fell, face-first.

Vanir couldn't help but grin as he tried to lift his feet, but couldn't. Clicking his tongue, he poured more mana into his sword, making it crackle even louder. While he found them disgusting, he found it amusing to put insects like them in their proper place, under his feet.

‘Stop,’ the demon said, there was firmness in its tone. ‘He already lost.’

This angered Vanir, as a demon just ordered him, such insolence. However, his eyes peered at his instructors and saw the scowl on their faces. In their hands, were a pen and paper for scoring their performance. Vanir gritted his teeth.

‘Fine,’ Vanir let out a sigh with a soured mood. Still, he retracted this mana.

"Winner, Lord Vanir," the instructor inside the arena announced. He felt that same jarring sensation as he lost control over his hands, but he could move his legs again. He turned around and walked back to his seat.

‘Don’t switch unless I order it. Are we clear?’ Vanir asked, anger already exuding from his body. He could see the other Imperium students scowling at him, so he retracted his aura.

‘Okay sorry, I won’t do it again.’

‘You had better seal the letter with your tongue, demon, for I will not tolerate a second time.’

Vanir sat at his seat patiently, as his feet repeatedly tapped the floor. After a few more fights, the instructor finally announced a lunch break. While running on the halls would be unbecoming for a noble, the situation warranted it. He headed straight for the club room where the devotees pray. He had a demon to deal with.

‘I already told you, I’m not a demon.’ It pouted. Vanir ignored its blatant lie. ‘I have a name and it’s Alex, Alex Miller.’